Mystical Murmurs: My Interfaith Life

My title today is the first line from a poem by Robert Frost, and refers to the green-gold color of newly-emerged leaves in the spring. Spring has finally come to the mid-Atlantic, though it's cooler today than normal. Last weekend the trees really began coming into leaf. I love this time of year because, even on warm days, we don't feel the oppressive, stifling humidity that we will endure in July and August. We've had plenty of rain, too, which has helped to "green things up," in a phrase my mother used to use. And shade is back, at least in its infancy. Driving along in my town, I could see the faintest shade cast by all the new leaves. The shade is just a faint tracery on lawns as yet, not the full, deep shade of summer, but a delicate webbing, which trembles in the breeze. Hotter days are coming, of course, when I'll pine for cooler afternoons and crisp evenings. But for now, hello to spring! It was late in arriving, and it will yield to summer in

I'm having a little bit of trouble with "Love thy neighbor" these days. My neighbor, whom I'll call Annie, is only a year older than I am, but is a recluse. No, seriously. I have not laid eyes on her in two years, and I didn't see her frequently before that. We have long suspected that Annie suffers from mental illness, some kind of paranoid condition, perhaps, because on her front door are many post-it notes forbidding anyone from knocking for any reason. She is long divorced, chronically short of money, and her house is falling down on her head -- there's a tarp over part of the roof, and the paint on the rest of the house has nearly all chipped away. The neighborhood regards it as an eyesore, and a neighbor who was once inside (many years ago) told me that Annie is a hoarder, and that the house is so full that she is forced to live in only one room. Following a back injury two years ago, Annie can no longer drive, and so the car sitting in her drivewa

Three months from today, I will be starting on a program called "phased retirement." It's a fairly new benefit here at the University, and, frankly, it has received mixed reviews from some of those who have participated. But I'm giving it a shot. So I will become a 0.6 FTE on July 7. My salary decreases by 40%, but my benefits remain exactly the same. I can do this for up to two years, and then I must retire. IN THE MEANTIME, I WILL HAVE EVERY MONDAY AND FRIDAY OFF! I couldn't resist the photo of the two rocking chairs at the left, even though there won't be much rocking in my immediate future. It will be nice, however, to be able to sit on my front porch and drink coffee on those two mornings, instead of trundling off to the commuter train every single weekday. The dogs will appreciate having me home more. And no more having to go to the grocery store on the weekends, elbowing my way through the mob around the string beans. I can go early on a Friday

So we're learning this morning, incrementally, that there's a good likelihood that Andreas Lubitz, the promising young pilot who apparently crashed a Germanwings flight on purpose, suffered from a mental illness of some sort. That his doctor had signed him out of work for the day of the flight. That he flew anyway. And during that flight, something in Andreas's head went terribly, terribly wrong. Now 150 people are dead. Moms and daughters. Opera singers. German schoolchildren. Little babies. It's all very tragic and terrible. But Andreas wasn't a monster -- he was a person like you and me. And he had an illness which he did not want his employer to know about. And you know what? Although I hold him responsible for those deaths, I don't blame him for that impulse to keep his problem secret. In an age when ads on TV deal with issues like painful intercourse after menopause, erectile dysfunction, and overactive bladder (do you see a theme here? We're e

I wouldn't ordinarily put a smiley-face into one of my posts, but I really am happy over something, so there you have it. A happy daisy. Our Head of Reference demonstrated, at a staff meeting this week, how he uses a certain database to track people down through public records (all nice and legal!). So ... I tried it. you see, at the tender age of 20, I got married for the first time. What was I thinking? I wasn't. The marriage lasted just short of three years, though we didn't live together quite that long. Our divorce became final in January of 1977. I did hear from my ex twice after that, in the summer of 1977, and again in the summer of 1978, as we both moved on with our lives. I moved to Philadelphia, and he went to work abroad. But I always wondered, you know. And I felt more than a little guilty, because the source of unhappiness in the marriage was me, all me. I went through that marriage like a dose of epsom salts, and emerged pretty much unscathed, I don&#