South of Broad

South of Broad

Dave and  I just spent one of the best, for me, Christmas holidays ever in Atlanta.  It was over-the-top great family time.  But one sad/happy thing:  Dave wasn't able to get to his daughter's house in Chicago (first time ever!) But that meant we spent Christmas together (first time ever!)

Then we spent a couple of days in one of the most popular and exquisitely beautiful cities in the South, Charleston, South Carolina.

Mother Emanuel

Most folks who know anything about Charleston know the term "South of Broad."  It refers to a exclusive, old area of the city, full of stunning architecture.  It was made popular by one of my favorite writers, Pat Conroy in his book "South of Broad."  In the book Conroy dealt with the underbelly of this area, namely racism and classism.

The last time we had a tour in Charleston I asked the guide why he never mentioned Pat Conroy.  He said, "We don't like him here."

Charleston is no different from other cities with a long history of wealth and power.  Winter Park, Florida which you know how much I love, has a long history of discrimination.

Dave spent his entire adult life before me in Edina, Minnesota. Most of the folks outside Edina call the folks in Edina "Cake Eaters."

On Tuesday we saw Mother Emanuel AME Church, where, in 2015, Dylann Roof shot and killed nine people in a 'Bible Study.  This was not south of Broad.  We had lunch at Magnolia's, a restaurant recommended by Dave's daughter.  It was exquisite.  It was south of Broad.

We toured the Citadel - my first time.  So impressive!  Huge and all white.

At the end of our tour around the city, after everyone else had disembarked, I asked our tour guide why the previous guide said, "We don't like Pat Conroy in Charleston."  This guide, who actually went to the Citadel with Pat Conroy, told us some people don't like the way he portrayed the city but what they really disliked was how he portrayed the Citadel in his book, "The Lords of Discipline."

Pat Conroy was one of our great southern writers.  I would encourage you to read his novels, starting with "The Prince of Tides."  They will make you love Charleston, even with its underbelly of discrimination and cruelty.  This exists everywhere and I'm grateful to writers, especially our southern writers, who help us see it.


***

Famous For Being Famous

Zsa Zsa Gabor, the last of the Budapest born Gabor sisters, died last week at age 99 -on my birthday.  Long before the Kardashians, the Gabors became rich and famous by establishing their brand.   And they did it without social media. They relied on TV and newspapers.

Zsa Zsa, along with her sisters, Eva and Magda, had a whooping twenty (that's 20!) marriages between them with Zsa Zsa coming in first at nine.

Fun Fact:  Zsa Zsa and Magda were both married to George Sanders - but not at the same time. 

Zsa Zsa and Eva each did some acting, Zsa Zsa in the movies and Eva on "Green Acres" where she essentially played herself on a farm, but they were rich and famous for keeping their brand going by being outrageous and flaunting a most extravagant Hollywood lifestyle.

Zsa Zsa, who was Miss Hungary in 1936,  married her ninth husband in the '80s and they stayed married until her death last week.  Her husband, Frederic Prinz van Anholt became a "royal" by paying a French princess to adopt him when he was 36 years old.  He and Zsa Zsa subsequently adopted at least ten grown men who paid them millions of dollars to receive "royal" status.

As an older woman Zsa Zsa spent three nights in jail after slapping a traffic cop.  She made great use of the publicity.  She was a master at publicizing her shenanigans.

Zsa Zsa's most famous quote:  I am a marvelous housekeeper.  Every time I leave a man I keep his house.

There's nothing new about people exploiting us with our full consent


***

8 lb. 6 oz. Baby Jesus

I've never seen a Will Ferrell movie but "Talladega Nights" has a great scene where Ricky Bobby says grace, praying to the 8 lb. 6 oz. baby Jesus.  He thanks baby Jesus for his wealth, for his smoking' hot wife, for his his two sons, Walker and Texas Ranger, and a myriad of other things.  His wife interrupts him to remind him that Jesus did grow up, but he's not having it.  The baby is the Jesus to whom Ricky Bobby prefers to pray.  By the way, if you would like to see this clip, go to "youtube 8lb 6oz Baby Jesus."

As, you know, I'm reading a few pages every day of Richard Rohr's book Divine Dancing.  In it he tackles defining the nature of the triune God.   Unlike Ricky Bobby, Rohr struggles with defining the nature of this God.  And he wants us to struggle with it as well.

A few weeks ago (and you might find this hard to believe) my minister, David Miller, showed the infamous "8 lb. 6 ox Baby Jesus" clip to the congregation prior to his sermon "Christ the King," in which he, too, was inviting us to struggle with the nature of God.

In the film clip Ricky Bobby's friend, Cal, says he likes to picture Jesus wearing one of those T shirt tuxedos.  Because he thinks it makes Jesus look "formal but ready to party."

In the Divine Dancing book Rohr says:

Trinity gradually becomes real for you as you honestly enter into the cycles and flow of life and death yourself...we have to grow up, which is largely learning how to live on the water wheel of giving and receiving love. 

So there's a clue.  Jesus grew up and we have to grow up.

On the other hand, when Ricky Bobby was in trouble he prayed:

Help me Jesus!  Help me Jewish God!  Help me Allah! Help me Tom Cruise!  Tom Cruise use your witchcraft on me to get the fire off me!  Help me Oprah Winfrey.

Ricky Bobby clearly needs to struggle a bit with his image of the incarnate God.


***

Two Men Named John

A couple of days ago my old friend Dr. John Galloway died.  He was extraordinarily well loved by his wife, family, colleagues and friends.  He deserved it.  He was an extraordinary man.  A few years ago he developed a horrible illness called lewy body dementia which is a lot like Alzheimer's but worse.  He had non-stop comfort and care until the end. But, still, his death, in many ways, was a blessing.  He has been, and will be missed, by many groups of people, including Forum, where he was once a vital leader.

This past summer another man named John started attending Forum.  He was extremely quiet.  Some folks, including Dave, made an effort to get to know him but he mostly sat in the back of the room and did not participate in the discussions.  In the fall, he quit coming.  I don't know if anybody noticed.  I did not.  We are a big group.

Last week my friend called to tell me that John had died.  She knew him a tiny bit better because he occasionally met with her and a few others at the library.  She thought he had a brain tumor but she wasn't sure.  One day he just disappeared.  A few weeks later my friend receive a note from John's sister who lives in another state telling her that had John died on October 25th.  He apparently had no other family.  The sister gave no forwarding address.

That's almost all I know about John.  I do know his last name but since he was so private I don't want to share it.  Also, this isn't about John.  It's about me and all of us who have a new person show up in our lives, perhaps looking for something.  Here's a poem I wrote in 1975:

MARGARET RITZ

Margaret Ritz, Margaret Ritz,
I'll call you when I can. 
You haven't seem me lately,
But that was the risk you ran, 
When you chose me for a friend,
And cluttered up my plan.
I do important things, you know,
I'll call you when I can. 

Margaret Ritz, Margaret Ritz,
I heard you when you said,
That friends are hard to come by, 
But I've got to plan ahead.
Now you've played an awful trick on me, 
In the church bulletin I read, 
While meditating on my life, 
"Margaret Ritz is dead."

- Cecily Crossman, 1975

John, I sincerely hope you found what you were looking for on those Sundays you visited Forum.


***

Bean Soup

We had bean soup for lunch today

I used to cook - but now I don't.  Well, hardly do.  The other day, while having lunch with good friends, we talked about this concept.  I shared my current bean soup recipe and a couple of people said, "you need to share that."  So here it is.

First, decades ago, I made the best bean soup ever.  Even better than Senate Bean Soup.  (I wonder if the Republicans and the Democrats still sit around the Senate dining room and eat bean soup.  If not, they should.)

Anyway, the earlier bean soup started with dried beans, a ham hock, and a bunch of other ingredients and 24 hours later the soup was ready.  Here is the current version that tastes just as good.

Cecily's Bean Soup
 (Serves 3)

1.  Combine a spoonful of low-salt chicken bouillon with a cup of water in a sauce pan.  Let it come to a simmer.

2.  Add a can of great northern beans.  Mash them a bit with your potato masher.

3.  Add a can of Campbell's Bean with Bacon soup, plus two cans water.  Stir it all up.

4.  Add a hand full of diced ham.  (I buy the small packet of diced ham then divide it into five snack baggies and put it in the freezer.  It's great added into things like scrambled eggs - or this bean soup.)

5.  Add a tablespoon of Worcestershire Sauce.

All of this takes less than five minutes.  Let the soup boil a few minutes then put a lid on it and turn the stove off.  It will thicken up.

I serve it with chopped sweet onions and sometimes (when I'm feeling fancy) chopped tomatoes.  Warning:  Yes, this soup is salty.

Enjoy.

P.S. I put the left over soup a cup in the fridge.  It makes a great snack when you're sitting on the couch later watching Netflix.


***

Joy, Joy, Joy

The foundation of authentic Christian spirituality is not fear, but joy. - Richard Rohr

I have put a temporary moratorium on my own personal news feeds.  It's kind of working.  My daughter called yesterday to say how I must be sad that one of my icons, John Glenn died.  I had no idea.

Dave is confused.  I am a news junky.  I told him I just can't handle the "We're all gonna die" speak right now.  He reminded me that, that is one of my favorite lines.  But I had to remind him that I mean it in a realistic, something good to look forward to way.  Not the scorched earth way the news folks are giving it to us now.

I cheated a little this morning and read one of my favorite syndicated columnists and even he said, "But Lord, I am just tired."  Me too, Leonard.

So here's what!  Unless something truly earth shaking happens,  I plan to celebrate my holidays.  Lots of get togethers coming up.  Let's just enjoy. OK?

How can we possibly do that?  When I was a consultant I used to remind people that most small talk is negative.  But one person can turn it around.

And now, in reading my really convoluted, hard to digest book "The Divine Dance" that I'm (for some strange reason) enjoying - even though I'm reading only four pages a day - Richard Rohr says the following:

...neuroscience now tells us that fear, negativity, and hatred stick like Velcro to the nerves, while positivity, gratitude, and appreciation slide away like Teflon from those same nerves - until we savor them, or choose them for a minimum of a conscious fifteen seconds.  Only then do they imprint. 

So, until at least next month, I'm planning to savor the good stuff and eschew the fear, negativity and hatred.

I have been wanting the see the new movie "Manchester by the Sea."  Our theater section of the paper (yes, I'm still reading that) gave this film a four star review this morning.  But it also said it's a "Heartbreaking work of staggering sorrow."

I'll see it in January.


***

Symbols

My niece recently asked my opinion on Protestants (namely Methodists) using Catholic symbols.  I essentially said to her, "whatever works."  

And then I thought of my old friend, Jim McWhinnie, who seldom posts on Facebook anymore because his battle with Alzheimer's is becoming epic.  I've shared several times that, besides being a brilliant minister, he's one of the bravest men I know, in that he's chosen to share his Alzheimer''s experience with us.  Here is part of his post from last week.  It addresses the Catholic symbols that continue to comfort him. 

On my daily prayer stroll, I pray my own version of rosary, a blend of the Roman Catholic, Orthodox and Protestant.  As I touch each of the one hundred knots, I pray the Jesus Prayer, "Lord, have mercy on this sinner."  In the spaces I sing the Gloria.  And each time my fingers touch the cross I pray the Lord's Prayer.

At least ten years before my husband, Ken, died from a number of illnesses including dementia, I began to notice small evidences of strange behavior.  One thing that caught my attention was that, after 30 years of ministry,  he had The Lord's Prayer typed up and pasted into the front of his Bible.  "Humm."

Jim, in last week's posting, goes on to say:

Today...for the first time ever...I struggled to remember the words of the Lord's Prayer.  I tried and tried...and for a few moments my soul did panic...but on the last touching of the cross on my rosary, I pieced together the scattered phrases of "Our Father."

So here is a case where, obviously, the physical symbol reminded Jim of what he was about.  At the end of his posting he shared this even better news. 

But the goodness I experienced as the Spirit of the Lord touched my own spirit was this...I believe I heard the Lord whisper with me..."Be at peace... those words and the spirit of those words have become part and parcel of your soul.  When the words seem lost...let the silence take their place."

Thank you, Jim.

***

Dave and Brad

My Dave likes Brad Pitt.  I think it's mostly because Brad's from Missouri and has a passion for architecture.  Dave is from Kansas and has a passion for architecture.

I'm not sure how much Dave knows about Brad's acting career or personal life.

But when Brad got mixed up with Angelina Jolie, Dave was not happy.  Years ago, when I asked him why, he said "Brad's so wholesome and clean cut and she is just weird."  Since Dave rarely says anything bad about anybody he later said he wanted to change that "weird" to "different."  But if we look at the dictionary definition of "weird" and see unearthly, uncanny, fantastic, bizarre and then think about Angelina, it seems about right.

Almost all that Dave knows about Angelia is that she wore that vial of blood belonging to Billy Bob Thornton around her neck when she was married to him.

Recently, due to a strange set of circumstances which he did not initiate,  Dave started receiving Star magazine.  It comes often.  So he is now reading about the big breakup and believing every word of it.  When he reports his concerns about Brad I have to stop and think, Brad who?  then remember he's been reading the Star.

This week's cover story features Brad and Kate Hudson.  Dave just said to me at lunch, "I think Brad will be much happier with Kate."  I said,

"Hope so."


***

Emily and Cecily

Emily Dickinson is seen as one of the greatest poets of all time.  She's certainly one of my favorites.  She's been a great inspiration, and, in some ways, I feel like she's my soul mate.  Here we are at about the same age.

Most of her poems were composed in her bedroom in her parent's home in Amherst, Massachusetts.  Emily was a recluse but she sent poems to friends and relatives, sometimes fashioning them into little books she made herself.

But only ten of her poems were published in her lifetime - all anonymously.  Just think about that in terms of the  Facebook/Kardashian world in which we live.

Emily Dickinson wrote about personal things, like death and faith and relationships.  Her poems contained excellent practical advice.  Many are short and pithy.

"Faith" is a fine invention
For Gentlemen who see!
But Microscopes are prudent
In an Emergency! 

- Emily Dickinson

I'm not the person I'm going to be
                     But I'm getting to be
                                  Getting free

-Cecily Crossman


***

Sanity Saving Poems

A couple of days ago I was talking with a neighbor who was having difficulty communicating with her husband.  She said he's too busy for her.  He's "out saving the world."  When that happened with my husband, Ken, I sometimes wrote a poem about it.





THE PERFECT ALIBI, CONTINUED

You were hours late for dinner
     again,
The egg rolls I had worked on all afternoon,
     Were limp.
Contrasting my rigid demeanor.

Our dinner guest,
A psychiatrist,
Seemed bemused,
And appeared to be 
Mentally taking notes,
On the unfolding of this,
All to frequent,
Domestic drama.

I remained calm
Throughout the description,
Of your last minute gallant efforts
To save a public official's job.

But the part about rescuing,
The man in the wheelchair,
Trapped in the revolving door,
Was just too much!

Why can't you ever,
Just stop off
For a few drinks,
Like a normal person?

Cecily Crossman


***

Did I Really Come From France?

I look a lot like my dad.  He told me we were French Canadian.  But as I grew older I wondered because he had been abandoned as a baby.  How did he know he was French or Canadian?

All I knew is that I looked a little different.  When I lived in South Florida I was occasionally asked if I was Hispanic.  Later on some of my kids were certain that we were part Native American.  That sounded good.

The truth is that most of us Americans are mutts.  We're a DNA stew.  So for the last forty years or so I've just been happy to be that.

Then I started seeing those Ancestry.com ads.  The folks seem to be so happy and surprised with their results.  I sent away for the DNA kit.  It's easy as pie to fill up the little vile with saliva, send it off and await the big news.  You don't have to join Ancestry.com to get the DNA results. The entire experience, kit, website results, etc. is $99.

Here are my very surprising results:

• 33%  Western Europe
• 24%   Ireland (What?  I'm Irish?)
• 17%  Great Britain
•  7%  Scandinavia  (Never saw that coming)
•  6%  Mali (This is an African nation formerly under French colonial rule but I don't think we can extrapolate out the French connection from that little bit of info.)

That's 87%.  The other 13% is "trace" and (Ancestry.com says) not reliable.  It's eight additional countries, including Russia, Cameroon and South Asia (a third continent!).

After digesting this information how do I feel?  Great!  I feel like that guy in the ad who turns in his kilt for lederhosen.  And now I want to join Ancestry.com since they're telling me I have a couple of first cousins I didn't know about.

And, since I'm neither French Canadian nor Native American, I'm a whole different person than I thought I was.


***

Joan of Arc

1923 film The Passion of Joan
of Arc

In 2006 Dave and I took the most romantic trip you could imagine.  We cruised the Seine River from Paris to La havre.  About half way we stopped at the ancient town of Rouen.  This is where Joan of Arc was burned at the stake.

I didn't know much about Joan at the time.  But we went to the lectures and visited the church that has been built at the old market place, right on the spot where Joan was martyred in 143l.  What I remember most was that "dressing like a man" was one of her big crimes, but she was burned by the church for being a heretic.

One of many performances of
"Voices of Light"

Last night we went to the Rollins College campus to see a sold out performance of "Voices of Light," performed by the Bach Festival Society, presented in partnership with Gladdening Light, an initiative that explores the connection of art and spirituality.

Me saying hi to Dave. 

The different and amazing thing about "Voices of Light" is that it presents the 1928 silent film, "The Passion of Joan of Arc," which depicts her trial and execution using actual transcripts,  along with the magnificent music of the Bach Choir, orchestra end Rollins College Choir.  Many people were weeping during the performance.

Joan saw visions, was a teenage military leader (hence the men's clothing that protected her;) was judged to be a heretic, was martyred in the most despicable and brutal way - and then was made a saint.

I was grateful to have this solemn, magnificent, spiritual experience last night.  And I was grateful eight years ago to have had one of the first of my many awesome trips with Dave.  After our  2009 cruise in France, we spent a few extra days in Paris.  We stayed at the very small, very French, Hotel Jeanne D' Arc.

The French love their Joan.


***

Healthy Bodies and Brains

Throw This Away

Yesterday Dave and I attended a lecture by Marian Chase.  She owns Pro-Active Health Orlando and, as such, is an expert on heading off bad health stuff at the pass.  Yesterday she was emphasizing brain health, but her presentation applies to everybody.

While I picked up (and have acted on) some of her ideas, others are just too hard.  I don't know how any regular person could accomplish it.  Here are some examples from her handout.

Eat:

• Wild cold water fish, salmon, anchovies, sardines
• Free Range beef and pork 
• Wild blueberries, cranberries, blackberries
• Green veggies
• Deeply colored fruits
• Organic eggs
• Coconut oil, olive oil
• Nuts, seeds

Most of this seems doable to me and I have revised my grocery list.  However, the next part does not seem doable.

Eliminate:

• Processed food
• High fructose corn syrup
• Store bought cookies, cakes, breads, crackers and cereal (everything that comes in a box)
• All wheat products (unless you get your wheat from Europe)
• Aluminum, including baking soda, pots, deodorant, antacids
• Artificial sweeteners
• Glad plug ins, scented candles, dryer sheets, hand sanitizer, antibacterial soaps

We all know I am never again going to bake a cake or cookies, and I'm certainly not going to make our own cereal.  So I never have them again?  Very sad for me.  I can't wear deodorant?  Very sad for you.

There were some good suggestions for getting enough sunshine, exercise, sleep, prayer and meditation.  Also know your numbers. Dave and I already do these things pretty well.

She had great suggestions for supplements but we'd have to be richy, rich to use all of them.

I know Marian Chase is right about most everything but until our culture accepts these new paradigms I don't know how we can go it alone.

Here's my take-away.  We can eat even more fruits and veggies.  Today we had sandwiches but I bought fresh, thin sliced bread from the bakery.  I'm thinking about replacing some of our pans with stainless steel but it's expensive and everything sticks to the bottom.

In the meantime, I think I'll just hang with the Apostle Paul's, "All things in moderation."


***

Do You Have a Mentor?

Monday night my amazing Forum group met for dinner with a group of young adults - who call themselves Kinfolk - to discuss mentoring. I had the privilege of telling a short story about a time when someone mentored me in a powerful way.

Here it is.

In 1969 my husband, Ken, graduated from Candler, the Methodist seminary at Emory University in Atlanta.  We were immediately sent to Florida where he would be the associate pastor at  Park Temple Methodist Church in downtown Fort Lauderdale.

I had just spent the prior year working at Emory, earning a P.H.T. (Putting Hubby Through.)  We had two little kids - and I was pregnant.  And I was tired.  However, I was feeling like there was something more I should be doing with my life.  I had no idea what.

Soon this couple befriended our family.  They were older, elegant, southerners.  He was quiet and dignified but an excellent leader in the church and, most important to me, a great encourager.

For instance, I didn't have a car so they invited me to use their son's car for the summer since he was away.  I declined, telling them I couldn't drive a stick shift.  My friends' reply was, "Of course you can."  And the next day they delivered the car to my door.  I drove it all summer.

At some point a hand full of folks asked me to start a new adult Sunday school class.  At that time the Methodist Church had just come out with new material.  I loved it.  It was interactive and exciting.  Instead of a person standing in front lecturing, we broke up into discussion groups and asked each other questions (and listened to the answers.)  What a concept.  I was totally energized.  The class grew and I grew.  (Not only was I growing as a person but I was growing another person inside me who turned out to be Sarah.)

Then one day my friend called and asked if I would come to his company and do the series we'd just finished in class for his staff.  What?  Of course I would.  I wasn't nervous.  I was excited.  And when it was over I knew I'd experienced a significant life change.  But I didn't know exactly how.

But my friend wasn't finished with me.  A few weeks later he called to ask when I would be submitting my bill.  What?  So he mentored me through that process as well.

Forum and Kinfolk last Monday night.

And for 30 years, besides being the wife of a high powered, high maintenance Methodist minister, the mother of four children, and teaching adult Sunday school almost every week, I had a career as a consultant and platform speaker in churches and non-profits, and corporations and conventions - pretty much doing the same kinds of things we did in that first Sunday school class.

I'm so grateful my friend saw my potential and mentored me - and I have spent a lifetime trying to do the same for others.


***

Kappy's USA

After listening to a loving, unifying sermon this morning Dave and I went - for the very first time - to Kappy's for a Philly cheese steak sandwich.   Kappy's, which is right up the street from some of the most yuppie places you can imagine (unless you live in Seattle,) and about a mile from our house is - by their definition, a downscale landmark.

Dave Placing Our Order

A diner, built in 1969 and backing up to the railroad tracks, it's been unchanged for 50 years.  The owner, Bob Caplan's, motto is "If it ain't broke, don't fix it."

It's tiny, with maybe a dozen bar stools inside and four picnic tables in the parking lot.  I drive by it all the time.  Sometimes the parking lot has a few Harleys and pickups along side one or two Volvos.

We sat outside (in the parking lot.)  Across from us were two attractive young women.  They could have been two "Maitland Soccer Moms."  That's what the women who live in Maitland and live a certain lifestyle are affectionately called.

But I don't think so.  The one sitting opposite me was wearing a pink camouflage cap and her t-shirt had a drawing of the outline of Florida but was actually a semi-automatic weapon.  Below it was "Welcome to the Gunshine State."

The cheese steak sandwich was really, really good.


***

Evolution and Diversity

Another "Thinking Person's" Cartoon
from the New Yorker

 I am currently reading Richard Rohr's new book, "Divine Dance."  No, it's not about hip-hop or jitter-bug.  It's about our triune God.  Father Rohr draws from scripture, theology, mystics, philosophers and sages throughout history.

For me, it's a struggle to read.  So I'm taking it slow - reading three or four pages and day and trying to grasp just that meaning.

We like control:  God, it seems, loves vulnerability.

The other day I was with a person I love.  But some folks think he's a bit controlling.  We were talking about a another person with problems whom we both love and he said, "Five years ago I would have told him exactly what to do.  But now I don't know."

Wow!  I was amazed with his vulnerability in telling me this.  And the older I get the more I realize I don't have all the answers - and never did.

God endlessly creates and allows diversity.  All you need to do is look at the animal world, the world under the sea, hidden little insects, or all the human beings in a grocery store - who of you looks alike?

God clearly loves diversity.  In all creation , is there any evidence to show that God is into uniformity?  We like it because it gives the ego a sense of control - a false one.  And we so constantly substitute uniformity for unity, obedience for love, and conformity for true loyalty...

God isn't sameness. 

OK, guys, that's about all the big thinking we can handle for today.


***

Janet Reno

Janet Reno died yesterday.  She was, in my estimation, our most influential, high powered, independent, integrity filled, (but highly controversial) attorney general in our history.

She was also one our of most quirky Floridans. I like that about her as well.  Janet was 6 feet, 2 inches tall and a self described "awkward old maid."  Her parents were journalists in Miami but we Floridans remember wild stories about the three of them.  Janet's mother wrestled alligators and they had a family of peacocks - all named Horace.  I remember that, after she retired Janet and her mom reportedly built a house - all by themselves!

Janet Reno went to Cornell and then Harvard Law School at a time that women didn't do that, especially, 6 feet, 2 "folksy" old maids from South Florida.

As attorney general she was involved in the capture and conviction of huge number of high profile criminals, including:

• the Branch Davidians
• the Unabomber 
• Timothy McVeigh
• 1993 World Trade Center bombers

Janet looks like she's going to beat up Will
Farrell and she certainly could have if she
 chose to. 

And who could ever forget the unbelievably cute little Cuban refugee, Elian Gonzalez?  His photo was in our papers every day for months.  After the death of Elian's mother, Janet managed to get him reunited with his dad in Cuba.  

Janet knew who she was and was comfortable with herself.  She had a great sense of humor and even enjoyed Will Farrell's parity of her on SNL. "Janet Reno's Dance Party"  was sometimes pretty brutal but at the end of her term she appeared on the show.  I remember she came crashing through a wall, wearing the same suit as Will. 

Here are a couple of Reno quotes that I hope apply to me as well:

• I'm just delighted to be here, and I'm going to do my level best.
• I'm not fancy.  I am what I appear to be.
• If you stand on principle, you'll never lose. 

No matter how you felt about Janet Reno, Florida has lost a treasure.

***

Sidewalk Art

It's that time of year again when students decorate the sidewalks in Winter Park's Central Park with replicas of famous paintings.

There's something magical about it.  Remember in the film Mary Poppins when Bert jumped into the sidewalk painting and took us on a great adventure?

This morning we arrived early so we saw only partially done work.  But it was exciting.  Dave would love to do it - but kneeling on a sidewalk in the hot sun for four or five hours isn't in the cards for either of us.

So we just enjoy the work of these young people.

Bert taking us on an adventure.

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Kurt Vonnegut in Indianapolis

Massachusetts Avenue in Indianapolis

A couple of nights ago Dave and I watched "Kurt Vonnegut's Indianapolis" on PBS.  As you may remember,  I'm from Indianapolis and Vonnegut was my very favorite writer when I was in my 20s.  His novels were weird and revolutionary and hysterically funny - in an extremely disrespectful way.

The PBS special reminds us that Indianapolis did not care for Kurt Vonnegut early on.  He left as a young man and never moved back.  But he loved his friends and family and loved his high school, Short Ridge.  (Short Ridge and my high school, Arsenal Tech, were arch rivals.)

Apparently, the folks in old Indianapolis just didn't "get" Vonnegut.  He came from a wealthy family of architects and hardware store owners.  Kurt Vonnegut did not follow the rules.

If you want to really hurt your parents, and you don't have the nerve to be gay, the least you can do is go into the arts.  I'm not kidding. The arts are not a way to make a living.  They are a very human way of making life more bearable.  Practicing an art no matter how well or badly, is a way to make your soul grow, for heaven's sake.  

Vonnegut's quote above is one of things that helped me get into expressing myself through poetry.  But I'm sure these words weren't well received in some circles.

And how would you like him giving your kids this advice?  We have to constantly be jumping off cliffs and developing our wings on the way down.

I'm happy to say that, over the decades, Indianapolis has become way more sophisticated and has wholly embraced this American icon.


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Panua

Kenya kids who are heads of households

About 15 years ago a woman in my church came home from a trip to Kenya and couldn't stop talking about it.  When I heard her speak I said to the person next to me "We're going to Africa."  I didn't mean me personally.  But I've gotten to go vicariously many times since then.

Our church has a phenomenal ministry in Naivasha, Kenya.  If you want to know more about it look up Panua Partners in Hope.

Cess and Johm

I love that, at this church, you can be part of life changing experiences - no matter your age, your sex, your wealth, your politics or your theology.

We've just had a full week of celebrating Panua.  Yesterday morning Dave and I, and about 250 other people, participated in a Panua 5K Run.  It was so much fun!  Full disclosure - Dave and I didn't run.  We
walked.  I walked fast.  Dave held back a little because he wanted to walk with our friend who had some breathing issues.  Folks were congratulating Dave because he was the oldest participant in the 5K.  But it's no big whoop because we walk three miles every Saturday morning - but not for an amazing cause and not with hundreds of friends.

What a wonderful and  amazing morning.  What a wonderful and amazing world.


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In the Beginning Was the Relationship

All theological language is an approximation, offered tentatively in holy awe. - Richard Rohr

I've just started reading Richard Rohr's book The Divine Dance. He's a favorite of many of my smart friends but I've never read his works.  All I knew was that he's a Franciscan priest and writes really deep stuff.

So I wasn't sure.  Especially since this book's sub title is "The Trinity and Your Transformation."  Oh, oh!  But then I read the quote above and felt better.

I'm loving the book!  It starts out talking about those three angels who visited Abraham and Sarah and how they represent the Trinity - a concept that never entered my mind.  Rohr tells us about a fifteenth century piece of art by Andrei  Rublev  called "The Trinity," which features these angels.  The icon also features three predominate colors:

• Gold represents perfection, God, the ultimate source. 
• Blue - the color of the human, Jesus, and
• Green -  represents the photosynthesis, precisely the work of the Holy Spirit.  

So here are the three angels eating and drinking and enjoying themselves.

"In the beginning was the relationship."


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Why Young Adults Aren't Getting Married

As you well know, I like being married to Dave.  Since Adam and Eve we've used marriage as the model of how human beings should live.  "Man finds a mate."  Done!  Of course, neither Jesus nor the Apostle Paul were married, and John Wesley, the inspiration for the world wide Methodist movement, had a sketchy marriage.

As it turns out the marriage issue is very complicated and ever changing.  We were led to believe that people, particularly women, were hot wired to find a mate and reproduce.  Now we learn that a quarter of young adults (millennials) don't want to get married at all.  For those who do, they're waiting longer than ever.

So, what's up with that?

Michele Sudia, author of Miss Millennia Magazine has come up with 15 reasons why young adults are more and more disenchanted with marriage.   Here are a few of her ideas.

• Marriage is not necessary in a women's life to be successful.  
• Millennials are children of divorce.  Children of divorce tend to have more relationship issues. 
• Most millennials are in debt.  The average cost of a wedding is $26,000.  
• Since time began people have been getting married because a baby was coming.  "They had to get married" was a common assumption when babies arrived a few months after the wedding.  Contraception has changed this paradigm. 
• Sudia tells us:  "...marriage isn't the first step of adulthood...a degree is."  And with the degree comes those crippling student loans.
• Casual sex is readily available via the Internet.
• Careers are stressful.  Weddings cause more stress. 
• The traditional concept of marriage where women are property of their families, and are transferred to their husbands, is no longer appealing.  
• Marriage laws force couples to share debt and make divorce extremely expensive for both partners. 
• Many people don't like living with other people.  They like being alone - and it's become socially acceptable. 

Despite all of the above being true, I think the majority of us enjoy traveling though life with a mate.  I know I do. 

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Hard to Get There

Cartoon from this week's New Yorker

Decades ago, when I lived in Fort Lauderdale, there was a popular restaurant that everybody raved about.  But the thing was, you had to drive a long way on a dirt road then board a little barge that carried 20 people, to an island where this ramshackle restaurant awaited us.  We lined up on the pier and waited, both coming and going.  We all thought it was great and when friends came to town, that's where we took them.

A while back I told you about the restaurant in upstate New York that has an eight year waiting list.  People fly over from Europe, then find transportation for the two and a half hour trip to Damon Baehrel.  (That's the the name of both the restaurant and the chef.)  There are restaurants all over the world that are famous for being hard to find.

And don't get me started on destination weddings.

Seriously, what's wrong with us?


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Tony Campolo

Tony Campolo

The gospel is about grace and we all know that grace is about us receiving from God blessings that we don't deserve.  - Tony Campolo

I was excited last night to get to see Tony Campolo at my church.  I've just finished reading his best seller, "Red Letter Revolution." Tony is a world famous (in some circles) speaker, writer, sociologist and professor emeritus at Eastern University.  He's also highly controversial in evangelical circles.  Here are a couple of personal observations about Tony Campolo.

Tony Campolo or Don Rickles?

First, his communicating style is fantastic.  To me, it's a cross between Don Rickles and Lewis Black.  Why is this important?  He's over 80 years old and he still has over 300 speaking engagements a year.  He's been on the Colbert Report, The Carlie Rose Show, Nightline and Crossfire, to mention a few.  His book is endorsed by Bono.  He's in the mainstream. His message does not appeal to everybody but he's so entertaining folks are attracted to him even if they don't agree with him.

So what's the big deal that makes some fellow evangelicals dislike him?  His theology reminds me of my husband Ken Crossman's theology.  Ken was often called a Bleeding Heart Liberal.  He took it as a compliment.  But he certainly was not "liberal" in his theology.  He believed every word Jesus said.  He was part of the "Red Letter Revolution" well before Tony wrote the book.  Unlike most of today's evangelicals, Tony (and Ken) are primarily about taking care of the poor and marginalized people in the world.

Why?  Because Jesus says so.


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Cracker Cows

Bossy

As I was riding one morning for pleasure
I spied a young cowboy a riding along,
His hat was throw'd back and his spurs was a jingling'
and as he was riding he was singing this song.

Whoopee ti yi yo, get along little dogies,
It's your misfortune ain't none of my own
Whoopee ti yi yo, get along little dogies,
You know that (Florida) will be your new home.  - The Weavers

My son, Scott and his lovely wife, Sherry, who live in a house with running water and a cement pond, and really love gourmet food and fine wines, etc., recently bought an 800 acre ranch.  It's pristine Florida land with a seven mile fence line, with almost nothing man made on it.  And now they have about 50 or so Cracker Cows, all named, happily living there.   And I wouldn't be surprised if the two of them will be happily living there at some point.  But for now they are happily waiting for the old double-wide across the road re-do so they can spend quality weekends with their cows.

Latest Delivery

As you know, I like Florida history and have great respect for the Crackers who hacked their way through this harsh state prior to air conditioning.  But, until recently, I had never heard of Cracker Cows.  In a nutshell, they were brought over by the Spanish Conquistadors in the 16th century.  They are small, bony, beautifully colored, long horned, cows that can survive in our harsh heat.  Also, like the Royals, they are of pure linage.  And they're on the endangered species list.  (Only for the cows it's call the "Critical" list.)  However, Scott and Sherry's cows are happily roaming free and having babies, just like they did in the 16th century.

Scott has always loved the outdoors and, for years, dreamt of being a cowboy.  Sherry's the one who's surprising me.


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Community Fest

Last night Dave and I had our annual ride on the Ferris
Wheel at the Saint Mary Magdalene Catholic Church CommunityFest.  As I've told you before, I used to drive by this neighborhood festival with its carnival atmosphere and wish I could be a part of it, knowing there was no way.

But then I met Dave and he's taken me on Ferris Wheels around the world.  And when I told him about my last ten years of care giving and missing out on this neighborhood fun he said, "Why don't we go every year till we can't go anymore."

And we have.

We wait until dark so we can enjoy the midway lights and then walk the ten blocks or so to the event. Thousands of folks attend over the annual three day period.  Besides riding the Ferris Wheel we watch the band play for a bit, watch the adults and kids on scary rides, visit with neighbors who are there, and eat something crazy.

Last night we watched them make funnel cakes and fried candy bars.  They dipped the Snickers Bars in the funnel cake batter and dropped them into the same boiling grease as the cakes, pulled them out when thy were crispy and doused them with powderer sugar.

We didn't eat anything that crazy.


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Hurricane Matthew is Finally Over

Most of Florida seriously dodged a bullet last week.

The very worst part for us was losing power from last Thursday night to late Sunday afternoon.  It caused discomfort and serious boredom what with living in a hot, dark, silent house.  Not to mention loss of showering.

Our minister told a story on Sunday that helped me immensely.  He flew into town from Chicago last Thursday and thought he'd better fill his truck with gas.  He visited a few stations.  No gas.  Then found a Wawa that was still pumping.  Only the line was around the building and down the street.  He got in line - and waited.  When he got to the pump he had his daughter get out and pump fast so as to not hold up the line behind them.  (He is recovering from foot surgery so is on crutches.)  When she finished he tried to start the car.  No dice.  It was dead.  

Then he went on the preach his sermon on Naomi and Ruth.  This is a story about getting through really hard times.

In the end he went back to his own story.  So he and his daughter are sitting at the pump unable to move the car.  Will those behind him emerge from their cars with pitchforks and torches?  No.  Folks emerged to push the car to another spot.  AAA arrived in 15 minutes, installed a new battery, and they were on their way. 

Wow, That story helped me.  It's tough when things go wrong and you have no idea how or when they'll get right again.

But they almost always do get right again.


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Remembering

Hurricane Matthew is on its way.  This morning when I talked with my son we reminded each other of the three hurricanes of 2004 and how the one coming up tonight might help erase some of those memories.

My husband, Ken, was near death, suffering dementia, pretty much unable to walk and in a hospital bed in our condo.  But he wasn't aware of any of these things.  So when the three Orlando hurricanes of 2004, Charley, Frances and Jeanne came and went, they left me, and our whole family, traumatized.

This time it's different.  Our hatches are battened down.   Our batteries, flashlights and radios are lined up in the kitchen.  Our hurricane door is ready to be lowered.  We've had a pleasant day.  We walked in a near empty mall this morning.  Dave had his usual Thursday afternoon cribbage game with Art at the kitchen table.  We've encouraged friends and neighbors to be ready.  Many prayers have been offered for all those who've been affected and will be affected by Hurricane Matthew.

In 2004:

• Hurricane Charley was a nightmare in my house.
• Three weeks later while Hurricane Frances was whipping up, Ken died in his bed.
• Two weeks after that Hurricane Jeanne arrived at a sad and lonely time. 

Tomorrow will be what it will be.  But tonight I am feeling blessed.


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Playing God

Jerika Bolen

Jerika Bolen was a beautiful - inside and out - 14 year old girl.  She also had type a spinal muscular atrophy, a brutal disease that left her in constant pain.  She never walked and could move only her head and hands.  For her entire life she suffered in ways that we cannot imagine.

Jerika's "Last Dance"

We became aware of Jerika when she announced that she had made the choice to enter hospice and let the disease take its course without further aggressive treatment.  But before that the wonderful folks in Appleton, Wisconsin, where she lived, fulfilled her dream of going to prom.

There has been much controversy about Jerika, a young teen, being able to make this choice.  But, by law, anyone has the right to accept or refuse medical treatment.

Some in the religious community have condemned her (and her mother) for "playing God" with her life.  I, on the other hand, think that our ability to extend life by artificial and cruel means, discounting any quality of our lives and refusing to offer up alternatives like palliative care is, in fact, playing God.

Rest in peace, Jerika



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