Breathing Under Water

I'm reading this devotional by Richard Rohr.  It's based on AA's twelve steps.  I've used several devotionals over the years based on the steps.  I like hard hitting devotionals.  If the devotional has a picture of puppy dogs or flowers on the front I'm probably not going to like it.  I like my devotionals down and dirty.

Rohr's book is based on a poem by Carol Bieleck.  I love the poem.  It's most likely about addiction.  I'm not dealing with addiction but I believe the poem is about me.

I'm a planner who likes to live a nice orderly life. I like to anticipate the future and get ready for it.  But then, bang, what was "over there" comes "right here." And  I find myself in a place I never though I'd be.

This year I need to learn how to be eighty.  And probably learn, once more, to breathe underwater.

I hope you'll read the poem.  It might be about you too.

Breathing Under Water by Carol Bieleck.

I built my house by the sea.

Not on the sands, mind you;

not on the shifting sand.

And I built it of rock.

A strong house

by a strong sea.

And we got well acquainted, the sea and I.

Good neighbors.

Not that we spoke much.

We met in silences.

Respectful, keeping our distance,

but looking our thoughts across the fence of sand. 

Always,  the fence of sand our barrier, 

always, the sand between. 

And then one day,

-and I still don't know how it happened-

the sea came. 

Without warning.

Without welcome, even

Not sudden and swift, but a shifting across the sand

   like wine,

less like the flow of water than the flow of blood.

Slow, but coming.

Slow, but flowing like an open wound. 

And I thought of flight and I thought of growing

   and I thought of death.

And while I thought the sea crept higher, till it

   reached my door.

And I knew then there was neither fight, nor death

   nor drowning.

That when the sea comes calling you stop being

    neighbors

Well acquainted, friendly-at-a-distance, neighbors

And you give your house for a coral castle,

And you learn to breathe underwater.


***

A Scary Christmas Story

Last night we had dinner with family members.  My 30 year old grandson, whom I'm wild about, told us an interesting Christmas story.  Earlier in the day he dressed up as Santa Claus to take gifts to some of his clients.  This included the whole shebang; big red suit, hat and white beard.

Before visiting the clients, Santa went to the supermarket to purchase some items, then took them to his truck.  While loading them in the back he laid his wallet and phone on the truck bed.

Oh, oh, you know where this is going, don't you?

After driving a while he needed to make a phone call - but no phone.  And no wallet.  Where were they?  Santa headed back to the market, hoping and praying he'd left them where he checked out and the cashier had them.

But, of course, she didn't.

So he got back in the truck and tried to replace his steps.  Finally (and this is amazing) he saw the phone on the street, looking like it had been run over several times.  Santa stopped the truck in heavy traffic, jumped out and grabbed the phone.

Then he saw the wallet!

He grabbed it off the busy street, looked it over, but "oh, no,!" the contents (credit cards, driver's license and all of the essential things we carry in our wallets) where GONE!  It looked just like somebody had picked up the wallet, emptied it, and threw it away again.

So here Santa is standing in the middle of a busy street with his empty wallet.

But then, amazingly, almost magically, he could see a trail of cards blowing down the street.  And so, on foot, weaving in and out of traffic, he managed to find almost everything.

People are probably still talking about the crazy Santa on Highway 436.

It was a modern Christmas miracle that it all came together.  And here's an additional one.  His phone had a great protective case on it so it was working fine when he was telling us this story last night.

Merry Christmas.


***

It's The Real Thing!

Did you know that, since 1930 Coca Cola has had 48 tag lines?  "It's the Real Thing" is from 1969. The current tag line is "Taste the Feeling."

When I was young I drank Coca Cola and loved it.  Later I drank Diet Coke.  Later still I drank Diet/Caffeine Free Coke.  Now I drink water or wine.  (These were Jesus' two favorite drinks.)

But we still keep Cokes in the fridge.  And it's a good thing because you never know when you'll need one.  We all know that Coke is good for cleaning your car battery and your hair and clogged drains. (But I'm not sure about washing my hair with something that's supposed to remove hair.  I've read that some veterinary offices pour Coke in their drains on Friday night and by Monday morning all the animal hair is gone!)  Coke helps get rid of lice.  And it's used at crime scenes to remove blood stains.

As you know, I love The People's Pharmacy.  Over the years they've reported that patients have had success using Coke for varied medical purposes - like getting rid of kidney stones and cleaning feeding tubes.

And now, just in time for the holidays, when we tend to wolf down big meals, readers are saying that Coke can save you when you have a big chunk of meat stuck in your throat.   Don't try it if you're choking and can't breathe.  Call 911 or have somebody "Heimlich" you.  But if the meat's down there in your esophagus and won't budge, take a drink of ice cold Coke.  The People's Pharmacy readers swear by it.  And even if it doesn't work, it's refreshing.


***

No Time For Lemon Session

In high school, in the 50s, I was in one of those girl's clubs where it was common to have "Lemon Sessions."  One of the girls would sit in the middle of a circle and the others would each tell her things they didn't like about her.  It served no purpose and was petty and hurtful.  



I've been kind of glued to the TV the last couple of days listening to the Republicans and the Democrats come together to pay tribute to George Herbert Walker Bush.  I've loved every heart warming speech.  In hearing the love and adulation being poured out for President Bush, I've felt, for the first time in a while, that not only do these leaders truly care for him, but maybe they even care a little bit for me.

And I've felt myself caring for them.

I loved hearing Mike Pence tell about how President Bush, only a few short months ago, sent a note to the vice president's son, and how much it was appreciated.  I loved hearing Paul Ryan tell about how President Bush taught him how to campaign for office - one person at a time.

I loved President George W. Bush telling us what words his dad had for him when he was having difficulty in the White House.  The words were "I love you."

I loved seeing Bob Dole being lifted up from his wheelchair by his caregiver so that he could solute his commander-in-chief on last time.

I was even feeling concern last night for Dick Cheney when he was in obvious discomfort being interviewed by Wolf Blitzer in the freezing cold.

Don't get me wrong.  I have problems with all of these folks, including. President Bush.  He and I were not on the same page on many issues.  But now is not the time for criticism.  Now is the time for mourning and celebrating a great man.

The first half of Joshua Johnson's excellent PBS radio show, 1A. this morning was a discussion on the American Disabilities Act.  George H.W. Bush made that happen.  The second half was on the concept of whether or not the country should deal, this week, with both the good and bad he accomplished.  Should we remind people of his failures and flaws right now, along with the heart felt speeches?

I say no.  We need to mourn and celebrate.  Let's continue to have a national group hug at least through Wednesday.  We need it.  This is no time for a lemon session.


***

Two Dishwashers

Several years ago, my guess is about 2001,  I was taking my husband, Ken, to dialysis treatments three times every week.  One day, in the waiting room, I met a delightful woman named Anna.  Anna was an older, elegant looking African American dialysis patient. We arrived at about the same time on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays.  The first dialysis shift started at 6 A.M. but we had to be there at 5:30.  The patients were called in one or two at a time to get hooked up to the machines that cleansed their blood for several hours.  Ken was a big guy and Anna was a tiny woman so his time on dialysis was significantly longer than hers.

So after Ken was wheeled in Anna and I shared stories in the waiting room.  Anna spent most of her adult life working for a wealthy white woman who lived half of the year in a big house here in Central Florida.  The woman loved to entertain and Anna was proud of the kitchen she was assigned to preside over.  She told me several times that it was so big it had two dishwashers.

In the winter months Anna kept the dishwashers busy because the woman of the house loved to entertain.  When I asked Anna what she did in the summer months she told me about polishing the silver.  She'd sit at the dining room table with mounds of silver piled around her.  She expressed pride in how she would polish and carefully wrap a dozen punch bowl cups. She deep cleaned every room in the house so that when the lady returned the place was "dazzlin'."

Some days when Anna was finished with dialysis she went a little crazy for a time.  This was not unusual.  Ken did the same.  He wasn't usually wild or violet but his mind was garbled and he slept so soundly in the car coming home that I had to have help getting him into house and into his bed.

Anna, on the other hand, screamed in her dialysis stupor.  She reminded me of a baby seemingly screaming for no reason after you'd done everything you knew to do to quiet her.

One morning Anna told me, in a quiet matter-of-fact way, that "when the insurance runs out my family is going to let me go."  I didn't know what to make of this.  I already knew that some patients, at some point, opted to stop dialysis.  But at that time I had never heard of family members making the decision.  I also was well aware of the financial ramifications of years of dialysis treatment.  But Medicare usually took most of the burden.  For whatever reason; possibly because I was too tired, sad or confused, I never questioned Anna further.

A few weeks later, after not having seen Anna for several days I asked one of the nurses about her.  They said she was gone.  That was it.  She was gone.  For weeks later I had questions in my mind.  Could I have done or said something?  Should I have done or said anything?


***

The Ballad of Buster Scruggs

Dave and I love movies by film making geniuses, the Coen Brothers, Ethan and Joel.  Their latest is on Netflix.  What's it about?  The old West,  and how brutal and beautiful it was.  But to me, it's mostly about death and human nature and irony.  Oh, and it's also dripping with all kinds of symbolism and theological implications.  And it's funny.

The two hour plus film is divided into six totally different short stories.

1.  The Ballad of Buster Scruggs -  Buster is a happy go lucky singing cowboy; delightful and entertaining.  Oh, he's also a killer.

2.  Near Algodones - James Franco is a bank robber.  The story is short and to the point.  The arbitrary justice of the old West was swift.  So was Franco's life.

3.  Meal Ticket - Liam Neeson stars in this, one of the most disturbing, sad stories I've ever seen.  Somebody suggested that it's about the predatory nature of show business.  I think it's way more than that.

4.  All Gold Canyon - An old prospector pans for gold.  The old West is stunningly beautiful until human beings show up.

5.  The Gal Who Got Rattled - This is a sweet love story about a quiet young women who kept her wits about her until the one time she didn't.


6.  The Mortal Remains - The entire story takes place in a stage coach.  Spoiler alert:  I think they're all dead.

If you watch The Ballard of Buster Scruggs (and I hope you do) let me know what you think.  They're all great stories and great discussion starters.  What are they saying about human beings? About the natural world?  About God?  The only places you'll get answers are from having discussions with other people.  The Coen Brothers aren't talking.


***

Small Great Things

A couple of weeks ago, while we were crossing the ocean for seven days, I read Jodi Picoult's book, Small Great Things.  The title is from the Martin Luther King, Jr. quote "If I cannot do great things, I can do small things in a great way."

The Washington Post said that Small Great Things is the most important novel Jodi Picoult has ever written.  Jodi Picoult said of this book, "I think (social issues are) the whole reason for fiction: to get readers to address a topic they might shy away from non-fictionally."

It's a powerful book.  The three main characters are Ruth, a Yale educated African American nurse who is accused of killing a baby fathered by Turk, a white supremacist with swastika tattoos.  Kennedy is Ruth's public defender/lawyer who is basically clueless about what she's getting herself into.

Believe it or not, all three of them end up doing small, great things.

I'm writing this on Thanksgiving eve and I'm feeling grateful for so many people in my life who don't seem to tire of doing good.  But I am tired.  I don't do things anymore that others can do or (this is enlightening) don't need to be done.  But I can still do small,  (hopefully) great things.  One of the easiest is letting other people know when I see them doing small, great things.  They're all around me.

***

Did the Devil Really Make Me Do It?

Every Halloween we see kids dressed up like Satan.  It used to bother me but then I decided it might be therapeutic.  I'm currently reading a book that calls the whole Satan/Hell thing into question.   For most of my adult life I've listened to people with serious (but usually solvable) problems complain that "Satan is breaking up their marriages or causing their suffering in other ways.

I sometimes think that Satan gets a bad rap.  Is there a personality outside my own that "makes" me do stupid things or am I blaming my stuff on Satan so I won't have to take responsibility?

In Deepak Chopra's book, "Life After Death - The Book of Answers," he suggests we each have to decide if Satan is real.  I like this idea because I think we each have to grapple individually with our own personal theology.  For instance, I'm sometimes appalled when I'm reading lists of "What Christians Believe."  I know Christians who have maybe four beliefs in common; the rest of the list is up for grabs.

Deepak Chopra says Satan is real if you believe that you deserve punishment instead of healing.  So that guilt is projected upward onto demons instead of healed inside.

On the other hand, Satan is unreal if we feel we deserve healing instead of punishment and there is a believe in forgiveness, healing and atonement.

Of course, Evil, and our ability to hurt ourselves and each other, remains even after Satan is gone.  So we always have work to do.

***

Night Train to Lisbon

Dave's photo of Lisbon
a few days ago

We've been home from our European cruise for a week now.  This trip was, by design, laid back.  We knew we'd be spending many days on the ship so we prepared for it.  As it turned out, it rained the first few days so some of our port visits were short.

We were looking forward to Lisbon.  We've been there before so, this time, we wanted to go up and down the windy cobblestone streets without getting lost.  But it was raining the day we were there so we didn't spend as much time as we might have.  However, the gray day seemed right for Lisbon, a city full of intrigue.

Jeremy Irons in Lisbon

One of the great things about our ship was the availability of films.  Everyday was movie day on the big screen in the theater and all of the films shown there, plus many more, were available on the large flat screens in our staterooms.

So, after spending a while in rainy Lisbon we went back to the ship and watched the excellent film Night Train to Lisbon staring Jeremy Irons.  It took us right back to where we'd just been.


***

At Sea

Holland America's Oosterdam

Dave and I just returned from a 14 day cruise that began in Barcelona and ended in Fort Lauderdale.  The first seven days we visited ports in Spain and Portugal.  The last seven days we were at sea.

These repositioning cruises are economical because not many folks want to spend that much time in the middle of the Atlanta Ocean.

 What can you possibly do to have a meaningful and fun experience at sea for a week?  First, there are over 50 activities offered every day so there's lots to choose from.   But if you spend three hours eating and two hours exercising and playing cribbage, you don't need a whole lot to fill in the time.

The lectures and entertainment were non stop.  But what we enjoyed most was getting to know people from all over the world.  There were 43 countries represented on the ship.  Most of these were Americans and most of those were Floridians.  But we met Europeans who were coming to Florida to spend the winter just like people in this country do.

Dave celebrated his birthday on the ship.  He was surprised by a dozen Indonesian waiters singing a happy birthday song in their native language.  Since Dave was born in Malaysia, this was meaningful to him.  He loved talking with all of the Indonesian crew.

Everybody has a story.  We invited two ladies to sit with us one evening and discovered that one of them had planned the trip with her husband but he died suddenly so she came with her friend instead. We got to know another couple with whom we had much in common.  The husband had been a college professor, an attorney and the mayor of his small town for nine years.  Dave was on the planning commission for his town for 30 years.  They had stories to share.

 Holland America caters to oldies like us.  Some of us shared fun life stories.  Some of us shared sad life stories.  Some of us seemed to be aware that the meaningfulness of sharing was that we're nearing the final chapters in these stories of our lives.


***

Goudi's Unfinished Church

Several years ago Dave and I were in Barcelona for a day.  We got to visit the world famous Sagrada Famila (Sacred Family) Roman Catholic Church.   It was originally designed by Antoni Gaudi.   Even though it was started 130 years ago,  it's still unfinished.  In 1926 Goudi was walking to the church when he was hit by a tram.  The eccentric 73 year old world famous architect was mistaken for a homeless man and pretty much left to die.

But the building of the church goes on.  For instance, the church currently has eight towers - but when it's completed it will have eighteen towers.

I had heard of the church but had no idea what to expect.  I found it to be overwhelmingly over the top.  But then when we were able to see smaller areas of the facade we saw the life of Jesus depicted in sculpture.  We saw the Nativity, the Suffering and one called Glory that pretty much tells the entire Jesus story - life, death and resurrection  - in exquisite carvings.

 This was all on the outside of the church.  We never got inside.

Tomorrow David and I are taking an overnight flight to Barcelona.  We have our Sagrada Famila tickets and plan to spend a good portion of Saturday exploring the inside of this cathedral.  I'll let you know how it goes.


***

Loss

In last Wednesday's  "Life Changes" class that I'm currently leading along with our church Parish Nurse, Betsy, I asked folks to describe a specific loss.  It could be anything but needed to be stated as a loss.  For instance you may say you had an accident or received a bad diagnosis or your lover left you - but that's not the loss.  The result is the loss and being able to articulate your feelings of loss is, many times, the beginning of healing.  (I can't walk.  I'm depressed. I'm lonely and miss having dinner with my lover. ) 

The conversation on Wednesday was rich.  After a while a woman I've known for a long time - but not well - told us something that touched my heart.  Elynor told us that she'd just had to have her 17 year old dog, Mikey, put to sleep and, as you can imagine, she was devastated.

But that's not the part that got to me.  This is.  She went on to say that 17 years ago she was caring for her  husband and her mother, both of whom were terminally ill.  She was struggling.  Then one day she saw a sweet puppy in a pet store window and instantly fell in love.  She went in and inquired about him but was told that the owner was planning to give him to a friend.  So she went home empty handed.

But the next day Elynor, whom I would describe as a lovely, quiet woman, called the pet store and told the clerk they should not have put the puppy in the window if they weren't willing to part with him, and that the owner had a choice of all the other dogs to give to his friend...AND that she was coming back to get the puppy.

And she did. She named him Mikey after the popular television commercial at that time.  ("Give it to Mikey, he'll eat anything!")

Elynor's friends and family thought she was crazy to buy a pup when she was overwhelmed with caring for her dying husband and mother.  But for 17 years of the kinds of ups and downs that we all experience as we get older,  Mikey was Elynor's constant companion.

***

I wanted to write this the minute I got home last Wednesday but had to first get Elynor's permission.

Wait, Wait, It's Bill Kurtis

I love the super popular NPR game show "Wait, Wait, Don't Tell Me."  It's not so much a radio game show as it is a witty, intelligent discussion by a bunch of nerdy, smart, off-beat folks.  For a certain segment of America, "Wait, Wait..." has a wild cult-like status.  The audience treats the team like rock stars.

The host, writer and Harvard alum, Peter Sagal, is perfect.

Paula Poundstone

My favorite panelist is Paula Poundstone.  She's had a rocky road life which she still shares (worts and all) in her stand up.  On "Wait, Wait.." she entertains mostly by asking provocative questions of the guests - famous or not.  One of the things Paula is known for is her cats.  Peter Sagal once asked her how she could have 13 cats.  She said something like this - Well, Peter, I had 12 cats and then got another one.

When the long time announcer, Carl Kasell, retired I though he could never be replaced.  But (Oh My Gosh!) they hired Bill Kurtis.  I love Bill Kurtis.  He's old, almost my age.  But still has the magnificent voice that helped make him famous decades ago.  He has a law degree but news was always his game.  He broke through in 1966 when he took charge at the radio station when the terrible Topeka tornado came through.

And here's a coincidence, Bill Kurtis was raised in tiny Independence, Kansas, the same as Dave.  And his favorite high school English teacher was Miss Todd, i.e., Dave's Aunt Lora.

I mentioned all of this to my son the other day.  He doesn't know the game show and said he never heard of Bill Kurtis.  But then I reminded him that Bill Kurtis was in the Will Ferrell, "Anchorman" films.  So he did know him.

To spoof himself on "Wait, Wait..."  Bill Kurtis sometimes introduces himself as "Legendary Anchorman, Bill Kurtis."
 
But he's telling the truth.  That's exactly what he is.  But who knew he was so funny and entertaining?


***

Write What You Know

Trinity College Dublin recently presented writer Caitriona Lally with the prestigious Rooney Prize for Irish Literature for her book, Eggshells.  Over the years, winners have become some of Ireland's best- known writers.

Eggshells is about a woman who has no job, no friends and few social skills.  So she puts out an ad that reads:

WANTED:  Friend Called Penelope.  Must Enjoy Talking Because I Don't Have Much to Say.  Good Sense of Humor Not Required Because My Laugh Is A Work in Progress.  Must Answer to Penelope:  Pennies Need Not Apply.

To me, the book is about overcoming. The prize committee describes it as "a work of impressive imaginative reach, witty, subtle and occasionally endearingly unpredictable."

But here is the interesting part of awarding Caitriona Lally this prize.  They didn't have far to go to find her because, for the last 3 1/2 years, Lally, who has a 14 month old daughter,  has worked as a janitor at the college.

A 2004 graduate of Trinity College, Lally found herself unemployed in 2011.  It was then that she got the idea for Eggshells.  She describes it as:

...about a socially isolated misfit who walks around Dublin searching for patterns and meaning in graffiti or magic-sounding place names or small doors that could lead to another world.


***

Why Do I Relate More to Psychological Killers Than Troubled Families?

This summer, for my book club, I read three novels about families:  Maine by J. Courtney Sullivan is about three generations of troubled women who spend their summers at the family beach house.  Flight Patterns by Karen White is about a troubled family in Georgia with lots of secrets.  Little Fires Everywhere by Celeste Ng is about two troubled families in Shaker Heights.

Also this summer (as you know) I read several books by Stephen King.  While each of the "family" books had something to offer, I enjoyed King far more.  I just finished Finders Keepers. It was written in 2015, after his best seller Mr. Mercedes (which I loved.)

One of the cool things about King's novels is that they intertwine.  Early in Finders Keepers a Mercedes crashes into folks lined up for a job fair.  Wow, that's "Mr. Mercedes" driving that car.  And King's characters, like Mr. Mercedes's Hodges and Jerome,  are not confined to one book.  They show up to save the day in Finders Keepers as well.

Good.  I wasn't finished with them.

Finders Keepers deals with how reading great novels can change us forever, in both good and bad ways.  Stephen King is all about good and evil.  And about how some of us who see ourselves as good can do evil things.

And that's exactly what the two excellent theology books I've read this summer deal with as well.


***

Letting Off Steam

I've been laying low the last couple of weeks because I've felt like I have little to contribute to the public discourse.

• The country is falling apart.
• My denomination is falling apart. 
• Several of my friends and family members are falling apart. 

But today I was inspired by this cartoon in the New Yorker to let off some steam about containers that you cannot empty.

Frustrating!

It's not that I absolutely have to get every drop of lotion out of the bottle.  But, for years, I did.  Every cent counted.  I upended one ketchup bottle over the other, I added water to the kid's shampoo bottles. and I watered down the orange juice.  However, in my defense, I was concerned, even then, that an 8 oz. glass of a sugar loaded beverage every morning wasn't good for anybody, even if it was juice.   

Now I'm frustrated by the Fabreeze container.  It stops squirting when it's down about two thirds and it's all but impossible to get the lid off.  Likewise a myriad of other containers.  

This New Yorker cartoonist has confirmed what I've known for decades.  

As for our country, the United Methodist Church and the people I love who are suffering, God will ultimately prevail.  Until then I am here for you. 

***

Edna and Me

My candle burns at both ends;
It will not last the night;
But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends-
It gives a lovely light! - Edna St. Vincent Millay


I was in two separate gatherings today where I was reminded that we're all different.  And that's OK.  Fortunately, early this morning I was re-reading works from one of my favorite poets, Edna St. Vincent Millay.

Edna was a Pulitzer prize winning, feminist poet.  She was also "out there."  Her work showed it.  I, myself, am a writer/poet and feminist.  But I'm not like Edna.  I live in my head.  I like an ordered house and an ordered life.  One word to describe me would be "responsible."  One phrase to describe Edna would be "free spirit."

And yet she wrote a sonnet (I think in 1917) that describes my inability, at that time, to process sad, painful feelings. It gave me peace.  

IF I SHOULD LEARN, IN SOME QUIET CASUAL WAY

If I should learn, in some quiet casual way,
That you were gone, not to return again'
Read from the back-page of a paper, say,
Held by a neighbor in a subway train,
How at the corner of this avenue
And such a street (so are the papers filled)
A hurrying man, who happened to be you,
At noon today and had happened to be killed-
I should not cry aloud-I could not cry
Aloud, or wring my hands in such a place-
I should but watch the station sights rush by
With a more careful interest on my face;
Or raise my eyes and read with great care
Where to store furs and how to treat the hair. 

Following is the last stanza of one of Edna's poems that I think describes her but not me.  However, it gives me joy.

We were very tired, we were very merry,
We had gone back and forth all night on the ferry.
We hailed, "Good morrow, mother!" to a shawl-covered head,
And bought a morning paper, which neither of us read;
And she wept, "God bless you!" for the apples and pears,
And we gave her all our money but our subway fares. 


***

Creed

A formal statement of Christian beliefs especially the Apostle's Creed and the Nicene Creed. 

Over the years I've studied the creeds and I understand why they were necessary because early Christians were continually veering off into other traditions.  So, since around 390 A.D., we've had the Apostle's Creed - the gold standard of creeds.  The name implies that the Apostles wrote it down but since it came about centuries later I'm not sure.

Last Sunday our minister preached on The Apostle's Creed and finished by inviting us to write our own creed.  I decided not to do that because I always get myself into trouble when I do.

It's not that I don't take the creeds seriously, the problem is I take them very seriously. So I'm attempting to, once again, rewrite the Apostle's Creed.  Not for everyone.  Just for me.

It's not going well.  Here's what I have so far.

I BELIEVE IN GOD, THE FATHER ALMIGHTY, CREATOR OF HEAVEN AND EARTH.

Yes, I believe in the God who created the whole shebang but I'm hung up on the word "Father."  To me it connotes the concept of the Old Testament Patriarchal system where the father of the family controlled everybody and everything.  Why?  Because he could.  It was set up that way.  And I don't even want to get into the "Father" concept as it's currently relating to church.

My rewrite:  I believe in God who is the creator of the universe and all living beings.

I BELIEVE IN JESUS CHRIST, HIS ONLY SON, OUR LORD
WHO WAS CONCEIVED BY THE HOLY SPIRIT AND BORN OF THE VIRGIN MARY.

I believe that God sent Jesus Christ who was God and is God  (and who was born in unusual circumstance which I do not fully understand) to earth to show us who God is and who we are. 

HE SUFFERED UNDER PONTIUS PILATE, WAS CRUCIFIED, DIED AND WAS BURIED;

Jesus' life and teachings were revolutionary.  He suffered, was crucified, died, and was buried. 

HE DESCENDED INTO HELL

I've never understood that part.

THE THIRD DAY HE ROSE AGAIN FROM THE DEAD.  HE ASCENDED TO HEAVEN AND IS SEATING AT THE RIGHT HAND OF GOD THE FATHER ALMIGHTY, FROM THERE HE WILL COME TO JUDGE THE LIVING AND THE DEAD.

The third day he rose from the dead.  After a period of time in which he continued his revolutionary, counter culture teachings, he ascended to heaven and is with God and is God.  He loves the living and the dead.

I BELIEVE IN THE HOLY SPIRIT, THE HOLY CATHOLIC* CHURCH, THE COMMUNION OF SAINTS, THE FORGIVENESS OF SINS, THE RESURRECTION OF THE BODY AND THE LIFE EVERLASTING. AMEN.

I have issues with the holy catholic church (big C and little c) because the church is made up of humans and we humans continually make messes.  After decades of study I still do not know what "the communion of saints" and "the resurrection of the body" mean.

I believe in the Holy Spirit, which empowers me to live my best life when I allow it.  I believe in the forgiveness of sins and life everlasting.  Amen.

Conspiracy Theories

He's Alive!

Conspiracy theories, unlike other theories, are not based on facts.   They are a belief system. 

We've always had conspiracy theories but we're currently in a season where they've run amok on all sides of almost any big issue before us.  For instance we've always had theorists who believe that UFO's and Lizard People are real but deny that the moon landing and the holocaust happened.  But now new theories that scare the bejeebers out of us are coming out daily.

This morning's Orlando Sentinel ran a column by Joseph Uscinski and Casey Klofstad about how powerful we Floridians are in making national decisions while also holding onto our own wild and weird conspiracy theories.

Here are five of the theories they shared that are especially important to Floridians, and, more importantly, have been proven to be absolutely false:

• Hurricanes are controlled by the government.  14% agreed and 18% weren't sure.
• 
  
• The 2000 presidential election between Al Gore and George W. Bush was rigged?  29% agreed and 36% weren't sure.  '
• 
  
• Parkland and other mass shootings are hoaxes designed to take away our guns.  15% agreed and 17% weren't sure. 
• 
  
• Fidel Castro played a part in the assassination of John Kennedy.  24% believed Castro was involved and 43% weren't sure. 
• 
  
• After Walt Disney died his body was frozen and is kept on ice somewhere in Disney World.  41% were unsure. 

OK, I totally call shenanigans on this last theory.  Everybody knows that Walt Disney's body is not at Disney World.  It's just his head.  And it's suspended in a batch of cryogenic material in the basement of Cinderella's Castle until such time as it can be safely thawed out.  I thought everybody in Florida knew this.

***

The Return of the Prodigal Son

A picture which those who have seen the original in St. Petersburg may be forgiven for claiming as the greatest picture ever painted. - Kenneth Clark, Art Historian

Over the years I've written several blog entries about this painting.  It became real to me years ago when I was studying Henri Nouwen's book, The Return of the Prodigal Son.  In it he shares his profound spiritual experience when viewing the painting at the Hermitage in St. Petersburg, Russia.  In the study we learned all about Rembrandt's painting and the Bible parable itself, as well as the sometimes fragile spirit of Henri Nouwen.

Nouwen says this about seeing the original painting for the first time (even though he'd seen many reproductions:)

I was stunned by its majestic beauty.  Its size, larger than life; its abundant reds, browns and yellows; its shadowy recesses and bright foreground, but most of all the light-enveloped embrace of father and son surrounded by four mysterious bystanders, all of this gripped me with an intensity far beyond my anticipation.

He spent more than four hours with the painting that day.

And then, this amazing thing happened to me.  In 2012 David and I went to St. Petersburg and saw the painting.  I wasn't moved as much as Nouwen - but I was deeply moved.  I didn't understand my feelings and didn't have adequate words to describe them.

And now, on this Labor Day morning, when I got out of bed and looked at my phone, I saw that my son and his wife, who are traveling in St. Petersburg, were looking at the painting.  Their photo shows the outlines of the additional figures in the painting that we can't usually see in reproductions.

So now I can't get this painting out of my head - again.  Not that I even want to.  I think for the first time I'm allowing myself to be the child welcomed home by a loving parent - not something I ever experienced in this life - and it's almost too much for me.

Not only do some art scholars consider The Return of the Prodigal Son to be the greatest picture ever painted, most biblical scholars consider The Return of the Prodigal Son to be Jesus' greatest parable.


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Reincarnation is a Can Of Worms

The other day when we were having a lively discussion on reincarnation, Dave's son summed it up by saying "So I guess reincarnation is a can of worms."

 Exactly.

This discussion began by Dave saying (as he has many times) that he's loved his life so much that he wouldn't mind coming back and doing it all over again.  I can't even go there.  Too many variables.  I feel good about the life I've lived, mistakes, tragedies, victories, love - the whole shebang - but I would not want to do it again.

A few decades ago the reincarnation concept was extremely popular. I had more than one person tell me that the reason they were so in love with their soul mates that they had to have been hooked up somehow in past lives.  This was their "proof" of reincarnation.

Some time in the 1970s I finally got this out of my system by writing a poem.

REINCARNATION

The little things you do
Have such a profound effect
On my being
That it seems certain
Our lives have touched
In generations past. 

Ah, but here's the rub,
I didn't like you then, 
Either.

So, yes Jeff, reincarnation can be a Can Of Worms.

***

Babette's Feast

Babette's Feast, 1984 film

This past Sunday I had the privilege of leading the discussion in Forum.  I chose "Babette's Feast" the story and 1984 Academy Award winning foreign film as the centerpiece for our discussion.

While it's not overtly religious, this story is dripping with meaning.  Pope Francis loves it because of its profound depiction of grace and mercy.

Modern day "Babette's Feast"

In the film, set in the 1800s, Babette, who had once been a great chef in France but is now a long time servant in a small Danish village, discovers she's won the French lottery.  Before leaving the village she prepares a feast for these people for whom she's already served for many years.  They don't deserve it or even want it but she prepares it anyway.

And what a feast it is.  For several decades, around the world, serious foodies have tried to duplicate Babette's Feast.  Do you think you could prepare a meal, an experience, that would significantly change a person's life?  Has this ever happened to you?

In the end, Babette is unable to leave the village because she has spent her entire fortune on the feast. What's up with that?  More food for thought.


***

Gwendy's Button Box

As you know, this is my "Summer of Stephen King."  Earlier this week I read this slim, thought provoking novella written by King and Richard Chizmar.  I, frankly, didn't know what to make of it.

At first I thought it was a young reader's book - but it's not.  I was a bit confused but intrigued all the way through and was anxious to get to the end to see what the big secret was.  So I got to the end and - nothing!

It starts with, Gwendy, an unhappy, chubby twelve year old girl running up a long set of steep steps (called the Suicide Steps) in Castle Rock - a familiar Stephen King setting.  

I was reminded of the steep stone steps in Stillwater, Minnesota that Dave and I conquered a few times.  The view from the top was worth it.  

Gwendy meets a man in a black hat who gives her a magic box with buttons on the top for her to push at her own discretion.  Some are to be used for good - some not.  Gwendy is careful with the box throughout the story.  She rarely uses even the buttons that bring her good things.  Only once or twice does she use the buttons to bring destruction to others.  (The second time it was necessary to save her life.)

At the end of the story Gwendy is a college graduate headed for a wonderful life.  The man in the black hat returns to retrieve the box and she gives it to him.  It's secret is never explained!

WHAT?

So I've been forced to do the work myself.  First, I'm glad the protagonist is a young woman because I think the box is a symbol of empowerment.  We all have more power than we think - but many of us either misuse it or deny it.  How much power do we have to save ourselves or the world - or destroy ourselves and a bit of the world as well?

Where does this power come from?  How much of our life choices are our own doing or intervention from an unseen force?

I think, overall, Gwendy made good choices with the button box.  I hope, in the time I have left on this earth, I can continue, first, acknowledge that I still have power - and to push (mostly) the right buttons.


***

A Secret Life

Don't tell anybody but we've been watching Dexter on Netflix.  Dexter has a secret life.  He's a really nice guy but also a serial killer.  But the good kind who only kills really bad people.  Dexter is always under stress because he has to keep his secret life a secret.

I had a close friend who led a secret life.  Jean and I were roommates in a little apartment in downtown Indianapolis before I met my husband.  We also worked together.  She was attractive, smart and a very good person.  We remained friends for several decades.

Jean wore lovely clothes, make up and shoes.  She had an occasional glass of wine, something I did not do at the time.  We both saved our money but still had fun on the weekends playing sports in our shorts, t-shirts and white Keds - and flirting with young men.

Except every other weekend Jean went "home" to see her parents and siblings.  They lived in Southern Indiana and belonged to a strict religious group.  Some folks called it a cult.  The rules of living were severe, especially for women.  There were no movies, television, books or magazines.

On those "home" visits Jean wore no makeup or jewelry or pants/shorts.  She wore a long dark dress.  The only bridge in her appearance from one home to the other was her hair.  It was never to be cut.  She wore it wound up in a knot on top of her head.

In this particular form of Christianity women were to live and serve under the leadership of men.  Period.

Again, Jean lived like a normal young women in Indianapolis.  She had a few long term romantic relationships with regular, nice guys but never married.  After I left Indianapolis she worked for an international company and traveled to Japan often.  When I saw her in the early 1980s she looked great.

But then her father died and her mother needed assistance.  Jean quit her job and moved back home  to care for her mother until she passed away.  When I saw her in the 1990s in Florida everything had changed.  I was startled by her appearance.  She looked like an old lady.  She was depressed.   After all those years she had re-embraced the religion of her family.

 Jean told me that when her mother was very ill she'd made a deal with God that if he spared her mother for a while she would return to the fold.  So the price for having her mother around for a few extra years was was losing her freedom.  She was being monitored (my word) by her brother.

In 2005 I saw Jean for the last time.  While I was visiting Indianapolis I rented a car and drove to the small town where Jean was living alone in her mother's house.  I spent the night and when we went to bed I was bored out of my mind because there was nothing to read and nothing to watch.

The worst part of the visit was that it was clearly evident to me that Jean had dementia .

Is this what God wants for us?  Is this the abundant life?


***

Spiritual But Not Churchy

As you probably know, church attendance has been dropping over the decades.  For whatever reasons, going to church is not a big deal for many folks.  This morning in Forum a woman who is a hospital chaplain and attends Forum led us in a discussion on the subject "Spirituality and Religion."  Lots of stats and ideas on how to reach people who don't feel comfortable in church.

It reminded me of something my husband, Ken, did decades ago - long before social media.  He was an urban minister type whose heart was always with people on the fringe.  For a long time, while he was the lead pastor at a big old downtown church, he led a service very early on Sunday mornings at a drive-in theater.  This was in addition to his usual full load of services at the church.

Many years ago drive-in worship services were popular in many cities.  But this was after that phase had pasted.  When he started this service there was just a handful of people in individual cars but when he gave it up there was a community.

Ken stood in front of the screen and talked to people who had absolutely no intention of stepping inside a church.  And he never tried to make them feel guilty about that.  They drove up in bathrobes and muscle shirts.  Some people obviously had been up all night.  Four prostitutes in a big old Buick were regulars.

There was coffee at the concession stand but, in the beginning, most people did not want to socialize.  Sometimes there were free Crispy Cremes.  That got more out of their cars (many times padding over in their bare feet.) Ken always felt that his number one job was to show these people that he loved them.  Just like they were.

It finally came to a stop when the drive-in was sold to a developer.


*** 

From Pampering to Necessary Care

For most of my life I had neither the time nor the money for things like manicures or massages.  And, frankly, I thought they were kinda frivolous.  I could take care of myself!

Now I'm grateful for all the help I can get.

As we get old it's not so much the big stuff that steals our independence, it's the basic stuff that we need to keep up with.  What we used to call pampering becomes necessary.  And, unfortunately, much of it is not covered by insurance.

A year or so ago I had several sessions of acupuncture - the ancient art of sticking people with long needles.  It helped me deal with my Meniere's disease.

Dave and I regularly get pedicures together.  He used to go kicking and screaming but now he realizes how important it is for us oldies to keep our feet in tip top shape.  Pedicures, especially for older men,  are necessary.  I remember reading an article years ago about a doctor who made it his mission to care for the feet of homeless people.  He set up shop in public library restrooms where these people hung out.  If they wanted, he examined their feet and clipped their nails.  Most of us, if we live long enough, will come to the time when we can no longer clip our own nails.  It's humbling.

This leads me to my encounter on Thursday with Linda, my massage therapist.  The goal of therapeutic massage is to achieve structural changes.  I don't see Linda often but when I need her she's there. She has all kinds of credentials but what she has isn't as important to me as what she is.  Linda is a healer.

I had been having some serious back pain for a while.  Nothing I did would make it go away.  I'm not a fan of pain killers but  even resorted to Advil a few nights.  Finally, I spent an hour on Linda's massage table.  Was it pleasant?  Let's just remember there is a fine line between pleasure and pain.  As soon as I lay down Linda said, "Your back is twisted."  As she worked I was about to say "Uncle" a few times but we go through it.  I trust Linda. Thursday night I didn't sleep well.  Not only my back, but everything hurt a little.

But on Friday all of the pain was gone.


***

New Information VS Old Patterns

I'm still reading my book about very old people, "Happiness Is a Choice You Make."  Despite it's simple title, it's a complex book.

The other day I read something that I'd never thought about but it made perfect sense.

Neuroscientists often distinguish between information processing and pattern recognition.  These take place in different parts of the brain......Processing information requires a lot of brain energy; recognizing patterns requires relatively little.  

As we get older processing information becomes difficult.  Scientists and Creatives tend to do their best work in this area at an early age, say up to mid 40s.  Our brains just don't have the firepower for it as we get old.

That explains a lot!

But, thank goodness, we are able to rely more on experience and recognizing patterns.  For instance, an older doctor might be better at making a difficult diagnosis because he or she has seen the same set of symptoms over the years.  Apparently, unlike processing new information, recognizing old patterns doesn't decline as we age.

What does this have to do with me?

It helps me understand why I don't want to learn things like one more computer program (but I still do.)  It helps me understand why I don't want to try a new restaurant across town when I'm familiar with so many close by - and I know what I like at these various close by restaurants.

Our past experiences equip us to weather new storms.  As John Leland says:  If you lived through the Great Depression, you weren't so shocked when Lehman Brothers melted down. 


***

Plastic Straws

My niece put this subversive photo on her Facebook page.  It made me laugh out loud.  It seems like this clandestine "buy" will be soon be reality if we continue to vilify the lowly straw.

I consider myself an environmentalist but I just haven't be able to get my brain around the straw's ability to destroy the oceans and beyond.

And then this morning I read an article by columnist David Whitley that put it all together for me.  He states clearly what will happen if we continue to use straws.  Nothing!

Plastic straws count for at most 2,000 tons of the 9 million tons of plastic that enters the oceans annually.  That's .02 percent.  And the U.S. is responsible for about 1 percent of all plastic waste going into the oceans.  

Whitley goes on to say that, by far, the biggest polution source is fishing nets.  Also big on the list are cigarettes, plastic bottles, wrappers and bags.

So why are big corporations like Starbucks, McDonalds and Disney banning the lowly straw?  It makes no sense.  Whitley says that Starbucks is replacing straws with "Adult Sippy Cups."  There is more plastic in these lids than in the straws.

What's wrong with us?


***

Your Vote is Your Voice

I like having a voice.  That's one reason I write this blog.  It's also the reason I vote.  I've voted in almost every election since I've been eligible - and that's a very long time.  I've voted for Democrats, Republicans and Independents.

Compared to other 1st world countries, we Americans have a dismal voting record.  We do a lot of yelling but very little voting.

In the beginning only rich (land owning) white guys could vote.  Then, after the Civil War, the 15th Amendment, ratified in 1870, prohibited states from denying any male citizen from voting. Period!

However, it wasn't until the Voting Rights Act of 1965 - accompanied by blood, sweat and tears and in which I'm proud to say I had a small part -that African Americans were finally able to vote.

Likewise, in 1920, after a century of protest (including blood, sweat and tears,) women were able to vote.

It creams my corn when I hear some guy say that his family all voted for (fill in the blank.)  He doesn't know who his family voted for.  It's a secret ballet.  You can vote for whomever you want and nobody knows - unless you tell them.  And it's not polite to ask!

 I hope you are registered to vote.  If not, Google how to get registered.  If it seems hard there are loads of people who will help you.  Find a phone number on the voter registration page and call it or call your local party or the League of Women Voters.

Dave and I are early voters.  We receive the ballet in the mail.  I sit on the couch, look it over, and if I'm not sure about some race I look up the candidates to see what they stand for.  Do Dave and I vote for the same people?  I have no idea.  It's a secret ballet.

The Florida primary is August 28.  If you live elsewhere it's coming right up in your state as well.  And for you readers in other countries, let's keep our freedom by voting (although most of you do a much better job than we do.)


***

Living Like There's No Tomorrow

I had a pleasant lunch this week, with a woman I did not know, to talk over some new ideas.  I most likely won't be a part of this future endeavor - but I was happy to hear about it and make some suggestions.  But, to me, the fun part was talking and listening with a new person in my life.  We had each other's undivided attention.  I hope her project flies, but I enjoyed this experience all on its own.

Because I'm, more and more, into living in the moment.

That's one of the reasons I'm so enjoying the book I'm currently reading, "Happiness is a Choice You Make." Social scientists aren't sure why older people aren't more unhappy but that could be because these researchers study the problems not the richness of getting older.  Happiness to us oldies is usually what's happening now.  In other words:  Happiness is a state of living in the present.

When I was doing consulting work I used to emphasis this concept but younger people are always worrying about possessions and work and relationships they might have in the future.  The simple act of living in the moment by just listening carefully to what another person is saying is lost on most of us when we're younger.

Now I try not to spend much energy on people or things I don't care about.  For instance, mingling at cocktail parties, attending long, boring meetings and listening to people complain about silly things or things they can do nothing about are not things I choose to do very often these days.

I'm less interested in superficial and negative contacts and am happier with the people closer to me who want to enjoy life now even while they're working to make it better.   And I enjoy my own inner world  It's a fun place most of the time.


***

Everything Will Be OK

Many of us in Central Florida have been deeply moved by a series of columns by Orlando Sentinel's Beth Kassab.  Six months ago Beth's husband, and father of their two small children, Grady, was diagnosed with a malignant brain tumor.

In this morning's column Beth says that every day she crawls out of bed and sees on the wall above her dresser "a picture of a graffiti message scrawled on a concrete wall: 'Everything will be OK.'"

Not everybody would appreciate this message.  I know some people who think it's naive and even stupid.

At lunch today, Dave and I were talking about aging, one of my favorite subjects.  I'm currently reading the best seller "Happiness is a Choice You Make."  In it journalist John Leland interviews, over an extended period of time, six people over the age of 85.  The oldest of the old.  They, by definition, are experiencing tremendous lose - which will culminate in death - soon.

But John Leland makes some remarkable discoveries about how we can experience happiness - no matter what.  He found this to be true of himself, along with these oldies.

Gradually I noticed something quite unexpected happening.  Every visit, no matter how dark the conversation got -and some days it go quite morbid - raised my spirits like no other work I have every done.  I expected the year to bring great changes in them.  I didn't expect it to change me. 

Beth Kassab says grief is not linear.  There are times of feeling OK.  And there are ways of helping us get to OK despite what's in front of us.

When I read Beth's column this morning the first thing I thought about was "Everything's Alright," the song May Magdalene sings to Jesus in Jesus Christ Superstar.

Try not to get worried, try not to turn on to
Problems that upset you, oh,
Don't you know
Everything's alright, yes, everything fine.
Let the world turn without you tonight.


***

Stephen King - Revival

That is not dead which can eternal lie.  And with strange aeons, even death may die. 

The quote above, from H. P. Lovercraft is in both the beginning and the end of Stephen King's book, Revival.  It can be either comforting or terrifying, depending on how you interpret it.

I'm enjoying my Stephen King summer.  So far I've read Mr. Mercedes, Dr. Sleep, and now Revival.  I started Cell but put it down after a few pages.

Some reviewers have said that Revival is one of King's scariest novels.  I don't think so..  I love the character development and the slow pace.  All of the characters are deeply flawed.  Like us real humans.

I love the speculation about the hereafter.  Most of the actual theology books I read ask more questions than give answers.  I like that.  I'm reading a theology book right now, as well as my daily Bible readings.

Revival is not a theology book - but it does pose theological questions.  One of the themes is Methodism. Jamie, the protagonist, grew up in a good Methodist home.  He later became a heroine addict.  It happens.   His minister, Mr. Jacobs, later becomes one scary dude.  That happens as well, but not very often in my world.

Midway in the book, a character named Hugh is "cured" of a mysterious illness.

...just as he was losing interest and getting ready to walk back to the fleabag where he now hung his hat, the vertigo hit.  He reeled, putting out one hand and knocking over a disassembled stern speaker...Before he hit the shop's dusty wooden floor, all had turned black...When he woke up he was in Jacob's office...."I have something called Meniere's disease."

Wow!  Stephen King knows about Meniere's disease.

The former Methodist minister, Mr. Jacobs, now believes that "Electricity is the basis of all life." Even though they've just met, Mr. Jacobs wants to perform a medical experiment to rid Hugh of his Meniere's. Hugh gives it some thought.

...Beethoven had lived with deafness, but hearing loss wasn't where Hugh's woes ended.  There was the vertigo, the trembling, the periodic loss of vision.  There was nausea, vomiting, diarrhea, galloping pulse.  Worst of all was the almost constant tinnitus. 

Hugh decides to try the experiment!  I sort of get it.  But, don't worry I wouldn't try anything like this.  Partly because I don't believe that electricity is the basis of all life.  I'm still a Methodist.


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