For The Time Being

 

In yesterday's sermon my senior pastor, David Miller, outdid himself poetry-wise.  He quoted both Dr. Seuss and W. H. Auden.

W. H. Auden was a Pulitzer Prize winning, leading literary influencer of the 20th century.  Like Dr. Seuss he dealt with heavy subjects, but unlike Dr. Seuss he didn't make it easy for us (by "us" I mean me.)  Just try reading one of his 50 page epics. And he tackled the hard stuff.  

He, along with Christopher Isherwood, wrote Goodbye to Berlin which inspired  Cabaret,  the dark musical that showed us the decadent underbelly of Germany that opened the door for Hitler. 

The last stanza of Auden's poem The More Loving One helps me cope with our current crazy situation, especially the last line. I've found that, with a little time I can get used to a bunch of things  - including things I should not be getting used to.  

Were all the stars to disappear or die,     I should learn to look at an empty sky                                                                                           And feel its total dark sublime,      Though this might take me a little time. 

Auden's best known poem - because it was featured in the film Four Marriages and a Funeral - puts our fresh suffering into words when we are too bereft to do it ourselves.  As you know, I have been in this place and my guess is so have you. 

                                                                                                                                                                             Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,  

Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,                                                                                       Silence the pianos and with muffled drum                                                                                                 Bring out the coffin, let the mourners com.  

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead                                                                                               Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,                                                                                               Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,                                                                        Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves. 

He was my North, my South, my East and West,                                                                                        My working week and my Sunday rest,                                                                                                      My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;                                                                                                        I thought that love would last forever, I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;                                                                                   Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;                                                                                               Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood;                                                                                                For nothing now can ever come to any good. 

W H Auden

Yesterday morning David Miller quoted  the last line from Auden's poem, For The Time Being. It's about the real meaning of Christmas.

Everything became a You and nothing was an it.

***

Let's Write a Book

A few days ago I was talking with my smart friend about how many people dream about some day writing a novel but never do.  Novels are much more glamorous than non fiction books because you don't have to do that pesky research. 

Somewhere in the middle of the conversation we both revealed that we'd each written our dream novel.  Neither of us was surprised.  Nor were either of us surprised they had not been published. 

I wrote my novel over 20 years ago when I was confined to the house for long periods of time when my husband, Ken, was ill.  It started with an interest in Florida history, especially Central Florida where I live.  So, I started hunting down and reading everything I could find on Old Central Florida.  

Yes, I loved doing the pesky research, as well as the writing. 

And, no, it did not get published.  But I learned so much about Florida, about writing, about what it takes to get a novel published - and I learned some things about myself along the way.   

So, while we're once more confined for a chunk of time, I hope you're doing something creative that  you've put off for a rainy day.  Now's the time -we're in for a few more "rainy days" of confinement.

I'm not doing much writing nor heavy reading right now but, for the last several days, I've been reading my novel.  I was afraid it might be cringe worthy but I'm enjoying myself.   Maybe I'll work on it some day.  It needs a rewrite. 

But not anytime soon. I'm not up to writing or reading anything heavy.  Now I feel like Pete Rose who was  once quoted as saying, "The only book I ever read was the one I wrote."

***

Memories in the Time of Covid

 

A while back my grandson found this collage hidden away in my condo.  I don't remember when it was given to me but it had to be late 1970s or early 80s because that's the time frame that my husband, Ken, was the minister at  Broadway United Methodist Church in downtown Orlando. And I recognized a handful of these Broadway folks. 

Today I took the collage to be laminated because it was in rough shape.  It's been fun to discover little clues about who these folks are - or were.  I still can't place many of them, but here are some fun finds. 

The little blond kid in the upper right corner is my son John.

The young lady in the lower left corner is my daughter Cathy.

Pat Moses was a dancer, among other things, who studied at the Buddy Ebsen Dance Studio in Orlando, and has remained a life long friend.  You can easily find her in the collage. 

Helen Hurt, pictured on the bottom row, had two sons, Maury and Pete, who were well known artists.  I don't own any of their work but my children do.  All those many decades ago when I visited Helen, there was a painting just inside her front door that I loved with a passion.  It's at the center of this college.  My picture is just below.  

And I could go on.....but the strangest thing regarding this college happened yesterday. 

In a totally unrelated matter, I posted a desk chair I wanted to give away on my Facebook page.  The first person to reply was a woman named Diane.  I had no idea who she was.  Her last name was unfamiliar to me.  Yesterday she and her husband met me in my garage to take the chair.  We, of course, all wore masks.  But when she removed her mask for a minute I immediately remembered her from the Broadway Church.  I grabbed the college out of the car - and there she was!  Forty years younger.

How crazy was that?

***

What It Feels Like

 

As you know, I love my New Yorker magazines.  The poetry, however, has always been daunting, to say the least.  They're notorious for not making sense to us regular folks.

But this week's issue has a treasure of a poem written by, Margaret Atwood,  one of the most prodigious, prolific poet/novelist alive today.  (The Handmaid's Tale comes to mind.)

Margaret Atwood and I are approximately the same age.  She has pretty much nailed it for me in describing what this feels like.  

FLATLINE

Things wear out. Also fingers, 

Gnarling sets in,

Your hands crouch in their mittens,

Forget chopsticks, and buttons.

Feet have their own agendas,

They scorn your taste in shoes

and ignore your trails, your maps. 

Ears are superfluous:

What are they for,

Those alien pink flaps?

Skull fungus.

The body, once your accomplice,

is now your trap.

The sunrise makes you wince:

too bright, too flamingo.

After a lifetime of tangling,

of knotted snares and lacework,

of purple headspace tornados' 

with their heartache and rubble,

you crave the end of mazes

and pray for a white shore,

an ocean with its horizon;

not, so much, bliss

but a flat line you steer for. 

No more hiss and slosh'

no reef, no deeps,

no throat rattle of gravel.

It sounds like this:

            - Margaret Atwood

 

                                                                                                                               

  

Childhood Friends

 

Sluggo Malene lived in my neighborhood for a time when I was growing up.  He was my age but he was smaller than me, and that's saying quite a bit because I was a scrawny little kid.  He got his name from a comic strip called "Nancy." Nancy lived with her Aunt Fritzi and Sluggo was Nancy's tough little friend.  My little friend Sluggo was not tough.  He got the name because he was the polar opposite of Nancy's Sluggo.

Just by coincidence, my little brother Paul had the nickname Butchie.  That name also came from the "Nancy" comic strip. In the strip,  Butch would occasionally beat up Sluggo.  In real life Paul was delicate and small for his age and sick much of the time, hence the (opposite) nickname Butchie.

My friend Sluggo lived on the other side of the street in a big old house that had been divided into tiny apartments.  I don't remember his mother but the two of them lived in two of the cordoned off rooms.  People came and went quickly in the house but Sluggo and his mother stayed a while.  Sluggo was always happy and full of fun and ideas.

What I remember most about him was his love of makeup.  One summer when we were very young, he and I spent hours under a big tree in my back yard smearing on foundation, lipstick and mascara that he'd lifted from his mother's makeup box.  He assured me she'd never miss it.  Sluggo told me that even when they didn't have enough to eat his mom bought copious amounts of makeup on a regular basis.  

I was too young and too naive to give any thought about how unusual it was for Sluggo to be heavily into the makeup routine.  And, in my defense, cross dressing had not yet been invented.  

We had a fun couple of years being friends and then he and his mother were gone and I never heard from him again.  

My brother Paul soon outgrew his nickname Butchie and he grew up to be a devoted husband and father and a truly stand up guy in all areas of his life.  I've often wondered about whatever became of Sluggo. 

***

 

Stress Relieving Frog

 I've had an especially stressful last few days - and it's not going to end soon.  But then I don't need to tell you this because we're all in the hot soup right now.  And we're all trying some healthy and not so healthy ways of dealing with our days of stark terror with a little overlay of chronic sadness. 

I was seriously thinking I should seek out some professional help but it would take several hours to explain what all is currently going on in my life.  And in the end, another person can't fix it.  

But, I live in a nifty village of friends and family so, a couple of days ago,  I did share bit of it with my friend Trish.  And Dr. Trish knew just what I needed.  She told me a sweet, funny story and sent me sweet funny photos.  Trish lives in the woods. She's crazy smart and crazy artistic. 

She has a little tractor/pickup she calls "The Frog."  She told me about having visitors and how she'd taught one of the kids to drive the frog - and afterwards rewarded her with a Frog Driver's License.  

So, this morning, when Trish texted me to see how I'm doing, I replied:

I'm hanging in there.  But a VERY stressful week.  Wish I could get in my Frog and drive around the forest but I don't have a frog driver's license. 

So Trish sent me this "Official" driver's license.  It even has the star, enabling me to drive my Frog to Europe. 

I hope you are blessed with powerful friends like Trish. 

***

Celebrating

Life is tough for all of us right now.  I try to intersperse the daily "we're all gonna die" narrative  with pockets of celebration.  Recently my grandson and his wife came by to give me the exciting news that they're expecting.  So we are now, along with all the stuff that daily smacks us in the gut,  anticipating this new tiny new person being formed by God.  This couple has wanted this blessing for a while so we who love them have prayed for this to happen.  The sweetest thing they told me was that both of their dads cried when they got the news.  

On Monday they learned the sex of their budding baby.  I had already warned them about how I did not care for gender reveal parties that sometimes cause major catastrophes so the night before last they came by for my own personal gender reveal party.  

There was a big "Popper" explosion of pink confetti but no firestorms in California were started by this reveal.  Life is good and life continues to move along in good as well as horrific ways in this time of Covid19. 

***

Letting Go

 

Some folks (fortunately not my family) are a bit bossy about what I should be doing.  You need to eat more.  You need to move. You need to take it easy.   It doesn't bother me (much) because I know they care for me and want me to be safe. 

(Except for my neighbors who came by several times to ask me if I was ready to move.  They finally confessed that they wanted my condo!)

I want to be safe - but there are so many more things I want and need to enjoy my life.  We all need meaning and purpose and I'm blessed to still have that and to help others along the way.  

I was going through some old journals recently and ran across something I'd written in 2003.  My husband, Ken had been terminally ill for a few years but, and despite spending every other day hooked up to a dialysis machine, he still had meaning and purpose.  He also had a wife who was constantly trying to get him to eat properly.  When your kidneys shut down the only way toxins leave the body is through dialysis - and this is not a perfect system.  

Finally, after conferring with Ken's doctors I decided to throw in the towel (food nagging wise.)  Following is what I wrote in my journal on May, 13, 2003. 

I've decided to let Ken eat whatever he wants. 

Last night we were sitting at dinner.  Ken had asked for the mac & cheese he'd ordered the day before at Cracker Barrel.  Along with that he had roast beef, fish and mashed potatoes.   I watched him pile tartar sauce on his fish.  Then entertained myself by reading the label "350 msg of sodium per teaspoon."  Ken ate half of the jar.

At 11 am we picked him up from the dialysis center.  He was all shaky and barely able to get himself from the wheelchair to the car .  It's looking like it will take at least two of us going forward to load him in and out.  He has great difficulty breathing. 

But he managed to stagger into the kitchen in med afternoon to eat an entire jar of pickles!

Ken loved to eat.  He loved to overeat.  In his last few weeks he could no longer eat his crazy amount of crazy food but he still loved a special orange cake I used to bake.  It, too, was bad for him but now we were in cahoots.  So I made a big sheet cake every week, cut it into individual squares and put them in the freezer so he could have one whenever he wanted.  This gave both of us pleasure.

So how do I feel about abandoning my job as the food police knowing full well that what Ken was eating could be doing him harm? 

 I feel fine. Wish I'd done it sooner.  

***

Waiting for Delos

 Samual Beckett wrote his wildly acclaimed play Waiting for Godot in 1948. First in French and then later, in the 90s, in English.  The play has been described as a typical example of Theatre of the Absurd.  In 1996 it was voted the most significant English language play in the 20th century.  

What's it about?  Two guys are waiting for Godot to show up.  Who is Godot?  Is it God?  Who knows.  The extensional questions of Who, What, Where and When are asked but not answered. 

When my husband Ken started his health journey we had to, from time to time, visit his vascular surgeon's office.  While the surgeon was excellent, the office wait time was always an agonizing several hours.  It drove me absolutely crazy. 

So to express my frustration with my own little existential angst, I wrote a poem.  And, yes, I did share the poem with the vascular surgeon, Delos Cliff.  

WAITING FOR DELOS

Some were doing laundry,

Some were laying fires,

Some were birthing babies,

Some were changing tires.                                                                                                                            

Waiting for Delos

Some were reading epics,

Some were dreaming dreams,

Most were doing nothing,

But stifling their screams.

Waiting for Delos

But if you have a need spectacular

For anything that's titled vascular

You will surely find yourself

Waiting for Delos.

***

 

Notes From The Past

 

About 20 years ago I attended a writer's workshop and was urged to read the wildly popular book for creatives called  The Artist' Way - A Spiritual Path to Higher Creativity.  Written by  Julia Cameron, it's a workbook to encourage your creative juices to flow.  

The book is very interactive and is famous for encouraging "Morning Pages."  These are pages we write every morning - whether we want to or not.  

Today I got out one of my notebooks filled with morning pages from about 20 years ago.  It's mostly stream of consciousness and not very interesting.  I have carefully ripped out and shredded every page because they're a personal glimpse into my mind and heart at the time.  

I did save a couple of pages.  They were written in 2002 when I was caregiving my husband, Ken.  He passed away in 2004 after a long, long goodbye.  Serendipitously, as his body and mind wore down he became strangely content - for the first time in his life.  

Last night Ken sat at the dinner table trying to eat our usual Saturday night roasted chicken dinner.  But his hands were flying akimbo.  Getting the fork to his mouth was an adventure.  Lifting his water glass without jerking the contents all over the table was near impossible. 

After dinner he went to the other room and fetched the book he'd been reading, A Patriot's Handbook, with  songs, poems, stories and speeches celebrating America.  Ken sat back down at his place at the table and began reading to me from a portion of the book about "Shakers."  

He read...."The members were known for their trembling produced by their religious intensity - hence the name "Shakers."  Shaker communities gave up their worldly possessions and lived a celibate and austere life concentrated on God."

Then Ken closed the book and said "This certainly describes me."

***

Powerful Words

Today I cleaned out some files and found poems I've not seen in decades.  Some were mine, some from others.  Many years ago I was inspired by writer/poet, Judith Viorst.  She's always been a bit shocking, raw and very funny.  This book, Necessary Losses, a New York Times bestseller from several decades back, explores the loves, illusions, dependencies and impossible expectation that all of us have to give up in order to grow.  

I love the poem printed below.  It's sweet and funny but a punch in the gut.

My Mom say I'm her sugarplum.
My mom says I'm her lamb,
My mom says I'm completely perfect,
Just the way I am.
My mom says I'm a super-special wonderful terrific little guy.
My mom just had another baby.
Why?

The following poem by Cynthia MacDonald, is harsh and shocking.   I honestly can't remember if it was included in Necessary Losses but it was from that same time decades ago when I was trying to help women who were struggling with identity and overcoming our need to please.  I remember that I seldom used the poem because I knew it invoked reactions in some folks that I was not qualified to handle.  You've heard of "Shock Jocks."  MacDonald was a shock poet.

ACCOMPLISHMENTS  by Cynthia MacDonald

I painted a picture-green sky - and showed it to my mother
She said that is nice, I guess.
So I painted another holding the paint brush in my teeth,
Look Ma, no hands, and she said
I guess someone would admire that if they knew
How you did it and they were interested in painting which
I am not.  

I played clarinet solo in Gounod's Clarinet Concerto
With the Buffalo Philharmonic, 
Mother came to listen and said 
That's nice, I guess.
So I played it with the Boston Symphony,
Lying on my back and using my toes,
Look, Ma, no hands.  And she said
I guess someone would admire that if they knew
How you did it and they were interested in music which I am not.

I made an almond souffle and served it to my mother.
She said, that's nice, I guess.
So I made another, beating it with my breath,
Serving it on my elbows,
Look Ma, no hands.  And she said
I guess someone would admire that if they knew
How you did it and they were interested in eating which
I am not. 

So I sterilized my wrists, performed the amputation, threw away
My hand and went to my mother, but before I could say
Look Ma, no hands, she said,
I have a present for you and insisted I try on
The blue kid gloves to make sure they were the right size.


***

P.S.  Thanks to all of you who've purchased my book New Day Updated and Revised.  I've loved hearing from so many of you.   It's available at Amazon and Barnes & Noble.

Putting Out Fires

This photo from yesterday's  California fires hurt my heart; for the fire fighters and the loss of property and the loss of living things.

We're good at putting out fires of all kinds.  For me, it's heartwarming every day to read about first responders and others who are keeping us relatively safe.

But responding and deep down problem solving are two different things.

Yesterday I read a devotional written by my friend, Tonya.  She heads up our church's Diversity Team.  Among other things they are tackling the book, Just Mercy by Bryan Stevenson.   Tonya shared how important it is for all of us to read hard stuff and own up to who we are and what we were taught to believe.  One of the things she quoted has stuck with me for the past 24 hours.  I can't get it out of my head.

She referenced the mass incarceration complex which is set up to imprison one out of three black babies born.

Truly solving problems is much harder than this.  Most of us know that massive fires, multiple deadly hurricanes and extreme heat are caused by climate change.  And we know how to fix it.

Most of us know that our overcrowded prisons are largely filled with people who were born into circumstances that helped shape them into who they became.  We know that solving these problems needs to begin before they are born. Any of us who've ever been involved in tutoring can tell sad stories of children who've never had a book read to them.

I'm grateful for first responders but sometimes by the time they get there it's too late.  And the attempt to address crime by setting up a prison system to accommodate one in three black babies born is, well, too late.

***

Looking Up

Every day we could, and sometimes do, feel an overwhelming sense of fear and anxiety.  So every day I overtly look for ways to Keep Calm and Carry on.

I'm happy I'm finally strong enough to take a walk most mornings.  Being outside, especially in my neighborhood, helps me as much spiritually and emotionally as it does physically.

On Saturday mornings my friend comes to call bringing me treats from Panera.  But the best treat is her presence.  Recently we've been sitting in the yard for our lengthly conversations.  We talk about everything under the sun but no petty gossip and complaining.

This past Saturday her chair was facing the corner and she was noticing how many cars don't stop for the stop sign at this corner.  This is a frequent experience.  It's a very quiet street so I get it.  If you click on the photo you can barely see the back of the stop sign.

When we discussed this it made me remember this story.  Years ago my husband, Ken, and I were watching on television the preparations for a space launch about to blast off from Cape Canaveral.  At that time there was a place in the middle of this street where you could look to the east and see the blast off go straight up and arc over the sky.  Spectacular and amazing since the Cape is about 50 miles away.

So Ken, who was struggling with his health, both physically and cognitively, decided he would go out to the spot to watch the blast off.  I though I would go with him but when I saw what was happening at the stop sign I thought, "You're on your own Ken."

At that particular time there was a police officer pulling over a neighbor to give her a ticket for running the sign.  She was not happy and she was loudly sharing her fury with the officer who, by this time, was equally unhappy.

So I let Ken hobble out there all by himself.  He confronted the lady and the cop and let them know what was about to happen.  I don't know how he managed it but he even got the woman to get out of her car (it was facing the wrong direction) and she, the cop and Ken stood in the middle of the street and watched in awe at the spectacular rocket launch.  By the time it was over the lady and the cop were speaking kindly to each other.

So the lesson for me today is, keep looking UP!


***

Apathy

Apathy - Lack of interest, enthusiasm or concern


So I have updated and revised a book of poetry that was first published in the 1970s. The poems where written over the  turbulent decades of the 60s and 70s.

One of the ones I added, is titled "But a Pale Shadow" and it's about apathy.   It was inspired by the following:

In November of 1963 my husband, Ken, and I were living in Plantation, Florida just outside of Fort Lauderdale.  We had two children, Cathy who was a toddler and Scott, a baby.  On this day I was attending a college class while Ken's mother, who was visiting from Toledo, stayed with the children.

Suddenly someone burst into the room to say that the president of the United States, John Kennedy, had been shot while in a motorcade in Texas.  The room immediately erupted into chaos.  I grabbed my stuff and headed for the parking lot, along with several other students and teachers.  All I could think about was my children.  While it may not seem rational that they would be in harms way, I didn't know how this news would effect my mother in law.  So I raced home.

They were fine.  Ken's mother had the television on but she was totally unconcerned.  Not knowing her well at this point I was having trouble comprehending why she wasn't grasping the magnitude of this event.

That evening we were to have dinner with some executives of the international company Ken worked for.  Of course we were struggling with our feelings and didn't want to go but Ken's mother insisted that it was the right thing to do.

So we went.  While the afternoon traffic was bumper to bumper with folks trying to get somewhere, mostly because they were stunned and not knowing what was happening in our world, now there was no traffic.

The usually busy, upscale restaurant was almost empty.  But the company execs were all there and we sat through an evening of eating and drinking, like they didn't have a care in the world.

I was deeply ashamed of myself for being there.  A few months later we left our lovely home and Ken's prestigious work and we headed into an entirely new life.  It was hard.  But we never looked back.


***

Tread

I like it when family and friends suggest things for me to watch, especially in this shut-down time.  So, when my son suggested I watch the documentary, Tread, I gave it a shot.

But about two thirds of the way through I thought I was going to have to tell him he owes me an hour of my life.  But then yesterday when we were on a little road trip and he was on the phone,   I heard him suggesting that Tread might be a good discussion starter in their eclectic men's Bible study group.

 And, all at once, it clicked. I knew exactly what he had in mind.  And I agreed.  It would make for real conversation on how we handle ourselves when we get pushed to the edge by perceived injustice.

In Tread Marvin Theemeyer is a guy who considers himself a man's man.  His love of snowboarding led him to the small town of  Grandy Colorado where he lived for a couple of decades.  He was an excellent welder, owned a muffler shop,  and had friends, including a long time girlfriend.  He also had a strong faith.

Over time he had some disputes the town over property rights.  He felt that the way people got ahead in this town was by keeping other people down, including him.  He felt like he wasn't being heard or respected.  At some point he decided God's will had to be done - through him.   So he went all "Old Testament" on them.

Spoiler Alert:  Marv transforms his bulldozer into a tank and pretty much destroys the town of Grandy. Then kills himself while still in the tank.

Do I know anyone who's done what Marv did?  Of course not.  But I know many people, good people, who've destroyed the things and hurt the people they loved the most.  Let's have a discussion on why do we do this.

In case you think this is a "guy thing," following is a poem I, myself, in a time of deep frustration, wrote to express my feelings.  (You can find Tread on Netflix.)


HELLO SIXTIES

I shouted out the Emancipaiton
       Proclamation, 
The Civil Rights Act, 
And the wording to the Equal Rights
      Amendment.

And you said, 
"Let's go to bed."

I joined an underground movement,
And plotted to overthrow the government.

And you said, 
"You're cute when you're mad."

I blew up your post office,
And half of your university.

And you said,
"Are you having your period?"

With one fell swoop,
I destroyed everything we both held dear.

And you finally said, 
"Why are you doing this?"

"I'M JUST TRYING TO GET YOUR ATTENTION."

 - Cecily Crossman


***

Celebs - They're (Not) Just Like Us

For the last six months I've been pretty much homebound because  of illness and for the same reason every other one of you is currently holed up in your house.  

I'm fortunate to have constant sources of comfort, and intellectual, spiritual and physical care.  But, like you, my needs are ever changing.  A while back I was told my reading materials were too intense and I needed to lighten up so I ordered subscriptions to several magazines, including The New Yorker (my favorite,) Esquire, Architectural Digest and People.

Like the New Yorker, People comes once a week.  I've done my best trying to identify with the celebrities featured in People.  For instance, like Kim Kardashian, we should all be able relate to seeing all of our triumphs and tragedies as photo ops.  Right?  And we can all relate to the heartbreak of having a wildly talented but insane husband running for president.  Right?  (I'm referring to Kanye West here - no one else.)

And, unlike the UK Royals, Prince Harry and Meghan, Duchess of Sussex, are regular people who've been mistreated by their in-laws.  That's a common relatable experience.  Yesterday I was thumbing through some of their serious concerns that made Harry give up his birthright.  

 - Meghan was falsely accused of wearing the wrong color nail polish.

 - Kate didn't offer Meghan a lift in her Range Rover when they were both going shopping on the same day.

And, one of my favorites,
 - Megan's dresser purposely dragged her heels about finding Meghan the proper diamond tiara for her wedding rehearsal.  (We've all been there.)

So, as we all know because they're in People Magazine so often, Harry and Meghan did not accept (or were not offered) an assist from the folks in buying their starter home in California.  They had to come up with the 14.65 million dollars on their own.

 On the other hand, I have been able to truly (and seriously)  relate to Sean Penn, who's currently working to help heal our world by helping provide the largest Covid 19 testing site in the country.  And he and I are sporting the same hair style.  So I guess I do have some things in common with celebs after all.




***

Beyond the Blue Horizon

First, a disclaimer.  I'm not planning on leaving any time soon.  But I, like you, am bombarded every day with messages expressing fear about the future.  Thankfully, along with that, I'm also bombarded with hope and good humor and deeply meaningful messages from my worship leaders and others.

But during these extraordinarily trying times I find it helpful to look beyond.  It's kind of like losing your job but knowing you have a great IRA waiting for you when you retire.  Only this is about a billion times better.  (Since we're now hearing about trillion dollar budgets, I'd better make that a gazillion times better.)

There are many songs and hymns that remind us of this blessing to come.  Most are overtly faith based, some are secular but imply the same message.   When my husband, Ken, was critically ill and in the hospital my daughter-in-law took her hymnal to his bedside and sang "going home" songs to him.  He loved this.  It was calming and reassuring.

Several years ago my husband David asked that Over the Rainbow (the Hawaiian version) be sung at his memorial service.  After hearing it done at an earlier service he said those words expressed his own feelings.  My friend's mother had Beyond the Blue Horizon sung at her funeral.

However, we don't hear much in sermons, in a positive way, about what heaven will be like. It is, in some instances, used to (literally) scare the Hell out of us.  We don't need that right now.    We're having the Hell scared out of us every single day.

So I've turned back to trying to find literature that presents the sunny side of death.  Because we, like King Lear, tend to wonder if it might be like an eternal bad dream.

There are many near death experience books but the vast majority are not for me.  I'm too analytical for my own good and have difficultly with the woo woo stuff as well the fear factor that implies it's  for just a few of those who get the RSVP.  Only they don't always agree on "which few" will make the cut.

I've order a few books over the past months thinking they would be comforting to the dying but they are meant only to comfort the ones left behind.  While there's good it doesn't address this time of over the top anxiety, it doesn't address our need to feel confident about the future.

So I turned back to the life after death message presented by renowned neurosurgeon, Dr. Eban Alexander in his book "Proof of Heaven" which became a huge bestseller.   Dr. Alexander, himself a brain surgeon, contracted bacterial meningitis and was "brain dead" for eight days.  I've just finished  rereading his account of what heaven is like.  Not a particularly religious man prior to this experience, Dr. Alexander describes a heaven as brilliant, vibrant, estatic, stunning....(God said to him)...you are unconditionally loved, you have nothing to fear.

Dr. Alexander has since written more books on the subject.  He's still sharing this amazing promise.  If I ever have a near death experience, this would be exactly the same message I'd like to bring back.

Beyond the blue horizon
Waits a beautiful day
Goodbye to things that bore me
Joy is waiting for me
I see a new horizon
My life has only begun
Beyond the blue horizon
Lies a rising sun


***

The Thirteen Tribes of Kentucky

My mother, Carmen, is front row with grandpa's arms around her.

Father Abraham had many sons,

Many sons had father Abraham

I am one of them and so are you

So let's just praise the Lord.   

I loved seeing my kids sing this song when they were little.  Of course I had to remind the girls that daughters counted too.  The Bible tells us that many generations after Abraham and Sarah had their family,  the 12 sons of Jacob were named to head up different parts of Israel, and much later, around 930 BC, the Kingdoms of Israel split in half.  

I love reading the stories in the Old Testament about the shenanigans these tribes were in to - like all of us, they were flawed.  But God used them anyway,

Fast forward a few thousand years to my family of origin. My grandparents on my mother's side had 13 children.  I have no idea how many first cousins I have but I'm guessing about 40.  And if we extrapolate that out another two or three generations, it has to be way up in the hundreds or even thousands.  I never lived in Kentucky but, as a child, I visited often.  And then in 1962 I left for Florida and a whole new life.  

And now, while I'm mostly secluded due to illness and coronavirus,  I have become a part of a LARGE email group of descendants of my grandparents.  Most of these folks I don't know at all because they're not my generation.  They are a couple of generations younger.  All of my mother's siblings are gone and most of the cousins in my generation are gone.  

The leader of this email group has done an excellent job of organizing and laying out instructions.  He began by encouraging us to recall what we know about my grandparents After a few weeks of stories and photos, then adding two of the original 13 a time, beginning with the oldest.  I can't wait until they get to Carmen.  This is not establishing ancestry.  It's about telling stories, little vignettes to help us know something about these folks.  

I cannot begin to say how meaningful this has been to me. My grandparents were extremely poor.  Grandma had her first child when she was 14.  While she had no control over how many children she had she was a strong matriarch.  She saddled up and rode her horse side saddle. She took care of business.  Grandpa was a dreamer.   But here's what they and their offspring valued:  Family.  

Family was everything.  I never met my uncle Walter because he died before I was born.  He was killed by his brother-in-law in a hunting accident.  When grandma heard about this she "took to her bed."  

The stories being shared are overwhelming positive and loving.  I thought I couldn't remember much but then was reminded by stories about how many of the men were musical, "They taught me how to sing in harmony."  That reminded me immediately that, at most Sunday gatherings,  when the men sat of the front porch waiting for the women to prepare the massive meals, they frequently yodeled.  Other than Roy Rogers, I don't remember yodeling being a popular thing. 

And it's clear that many of the original 13 children had many gifts besides music.  Several of them wrote stories and poems.  Extreme poverty and very little education didn't disrupt the need to write.  

One second cousin told about how one of my aunts was peeling potatoes for one of these dinners and her sister complained because she was cutting off too much potato with the skin.  I totally got this.   

It took a few generations but the poverty improved.   While the people on this email group don't talk about themselves it's clear that they have excelled in many areas.  They are telling the truth but dealing gently with their forefathers and mothers.

***

The Game of Life

Zero-sum is a situation in game theory in which one person's gain is equivalent to another's loss.  A zero-sum game may have as few as two players or as many as millions of participants. 



When my kids (especially my boys) were young we spent much of the summer playing board games.  Life, Risk and Monopoly were favorites.  I thought it was good for them.  It required strategic thinking, ambition and patience.  These games can take hours or days to complete.

Over the years I've changed my mind.  If you read this blog regularly you know I've become sort of incensed with Monopoly. And their newer concept Ms. Monopoly drove me over the edge.  And now they've come up with the cheaters version.

(As a side note, you regular readers also know that I've always had issues with Barbie.)

Since the beginning of time we humans have been filled with fear and a need to gain control.  And now we're feeling this way 24-7, and for good reason. Last Sunday my minister, David Miller, preached on the theme:  Life With God.  He talked about board games and especially "The Game of Life" where only the winner retires in Millionaire Estates.

Using the Prodigal Son scripture he painted the picture of how the older son was steaming mad because he did all the right stuff while the younger kid messed up big time but was still welcomed with open arms.  Nothing "Zero-sum" about this story.

You know one of my favorite things to contemplate is the nature of God.  David dealt directly with this by giving us some examples like how we develop principles and formulas, and deal making (I'll do all of these good things and God will bless me, right?")and my very least favorite of all "Prosperity Theology."

We continue to be confused about the difference between being and doing, between having it all and sharing.  But, for me, I know that Life, Risk, or Monopoly or Thunderball type thinking will not help me rack up points and is not my ticket to being the winner.

So, what is the point?  It's all about relationships.  I'm afraid of many things right now and I've always had a need to be in control.  But the nature of God is mysterious.  I know there are things I'll never figure out in this life.

But, at my best, whenever I'm in pain, exhausted and scared, I know God is with me.  Always has been and always will be.  And I'm very much aware that we're all in this life together.


***

My Literary Buddy is Gone

Symbolically, another library burned down a while back because the legendary Jane Casselberry passed away at age 95.

She's been in my life for many decades.  Couldn't say we were close friends but we "got" each other and the last ten years or so have been the best because she was my constant literary buddy.

I first met Jane and her husband, Len, when my husband Ken and I went to Community United Methodist Church in Casselberry.  They were quite a couple.  To me, Len was a smart, kind, fun, quirky guy.  For as long as I knew him I never knew what he did for a living.  He was mysterious.

Jane, on the other hand, was a writer all of her life.  She wrote for the Sanford Herald for more than 25 years.  She wrote and edited everything from business news to obituaries.  And she was active in everything.  She served all all kinds of boards.  She was always "up."

Jane and Len met in high school in Winter Park, Florida, and I was told that, since Len didn't have access to a phone, he climbed a telephone pole and taped into the line to get in touch with Jane.

They married during WWII and moved to Casselberry,  a town just north of Orlando, that Len's dad founded in 1927.  Casselberry now has a population 30,000 people.

And, along the way she and Len had five children who are all outstanding in their own right - and they took excellent care of their parents - who lived almost 10 decades.

But the reason her passing has been my own personal loss is because, for the last several years, we corresponded regularly, sometimes daily, mostly on social media but in other ways as well.  She consistently commented on every blog entry I wrote.  Always smart.  Always funny.  Always interested.  Always interesting. Right up to the very end of her long life.

Despite, to me, being very different people, Jane and Len had an amazing marriage and were constant companions.  Len died a couple of years ago and, while she was devastated, Jane never missed a beat in our correspondence and her interest in the world and all those around her.

Once, a long time ago, Jane and Len, Ken and I went out to dinner.  Len told us this story.  They were in a plane headed for Hawaii when the plane developed engine trouble.    As the plane, began to dive, they had to prepare for a crash landing in the Pacific.  With their heads between their legs and tightly holding hands Len said, "Jane, we're either going to Hawaii or to heaven.  But we're going together."

That time they made it to Hawaii - but it helps me to know that, even though they had to wait two years - this time they made it to heaven.

***

Paranoid Pandemic Fun Day

I've not been well for a while so, along with the obsessive mask wearing and social distancing, I've been staying home and practicing my new hobby; washing my hands a silly number of times a day.   At least I don't have to take them off first like this Lego guy.

This strange illness I currently have (non-Covid related) causes mini panic attacks.  Paranoia abounds.  Besides this, along with many of you,  I am doing my best trying to comfort folks every day who are in much worse shape than I am.

But my current big problem is my hair.

I suspect my neighbors have been wishing I'd cover my head with a paper bag like Charlie Brown did when he thought his head had turned into a baseball.

So, since I'm feeling better, but after much handwringing, I decided to venture out for a haircut.  But, of course, I was worried and grilled my friends about their various hair cut experiences, not to mention grilling the hairdresser like Elaine did on the Seinfeld episode where she conducted an extensive check list interview with her boyfriend to determine if he was "Sponge worthy."

Yesterday morning I headed for the salon.  My stylist met me at the door of this large, beautifully appointed salon.  She and I were the only two people there.  She was even more Covid alert than me, which was impressive.  It was all good.  I didn't panic.

The salon shares a (very crowded) parking lot with Panera Bread.  I backed my car out and right square in the middle of the one way travel lane my car promptly died.  I was crossways in the lane.  Blocking traffic.

But still no panic.  I called Panera.  A young man came out and I suggested if he could get a couple of people they could push the car into the parking space behind me.  He left and came back with a girl and they did the job.  (Yeah Girl Power!) I tried to tip them $20 but they refused to accept it.

I called AAA and the tow truck arrived shortly.  He jump started the dead-as-a-doornail battery but could not sell me a new one so I had to drive home with this battery on life support.

But still no panic!

Once I got home I called the proper AAA person for installing a battery and an hour later I had a healthy car - and a cute haircut.

Next I called the manager of Panera to tell him about these kids who saved me from an angry mob, and saved his lunch crowd, and refused a $20 tip.  That was fun.

Then I contacted AAA to praise the guys who rescued me as well.

Every one of these people, including my hairdresser,  wore masks and practiced kindness.  All in all, a very good day.


***

Dysfunctional Families

Think you have a dysfunctional family?  Welcome to the club.  Almost all of us have some dysfunction.  Your education or zip code doesn't matter.  

When Jerry Springer has been criticized for his volatile TV show where the wives and girlfriends of their unemployed baby daddies go after each other with wrestling holds, Jerry reminds us that their problems are no different than celebrities featured in People and Esquire.

The place to find truly dysfunctional families is the Bible, especially the Old Testament.  Recently the sermons in my church have focused on the the term "Overcome".  They're designed, in part, to help us deal with our current unprecedented situation.

 They have zeroed in on Joseph.  Remember him?  The guy with the technicolored dream coat?  Joseph and his 11 brothers are the poster kids for dysfunction.  Not to mention his dad Jacob and his grandpa, Abraham.  All of their families were messed up.

Joseph's brothers were jealous of him and showed it by, first, trying to kill him, and next, selling him into slavery in Egypt.  Over their lifetimes they told monstrous lies, slept with their father's wife, and other relatives, slaughtered entire villages, etc.

And Joseph did some questionable stuff as well.  Besides being a spoiled brat, and a tattletale he turned his back on his father, married an Egyptian wife and framed his brothers.

So, what's the point?

My senior pastor, David Miller, told us how God was present in these circumstances, weaving a magnificent web of harmony,  peace and prosperity.  Not because of the bad behavior but despite it.

So there's hope for all of us.  Every single one of us.  Our past does not determine our future.  

***

Moving' On Down the Road

This painting hangs over my couch.  It's big, 48 x 24 without the frame.  It's part of David's collection and it has a companion which  David  gave it to his son.  And his son's name is on the back in this painting for when I'm no longer in need of it. The artist is Tom Maakestad and its title is Highway 7, Maine.  My personal  title for it is Moving' On Down The Road.

In the companion piece there is a stop sign.  But no stop signs here, just a long windy road, reminding me of my own journey.

I'm currently way back there, closer to the horizon, but we can't see the end.  It's hidden.  It's mysterious.

In this weird, sometimes terrible some times exciting, sometimes over the top stressful (and all of this on the same day) time, I've been turning more and more to spiritual writings.  Have to be careful because some of it is dogmatic and some of it is crazy woo-woo but contemplating the mystery is what I enjoy doing these days.

Richard Rohr says in his book, Falling Forward , that Jesus reminded us there are two groups who want to avoid contemplating all this mysteriousness - the very rich and the very religious.  The gospels are full of these folks trying to get us to "follow the rules" and by that they mean their interpretation of the rules.  Jesus doesn't go for it.

 So now we're watching scary numbers of people die sometimes lonely and sometimes violent deaths - every single day -and it's hard to make sense of it.

Some of our great poets have entertained the mystery of the afterlife concept. For instance The Eagles huge hit song, "Hotel California" is a journey into the dark unknown we sometimes like to call Hell.  And what it takes to get there.  It's a terrifying look at the underbelly of excess, greed and materialism.

On a dark desert highway
Cool wind in my hair
Warm smell of colitas
Rising up through the air
Up ahead in the distance
I saw a shimmering light
My head grew heavy and my sight grew dim
I had to stop for the night.

Welcome to the Hotel California
Such a lovely place
Such a lovely face
They livin' it up at the Hotel California
What a nice surprise
Bring your alibis

Last thing I remember
I was running for the door
I had to find the passage back
To the place I was before
"Relax," said the night man
"We are programmed to receive
You can check out any time you like
But you can never leave."

Ok, so I'm hopefully,  not on a dark highway.  I hope none of us are.  And I know, despite what the hotel night man says,  that if we are on the wrong highway, we can turn around anywhere along the way.  I know we've not done what we have needed to do about warding off dangerous diseases, about caring for our sick planet and about caring for our neighbors as ourselves.  But some of us have been trying.  And many more of us around the globe are waking up and, despite great suffering, doing the right thing.

Like you, I am horrified every day.  I am encouraged every day.

But, I am tired.  As Rohr says in finishing up Falling Upward:  In the second half of the spiritual life, you are not making choices as much as you are being guided, taught and led...you have found your sacred dance. 


***

Here's a Clue

Today is June first, 2020.  All over the country and in cities around the world the "Black Lives Matter" protests are still going strong and, in some cases, escalating into violence.

For those of you who genuinely cannot understand why this is happening, especially during a world wide pandemic, here is poem written sixty plus years ago about a different but somewhat related issue.


HELLO SIXTIES

I shouted out the Emancipation
     Proclamation,
The Civil Right Act,
And the wording to the Equal Rights
     Amendment.

And you said, 
"Let's go to bed."

I joined an underground movement,
And plotted to overthrow the government. 

And you said, 
"You're cute when you're mad. 

I blew up your post office,
And half of your university.

And you said, 
"Are you having your period?"

With one fell swoop, 
I destroyed everything we both held dear. 

And you finally said, 
"Why are you doing this?"

I'M JUST TRYING TO GET YOUR ATTENTION!"

                        - Cecily Crossman



***

Is Jack Nicholson a Christ Figure?

Jack Nicholson, in his long career as a movie superstar, made more than his share of hit films.  I have not seen most of them but the ones I love have presented an amazing depth of character, exposing the divine nature of the human heart.  Here are three of my favorites.

One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest (1975)

The symbolism of the film is not quite as predominant as the book by Ken Kesey but it's still there.  Nicholson character, Randle McMurphy,  is a flat out heroic Christ figure.  The shower scene represents baptism.  He has twelve followers.  Quotes like "anointest my head with conductant," "Do I get a crown of thrones?" are just a few of the many clues.  And, of course, it culminates with McMurphy sacrificing himself to save others.

About Schmidt, 2002

I"m currently reading Will Willimon's book on aging.  It's written for pastors but most of what he says is food for thought for all of us.  At one point he recommends that all pastors who are anticipating retirement see "About Schmidt."  Nicholson plays a bitter, mean guy who's been forced into retirement.  His wife has died after a long unhappy marriage, including her unfaithfulness with his friend, Ray.  Schmidt is miserable so he decides to take a road trip in his RV to his daughter's wedding where he plans to make trouble.  As with many symbolic road trips, he finds redemption.  But not before we have to endure a nude scene with Kathy Bates in a hot tub.

In the end Schmidt says to his dead wife, "I forgive you for Ray.  I forgive you.  That was a long time ago, and I know I wasn't always the king of kings.  I let you down.  I'm sorry Helen."

As Good As It Gets, 1997

This is, by far, my favorite Nicholson movie.  I watched it again yesterday.  This, too, is a flat out redemption film.  Nicholson's character, Melvin Udall,  is a horrible man.  He lives in a high rise in Manhattan and throws his neighbor's little dog down the garbage chute.  (And this is before the opening credits even role.)  He suffers from the severest form of OCD and finds it almost impossible to live with other human beings.  As the story unfolds we are introduced to other suffering, flawed people - whose lives are made even more miserable by knowing Nicholson.  But, after baby steps toward wholeness, while on (another) road trip, three of them receive redemption.  To me, the character played by the great Helen Hunt is the Christ figure.  In a penultimate scene,  Melvin takes her to dinner.  She's very poor but has on what might be her very best clothes.  He wants to impress her but, when they get to the restaurant, he's required to wear a tie and jacket, which the restaurant offers to provide.  But his OCD requires him to  leave, find a men's store,  and buy a new coat and tie, while leaving her waiting.  When he gets back to the table he says, "Why did I have to buy this when they let you in wearing a house dress."  She tells him his time's up if he can't give her one sincere compliment.  So he comes up with this.  He tells her his psychiatrist wanted to put him on medication but he HATES, HATES  pills.  She gives him a look, like so what?  And then he tells her, since knowing her,  he's been taking the pills.  She's still not impressed.

But he ends with "You make me want to be a better man." That, to me, was pure redemption.

The film is harsh and raw throughout but thoroughly entertaining, sweet and funny.  At a midway point  Melvin tries to bully his way into his psychiatrist's office and promptly gets thrown out.  In the waiting room full of suffering people he screams, "Maybe this is as good as it gets."

The good news about redemption is: "It's never as good as it gets."


***

Moving Day

Moving Day is coming up in United Methodist churches.  The structure of our denomination is set up so that all ministers who are moving do so on the same day.  Because they are moving into the same houses.  Fifty years ago being "sent" meant going where you were told to go, and mostly didn't know if you were moving or staying put until the last minute.  And, while there were outliers, being part of a "sent" ministry meant moving often.  Clergy families were pretty much expected to be seen not heard.   We once had a bishop who routinely told minister's wives that their husbands were not to "baby sit" their children.

Over the decades I was blessed, along with others, to be a part of slow change in this paradigm.

 The sent concept has become much more negotiable.  Maybe decades ago you shared that old concept of what a "minister's wife" should be and do.  That was turned on its head with the invention of minister's husbands!

And, then there were ministry couples.  There were dire predictions that this would not work.

And now, fifty years later, life has come full circle..

This year on moving day, we will say goodbye to Reverend Gary and Reverend Jayne Rideout.  They have been in clergy leadership with us for the past 20 years.  They came to us with wide and varied backgrounds, each having excelled in other
exciting careers prior to experiencing the call to ministry.  They met in seminary, married and  and their ministry together began at our church.

 Jayne and Gary are very different people with very different gifts.  They have each excelled in their own areas.  They soon had two baby girls.  We've been blessed as a congregation by watching these young women excel in their own lives.  One of them is in college and the other on her way.  Our church family is the only one they've ever experienced.

So, while vastly different from 50 years ago, the emotionally charged feelings of loss combined with the excitement of a new challenge, are still a part of it.   But Jayne and Gary have already mastered the relatively new art of being co-pastors as well as being co-parents.

And, while it's vastly different as well for our church family, we will still experience the pain of loss one Sunday in June, and the excitement in welcoming a new pastor on the following Sunday in June.

Oh and, of course, there's the Covid 19 factor that has our entire world in limbo.


***