Take Your Choice

 I was putting books back in the bookcase this morning after using a shelf for Christmas fun, and happened to pick up two books at the same time.  

Adam Hamilton's Forgiveness, Finding Peace Through Letting Go, is one of my favorite study books.  The other was Meet You in Hell by Les Standiford.

This book is about Andrew Carnegie and Henry Clay Frick, two of the richest men of their time, who helped transform America.  Both were industrialists, both made a significant mark in American history, and they worked hand in hand.  They were good friends and trusted business partners.  

Along with making America and themselves very rich, they were both philanthropists.  Carnegie built over 3,000 public libraries, and started a teacher's pension fund, among many other endeavors.  He was of course, the major benefactor for Carnegie Hall.   

If you've ever been to "The Frick" in New York City, you've been overwhelmed by Frick's multi-million dollar 64 room mansion/museum and his huge collection of art, all of which he willed to the city.  

At some point in their relationship, Carnegie and Frick had a falling out and did not speak to each other for at least two decades.  

When Carnegie was eighty-three years old and in poor health he had a change of heart and directed his long time personal secretary, James Bridge, to take a letter to Frick.  Bridges, who had never heard Carnegie even mention Frick's name, was now asked to carry a letter to Frick.  The letter was asking Frick to meet with Carnegie before one of them died.  And he added that their past grievances were beneath their dignity. 

It was "time to make amends and prepare to meet their Maker."

"'Yes, you can tell Carnegie I'll meet him,' Frick said finally, wadding the letter and tossing back at Bridge. 'Tell him I'll see him in Hell, where we both are going.'"

***

Christmas Miracle

  

It seems like more "miracles" happen at Christmas time but maybe  we're just more open to them at this glorious time of year. 

Last Sunday while I was in worship I began feeling ill.  This has happened every Sunday since I've been back, physically present in the pew. But, to me, it's been worth it to see real live friends up close and personal - after these last couple of lockdown years. 

But last Sunday was different.  Noise, even beautiful music type noise, causes all kinds of havoc in my brain.  As the roaring inside my body grew I kept fiddling with my hearing aid and exchanging it with the one the church provides, and the ushers worked on especially for me.  

But the dreaded Meniere's Disease took over and nothing would calm it.  So, while feeling extremely wobbly, I left the service.  This was embarrassing because I sit in the front left side of the sanctuary,  which I've  done for the last 60 years - different  churches, same pew.  

I stayed in the quiet narthex until I felt safe enough to drive home.  

Here comes the miracle part.

A while after I returned home I realized I had lost my $2,000  hearing aid.  So I was miserably ill, and feeling miserably stupid to boot.  

Late Monday morning I called the church office in the totally unrealistic hope someone found it.  It's about the size of a dime.  

It had been found in the parking lot and turned into the church office.

How could this happen?   Scores of people walked to the parking lot and then drove their cars out after I was gone.  It was highly unlikely it would have survived, but it works fine. I have no idea who found it.  But if you know, please tell that person that he or she performed a Christmas Miracle in the parking lot of First United Methodist Church of Winter Park.  

I can't be there tomorrow for, festival GLORIA,  the magnificent Christmas music with choir and full orchestra but I'll be watching on my TV in my pj's.  

As my husband, Ken, used to say when he found a big ticket bargain:  How will we spend the $2,000 we just saved?  I'm sure it will come to me.  I would love to perform a (smaller) Christmas miracle that would delight someone as much as the person who found the hearing aid delighted me. 

***

Who Am I When I'm No Longer Me?

I absolutely love Darby Conley's comic strip "Get Fuzzy,"  In this strip, Bucky Katt, the inscrutable, self-absorbed, cynical, know it all, cat,  is explaining to Satchel Pooch, the sweet, gullible, not very bright dog,  the meaning of Rene` Descartes' Wax Argument.

What I see in the "Wax" argument is the question "Who am I when I'm no longer me?  My husband, Ken, had dementia during his last years, but we never doubted he was in there somewhere.  On the other hand, I've known people who were totally robbed of their intelligence and personality.  It's hard to know when we cease being "who we are."  

In other words, "What is self?  Descartes said "Reason is the ultimate of what our senses perceive is true."  When our personality ceases to be but we're still breathing, where are we?  Have we gone on to afterlife, or are we in limbo?

I don't know the answers to all this, but I like to ponder the questions.  However, I'm not as bad as Satchel who can't get past Descartes having a girls' first name .  

***

 

Vintage Clothing

 

Yesterday morning it was a bit chilly so I wore my vintage Scotch plaid scarf.  It's old, but I like wearing vintage things.I'm kind of vintage myself.  

And sometimes vintage items remind us of old stories.  Here's the one that popped in my brain yesterday. 

My husband Ken did not like his stint in the Army.  He'd graduated from college where he'd played football all four years, then spent a short time at Harvard Business School. 

 Shortly afterwards, he was drafted into the Army.  He went in as a private and came out a PFC.  He just wasn't cut out for Army life.  Ken was a creative.  He was sent to Germany for most of his time.  On some weekends, while his friends were whooping it up in town, and when he could hustle up the money, Ken traveled all over Europe, much of it hichhiking.

While he was in Scotland he bought several scarves and throws, which are essentially small blankets. 

So, how old is the scarf I'm wearing and the other items?  He was in the Army from 1956 to 1958 which  makes them about 64 years old. They look like new.

***

Mr. Loose and Mr. Tight

My husband, David, and his close artist friend, Herbie, did art together for several decades.  

Occasionally they were invited to participate in gallery showings.  The last one was in 2010, at The Vine Arts Center in Minneapolis.  I was fortunate to be part of this final showing before David moved to Florida where he, found, and bonded with, a whole new group of artist friends.  

The title for the showing at the Vine Arts Center was "Mr Loose and Mr. Tight."  This described their artistic styles.  Their personalities were just the opposite.  

It was fun for me to be a small part and observer of how much work went into these showings.  Fortunately, David always sold a number of pieces but he was never about selling.  

One of the requirements was a short description of the painter's work process.  David's is below.  I just ran across it a couple of days ago.

Artist's Statement:  David Runyan - Architect.

Because I'm an architect, I have always enjoyed drawing, sketching and painting.  It changes the way you look at things and each subject requires its own specific translation from the eye to the finished piece of art.  Since my training as an architect required very precise work my title in this show is "Mr. Tight," which is apropos.

The watercolor, pen & ink, pencil and pastel mediums I've used are essentially the mediums I used as a practicing architect to develop renderings of proposed buildings, do concept sketches and draft working drawings (before computers.)

Herbie and I have enjoyed drawing together for many years. 

***

Grace

 

Yesterday I got pulled over by the cops!  Well, it was just one police officer.  But it was exciting because when I noticed the whirling lights behind me, I assumed he was trying to get around me so I pulled over and sped up a bit.  For about 5 seconds it was a high speed chase.

Eventually I pulled into a parking lot and he pulled in behind.  

The officer could not have been kinder.  He told me I was driving 15 miles over the speed limit and then went on to explain that the speed limit went down several blocks behind where we were on the street. 

I told him I knew that because "I live right there" pointing to the brick wall in front of us.  He very kindly asked for my driver's license, then disappeared back into his cruiser.  When he returned he handed back the license and told me to have a good day.  

No ticket!  But here's the thing:  I broke the law.  I was speeding.  He knew that but still let me go. 

As you know, my Meniere's Disease causes panic attacks from time to time. So how was I feeling thoughout this whole process, from the whirling lights to the "Have a good day?"  

I felt great.  I felt grateful.  After checking to see if I had a record, the officer congratulated me for my pristine driving history.  At that point I did have to confess that I had received a speeding ticket in the past - precisely - in 1972.  

Since I was speeding yesterday I totally broke the law, but, by the grace of this young, kind, African American police officer, I was not charged.  

The only thing that could have riled me up would have been if he let me go because I was just a little old lady driving a Camry.  In that case I would have had to demand that I get the ticket and things would have gotten all weird.  

But I wasn't getting that vibe.  He gave me Grace.

***

The Butterfly Effect

 

(In Chaos Theory)  the phenomenon whereby a minute localized change in a complex system can have large effects elsewhere. 

Or, as Jeff Goldblum described it in Jurassic Park, A Butterfly can flap its wings in Peking and in Central Park you get rain instead of sunshine.

Yesterday I received a nice note from Tim Richardson, a man I haven't seen in almost 40 years.  He said, I thought  of you and the effect you had on me when you spoke to the FSC Student Government retreat in 1983!!! 

In the note he sent a link to a video on the Butterfly Effect, emphasizing how our words can change the course of history.  

So what did I say to Tim and the others in 1983?  I have no idea.  But it got me to thinking about how powerful our words are.  Many people in my life have changed the course of MY history. 

Tim is a successful speaker/trainer/consultant.  That was my title as well for a few decades.  He closed his note with this question:  Who had the biggest impact on you and your desire to help others? 

That's a tough question.  I've been thinking about it the last 24 hours.  If I would try to make a list, it would be vast, because  I've been blessed over the span of a long life to hang out with some exceptional humans.  Some of them are family members.  Two of the were my husbands. One of them I'm having breakfast with tomorrow.  

She is a prime example of "The Butterfly Effect."

***

Forever Home

 

I have lived in my two bedroom condo for 26 years.  This is, by far, the longest time I've spent in one home.  For thirty or so years I lived in United Methodist parsonages. 

Several years ago I had the honor of being asked to speak at the annual retreat for retired ministers and spouses.  Part of what I shared were the familiar words of Robert Frost in his poem "The Death of the Hired Man." 

Home is the place where when you go there they have to take you in.  

That is if you're not living in a parsonage, or any number of homes that go with the job.  Governors and presidents come to mind.  I shared parts of the poem with this particular group because, for many of them, retirement is the first time they have a forever home. 

Over the years I've considered upsizing, like when I married David,  and downsizing like a couple of years ago when my health was poor and I considered the possibility of a lovely senior living facility (where 30 or 40 of my friends live.  

But, no, I want this to be my forever home. 

For the past 23 years I've enjoyed water aerobics, three times a week at our big beautiful pool.  For most of the time I've led part of the routine.  But no longer.  That season is over for me.  But I still love the group.  And the person who's led most of the time this summer is excellent.  Lots of fun but doesn't put up with a lot of excessive jibber jabber. Despite the fact that I can't hear, I love being with these folks who are laughing and having a good time in the pool.   

Where were you on September 11, 2001?   When the horrible news came to me, I was in the pool with friends - at my forever home. 

*** 

Our Fascination with Food

 

Occasionally, The New NewYorker magazine has a theme.  It took a few minutes of perusing before it dawned on me that last weeks' magazine was all about food.  The whole kit and caboodle.  

Also, sometimes the New Yorker has celebrity writers.  This is done with no fanfare.  Their names are listed just like the rest of the other writers.  All excellent - including the poets I sometimes can't understand.

There were at least three spectacular guest writers for this food themed issue.  Two of them are deceased.  

The late Nora Ephron's 2002 article is titled "The Sandwich." She begins by saying "The pastrami sandwich served at Langer's Delicatessen in downtown Los Angles is the finest hot pastrami sandwich in the world."  And then she goes into a lengthly explanation to prove it. A quarter of the article dwells on the rye bread.  

My personal favorite of the cured meat sandwiches is the corned beef from Too-Jays.  They too, go into great lengths to serve the perfect sandwich, including warm Russian rye bread and Gulden's mustard.  I will never, ever be allowed to eat this sandwich again, so iI'm hoping one of you readers will try it and let me know what you think.

The late Anthony Bourdain wrote his article when he was a New York chef in the year 2000.  It's a wild and wooly ride on the day in the life of this wild and wooly, larger than life, man.  Among other things, he had to create a daily menu special from the ground up for the Les Halles, a once prominent restaurant  on Park Avenue in New York.  It was most famous for kickstarting Bourdain's career. 

,In the article Bourdain lets us know what he's planing. "For the appetizer special, I'm thinking cockles steamed in chorizo, leeks, tomatoes, and white wine - a one-pan wonder."

In my cooking days I would never in a hundred years have been that brave.  But I WAS kind of known for my pigs in a blanket.

The third celebrity writer is still very much alive.  Steve Martin wrote the "Shouts & Murmurs"  column.  He titled it, Two Menus, and gave us a set of menus from two separate restaurants.  I'm sure these restaurants exist only in superior and super funny mind of Steve Martin.  Two of the recipes overlap so they're the ones I will share with you.  You'll have to get hold of a New Yorker to see them rest.  It's well worth it!

1. KING'S RANSOM, Paducah, Kansas, Fine dining at its best.

Our Banana Split

Fried ice cream, butter, double-cream-infused banana, whipped cream, cherries in red dye No. 2, triple-fudge chocolate sauce, pancakes, cow fat. 

2. SYNERGY, Beverly Hills, California, Phone:  Yeah, right.

Our Banana Split

One banana lying in its own skin, covered in chocolate, on a bed of arugula.  A cheesecloth mouth (shield) is supplied to enable you to taste the chocolate without swallowing. 

***'

Farewell to Jeanne Robertson

 

Jeanne Robertson passed away recently.  She was one of the most popular speakers in America and will be sorerly missed.  No one will take her place, she was unique.  

 In a time when men totally dominated the public speaking field, she was a success right from the beginning. 

Early on, when she was a student at Auburn University, Jeanne entered a beauty pageant and ended up being Miss North Carolina.  What separated her from the pac early on was, in addition to being beautiful, she was 6 feet, 2 inches tall.  And she made it work for her.  Within that first year she gave 500 speeches. They were hilarious. 

As you know, I admire, and have learned a lot from, stand up comics.  Jeanne didn't call herself a comic.  She was a humorist.  In the 80s I was a member of the National Speakers Association.  At that time NSA was available only to paid professional speakers and they needed to provide documented proof of it.  It was a serious organization.  Jeanne not only qualified, but she eventually became president of this prodigious group. 

So Jeanne and I crossed paths a few times.  I was always in awe.  She knew who she was.  She was extremely hard working and traveled constantly.  She had a strict moral code about what she would and would not do.  This helped me shape my our moral code.  It wasn't the same as Jeanne's.  I had no interest in crisscrossing the country leaving my family and other priorities.  

But I was a speaker.  And I knew that, in order be heard, I had to be entertaining and disciplined and that meant continually finding better ways of communicating in an entertaining way.  I wasn't a beauty queen and I wasn't 6 feet, 2 inches tall.  But I was grounded, and hard working. 

Thank you Jeanne Robertson. 

***

Nuns and Clowns

 

My good friend sent a note to our small group telling us about her fear of nuns. When she was a little girl she had to choose between creativity and rule following and got whacked by a nun for the choice she made.  

I don't think she's really afraid of nuns but we do know there's such a thing as having irrational fears about nuns - and clowns.  

All of this reminded me of something that happened over 50 years ago.  My husband, Ken, was an urban minister in South Florida.  In response to a critical housing shortage for the poor we (I was a volunteer for this ministry) were able to get a 501(c)(3) grant to build an apartment complex for low income people in downtown Fort Lauderdale.  Ken was a master at getting people to volunteer, so much of the work, including the architect and construction folks, was done for free. 

A few months after completion, big problems developed due to drug use and other activities of the tenants and others in the neighborhood.  After trying a number of solutions including inviting tenants to be on the board, the problems remained.  It wasn't a safe place for children, especially on the weekends. 

But then Ken was able to talk a group of three nuns into moving into a ground floor apartment.  This changed everything.  Almost overnight.  These nuns were fearless.  And rebellious.  They were in the forefront of  nuns choosing not to wear habits.  Except on Friday and Saturday nights when bad things were likely to happen.  The habit wearing nuns scared the drug dealers and intimidated the cops. 

Today we have our famous Apopka nuns who advocate for impoverished migrant workers.  And they've been noted for scaring some elected officials as well. 

So, here's the thing.  I'm not afraid of nuns but I know they can be crazy intimating and I'm grateful when they use their power for good. 

I am, however, one of those people who has had a lifelong irrational fear of clowns. 

***

Boogie Woogie

 

Adam Zagajewski was a polish poet and novelist.  In 2004 he was awarded the Neustadt International Prize for literature.  He died this past March, leaving us a vast collection of his wise words.

Along with the rest of you on this planet, I've had to moderate the bad news I can handle on a given day.  A while back, as I was thumbing through my New Yorker Magazine, I saw a poem by Adam Zagajewski.  Both the poet and the magazine are noted for their heavy handed poems. 

But this was totally different.  I torn the page out and have read it multiple times.  It holds a truth for all of us.  This is the kind of place I need to go each and every day in order to stay sane and healthy.  

***

We Still Love Our Guns

Thanks to all of you who've let me know you've missed my frequent blog postings. After posting close to 2,000 thousand pages since I started this blog in 2007, I'm winding down a bit. 

 But I though you might enjoy this one I wrote in 2009. It's still relevant and it's a reminder of our fear of, and love affair with, guns.  And it's daunting to think about all the gun related tragedies that have happened since 2009. 

 *** 

 Today's newspaper ran a full page ad for guns. There were pictures of several Smith and Wesson handguns, including a Military Police 9mm. Also a few Glocks. Now I know almost nothing about guns but I have seen enough "Law and Order" episodes to know that you don't need a Glock to hunt rabbits. The ad was scary. A while back I saw a related story. A minister in Kentucky was advociating "Bring Your Gun to Church" day. Got me to thinking how we could expand this concept to bringing other things we love to church. 

 How about: "Bring Your Pit Bull to Church" day. I know several people who love their pit bulls. Probably many of the same people who love their guns. They could bring both. 

 Or how about "Bring Your Chain Saw to Church" day. There's a lovely lady in my church who wears make up and jewelry but she also clears brush and levels trees and has taken her chain saw on local mission trips for years. She told me she loves her chain saw.

 I sort of doubt that any of the above will happen at my church but if anybody's planning an event of this nature, please give me ample advance notice. 

 ***

The World's 100 Greatest Places

 

Botswana

My new Time magazine features its third annual list of the world's greatest places based, primarily, on their tribute to the people and businesses who, despite our world wide pandemic, found ways to flourish.  They range from Estonia to Antarctica. 

I've never heard of some of these places.  I'd like to see a few but it looks like my global adventures are over.  However I have friends on Facebook who continue to share their own adventures and I love going with them on my armchair ride.  

Portugal

A few years ago, when I was in Portugal, I would have loved to see, and even walk across, the world's longest suspension bridge in Arouca,  but it wasn't on our route.  I'll bet the folks in the photo here are bonding like crazy.  

Only a handful of places in the United States made the cut and most of them are surprising.  What's not surprising is that Orlando (my city) is listed. But that's because every most person in the world would like to visit the Mouse.  

Indianapolis

What was totally surprising is that my hometown, Indianapolis, more specifically, the Bottleworks District, is featured.  When I lived there in the 1950's the Coca-Cola bottling plant was a big deal.  The Bottleworks Hotel now resides in the building, complete with Art Deco design and restored spiral staircase.  My niece Sheri and sister-in-law, Sandy, live in Indianapolis.  Sandy's not well and I was actually thinking about her when I picked up the magazine and read the article - about Indianapolis.  How strange is that?

And that's what makes places so dear to us.  Being reminded of a personal connection. 

Estonia

And speaking of personal connections, a few years ago my husband David and I spent a fantastic day in Tallinn, Estonia.  It's a perfect example of preserving the old while creating the new.  Estonia is home to one of the world's leading digital economies but has retained its medieval city center. 

Almost every country in the world has a multitude of riches.  And chief among the riches are its people. 

*** 
 

 

 

Breaking the Rules

 

My church, First United Methodist of Winter Park, is in the midst of a new summer sermon series called "Happily Ever After."  It's based on the Bible and Disney movies.  I'm not a fan of Disney films so I'm at somewhat of a disadvantage.  It appears to me that I am the only person in the congregation has not seen these movies.

Mulan was last Sunday's film.  She defies her aging father and replaces him, disguising herself as a man, to serve her country in his place by becoming a fierce warrior.  Mulan is based on an ancient Chinese legend but the "woman warrior" theme has been around in many cultures, for a very long time. Think Joan of Arc. 

We women have come a long way.  But we have a ways to go.  If you've read my book, New Day, you know that I've fought some battles, though nothing like Mulan.  

When I was a minister's wife for several decades I never once considered myself "Queen of the Parsonage."  I always had dreams and aspirations that could not be squashed down to the size of a casserole dish.  I never understood the rigid gender rules.  One of the poems in the book speaks to this issue. 

THE LADY AND THE GAME

You have let me know that I have displeased you,  I have not played the game according to the rules, 

Honestly, I have tried.

It is not simply that we are from different generations,  Or that we are from different worlds.

We are not even in the same realm of consciousness. 

I do not understand the game,  But if i did,  I am certain, still, that I could not play. 

I wrote the poem decades ago but I can still relate to it.  As Pastor Rachel was closing her sermon on Philippians  she reminded us of the the defining moment for Mulan where she removes her hair comb (symbolizing her traditional path into female submissive adulthood,) and, in its place, picks up her father's scroll. 

Paster Rachel left us with this challenge:  What will you put down?    What will you pick up in its place?

I've been thinking about this all week. 

***

(New Day is available at Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Target and Warmart.)

I Still Love Florida Stories

Over the years I've written several postings with variations on the title "Why I Love Florida."  They dealt with the crazy things we Floridians do. 

I gave it up for two reasons. First, the "Florida Man" meme was introduced so it keeps us abreast of  the weird and wonderful stories that make us Floridians unique.  And there is now a TV series titled "Florida Man Murders."  

The theme for the TV show is murder but the more frequent stories are about us regular folks doing really wacky and stupid things.  And it's more interesting if they're naked.  Not for any sexual reason, but just because Floridians like to take off their clothes in public.  And it's not just Florida men.  For instance, I once wrote about the county cracking down on squatters.  A policeman knocked on the door of a suspected squatter.  A naked woman opened the door.  There was a scuffle and the cop had to call for backup.  This was a perfect example of my "Why I Love Florida" series. 

But the second and more important  reason I stopped writing about them is because, in the end, they are almost all sad stories of sad people making wacky, horrible decisions (usually inspired by drugs) that have life-long repercussions.  

All this being said.....I can't resist sharing the following story that appeared in the Orlando Sentinel a week or so ago about a happening in my little community, Altamonte Springs.  

Police were called to a small market where they found the sales clerk shirtless and covered in blood. He told the cops that a man came into the store upset about a transaction that had transpired earlier in the day. The man started to pull something out of his pocket, but, fortunately, the clerk had a weapon.  Unfortunately, his weapon was a machete. And, unfortunately, the clerk injured himself with it while trying to defend himself with it.   The fight lasted several minutes and involved crashing into the portable ice cream machine. At some point the customer's brother  ran into the store and things got worse.

All three men were taken to the hospital for treatment and all were released.  The man and his brother are at the county jail on a $35,000 bond. 

As it turns out, the argument was about a bag of chips. 

***

The Peaceable Kingdom

When I was a little kid, if I wasn't shipped off to spend the summer on my aunt and uncle's farm, I was shipped off to Nutrition Camp.  I don't remember much except my expertise at playing Jacks, and this huge wall size painting of animals and a little kid that hung in the dining room.  I was fascinated with the painting.  The longer I looked, the more animals I found.  

But later, rather than being comforted by this serene painting, I was perplexed and uncomfortable.  I was a realist early on.  "What is that kid doing with those wild animals?  If the lion doesn't eat the lamb, what will he have to eat?" 

Years later I was introduced to Edward Hicks' famous painting, The Peaceable Kingdom.  I knew it wasn't by the same artist as the one at Nutriton Camp but it shared the same premise:  

Isaiah 11:6  The wolf also shall dwell with the lamb, the leopard shall lie down with the young goat, the calf and the young lion and the fatling together; and a little child shall lead them. 

And I felt the same range of feelings, from comfort, to total disbelief, and back again.

 Edward Hicks (1780-1849,) was a conflicted Quaker preacher whose Quaker beliefs espoused plain customs, while he also felt called to his art.  But, did you know he painted 62 versions of The Peaceable Kingdom?  One of the early ones is shown above.  One of his later ones, below, shows a more sophisticated version.  Over on the left is William Penn issuing a document to the Native Americans in Bucks County.  

While I'm still skeptical at times, I've come to embrace the concept of The Peaceable Kingdom, a state of harmony among all creatures.  My husband, Ken, was always full of big ideas and big goals.  The biggest  was the concept of Universal Reconciliation.  It's kind of what I see in Hicks' paintings. 

During Edward Hicks life he was seen primarily as a Quaker Preacher.  Today every one of his 62 The Peaceable Kingdom paintings is valued at over a million dollars.

***

How Important Are People at the Top?

The overall health and functioning of any organization depend primarily on one or two people at the top...       Ed Friedman

The comic stripe Dilbert and the phenomenal TV series The Office, suggest that the people at the top are irrelevant.

So what's the real scoop?

In Bishop Ken Carter's book, God Will Make a Way, he quotes Ed Friedman, a family therapist, and a person the Bishop had studied with over an extended period of time. The entire quote is this:

The overall health and functioning of any organization depend primarily on one or two people at the top...this is true whether the relationship system is a personal family, a sports team, an orchestra,  a congregation, a religious hierarchy, or an entire nation.

Wow!  This is one powerful (and empowering) statement.  It's stuck with me for several days.   

Do you buy into this concept? If so,  it makes sense that the leader needs to be about continuous self examination and personal growth.  

What does all of this have to do with 82 year old me?  On one hand, I know I'm not "at the top" of anything.  On the other hand, surprisingly, I get reminded often that I'm still a significant influencer.  For one thing, I'm the matriarch of a large, multi-dimensional, somewhat powerful, hugely influential, some times dysfunctional, always complicated, family.  And I take that roll seriously.  

My denomination, The United Methodist Church, is currently going through some painful change.  While I'm not at the top of anything in the church these days, I know I am an influencer.  And I take that seriously as well.  

Sports teams, orchestras, and nation building are not in my wheelhouse, but for other systems, I'm still in the game - and I take that very seriously.

***

 

Storytelling

 

My friend, minister and exceptional human being, Jon Tschanz, made this statement twice, publicly, in the last few days:

Storytellers are the most powerful people in the world.

Wow!

I  believe this.  And I believe that every one of us has a story to tell.  It's just that, most times, all we want to talk about are mundane things like laundry, or other chores, or endless health updates, or endless bragging about children and grandchildren, or complaining about all of the above.  So much so that our own stories get lost.  

The Bible for me, is, primarily a big book of stories.  And especially the Old Testament stories about flawed human beings (like me.) 

My friend Trish and I have a unique relationship.  We're both storytellers and we are able to go deep in our conversations. We're both aware that being fully authentic is a matter of trust and safety.  

Several days ago Trish told about a movie she'd seen that affected her in a deeply powerful ways.  She asked if I'd seen it but it took me a while because I had it confused with a movie with a similar name.  However, I felt these films had nothing in common.

But both of them tell powerful stories which conjured up our own personal stories that we ultimately shared with each other.  Again, we made ourselves vulnerable in ways that are almost impossible and not safe without mutual trust. 

And somewhere in the midst of all this sharing, we discovered an interesting twist. 

Trish's film was Far From Heaven.   It came out in 2002, was critically acclaimed, and won all kinds of awards.  It portrays a "perfect" wealthy, suburban family in the 1950s.  It uncovers racism, homophobia, and other huge social taboos in the 50s.  The woman experiences a glimpse of salvation through the relationship she has with the gardener.  I saw this film in 2002.  I did not care for it.  It was entirely too painful for me.  And the colors, which were chosen to depict the 1950s, disturbed me.

My film was All That Heaven Allows.  It was made in 1955.  It was about an affluent widow who falls in love with her much younger gardener.  Her grown children, as well as all of her friends are aghast  She's forced to give up the relationship but the children fill in the void by buying her at television set. 

The twist we discovered was that, instead of having nothing in common,  the film Far From Heaven was inspired, in part by the film, All That Heaven Allows.  It was Trish who pointed out the connection between the significance of the gardeners.  

So, again, if you want stories  about "perfect people" don't go to the Bible stories or other important works in literature.  They too, are all about messy, sometimes painful lives.  Like ours. 

***

I Can Make That Diagnosis For You

 

As he walked, he began to hear a ringing in his ears.  His body went numb and he had trouble controlling the movement of his legs and his fingers. 

The above is a quote from Adam Entous in his Annals of Espionage article in the New Yorker called Stealth Mode.  

Have you heard of the Havana Syndrome?  It's a set of symptoms that, around 2016, suddenly came upon a senior C,I.A. officer while she was in her hotel room in Havana after a secret meeting  with colleagues. 

...awoke with a start to a low humming noise and a feeling of intense pressure in her head......(later) she began to have trouble with her eyesight and her balance.

Since that time a number of government officials have had similar experiences.  Early in the Trump administration a senior official on the National Security Council was just outside the White House.

As he walked, he began to hear a ringing in his ears.  His body went numb, and he had trouble controlling the movements of his arms and legs. 

Other officials began having symptoms.

...being bombarded by waves of pressure in their heads.  Some said they heard sounds resembling an immense swarm of cicadas.....headaches; tinnitus; loss of vision and hearing; vertigo; brain fog; loss of balance and muscle control. 

....severe vertigo...vomiting...cognitive problems

There have been well over a hundred cases of  "Havana Syndrome ."  Why hasn't it been acknowledged and diagnosed?  Entous, in his article, suggests that there has been a massive misdiagnosis, coverup, and denial of what's actually happening.  The Havana Syndrome has been described as psychosomatic, groupthink, a mass psychogenic illness, etc.  And a major problem is that these government officials who've been made ill are not allowed to share information. 

Entous' article is excellent and scary.  I've been fascinated with the Havana Syndrome for a while since I share most of the symptoms.  While these people may not have Meniere's Disease, there is obviously something terrible going on.  And it's heartbreaking that it's not even acknowledged.

So, if you're one of these victims, I get that you may not accept my diagnosis because, well, I have no credentials whatsoever. But you might want to see my doctor.  After a few years of floundering around with medical experts shaking their heads and not getting it, my specialist diagnosed me in 10 minutes.  But the real relief was that he believed me. 

***

Every Breath I Take

 

Every breath you take,   Every move you make,  Every bond you break,  Every step you take,  I'll be watching you.

These lyrics by The Police could seem reassuring or a little creepy depending on who's saying them.

I've had the word "Breathe" on my mind for several days.  It could be because I've just plowed through eight seasons of "Call the Midwife."  I've seen a baby being born every single day for several weeks.  Sometimes the baby isn't breathing and that first breath requires some assistance from the midwife.  

Or it could be that my niece is unwell and I'm thinking about and praying for her every day.  Her dad, my brother, died a few years ago after suffering for years with COPD.  Every breathe was a struggle.  

Or it could be because Ken Carter, bishop of the Florida Conference of the United Methodist Church, preached at my church this past Sunday.  This was Pentecost Sunday.  

The bishop first talked about the previous year and how it impacted all of our lives.  

Learning to breathe while wearing a mask. 

 Needing a ventilator.  

George Floyd.

"I can't breathe."

Acts 2 (the Pentecost story) tells us about how, a few weeks after Jesus died and was resurrected, his followers were kind of depressed.  They still didn't quite get it.  So on this day, amid a big crowd of people the Holy Spirit blew through with a "sound like the blowing wind."  and empowered them.  This story is mysterious.  Many, if not most of us don't quite get Holy Spirit thing.  For me, being "empowered" is what it's all about.  Women, especially  in my age group, are generally uncomfortable with the concept of empowerment.  But acknowledging it has changed my life in significant ways.

And even now, at my age and stage,  most of the time, I feel empowered. 

Breathe on me breathe of God, Fill me with life anew. 

***

u

Nomads

 Nomad - A member of a people having no permanent abode, a person who does not stay in the same place. 

Under the umbrella of the United Methodist Church is a group called Nomads.  They travel around the country in their RV's to do volunteer mission work.  I remember that, years ago, they used to come to the Children's Home here in Central Florida to do odd jobs, including changing out every light bulb in every building and cottage.  They parked in a wooded area and spent their evenings cooking out and having fun. 

This is not about them.  

Some new retirees, including friends of mine, buy themselves a fancy RV and travel around the country for two or three years.  There's a fancy RV storage facility close by called "Adult Toys" where you can stash your RV when you're not traveling. 

This is not about them. 

This is about a film called Nomadland that has earned countless awards including four Oscars.  Did I love it?  That would not be the word I'd use.  This film is beyond sad, bleak and depressing. Almost nothing happens.  The dialogue is sparse.  The landscape is beautiful in a way - but fiercely sad. 

So why watch it?  It focuses on a woman named Fern.  She is one of a growing number of older Americans who, due to no fault of their own, a stable existence is unaffordable.  It stars one of my favorite actors ever, Frances McDormand.  

Fern and her husband worked in a factory and had a good life.  Then, around 2011, the factory shut down. Then the town shut down.  Then Fern's husband died, leaving her unable to make her mortgage payments. So Fern, like countless of other older folks, sold and gave away everything she had and jumped into her old van which she'd tricked out herself, and took to the road.  

One of the first things Fern does on screen is pee outside on a freezing day.  Later on we see that she has a big paint can (with lid) as a toilet.  She has fixed up her tiny space herself, including a way to heat up her chicken noodle soup that she eats from the can.

She occasionally meets up with other older folks to share meals and news about temp jobs.  Fern does have some options.  When she's forced to stay with her sister while her van is being repaired, they invite her to stay on.  But she declines.  When asked if she is homeless she says, not homeless, just houseless. 

So why is this film important?  Because it's not just Fern, it's about thousands of older Americans living itinerant lives.  It's about the failure of the American dream for many of us oldies who've worked hard all of our lives. 

I can relate to Fern's fierce independence.  But one of the things totally lacking in her life is safety.  If you've never felt unsafe it's hard to understand the terror it can bring on.  I love touting the good things about growing old.  And there are many.  But being old, alone and poor is the pits.

***

Love Me Tender

What's your favorite deep fried sandwich?  Two of mine would be the fried grouper from JB's Fish Camp in New Smyrna and the grouper at Winter Park Fish Company.  Both in Florida. 

But my very favorite deep fried sandwich is the pork tenderloin from anywhere in Indiana, served with a side of nostalgia.  

This morning, while reading my Indianapolis Monthly magazine,  I came upon this article about how ecstatic Hoosiers still are about the tenderloin.  Restaurants may vary the recipe a bit but it always consists of pounded pork tenderloin deep fried and served so that it extends three or so inches beyond the bun all the way around.  

When I was a teenager in the 50s we packed into cars and hung out at drive-ins.  (Think Ron Howard in American Graffiti or Happy Days.)  If we were lucky enough to have money we ate tenderloin sandwiches the car hop brought to the car on a tray that she attached to the window.   

The Tee Pee was one of the places where we hung out.  Probably would not be socially correct today but we were clueless teens in the 50s who loved to hang out and eat tenderloin sandwiches and listen to Elvis.  

So next time you're in Indiana ask somebody where to get one.  It doesn't matter who you ask.  Every Hoosier knows, including Jim Gaffigan.

***  

 

How to Make Friends and Influence People in a Pandemic

 This is a story I read in my New Yorker magazine.  It's about a woman named Zoe and a pricey sectional sofa she ordered from the Cobble Hill line of ABC Carpet & Home. 

As you can see in the photo, it's custom-upholstered in a deep-pink velvet called Vance Blossom. 

Not unsurprisingly, due to Covid, there have been delivery delays.  The waiting sent Zoe into a bit of a meltdown.  She said on Facebook, "I decorated this whole apartment around this very statement-making, coral-colored, massive couch."

(Those of you you've lost your jobs and your grandmas can relate to Zoe's Covid pain. Right?)

 

Months into the delay Zoe received a personal note of apology from the company's CEO.  This was a grand gesture BUT, unfortunately, the note was accidentally cc'd instead of bcc'd to two hundred and three other couch-expectant folks.

Whoops!

The reply-all avalanche started immediately.  Frustration crescendoed into anger.  "This is an outrage."  "I ordered in October. Paid in full!"   "This is just ridiculous."

Then a strange thing happened.  A woman wrote "Oh come on.  Like you've never had a bad day at work because you're exhausted, covid-weary, and stuck with the song 'never eat soggy waffles in your head?'"

This precepited a complete turnaround. 

Zoe replied to this group of 203 strangers, "I'm a single woman in NYC looking for a Jewish man."  That opened up the floodgates for a total attitude adjustment for this family of complete strangers.  

"Looking forward to meeting you at Zoe's wedding."

"I'd invite you all over but I don't have a couch."

The group started a fundraiser on "GoFundMe" for a family in (real) need.  Photos were exchanged.  When the cargo vessel was blocking the Suez Canal they surmised that their couches were on board.

Jane, an interior designer, who'd ordered the couch for her clients felt guilty so she wrote, "I  now wear the Vance Blossom fabric swatch as my scarlet letter." 

Henry wrote, "I have just reconnected with my friend Melissa.  Now I don't have to go to Zoe's wedding solo."  "We're in this struggle together.  The couch is minor."

The couch company, ABC, matched the donations raised by GoFundMe. And 204 strangers had their hearts strangely warmed.  

***

Limited

 

Forum met with live human beings this week.  But I chose to stay home and Zoom in my PJs. My smart friend, Trish, led a short discussion on (as you know) one of my favorite topics:  Death.  Unfortunately, most people, initually, are not as comfortable with this kind of discussion.  

But Trish had my smart friend Bill, who's well versed in many areas, including, unfortunately, this one, read a delightful poem called Dead is Dead by Alan Balter.  It was filled with euphemisms for death like....buying the farm and went belly up.

The last line was:  And should you come to my funeral, don't bring a thing.  Just sit back and listen to the fat lady sing. 

Folks in their 70s and 80s have, by design, limited life spans.  This is sad for those who love us but when we come to grips with it, it makes our remaining years rich.  Talking about the wonder of it and pondering on what's next, is rewarding and tends to take the fear out. 

 And, by the way, we oldies know that when the fat lady sings refers to Kate Smith.  When she sang God Bless America, the show was over.  

Below is one of my favorite poems on our shortsightedness in facing this reality.

Limited 

Carl Sandburg

I am riding on a limited express, one of the crack trains of the nation. 

Hurtling across the prairie into blue haze and dark air go fifteen all-steel coaches holding a thousand people.

(All the coaches shall be scrap and rust and all the men and women laughing in the diners and sleepers shall pass into ashes.)  I ask a man in the smoker where he is going and he answers:

"Omaha."

***

Two Events Yesterday

 First, Judge Belvin Perry, former newscaster Carol Nelson Pond and Photo/Journalist Tee Taylor were welcomed as lifetime members of the University Club in downtown Orlando.  This would have been unheard of 40 years ago when the only folks who were welcomed in the University Club were rich, old white guys. 

So congratulations to these three who, in significant ways,  have changed the landscape for good in Central Florida.  And congratulations to the University Club for extending this lavish invitation. 

The other thing that happened yesterday is that legendary Congressman, Alcee Hastings, died.  

As a young attorney, Alcee arrived in Fort Lauderdale, Florida around the same time we did.  It was a time when Blacks could not stay in hotels, eat in restaurants, go to while schools - and the list goes on.  He and my husband, Ken, became good friends and worked together on projects, not only for African Americans but for women's rights.  And in later yers Alcee went on to champion the LGBT community. 

In June of 2019, when we received word that Alcee Hastings had pancreatic cancer, I wrote a blog posting about the "soup incidents." U.S. Representative Hastings was the longest serving member in Florida's congregational delegation.  He was the first African American to be elected to Congress in Florida since  Reconstruction and was reelected 14 times. 

My husband, Ken and I knew Alcee Hastings in the 70s and 80s when we lived and worked in South Florida.  Alcee, the son of house-servants, was born in my current hometown, Altamonte Springs.  But we knew him in South Florida at the height of racial tensions.  He was a great friend and mentor to us in civil rights issues in the 1970s.  At that time Ken was an urban minister (think community organizer.)

One of the things he taught us was how to keep our cool under pressure.  A couple of times we witnessed the "soup incidents."  The first time we were at a banquet.  Alcee was seated next to me.  A one point the waitress spilled soup all over him.  His response was charming.  I was concerned.  He explained that spilling soup on him (by white waitpersons) was a common occurrence.  I had to witness it one more time before I believed him. 

Alcee Hastings political life back the was highly  controversial, full of ups and downs.  In the 1980s he was impeached in the House, tried in the Senate and ousted from office.  This, despite having been acquitted of bribery charges.  Ten years later, as a respected member of the House, he voted "no" on the impeachment of President Clinton.

And now, since 1992, he has served (and easily won) his seat in the House.  Until the end he remained a savvy and popular congressman but, of course he was still controversial and still poking fun at his Republican opponents.  

I hope the soup spilling stopped at some point. 

 ***

Cooking With the Anal Retentive Chef

 

In the late 1980s Phil Hartman was a cast member on Saturday Night Live.  He introduced some great characters, like The Caveman Lawyer and Bill Clinton at McDonalds.

But my favorites were his "Anal Retentive" skits.  He was an anal retentive fisherman who was super well organized and kept his uniformly cut bait in separate baggies, etc.  But he never got around to fishing.  He was an anal retentive carpenter who had his tool belt perfectly organized and alphabetized.  But my favorite was "Cooking with the Anal Retentive Chef."  

This guy loved plastic bags and aluminum foil.  In this photo he's holding up some celery he's just sliced but discovered that a few of the pieces weren't perfect so he had to throw them away.  He did this by sealing them in a baggie and wrapping the baggie in aluminum foil, then placing all that in a brown paper bag that he secured with scotch tape.  But then he discovered the bag had a little tear so he had to start over, but, of course,  his time was up so he never got around to cooking.  

Why am I telling you this?

I think about him often when I'm preparing my meals.  Yesterday I had my favorite, a cookie sheet meal consisting of two chicken wings, potatoes, onions and carrots.  After I got this all assembled and in the oven, I clean the kitchen, using the plastic baggie the chicken was wrapped in for the residue of onion skins and potato peelings.  After I'd eaten I scraped the chicken bones, etc. back on to the foil lined cookie sheet and carefully folded it for the garbage.  

All the while I'm thinking that I have become the Anal Retentive Chef.  And I don't feel so bad about it.  Why would I do this at my age and stage?  Because I can.  And it makes me happy.  

It's difficult to find Youtube videos of Phil Hartman.  Possibly because he died tragically while he was at the top of his game.  His wife killed him and then killed herself.   We all can relate to messy, tragic, out of control parts of our lives but  at this age and stage I'm just grateful for all of the things I can keep  neat and tidy. 

***

 

Returning Home

 

After watching church from my couch this Sunday morning, I was feeling inspired, once more, by the message and the music.   But somehow wanting more, I watched one of my favorite movies O Brother, Where Art Thou?

This is probably my third time to see it in the 20 years it's been out.  Produced and directed by the great Coen brothers, Ethan and Joel, this film is their take on the epic poem, Homer's The Odyssey.  

I wish I could tell you I've read Homer's version but, even though I gave it a few tries and failed, I have read enough cliff notes to get the drift.

Homer's Odysseus and the Coen Brothers' Ulysses Everett McGill (played by George Clooney) are trying to get "home," whatever that means to them - and whatever that means to us.  

Like this morning's worship service, the message and old timey music in O Brother... are outstanding.  

Homer, author of The Odyssey,  was said to be blind. The Odyssey's message is that life's journey is filled with obstacles.   In the early part of  O Brother,  words of wisdom come in the beginning of the film from a blind railroad worker: You seek a great fortune, you who are in chains.  You will find a fortune, though it will not be the one you seek.  

This, to me, is the entire message for all of us.  The movie portrays this in a totally entertaining,  sometimes happy, sometime, sad, sometimes terrifying, always funny, music filled story.  You know, sort of like mine - and possibly yours.  

I love every little adventure they encounter on their way, even the hard ones.  I love "the sirens" luring them into seduction.  I love the grace that comes from unexpected places.  I love that Clooney's character, who was a delightful, self centered con artist, in the end truly repents.

The critics were divided when this movie came out.  After reading several reviews my take on that is that many of them just didn't get it.  I hope you will watch it again, or for the first time, and see what you think.  You can find it on Amazon Prime.

***

Does Getting Old Make You Crazy?

Sometimes I feel a little crazy.  But it passes.

The other evening I watched a really old episode of Law & Order, way before Sam Waterston portraying Assistant D.A. Jack McCoy showed us his cranky, righteous indignation.  This was back when Michael Moriaty played D.A. Ben Stone and showed us his cranky righteous indignation.

This was the episode where this old lady's granddaughter was charged with murder for killing her grandma to get her cool apartment or (as she claimed) assisting grandma's suicide.  

Anyway, grandma was depicted as being so ancient that she had no quality of life whatsoever - and had no friends because they were all dead.  

Grandma was 82 - my age.  Lying in my bed all by myself I laughed out loud. 

But, I was forced to do some additional soul searching.  As you know, I am obsessed with the aging process and quality of life.  I sometimes do some crazy stuff,  and forget some important stuff.  I also have a chronic illness.  I've had to give up things but I've exchanged them for other things I'm free to do (like watching Law & Order marathons.)

There are so many people I love and things I care about that I can't image not wanting to be here.  

And, while there are a few people of all ages in my life who've died and left me doleful,  most friends and family who are close to my age  are living important lives - like I am. 

One time, a few years back (when I was only in my seventies,) I was leading a class of older folks.  A couple in the room who were nearing the 100 year mark had just moved to an assisted living facility.  The man stood up to say that they were pleased at how active the residents were in their new home.

He said that most of those in their 90s were doing all kinds of interesting things and "giving back."  Then added, and of course, folks in their 80s were as well - but you'd expect them to be active. 

Exactly!

****

Was Dr. Seuss a Racist?

 

So, after my last post referencing Dr. Seuss and The Jax, it was reported that a Virginia school district decided to bar Dr, Seuss for being "racist?"  

And then, a day later, that information was debunked.   Dr. Seuss was an enormously successful writer of children's books.  He was, and is, beloved by millions.  

When my kids were growing up we read Dr. Seuss almost daily.  I memorized a few of his books like "One Fish, Two Fish," just by endlessly reading them to the kids.

Later on, I occasionally used Dr. Seuss poems in business meetings to make a point, as I did in the blog posting below.  One of my very favorites was The Sneetches.  It dealt with elitism, and more importantly, racism, and how we allow society to rope us in.   

Now the Star-Belly Sneetches Had bellies with stars.

The Plain-Belly Sneetches, Had none upon thars. 

This engendered discussions about how we look and what we'll do to be included in an elite circle, where others are clearly not included.  In the Sneetches story someone comes on the scene with a solution - for a price, of course.   

Then quickly, Sylvester McMonkey McBean, Put together a very peculiar machine.

And he said, 'You want stars like a Star-Belly Sneetch...? My friends you can have them for three dollars each!

And, of course, chaos ensues.  Mr McMonkey Mcbean, makes piles and piles of money with, first, his star on machine and then later, his star off machine. And then he skips town.

But, in the end, the Sneetches wise up and decide they've been misled.:

And no kind of Sneetch is the best on the beaches

That day, all the Sneetches forgot about stars, And whether they had one, or not, upon tears. 

To me, the The Sneetches is all about inclusion, even while segments of society are constantly pushing us toward exclusion. Why?  For Mr. McBean, it was profit.  But there are many sad and sinister reasons. 

***

We Don't Like Change

...I'll stand here, not budging!  I can and I will, If it makes you and me and the whole world stand still.

Of course the world didn't stand still.  The world grew.  In a couple of  years the new highway came through, And they built it right over those two stubborn Zax.  And left them there, standing un-budged in their tracks.    - Dr Seuss

Ted Geisel (a.k.a) Dr Seuss, has always been one of my favorite poets.  The quote above is from a poem called "The Zax" and is full of lessons about growth and change.  

Saturday, for the first time in almost a year I went to downtown Winter Park, something I've been doing for several decades.  With me was my friend Christie, who knows downtown Winter Park better than anyone (including me.)  She also knows the backstory on downtown development,  The following is one of those stories.  

Over the decades every single one of the homes in this corridor was torn down - except  one. The Kummer-Kilbourne house was built in 1915.  The owner's daughter, Christine Kummer, lived in the house her entire life until she died, at age 94 in 2011.  She and her husband, David Kilbourne  had successfully fended off buyers, mostly developers, for more than 50 years.  She was a member of my church during that time and that's why I began to take an interest in the house. 

But, much like the Zax in Dr. Seuss's poem, downtown Winter Park did not stand still.  I remember when Jacobson's Department Store was the house's neighbor to the North.  Now that block is full of fancy, upscale shops on the first flour and offices on the second floor.  

As the years went by and the Kilborne's aged, the house began to be in need of a facelift and some people (developers mostly) complained.  But to no avail. 

So, there it stood in the best location in the most desirable and expensive neighborhood in Central Florida.  In 2011 a developer named Allan Keen, negotiated with the family to buy the house.  The two biggest issues were price and the home's preservation.  Mr. Keen bought the green and white two story bungalow for $1,002,000 and an agreement about the home's preservation.  

Here I am on Saturday morning in front of the house.  Mr. McKeen's offices are located inside.  Beautifully landscaped and maintained, the house still has its green and white exterior.  The signage out front is all about the history of the Kummer-Kilbourne house.  

I was happy to see it - because I like beautiful old things and people. 

***