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.

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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.


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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



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