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."

***