Today is the feast day of St. Peter and St. Paul. Two men who probably never met and were polar opposites.
When I was at Virginia Seminary I wrote an article for 'The Ambo' (if you don't know what an 'ambo' is you're not an Episcopalian--it's the stand where the readings take place) the student newsletter about how the front door to Aspenwall Hall, the main building, was "Pauline" not "Petrine"
I meant it was rigid, hard to open, difficult to maneuver around. Paul was like that. Paul knew what was 'right' and what was 'wrong'. Peter, God bless him, could never figure out what to do. He was the one who denied Jesus and yet was the 'Rock' ("Petros" in Greek) the church is built upon.
Peter was all over the place--not knowing the right answers at the end of John's Gospel (Jesus asks, "Peter, do you 'agape' me?" And Peter answers twice, "Lord, you know I 'philios' you.") Agape is love with no bounds and Philios is, like Philadelphia, love between friends. It takes 3 askings for Peter to get it right.
I got over my dislike of Paul when the one woman on the faculty let me do a directed study of his letters by reading them in the order they were written, not the order they are in the New Testament. Dr. Mariann Mix saved me from my Pauline hatred--but I still like Peter much better.
I'm much more a Peter than a Paul. Lurching around looking for answers rather than 'knowing' the answers.
So why did they give these two a shared saints' day?
They wouldn't have gotten along. Believe me (as a 'Peter'-type) I don't play well with 'Paul'-types. Just doesn't happen.
Happy both ends of the spectrum Holy Day!
Thursday, June 29, 2017
Tuesday, June 27, 2017
memory (and reality) not all it's cracked up to be
Yesterday I mentioned the Anglican priest,"Sydney" and made a point about my uncle being "Sidney" with an 'i'. I also called the name of the TV series about "Sydney" Grandchester.
Well, it's "Grantchester" I realized and on page 222 of the book I noticed "Sidney" and thought--like any good English major--"aha, a typo!" But when I paged back I realized it was always spelled with an 'i' and not a 'y'!!!
I swear to you that until page 222, I saw "Sydney" everything I looked at "Sidney".
I could just claim that I was using 'alternative facts', but the truth is I actually saw the 'd' in Grantchester and the 'y' in Sidney.
Reality isn't all it's cracked up to be. Like the story of the blind men describing an elephant and the different stories of eye-witnesses to the same accident, our senses can't be trusted absolutely.
I once asked a friend who is 'color blind' to describe the colors he does see. He looked at me like I had two heads. "That's why it's called 'color blind," he said, "I can't tell you what what I see would be called by you."
That may apply to all sorts of things. I know Bern and I have very different memories of the same events and people often quote my sermon to me in words I never spoke.
Objective Reality seems to be 'subjective' instead. That's certainly true when I listen to Trump detractors and Trump supporters tell what they truly believe to be 'the truth' about the President.
Maybe Kelly Ann Conway's 'alternative facts' isn't so crazy as it sounds.
We in America these days seem to have difficulty discerning 'facts' from their alternative versions.
Sometimes you can see things that aren't there for 222 pages: like the first 'y' in Sidney. Pretty unnerving, I'd say.
Something to ponder long and hard because it really, really matters, this stuff about 'truth' and 'facts' and 'objective reality'. Really.
Well, it's "Grantchester" I realized and on page 222 of the book I noticed "Sidney" and thought--like any good English major--"aha, a typo!" But when I paged back I realized it was always spelled with an 'i' and not a 'y'!!!
I swear to you that until page 222, I saw "Sydney" everything I looked at "Sidney".
I could just claim that I was using 'alternative facts', but the truth is I actually saw the 'd' in Grantchester and the 'y' in Sidney.
Reality isn't all it's cracked up to be. Like the story of the blind men describing an elephant and the different stories of eye-witnesses to the same accident, our senses can't be trusted absolutely.
I once asked a friend who is 'color blind' to describe the colors he does see. He looked at me like I had two heads. "That's why it's called 'color blind," he said, "I can't tell you what what I see would be called by you."
That may apply to all sorts of things. I know Bern and I have very different memories of the same events and people often quote my sermon to me in words I never spoke.
Objective Reality seems to be 'subjective' instead. That's certainly true when I listen to Trump detractors and Trump supporters tell what they truly believe to be 'the truth' about the President.
Maybe Kelly Ann Conway's 'alternative facts' isn't so crazy as it sounds.
We in America these days seem to have difficulty discerning 'facts' from their alternative versions.
Sometimes you can see things that aren't there for 222 pages: like the first 'y' in Sidney. Pretty unnerving, I'd say.
Something to ponder long and hard because it really, really matters, this stuff about 'truth' and 'facts' and 'objective reality'. Really.
Monday, June 26, 2017
photos--black and white
When my last aunt died last year--Aunt Elsie (I had two of those), my mother's youngest sister, at 92--my cousin Gayle Pugh Keller was given all Elsie's photos and she sent them to the rest of the Jones/Pugh/Bradley/Perkins cousins. I got a hundred or so.
I've look at them off and on and in the last couple of days have looked harder, looking with different eyes.
I'm reading a collection of British short stories about an Anglican Priest, Sydney (I had an uncle, my father's brother, named that, except with the American I rather than the British y) who is featured in a BBC TV show I love called "Grandchester". In that collection, Sydney is on his way to London from his rural parish and on the train is wondering to himself, "how much can a person's life change?" He thinks it's a basic question of Christianity, but he also thinks people, most people, stay pretty much the same their whole lives.
Looking at these pictures, I realize how much I have changed. I hardly recognize the life they portray. It's all from my mother's side--but I think if I had photos from my father's side, I'd probably recognize them even less.
My mother's family were all some shade of evangelical Christian. My father's family were sturdy agnostics who grew up Baptist. I'm an Episcopalian.
All these photos are from southern West Virginia. I'm a New England-er for 37 years (the first 50 are the hardest, the saying goes!) with a slight accent I can emphasis on cue into something mountain-born.
My father--a brilliant man--only finished 8th grade. My mother had a teaching degree and only two of her sisters went to college and only one of the women my father's brothers married did--all were school teachers, but I have three post graduate degrees and could call myself 'Dr. Bradley' if I wanted to.
Most of the people in those pictures would have been conservative Democrats or moderate Republicans. I am a left-wing, socialist leaning Democrat.
Everyone in both my families married people like them. I married a Italian/Hungarian/Roman Catholic. My uncle Sid even married my mother's cousin so that Sid and Callie's two children, Greg and Sarita, were my 'double first cousins' as we called it, though it's more complex than that. My mother's family was very precise about relationships. I grew up calling members of my father's family 'aunt' and 'uncle' who were second cousins at best! Because of the Appalachian Diaspora and the fact that I'm an only child and Bern's two older siblings never married or had children, our kids grew up bereft of cousins. Bern and I had dozens.
There I am, in someone's yard, 2 and a half or so, leaning slightly over, my left hand by my mouth, smiling, almost laughing, like I'm telling a secret. My hair is blond and I'm dressed all in white, down to the shoes.
There I am, on the back porch of our apartmentment where I grew up with a 40 foot drop to the ground--which is the reason for my fear of heights to this day--sitting on a bench with Susan Creasy, the granddaughter of my parents' friends (I was born when Dad was 41 and Mom 38, so my friends' grandparents were my parents' ages). Susan is snarling. I'm smiling up a storm (we're probably between 3 and 4). Everyone probably thought Susan and I would marry--but we didn't much like each other.
There I am, in the yard between our apartment and my Uncle Russel and Aunt Gladys' house, holding my 4th birthday cake. The grass needs cutting badly. I'm still blonde as I can be and, as always, smiling like only children do when you point a camera at them.
Then, there I am, my first or second grad picture, finally with glasses--thank God! I couldn't see worth a damn! and my teeth all different lengths and only the top of my hair blonde, in a wildly striped tea shirt and smiling less than in the other.
I could do this a hundred times--me in diapers feeding the chickens, me on the tire swing, me on the steps of my Grandma Jones' house, on and on and on.
But here's the point--I know that's me...I really KNOW it...but I feel very little connection to the 'me' in those photos. Sydney the Anglican Priest is right. Some of us change a lot during life. I did.
I love the photos, but the 'love' is more intellectual love than emotional love.
I don't know how else to say it.
And I'm still pondering what all I've just written means or matters....
There I am
I've look at them off and on and in the last couple of days have looked harder, looking with different eyes.
I'm reading a collection of British short stories about an Anglican Priest, Sydney (I had an uncle, my father's brother, named that, except with the American I rather than the British y) who is featured in a BBC TV show I love called "Grandchester". In that collection, Sydney is on his way to London from his rural parish and on the train is wondering to himself, "how much can a person's life change?" He thinks it's a basic question of Christianity, but he also thinks people, most people, stay pretty much the same their whole lives.
Looking at these pictures, I realize how much I have changed. I hardly recognize the life they portray. It's all from my mother's side--but I think if I had photos from my father's side, I'd probably recognize them even less.
My mother's family were all some shade of evangelical Christian. My father's family were sturdy agnostics who grew up Baptist. I'm an Episcopalian.
All these photos are from southern West Virginia. I'm a New England-er for 37 years (the first 50 are the hardest, the saying goes!) with a slight accent I can emphasis on cue into something mountain-born.
My father--a brilliant man--only finished 8th grade. My mother had a teaching degree and only two of her sisters went to college and only one of the women my father's brothers married did--all were school teachers, but I have three post graduate degrees and could call myself 'Dr. Bradley' if I wanted to.
Most of the people in those pictures would have been conservative Democrats or moderate Republicans. I am a left-wing, socialist leaning Democrat.
Everyone in both my families married people like them. I married a Italian/Hungarian/Roman Catholic. My uncle Sid even married my mother's cousin so that Sid and Callie's two children, Greg and Sarita, were my 'double first cousins' as we called it, though it's more complex than that. My mother's family was very precise about relationships. I grew up calling members of my father's family 'aunt' and 'uncle' who were second cousins at best! Because of the Appalachian Diaspora and the fact that I'm an only child and Bern's two older siblings never married or had children, our kids grew up bereft of cousins. Bern and I had dozens.
There I am, in someone's yard, 2 and a half or so, leaning slightly over, my left hand by my mouth, smiling, almost laughing, like I'm telling a secret. My hair is blond and I'm dressed all in white, down to the shoes.
There I am, on the back porch of our apartmentment where I grew up with a 40 foot drop to the ground--which is the reason for my fear of heights to this day--sitting on a bench with Susan Creasy, the granddaughter of my parents' friends (I was born when Dad was 41 and Mom 38, so my friends' grandparents were my parents' ages). Susan is snarling. I'm smiling up a storm (we're probably between 3 and 4). Everyone probably thought Susan and I would marry--but we didn't much like each other.
There I am, in the yard between our apartment and my Uncle Russel and Aunt Gladys' house, holding my 4th birthday cake. The grass needs cutting badly. I'm still blonde as I can be and, as always, smiling like only children do when you point a camera at them.
Then, there I am, my first or second grad picture, finally with glasses--thank God! I couldn't see worth a damn! and my teeth all different lengths and only the top of my hair blonde, in a wildly striped tea shirt and smiling less than in the other.
I could do this a hundred times--me in diapers feeding the chickens, me on the tire swing, me on the steps of my Grandma Jones' house, on and on and on.
But here's the point--I know that's me...I really KNOW it...but I feel very little connection to the 'me' in those photos. Sydney the Anglican Priest is right. Some of us change a lot during life. I did.
I love the photos, but the 'love' is more intellectual love than emotional love.
I don't know how else to say it.
And I'm still pondering what all I've just written means or matters....
There I am
Friday, June 23, 2017
Saturday Baptism revisited
Once, years ago--a decade if not more--I was at St. John's on a Saturday by myself doing something or another (or perhaps my unruly God wanted me there!) when someone rang the doorbell. I went to see who it was and encountered 20 or so Hispanic folks. One of them who spoke English told me they just wanted a place to pray for a while. So I let them in.
The same person, who was to be the god-father of the baby who was with the crowd...most of whom were weeping quietly...told me they had been across the Green at Immaculate Conception RC church to have the baby baptized. The priest asked who the god parents were and asked them if they were Roman Catholic. The man talking to me said he was an Evangelical and when the priest found that out he refused to baptize little Louisa. So they came to St. John's to mourn and pray for a while.
I let them be for 10 minutes or so and then went back and found my confidant and asked him if the parents would let me baptize Louisa. They readily agreed and I got the oil and water (some water, if I remember correctly, that I'd brought back from the Jordon River on a trip to Israel).
So, I did the baptism, though about half of the group didn't understand exactly what I was saying and offered the group Communion. They all received! Amazing.
I never saw them again, to my knowledge, but I was sure I had done the least that God expected of me. I couldn't take away the pain of their church rejecting them, but I could offer and bring the sacraments into that day of anguish.
Some, I know, would say I didn't 'do my duty' since I hadn't prepared them with pre-baptismal instruction and required them to come to St. John's in the future. But that's just pious bullsh*t as far as I can tell.
The sacraments belong to God--not the church and certainly not the priest.
Little Louisa was 'marked as Christ's own forever'. And she is. She'd be approaching her teen years now--if ever there is a period to be marked as Christ's own!!!
The same person, who was to be the god-father of the baby who was with the crowd...most of whom were weeping quietly...told me they had been across the Green at Immaculate Conception RC church to have the baby baptized. The priest asked who the god parents were and asked them if they were Roman Catholic. The man talking to me said he was an Evangelical and when the priest found that out he refused to baptize little Louisa. So they came to St. John's to mourn and pray for a while.
I let them be for 10 minutes or so and then went back and found my confidant and asked him if the parents would let me baptize Louisa. They readily agreed and I got the oil and water (some water, if I remember correctly, that I'd brought back from the Jordon River on a trip to Israel).
So, I did the baptism, though about half of the group didn't understand exactly what I was saying and offered the group Communion. They all received! Amazing.
I never saw them again, to my knowledge, but I was sure I had done the least that God expected of me. I couldn't take away the pain of their church rejecting them, but I could offer and bring the sacraments into that day of anguish.
Some, I know, would say I didn't 'do my duty' since I hadn't prepared them with pre-baptismal instruction and required them to come to St. John's in the future. But that's just pious bullsh*t as far as I can tell.
The sacraments belong to God--not the church and certainly not the priest.
Little Louisa was 'marked as Christ's own forever'. And she is. She'd be approaching her teen years now--if ever there is a period to be marked as Christ's own!!!
Saturday Baptism
I'm officiating at a baptism tomorrow. It's against my better judgment to do 'private' baptisms. Baptism should be in the full view of the people of God gathered on the Lord's day. I believe that--I do--but I also know this: any time anyone wants a touch of God in their lives, I'll do whatever I can to let God touch them.
Ceremonially, I'm pretty 'low church'. However, I have a 'high church' view of the sacraments. I truly believe and live as if they are 'real'--just what they claim to be: opportunities for the holy and wild God to dip into our lives for a moment.
So, if another Episcopal priest has some reason not to officiate at your wedding--give me a call!
If you have a god-father who has to fly back to Puerto Rico on Sunday morning, I'll do a Saturday baptism.
I'll bury anyone who wants to be buried. Christian burial should always be available. The morticians in Waterbury still call me from time to time for murdered folks and suicides and people with no discernible religion because they know I'll never deny the sacrament of burial (OK, I 'know' it's not one of the 7 sacraments, but it seems sacramental to me to ask God to take into God's heart this person who is dead....)
Fewer and fewer people these days seem to want to invite God into their lives. One one level, I understand that--given my wild and uncontrollable God who will just stir things up and turn you inside out. However, anyone who is willing to make that risky invitation to a God beyond our understanding...well, I'm willing to assist in the invitation.
I've known lots of Episcopal priests who have turned away couples, either denied baptism or made it too arduous, who turn away the unbaptized from the Lord's Table.
For goodness (and His!) sake--it's the LORD'S TABLE, not the church's or the priest's....
I once gave communion at St. James in Charleston, West Virginia to a man who wandered in wearing a turban and with a dot on his dark forehead. He left immediately after the bread and wine.
The communion minister with the cup asked me afterwards, "how did you know he was a Christian?"
"I didn't," I explained, "but God could have struck him dead or me dead if what I did was wrong....And God didn't...."
That's my theology and I'm sticking with it. The sacraments belong to God, not to the church or to me. So, my job is to hand them out as often and as generously as I can.
That's what I believe, at any rate.
Ceremonially, I'm pretty 'low church'. However, I have a 'high church' view of the sacraments. I truly believe and live as if they are 'real'--just what they claim to be: opportunities for the holy and wild God to dip into our lives for a moment.
So, if another Episcopal priest has some reason not to officiate at your wedding--give me a call!
If you have a god-father who has to fly back to Puerto Rico on Sunday morning, I'll do a Saturday baptism.
I'll bury anyone who wants to be buried. Christian burial should always be available. The morticians in Waterbury still call me from time to time for murdered folks and suicides and people with no discernible religion because they know I'll never deny the sacrament of burial (OK, I 'know' it's not one of the 7 sacraments, but it seems sacramental to me to ask God to take into God's heart this person who is dead....)
Fewer and fewer people these days seem to want to invite God into their lives. One one level, I understand that--given my wild and uncontrollable God who will just stir things up and turn you inside out. However, anyone who is willing to make that risky invitation to a God beyond our understanding...well, I'm willing to assist in the invitation.
I've known lots of Episcopal priests who have turned away couples, either denied baptism or made it too arduous, who turn away the unbaptized from the Lord's Table.
For goodness (and His!) sake--it's the LORD'S TABLE, not the church's or the priest's....
I once gave communion at St. James in Charleston, West Virginia to a man who wandered in wearing a turban and with a dot on his dark forehead. He left immediately after the bread and wine.
The communion minister with the cup asked me afterwards, "how did you know he was a Christian?"
"I didn't," I explained, "but God could have struck him dead or me dead if what I did was wrong....And God didn't...."
That's my theology and I'm sticking with it. The sacraments belong to God, not to the church or to me. So, my job is to hand them out as often and as generously as I can.
That's what I believe, at any rate.
Wednesday, June 21, 2017
knees
Human knees are remarkable architecture. They were designed to help us stand upright and walk without dragging our hands on the ground. All that happened over 200,000 years ago and knees have been working ever since.
Mine aren't. I had surgery in September of last year to reattach my quad muscle to my knee and let the ligaments and all grow back. I walk OK--except for steps--but there are still some issues with my right knee,
And my left knee 'pops', audibly when I stand up from sitting down.
I went to my orthopedic surgeon this week. He told me to give the reconstructed right knee another three months and that my left knee was full of arthritis. All the cartilage that lubricates my knee has been dried up by the arthritis and the 'pop' I hear is just bone against bone. (Pleasant though, huh?)
He told me that the X ray of that knee would usually mean I had a lot of pain. Which I don't. Just popping.
He told me I was lucky.
I'm glad I don't have pain in that knee, but I don't feel lucky. Not by a long shot.
"Pop", "pop", "pop" doesn't feel lucky....
Mine aren't. I had surgery in September of last year to reattach my quad muscle to my knee and let the ligaments and all grow back. I walk OK--except for steps--but there are still some issues with my right knee,
And my left knee 'pops', audibly when I stand up from sitting down.
I went to my orthopedic surgeon this week. He told me to give the reconstructed right knee another three months and that my left knee was full of arthritis. All the cartilage that lubricates my knee has been dried up by the arthritis and the 'pop' I hear is just bone against bone. (Pleasant though, huh?)
He told me that the X ray of that knee would usually mean I had a lot of pain. Which I don't. Just popping.
He told me I was lucky.
I'm glad I don't have pain in that knee, but I don't feel lucky. Not by a long shot.
"Pop", "pop", "pop" doesn't feel lucky....
Tuesday, June 20, 2017
Happy Father's Day (to me)
(I wrote this on Sunday and neglected to hit 'post'. Two days late....)
There are almost no other days that make me as humble and proud and blessed as Father's Day.
There are very few parents I feel comfortable talking about kids with because ours turned out so remarkable...and not everyone's did.
Mimi (38) is the Director of Operations and Special Projects at the Institute of Classical Architecture and Art, a nationwide non-profit organization housed in New York City. Josh (41) is a lawyer at Rosenberg, Martin and Greenberg in Baltimore and three times voted 'rising star' by the Baltimore Legal Association.
He's married to a prosecutor, Cathy Chen, for the Baltimore City Prosecutor's office. They have given us three wondrous grand-daughters.
Mimi is married to Tim McCarthy, who works for Linked-In (his office is in the Empire State Building!) and they gave us baby Eleanor.
I wish I deserved them, I really do.
But, instead, they have blessed me so.
Happy Father's Day to me....
There are almost no other days that make me as humble and proud and blessed as Father's Day.
There are very few parents I feel comfortable talking about kids with because ours turned out so remarkable...and not everyone's did.
Mimi (38) is the Director of Operations and Special Projects at the Institute of Classical Architecture and Art, a nationwide non-profit organization housed in New York City. Josh (41) is a lawyer at Rosenberg, Martin and Greenberg in Baltimore and three times voted 'rising star' by the Baltimore Legal Association.
He's married to a prosecutor, Cathy Chen, for the Baltimore City Prosecutor's office. They have given us three wondrous grand-daughters.
Mimi is married to Tim McCarthy, who works for Linked-In (his office is in the Empire State Building!) and they gave us baby Eleanor.
I wish I deserved them, I really do.
But, instead, they have blessed me so.
Happy Father's Day to me....
Saturday, June 17, 2017
So I play on-line games
Lordy, Lordy, I have to admit it--I play Hearts and Solitaire on line.
Here's the thing, I win about 90% of the time in hearts and only 15% of the time in Solitaire.
One reason is the hearts game is badly formed. Throw the Ace of Hearts and you'll get the King and Queen. Real people, as opposed to a computer, would hold on to the King and Queen in case they needed them to stop a run.
But in Solitaire I'm playing against the cards, not three computer driven opponents.
Thing is, which gives me something to ponder, I love both games equally.
I love trying to get above 90% in Hearts (I never have!) or 15% in Solitaire (I never have!) though that's a 75% difference in winning or losing.
Maybe those games, like life, aren't about the winning or losing percentage but about simply 'getting better' at what your doing.
I invite you to sit with that possibility for a bit.
What if--just, what if--the whole game we're playing that we call life, isn't about winning or losing but about simply 'getting better'. What if that's the Truth?
How would that alter the occurring of 'how life shows up' for you?
It's not about 'winning' at all, but simply 'getting better'.
I'm going to have to dwell on that for a good spell.
I hope you will too.
Maybe there's just some wisdom and possibility and creation in there somewhere if we ponder it long enough.
Greatly to be wished for and wondrously to be received.....
Here's the thing, I win about 90% of the time in hearts and only 15% of the time in Solitaire.
One reason is the hearts game is badly formed. Throw the Ace of Hearts and you'll get the King and Queen. Real people, as opposed to a computer, would hold on to the King and Queen in case they needed them to stop a run.
But in Solitaire I'm playing against the cards, not three computer driven opponents.
Thing is, which gives me something to ponder, I love both games equally.
I love trying to get above 90% in Hearts (I never have!) or 15% in Solitaire (I never have!) though that's a 75% difference in winning or losing.
Maybe those games, like life, aren't about the winning or losing percentage but about simply 'getting better' at what your doing.
I invite you to sit with that possibility for a bit.
What if--just, what if--the whole game we're playing that we call life, isn't about winning or losing but about simply 'getting better'. What if that's the Truth?
How would that alter the occurring of 'how life shows up' for you?
It's not about 'winning' at all, but simply 'getting better'.
I'm going to have to dwell on that for a good spell.
I hope you will too.
Maybe there's just some wisdom and possibility and creation in there somewhere if we ponder it long enough.
Greatly to be wished for and wondrously to be received.....
Brooklyn and back
8:20 a.m. train down and 3:02 train home. In between, 6 stops on the 4/5 train to within 2 blocks of Mimi and Tim's apartment.
An hour or so adoring Eleanor and then a walk through a worsening rain to have lunch. Ellie fell asleep on Mimi's shoulder about half-way through and then we sat in a little area at the front of the restaurant for an hour or so with some friendly people until the rain slacked. Ellie woke up halfway through that and totally charmed the strangers around her.
A just right visit--a hit of Mimi, Tim and Ellie. And riding Metro North instead of driving made all the difference in the world! I read half a very good book and dozed a little. The train takes 90 minutes. No way to do that in a car because from our house to theirs is exactly 90 miles and driving 60 once you hit the city is something you could (maybe) do at 3 a.m.
On the subway there was a family from Brazil speaking Portuguese on one side of us and a family from Germany speaking German on the other side of us. Ah, New York! And in Brooklyn I saw a lot fewer couples who were both straight and both white than otherwise. Ah, Brooklyn!
I could never live in Manhattan--still too much a country boy. I might survive in Fort Green, the part of Brooklyn Mimi and Tim live in--though Brooklyn has nearly 3 million souls in 71 square miles. But I'd have to have a garage and a deck and a yard--which probably would put me in the $3million range, which I'm not in!
A wild trip, but manageable. Much better than driving.
And Eleanor IS the best baby....
Mimi and Tim are two of my top people as well.
An hour or so adoring Eleanor and then a walk through a worsening rain to have lunch. Ellie fell asleep on Mimi's shoulder about half-way through and then we sat in a little area at the front of the restaurant for an hour or so with some friendly people until the rain slacked. Ellie woke up halfway through that and totally charmed the strangers around her.
A just right visit--a hit of Mimi, Tim and Ellie. And riding Metro North instead of driving made all the difference in the world! I read half a very good book and dozed a little. The train takes 90 minutes. No way to do that in a car because from our house to theirs is exactly 90 miles and driving 60 once you hit the city is something you could (maybe) do at 3 a.m.
On the subway there was a family from Brazil speaking Portuguese on one side of us and a family from Germany speaking German on the other side of us. Ah, New York! And in Brooklyn I saw a lot fewer couples who were both straight and both white than otherwise. Ah, Brooklyn!
I could never live in Manhattan--still too much a country boy. I might survive in Fort Green, the part of Brooklyn Mimi and Tim live in--though Brooklyn has nearly 3 million souls in 71 square miles. But I'd have to have a garage and a deck and a yard--which probably would put me in the $3million range, which I'm not in!
A wild trip, but manageable. Much better than driving.
And Eleanor IS the best baby....
Mimi and Tim are two of my top people as well.
Friday, June 16, 2017
going to Brooklyn
We're taking the train tomorrow to Brooklyn to see Mimi and Tim and, of course, baby Ellie.
Ellie is pulling up and crawling like crazy. Mimi said they thought they'd get her a cage--she said 'pen' but I thought 'cage' after seeing them chase her around their apartment on Bern's phone.
I swore I wasn't driving to NYC again after our last trip. It took us 4 hours and 15 minutes from Brooklyn to Cheshire. We've actually driven to Baltimore in that time!
So, a quick trip. Down to visit and have lunch and then come home. Got to get back to the old dog at a decent hour.
But even a few minutes with those 3 is worth the hassle of riding the train and subway and driving to New Haven. Lovely.
Ellie is pulling up and crawling like crazy. Mimi said they thought they'd get her a cage--she said 'pen' but I thought 'cage' after seeing them chase her around their apartment on Bern's phone.
I swore I wasn't driving to NYC again after our last trip. It took us 4 hours and 15 minutes from Brooklyn to Cheshire. We've actually driven to Baltimore in that time!
So, a quick trip. Down to visit and have lunch and then come home. Got to get back to the old dog at a decent hour.
But even a few minutes with those 3 is worth the hassle of riding the train and subway and driving to New Haven. Lovely.
Wednesday, June 14, 2017
ok, F--- Facebook!
I used to be on Facebook when I was Rector of St. John's in Waterbury. I looked at about a dozen times in a dozen years and got bored. Then, when I retired, I got off Facebook after about a half-an-hour of clicks.
Then, a couple of months ago, I went on to see if I could see a video of a sermon of mine that was supposedly there. It wasn't.
Everyday I get 7 or 8 emails about people who have said something on my...what's it called? My 'frame'? My, uh, 'pallet'? My, is it, "wall"? Well that makes less than no sense. I don't have a wall except in my house and there's nothing there.
I always look if my son put something on whatever it is I have on Facebook. But tonight I decided to explore a bit and it was horrible. People put up nonsense and there are ads and people I never heard of are there saying things I think are deplorable (Yes, Hillary, I think that word applies from time to time!!!)
So, 'begone, Facebook'! I'm not going to try to get 'off' since I know what a pain that is. I'm just not looking anymore. I'll let Josh know in case I'm supposed to reply to anything he puts there--though I don't think I'd know how!!!
Since I'll be wrapping up this blog after 116 more posts, maybe I'll just sign off social media altogether. No email. No texts. Call me or send me a letter, that kind of thing.
I'll have to ponder it, but it seems like something to lean into.....
Then, a couple of months ago, I went on to see if I could see a video of a sermon of mine that was supposedly there. It wasn't.
Everyday I get 7 or 8 emails about people who have said something on my...what's it called? My 'frame'? My, uh, 'pallet'? My, is it, "wall"? Well that makes less than no sense. I don't have a wall except in my house and there's nothing there.
I always look if my son put something on whatever it is I have on Facebook. But tonight I decided to explore a bit and it was horrible. People put up nonsense and there are ads and people I never heard of are there saying things I think are deplorable (Yes, Hillary, I think that word applies from time to time!!!)
So, 'begone, Facebook'! I'm not going to try to get 'off' since I know what a pain that is. I'm just not looking anymore. I'll let Josh know in case I'm supposed to reply to anything he puts there--though I don't think I'd know how!!!
Since I'll be wrapping up this blog after 116 more posts, maybe I'll just sign off social media altogether. No email. No texts. Call me or send me a letter, that kind of thing.
I'll have to ponder it, but it seems like something to lean into.....
Tuesday, June 13, 2017
Faith as a possibility....
We had a long discussion about faith/believing/knowing at the little group I go to on Tuesday mornings today. For some reason I just couldn't get into it too deeply and didn't know why. On the way home, I remembered why...I wasn't 'letting the workshop be the workshop!'
I help lead this "Making a Difference Workshop" where we spend 4/5 of the time either doing centering prayer or dealing in two domains--the domain of experience and the domain of concept.
So, we spend most of the workshop exposing how wed and trapped we are in the domains of concept and experience, where our concepts, which come from our experiences, begin to color and determine future experiences. We 'work backwards' until we can reach the point where we can un-conceal (different from 'reveal' which is why my spell check doesn't like it) a third domain. Experience and concepts are all about 'getting somewhere'. The third domain--the Domain of Possibility--is a place 'to come from...."
Our conversation today was bogged down (as we almost always are) in the two domains of experience and concept, which actually collapse on each other into a vicious circle. What I needed to say, if I'd only remembered to let the workshop work, was to create the possibility of 'faith' or 'believing' AS A POSSIBILITY.
Everything exists in all three domains. God, for example, exists as an 'experience' of God/Spirit/the Holy and a 'concept' of God. But both the experience and concept are dwarfed and transformed by God 'as a possibility', as a creation, as a limitless declaration. God then become a place to 'come from' and BE, not a place of presence or representation. (That's 'doing and having', or 'experience and concept'.)
Am I going too fast? We use three days to do this workshop and I'm trying to re-create it in a blog post!!!
Faith as a possibility helps us to create a future that wouldn't happen anyway.
That's one of the mantras of the workshop--'there are two futures: the one that will come if you just wait and the one you can create that wouldn't happen anyway.'
Faith as a possibility means we bring the limitless possibility of 'faith' into the moment. We 'be' faith, rather than experiencing faith or having a concept of faith. That's why the second rail of the workshop is centering prayer. Centering prayer is a prayer of 'being' rather than 'doing' or 'having'.
I'm not sure any of this is making sense--but I know our conversation today needed a high octane injection of 'being'. We were talking about 'experiencing God' and having 'concepts/traditions/theologies about God. What we needed was God as a limitless possibility to 'come from' into the next moment.
(Coming from 'being' devolves into experience and concept--we call that, my favorite bit of workshop language: 'the ontological cascade' (cool, huh?)--but we can also return to 'being' again and again and 'come from' being by, guess what?, merely 'SAYING SO....'
Should be familiar as a way of creating: "God SAID 'let there be light....."
You know the rest of that.
Maybe next Tuesday I can come from 'Being' into the conversation....Devoutly to be hoped.
I help lead this "Making a Difference Workshop" where we spend 4/5 of the time either doing centering prayer or dealing in two domains--the domain of experience and the domain of concept.
So, we spend most of the workshop exposing how wed and trapped we are in the domains of concept and experience, where our concepts, which come from our experiences, begin to color and determine future experiences. We 'work backwards' until we can reach the point where we can un-conceal (different from 'reveal' which is why my spell check doesn't like it) a third domain. Experience and concepts are all about 'getting somewhere'. The third domain--the Domain of Possibility--is a place 'to come from...."
Our conversation today was bogged down (as we almost always are) in the two domains of experience and concept, which actually collapse on each other into a vicious circle. What I needed to say, if I'd only remembered to let the workshop work, was to create the possibility of 'faith' or 'believing' AS A POSSIBILITY.
Everything exists in all three domains. God, for example, exists as an 'experience' of God/Spirit/the Holy and a 'concept' of God. But both the experience and concept are dwarfed and transformed by God 'as a possibility', as a creation, as a limitless declaration. God then become a place to 'come from' and BE, not a place of presence or representation. (That's 'doing and having', or 'experience and concept'.)
Am I going too fast? We use three days to do this workshop and I'm trying to re-create it in a blog post!!!
Faith as a possibility helps us to create a future that wouldn't happen anyway.
That's one of the mantras of the workshop--'there are two futures: the one that will come if you just wait and the one you can create that wouldn't happen anyway.'
Faith as a possibility means we bring the limitless possibility of 'faith' into the moment. We 'be' faith, rather than experiencing faith or having a concept of faith. That's why the second rail of the workshop is centering prayer. Centering prayer is a prayer of 'being' rather than 'doing' or 'having'.
I'm not sure any of this is making sense--but I know our conversation today needed a high octane injection of 'being'. We were talking about 'experiencing God' and having 'concepts/traditions/theologies about God. What we needed was God as a limitless possibility to 'come from' into the next moment.
(Coming from 'being' devolves into experience and concept--we call that, my favorite bit of workshop language: 'the ontological cascade' (cool, huh?)--but we can also return to 'being' again and again and 'come from' being by, guess what?, merely 'SAYING SO....'
Should be familiar as a way of creating: "God SAID 'let there be light....."
You know the rest of that.
Maybe next Tuesday I can come from 'Being' into the conversation....Devoutly to be hoped.
Sunday, June 11, 2017
me too...
Bern and I were talking earlier about getting older. She told me that turning 30, for her, was an opportunity to leave behind some things she no longer had to think about. "I knew I'd never be a model for 17 magazine," she said. "Took pressure off. One less thing to worry about. That's the way we should be now."
How right she is.
I wrote about Bela, our 12 year old Puli getting older. Well, so are we.
Our daughter, Mimi, told Bern a while back, knowing we have always had a dog--"when Bela dies, you and Dad should get an older dog...."
We probably will--though I dread the day Bela dies. I've thought, more than once, that it might be better for Bern if I died before Bela. Our house is paid off. She'll get part of my pension and SS. She'll be fine. And Bela could comfort her more about 'the man' (which is what I am to Bela) than I'll be able to when he dies.
I've backed off that. I want to outlive Bela and get a 7 year old rescue dog after an appropriate mourning.
But I am getting older.
That whole conversation about turning 30 was spurred by my telling Bern I can't jump anymore. With my repaired knee and the other knee that pops audibly whenever I stand up, I just don't think I can--or should--jump.
She told me then about her turning 30 and also told me 'jumping is over-rated'.
Granted, it is. But I used to be a pretty good basketball player and loved to shoot jump shots.
Playing basketball, she told me, is also over-rated.
I'm going to ponder 'the opportunity to leave things behind' as opposed to regretting I can't do things I used to do.
That may be the thing to do as I move toward 80 in a decade.
Yea, I think that's a plan....
How right she is.
I wrote about Bela, our 12 year old Puli getting older. Well, so are we.
Our daughter, Mimi, told Bern a while back, knowing we have always had a dog--"when Bela dies, you and Dad should get an older dog...."
We probably will--though I dread the day Bela dies. I've thought, more than once, that it might be better for Bern if I died before Bela. Our house is paid off. She'll get part of my pension and SS. She'll be fine. And Bela could comfort her more about 'the man' (which is what I am to Bela) than I'll be able to when he dies.
I've backed off that. I want to outlive Bela and get a 7 year old rescue dog after an appropriate mourning.
But I am getting older.
That whole conversation about turning 30 was spurred by my telling Bern I can't jump anymore. With my repaired knee and the other knee that pops audibly whenever I stand up, I just don't think I can--or should--jump.
She told me then about her turning 30 and also told me 'jumping is over-rated'.
Granted, it is. But I used to be a pretty good basketball player and loved to shoot jump shots.
Playing basketball, she told me, is also over-rated.
I'm going to ponder 'the opportunity to leave things behind' as opposed to regretting I can't do things I used to do.
That may be the thing to do as I move toward 80 in a decade.
Yea, I think that's a plan....
Friday, June 9, 2017
He's getting old
Our dog, Bela, is 12 now--what's that, 84 in dog years?
He's on some new pain meds that have helped a lot, but his joints are, like my knees, problematic.
He hesitates to go up steps without help. Jumping on the bed is an issue.
I tend to stay downstairs or upstairs longer than I would normally just so he doesn't have to navigate the steep steps in our 1850 house.
Jumping in the car or Bern's truck is tricky--as is jumping out. He slips on our hardwood floors downstairs.
He eats like a champ and sleeps well, but his body just isn't what it used to be and he is coward-ed by things like he's never been.
He's so much a part of our lives--bad, bad dog that he is--that watching him breaks my heart.
Getting old isn't a bed of roses, that's for sure.
Lordy, lordy, Bela, it's so hard to see you like this....
He's on some new pain meds that have helped a lot, but his joints are, like my knees, problematic.
He hesitates to go up steps without help. Jumping on the bed is an issue.
I tend to stay downstairs or upstairs longer than I would normally just so he doesn't have to navigate the steep steps in our 1850 house.
Jumping in the car or Bern's truck is tricky--as is jumping out. He slips on our hardwood floors downstairs.
He eats like a champ and sleeps well, but his body just isn't what it used to be and he is coward-ed by things like he's never been.
He's so much a part of our lives--bad, bad dog that he is--that watching him breaks my heart.
Getting old isn't a bed of roses, that's for sure.
Lordy, lordy, Bela, it's so hard to see you like this....
Thursday, June 8, 2017
Dear Lord, help me be calm....
Well, today James Comey, fired FBI director, testified before a Senate Committee.
Lordy, Lordy, our President lied about the FBI Director. Lordy, Lordy, Trump asked Comey for 'loyality' when Comey's job was to be objective about the President. Lordy, Lordy did he really ask Comey to step back from an active investigation?
Take a big breath, Jim. Calm down. Go to your silent space. Relax.
All this is as bad as it gets.
The only thing worse is to imagine Mike Pence being President!!! He's a 'true believer' in Right Wing stuff. At least Trump (the only good thing I can say about him) really isn't a 'true believer' about anything, anywhere, anytime....
Dear Lord, help me be calm.....
Deep breaths, Jim. Deep breaths....
Lordy, Lordy, our President lied about the FBI Director. Lordy, Lordy, Trump asked Comey for 'loyality' when Comey's job was to be objective about the President. Lordy, Lordy did he really ask Comey to step back from an active investigation?
Take a big breath, Jim. Calm down. Go to your silent space. Relax.
All this is as bad as it gets.
The only thing worse is to imagine Mike Pence being President!!! He's a 'true believer' in Right Wing stuff. At least Trump (the only good thing I can say about him) really isn't a 'true believer' about anything, anywhere, anytime....
Dear Lord, help me be calm.....
Deep breaths, Jim. Deep breaths....
Tuesday, June 6, 2017
How Great Is This?
I went to the Cluster Council Meeting tonight--representatives from all 3 of the Middlesex Area Cluster Ministry where I've served for 5 years or so (me and linear time again, who knows how long it's been???)
Two of the 9 were absent but with the Cluster Administrator and me there were still 9 folks.
The meeting was full of joy and wonder and sharing and seriousness and commitment and good humor and stories and hard work and fun.
How great is that?
I don't know when meetings, in my life, were so life-giving.
Remarkable people, ideas and groundedness and a real commitment to who we are and how we serve.
"Better than that," as Yoda would say, "it does not get."
How blessed and privileged I am, here, later in life, to be able to serve and be served by the folks at Emmanuel, Killingworth, St. James, Higganum and St. Andrew's, Northford.
Thank you POWERS THAT BE (and Episcopal priest should probably say 'Thank you God', but I'm not a traditional priest anymore than the Cluster is a 'traditional Episcopal Church'. 'Powers that Be' works for me and I think for that group of people around the table with me eating remarkable desserts and finger food St. Andrew's provided. (By the way, St. Andrew's does food way beyond the other two. They just do.)
I never eat breakfast when I go to celebrate at St. Andrew's--coffee hour will be 'brunch', I know.
I simply can't imagine what I'd rather be doing as a priest at 70 that would be better than this.
Lucky me. Blessed. Full of joy. Wonder. Love.
Two of the 9 were absent but with the Cluster Administrator and me there were still 9 folks.
The meeting was full of joy and wonder and sharing and seriousness and commitment and good humor and stories and hard work and fun.
How great is that?
I don't know when meetings, in my life, were so life-giving.
Remarkable people, ideas and groundedness and a real commitment to who we are and how we serve.
"Better than that," as Yoda would say, "it does not get."
How blessed and privileged I am, here, later in life, to be able to serve and be served by the folks at Emmanuel, Killingworth, St. James, Higganum and St. Andrew's, Northford.
Thank you POWERS THAT BE (and Episcopal priest should probably say 'Thank you God', but I'm not a traditional priest anymore than the Cluster is a 'traditional Episcopal Church'. 'Powers that Be' works for me and I think for that group of people around the table with me eating remarkable desserts and finger food St. Andrew's provided. (By the way, St. Andrew's does food way beyond the other two. They just do.)
I never eat breakfast when I go to celebrate at St. Andrew's--coffee hour will be 'brunch', I know.
I simply can't imagine what I'd rather be doing as a priest at 70 that would be better than this.
Lucky me. Blessed. Full of joy. Wonder. Love.
Monday, June 5, 2017
2017--that's it....
When I decided I needed to decide when to retire as Rector of St. John's in Waterbury, CT, I finally came up with the idea of retiring the month I had 30 years in the Church Pension Fund.
I could have stayed on--I was only 63, after all--but., because I was going to be 63, I could get early Social Security. I know, I know, people tell you to wait to take SS benefits. I think the Social Security Administration is who does that. I did the math and taking SS at 63 vs 70 means that until I'm 82 I'll get more money taking it at 63. Go figure that.
So, anyway, that story is about my wondering when I'll stop writing my blog.
I've written 1904 posts. I don't post every day, but most days, except when I'm away and since I can only post from my desk top computer--having no other web devices--I don't post when traveling.
I decided I'll stop at 2017 posts. That's 113 more posts and since it's only June 5, I'll get it done before the end of 2017.
I could hang on, just like I could still be at St. John's since I'm two years from mandatory retirement in the Diocese of CT. But I needed a stopping place so I would stop and it would be over.
So, 2017 posts will be the end--the stopping place--for "Under the Castor Oil Tree". I'm sure I'll miss these musings and ponderings, just as I missed being Rector of St. John's. But I got over that and I'll get over this.
I like 'clean breaks', so I'm delighted I've made the decision of what the 'end' of this is.
113 to go. Lots of pondering and musing left. But at least I know now when I can stop.
That feels good for me. It really does.
Stay with me until the end, OK?
I could have stayed on--I was only 63, after all--but., because I was going to be 63, I could get early Social Security. I know, I know, people tell you to wait to take SS benefits. I think the Social Security Administration is who does that. I did the math and taking SS at 63 vs 70 means that until I'm 82 I'll get more money taking it at 63. Go figure that.
So, anyway, that story is about my wondering when I'll stop writing my blog.
I've written 1904 posts. I don't post every day, but most days, except when I'm away and since I can only post from my desk top computer--having no other web devices--I don't post when traveling.
I decided I'll stop at 2017 posts. That's 113 more posts and since it's only June 5, I'll get it done before the end of 2017.
I could hang on, just like I could still be at St. John's since I'm two years from mandatory retirement in the Diocese of CT. But I needed a stopping place so I would stop and it would be over.
So, 2017 posts will be the end--the stopping place--for "Under the Castor Oil Tree". I'm sure I'll miss these musings and ponderings, just as I missed being Rector of St. John's. But I got over that and I'll get over this.
I like 'clean breaks', so I'm delighted I've made the decision of what the 'end' of this is.
113 to go. Lots of pondering and musing left. But at least I know now when I can stop.
That feels good for me. It really does.
Stay with me until the end, OK?
memes
I read an article on line about how Harvard had taken back some offers to be in the class of 2021 because of the racist and otherwise unacceptable 'memes' some of those who had been accepted posted on a group created by those accepted to Harvard.
I realized I really didn't have any idea what a 'meme' is.
So, I went on line for an hour or so--read Wikipedia (the article was more complicated than an article about 'String Theory' or "Black Holes") and got on a site that had a collection of 'memes'.
I looked at that for a long time.
A 'meme', unless I'm really missing something (which is totally possible) is a picture with words on it that make it either ironic or funny or something else.
There was a picture of a man mowing a lawn with a tornado in the background. I found dozens of variations on that picture with different messages on them.
Is that a 'Meme'?
And how do they get offensive? I must have looked at a couple of hundred on that web site and none of them offended me though lots of them made no sense to me.
You know, as the last flip-phone, only a desk-top computer person I know--there are lots of times I feel pleased to be that 'out of it'.
And this is one of them.
I don't need to know what a 'meme' is, which is lucky since after a lot of research, I still don't know what a 'meme' is.....
I realized I really didn't have any idea what a 'meme' is.
So, I went on line for an hour or so--read Wikipedia (the article was more complicated than an article about 'String Theory' or "Black Holes") and got on a site that had a collection of 'memes'.
I looked at that for a long time.
A 'meme', unless I'm really missing something (which is totally possible) is a picture with words on it that make it either ironic or funny or something else.
There was a picture of a man mowing a lawn with a tornado in the background. I found dozens of variations on that picture with different messages on them.
Is that a 'Meme'?
And how do they get offensive? I must have looked at a couple of hundred on that web site and none of them offended me though lots of them made no sense to me.
You know, as the last flip-phone, only a desk-top computer person I know--there are lots of times I feel pleased to be that 'out of it'.
And this is one of them.
I don't need to know what a 'meme' is, which is lucky since after a lot of research, I still don't know what a 'meme' is.....
Sunday, June 4, 2017
Bern's owls
Bern ordered two owls from Amazon. Amazon has everything!
They're not real owls--fake ones that are supposed to scare away creatures.
I must admit, since they came I have seen a squirrel or chipmunk anywhere near our deck, though I didn't believe the hype.
One is sitting up and it's head moves. I'm not sure what the mechanism is but it won't be looking at you when you go out on the deck and when you glace up, it is. Creeps me out a bit.
The other is flying on plastic wings and will be down by the strawberry patch or next to the tomatoes to keep birds and squirrels away.
She moves the head turning one around and it always startles me when its been moved.
I'm not sure, but I may be more weirded-out by the owl than by squirrels and chipmunks....
They're not real owls--fake ones that are supposed to scare away creatures.
I must admit, since they came I have seen a squirrel or chipmunk anywhere near our deck, though I didn't believe the hype.
One is sitting up and it's head moves. I'm not sure what the mechanism is but it won't be looking at you when you go out on the deck and when you glace up, it is. Creeps me out a bit.
The other is flying on plastic wings and will be down by the strawberry patch or next to the tomatoes to keep birds and squirrels away.
She moves the head turning one around and it always startles me when its been moved.
I'm not sure, but I may be more weirded-out by the owl than by squirrels and chipmunks....
Thursday, June 1, 2017
Letter to my granddaughters
Dear Morgan, Emma, Tegan and Ellie,
Today your President--well, no one you voted for, thank God--but the guy who is sorta 'running our country' chose fossil fuels over your future.
Not exactly, it's much more complicated than what I just said--but he made us one of three countries (the other two are Syria and Nicaragua) not part of the Paris Climate Control Accord.
It is a sad day for us all and for the world, that the country that contributes almost a third of the greenhouse gases with only 6% of the world's population (do your fractions and percentages girls!) is no longer a part of a world wide effort to save the planet for you.
Oh, the planet will be fine for the rest of my lifetime...but yours, I'm not so sure. Baltimore and Brooklyn, where you live will start having sea rise issues before you're half my age.
I just hope I live long enough to vote for someone for President who will run on fixing all the nightmares He Who Will Not Be Named is creating.
That's my hope for me--but more so, for you.
I love you so much. You are, along with your grandma and Josh and Mimi (your dad, M/E/T and your mom Ellie) my life.
You just all.
Live long enough to have grandchildren to worry about and live more than life.
Love you, Granpa
Today your President--well, no one you voted for, thank God--but the guy who is sorta 'running our country' chose fossil fuels over your future.
Not exactly, it's much more complicated than what I just said--but he made us one of three countries (the other two are Syria and Nicaragua) not part of the Paris Climate Control Accord.
It is a sad day for us all and for the world, that the country that contributes almost a third of the greenhouse gases with only 6% of the world's population (do your fractions and percentages girls!) is no longer a part of a world wide effort to save the planet for you.
Oh, the planet will be fine for the rest of my lifetime...but yours, I'm not so sure. Baltimore and Brooklyn, where you live will start having sea rise issues before you're half my age.
I just hope I live long enough to vote for someone for President who will run on fixing all the nightmares He Who Will Not Be Named is creating.
That's my hope for me--but more so, for you.
I love you so much. You are, along with your grandma and Josh and Mimi (your dad, M/E/T and your mom Ellie) my life.
You just all.
Live long enough to have grandchildren to worry about and live more than life.
Love you, Granpa
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