Someone in my family, I don't remember who, used to say, when I was whining about this or that, "I cried because I had no shoes, then I saw a man who had no feet...."
This morning, trying to call the church, I kept forgetting to add the area code, which is new for us--all calls, local or long distance, require the area code now.
I was whining to myself and the Universe and wondering why my life was so miserable..
Then I got a call from a guy who I used to know. He worked at St. John's for a while as the Sexton and then moved to North Carolina. The day he buried his wife, he sat down awkwardly in a chair and somehow broke his neck. After 6 months in the hospital he was finally out and stopped at a stop light when a kid who had stolen a car back-ended him at 70 mph, breaking my friend's back. He's back in Waterbury, living with family, getting around in a power chair, unable to walk--he's 20 years younger than me, by the way. And a few nights ago his nephew's fish tank caught on fire (I'm not even going to speculate about how a fish tank full of water could catch on fire...) and if the dog hadn't barked and waked them up, they all would have died.
2-0-3...that doesn't seem such a burden to punch in when making a call any more.
Ponder that....
Thursday, November 19, 2009
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
What will you miss?
I once had a long talk with a friend who was going to die soon. We both knew it so there was no sense in pretending otherwise. We were standing outside in the early afternoon. It wasn't yet time for my friend to take to bed, though that was coming.
My friend and I were smoking cigarettes--don't get all moral about that, okay? it wasn't what killed my friend and we both loved to smoke.
The sky was that blue that took your breath away. The air was perfect--not too hot, not too cool. The grass was a painful green. Something magic about the afternoon, something so lovely it could make you laugh or bring tears to your eyes.
"Are you going to miss this?" I asked.
"Smoking?" my friend replied, then chuckled. We both laughed. We both knew I meant the wonder of the afternoon, but missing smoking was in there too.
After a long, companionable silence, my friend said, "I think I'll miss most all of it...."
Ever since then, from time to time, I try to notice things I will miss when it comes my time to die. Not in a sentimental or maudlin way--just clearly, so I can imprint the moments deep in my soul. Little things mostly--watching the squirrels chase each other, the sound of birds, the eternal roll of the ocean, the faces of those I love, waking up knowing my dog is beside me in bed, his back against my back, the smell of vanilla, the color of the leaves in early autumn, the taste of fresh coffee flavored with milk and sugar, the laughter of children, the tears I sometimes see sliding down the cheeks of people as they receiving communion, the scent of my wife's hair, something about the moment just before I fall to sleep and the dreams my sleep gifts me with, the day when pitchers and catchers report to spring training, the tone of a piano...a flute...a cello...the weight of my body when I sway to music, sand beneath bare feet....on and on...'most all of it....'
We could do worse, it seems to me, than notice, from time to time, what it is we will miss when it comes time to take to our bed and die.
Just notice and ponder and remember as long as we can.
People ask me often what happens when we die. I really have no clue, but after that perfect afternoon with my friend who has now passed through the magic door, I think this: the best thing would be able to remember all that I miss about being alive....
My friend and I were smoking cigarettes--don't get all moral about that, okay? it wasn't what killed my friend and we both loved to smoke.
The sky was that blue that took your breath away. The air was perfect--not too hot, not too cool. The grass was a painful green. Something magic about the afternoon, something so lovely it could make you laugh or bring tears to your eyes.
"Are you going to miss this?" I asked.
"Smoking?" my friend replied, then chuckled. We both laughed. We both knew I meant the wonder of the afternoon, but missing smoking was in there too.
After a long, companionable silence, my friend said, "I think I'll miss most all of it...."
Ever since then, from time to time, I try to notice things I will miss when it comes my time to die. Not in a sentimental or maudlin way--just clearly, so I can imprint the moments deep in my soul. Little things mostly--watching the squirrels chase each other, the sound of birds, the eternal roll of the ocean, the faces of those I love, waking up knowing my dog is beside me in bed, his back against my back, the smell of vanilla, the color of the leaves in early autumn, the taste of fresh coffee flavored with milk and sugar, the laughter of children, the tears I sometimes see sliding down the cheeks of people as they receiving communion, the scent of my wife's hair, something about the moment just before I fall to sleep and the dreams my sleep gifts me with, the day when pitchers and catchers report to spring training, the tone of a piano...a flute...a cello...the weight of my body when I sway to music, sand beneath bare feet....on and on...'most all of it....'
We could do worse, it seems to me, than notice, from time to time, what it is we will miss when it comes time to take to our bed and die.
Just notice and ponder and remember as long as we can.
People ask me often what happens when we die. I really have no clue, but after that perfect afternoon with my friend who has now passed through the magic door, I think this: the best thing would be able to remember all that I miss about being alive....
too hard on Rome? too hard on technology?
I grew up in the Pilgrim Holiness Church and as a teen, my family joined the Methodist Church and then I became an Episcopalian in college and have been ever since. (I would contend I was an Episcopalian from birth in some odd way, but how could I justify that???)
So maybe I AM too hard on Rome. I'd only known it from a distance until I married someone who was an Italian/Hungarian Roman Catholic. So, for most of my life now, I have been in contact, by marriage, to lots and lots of ethnic Roman Catholics.
Nothing in that exposure has led me to believe the RC church is the 'one true church'. (Let me add that 'the one true church' is like saying 'the perfect apple'. I've had some good apples in my time, but never one I would call 'perfect'. I've been around churches all my life and I wouldn't claim that any of them was 'one' or 'true'. ) So maybe I am too hard on Rome.
And the internet and all its manifestations as well. Maybe I'm too hard on them. I only know what I know about churches and technology and most of what I know sins and falls short of the glory of God.
But then I don't get the current rage about Vampires either, but I know I've seen young girls I'd never seen with a book coming to church and choristers with their nose stuck in one of the 'twilight' books. I believe in reading and even though I've never read one of those, I'd rather young girls be reading them than reading nothing. Reading, for its own sake is worth doing. So is religion and so is communication. So maybe I'm too hard on everything.
I don't think of myself who is too hard on things--I think of myself as laid back and non-judgemental. And, I mostly am.
But I heard on the radio a few days ago that the pork farmers are suffering because people believe, for reasons beyond all my comprehension, that 'swine flu' comes from pigs. The name 'swine flu', as I understand it, was because the virus was isolated in a pig who caught that strain of flu from human beings! So, though I'm not usually hard on things, that just seems astonishingly crazy to me--that people gave up sausage and bacon to avoid the flu....As far as I can tell, there is no ill that can't be lessened, if not cured, by a good dose of pork.
Then there is the movie that hasn't been in all theaters yet about how the world will end in 2012. I was driving through rural Maryland and heard a preacher on the radio who had already bought into the Mayan legend that the end will be on December 2o, 2012--get the numerology? 12/20 2012? He hadn't even seen the movie but was saying how gracious God was to give us all this time to repent. Good God, is that nuts or what?
Maybe what I need to ponder is how 'hard' I am on stuff. I'll think about that now....
So maybe I AM too hard on Rome. I'd only known it from a distance until I married someone who was an Italian/Hungarian Roman Catholic. So, for most of my life now, I have been in contact, by marriage, to lots and lots of ethnic Roman Catholics.
Nothing in that exposure has led me to believe the RC church is the 'one true church'. (Let me add that 'the one true church' is like saying 'the perfect apple'. I've had some good apples in my time, but never one I would call 'perfect'. I've been around churches all my life and I wouldn't claim that any of them was 'one' or 'true'. ) So maybe I am too hard on Rome.
And the internet and all its manifestations as well. Maybe I'm too hard on them. I only know what I know about churches and technology and most of what I know sins and falls short of the glory of God.
But then I don't get the current rage about Vampires either, but I know I've seen young girls I'd never seen with a book coming to church and choristers with their nose stuck in one of the 'twilight' books. I believe in reading and even though I've never read one of those, I'd rather young girls be reading them than reading nothing. Reading, for its own sake is worth doing. So is religion and so is communication. So maybe I'm too hard on everything.
I don't think of myself who is too hard on things--I think of myself as laid back and non-judgemental. And, I mostly am.
But I heard on the radio a few days ago that the pork farmers are suffering because people believe, for reasons beyond all my comprehension, that 'swine flu' comes from pigs. The name 'swine flu', as I understand it, was because the virus was isolated in a pig who caught that strain of flu from human beings! So, though I'm not usually hard on things, that just seems astonishingly crazy to me--that people gave up sausage and bacon to avoid the flu....As far as I can tell, there is no ill that can't be lessened, if not cured, by a good dose of pork.
Then there is the movie that hasn't been in all theaters yet about how the world will end in 2012. I was driving through rural Maryland and heard a preacher on the radio who had already bought into the Mayan legend that the end will be on December 2o, 2012--get the numerology? 12/20 2012? He hadn't even seen the movie but was saying how gracious God was to give us all this time to repent. Good God, is that nuts or what?
Maybe what I need to ponder is how 'hard' I am on stuff. I'll think about that now....
Monday, November 16, 2009
I gave you fair warning....
I got an email from a friend about going to a Roman Catholic mass and hearing the priest declare what a great job Pope Benedict is doing in 'ecumenical relations' by welcoming Anglicans 'home' to Rome.
It was no surprise to me since I went to a funeral recently at a RC church and heard the priest speak longer about 'blessed Benedict reaching out to the Anglicans' than he did about the dead person.
By now everyone has surely hear that the Pope, waking up and having a 'Pope thought'--which is, you realize, theologically unquestionable since all Pope thoughts are--that he, in his blessedness should invite Anglicans 'home to Rome'. It plays well since it is like ET saying "ET phone home". ANGLICANS HOME TO ROME...it would fit on a bumper sticker nicely.
Just to be clear: 'ecumenical' is a term that refers to dialog and co-operation between different Christian denominations. My suggesting, for example, that all gay Roman Catholic priests would be welcome to come to the Episcopal church is not 'ecumenical' a whit...and would greatly reduce the already shrinking number of RC priests. (OK, that was bad. I apologize. But me writing that to an audience of half-a-dozen or so is like a candle against the sun of the Pope trying to raid the Anglican church because we are a church that encourages disagreement and--surprise, surprise--gets it!)
I've been criticized by members of the parish I serve for being less than polite to the 'Big Firm' of the Roman Catholic Church. I've taken that criticism seriously whenever it came. No more, beloved!
The Pope went to far this time--a law until himself that he is.
I have willingly and joyfully presided at weddings of divorced Roman Catholics who told me up front that once I--through my role as a priest--blessed their marriage and gave them a second sacrament of the Eucharist, they would trudge back to Rome and become members of the parish that wouldn't bless their love. ANYONE who wants God mixed up in their relationship seems to me to deserve to have God involved. I'm more than happy to do that. But what I don't get is why they'd go back to the abusive relationship after the Episcopal Church had welcomed and affirmed them.
It is my opinion--and I'm ready for any grief this brings me--that many Roman Catholics' relationship with their church is like the battered spouse syndrome that counselors and psychologists simply can't understand. It's like the foster children I worked with as a Social Worker who wanted to 'go home' to the place where they beat them, burned them, abused them and almost killed them. I don't get it, but it is a reality.
I call Roman Catholics who become Episcopalians "recovering Romans" until I see that they have found a way to 'be' Episcopalians without looking over their shoulders in both fear and the pointless hope that things will be better 'back there'.
I often get asked by RCs, "Is this church 'catholic' or 'Christian'?" If they asked Catholic or Protestant, the answer would be the same, but what fascinates me is how many RC folks don't realize their church is, finally, 'Christian'. Anyway, whichever way the question is asked, whether it be 'catholic or Christian' or 'catholic or protestant', the answer is the same. That answer is YES.
The theological tightrope we Episcopalians walk is difficult. We are 'catholic' and, of course, Christian. We are both Catholic and Protestant. That takes some thought and pondering to get your head and heart around. Being a Roman Catholic isn't nearly that confounding, takes next to no thought and is pretty simple since blessed Benedict can wake up any morning and tell you what to do and think.
We Episcopalians ask you to think for yourself and do what God--not the church or the Pope--leads you to do. That's the difference.
Ok, I've written it down. It is eternal in the webosphere. I can't take it back. Yell at me if you wish.
Oh, just one question regarding the Pope's 'ecumenical' action--when you hear the name 'Benedict', who is the other one you immediately think of......?
It was no surprise to me since I went to a funeral recently at a RC church and heard the priest speak longer about 'blessed Benedict reaching out to the Anglicans' than he did about the dead person.
By now everyone has surely hear that the Pope, waking up and having a 'Pope thought'--which is, you realize, theologically unquestionable since all Pope thoughts are--that he, in his blessedness should invite Anglicans 'home to Rome'. It plays well since it is like ET saying "ET phone home". ANGLICANS HOME TO ROME...it would fit on a bumper sticker nicely.
Just to be clear: 'ecumenical' is a term that refers to dialog and co-operation between different Christian denominations. My suggesting, for example, that all gay Roman Catholic priests would be welcome to come to the Episcopal church is not 'ecumenical' a whit...and would greatly reduce the already shrinking number of RC priests. (OK, that was bad. I apologize. But me writing that to an audience of half-a-dozen or so is like a candle against the sun of the Pope trying to raid the Anglican church because we are a church that encourages disagreement and--surprise, surprise--gets it!)
I've been criticized by members of the parish I serve for being less than polite to the 'Big Firm' of the Roman Catholic Church. I've taken that criticism seriously whenever it came. No more, beloved!
The Pope went to far this time--a law until himself that he is.
I have willingly and joyfully presided at weddings of divorced Roman Catholics who told me up front that once I--through my role as a priest--blessed their marriage and gave them a second sacrament of the Eucharist, they would trudge back to Rome and become members of the parish that wouldn't bless their love. ANYONE who wants God mixed up in their relationship seems to me to deserve to have God involved. I'm more than happy to do that. But what I don't get is why they'd go back to the abusive relationship after the Episcopal Church had welcomed and affirmed them.
It is my opinion--and I'm ready for any grief this brings me--that many Roman Catholics' relationship with their church is like the battered spouse syndrome that counselors and psychologists simply can't understand. It's like the foster children I worked with as a Social Worker who wanted to 'go home' to the place where they beat them, burned them, abused them and almost killed them. I don't get it, but it is a reality.
I call Roman Catholics who become Episcopalians "recovering Romans" until I see that they have found a way to 'be' Episcopalians without looking over their shoulders in both fear and the pointless hope that things will be better 'back there'.
I often get asked by RCs, "Is this church 'catholic' or 'Christian'?" If they asked Catholic or Protestant, the answer would be the same, but what fascinates me is how many RC folks don't realize their church is, finally, 'Christian'. Anyway, whichever way the question is asked, whether it be 'catholic or Christian' or 'catholic or protestant', the answer is the same. That answer is YES.
The theological tightrope we Episcopalians walk is difficult. We are 'catholic' and, of course, Christian. We are both Catholic and Protestant. That takes some thought and pondering to get your head and heart around. Being a Roman Catholic isn't nearly that confounding, takes next to no thought and is pretty simple since blessed Benedict can wake up any morning and tell you what to do and think.
We Episcopalians ask you to think for yourself and do what God--not the church or the Pope--leads you to do. That's the difference.
Ok, I've written it down. It is eternal in the webosphere. I can't take it back. Yell at me if you wish.
Oh, just one question regarding the Pope's 'ecumenical' action--when you hear the name 'Benedict', who is the other one you immediately think of......?
to blog or not to blog?
Several people have told me they noticed I haven't posted a blog in quite a while. Two thoughts come to me out of that: first, why do people read these ponderings? and secondly, since they do, why am I so inconsistent in writing them?
I have enough ego to think that maybe, just maybe, the answer to the first question is that what I write here is of some interest and, might I hope?, some value.
The second question is easier to answer: I hate what has become of communications in this space and time. Many of the worst mistakes very good communicators have made was when they decided to write emails instead of letters or phone calls or face to face conversation. I allowed myself to be put on face book, but don't try to be my 'friend' since I've looked at my page exactly once in the six months or so it has been there. And I don't give a fig about a tweet or a twitter.
Here is the serious point to all that--other than I'm too lazy to keep up with it all and have not a little hubris about being 'unconnected' while all the world is 'connected'--all this stuff challenges and confounds my profound belief in privacy.
I read on my face book page, the time I looked at it, several notes on my 'wall'--(writing on a wall is a terribly impersonal form of communication to me)--about what people I know and love and deeply respect were up to. One of my dear friends (I mean FRIENDS, not a Face book friend) let me know she was watching Lost on TV. Another let me know they were considering having a beer or two and going to bed. A third let me know what she was in the middle of having for dinner.
I simply don't want to be responsible for keeping anyone from a beer or two for even a moment, or delaying sleep to write on my wall. Plus, I have no interest really in what anyone is watching on TV and certainly don't care about my friends eating habits enough to want them to stop eating to let me know about what it is they are eating. Now, if that sounds harsh and 'disinterested', let me tell you this: "I just spell checked this document and spell check let me correct facebook as 'face book' and 'Face book' on the same spell check." I find that mildly interesting and momentarily ironic that something called "Spell Check" agrees with (I think it was George Washington) the person who said anyone who had to be consistent in spelling has little imagination. {Plus, I just spell checked again and changed 'consistant' to consistent.}
I honestly love 'spell check' since I tend to invert letters--like, I spelled "John" Jhon until I was in high school. But the stuff people write on my wall, just me thinking and writing, seem to be things they would be better served to keep to themselves. I'll have to spell check it, but most everything people wrote on my wall was 'banal' (Hey, I just spelled 'banal' correctly!) I should go on Face book/face book and post that for all my friends...."Jim just spelled 'banal' correctly without any help!"
My tongue is in my cheek, in case you wondered, but I do ponder why we are driven to share stuff that isn't terribly interesting on Face book/face book. And tweets are eons beyond my ken. Though people tell me (I don't know if it is true) that Face book doesn't put things in third person any more, writing something that requires a limited number of letters, words, syllables--whichever--seems to defeat the reality that we all have volumes to say. Twitter would be better served to ask people to communicate in haiku (not even going to spell check that). I'd like receiving haiku from 'friends'. Maybe we could start a service where we 'hike' haiku to each other in real time. I could get into that.
All this is to explain why I haven't been blogging. I simply like having secret thoughts and pondering experiences that no one need ever know I pondered. It seems to me one of the things that make people interesting is the 'mystery' of them--how we can never know what someone else is thinking no matter how much we wish we could. I began to think that if I blogged all the time, I would lose my mystery, my private thoughts, the stuff I want to keep inside and let no one else know about.
That's an interesting question: what are the thoughts you would never, ever, not for a moment, not to anyone reveal? Every time someone says to me, "a penny for your thoughts" I reply, "oh, they're worth a lot more than that--and you can't afford them!"
I know it's not 'true', like TRUE that the Internet will suck out all our thoughts eventually, but I do believe we're leaving the barn door open by never having private thoughts. Lots of stuff on the Internet, people tell me, is cruel, ugly and untrue. People tell me, since I don't look for it, that you can find sites where people say horrible things about our President, people in the media, public figures and even their friends. I hear that blogs and stuff cause a great deal of pain (not to mention law suits) among young folks. I don't know personally, but I've been told that young people send nude pictures of themselves to each other on their smart phones. My phone is definitely not 'smart'. In fact, it is stupid--or maybe its owner is. Maybe I could be sending text messages that would be even more thoughtless than some of my emails have been if I were more adroit at the little phone I carry with me. I'm sure my phone is at least smart enough to refuse to take a picture of me naked. I hope so, though I believe, if I knew how, I could take such a picture and send it out to the world. God help us....
Any way, having gone on and on about how I think the electronic revolution has created a guillotine (I did spell check that--boy was I wrong!) many of our heads are being shoved under, I do think I will blog again.
I will seek to avoid being banal (spelled it right again!) and I will be responsible about how much I violate my privacy. And I do hope--though the writing is what gives me joy--that someone might read what I write from time to time. I don't know why, but there are things I want to share and a blog (that by the way is as unfortunate a word as 'twitter'!) is one way to do that.
So, I'm back and I have some things to say....
I have enough ego to think that maybe, just maybe, the answer to the first question is that what I write here is of some interest and, might I hope?, some value.
The second question is easier to answer: I hate what has become of communications in this space and time. Many of the worst mistakes very good communicators have made was when they decided to write emails instead of letters or phone calls or face to face conversation. I allowed myself to be put on face book, but don't try to be my 'friend' since I've looked at my page exactly once in the six months or so it has been there. And I don't give a fig about a tweet or a twitter.
Here is the serious point to all that--other than I'm too lazy to keep up with it all and have not a little hubris about being 'unconnected' while all the world is 'connected'--all this stuff challenges and confounds my profound belief in privacy.
I read on my face book page, the time I looked at it, several notes on my 'wall'--(writing on a wall is a terribly impersonal form of communication to me)--about what people I know and love and deeply respect were up to. One of my dear friends (I mean FRIENDS, not a Face book friend) let me know she was watching Lost on TV. Another let me know they were considering having a beer or two and going to bed. A third let me know what she was in the middle of having for dinner.
I simply don't want to be responsible for keeping anyone from a beer or two for even a moment, or delaying sleep to write on my wall. Plus, I have no interest really in what anyone is watching on TV and certainly don't care about my friends eating habits enough to want them to stop eating to let me know about what it is they are eating. Now, if that sounds harsh and 'disinterested', let me tell you this: "I just spell checked this document and spell check let me correct facebook as 'face book' and 'Face book' on the same spell check." I find that mildly interesting and momentarily ironic that something called "Spell Check" agrees with (I think it was George Washington) the person who said anyone who had to be consistent in spelling has little imagination. {Plus, I just spell checked again and changed 'consistant' to consistent.}
I honestly love 'spell check' since I tend to invert letters--like, I spelled "John" Jhon until I was in high school. But the stuff people write on my wall, just me thinking and writing, seem to be things they would be better served to keep to themselves. I'll have to spell check it, but most everything people wrote on my wall was 'banal' (Hey, I just spelled 'banal' correctly!) I should go on Face book/face book and post that for all my friends...."Jim just spelled 'banal' correctly without any help!"
My tongue is in my cheek, in case you wondered, but I do ponder why we are driven to share stuff that isn't terribly interesting on Face book/face book. And tweets are eons beyond my ken. Though people tell me (I don't know if it is true) that Face book doesn't put things in third person any more, writing something that requires a limited number of letters, words, syllables--whichever--seems to defeat the reality that we all have volumes to say. Twitter would be better served to ask people to communicate in haiku (not even going to spell check that). I'd like receiving haiku from 'friends'. Maybe we could start a service where we 'hike' haiku to each other in real time. I could get into that.
All this is to explain why I haven't been blogging. I simply like having secret thoughts and pondering experiences that no one need ever know I pondered. It seems to me one of the things that make people interesting is the 'mystery' of them--how we can never know what someone else is thinking no matter how much we wish we could. I began to think that if I blogged all the time, I would lose my mystery, my private thoughts, the stuff I want to keep inside and let no one else know about.
That's an interesting question: what are the thoughts you would never, ever, not for a moment, not to anyone reveal? Every time someone says to me, "a penny for your thoughts" I reply, "oh, they're worth a lot more than that--and you can't afford them!"
I know it's not 'true', like TRUE that the Internet will suck out all our thoughts eventually, but I do believe we're leaving the barn door open by never having private thoughts. Lots of stuff on the Internet, people tell me, is cruel, ugly and untrue. People tell me, since I don't look for it, that you can find sites where people say horrible things about our President, people in the media, public figures and even their friends. I hear that blogs and stuff cause a great deal of pain (not to mention law suits) among young folks. I don't know personally, but I've been told that young people send nude pictures of themselves to each other on their smart phones. My phone is definitely not 'smart'. In fact, it is stupid--or maybe its owner is. Maybe I could be sending text messages that would be even more thoughtless than some of my emails have been if I were more adroit at the little phone I carry with me. I'm sure my phone is at least smart enough to refuse to take a picture of me naked. I hope so, though I believe, if I knew how, I could take such a picture and send it out to the world. God help us....
Any way, having gone on and on about how I think the electronic revolution has created a guillotine (I did spell check that--boy was I wrong!) many of our heads are being shoved under, I do think I will blog again.
I will seek to avoid being banal (spelled it right again!) and I will be responsible about how much I violate my privacy. And I do hope--though the writing is what gives me joy--that someone might read what I write from time to time. I don't know why, but there are things I want to share and a blog (that by the way is as unfortunate a word as 'twitter'!) is one way to do that.
So, I'm back and I have some things to say....
Monday, October 19, 2009
my attention span
I have the attention span (or is that 'spand'? I'm an English major and should know!) of a baby chipmunk. Someone told me the other day that I hadn't posted a blog for over a month. "Nonsense," I said, "it was just the other day...or last week...or the week before that...or, oh, I guess, over a month...."
Well, as I was saying....
I have a new granddaughter since I last wrote. Her name is Tegan Hoyt Bradley. She is the sister of Morgan and Emma and we'll be going to Baltimore to meet her on Sunday. Since the twins were tiny, it is a new thing for Josh and Cathy to have a 7lb plus baby. I can't wait to see her and hold her. Josh is now living with four women. Even the dog is female! Lord have mercy upon him....
Hoyt is my father's middle name. It goes well, I think, with Tegan and I'm not sure Josh and Cathy realized what they were doing. Whether they realized it or not, I am eternally grateful. My father was a melancholy and somewhat haunted man. I love him more each day, which is sad, since I didn't love him enough when he was physically with me. I was embarrassed by him much of the time--thinking I was smarter and better educated than he was. Which might be true in some respects but is a horrible reason to be embarrassed by the bone of your bone. But, as Mark Twain observed, one's parents get smarter the older we get. He, at least, met Josh and Mimi but missed his grandchildren by years. My mother missed them all. Sometime I might write about my mother. I haven't started loving her more the older I get yet. I loved her fiercely when she was alive but as the years pass I think less and less of her. She died when I was 25, so I've had a lot of years to have her memory fade. I'm not sure I can remember her voice or her smile--a sad thing since she had a beautiful smile. She was very, very smart and well educated. Mother had a master's degree and was a school teacher. Dad finished 8th grade and worked at lots of jobs from coal miner to insurance salesman. God bless him. He worked hard his whole life and worried like a wort. The worry gene jumped me to my son, I think. Seems that way, at any rate.
I spent 8 hours today in a room full of lawyers. I've spent lots of time with lawyers recently, which may be why my chipmunk brain has forgotten to write here. The church is being sued by one of our former curates. (A 'curate' is the assisting priest but since Episcopalians have to have un-understandable names for everything, we call them 'curates'. Like we call the front hall of the sanctuary the 'narthex' and the basement of the church the 'undercroft'. Go figure....) The church's lawyer would probably have a stroke if he knew I was writing about this, but since it has consumed me so long and my deposition isn't until All Souls' Day (what Episcopalians call November 2nd) I can't hold it in any longer.
It's just a mess. I will, with greater self-control than I imagined I had, withhold any details. But it is just a mess and has caused enormous pain and confusion and anger for me and many members of the parish. (By the way--the lawsuit is not about anything sexual...take a deep breath, ok?) It's a long story I'd like to tell, but being a good 'do-be' won't right now....
Lots of things have happened since I last wrote. Jack Parker's memorial service, my 'roast' after 20 years as Rector, Tegan's birth, the Yankees in the playoffs, West Virginia University's football team climbing into the top 25, the parakeets' arrival, my annual physical, the blessing of the animals...I'm still thinking...lots of stuff. I'll try to be a good chipmunk and write more often if anyone is still reading.
Right now, I have to take the dog out and go to bed. Be well and stay well....
Well, as I was saying....
I have a new granddaughter since I last wrote. Her name is Tegan Hoyt Bradley. She is the sister of Morgan and Emma and we'll be going to Baltimore to meet her on Sunday. Since the twins were tiny, it is a new thing for Josh and Cathy to have a 7lb plus baby. I can't wait to see her and hold her. Josh is now living with four women. Even the dog is female! Lord have mercy upon him....
Hoyt is my father's middle name. It goes well, I think, with Tegan and I'm not sure Josh and Cathy realized what they were doing. Whether they realized it or not, I am eternally grateful. My father was a melancholy and somewhat haunted man. I love him more each day, which is sad, since I didn't love him enough when he was physically with me. I was embarrassed by him much of the time--thinking I was smarter and better educated than he was. Which might be true in some respects but is a horrible reason to be embarrassed by the bone of your bone. But, as Mark Twain observed, one's parents get smarter the older we get. He, at least, met Josh and Mimi but missed his grandchildren by years. My mother missed them all. Sometime I might write about my mother. I haven't started loving her more the older I get yet. I loved her fiercely when she was alive but as the years pass I think less and less of her. She died when I was 25, so I've had a lot of years to have her memory fade. I'm not sure I can remember her voice or her smile--a sad thing since she had a beautiful smile. She was very, very smart and well educated. Mother had a master's degree and was a school teacher. Dad finished 8th grade and worked at lots of jobs from coal miner to insurance salesman. God bless him. He worked hard his whole life and worried like a wort. The worry gene jumped me to my son, I think. Seems that way, at any rate.
I spent 8 hours today in a room full of lawyers. I've spent lots of time with lawyers recently, which may be why my chipmunk brain has forgotten to write here. The church is being sued by one of our former curates. (A 'curate' is the assisting priest but since Episcopalians have to have un-understandable names for everything, we call them 'curates'. Like we call the front hall of the sanctuary the 'narthex' and the basement of the church the 'undercroft'. Go figure....) The church's lawyer would probably have a stroke if he knew I was writing about this, but since it has consumed me so long and my deposition isn't until All Souls' Day (what Episcopalians call November 2nd) I can't hold it in any longer.
It's just a mess. I will, with greater self-control than I imagined I had, withhold any details. But it is just a mess and has caused enormous pain and confusion and anger for me and many members of the parish. (By the way--the lawsuit is not about anything sexual...take a deep breath, ok?) It's a long story I'd like to tell, but being a good 'do-be' won't right now....
Lots of things have happened since I last wrote. Jack Parker's memorial service, my 'roast' after 20 years as Rector, Tegan's birth, the Yankees in the playoffs, West Virginia University's football team climbing into the top 25, the parakeets' arrival, my annual physical, the blessing of the animals...I'm still thinking...lots of stuff. I'll try to be a good chipmunk and write more often if anyone is still reading.
Right now, I have to take the dog out and go to bed. Be well and stay well....
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
About the 'best' man
My dear friend Jack died while I was away. He and I both knew he was dying, so when I left I asked him to think about living until I got back. He said he would consider that. But then he got to go home and I knew once he did that, having spent all his energy on getting to the point of 'going home to die' he wouldn't waste any time moving on.
I talked to him on the phone from North Carolina the day before he died. He told me he was so joyous to be 'home' and also told me he didn't think he could keep his promise to wait for me before he went 'home' in a different way. I was in a motel in Fredricksburg VA, watching college football when Jack's daughter called me to let me know her father had died. It was 10 p.m. on a Saturday. I was back in CT by 2:30 the next day. All he needed to do was live another 16 1/2 hours and I could have seen him again. Not much to ask--think about how short a time 16 1/2 hours is in the scheme of things....
But all that is about 'me'. Jack was on a different schedule. God bless him and I know how God has blessed me by knowing him. Lordy, lordy he was about the best man ever...
Through his dying I got to mourn my father--which I never did properly over 20 years ago.
I was with my father in the hospital--St. Raphel's in New Haven--just before he died. We'd had a wonderful conversation...his dementia had lifted like the fog is burned away on winter mornings...and we spoke in hushed and profound ways. Then I told him I needed to go home and he said, I swear this is true, "I'm going home too...." I only lived about a 10 minute drive from the hospital and I was half-way home when I realized that what he said wasn't a false and mind clouded statement, but the truth. I almost turned around to go back but didn't.
When I walked in our house the phone was ringing. It was the hospital to let me know my father had died. My daughter, 8 or 9 years old, came over and hugged me and said, 'you are an orphan now....' Out of the mouths of babes...
I went back to sit with him until the funeral directors came. He had been being shaved by a black nurse when, she told me, he sat up, almost being cut by the razor and said, "I have to get out of here", and laid down dead. Not bad 'last words', I'd say.
While I sat with him a Roman priest came by to ask if I'd like last rites. I told him I would like that.
My father was a racist and a virulent anti-Catholic. When JFK was running for president, my father asked me if I knew what would happen if Kennedy was elected. I didn't know, so he told me, 'they'll freeze holy water and make Pope-cycles', he said, laughing. I didn't get the joke.
So, he died being shaved by a black woman and was given the last rites of the Roman Church. Don't tell me there's no such thing as irony.
And I never mourned him in the way he deserved--the man who raised me and gave me life and taught me many things. Jack has let me do that important work.
And I mourn Jack--my mentor and friend and ally and priestly guru. And knowing he was one of the best men ever, I have come to realize my father was that too.
God bless them both.
Orphaned again.
I talked to him on the phone from North Carolina the day before he died. He told me he was so joyous to be 'home' and also told me he didn't think he could keep his promise to wait for me before he went 'home' in a different way. I was in a motel in Fredricksburg VA, watching college football when Jack's daughter called me to let me know her father had died. It was 10 p.m. on a Saturday. I was back in CT by 2:30 the next day. All he needed to do was live another 16 1/2 hours and I could have seen him again. Not much to ask--think about how short a time 16 1/2 hours is in the scheme of things....
But all that is about 'me'. Jack was on a different schedule. God bless him and I know how God has blessed me by knowing him. Lordy, lordy he was about the best man ever...
Through his dying I got to mourn my father--which I never did properly over 20 years ago.
I was with my father in the hospital--St. Raphel's in New Haven--just before he died. We'd had a wonderful conversation...his dementia had lifted like the fog is burned away on winter mornings...and we spoke in hushed and profound ways. Then I told him I needed to go home and he said, I swear this is true, "I'm going home too...." I only lived about a 10 minute drive from the hospital and I was half-way home when I realized that what he said wasn't a false and mind clouded statement, but the truth. I almost turned around to go back but didn't.
When I walked in our house the phone was ringing. It was the hospital to let me know my father had died. My daughter, 8 or 9 years old, came over and hugged me and said, 'you are an orphan now....' Out of the mouths of babes...
I went back to sit with him until the funeral directors came. He had been being shaved by a black nurse when, she told me, he sat up, almost being cut by the razor and said, "I have to get out of here", and laid down dead. Not bad 'last words', I'd say.
While I sat with him a Roman priest came by to ask if I'd like last rites. I told him I would like that.
My father was a racist and a virulent anti-Catholic. When JFK was running for president, my father asked me if I knew what would happen if Kennedy was elected. I didn't know, so he told me, 'they'll freeze holy water and make Pope-cycles', he said, laughing. I didn't get the joke.
So, he died being shaved by a black woman and was given the last rites of the Roman Church. Don't tell me there's no such thing as irony.
And I never mourned him in the way he deserved--the man who raised me and gave me life and taught me many things. Jack has let me do that important work.
And I mourn Jack--my mentor and friend and ally and priestly guru. And knowing he was one of the best men ever, I have come to realize my father was that too.
God bless them both.
Orphaned again.
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