I often view the posts I make and lament the spelling and grammar errors I didn't catch until I clicked on publish.
But, thought I've viewed the masthead dozens and dozens of time, I never noticed my name was "fr. jim bradley" before just now.
I wonder what the 'fr.' means? Is it a shortened form of 'from'?
Of course I know it means "Father"! I'm not that addled yet. I just am non-observant and never noticed it before.
But I'm pretty sure I've never once written my name with 'Father' or even 'Fr.' before my name.
And I don't use the little cross after my name that lots of priests do. In a hand written signature it sometimes looks interesting to make a cross after your name. But I sometimes get emails from priests that are signed "Don Priest +". That, I think (and it's obviously just me talking) looks silly as hell. But what do I know
Bishops get to put the cross in front of their name. +The Rt. Rev. Mostly Holy...like that.
Bishops, in my memory, though it is a small sampling since very few bishops ever email me...but in my memory bishops invariably put a '+' in front of their email 'signature'. Most priests who email me don't put a '+' after their name.
That's something to ponder, but I don't know where it would lead you....
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
the things you learn
There have been lots of things I have learned since I stopped working full time and hang around the house more than in the past.
I've learned how very often there are things in the sink that either need washed by hand or rinsed and put in the dishwasher. Of course, there probably weren't as many then and now since I've settled into a pattern of 4 or 5 small meals rather than 3 big ones.
And I've learned how enormous our dishwasher really is. It's pretty new and has a great deal more capacity than our old one--not to mention that the top rack had broken in the old one and we could only load dishes and glasses and cups and bowls in the bottom rack. The current dishwasher holds almost all the dishes we use on a regular basis and even though I use many more than I used to it takes at least two and a half days to have enough packed in it to run it.
I've learned that their is a time-cost to energy saving appliances. Our clothes washer is as big as our dishwasher and both take an enormous amount of time to do dishes using less water. Go figure that. The dishwasher takes 3 hours and 4 minutes to cycle on 'heavy'. And though I always set the clothes washer on the 28 minute--fastest cycle--I timed it the other day and it took over an hour to clean my clothes and spin them to nearly dry using a cup and a half of water or whatever.
I used to wash clothes every other day or so since I usually have only one of two pairs of jeans and like to wear them a lot. The new clothes washer wants to be packed to the gills before it is started--actually, if you can believe the hype--cleans clothes better when fully packed....who knows.
I've learned how few clothes I have. I have two pairs of jeans, two pairs of khakis, two short sleep button up shirts and maybe two dozen or so tee shirts in many colors. I have maybe three long sleeve button up shirts but they aren't much use in this weather. I do have a lot of socks but they are all winter, bulky things and equally useless in July. I have two suits which I hardly ever wear. I used to wear them only for funerals.
Once I had on a suit and socks and real shoes (I only have one pair of those) at a funeral. A guy named Brian was kidding me about being dressed up. I told him, "Mary was suit worthy....You might consider whether in living your life you are being funeral suit worthy...." Not a bad moral standard, I'd say.
Anyhow, I don't have a paucity of clothes through any conscious choice. I simply don't like to buy clothes--the process of trying things on and such makes me anxious--so it is little wonder that the things I have most of (winter socks and tee shirts) are things that can be purchased without trying them on.
Since I like to wear the same things often--jeans and a red tee shirt and a denim short sleeve shirt or khakis and a black or blue tee shirt and a long-sleeve white shirt with the sleeves rolled up--I would wash clothes every other day or so in the old machine that took about 10 minutes to wash clothes in enough water to supply a village for a week. Progress has overtaken me and I usually run out of the clothes I like to wear before I have enough to fill the clothes washer as tightly as it wishes to be filled. I find myself wearing weird things by the time I gather up all the dirty towels to supplement my clothes and fill the washer for an hour wash cycle.
I am strangely unsatisfied by the advances (good for the environment certainly) in washing things.
(Every year or so--though I never kept track--I will wear out one or the other of my jeans and be forced to go buy some. I've been known to gather clothes at a place like Bob's, carry them to the fitting room and then be so overcome with ennui that I simply left them on their hangers and fled the store. One, a few years ago, I wore out both pairs of jeans at the same time--well, they weren't so much 'worn out' as torn in unfixable places. So I found two new pairs exactly alike and bought them. Those twin jeans were one of the minor joys of my life until Bern told me they weren't presentable any more.)
I actually wonder, from time to time, why we need such a variety of clothes choices. Rather than large stores I'd like to shop in a tiny store that carried jeans and khakis in different sizes but all the same design, long-sleeve and short-sleeve shirts in denim, white, blue and blue stripped and a bin load of winter socks. And I wish when a pair of shoes needed replacing you could mail them back to the manufacturer and they would send you a new pair exactly like the old ones. (I've worn the same style of Birkinstock sandals for 10 years or so. They're called "Arizona' for some reason and have all been tan. I kept the last box for about a year and a half now so I can get the exactly same thing when these wear out or start stinking to high heaven.)
But, I know, intellectually, that if everyone was like me houses wouldn't need walk in closets and Macy's--all those places--would go out of business throwing many people out of jobs and leaving gaping holes in shopping malls.
Oh, I do have a half-dozen sweaters--five of them some shade of blue or gray and one bright yellow one. Most of them used to belong to a friend of mine's father and she gave them to me when he died.
That's a bizarre thought: I could tell the funeral directors I know to call me when someone my approximate size dies (I actually like clothes larger than necessary) and I could contact their family....No that's too macabre even for me....
I've learned how very often there are things in the sink that either need washed by hand or rinsed and put in the dishwasher. Of course, there probably weren't as many then and now since I've settled into a pattern of 4 or 5 small meals rather than 3 big ones.
And I've learned how enormous our dishwasher really is. It's pretty new and has a great deal more capacity than our old one--not to mention that the top rack had broken in the old one and we could only load dishes and glasses and cups and bowls in the bottom rack. The current dishwasher holds almost all the dishes we use on a regular basis and even though I use many more than I used to it takes at least two and a half days to have enough packed in it to run it.
I've learned that their is a time-cost to energy saving appliances. Our clothes washer is as big as our dishwasher and both take an enormous amount of time to do dishes using less water. Go figure that. The dishwasher takes 3 hours and 4 minutes to cycle on 'heavy'. And though I always set the clothes washer on the 28 minute--fastest cycle--I timed it the other day and it took over an hour to clean my clothes and spin them to nearly dry using a cup and a half of water or whatever.
I used to wash clothes every other day or so since I usually have only one of two pairs of jeans and like to wear them a lot. The new clothes washer wants to be packed to the gills before it is started--actually, if you can believe the hype--cleans clothes better when fully packed....who knows.
I've learned how few clothes I have. I have two pairs of jeans, two pairs of khakis, two short sleep button up shirts and maybe two dozen or so tee shirts in many colors. I have maybe three long sleeve button up shirts but they aren't much use in this weather. I do have a lot of socks but they are all winter, bulky things and equally useless in July. I have two suits which I hardly ever wear. I used to wear them only for funerals.
Once I had on a suit and socks and real shoes (I only have one pair of those) at a funeral. A guy named Brian was kidding me about being dressed up. I told him, "Mary was suit worthy....You might consider whether in living your life you are being funeral suit worthy...." Not a bad moral standard, I'd say.
Anyhow, I don't have a paucity of clothes through any conscious choice. I simply don't like to buy clothes--the process of trying things on and such makes me anxious--so it is little wonder that the things I have most of (winter socks and tee shirts) are things that can be purchased without trying them on.
Since I like to wear the same things often--jeans and a red tee shirt and a denim short sleeve shirt or khakis and a black or blue tee shirt and a long-sleeve white shirt with the sleeves rolled up--I would wash clothes every other day or so in the old machine that took about 10 minutes to wash clothes in enough water to supply a village for a week. Progress has overtaken me and I usually run out of the clothes I like to wear before I have enough to fill the clothes washer as tightly as it wishes to be filled. I find myself wearing weird things by the time I gather up all the dirty towels to supplement my clothes and fill the washer for an hour wash cycle.
I am strangely unsatisfied by the advances (good for the environment certainly) in washing things.
(Every year or so--though I never kept track--I will wear out one or the other of my jeans and be forced to go buy some. I've been known to gather clothes at a place like Bob's, carry them to the fitting room and then be so overcome with ennui that I simply left them on their hangers and fled the store. One, a few years ago, I wore out both pairs of jeans at the same time--well, they weren't so much 'worn out' as torn in unfixable places. So I found two new pairs exactly alike and bought them. Those twin jeans were one of the minor joys of my life until Bern told me they weren't presentable any more.)
I actually wonder, from time to time, why we need such a variety of clothes choices. Rather than large stores I'd like to shop in a tiny store that carried jeans and khakis in different sizes but all the same design, long-sleeve and short-sleeve shirts in denim, white, blue and blue stripped and a bin load of winter socks. And I wish when a pair of shoes needed replacing you could mail them back to the manufacturer and they would send you a new pair exactly like the old ones. (I've worn the same style of Birkinstock sandals for 10 years or so. They're called "Arizona' for some reason and have all been tan. I kept the last box for about a year and a half now so I can get the exactly same thing when these wear out or start stinking to high heaven.)
But, I know, intellectually, that if everyone was like me houses wouldn't need walk in closets and Macy's--all those places--would go out of business throwing many people out of jobs and leaving gaping holes in shopping malls.
Oh, I do have a half-dozen sweaters--five of them some shade of blue or gray and one bright yellow one. Most of them used to belong to a friend of mine's father and she gave them to me when he died.
That's a bizarre thought: I could tell the funeral directors I know to call me when someone my approximate size dies (I actually like clothes larger than necessary) and I could contact their family....No that's too macabre even for me....
Monday, July 12, 2010
the longest four days of the year
We have now entered the twilight zone of days. For today and the next three days, nothing will make sense, feel right, add up, comfort or encourage. It is worse than the fiercest February, the hottest August, the rainiest May, the snowiest January. No four days on the calendar are more dreadful than these. And they come every year!
They suck away excitement and joy and wonder and hopefulness and even diminish pain and anxiety--though that is not a good thing in this case.
It is as if a total eclipse of the sun lasted 4 days. Four days of darkness, despair, loneliness, disconnection, ennui , depression, pointlessness, bitter emptiness--like staring into the abyss.
It is the Baseball All Star break. There is no baseball played, right in the midst of July, for four days. Oh, there is a game--but not a real game. Watching the All Star Game is like watching the Rose Parade on New Year's day. Vaguely interesting but what does it have to do with much of anything vital, alive, real, compelling.
I would like to be put into a 96 hour induced coma and wake up when baseball, for real, resumes.
After week after week of 6 games each week for every team. After that since early April--the All Star break is like going cold turkey off the Drug that is major league baseball. A withdrawal just after half the season. What to do for those four evenings. Does the radio and TV still work when there are no games???
So here I am, longing for the resumption of the season....the renewal of the joy...the rejuvenation of the time of hope, longing, imagination, beauty....
O, where are you, Yankees that I love?
Lots of you are in Anaheim, I know.
But where is the green, green grass of the Bronx?
Where is the crack of the bat that matters?
The inside pitch that makes me draw back along with A-Rod?
O, boys of summer, how can you desert me
for four whole days?
What will I do with myself?
How am I to behave with no yesterday's game
to relive
no today's game to anticipate,
no changes in the standings
or the statistics?
May God isn't dead....
but there is no baseball for four days....Alas....
They suck away excitement and joy and wonder and hopefulness and even diminish pain and anxiety--though that is not a good thing in this case.
It is as if a total eclipse of the sun lasted 4 days. Four days of darkness, despair, loneliness, disconnection, ennui , depression, pointlessness, bitter emptiness--like staring into the abyss.
It is the Baseball All Star break. There is no baseball played, right in the midst of July, for four days. Oh, there is a game--but not a real game. Watching the All Star Game is like watching the Rose Parade on New Year's day. Vaguely interesting but what does it have to do with much of anything vital, alive, real, compelling.
I would like to be put into a 96 hour induced coma and wake up when baseball, for real, resumes.
After week after week of 6 games each week for every team. After that since early April--the All Star break is like going cold turkey off the Drug that is major league baseball. A withdrawal just after half the season. What to do for those four evenings. Does the radio and TV still work when there are no games???
So here I am, longing for the resumption of the season....the renewal of the joy...the rejuvenation of the time of hope, longing, imagination, beauty....
O, where are you, Yankees that I love?
Lots of you are in Anaheim, I know.
But where is the green, green grass of the Bronx?
Where is the crack of the bat that matters?
The inside pitch that makes me draw back along with A-Rod?
O, boys of summer, how can you desert me
for four whole days?
What will I do with myself?
How am I to behave with no yesterday's game
to relive
no today's game to anticipate,
no changes in the standings
or the statistics?
May God isn't dead....
but there is no baseball for four days....Alas....
The first day
Funny, this is the first day I've gotten up in over two months and wished I had somewhere to go and something to do--like work! I don't think it will last long, it's just that I've finished with the several writing projects I took on after leaving St. John's and feel a bit out of sorts.
I've done the last draft of "The Igloo Factory", the novel I've been working on off and on for years. I haven't had the time to go through the whole thing one last time and 'polish the polish', so to speak. But not working gave me the time. I've also up dated two novellas that are quite new, unlike the IF. Plus I've gotten together all the bits and pieces of a manuscript about parish ministry called "Farther Along" and am not quite ready yet, having spent all this time in fiction, to start working on that. Soon though.
In going through several filing cabinets looking at that stuff and sermons and poems and such, I ran across an email I wrote to Malinda Johnson at 8:24 pm on August 24, 2004! I sent myself a copy, I told her in the first line, "to remember and grow from". A lot of the email is about a dream I had--one of the few 'church' dreams that was good and joyful. (Most 'church' dreams begin with the congregation packed into a huge space and then I do something like open my Prayer Book and realize it is full of pictures, not words!!! Unable to remember how to start the service, the people gradually drift away and I'm left in an empty church...or with one acolyte who is looking at me as if I am the biggest fool in the world....)
The dream is weird and strange about an outdoor baptism that is wonderful and crowded and full of lots of excitement. Malinda and Michael Spencer are in the dream helping with the crowds of people.
Then I wrote this--almost 6 years ago:
"Then there was this day--actually as I look back, there were many things that could have been thought of as 'negative'--people lying to me, Pauline falling and going to the hospital, painful stories I heard--but for some reason, it all felt like what I'm supposed to be doing with my days and, as I've said before, if anyone found out I got paid to spend days like this: simply being present to people in a multitude of ways (having a discussion with a soup kitchen volunteer about the relative merits of outdoor vs. indoor cats, for example)--well, they'd pass a law against having this much to be thankful for while getting paid!"
The truth is that for most of the years I was Rector of St. John's I did fear that if anyone figured out what percentage of my time was spent 'being' instead of 'doing' something, they would be astonished. So, since the 'work' (if you can call it that) was so much of my 'being', there is little wonder that I might wake up from time to time and feel a hollow place when all that used to be.
Like I wrote above, it won't last long, but the feeling did remind me of how extraordinarily blessed I was all those years at St. John's. And how thankful I am for them....
I've done the last draft of "The Igloo Factory", the novel I've been working on off and on for years. I haven't had the time to go through the whole thing one last time and 'polish the polish', so to speak. But not working gave me the time. I've also up dated two novellas that are quite new, unlike the IF. Plus I've gotten together all the bits and pieces of a manuscript about parish ministry called "Farther Along" and am not quite ready yet, having spent all this time in fiction, to start working on that. Soon though.
In going through several filing cabinets looking at that stuff and sermons and poems and such, I ran across an email I wrote to Malinda Johnson at 8:24 pm on August 24, 2004! I sent myself a copy, I told her in the first line, "to remember and grow from". A lot of the email is about a dream I had--one of the few 'church' dreams that was good and joyful. (Most 'church' dreams begin with the congregation packed into a huge space and then I do something like open my Prayer Book and realize it is full of pictures, not words!!! Unable to remember how to start the service, the people gradually drift away and I'm left in an empty church...or with one acolyte who is looking at me as if I am the biggest fool in the world....)
The dream is weird and strange about an outdoor baptism that is wonderful and crowded and full of lots of excitement. Malinda and Michael Spencer are in the dream helping with the crowds of people.
Then I wrote this--almost 6 years ago:
"Then there was this day--actually as I look back, there were many things that could have been thought of as 'negative'--people lying to me, Pauline falling and going to the hospital, painful stories I heard--but for some reason, it all felt like what I'm supposed to be doing with my days and, as I've said before, if anyone found out I got paid to spend days like this: simply being present to people in a multitude of ways (having a discussion with a soup kitchen volunteer about the relative merits of outdoor vs. indoor cats, for example)--well, they'd pass a law against having this much to be thankful for while getting paid!"
The truth is that for most of the years I was Rector of St. John's I did fear that if anyone figured out what percentage of my time was spent 'being' instead of 'doing' something, they would be astonished. So, since the 'work' (if you can call it that) was so much of my 'being', there is little wonder that I might wake up from time to time and feel a hollow place when all that used to be.
Like I wrote above, it won't last long, but the feeling did remind me of how extraordinarily blessed I was all those years at St. John's. And how thankful I am for them....
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
something to ponder
Bern and our friend, John, and I were having a conversation yesterday.
John was telling about how his sister and her Jewish husband and two Jewish kids and two Israeli friends went to visit some cousins of John and his sister, Pam, in Tennessee (of all places).
Even though there were 2 Tennessee cousins who Pam and Shuli and daughters really liked, the "liked" cousins invited some of the Fundamentalist Christian cousins to come and be with the Jews and the Israelis.
John and Bern started laughing about the whole set up. They both said they knew already what a disaster it would be and how crazy it would turn out. (I was actually thinking it might be an weird and wondrous transformational moment--and very interesting to be around.)
Well, from John's telling of Pam's story, it couldn't have been more of a oil spill/Three Mile Island/Hurricane Katrina afternoon. It was funny how John told it but the whole thing seemed a tad tragic and sad.
Then Bern said, "Pam should have taken Jim along!"
She laughed at the brilliance of her suggestion.
John joined in laughing. "That would have been perfect. If only Pam and Shuli had had Jim...."
"Jim knows how to be in the midst of those kind of situations," Bern said.
John was delighted. "I'll tell Pam never to go to Tennessee without Jim again."
I supposed they were talking about me--Me, Jim--though it was a conversation that was two way and though I was right there it never got directed at me. But it was interesting....
That Robert Burns thing about 'seeing yourself as others see you" I guess.
At the Making a Difference Workshop I led in Washington a week or so ago, one of the participants asked if we could eat lunch together. He told me that he admired the calm and peace that seemed to surround me and wanted to know how I achieved it. I don't particularly think of myself as calm and peaceful, though I am relaxed and laid back much of the time. I didn't know what to tell him. Then he asked, "I sense you have not always been this way...."
I realized I hadn't. I've, in my past, been anxious, aggressive, wound up and anything but calm and peaceful. I used to walk in a room looking for a fight. So he was right. What did I attribute my 'calm, peaceful, relaxed' persona to?
I told a member of St. John's that I was 'relaxed' when he asked me how I was doing in retirement. "Relaxed?" he said. "You've always been relaxed...."
Now that I think of it, as many people comment on my calmness, etc. these days as used to worry to me that I was too hyped up, too manic, too assertive. So what did happen?
I've grown older, obviously. But I really think the demeanor has been a 'choice' and a 'stand'. I simply realized my up-tempo, confrontational way didn't work and chose to simply be calm. Peaceful even. Works for me. I actually like being the non-anxious one in the room much better than I liked being the center of potential conflict. Who knew?
Ponder that: maybe we can decide our persona instead of letting our persona decide us.....Imagine.....
John was telling about how his sister and her Jewish husband and two Jewish kids and two Israeli friends went to visit some cousins of John and his sister, Pam, in Tennessee (of all places).
Even though there were 2 Tennessee cousins who Pam and Shuli and daughters really liked, the "liked" cousins invited some of the Fundamentalist Christian cousins to come and be with the Jews and the Israelis.
John and Bern started laughing about the whole set up. They both said they knew already what a disaster it would be and how crazy it would turn out. (I was actually thinking it might be an weird and wondrous transformational moment--and very interesting to be around.)
Well, from John's telling of Pam's story, it couldn't have been more of a oil spill/Three Mile Island/Hurricane Katrina afternoon. It was funny how John told it but the whole thing seemed a tad tragic and sad.
Then Bern said, "Pam should have taken Jim along!"
She laughed at the brilliance of her suggestion.
John joined in laughing. "That would have been perfect. If only Pam and Shuli had had Jim...."
"Jim knows how to be in the midst of those kind of situations," Bern said.
John was delighted. "I'll tell Pam never to go to Tennessee without Jim again."
I supposed they were talking about me--Me, Jim--though it was a conversation that was two way and though I was right there it never got directed at me. But it was interesting....
That Robert Burns thing about 'seeing yourself as others see you" I guess.
At the Making a Difference Workshop I led in Washington a week or so ago, one of the participants asked if we could eat lunch together. He told me that he admired the calm and peace that seemed to surround me and wanted to know how I achieved it. I don't particularly think of myself as calm and peaceful, though I am relaxed and laid back much of the time. I didn't know what to tell him. Then he asked, "I sense you have not always been this way...."
I realized I hadn't. I've, in my past, been anxious, aggressive, wound up and anything but calm and peaceful. I used to walk in a room looking for a fight. So he was right. What did I attribute my 'calm, peaceful, relaxed' persona to?
I told a member of St. John's that I was 'relaxed' when he asked me how I was doing in retirement. "Relaxed?" he said. "You've always been relaxed...."
Now that I think of it, as many people comment on my calmness, etc. these days as used to worry to me that I was too hyped up, too manic, too assertive. So what did happen?
I've grown older, obviously. But I really think the demeanor has been a 'choice' and a 'stand'. I simply realized my up-tempo, confrontational way didn't work and chose to simply be calm. Peaceful even. Works for me. I actually like being the non-anxious one in the room much better than I liked being the center of potential conflict. Who knew?
Ponder that: maybe we can decide our persona instead of letting our persona decide us.....Imagine.....
How I'm doing
Gosh, it has been 2 months and 5 days since I retired.
People ask me how it is going. So far so good.
Ten reasons I'm glad to be retired:
1. I'm saving money on Hall's throat lozenges since I don't talk very much.
2. I actually don't mind not talking as much.
3. I eat more sensibly.
4. I don't have to put gas in my car nearly as much.
5. I don't have to plunge out toilets nearly every day.
6. People don't ask me questions all day that they should ask Harriet.
7. I read a great, great deal.
8. Bern and I haven't killed each other, yet.
9. I have read reams of stuff I have written and want to put in some good shape and actually send it to somebody. I have a novel, a murder mystery, a fantasy, another far from completed novel, a half-dozen short stories, 50 or so poems and page after page of what I've been writing about the church and my ministry tentatively titled "Farther Along"--from the gospel hymn that goes, "Farther along we'll know all about it/ farther along we'll understand why/ cheer up my good friend/ we'll understand it all by and by." Actually the 'it' in two places much be pronounced "hit" to be authentic.
10. I've actually started writing after going over a lot of that.
Ten Reasons I've sad I've retired:
1) I miss celebrating and preaching (though July 4 I had a supply job and have all but one sunday of July and August set up for Supply.
2) I miss the excitement and constant possibility of hilarity, drama, mystery of every moment at St. John's.
3) I don't feel nearly as 'needed' or 'relied on' as I did. And I thrived on that.
4) I miss seeing and being with the remarkable staff of St. John's.
5) I miss that remarkable building and the time I spent alone, just sitting in the sanctuary.
6-10) I miss those remarkable, wondrous, life-giving people of the Parish....
All in all though, it is going well. Plus Norman, the interim, is a great guy and a good friend of mine....So I know the parish is in good hands....
People ask me how it is going. So far so good.
Ten reasons I'm glad to be retired:
1. I'm saving money on Hall's throat lozenges since I don't talk very much.
2. I actually don't mind not talking as much.
3. I eat more sensibly.
4. I don't have to put gas in my car nearly as much.
5. I don't have to plunge out toilets nearly every day.
6. People don't ask me questions all day that they should ask Harriet.
7. I read a great, great deal.
8. Bern and I haven't killed each other, yet.
9. I have read reams of stuff I have written and want to put in some good shape and actually send it to somebody. I have a novel, a murder mystery, a fantasy, another far from completed novel, a half-dozen short stories, 50 or so poems and page after page of what I've been writing about the church and my ministry tentatively titled "Farther Along"--from the gospel hymn that goes, "Farther along we'll know all about it/ farther along we'll understand why/ cheer up my good friend/ we'll understand it all by and by." Actually the 'it' in two places much be pronounced "hit" to be authentic.
10. I've actually started writing after going over a lot of that.
Ten Reasons I've sad I've retired:
1) I miss celebrating and preaching (though July 4 I had a supply job and have all but one sunday of July and August set up for Supply.
2) I miss the excitement and constant possibility of hilarity, drama, mystery of every moment at St. John's.
3) I don't feel nearly as 'needed' or 'relied on' as I did. And I thrived on that.
4) I miss seeing and being with the remarkable staff of St. John's.
5) I miss that remarkable building and the time I spent alone, just sitting in the sanctuary.
6-10) I miss those remarkable, wondrous, life-giving people of the Parish....
All in all though, it is going well. Plus Norman, the interim, is a great guy and a good friend of mine....So I know the parish is in good hands....
The Devil in the details....
I was reading a library book--I almost never buy books since I am a firm believer in libraries (even though they've taken out the card catalogs and replaced them with computers in Cheshire--I'm a sucker for a card catalog. If you know any libraries that still have them let me know and I'll go visit them). Anyway, as I was writing before I so rudely interrupted myself with that pointless aside about how much I love flipping through card catalogs--the feel of the stiff cards, the smell of the wood, the sight of so much writing I didn't know I didn't know about. I used to spend an hour or so at card catalogs, just browsing SUBJECT--Maori culture (just an example) or Titles beginning with Z or what people named Smyth had written...well, you get the idea...
But as I was trying to say about this library book: "Noah's Compass" by Anne Tyler (a typical Anne Tyler book...in Baltimore, quirky characters, musings on the meaning of it all, etc.). On page 219 right in the middle of a conversation between Ian and Jonah about the Noah's Ark story, it said "......," NOAH ASKED.
Well, of course "Noah" didn't ask anything. Noah was who Ian and Jonah were discussing. Such a weird typographical error to sneak by how many editors. But some one who read the book before I did obviously couldn't stand it and drew a dark J through the N of "Noah". Some people don't have my patience with typos.
Whoever it was must have felt a) elated to have found a typo in such a well know writer's novel; b) astonished that the editors had missed it; c) delighted to correct it and, most probably, d) not a little smug and self-righteous about the whole thing.
Lots of people love, absolutely L O V E to find typos. Over a career of church bulletins and church newsletter I really know about the zeal of the TYPO POLICE.
But here's my question: why didn't the oh-so- elated-astonished-delighted-smug Typo detector finish his/her job?
The correction read: "........" JOAH asked.
If you're going to get so hot and bothered about the N, why not move it over a letter or so and correct the whole thing: making Noah into JoNah, for goodness sake.
Well, I guess you've figured out by now that this is all the revenge of the King of typos and misspelling , a veritable nightmare for those who read bulletins and newsletters with a red pen out. This is my revenge against the Typo Police.
And boy, do I feel elated, astonished, delighted, smug and self-righteous about the whole thing.
Upon pondering, I guess it's that rush of emotions that makes otherwise kind and polite people into the Typo Police in the first place.....
But as I was trying to say about this library book: "Noah's Compass" by Anne Tyler (a typical Anne Tyler book...in Baltimore, quirky characters, musings on the meaning of it all, etc.). On page 219 right in the middle of a conversation between Ian and Jonah about the Noah's Ark story, it said "......," NOAH ASKED.
Well, of course "Noah" didn't ask anything. Noah was who Ian and Jonah were discussing. Such a weird typographical error to sneak by how many editors. But some one who read the book before I did obviously couldn't stand it and drew a dark J through the N of "Noah". Some people don't have my patience with typos.
Whoever it was must have felt a) elated to have found a typo in such a well know writer's novel; b) astonished that the editors had missed it; c) delighted to correct it and, most probably, d) not a little smug and self-righteous about the whole thing.
Lots of people love, absolutely L O V E to find typos. Over a career of church bulletins and church newsletter I really know about the zeal of the TYPO POLICE.
But here's my question: why didn't the oh-so- elated-astonished-delighted-smug Typo detector finish his/her job?
The correction read: "........" JOAH asked.
If you're going to get so hot and bothered about the N, why not move it over a letter or so and correct the whole thing: making Noah into JoNah, for goodness sake.
Well, I guess you've figured out by now that this is all the revenge of the King of typos and misspelling , a veritable nightmare for those who read bulletins and newsletters with a red pen out. This is my revenge against the Typo Police.
And boy, do I feel elated, astonished, delighted, smug and self-righteous about the whole thing.
Upon pondering, I guess it's that rush of emotions that makes otherwise kind and polite people into the Typo Police in the first place.....
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