We went to Providence today to be with some of Bern's family--her uncle, three first cousins, her brother and a second cousin. We had a great time that canceled out the horrible time we had last night at the WVU/UCONN football game. Don't even mention it, OK? WVU's coach has to go...just has too....He's apparently a great human being but I don't want a great human being (as rare as they are...) I want a mean, nasty, megalomaniac who's only purpose in his otherwise meaningless life is to win football games....
But to get from Cheshire to Providence required going down Route 9--one of the most rural places in CT. From Middletown to Old Lyme you don't see anything from Route 9. It's like driving in West Virginia most anywhere.
The difference is that in most of New England town lines are on top of each other. Cheshire begins where Hamden ends. Waterbury begins where Cheshire ends. Middlebury begins where Waterbury ends....you get the point.
Going down Rt 9 all these tiny places begin where the previous tiny place ends. Like there is 'nowhere' that is nowhere.
In most of the rest of the east coast states, geography is divided into 'incorporated' areas and 'unincorporated' areas. So, there are lots of places--most places, in fact--that aren't 'anywhere', they're 'between' Somewhere and Somewhere Else.
Where my friend Jo-Jo lived was 'between Anawalt and Spencer's Curve', as an example. Nothing in Connecticut is 'between' something and something else. Every acre of land exists within one town or another. It's odd to me to live in a place where there aren't places that aren't anywhere. People from New England would probably be equally troubled by a place where most places aren't anywhere except between two other places.
Region 'character' might be formed by something like that.
Something to ponder while, if you live in New England, you are comforted to know that wherever you are you are 'Somewhere'.
I just miss the places that aren't anywhere.....
Saturday, October 30, 2010
Thursday, October 28, 2010
Credo
Have I shared this before? If so, sorry....
CREDO
I believe in the edges of God.
Truly, that is my limit on the whole question of Creed.
I don't believe in God storming out of the clouds
and smiting my to smithereens if I am bad.
I don't believe in a God who would wake me up,
pin me to my bed and give me bleeding sores
on my palms and the top of my feet,
much less my side.
I don't believe in a god would would instruct me
to slay infidels or displace peaceful people
so I can have a motherland.
I don't believe in a God who has nothing to do
besides visit bedrooms around the globe
uncovering (literally!) illicit love.
I don't believe in a God who frets
about who wins the next election.
I don't believe in a God who believes in 'abomination'.
I believe in the edges of God--
the soft parts, the tender parts--
the feathers and fur of God.
I do believe in the ears of God
which stick out--cartoon like--on the edges of God's Being.
I listen and listen and listen
and then listen some more
for the Still, Small Voice.
I believe in God's nose--pronounced and distinctively
Jewish in my belief--
I smell trouble from time to time
and imagine God sniffs it out too.
The toenails and the fingernails of God--
there's some protein I can hold on to,
if only tentatively.
Hair, there's something to believe in as well.
God's hair--full, luxurious, without need of jell or conditioner,
filling up the Temple, heaven, the whole universe.
I can believe in God's hair.
God's edges shine and blink and reflect color.
God's edges are like the little brook
flowing out of the woods beyond the tire swing
in what used to be my grandmother's land.
God's edges are like the voices of old friends,
old lovers, people long gone but not forgotten.
God's edges are not sharp or angled.
The edges of God are well worn by practice
and prayer and forgotten possibilities
about to be remembered.
God's edges are the wrists of someone
you don't quite recall but can't ever remove from your mind.
God's edges are rimmed and circled
with bracelets of paradox and happenstance
and accidents with meaning.
God is edged with sunshine,
rainbows,
over-ripe, fallen apples crushed beneath your feet
and the bees hovering around them.
God's edges hold storm clouds too--
the storm of the century coming fast,
tsunamis and tornadoes, spinning out of control.
Blood from God's hands--now there's an edge of God
to ponder, reach for, then snatch your hand away.
God bleeding is an astonishing thought.
God bleeding can help my unbelief.
And most, most of all,
the edges of God are God's tears.
Tears of frustration, longing, loss, deep pain,
profound joy, wonder and astonishment--
tears that heal and relieve and comfort...
and disturb the Cosmos.
That's what I believe in:
God's tears.
JGB
CREDO
I believe in the edges of God.
Truly, that is my limit on the whole question of Creed.
I don't believe in God storming out of the clouds
and smiting my to smithereens if I am bad.
I don't believe in a God who would wake me up,
pin me to my bed and give me bleeding sores
on my palms and the top of my feet,
much less my side.
I don't believe in a god would would instruct me
to slay infidels or displace peaceful people
so I can have a motherland.
I don't believe in a God who has nothing to do
besides visit bedrooms around the globe
uncovering (literally!) illicit love.
I don't believe in a God who frets
about who wins the next election.
I don't believe in a God who believes in 'abomination'.
I believe in the edges of God--
the soft parts, the tender parts--
the feathers and fur of God.
I do believe in the ears of God
which stick out--cartoon like--on the edges of God's Being.
I listen and listen and listen
and then listen some more
for the Still, Small Voice.
I believe in God's nose--pronounced and distinctively
Jewish in my belief--
I smell trouble from time to time
and imagine God sniffs it out too.
The toenails and the fingernails of God--
there's some protein I can hold on to,
if only tentatively.
Hair, there's something to believe in as well.
God's hair--full, luxurious, without need of jell or conditioner,
filling up the Temple, heaven, the whole universe.
I can believe in God's hair.
God's edges shine and blink and reflect color.
God's edges are like the little brook
flowing out of the woods beyond the tire swing
in what used to be my grandmother's land.
God's edges are like the voices of old friends,
old lovers, people long gone but not forgotten.
God's edges are not sharp or angled.
The edges of God are well worn by practice
and prayer and forgotten possibilities
about to be remembered.
God's edges are the wrists of someone
you don't quite recall but can't ever remove from your mind.
God's edges are rimmed and circled
with bracelets of paradox and happenstance
and accidents with meaning.
God is edged with sunshine,
rainbows,
over-ripe, fallen apples crushed beneath your feet
and the bees hovering around them.
God's edges hold storm clouds too--
the storm of the century coming fast,
tsunamis and tornadoes, spinning out of control.
Blood from God's hands--now there's an edge of God
to ponder, reach for, then snatch your hand away.
God bleeding is an astonishing thought.
God bleeding can help my unbelief.
And most, most of all,
the edges of God are God's tears.
Tears of frustration, longing, loss, deep pain,
profound joy, wonder and astonishment--
tears that heal and relieve and comfort...
and disturb the Cosmos.
That's what I believe in:
God's tears.
JGB
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
Pondering 101
I was having lunch today with a dear friend who agreed to read my as yet orphan novel (three rejection letters from agents and counting....) and she asked if I needed it back soon.
Then she said, "I like to ponder as I read...."
My heart lept up! I hadn't heard someone use the word "ponder", besides me, for ever so long. What a gift she gave me. I want people to 'ponder'. "Pondering" is becoming a lost art in the day of 'instant access' and the internet and such. I just finished a novel called "Roadside Crosses" that was about the horrendous fallout of on-line postings. It was about more, but it was about that in a big way--how people write things on line that they would never 'say' face to face. About internet 'bullying'. About how the anonymity of the Internet is both a shield and a lie (the murderer finds people from their email addresses and kills them). About how we write before we think. About how 'pondering' stuff might make life better in both the long run and short run.
I know first hand about that.
I have offended and gotten in trouble with three or four bishops 'o mine by sitting down at my computer and writing what I thought at the time were reasoned and reasonable e-mails. In fact they were insulting and incendiary. (My Lord, I knew how to spell 'incendiary'!!!)
Somehow, most things we type on a computer about just about anything bypasses the Pondering Point.
Here's what 'pondering' requires:
*the ability to doubt your own strongest held beliefs and opinions
*the willingness to be patient and thoughtful and self-critical
*the courage the acknowledge that what you think may not be THE TRUTH
*the ego strength to allow for the possibility that what you think might, in fact, be full of shit and sawdust
Stuff like that. And this is only the introductory course to Pondering.
I need to take Pondering 101, this I know.
How about you?
I actually realize that what I label "the ponderings" of an aging white man who happens to be an Episcopal priest....or however I put that in my explanation of Under the Castor Oil Tree"...is, sometimes, more often than I want to acknowledge, "just Jim talkin'".
So, I take a vow that I will 'ponder' more in these posts.
And I ask that you 'ponder' what I write and let me know when I'm full of s and s (that's 'shit and sawdust' for those who weren't paying attention....
Then she said, "I like to ponder as I read...."
My heart lept up! I hadn't heard someone use the word "ponder", besides me, for ever so long. What a gift she gave me. I want people to 'ponder'. "Pondering" is becoming a lost art in the day of 'instant access' and the internet and such. I just finished a novel called "Roadside Crosses" that was about the horrendous fallout of on-line postings. It was about more, but it was about that in a big way--how people write things on line that they would never 'say' face to face. About internet 'bullying'. About how the anonymity of the Internet is both a shield and a lie (the murderer finds people from their email addresses and kills them). About how we write before we think. About how 'pondering' stuff might make life better in both the long run and short run.
I know first hand about that.
I have offended and gotten in trouble with three or four bishops 'o mine by sitting down at my computer and writing what I thought at the time were reasoned and reasonable e-mails. In fact they were insulting and incendiary. (My Lord, I knew how to spell 'incendiary'!!!)
Somehow, most things we type on a computer about just about anything bypasses the Pondering Point.
Here's what 'pondering' requires:
*the ability to doubt your own strongest held beliefs and opinions
*the willingness to be patient and thoughtful and self-critical
*the courage the acknowledge that what you think may not be THE TRUTH
*the ego strength to allow for the possibility that what you think might, in fact, be full of shit and sawdust
Stuff like that. And this is only the introductory course to Pondering.
I need to take Pondering 101, this I know.
How about you?
I actually realize that what I label "the ponderings" of an aging white man who happens to be an Episcopal priest....or however I put that in my explanation of Under the Castor Oil Tree"...is, sometimes, more often than I want to acknowledge, "just Jim talkin'".
So, I take a vow that I will 'ponder' more in these posts.
And I ask that you 'ponder' what I write and let me know when I'm full of s and s (that's 'shit and sawdust' for those who weren't paying attention....
early halloween....
So, the dog got in the Halloween candy. I don't think he ate many, but who knows. I was out on the deck and wondering why he wasn't complaining to join me. When I came back in he was near the chairs in the little kitchen sitting room and ran up the back stairs. I came on up to play hearts (I really am addicted to hearts on the computer...I must apologize to everyone I ever looked askance at for playing computer games) and instead of staying in the office area he went down the upstairs hall--odd for him.
Shortly I heard bern in the kitchen. "Who got in the candy and left some on the floor?"
"Not me," I said, though if I had known it was there I would have--but not leaving evidence on the floor.
She comes up and grabs Bela by the ears and smells his breath.
"Chocolate breath", she said.
He ate wrappers and all so we've been watching for the evidence--besides the breathalyzer test--of his pilfering. (If you own a dog you know where you find such evidence...nuf said....) No wrappers yet so maybe, if we're lucky, he only ate one or two....But he was restless last night and kept me awake for several hours moving, scratching nests on the floor, jumping on the bed and laying on my head, panting, stuff like that....
The other Puli we owned, back when we were childless and clueless, had a terrible sweet tooth. When we lived in Alexandria, VA and I was going to seminary, he would find ways to snatch sweet stuff from surfaces he shouldn't have been able to access.
Once he got a bear claw--you know, one of those pastries about the size of your head--off a side table and when I came in he plunged into a corner and ate it as fast--actually 'faster'--than you can imagine.
That night he jumped on the bed and threw up on my head.
When we called the dog trainer for Bela's home visit and subsequent lessons (none of which took!) he asked, "What kind of dog do you have?"
I said, "a Puli...."
After a moment, he replied, "Why?"
He did tell the other dog folks in the obedience class that "there's more dog in this Puli than in all the other dogs here."
At the time I took it as praise lavished on Bela's head. No more....
Shortly I heard bern in the kitchen. "Who got in the candy and left some on the floor?"
"Not me," I said, though if I had known it was there I would have--but not leaving evidence on the floor.
She comes up and grabs Bela by the ears and smells his breath.
"Chocolate breath", she said.
He ate wrappers and all so we've been watching for the evidence--besides the breathalyzer test--of his pilfering. (If you own a dog you know where you find such evidence...nuf said....) No wrappers yet so maybe, if we're lucky, he only ate one or two....But he was restless last night and kept me awake for several hours moving, scratching nests on the floor, jumping on the bed and laying on my head, panting, stuff like that....
The other Puli we owned, back when we were childless and clueless, had a terrible sweet tooth. When we lived in Alexandria, VA and I was going to seminary, he would find ways to snatch sweet stuff from surfaces he shouldn't have been able to access.
Once he got a bear claw--you know, one of those pastries about the size of your head--off a side table and when I came in he plunged into a corner and ate it as fast--actually 'faster'--than you can imagine.
That night he jumped on the bed and threw up on my head.
When we called the dog trainer for Bela's home visit and subsequent lessons (none of which took!) he asked, "What kind of dog do you have?"
I said, "a Puli...."
After a moment, he replied, "Why?"
He did tell the other dog folks in the obedience class that "there's more dog in this Puli than in all the other dogs here."
At the time I took it as praise lavished on Bela's head. No more....
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
so....
So....I did turn my computer off and my dashboard came up when I went to blogger.com! Yea...
This weekend was a bummer. The Yankees lost the Pennant, West Virginia University's football team lost to Syracuse and I lost the election for General Convention. That anti-incumbent sentiment again....Only two of last GC's deputies were elected. One did get 1st alternate in the lay order and will go to Convention. I'm 2nd alternate in the clergy order so if anyone above me gets called to another diocese or gets knocked off by some guys I know....forget that! then I'd go.
Actually, I'm more upset by the Yankees and the Mounties than I am the Episcopalians.
I actually think I may have a mental disorder because I love sports so much....well, not sports, certain sports teams: Yankees, WVU (any sport), the Lakers and the Chicago Bears.
I love the Yankees because my father loved them. He was in NYC waiting to ship out to England in WWII and someone gave him and two buddies tickets to a Yankees/Dodgers world series game. He decided, having never seen a major league game before, to make which ever team won "his team". Well, Yankees/Dodgers...not much doubt who would win....So, here we were, Hill Billies who rooted for a team in NY.
The WVU connection is obvious. I've been to several of their bowl games with Bern and will be at UConn on Friday night. Plus their men's and women's bb team are both top 20 picks this year. the men went to the final 4 last year and the women, from no less authority that Geno A...."are final four quality...." Besides, their soccer team is doing well and the rifle team, not unsurprisingly, won the national championship...Don't mess with a West Virginian with a gun....
The Lakers--well that's a West Virginia Story as well. Jerry West--the greatest of all WVU basketball players, was an all-pro for the Lakers for years and then their general manager. When Jerry West went to high school, he lived in a town called East Bank. After they won back to back state championships, they changed the sign to West Bank. The federal government wouldn't let them change the post office's name, but they tried. You know the logo for the NBA--the silhouette of a player dribbling--that's Jerry West, for goodness sake! How couldn't I root for the Lakers?
(The thing is, I root for uniforms as much as I root for players. If Big Poppie or Jonathan Papplebaum or that little ogre who plays second base for the Red Sox (I hate them all more than most people can imagine I hate!) were traded to the Yankees, they'd be my new heroes. Same with the Lakers--both Bern and Josh (who are fans of most of the teams I am a fan of--Mimi thinks sports are stupid) left the Lakers for other teams when Kobe Bryant was accused of rape. Everyone in the gold uniforms could be mother killers and I'd still root for them. That is a distinction I've noticed in other people: I root for the TEAM while some people root for the Players.....)
And since I'm a 'uniform guy', the reason I am a Bears fan is that I love their uniforms--those black helmets with the red and white C and the black jerseys (or 'almost black blue', really) and the white pants with the black and red stripes. The first time I saw them play, when I was a kid, I loved the uniforms. If they switched to green or scarlet or maze....that I wouldn't like and would probably become a fan of another team....Like the WVU football team has a dark blue helmet like the bears and at home wears dark blue jerseys with old gold numbers and either white or tan pants. A few years ago they started wearing, for certain games, gold jerseys and pants. I hate that. If they had made the helmet gold as well I would have killed myself....)\
Maybe I need a 12step group for fans who are too fanatic...
This weekend was a bummer. The Yankees lost the Pennant, West Virginia University's football team lost to Syracuse and I lost the election for General Convention. That anti-incumbent sentiment again....Only two of last GC's deputies were elected. One did get 1st alternate in the lay order and will go to Convention. I'm 2nd alternate in the clergy order so if anyone above me gets called to another diocese or gets knocked off by some guys I know....forget that! then I'd go.
Actually, I'm more upset by the Yankees and the Mounties than I am the Episcopalians.
I actually think I may have a mental disorder because I love sports so much....well, not sports, certain sports teams: Yankees, WVU (any sport), the Lakers and the Chicago Bears.
I love the Yankees because my father loved them. He was in NYC waiting to ship out to England in WWII and someone gave him and two buddies tickets to a Yankees/Dodgers world series game. He decided, having never seen a major league game before, to make which ever team won "his team". Well, Yankees/Dodgers...not much doubt who would win....So, here we were, Hill Billies who rooted for a team in NY.
The WVU connection is obvious. I've been to several of their bowl games with Bern and will be at UConn on Friday night. Plus their men's and women's bb team are both top 20 picks this year. the men went to the final 4 last year and the women, from no less authority that Geno A...."are final four quality...." Besides, their soccer team is doing well and the rifle team, not unsurprisingly, won the national championship...Don't mess with a West Virginian with a gun....
The Lakers--well that's a West Virginia Story as well. Jerry West--the greatest of all WVU basketball players, was an all-pro for the Lakers for years and then their general manager. When Jerry West went to high school, he lived in a town called East Bank. After they won back to back state championships, they changed the sign to West Bank. The federal government wouldn't let them change the post office's name, but they tried. You know the logo for the NBA--the silhouette of a player dribbling--that's Jerry West, for goodness sake! How couldn't I root for the Lakers?
(The thing is, I root for uniforms as much as I root for players. If Big Poppie or Jonathan Papplebaum or that little ogre who plays second base for the Red Sox (I hate them all more than most people can imagine I hate!) were traded to the Yankees, they'd be my new heroes. Same with the Lakers--both Bern and Josh (who are fans of most of the teams I am a fan of--Mimi thinks sports are stupid) left the Lakers for other teams when Kobe Bryant was accused of rape. Everyone in the gold uniforms could be mother killers and I'd still root for them. That is a distinction I've noticed in other people: I root for the TEAM while some people root for the Players.....)
And since I'm a 'uniform guy', the reason I am a Bears fan is that I love their uniforms--those black helmets with the red and white C and the black jerseys (or 'almost black blue', really) and the white pants with the black and red stripes. The first time I saw them play, when I was a kid, I loved the uniforms. If they switched to green or scarlet or maze....that I wouldn't like and would probably become a fan of another team....Like the WVU football team has a dark blue helmet like the bears and at home wears dark blue jerseys with old gold numbers and either white or tan pants. A few years ago they started wearing, for certain games, gold jerseys and pants. I hate that. If they had made the helmet gold as well I would have killed myself....)\
Maybe I need a 12step group for fans who are too fanatic...
but I'll have to eventually
So, since I will have to turn off my computer eventually, if I don't write each day it is because I can't get to my blog....
bitter anguish
So I've been bad mouthing Google for days now because they wouldn't let me get on my blog!
They want me to have a gmail account and I don't. I have a bloggecom account but
Google apparently bought Blogger. It said I could log on with me old account but when I entered the blog name I was informed no such blog existed. I tried to open a g-mail account and keep the blog name and was told by the computer that blog name was taken.
I filled out pages of stuff that didn't ask the right question--kept wanting to tell me my forgotten password--and sent several messages about my problem. each one was answered by a form email about how to find out what my forgotten password was....
A note at the bottom of each email said they no longer answered calls about fogotten passwords. So I sent a bunch of messages about my problem and how the question of how to get to my blog wasn't on any of their forms and I really needed to talk to someone. I gave my phone numbers and begged and pleaded and threatened bodily harm.
I talked to several computer gurus who told me to go to the help section and write my problem where others could read it since chances were a thousand percent better that someone else would have had the same problem and solved it than the chance of having Google respond to my bitter anguish.
I was going to do that but, being a glutton for anguish, decided to try one more time with my old account name and old password and, lo and behold, it opened up.
So I'm back to writing but I'm afraid to ever turn the blog or the computer off again....
They want me to have a gmail account and I don't. I have a bloggecom account but
Google apparently bought Blogger. It said I could log on with me old account but when I entered the blog name I was informed no such blog existed. I tried to open a g-mail account and keep the blog name and was told by the computer that blog name was taken.
I filled out pages of stuff that didn't ask the right question--kept wanting to tell me my forgotten password--and sent several messages about my problem. each one was answered by a form email about how to find out what my forgotten password was....
A note at the bottom of each email said they no longer answered calls about fogotten passwords. So I sent a bunch of messages about my problem and how the question of how to get to my blog wasn't on any of their forms and I really needed to talk to someone. I gave my phone numbers and begged and pleaded and threatened bodily harm.
I talked to several computer gurus who told me to go to the help section and write my problem where others could read it since chances were a thousand percent better that someone else would have had the same problem and solved it than the chance of having Google respond to my bitter anguish.
I was going to do that but, being a glutton for anguish, decided to try one more time with my old account name and old password and, lo and behold, it opened up.
So I'm back to writing but I'm afraid to ever turn the blog or the computer off again....
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