I just noticed I haven't written here for over a week.
I don't have anything much to say of great interest--but since when has that stopped me?--but thought I should write something, even if it is a random selection of stuff....
*Kismet (which is a noun meaning 'fate' or 'destiny'. Comes from the Persian through Turkish...qismah, meaning "division, portion, lot, fate"
Back when I was Rector of St. John's, Waterbury (It's been 10 months: in some ways it feels like yesterday...in others, a different lifetime) Harriet, the Parish Administrator and I used to send each other emails with STUFF in the message line. Always lots of 'stuff' in the day-to-day, season-to-season running of a parish church. Well, Ian, my bishop, recommended me to the Middlesex Cluster Ministry (4 small churches in places with strange sounding names: Killingworth, Higganum, Northford, Westbrook) as the part-time interim since their Missioner has retired. I've been working in the clergy rotation for a couple of months now and was interested. But I wanted it to be something the Cluster churches could 'own' and not be a fiat from the Bishop, so I've met with two of the congregations after church and have two more set up. Plus, I'm meeting with the other three 'presbyters' (what the Cluster calls their priests to make the point that they are primarily 'liturgical functionaries' and not the minister around which a congregation is gathered. The Cluster--30 odd years old now--was modeled on what is called 'Total Common Ministry" which is not 'anti-clerical' by any means, but just asks the ordained to 'know their place'! It's a remarkable model and one I'd like to be a part of for a while. Plus the contrast of church with 20-45 people with St. John's 3 Sunday services that sometimes boardered on 300 total--Easter 700+--is refreshing to me.
So, why this is "kismet"--I got an email the other day from Bea, the Cluster Administrator, titled 'Stuff'.
Fate, I'd suggest....
*Hedgesville which is a small town near Martinsburg, WV, in the eastern panhandle of the state.
(just as an aside, WV is the only state, I believe, that has two panhandles--the Northern one that is further north than Pittsburgh and the Eastern one that is within an hour drive of D.C. and Baltimore. Texas has only one panhandle, so there!)
I was out walking the dog the other day and a woman passed me and then turned back to say, "we vacation in West Virginia". Initially I thought she was a soothsayer, but then realized I was wearing my West Virginia University jacket that someone from the soup kitchen gave me, swearing he bought it for me on sale at Burlington Coat Factory, but I actually believe he stole it, but I don't care. It is the warmest jacket I've ever owned.
She asked me if I knew when Hedgesville was and I told her, as I told you, 'near Martinsburg'.
"That's where we go for groceries," she said.
We talked for a long time about the astonishing natural beauty of the state of my birth--the emptiness of it all, the 'bad rap' it gets.
Example of the bad rap: the joke goes like this, "The first question on the West Virginia Bar Exam is If a man and woman get divorced, are they still cousins?
She and her husband, life-long Nutmegers--really plan to retire to WV. Go figure. When people heard I was retiring they often asked, "Are you going home?" I answered, "Yes, home is Cheshire."
But I would encourage folks to look into retirement possibilities in WV. Lord knows the state needs some new revenue. And property is cheaper than you could imagine. And it is, I promise you, stunningly beautiful....
*Daylight Savings time
I'm not as young as I used to be. It takes me about a week to adjust. One hour doesn't seem like much 1/24th of the day and all, but it wipes me out. I don't have to set the clock's alarm most days, but 9 a.m. now is a lot different that 9 a.m. last Friday. And I'm yawning at 8 p.m. I do like the light being saved...but wouldn't that happen anyway as the earth tips back on it's axis-though I did hear the tragic earthquake and tsunami in Japan tilted the earth a bit. Ponder that....
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
Monday, March 7, 2011
Anniversaries
Today I got an email from Dave, the salesman I bought my car from, wishing me 'happy anniversary' on the second anniversary of the day I bought my car. (That seems odd to me but I'm sure the dealership has some software that does it automatically.)
Which means, I bought my car the day before I wrote the first post on this blog. (I didn't mention the car in my blog and if you had asked me how long I'd had the car I wouldn't have had a clue. But now I know--two years today.
There's a wonderful man who is one of the founder's of Integrity--GLBT Episcopalians and their friends--who sends me a happy anniversary wish every year on our Marriage Anniversary and another on the anniversary of my ordination. His name is Louie Crews and I only imagine he must send those to a lot of Episcopal priest, though how you get the list together for that I can't comprehend.
So, since March 8, 2009 was my first post, I thought I'd send it to you again. (Mostly, I just wanted to remind myself about what I said I'd do here and see if I'm still trying to do that.) But it does explain the name--many people think I take castor oil then write....Which says something about their evaluation of the substance of these musings....
Sitting under the Castor Oil Tree (3/8/09)
The character in the Bible I have always been drawn to is Jonah. I identify with his story. Like Jonah, I have experienced being taken where I didn't want to go by God and I've been disgruntled with the way things went. The belly of a big old fish isn't a pleasant means of travel either....
The story ends (in case you don't remember) with Jonah upset and complaining on a hillside above the city of Nineveh, which God has saved through Jonah. Jonah didn't want to go there to start with--hence the ride in the fish's stomach--and predicted that God would save the city though it should have been destroyed for its wickedness. "You dragged me half-way around the world," he tells God, "and then didn't destroy the city. ...I knew it would turn out this way. I'm angry, so angry I could die!"
God causes a tree to grow to shade Jonah from the sun (scholars think it might have been a castor oil tree--the implications are astonishing!) Then God sends a worm to kill the tree. Well, that sets Jonah off anew: "How dare you kill my tree?" he challenges the Creator. "I'm so angry I could die!"
God simply reminds him that his is upset at the death of a tree he didn't plant or nurture and yet doesn't see the value of saving all the people of the great city Nineveh...along with their cattle and beasts.
And the story ends. No resolution. Jonah simply left to ponder all that. There's no sequel either--no "Jonah II" or "Jonah: the Next Chapter", nothing like that. It's just Jonah, sitting under the bare branches of the dead tree, pondering.
What I want to do is use this blog to do simply that, ponder about things. I've been an Episcopal priest for over 30 years. I'm approaching a time to retire and I've got a lot of pondering left to do--about God, about the Church, about religion, about life and death and everything involved in that. Before the big fish swallowed me up and carried me to my own Nineveh (ordination in the Episcopal Church) I had intended a vastly different life. I was going to write "the Great American Novel" for starters and get a Ph.d. in American Literature and disappear into some small liberal arts college, most likely in the Mid-Atlantic states and teach people like me--rural people, Appalachians and southerners, simple people, deep thinkers though slow talkers...lovely for all that--to love words and write words themselves.
God (I suppose, though I ponder even that...) had other ideas and I ended up spending the lion's share of my priesthood in the wilds of two cities in Connecticut (of all places) among tribes so foreign to me I scarcely understood their language and whose customs confounded me. And I found myself often among people (the Episcopal Cult) who made me anxious by their very being. Which is why I stuck to urban churches, I suppose--being a priest in Greenwich would have sent me into some form of shock...as I would have driven them to hypertension at the least.
I am one who 'ponders' quite a bit and hoped this might be a way to 'ponder in print' for anyone else who might be leaning in that direction.
Ever so often, someone calls my bluff when I go into my 'I'm just a boy from the mountains of West Virginia' persona. And I know they are right. I've lived too long among the heathens of New England to be able to avoid absorbing some of their alien customs and ways of thinking. Plus, I've been involved in too much education to pretend to be a rube from the hills. But I do, from time to time, miss that boy who grew up in a part of the world as foreign as Albania to most people, where the lush and endless mountains pressed down so majestically that there were few places, where I lived, that were flat in an area wider than a football field. That boy knew secrets I am only beginning, having entered my sixth decade of the journey toward the Lover of Souls, to remember and cherish.
My maternal grandmother, who had as much influence on me as anyone I know, used to say--"Jimmy, don't get above your raisin'." I probably have done that, in more ways than I'm able to recognize, but I ponder that part of me--buried deeply below layer after layer of living (as the mountains were layer after layer of long-ago life).
Sometimes I get a fleeting glimpse of him, running madly into the woods that surround him on all sides, spending hours seeking paths through the deep tangles of forest, climbing upward, ever upward until he found a place to sit and look down on the little town where he lived--spread out like a toy village beneath him--so he could ponder, alone and undisturbed, for a while.
When I was in high school, I wrote a regular column for the school newspaper called "The Outsider". As I ponder my life, I realize that has been a constant. I've always felt just beyond the fringe wherever I was. I've watched much more than I've participated. And I've pondered many things.
So, what I've decided to do is sit here on the hillside for a while, beneath the ruins of the Castor Oil Tree and ponder some more. And, if you wish, I'll share my ponderings with you--whoever you are out there in cyber-land.
Two caveats: I'm pretty much a Luddite when it comes to technology--probably smart enough to learn about it but never very interested, so this blog is an adventure for me. My friend Sandy is helping me so it shouldn't be too much of a mess. Secondly, I've realized this: that there is no spell check on this blog. Either I can get a dictionary or ask your forgiveness for my spelling. I'm a magna cum laude, Phi Beta Kappa ENGLISH major (for God's sake) who never could conquer spelling all the words I longed to write.
I suppose I'll just ask your tolerance.
Which means, I bought my car the day before I wrote the first post on this blog. (I didn't mention the car in my blog and if you had asked me how long I'd had the car I wouldn't have had a clue. But now I know--two years today.
There's a wonderful man who is one of the founder's of Integrity--GLBT Episcopalians and their friends--who sends me a happy anniversary wish every year on our Marriage Anniversary and another on the anniversary of my ordination. His name is Louie Crews and I only imagine he must send those to a lot of Episcopal priest, though how you get the list together for that I can't comprehend.
So, since March 8, 2009 was my first post, I thought I'd send it to you again. (Mostly, I just wanted to remind myself about what I said I'd do here and see if I'm still trying to do that.) But it does explain the name--many people think I take castor oil then write....Which says something about their evaluation of the substance of these musings....
Sitting under the Castor Oil Tree (3/8/09)
The character in the Bible I have always been drawn to is Jonah. I identify with his story. Like Jonah, I have experienced being taken where I didn't want to go by God and I've been disgruntled with the way things went. The belly of a big old fish isn't a pleasant means of travel either....
The story ends (in case you don't remember) with Jonah upset and complaining on a hillside above the city of Nineveh, which God has saved through Jonah. Jonah didn't want to go there to start with--hence the ride in the fish's stomach--and predicted that God would save the city though it should have been destroyed for its wickedness. "You dragged me half-way around the world," he tells God, "and then didn't destroy the city. ...I knew it would turn out this way. I'm angry, so angry I could die!"
God causes a tree to grow to shade Jonah from the sun (scholars think it might have been a castor oil tree--the implications are astonishing!) Then God sends a worm to kill the tree. Well, that sets Jonah off anew: "How dare you kill my tree?" he challenges the Creator. "I'm so angry I could die!"
God simply reminds him that his is upset at the death of a tree he didn't plant or nurture and yet doesn't see the value of saving all the people of the great city Nineveh...along with their cattle and beasts.
And the story ends. No resolution. Jonah simply left to ponder all that. There's no sequel either--no "Jonah II" or "Jonah: the Next Chapter", nothing like that. It's just Jonah, sitting under the bare branches of the dead tree, pondering.
What I want to do is use this blog to do simply that, ponder about things. I've been an Episcopal priest for over 30 years. I'm approaching a time to retire and I've got a lot of pondering left to do--about God, about the Church, about religion, about life and death and everything involved in that. Before the big fish swallowed me up and carried me to my own Nineveh (ordination in the Episcopal Church) I had intended a vastly different life. I was going to write "the Great American Novel" for starters and get a Ph.d. in American Literature and disappear into some small liberal arts college, most likely in the Mid-Atlantic states and teach people like me--rural people, Appalachians and southerners, simple people, deep thinkers though slow talkers...lovely for all that--to love words and write words themselves.
God (I suppose, though I ponder even that...) had other ideas and I ended up spending the lion's share of my priesthood in the wilds of two cities in Connecticut (of all places) among tribes so foreign to me I scarcely understood their language and whose customs confounded me. And I found myself often among people (the Episcopal Cult) who made me anxious by their very being. Which is why I stuck to urban churches, I suppose--being a priest in Greenwich would have sent me into some form of shock...as I would have driven them to hypertension at the least.
I am one who 'ponders' quite a bit and hoped this might be a way to 'ponder in print' for anyone else who might be leaning in that direction.
Ever so often, someone calls my bluff when I go into my 'I'm just a boy from the mountains of West Virginia' persona. And I know they are right. I've lived too long among the heathens of New England to be able to avoid absorbing some of their alien customs and ways of thinking. Plus, I've been involved in too much education to pretend to be a rube from the hills. But I do, from time to time, miss that boy who grew up in a part of the world as foreign as Albania to most people, where the lush and endless mountains pressed down so majestically that there were few places, where I lived, that were flat in an area wider than a football field. That boy knew secrets I am only beginning, having entered my sixth decade of the journey toward the Lover of Souls, to remember and cherish.
My maternal grandmother, who had as much influence on me as anyone I know, used to say--"Jimmy, don't get above your raisin'." I probably have done that, in more ways than I'm able to recognize, but I ponder that part of me--buried deeply below layer after layer of living (as the mountains were layer after layer of long-ago life).
Sometimes I get a fleeting glimpse of him, running madly into the woods that surround him on all sides, spending hours seeking paths through the deep tangles of forest, climbing upward, ever upward until he found a place to sit and look down on the little town where he lived--spread out like a toy village beneath him--so he could ponder, alone and undisturbed, for a while.
When I was in high school, I wrote a regular column for the school newspaper called "The Outsider". As I ponder my life, I realize that has been a constant. I've always felt just beyond the fringe wherever I was. I've watched much more than I've participated. And I've pondered many things.
So, what I've decided to do is sit here on the hillside for a while, beneath the ruins of the Castor Oil Tree and ponder some more. And, if you wish, I'll share my ponderings with you--whoever you are out there in cyber-land.
Two caveats: I'm pretty much a Luddite when it comes to technology--probably smart enough to learn about it but never very interested, so this blog is an adventure for me. My friend Sandy is helping me so it shouldn't be too much of a mess. Secondly, I've realized this: that there is no spell check on this blog. Either I can get a dictionary or ask your forgiveness for my spelling. I'm a magna cum laude, Phi Beta Kappa ENGLISH major (for God's sake) who never could conquer spelling all the words I longed to write.
I suppose I'll just ask your tolerance.
Saturday, March 5, 2011
eating large in Baltimore
We spent 3 days in Baltimore this week with Josh and Cathy and our three granddaughters who are 3 of the four most beautiful, smartest and funniest granddaughters on the planet (I made if 3 of 4 to make it possible for you to fit your granddaughter into the mix....) I should write about them and probably will soon, but what I want to write about is Saturday's breakfast.
We almost always go out to breakfast on Saturday when we're in Baltimore. Usually, we go to a diner and it is pretty good diner food. Lots of cops and construction workers eat there, so that is a vote of confidence.
But this Saturday we went to a new place Josh and Cathy found. It's called Miss Shirley's Cafe, a Baltimore based two Cafe chain. One is in the Inner Harbor and the one we went to is in a section of town called Roland Park, near John Hopkins undergraduate campus and the Episcopal Cathedral. You can look it up at www.MissShirleysCafe.com. It was one of the memorable breakfasts of my life. And I'm a breakfast guy. There is nothing about breakfast I don't like. I especially like breakfast in the south--and Baltimore, though above the Mason-Dixon line, is a very southern city. But Miss Shirleys is 'southern' on steroids, southern mixed with Top Chef, a selection of food such as I have never experienced.
OK, let me tell you what the twins had: they had french toast. Morgan had scrapple (from up in PA, you'd never want to know what part of the pig they put in it, but it's great. She scraped the garnish off the top. Emma bacon.
Bern had Coconut Cream Stuffed French Toast. The menu (which I took) describes it this way: "Cream cheese, Mascarpone Cheese, Flaked Coconut, Bruleed Bananas, Dipped in an almond scented egg mix, garnished with diced strawberries and dusted with powdered sugar and cinnamon." The bread was challah and was crisp and hot while the stuffing tasted like coconut cream pie and was cold. Figure out how they did that....
Cathy had "What Came First?" one benne seed fried boneless breast of chicken on a biscuit and one poached egg on a biscuit, smothered in peppery ground beef and sausage gravy. Come on, chicken and egg? They also have Chicken and waffles. And anything smothered in gravy...what else can you want.
Josh had Sunrise Benedict: Poached eggs and House-mad slow roasted Carolina Pulled Pork on corn bread rounds with collard greens made with tasso ham and Cajun Hollandaise sauce. Any similarity to Canadian Bacon on and English Muffin is not on coincidental, it doesn't even count as a similarity!
Mine--I saved the best for last--was "Gets your grits on". As described in the menu, though the menu does no justice to the mean, "Jumbo Blackened Shrimp on Fried Green Tomatoes, Savory Grits made with Bacon and Roasted Corn Emulsion". Three of my favorite foods: fried green tomatoes, shrimp and grits. The tomatoes were among the best I've ever had--fried in corn meal and sturdy and tangy--the shrimp was amazing and each of the three slices of green tomato had two huge shrimp on top of the grits that topped the tomatoes. But the grits--let me tell you this as a grits aficionado --these were, by far, the best I've ever tasted.
Here's how 'savory grits' are described elsewhere in the menu: "Heavy cream, Mascarpone Cheese, chives, Apple-wood smoked bacon and tomatoes." If you like grits, or even if you don't ponder that recipe for a while. Holy-Moley!
And, get this, the food, those complicated things, all arrived before anyone finished their first cup of coffee.
So, if you're ever in Baltimore, check out Miss Shirley's Cafe for breakfast.
It is pricey. "Two eggs any style" with homefries or grits is $10. Most items are in the mid to upper teens. But to eat something you have never eaten before and discover it is not only 'as good as it sounded' but better than you could have imagined--we all agreed on that....well, what's money for but to bring pleasure and do good....?
Hope I made you hungry.
We almost always go out to breakfast on Saturday when we're in Baltimore. Usually, we go to a diner and it is pretty good diner food. Lots of cops and construction workers eat there, so that is a vote of confidence.
But this Saturday we went to a new place Josh and Cathy found. It's called Miss Shirley's Cafe, a Baltimore based two Cafe chain. One is in the Inner Harbor and the one we went to is in a section of town called Roland Park, near John Hopkins undergraduate campus and the Episcopal Cathedral. You can look it up at www.MissShirleysCafe.com. It was one of the memorable breakfasts of my life. And I'm a breakfast guy. There is nothing about breakfast I don't like. I especially like breakfast in the south--and Baltimore, though above the Mason-Dixon line, is a very southern city. But Miss Shirleys is 'southern' on steroids, southern mixed with Top Chef, a selection of food such as I have never experienced.
OK, let me tell you what the twins had: they had french toast. Morgan had scrapple (from up in PA, you'd never want to know what part of the pig they put in it, but it's great. She scraped the garnish off the top. Emma bacon.
Bern had Coconut Cream Stuffed French Toast. The menu (which I took) describes it this way: "Cream cheese, Mascarpone Cheese, Flaked Coconut, Bruleed Bananas, Dipped in an almond scented egg mix, garnished with diced strawberries and dusted with powdered sugar and cinnamon." The bread was challah and was crisp and hot while the stuffing tasted like coconut cream pie and was cold. Figure out how they did that....
Cathy had "What Came First?" one benne seed fried boneless breast of chicken on a biscuit and one poached egg on a biscuit, smothered in peppery ground beef and sausage gravy. Come on, chicken and egg? They also have Chicken and waffles. And anything smothered in gravy...what else can you want.
Josh had Sunrise Benedict: Poached eggs and House-mad slow roasted Carolina Pulled Pork on corn bread rounds with collard greens made with tasso ham and Cajun Hollandaise sauce. Any similarity to Canadian Bacon on and English Muffin is not on coincidental, it doesn't even count as a similarity!
Mine--I saved the best for last--was "Gets your grits on". As described in the menu, though the menu does no justice to the mean, "Jumbo Blackened Shrimp on Fried Green Tomatoes, Savory Grits made with Bacon and Roasted Corn Emulsion". Three of my favorite foods: fried green tomatoes, shrimp and grits. The tomatoes were among the best I've ever had--fried in corn meal and sturdy and tangy--the shrimp was amazing and each of the three slices of green tomato had two huge shrimp on top of the grits that topped the tomatoes. But the grits--let me tell you this as a grits aficionado --these were, by far, the best I've ever tasted.
Here's how 'savory grits' are described elsewhere in the menu: "Heavy cream, Mascarpone Cheese, chives, Apple-wood smoked bacon and tomatoes." If you like grits, or even if you don't ponder that recipe for a while. Holy-Moley!
And, get this, the food, those complicated things, all arrived before anyone finished their first cup of coffee.
So, if you're ever in Baltimore, check out Miss Shirley's Cafe for breakfast.
It is pricey. "Two eggs any style" with homefries or grits is $10. Most items are in the mid to upper teens. But to eat something you have never eaten before and discover it is not only 'as good as it sounded' but better than you could have imagined--we all agreed on that....well, what's money for but to bring pleasure and do good....?
Hope I made you hungry.
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
There is a God
And the robes of God are, oh, let me think, colored Old Gold and Blue.
In case you don't follow college basketball and, in particular, UConn college basketball, you need to be told that, oh, let me think, West Virginia University defeated UConn tonight, not in 'convincing fashion', which would mean by 20 points or so, but adequately, 10 points or more. And all is well in God's country this night--West Virginia, in case you don't know, is definitely God's country.
But a little piece of God's Country is embedded in the soul of every Mountaineer.
I've had a lot of problems living in CT, the worst of which is that I hate UConn athletic teams because they play in the Big East Conference with WVU.
People used to ask me, "who's you favorite football team?" and I'd say, "WVU and which ever team is playing Notre Dame this week.
I want every Big East team, in whatever sport, to lose so that WVU will move up in whatever standings they are.
By the way, WVU has won the rifle competition in the NCCA for something going on 20 years. I'm not sure which other Big East schools have rifle teams, but don't, whatever you do, mess with West Virginia.
So, taking a big breath, remembering how John Flowers blocked Kimba Walker's shot, how Dennis Kolichia, the 'big Turk' dunked over the big African who is 5 inches taller, how Joe Massula hit more 3 point shots against UConn that he had all year long, how UConn kept fouling 'Truck' Bryant down the stretch and he kept making the shots, how Huggie Bear ((what we call coach Bob Huggins) just shook Jim Calhoun's hand, rather than hugging him and whispering in his ear like he does with every other coach....well, I'm in hog heaven....the dawn will be bright and God is in heaven and all is right with the world.
Let's go Mountaineers!
Montani Semper Liberi--Mountaineers are always free...and, tonight, at any rate, better than UConn in basketball.
Amen.
In case you don't follow college basketball and, in particular, UConn college basketball, you need to be told that, oh, let me think, West Virginia University defeated UConn tonight, not in 'convincing fashion', which would mean by 20 points or so, but adequately, 10 points or more. And all is well in God's country this night--West Virginia, in case you don't know, is definitely God's country.
But a little piece of God's Country is embedded in the soul of every Mountaineer.
I've had a lot of problems living in CT, the worst of which is that I hate UConn athletic teams because they play in the Big East Conference with WVU.
People used to ask me, "who's you favorite football team?" and I'd say, "WVU and which ever team is playing Notre Dame this week.
I want every Big East team, in whatever sport, to lose so that WVU will move up in whatever standings they are.
By the way, WVU has won the rifle competition in the NCCA for something going on 20 years. I'm not sure which other Big East schools have rifle teams, but don't, whatever you do, mess with West Virginia.
So, taking a big breath, remembering how John Flowers blocked Kimba Walker's shot, how Dennis Kolichia, the 'big Turk' dunked over the big African who is 5 inches taller, how Joe Massula hit more 3 point shots against UConn that he had all year long, how UConn kept fouling 'Truck' Bryant down the stretch and he kept making the shots, how Huggie Bear ((what we call coach Bob Huggins) just shook Jim Calhoun's hand, rather than hugging him and whispering in his ear like he does with every other coach....well, I'm in hog heaven....the dawn will be bright and God is in heaven and all is right with the world.
Let's go Mountaineers!
Montani Semper Liberi--Mountaineers are always free...and, tonight, at any rate, better than UConn in basketball.
Amen.
Thursday, February 24, 2011
Real Men Pee Outside
I had a classmate in seminary who, for some quirky reason, wouldn't go to the bathroom in someone else's house. So, I'd encounter him out in the bushes around the 'garden apartments' we all lived in around Alexandria. Once I watched him pee off a balcony.
For most of human history, there were no bathrooms inside. For much of the world, there still isn't.
Ponder, I'd encourage you, that by the accident of your birth, you have had indoor plumbing you're whole life when 99% of the people who have ever lived and probably 75% of the people alive today, don't.
I used to have to go to my grandmother's outhouse when I was there in Conklintown. It had two seats though I never shared it. And, yes, there were Sears catalogs there to, you know, do the paper work.
I've seen signs in bathrooms that said "The Business isn't finished until the paper work is done."
Ponder this: most of the people on the planet don't ordinarily use toilet paper. A big reason why many cultures find it vile if someone eats with their left hand. Oh, by the way, a lot of the people on the planet don't eat with forks and spoon and knives. They eat with their hands--or at least the right hand.
Steve Arbogast, a seminarian I worked with, spent several years in the bush in west Africa teaching. He told me the worst part of his reentry into American culture was when he went into a Super Stop and Shop and walked down the paper aisle. The shear amount of toilet tissue sent him out of the store to his car. For his time in Africa, toilet paper had been an instrument of barter better than American dollars or Euros.
In the winter, walking from my grandmother's house down to the 'two seater', you passed the strawberry patch, the chicken coop and the storage shed. You don't want an outhouse too close to your house after all. Cold nights the chickens and a couple of ducks would be all assembled around the edges of the outhouse. Decomposing human waste gives off heat, after all. So you'd have to shoo them away with your feet even to go into the outhouse.
It might be appropriate to give thanks for whatever bathrooms you have in your house and for toilet paper.
And, it is kind of manly to pee outside. I'd never pee off our deck...not me...never...don't even think for a moment...even in the dark.....
For most of human history, there were no bathrooms inside. For much of the world, there still isn't.
Ponder, I'd encourage you, that by the accident of your birth, you have had indoor plumbing you're whole life when 99% of the people who have ever lived and probably 75% of the people alive today, don't.
I used to have to go to my grandmother's outhouse when I was there in Conklintown. It had two seats though I never shared it. And, yes, there were Sears catalogs there to, you know, do the paper work.
I've seen signs in bathrooms that said "The Business isn't finished until the paper work is done."
Ponder this: most of the people on the planet don't ordinarily use toilet paper. A big reason why many cultures find it vile if someone eats with their left hand. Oh, by the way, a lot of the people on the planet don't eat with forks and spoon and knives. They eat with their hands--or at least the right hand.
Steve Arbogast, a seminarian I worked with, spent several years in the bush in west Africa teaching. He told me the worst part of his reentry into American culture was when he went into a Super Stop and Shop and walked down the paper aisle. The shear amount of toilet tissue sent him out of the store to his car. For his time in Africa, toilet paper had been an instrument of barter better than American dollars or Euros.
In the winter, walking from my grandmother's house down to the 'two seater', you passed the strawberry patch, the chicken coop and the storage shed. You don't want an outhouse too close to your house after all. Cold nights the chickens and a couple of ducks would be all assembled around the edges of the outhouse. Decomposing human waste gives off heat, after all. So you'd have to shoo them away with your feet even to go into the outhouse.
It might be appropriate to give thanks for whatever bathrooms you have in your house and for toilet paper.
And, it is kind of manly to pee outside. I'd never pee off our deck...not me...never...don't even think for a moment...even in the dark.....
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
My Calendar and Me
Ok, it was like neverending joke around St. John's--I'd have something written on my calendar that made perfect sense to me (I assume) when I wrote it, and I'd have no idea what it meant when the day drew near. Harriet, the Parish Administrator, and Sue, the Secretary, became cryptograpraphers (Sorry, my spellcheck isn't working no matter how many times I click the ABC with a check on my page so I know I didn't spell that correctly--what it means is someone who can break codes) for me and my calendar.
But those days are over since I retired.
Well, I turned to March on my 'one month on a page' Episcopal Church Calendar' and read this on March 8: "Post 1st CaaOP" (all underlined; and below that) "83log" or "831og". It doesn't matter which it is, each, whether L or 1 before 'og', makes no f***ing sense to me.
I have as much knowledge of molecular biology (none!) as I do about what is written in my unmistakable hand writing on March 8, 2011.
I've pondered and pondered what on earth that collection of letters and numbers could possibly mean.
I have one idea. I think that maybe March 8 is the anniversary of my blogging and I was telling myself to "Post 1st COT on blog".
How in heaven's name did that become "Post 1st Caaop 83log"???
I'm betting that's what it means. But do I write that poorly or do my brain synapses fail so often.
Thanks for reading about me figuring that out. If I'm wrong, someone is going to be furious that I didn't "Post 1st Caaop" with them at "83log".
(I've always known I have a little number dyslectia {spell check still not working!}, but this makes me concerned for my learning disabilities in a new way....)
Wait, I just looked closely at what I wrote on March 7 again....The T of Tree, in my shorthand, looks like a P and what looks like '83 log' is really a 'B' that ended up looking like '83'.
Maybe it's not my disabilities, maybe it's my handwriting.
Thanks for helping me figure all that out and tune in on March 7 for a reprise of my first ever blog....
But those days are over since I retired.
Well, I turned to March on my 'one month on a page' Episcopal Church Calendar' and read this on March 8: "Post 1st CaaOP" (all underlined; and below that) "83log" or "831og". It doesn't matter which it is, each, whether L or 1 before 'og', makes no f***ing sense to me.
I have as much knowledge of molecular biology (none!) as I do about what is written in my unmistakable hand writing on March 8, 2011.
I've pondered and pondered what on earth that collection of letters and numbers could possibly mean.
I have one idea. I think that maybe March 8 is the anniversary of my blogging and I was telling myself to "Post 1st COT on blog".
How in heaven's name did that become "Post 1st Caaop 83log"???
I'm betting that's what it means. But do I write that poorly or do my brain synapses fail so often.
Thanks for reading about me figuring that out. If I'm wrong, someone is going to be furious that I didn't "Post 1st Caaop" with them at "83log".
(I've always known I have a little number dyslectia {spell check still not working!}, but this makes me concerned for my learning disabilities in a new way....)
Wait, I just looked closely at what I wrote on March 7 again....The T of Tree, in my shorthand, looks like a P and what looks like '83 log' is really a 'B' that ended up looking like '83'.
Maybe it's not my disabilities, maybe it's my handwriting.
Thanks for helping me figure all that out and tune in on March 7 for a reprise of my first ever blog....
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
My Meyers/Briggs results
Ok, I was in Jungian analysis for 10 years so I believe in and have used the Meyers/Briggs Personality Inventory.
Here's what you need to know. I'm an ENFP--big surprise, huh, to those who know the M/B?
Since I retired I've gotten in touch with my Introvert as opposed to my Extrovert. I've always been near the middle on that and I realize I really enjoy being alone and pondering as much as I enjoy being with dozens of diverse people and hanging out with them.
I'm pretty much stuck with being a Feeling rather a Thinking person and being a Perceptive rather than a Judging person. I'm 2/3 to the FP side from the TJ side.
But I am off the scale completely Intuitive rather than, what is it? I can't even remember, oh, yeah, Sensate. I don't even score on the S scale of the N/F scale.
How I always explained the difference between the two to groups I've used M/B with was this: "A sensate personality takes something that needs to be assembled, organizes the pieces and begins with the instructions (having read them once or twice) with step one. An intuitive personality dumps the pieces out, throws away the instructions and looks at the picture on the box." I am like that to the Nth (ironically enough) degree. I am so N I wouldn't know S if it bumped into me, took my money and left me for dead.
So, after tonight's adventure with Facebook, I've decided it must be a counter-intuitive thing and I would never ever be able to figure it out.
Here's how it started.
I got an email that my friend Jo had written something on my Wall. (Nevermind that in all the time I've tried to master Face Book I've never figured out what 'my wall' was. But I clicked on the connection embedded in the email.
I was told I had "New Answers" to unlock. On the right were endless vertical ads for stuff I didn't want and wasn't interested in.
Jo had answered a question about me so I clicked on the spot and went to a page where there were actually 2 questions about me, though I'd never asked them.
Did Jim ever lie in an interview?
Did Jim ever not pick up a tab?
By the way, FB said 'James' which shows how much FB knows about me....
I needed 50 coins (whatever they are) to open either answer and I had, not unsurprisingly, zero coins since I have no idea whatsoever what they are or how I would get them if I wanted them.
Trying to negotiate away, I was asked if I wanted to 'view my matches'. There were hearts floating out of that question which made me think it was some kind of dating service. The only options were YES or NEXT. I took NEXT.
That brought me to a page that said something or someone called "Are you interested?" wanted access to everything on my FB, whatever that is since I can't find my way around it and have no idea what might be there.
The choice was ALLOW/LEAVE APP
I took LEAVE APP and may have arrived at what may be my 'wall' with 55 things from people I know and don't know with pictures and short sentences that I don't know what to do with.
I clicked on someone I don't really know and got sent--I suspect--to the Universe they inhabit with photos of them in stages of undress. Maybe this is the "Are you Interested" world, I have no idea, but I was able to get back to what might be 'my wall' but isn't anymore since I decided at that point I wanted to unsubscribe to FB and simply give up trying to intuit what the hell it is all about since nothing about it makes any sense to me.
I discovered I had 401 'friends' waiting to be 'friended' or whatever the word is. I also discovered that someone I've never heard of had invited me to a performance of The Highwaymen this Friday.
When I asked "help" to help me cancel my FB membership I was directed to a group called "Cancel My FB Membership" that had 311 members and wanted to 'friend' me.
I finally got to a page with the 'most asked questions' of HELP on FB. The most frequently asked question was "How do I cancel my account?"
Clicking on that I was instructed to go to my account page.
Clicking on that I got pictures of people I really love, including my daughter, 'who will miss you' if you commit social network suicide and cancel your account.
Mimi's picture almost made me hit 'cancel'.
But I'm just sick of trying to understand something that I simply don't understand. I think I could understand how to speak Albanian before I could comprehend what the Reason For and Usefulness Of FB is.
Even from the underhanded attempt to dissuade me of showing me my darling baby girl's photo, it took 3 more clicks and pages to finally do the deed of ending my unfortunate relationship with FB. Plus I had to type in some really goofy semi-disguised words. (Could someone who knows about such thing tell me this: Is there anyone who can't type in the squiggly letters and number correctly, and, if not, why, for God's sake???)
The page that came up when I finally, after 25 minutes or so, committed the equivalent of 'social network suicide', was a page from FB inviting me to join.
At that point I went for the big red X at the right-hand top of my screen.
It is finished....
(I do apologize for my hyper-intuitive personality that was absolutely incapable of joining you in the wondrous--I'm sure--bliss of being Face Book 'friends'. I have 2 phone numbers, an email address and live in a non-virtual spot on the planet where mail arrives. Stay in touch, please. I love you. You ARE my non-virtual 'friends'. I just couldn't take feeling so stupid and incompetent any more....)
Jim Bradley's Face Book Page
RIP 2/22/2011
(All will be well and all will be well and all
manner of things will be well....)
All things considered, I'd rather
be in Philadelphia....
Here's what you need to know. I'm an ENFP--big surprise, huh, to those who know the M/B?
Since I retired I've gotten in touch with my Introvert as opposed to my Extrovert. I've always been near the middle on that and I realize I really enjoy being alone and pondering as much as I enjoy being with dozens of diverse people and hanging out with them.
I'm pretty much stuck with being a Feeling rather a Thinking person and being a Perceptive rather than a Judging person. I'm 2/3 to the FP side from the TJ side.
But I am off the scale completely Intuitive rather than, what is it? I can't even remember, oh, yeah, Sensate. I don't even score on the S scale of the N/F scale.
How I always explained the difference between the two to groups I've used M/B with was this: "A sensate personality takes something that needs to be assembled, organizes the pieces and begins with the instructions (having read them once or twice) with step one. An intuitive personality dumps the pieces out, throws away the instructions and looks at the picture on the box." I am like that to the Nth (ironically enough) degree. I am so N I wouldn't know S if it bumped into me, took my money and left me for dead.
So, after tonight's adventure with Facebook, I've decided it must be a counter-intuitive thing and I would never ever be able to figure it out.
Here's how it started.
I got an email that my friend Jo had written something on my Wall. (Nevermind that in all the time I've tried to master Face Book I've never figured out what 'my wall' was. But I clicked on the connection embedded in the email.
I was told I had "New Answers" to unlock. On the right were endless vertical ads for stuff I didn't want and wasn't interested in.
Jo had answered a question about me so I clicked on the spot and went to a page where there were actually 2 questions about me, though I'd never asked them.
Did Jim ever lie in an interview?
Did Jim ever not pick up a tab?
By the way, FB said 'James' which shows how much FB knows about me....
I needed 50 coins (whatever they are) to open either answer and I had, not unsurprisingly, zero coins since I have no idea whatsoever what they are or how I would get them if I wanted them.
Trying to negotiate away, I was asked if I wanted to 'view my matches'. There were hearts floating out of that question which made me think it was some kind of dating service. The only options were YES or NEXT. I took NEXT.
That brought me to a page that said something or someone called "Are you interested?" wanted access to everything on my FB, whatever that is since I can't find my way around it and have no idea what might be there.
The choice was ALLOW/LEAVE APP
I took LEAVE APP and may have arrived at what may be my 'wall' with 55 things from people I know and don't know with pictures and short sentences that I don't know what to do with.
I clicked on someone I don't really know and got sent--I suspect--to the Universe they inhabit with photos of them in stages of undress. Maybe this is the "Are you Interested" world, I have no idea, but I was able to get back to what might be 'my wall' but isn't anymore since I decided at that point I wanted to unsubscribe to FB and simply give up trying to intuit what the hell it is all about since nothing about it makes any sense to me.
I discovered I had 401 'friends' waiting to be 'friended' or whatever the word is. I also discovered that someone I've never heard of had invited me to a performance of The Highwaymen this Friday.
When I asked "help" to help me cancel my FB membership I was directed to a group called "Cancel My FB Membership" that had 311 members and wanted to 'friend' me.
I finally got to a page with the 'most asked questions' of HELP on FB. The most frequently asked question was "How do I cancel my account?"
Clicking on that I was instructed to go to my account page.
Clicking on that I got pictures of people I really love, including my daughter, 'who will miss you' if you commit social network suicide and cancel your account.
Mimi's picture almost made me hit 'cancel'.
But I'm just sick of trying to understand something that I simply don't understand. I think I could understand how to speak Albanian before I could comprehend what the Reason For and Usefulness Of FB is.
Even from the underhanded attempt to dissuade me of showing me my darling baby girl's photo, it took 3 more clicks and pages to finally do the deed of ending my unfortunate relationship with FB. Plus I had to type in some really goofy semi-disguised words. (Could someone who knows about such thing tell me this: Is there anyone who can't type in the squiggly letters and number correctly, and, if not, why, for God's sake???)
The page that came up when I finally, after 25 minutes or so, committed the equivalent of 'social network suicide', was a page from FB inviting me to join.
At that point I went for the big red X at the right-hand top of my screen.
It is finished....
(I do apologize for my hyper-intuitive personality that was absolutely incapable of joining you in the wondrous--I'm sure--bliss of being Face Book 'friends'. I have 2 phone numbers, an email address and live in a non-virtual spot on the planet where mail arrives. Stay in touch, please. I love you. You ARE my non-virtual 'friends'. I just couldn't take feeling so stupid and incompetent any more....)
Jim Bradley's Face Book Page
RIP 2/22/2011
(All will be well and all will be well and all
manner of things will be well....)
All things considered, I'd rather
be in Philadelphia....
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