Both Bern and I were out tonight--a rarity in the 'retirement years'. She went to her women's group that she's been a part of for, what, almost 30 years. They meet every Thursday night--only 5 of them now and never more than 6. That's just the way Group works. Two of the other 3 have been in Group even longer than Bern. It is a remarkable support group, context, friendship they have. Men seldom do such things.
I was down in Higganum at a Book Group looking at Hebrew poetry. There was a guest tonight invited by the man leading the group--Rabbi Alan Leftowitz. I've known Alan for 25 years through the Mastery Foundation that I'm a part of. He is a wonderful man. I told GW, the guy who invited him, not to tell him I'd be there--let it be a surprise.
When I arrived, Alan was in his car talking on the phone. I knocked on his window and waved. He waved back. "He doesn't recognize me", I thought. And I remembered one year in North Carolina on the beach when I saw my friend George down the strand, but because George wasn't supposed to be there, I told myself it wasn't him.
When Alan came into the parish hall, carrying his guitar--he was a Cantor for years before going to rabbinical school--he greeted everyone and gave me a funny look, like "you look familiar, but why would you be HERE?"
So he went to unpack his guitar and I walked over and said, "Alan".
His face lit up and he hugged me. (It was like that scene in the garden when Mary Magdalene doesn't recognize Jesus, thinks he's the gardener, since why would a dead man be HERE. Then he spoke her name and she knew him and said "Rabbi"....Well that's a stretch since it would make me Jesus and Alan, who's really the Rabbi, into Mary.....All metaphors eventually fall apart....)
Anyway, the night was great and near the end, about 8 o'clock, my cellphone rang. My cellphone seldom rings so I apologized, went out the back door, which promptly locked behind me, and answered it.
It was my granddaughter Emma. It was bedtime in Baltimore and she had convinced her mother to call me so she could tell me how much she misses me. My heart lurched almost out of my chest. My vision blurred. We talked for a while--actually talking to an almost 6 year old is a process of 'listening' more than talking. Then Cathy, her mother, my daughter in law, got on to apologize for bothering me but said the girls were really missing me tonight. Then I talked to Morgan for a while and even Tegan (who is not yet three) said something and I was in Highest Heaven....
My grandchildren, who I carry always in my heart, missed me and wanted to talk with me before they went to sleep.
Such a gift. Such a wonder.
I know if Bern, who doesn't have a cell phone, had been home, they would have talked with her and not me. So I thank God for Bern's group, for my cell phone, for Emma and Morgan and Tegan, for just being alive in a world with such wonders as granddaughters....
(Which, by the way, was what Alan was saying about some of the Psalms--that they are songs of wonder and joy at the mere miracle of 'being'.)
Alleluia, praise the Lord! Praise God's holy name....
Thursday, May 31, 2012
Wednesday, May 30, 2012
Fortune
They've finally decided to bury Fortune.
Fr. Bob, the Interim at St. John's in Waterbury, called me a few days ago to tell me and to ask about the St. John's plot in Riverside Cemetery. I was overjoyed to hear the good news!
At long, long last, Fortune will be laid to rest.
Fortune, just to catch you up, was a slave of a member of St. John's back in day when slavery was still legal in Connecticut. He was a slave of a physician, probably born into the good doctor's family of slaves and named by the good doctor. It was the day (as I can see on the tombstones in the old section of Cheshire's Hillside Cemetery, when people were named such things as Chastity, Loyal, Laity, Honor and, yes, Fortune.)
Anyhow, after Fortune died, a relatively young man as I remember the story, the doctor (whose name I can't remember though I once knew it--and I'm glad his name is lost in infamy--which would have been an interesting first name--and Fortune's name is remembered) boiled him down or somehow extracted Fortune's skeleton from his flesh and used his bones as a teaching device.
There is no end to the wrongness of that. I've often wondered where real skeleton's came from, and I'm sure lots of them came from such nefarious events. But Fortune, who was born and died a slave, deserved a better final fate.
Older members of St. John's remembered learning about bones from a trip to the Mattatuck Museum in junior high when Fortune's bones were on display.
At some point (thank whatever gods there be!) someone objected to displaying the bones of a slave and the Museum put Fortune in storage. I found out about him and offered a burial plot owned by St. John's for his burial.
Now, years later, the decision has been made to bury him. But not before he goes to the Smithsonian for his bones to be scanned, x-rayed and thoroughly recorded.
Fr. Bob (his name is Robert Miner, but I can't think of him in any other way but "Fr. Bob". It's what he likes to be called and he's a remarkable priest and human being and it actually works for me--the one who eschews all forms of honorific addresses. I call my Doctor "Mark" and my dentist "Dean" and my bishop "Ian". But Robert is worthy of being called Fr. Bob.) I put so may parenthetical phrases in there I lost the sentence, which was meant to be: Fr. Bob tells me there is to be a big celebration with choirs from the Black Churches and the Mayor and such.
Good for them. Fortune, after what is surely a century and a half, deserves a send-off that is more glorious than any of his life--and his time as an unwilling skeleton--ever entailed.
May his soul, and the souls of all the departed, rest in peace.
And may his mortal remains finally, finally be given the respect they have long been denied.
Fr. Bob, the Interim at St. John's in Waterbury, called me a few days ago to tell me and to ask about the St. John's plot in Riverside Cemetery. I was overjoyed to hear the good news!
At long, long last, Fortune will be laid to rest.
Fortune, just to catch you up, was a slave of a member of St. John's back in day when slavery was still legal in Connecticut. He was a slave of a physician, probably born into the good doctor's family of slaves and named by the good doctor. It was the day (as I can see on the tombstones in the old section of Cheshire's Hillside Cemetery, when people were named such things as Chastity, Loyal, Laity, Honor and, yes, Fortune.)
Anyhow, after Fortune died, a relatively young man as I remember the story, the doctor (whose name I can't remember though I once knew it--and I'm glad his name is lost in infamy--which would have been an interesting first name--and Fortune's name is remembered) boiled him down or somehow extracted Fortune's skeleton from his flesh and used his bones as a teaching device.
There is no end to the wrongness of that. I've often wondered where real skeleton's came from, and I'm sure lots of them came from such nefarious events. But Fortune, who was born and died a slave, deserved a better final fate.
Older members of St. John's remembered learning about bones from a trip to the Mattatuck Museum in junior high when Fortune's bones were on display.
At some point (thank whatever gods there be!) someone objected to displaying the bones of a slave and the Museum put Fortune in storage. I found out about him and offered a burial plot owned by St. John's for his burial.
Now, years later, the decision has been made to bury him. But not before he goes to the Smithsonian for his bones to be scanned, x-rayed and thoroughly recorded.
Fr. Bob (his name is Robert Miner, but I can't think of him in any other way but "Fr. Bob". It's what he likes to be called and he's a remarkable priest and human being and it actually works for me--the one who eschews all forms of honorific addresses. I call my Doctor "Mark" and my dentist "Dean" and my bishop "Ian". But Robert is worthy of being called Fr. Bob.) I put so may parenthetical phrases in there I lost the sentence, which was meant to be: Fr. Bob tells me there is to be a big celebration with choirs from the Black Churches and the Mayor and such.
Good for them. Fortune, after what is surely a century and a half, deserves a send-off that is more glorious than any of his life--and his time as an unwilling skeleton--ever entailed.
May his soul, and the souls of all the departed, rest in peace.
And may his mortal remains finally, finally be given the respect they have long been denied.
Tuesday, May 29, 2012
Long time no write...
I just realized, as I was about to play hearts or online checkers, that I haven't written in my blog for quite a while. We went to Baltimore Sunday and came back Wednesday and it took most of the rest of the week to recover from being with 2 almost 6 year old girls and one almost 3 year old girl (all of whom we love more than life!) for two and a half days...Then came the holiday weekend--which we didn't do anything much with but was restful and good. Then, today, I went to two Clericus meetings.
9:30-11 a.m. I was with the Waterbury Clericus at St. Peter's in Cheshire and from noon-2 p..m. I was with Bishop Laura and the Middlesex Deanery Clericus. Spending that long with that many other ordained folks reminded me of what Will Rodgers said about Methodist clergy (which applies almost exactly to Episcopal clergy). Rodgers said, "Methodist preachers are like manure. When they're spread out they do a lot of good. When they're all in one place. they tend to stink a bit."
The robin babies left their nest on our front porch while we were gone, so we didn't get to send them off with joy and hopefulness. The last couple of years, one of them would end up on our deck for a while, looking stunned and confused, before they flew away. I need to take the nest down, so we can have our house painted. That pains me. I'll do it with rubber gloves on and store it in the basement and put it back when the painting is done. I pray they'll come back next spring....
On the way back from Baltimore, we stopped at the Delaware Welcome Center--the only rest stop in the state. It is really remarkable. About the size of a jumbo jet hanger, there are lots of good food places, a gift shop and a little convenience store that charges about double what things are worth. I recommend the Delaware Welcome Center to anyone going north or south on I-95.
When we arrived there were several bus loads of Jewish teenagers there. The boys had commandeered both huge men's bathrooms to change into what were very nice suits from their traveling clothes. The girls were not as many but, like the boys, were extremely well dressed. I don't think they were Orthodox, unless Cinnabon and Starbuck's are kosher. But they were remarkably well dressed and polite.
They began to thin out when several other buses arrived with about a hundred Asian-American teenagers. They were not so well dressed but were equally well-behaved and quite, even in such large numbers.
As I was eating yogurt and Bern was eating a breakfast sandwich, I said to her, "We're in the presence of a large number of future Ivy League students."
Is it ethnic or racist when it's True? I'll have to ponder that....
Check in later.
9:30-11 a.m. I was with the Waterbury Clericus at St. Peter's in Cheshire and from noon-2 p..m. I was with Bishop Laura and the Middlesex Deanery Clericus. Spending that long with that many other ordained folks reminded me of what Will Rodgers said about Methodist clergy (which applies almost exactly to Episcopal clergy). Rodgers said, "Methodist preachers are like manure. When they're spread out they do a lot of good. When they're all in one place. they tend to stink a bit."
The robin babies left their nest on our front porch while we were gone, so we didn't get to send them off with joy and hopefulness. The last couple of years, one of them would end up on our deck for a while, looking stunned and confused, before they flew away. I need to take the nest down, so we can have our house painted. That pains me. I'll do it with rubber gloves on and store it in the basement and put it back when the painting is done. I pray they'll come back next spring....
On the way back from Baltimore, we stopped at the Delaware Welcome Center--the only rest stop in the state. It is really remarkable. About the size of a jumbo jet hanger, there are lots of good food places, a gift shop and a little convenience store that charges about double what things are worth. I recommend the Delaware Welcome Center to anyone going north or south on I-95.
When we arrived there were several bus loads of Jewish teenagers there. The boys had commandeered both huge men's bathrooms to change into what were very nice suits from their traveling clothes. The girls were not as many but, like the boys, were extremely well dressed. I don't think they were Orthodox, unless Cinnabon and Starbuck's are kosher. But they were remarkably well dressed and polite.
They began to thin out when several other buses arrived with about a hundred Asian-American teenagers. They were not so well dressed but were equally well-behaved and quite, even in such large numbers.
As I was eating yogurt and Bern was eating a breakfast sandwich, I said to her, "We're in the presence of a large number of future Ivy League students."
Is it ethnic or racist when it's True? I'll have to ponder that....
Check in later.
Thursday, May 17, 2012
Stuff
I. I saw a TV show about hummingbirds. It was remarkable. Really
*Hummingbirds only live in the Americas, nowhere else. Let Australia have kangaroos, I'll take hummingbirds every day.
*Ruby throated hummingbirds, which we have each year, have their young in the North East, if they can calm down enough to mate--and then fly to Central America. Go figure.
*There are hundreds of kinds of hummingbirds. Imagine...
II. I sat on our back deck for two hours on this almost perfect day.
*I'm amazed at the number of birds flying through our back yard.
*Then I noticed how many flying insects were out there since we don't do any pesticides and haven't for the 25 years we've lived here.
* Most of our neighbors do use pesticides and put up frightening little signs like not to let children or pets be there and not to breathe as you walk by.
*Bern, God bless her, has created a perfectly balanced ecosystem in our back yard in a quarter of a century. Insects come there (since they can't go to most of our neighbors) and so all the birds come here to eat the insects. Plus, all Bern's red flowers attract hummingbirds.
*Our back yard (about 1/4 an acre) is a wonder and a joy....
III. I took a Bolla metal container that originally held two wine bottles--some gift to me, I suspect, that was 2/3 full of coins to the coin eating machine today. I got $72.02 from it--about $35 of which were from pennies.
*I've been putting coins in this container for, I don't know, 15 years. But I regularly, over the years, have mined it for quarters and even dimes to buy cigarettes, when you could have enough dimes to by cigarettes and not break your back carrying them.
*I thought it would be more since it was so heavy I almost dislocated my shoulder carrying it. But pennies, I guess, weigh a lot.
* What was interesting was what I found among the $72.02 of change: 2 small safety pins, an unused wooden match, a ten something Taiwanese coin, a guitar pick, a 21 sided Dungeons and Dragons dice, an earring, a little bell, a large pill, an ancient Rolaid's, 3 valueless tokens for a car wash long gone, a Euro and about a pound and a half in small coins.
*Coins are very dirty. I washed my hands the way the sign in Stop and Shop's bathroom told me to, though I think since signs are the end of civil liberties as we know them. Coins are that dirty.
None of this goes together unless you ponder it really hard. And maybe not even then. Who knows.
Who takes enough time to wonder how 'stuff' relates to other 'stuff'. Who knows?
*Hummingbirds only live in the Americas, nowhere else. Let Australia have kangaroos, I'll take hummingbirds every day.
*Ruby throated hummingbirds, which we have each year, have their young in the North East, if they can calm down enough to mate--and then fly to Central America. Go figure.
*There are hundreds of kinds of hummingbirds. Imagine...
II. I sat on our back deck for two hours on this almost perfect day.
*I'm amazed at the number of birds flying through our back yard.
*Then I noticed how many flying insects were out there since we don't do any pesticides and haven't for the 25 years we've lived here.
* Most of our neighbors do use pesticides and put up frightening little signs like not to let children or pets be there and not to breathe as you walk by.
*Bern, God bless her, has created a perfectly balanced ecosystem in our back yard in a quarter of a century. Insects come there (since they can't go to most of our neighbors) and so all the birds come here to eat the insects. Plus, all Bern's red flowers attract hummingbirds.
*Our back yard (about 1/4 an acre) is a wonder and a joy....
III. I took a Bolla metal container that originally held two wine bottles--some gift to me, I suspect, that was 2/3 full of coins to the coin eating machine today. I got $72.02 from it--about $35 of which were from pennies.
*I've been putting coins in this container for, I don't know, 15 years. But I regularly, over the years, have mined it for quarters and even dimes to buy cigarettes, when you could have enough dimes to by cigarettes and not break your back carrying them.
*I thought it would be more since it was so heavy I almost dislocated my shoulder carrying it. But pennies, I guess, weigh a lot.
* What was interesting was what I found among the $72.02 of change: 2 small safety pins, an unused wooden match, a ten something Taiwanese coin, a guitar pick, a 21 sided Dungeons and Dragons dice, an earring, a little bell, a large pill, an ancient Rolaid's, 3 valueless tokens for a car wash long gone, a Euro and about a pound and a half in small coins.
*Coins are very dirty. I washed my hands the way the sign in Stop and Shop's bathroom told me to, though I think since signs are the end of civil liberties as we know them. Coins are that dirty.
None of this goes together unless you ponder it really hard. And maybe not even then. Who knows.
Who takes enough time to wonder how 'stuff' relates to other 'stuff'. Who knows?
Wednesday, May 16, 2012
what really brings out the libertarian in me
Most Liberals have a streak of libertarian in them. In fact, Liberal libertarians are shocked to discover there are Right-Wing libertarians. What's up with that? Didn't read Ayn Rand?
Like me, I can listen to Ron Paul for quite a while and find myself nodding in agreement as he outlines personal freedoms like decriminalizing drugs, ending all the wars everywhere, the government stopping violating privacy, on and on....Then, he says something about ending Social Security or the Welfare System or doing away with the Department of Education and I snap to attention and say, "Where the hell did that come from???"
Here's what really reveals my libertarian streak: Signs telling you how to wash your hands!!!!
Who thinks they have the right to tell me how to wash my hands???
What if I don't want to run the water 20 seconds or use soap or turn the door knob with my paper towel?
What if I don't want to wash my hands at all???
And where did these signs come from? What kind of Fascists plot is this--to control hand washing? But they're everywhere these days.
Sometimes they even order me to sing some song while I soap my hands just so I'll do it long enough to satisfy the hand washing Nazi's wanting to purify the race by getting rid of all hand washers who don't conform!
Really! "Happy Birthday" to enslave us all to a totalitarian hand washing regime.
Dirty Hands of the World, Rise Up! Tear down those signs whenever you encounter one! No Chains on me and No 20 seconds of soaping either....
Next they'll be telling us "WE HAVE TO pour beer down the side of the glass to avoid a head...."
When will it stop? How to put on your pants one leg at a time? Is that what it will come to?
Let's recall Scott Walker and then start rooting out the Hand Washing Cartel.
Join me brothers and sisters, cast off the System's Hand Washing oppression....
(And only floss once a day, no matter what your Reactionary Dentist tells you....)
Like me, I can listen to Ron Paul for quite a while and find myself nodding in agreement as he outlines personal freedoms like decriminalizing drugs, ending all the wars everywhere, the government stopping violating privacy, on and on....Then, he says something about ending Social Security or the Welfare System or doing away with the Department of Education and I snap to attention and say, "Where the hell did that come from???"
Here's what really reveals my libertarian streak: Signs telling you how to wash your hands!!!!
Who thinks they have the right to tell me how to wash my hands???
What if I don't want to run the water 20 seconds or use soap or turn the door knob with my paper towel?
What if I don't want to wash my hands at all???
And where did these signs come from? What kind of Fascists plot is this--to control hand washing? But they're everywhere these days.
Sometimes they even order me to sing some song while I soap my hands just so I'll do it long enough to satisfy the hand washing Nazi's wanting to purify the race by getting rid of all hand washers who don't conform!
Really! "Happy Birthday" to enslave us all to a totalitarian hand washing regime.
Dirty Hands of the World, Rise Up! Tear down those signs whenever you encounter one! No Chains on me and No 20 seconds of soaping either....
Next they'll be telling us "WE HAVE TO pour beer down the side of the glass to avoid a head...."
When will it stop? How to put on your pants one leg at a time? Is that what it will come to?
Let's recall Scott Walker and then start rooting out the Hand Washing Cartel.
Join me brothers and sisters, cast off the System's Hand Washing oppression....
(And only floss once a day, no matter what your Reactionary Dentist tells you....)
Monday, May 14, 2012
The inadequacy of 'green' and baby robins
First the sublime. Mama Robin has at least two little fuzzy babies on our front porch. That brings, over three years, to at least 8 baby robins born to the and up of our front door! Wondrous to me.
Also wondrous to me is sitting on our back deck and looking at the back yard Bern has so diligently and lovingly cultivated since 1989. What I noticed today is at least 18 shades of what English calls 'green' in our back yard. How inadequate is that? I know about lime green and dark green and military green and several other distinctions. But we don't have 18 distinctions for 'green'.
In a world where there are baby robins, we should have at least 18 words for 'green'.
What I think, anyway. I'm pondering baby robins and 'green' tonight....
Also wondrous to me is sitting on our back deck and looking at the back yard Bern has so diligently and lovingly cultivated since 1989. What I noticed today is at least 18 shades of what English calls 'green' in our back yard. How inadequate is that? I know about lime green and dark green and military green and several other distinctions. But we don't have 18 distinctions for 'green'.
In a world where there are baby robins, we should have at least 18 words for 'green'.
What I think, anyway. I'm pondering baby robins and 'green' tonight....
Sunday, May 13, 2012
My 'little piggies'
Because I had on sandals and was sitting on the deck with my feet up (it being a beautiful day and all) I was looking at my toes and had disturbing thoughts.
My nails are not gnarly since I had a pedicure three weeks or so ago, but the two big toe nails are looking yellow. Besides that, my second toe on my left foot is beginning to look like a hammer toe and the second toe on my right foot is elongated, almost as log as the big toe and the last digit looks like a catchers mitt or a peony--all big and squishy. Plus, my little toes are like really little, like they belong on a smaller foot or something.
So I searched the Internet for "yellowing toe nails" and found disturbing things. Never 'search the net' (I can't figure out how to spell "Googled" to my spell check's satisfaction) unless it's something you really, really want to know.
Of the hundreds of thousands of 'hits' for "yellowing toe nails" I looked at two before I got to scared to search on.
I learned about Toenail Fungal Infection ('onychomycosos') which 12% of Americans apparently have.
I learned about "yellow nail syndrome", which can be a symptom of such things a sinusitis, rheumatoid arthritis, immune system problems and kidney cancer. (It can also be caused by using very dark nail polish, but since I never go darker than pink that can't be the reason....)
There was a link to 'kidney cancer' and I clicked on it an learned a lesson we all should know and know fair well--never click on a link to 'kidney cancer' if you have something like yellow toenails on your big toes. It will scare the bejesus out of you!!! (My spell check doesn't have an alternative spelling of 'bejesus' that makes any sense and since I use that word all the time, I'm sticking with my spelling....)
One option to kidney cancer, if you have a yellow toenail, is to soak it in warm water for 10 minutes and then apply a cream with latic acid (whatever that is) 0r urea (whatever that is).
I might consider doing that if it weren't for the fact that I have no idea what kind of cream would have those mystery ingredients and would be too embarrassed to ask the pharmacist and, if I tried it and my toenails were still yellow, I'd start really worrying about kidney cancer....
I just don't need that.
Maybe I should just wear socks with my sandals. Out of sight, out of mind.
My nails are not gnarly since I had a pedicure three weeks or so ago, but the two big toe nails are looking yellow. Besides that, my second toe on my left foot is beginning to look like a hammer toe and the second toe on my right foot is elongated, almost as log as the big toe and the last digit looks like a catchers mitt or a peony--all big and squishy. Plus, my little toes are like really little, like they belong on a smaller foot or something.
So I searched the Internet for "yellowing toe nails" and found disturbing things. Never 'search the net' (I can't figure out how to spell "Googled" to my spell check's satisfaction) unless it's something you really, really want to know.
Of the hundreds of thousands of 'hits' for "yellowing toe nails" I looked at two before I got to scared to search on.
I learned about Toenail Fungal Infection ('onychomycosos') which 12% of Americans apparently have.
I learned about "yellow nail syndrome", which can be a symptom of such things a sinusitis, rheumatoid arthritis, immune system problems and kidney cancer. (It can also be caused by using very dark nail polish, but since I never go darker than pink that can't be the reason....)
There was a link to 'kidney cancer' and I clicked on it an learned a lesson we all should know and know fair well--never click on a link to 'kidney cancer' if you have something like yellow toenails on your big toes. It will scare the bejesus out of you!!! (My spell check doesn't have an alternative spelling of 'bejesus' that makes any sense and since I use that word all the time, I'm sticking with my spelling....)
One option to kidney cancer, if you have a yellow toenail, is to soak it in warm water for 10 minutes and then apply a cream with latic acid (whatever that is) 0r urea (whatever that is).
I might consider doing that if it weren't for the fact that I have no idea what kind of cream would have those mystery ingredients and would be too embarrassed to ask the pharmacist and, if I tried it and my toenails were still yellow, I'd start really worrying about kidney cancer....
I just don't need that.
Maybe I should just wear socks with my sandals. Out of sight, out of mind.
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