As I get older, I notice some things. One is that I'm not as fast on the uptake as I used to be. The other is that I'm rapidly going out of style.
The latter first, and then the former.
I exclusively wear rag socks. That's what I call them. They are thick and made of cotton with some wool blend. They are the kind of socks you would need for boots--but there is this, they have no elastic on the top. They are, in that way, distinct from 'crew socks'. I threw away all my socks, two drawers worth, that were not rag socks. I have decided, in my dotage, to wear only rag socks. I wear no socks much of the year and so, when I do wear socks, I should wear what I like. That's my stand and I'm sticking to it.
So, Saturday, I went out looking for rag socks. I went to Kohl's, Bob's and finally, Marshall's in Hamden. No rag socks whatsoever in Kohl's. I even asked someone who worked there if there were rag socks and she, 45 years younger than me if a day, stared at me like I'd asked if the vampire star ship was landing soon....
In Bob's, I found a few rag socks--what I call them--but they were $10 a pair. I was also looking for boxer shorts. I like boxer shorts with a bit of color and style. The ones at Kohl's and Bob's were like $22 a pair.
So, I went to Marshall's in Hamden. If you like Marshall's, you need to go to Hamden. It's like a Marshall's super-store. I found lots of what I call rag socks and lots of boxer shorts that were colorful and fun and all that was about half what it was anywhere else.
I bought 12 pairs of rag socks and 12 pairs of boxer shorts. I probably should have bought more since I am obviously going out of style at a sustained rate....
Then, the other night, I was writing a blog about Ben's funeral when my computer seemed to seize up and I couldn't type. I tried everything my small techno-brain told me and nothing worked. So I played 15 hands or so of hearts, never realizing I could play hearts with my mouse and never need the keyboard.
The next day I went on line and looked at stuff on AOL--which I love and everyone I know tells me is trash, just to let you know how out of style I am....Tried to finish the blog and couldn't type and then played 21 or so hands of hearts--something I do too much in my dotage...I love hearts. Then, about 17 hours after my keyboard stopped working, I (slow on the uptake) pondered if my keyboard needed four new AA batteries.
Lo and behold, that was it....17 hours isn't a terribly long time. But it is a long time to keep trying to type on a battery inhibited keyboard....Oh, well. So much for that. So it goes....
Sunday, November 18, 2012
Friday, November 16, 2012
His name was Ben
I officiated at a funeral today. That's not a new experience for me. In my 21 years at St. John's in Waterbury, I averaged a tad over 40 funerals a year. All told, I'm closing in on 1000 funerals. Not the kind of achievement you set out to accomplish....Yet, I am honored and humbled each time I'm involved in a funeral, no matter the circumstances. I've told the 30+ seminarians I've supervised and mentored that the most important things they'll ever do as priests is funerals.
I mean that. And I am privileged to have been a part of so many--for one thing, I'll never say dumb shit like "he's in a better place" or "God wanted her home....". I'm reliable for not saying dumb shit because I have no words at all to say in the face of death. I just sit with the survivors, help them plan the service and hold them if they want to be held.
Ben's mother called me yesterday--we've talked a lot since Saturday when Ben died in a horrendous accident while working on the family's property in New Hampshire--and she said "I feel out of control!" I told her--which is the limit of my conversation with people who have lost someone they love like a rock, "you are out of control. You are ultimately out of control." I wondered if I had tread too near the edge, but she sighed and said, "I am out of control. I have to give up being in control."
Oh, yes, beloved, when people die there is no 'control' to be in control of. When people die, a dear friend of mine wrote over 40 years ago (where does the time go?) when a friend of hers died in Viet Nam, "it's like a bird flying into a window on a chill morning....."
Fix that, if you can.
You can't, give it up, no control/no control/no control....
In that approaching 1000 funerals, I've never be a part of one quite like Ben's.
He was only 19 when he died. Wednesday, the day before his funeral, he would have been 20. Imagine what that day was like for his parents---no, don't, you CAN'T imagine it and you shouldn't try. You just shouldn't. You and I cannot for a moment imagine what that was like unless you too have lost a child to death. And if you have done that, don't try to imagine because it would be too painful....
Anyway, I was going to the funeral home Wednesday night to pray the prayers for a Vigil with the family. I was to be there at 4:45 but a wreck in Middletown got me redirected and I didn't get there until 5:05. When I arrived there were several hundred people in line to speak to the family. I was carrying a Book of Common Prayer, which serves as my calling card since I haven't worn a clerical collar for decade or more, so people let me cut line. I told the family it was nonsense to try to do the prayers and told them we'd meet in the morning.
The service was at Holy Trinity in Middletown, thanks to their generosity, because St. James in Higganum wouldn't have held the crowd. St. James can seat 80 or so, packed in, and nearly 400 people showed up for the funeral.
At huge funerals like this, often only a few people receiver communion. But I ran through over 350 wafers as a disc of Ben's favorite music played. That and the fact that most everyone at the rail had wet eyes if not tears running down their faces, I realized this funeral was in the top 5% of all the funerals I have done for authentic grief.
Ben's aunt, who is a pediatrician, talked about how special he was and handed out stickers that said, "WWBFD?"--what would Ben Foisie do?
I never met him, but I do think, after all I heard and was told about him, that was a reasonable question. One to ponder. He was so authentic, sweet, accepting, loving, honest--'special', indeed--that trying to live as he would have lived had he been able to--might be a superlative way to live.
Altogether, a remarkable burial office. Altogether something that made me better, stronger, kinder, more open.
Just the gift that death should give. If we are only open to the giving....
I mean that. And I am privileged to have been a part of so many--for one thing, I'll never say dumb shit like "he's in a better place" or "God wanted her home....". I'm reliable for not saying dumb shit because I have no words at all to say in the face of death. I just sit with the survivors, help them plan the service and hold them if they want to be held.
Ben's mother called me yesterday--we've talked a lot since Saturday when Ben died in a horrendous accident while working on the family's property in New Hampshire--and she said "I feel out of control!" I told her--which is the limit of my conversation with people who have lost someone they love like a rock, "you are out of control. You are ultimately out of control." I wondered if I had tread too near the edge, but she sighed and said, "I am out of control. I have to give up being in control."
Oh, yes, beloved, when people die there is no 'control' to be in control of. When people die, a dear friend of mine wrote over 40 years ago (where does the time go?) when a friend of hers died in Viet Nam, "it's like a bird flying into a window on a chill morning....."
Fix that, if you can.
You can't, give it up, no control/no control/no control....
In that approaching 1000 funerals, I've never be a part of one quite like Ben's.
He was only 19 when he died. Wednesday, the day before his funeral, he would have been 20. Imagine what that day was like for his parents---no, don't, you CAN'T imagine it and you shouldn't try. You just shouldn't. You and I cannot for a moment imagine what that was like unless you too have lost a child to death. And if you have done that, don't try to imagine because it would be too painful....
Anyway, I was going to the funeral home Wednesday night to pray the prayers for a Vigil with the family. I was to be there at 4:45 but a wreck in Middletown got me redirected and I didn't get there until 5:05. When I arrived there were several hundred people in line to speak to the family. I was carrying a Book of Common Prayer, which serves as my calling card since I haven't worn a clerical collar for decade or more, so people let me cut line. I told the family it was nonsense to try to do the prayers and told them we'd meet in the morning.
The service was at Holy Trinity in Middletown, thanks to their generosity, because St. James in Higganum wouldn't have held the crowd. St. James can seat 80 or so, packed in, and nearly 400 people showed up for the funeral.
At huge funerals like this, often only a few people receiver communion. But I ran through over 350 wafers as a disc of Ben's favorite music played. That and the fact that most everyone at the rail had wet eyes if not tears running down their faces, I realized this funeral was in the top 5% of all the funerals I have done for authentic grief.
Ben's aunt, who is a pediatrician, talked about how special he was and handed out stickers that said, "WWBFD?"--what would Ben Foisie do?
I never met him, but I do think, after all I heard and was told about him, that was a reasonable question. One to ponder. He was so authentic, sweet, accepting, loving, honest--'special', indeed--that trying to live as he would have lived had he been able to--might be a superlative way to live.
Altogether, a remarkable burial office. Altogether something that made me better, stronger, kinder, more open.
Just the gift that death should give. If we are only open to the giving....
Wednesday, November 14, 2012
When Autumn comes to Connecticut
It is Autumn in New England
and the cry of the leaf blowers
is heard in the land.
Like huge birds, their raucous
mating cries sound
across the lawns of Cheshire,
drowning out everything
but their passion.
Men with ear protectors
vacuum the leaves into
large wooden boxes
on the backs of trucks
and carry them away
to who knows where....
The leaves, who gave
us joy in their greening,
are like and embarassment
in their old age.
They must be hauled away--
out of sight and out of mind.
We keep our leaves
and pile them down from
our deck and let them repose
in peace. Decades of them
now, pressed down by snow,
together--our old friends--
dignified and rotting,
which is natures way.
The red maple in the back,
the one I can see out the window
to my right,
is holding her leaves for dear life.
Few have fallen.
The ones that remain
shimmer with an almost
day-glow orange
in the afternoon sun.
They should not fear the end.
They will be gathered together
to wait for the snow.
We don't forget our friends....
and the cry of the leaf blowers
is heard in the land.
Like huge birds, their raucous
mating cries sound
across the lawns of Cheshire,
drowning out everything
but their passion.
Men with ear protectors
vacuum the leaves into
large wooden boxes
on the backs of trucks
and carry them away
to who knows where....
The leaves, who gave
us joy in their greening,
are like and embarassment
in their old age.
They must be hauled away--
out of sight and out of mind.
We keep our leaves
and pile them down from
our deck and let them repose
in peace. Decades of them
now, pressed down by snow,
together--our old friends--
dignified and rotting,
which is natures way.
The red maple in the back,
the one I can see out the window
to my right,
is holding her leaves for dear life.
Few have fallen.
The ones that remain
shimmer with an almost
day-glow orange
in the afternoon sun.
They should not fear the end.
They will be gathered together
to wait for the snow.
We don't forget our friends....
Friday, November 9, 2012
Standing in line
I was in line at Stop and Shop the other day and was looking at the cover stories on the Globe--a tabloid that, in all transparency, I must admit I've never read--but I do look at the front everytime I stand in line.
The Globe is an equal opportunity defamer. The two stories on the cover were about Barack Obama's Cocaine selling and being registered as a "foreign student" at Columbia and Mitt Romney's sex crime....or, as the Globe put it: SEX CRIME!!!
The things you can lean standing in line with some Ben and Jerry's vanilla ice cream, dandruff shampoo, two on-vine tomatoes and some spreadable cheddar/bacon cheese.
What a great media we have....
The Globe is an equal opportunity defamer. The two stories on the cover were about Barack Obama's Cocaine selling and being registered as a "foreign student" at Columbia and Mitt Romney's sex crime....or, as the Globe put it: SEX CRIME!!!
The things you can lean standing in line with some Ben and Jerry's vanilla ice cream, dandruff shampoo, two on-vine tomatoes and some spreadable cheddar/bacon cheese.
What a great media we have....
Thursday, November 8, 2012
I Swear to God...
"I swear to God' this happened.
Hey, I'm an Episcopal priest, I take oaths to God with a modicum of seriousness....
Late Monday night I went on Huffington Post web site, which has had for months an election map which has invariably favored President (I said "President") Obama. On Monday night it had the president with 271 electoral votes and Mitt Romney with 190 with lots undecided. It also had the opportunity for you to go on and figure out your prediction.
I played with it for a while and then wrote down this:
Obama 303, at least.
With Floridia, 332.
I put that piece of paper in a paperback copy of Alice in Wonderland and put it in Bern's desk.
Far before Ohio was called, I went and got it and gave it to Bern.
"I wish I was as confident as you," she said.
"I'm not 'confident'," I told her, "I'm right."
This evening Florida fell into Obama's column, giving him 332 electoral votes rather than the 303 he had before that.
Hey, I'm not Nate Silver by any means. I went with my gut and my hope. And I NAILED IT!!!
If you don't believe me--and why should you--ask Bern, she'll tell you it is so.....
Hey, I'm an Episcopal priest, I take oaths to God with a modicum of seriousness....
Late Monday night I went on Huffington Post web site, which has had for months an election map which has invariably favored President (I said "President") Obama. On Monday night it had the president with 271 electoral votes and Mitt Romney with 190 with lots undecided. It also had the opportunity for you to go on and figure out your prediction.
I played with it for a while and then wrote down this:
Obama 303, at least.
With Floridia, 332.
I put that piece of paper in a paperback copy of Alice in Wonderland and put it in Bern's desk.
Far before Ohio was called, I went and got it and gave it to Bern.
"I wish I was as confident as you," she said.
"I'm not 'confident'," I told her, "I'm right."
This evening Florida fell into Obama's column, giving him 332 electoral votes rather than the 303 he had before that.
Hey, I'm not Nate Silver by any means. I went with my gut and my hope. And I NAILED IT!!!
If you don't believe me--and why should you--ask Bern, she'll tell you it is so.....
Wednesday, November 7, 2012
Christmas Morning
I woke up this morning and it was Christmas and almost everything I wanted was under the tree....
Four more years.....They're going to be good ones....
Four more years.....They're going to be good ones....
Saturday, November 3, 2012
A modest way to world peace....
I was in the Vet's office with my dog and a woman was there with her three month old granddaughter in one of those humongous strollers people have now that turn into a car seat somehow. I don't get how they work but I don't need to know since, chances are, I'll never have a three month old child to worry about.
Anyhow, I watched how people reacted to the baby. People make silly faces at babies and say things you don't normally hear in conversation like: "Goo-goo, whoo-whoo, baby, baby". One young Asian woman even took out her car keys and shook them for the baby, making faces and talking in non-sense syllables.
Here's what I was pondering while all that was going on.
What if we all greeted each other, friends and strangers, the way we greet unknown babies? What if we made silly faces and did baby talk and shook our car keys at each other in the store or on the street or when someone came to our house? What if 'passing the peace' at church consisted of babbling and funny faces and shaking shiny things to each other?
What if each of the Presidential debates had begun with Romney and Obama making silly faces at each other and going "Goo-Goo, Boo-Boo!" and showing each other their keys?
What if the beginning of each meeting of the House and Senate was that kind of behavior? Or the prelude to arguments before the Supreme Count, or the opening ceremony of the UN's general assembly?
Imagine Palestinians and Jews passing each other making funny faces and saying silly things and shaking shiny objects?
I mean really, what a baby causes us to do is to find the very depths of our silliness and affection and willingness to look foolish. In other words--our best of all Angel.
It would be hard to have an enemy if we were being silly and affectionate and foolish to each other all the time. And there's no way you could consider fighting a war with people who danced around making faces flashing car keys at you....
This may just be the simplest way to find an atmosphere of acceptance of differences and a forum for settling difficult disputes. And the remarkable thing, if you think about it for just a moment, is that it would be completely natural and right: we were all babies at some point and people made faces, sputtered nonsense and shook keys at us. We'd just be doing that for each other.
Wouldn't that be a way to acknowledge the 'baby-ness' of each of us? And after we'd made fools of ourselves to each other, wouldn't it be terribly difficult to be disagreeable and hostile to each other?
My wife told me to stop talking about this long before I got as far as I've gotten writing it down. So I made funny faces at her and said "Goo-Goo, Maac-Maac" and showed her my keys. She laughed.
Who wouldn't?
I think I'm on to something here. Want to try it out and see...?
Anyhow, I watched how people reacted to the baby. People make silly faces at babies and say things you don't normally hear in conversation like: "Goo-goo, whoo-whoo, baby, baby". One young Asian woman even took out her car keys and shook them for the baby, making faces and talking in non-sense syllables.
Here's what I was pondering while all that was going on.
What if we all greeted each other, friends and strangers, the way we greet unknown babies? What if we made silly faces and did baby talk and shook our car keys at each other in the store or on the street or when someone came to our house? What if 'passing the peace' at church consisted of babbling and funny faces and shaking shiny things to each other?
What if each of the Presidential debates had begun with Romney and Obama making silly faces at each other and going "Goo-Goo, Boo-Boo!" and showing each other their keys?
What if the beginning of each meeting of the House and Senate was that kind of behavior? Or the prelude to arguments before the Supreme Count, or the opening ceremony of the UN's general assembly?
Imagine Palestinians and Jews passing each other making funny faces and saying silly things and shaking shiny objects?
I mean really, what a baby causes us to do is to find the very depths of our silliness and affection and willingness to look foolish. In other words--our best of all Angel.
It would be hard to have an enemy if we were being silly and affectionate and foolish to each other all the time. And there's no way you could consider fighting a war with people who danced around making faces flashing car keys at you....
This may just be the simplest way to find an atmosphere of acceptance of differences and a forum for settling difficult disputes. And the remarkable thing, if you think about it for just a moment, is that it would be completely natural and right: we were all babies at some point and people made faces, sputtered nonsense and shook keys at us. We'd just be doing that for each other.
Wouldn't that be a way to acknowledge the 'baby-ness' of each of us? And after we'd made fools of ourselves to each other, wouldn't it be terribly difficult to be disagreeable and hostile to each other?
My wife told me to stop talking about this long before I got as far as I've gotten writing it down. So I made funny faces at her and said "Goo-Goo, Maac-Maac" and showed her my keys. She laughed.
Who wouldn't?
I think I'm on to something here. Want to try it out and see...?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)