I sandwiched in the Good Friday Liturgy at St. Andrew's in Northford between picking up my two children at Union Station in New Haven.
Mimi came at 2 p.m., Good Friday was at 7 and I picked up Josh at 9:40 p.m. Cathy and the three extremely beautiful, astonishingly smart granddaughters and Sumi, the dog, came while I was away reading the Passion from John in Northford. Tim comes on the train tomorrow, then all will be well.
On the way from St. Andrew's to Union Station to get Josh, two frightening things happened.
First, four cars careening through traffic passed me on I 91 about 20 miles faster than my 75. I actually thought they were racing each other. I told Josh about it and he said he'd heard of such races. Frightening.
More frightening though, was the guy parked in front of me near Union Station who put money in the meter using his smart phone. People racing on a public road, I can understand. Using a Smart Phone instead of coins, I can't. I also noticed, as I inserted quarters, that the meters down there would accept a credit card.
Maybe I've lived too long, too many Good Fridays. Put credit cards and smart phones in parking meters just aren't in my reality.
The trips back to Cheshire with Mimi and then Josh reminded me how wondrous it is to have actual. grown up adults as children.
And when Josh and I got home at 10 something, the girls were still up and still beautiful, smart and charming beyond belief....
Tomorrow a full day of children and grandchildren and significant others.
New life is what this time of year is about, right?
I'm doing good, riding high, loving it all, right now....a very GOOD Friday over all....
Friday, March 29, 2013
Thursday, March 28, 2013
Maundy Thursday...ok, I'm excited now....
We did the Maundy Thursday service in the parish hall of St. Andrew's, Northford. The Cluster Churches celebrate Maundy Thursday with an Agape meal. There is a program that consists of the gospel lessons for the day and food. There is no place in the service for a sermon. After the meal, the table is cleared and we do Eucharist around the table and then process to the church to strip the altar.
It's just as well that there's no place for a sermon since my Maundy Thursday sermons have traditionally be rambling remembrances of the wondrous meals of my life: driving to 'the country' before dawn for breakfast at my step-grandmother's house in Waiteville, WV; dinner on my maternal grandmother's birthday in Conklintown, up on the mountain with dozens of cousins and home-made ice-cream that gave you killer head-aches; feeding my mother after her stroke in her hospital room; the first Thanksgiving of our marriage in Cambridge, Mass, when the turkey was raw but the wine was plentiful; the awkward meals I'd bring my father to from the Nursing Home when we lived in New Haven....On and on I would go, describing dishes in great detail, talking about the people around the table, convinced that 'eating' is what tells us the most about the 'being' of human beings.
Tonight there were 10 of us and a meal of potato soup, spinach quiche, fruit and bread and cheese. Nobody washed anybody's feet. I've decided I really don't like the foot washing thing, but on the way home I remembered a Maundy Thursday past when Pauline, the shopping cart lady who came to St. John's, was at the Maundy Thursday service. She practically ran up to a chair to have her feet washed. I was there in my cassock and washed them in the warm water the altar guild had provided. It was terribly and profoundly humbling to do that for her. But what was truly transformational was when she jumped up and told me to sit down and gently, kindly, washed my feet. Maybe I just think it will never get better than that which makes me not like foot washing. Next year I will, just to give it another chance to humble and transform me.
I checked my file of sermons and found a Maundy Thursday sermon for 2008. I was shocked since I never thought I wrote any of them down. The reason I did was that some of the people who worked with me told me the Maundy Thursday ramblings were, well, too rambling. This is, to my knowledge the only Maundy Thursday sermon I ever wrote down. So, since I'm not getting excited about Holy Week because Mimi will come tomorrow and Cathy and the girls will arrive and Tim and Josh will come Saturday morning and I've been reminded of how much I love Holy Week and Easter.
It's just as well that there's no place for a sermon since my Maundy Thursday sermons have traditionally be rambling remembrances of the wondrous meals of my life: driving to 'the country' before dawn for breakfast at my step-grandmother's house in Waiteville, WV; dinner on my maternal grandmother's birthday in Conklintown, up on the mountain with dozens of cousins and home-made ice-cream that gave you killer head-aches; feeding my mother after her stroke in her hospital room; the first Thanksgiving of our marriage in Cambridge, Mass, when the turkey was raw but the wine was plentiful; the awkward meals I'd bring my father to from the Nursing Home when we lived in New Haven....On and on I would go, describing dishes in great detail, talking about the people around the table, convinced that 'eating' is what tells us the most about the 'being' of human beings.
Tonight there were 10 of us and a meal of potato soup, spinach quiche, fruit and bread and cheese. Nobody washed anybody's feet. I've decided I really don't like the foot washing thing, but on the way home I remembered a Maundy Thursday past when Pauline, the shopping cart lady who came to St. John's, was at the Maundy Thursday service. She practically ran up to a chair to have her feet washed. I was there in my cassock and washed them in the warm water the altar guild had provided. It was terribly and profoundly humbling to do that for her. But what was truly transformational was when she jumped up and told me to sit down and gently, kindly, washed my feet. Maybe I just think it will never get better than that which makes me not like foot washing. Next year I will, just to give it another chance to humble and transform me.
I checked my file of sermons and found a Maundy Thursday sermon for 2008. I was shocked since I never thought I wrote any of them down. The reason I did was that some of the people who worked with me told me the Maundy Thursday ramblings were, well, too rambling. This is, to my knowledge the only Maundy Thursday sermon I ever wrote down. So, since I'm not getting excited about Holy Week because Mimi will come tomorrow and Cathy and the girls will arrive and Tim and Josh will come Saturday morning and I've been reminded of how much I love Holy Week and Easter.
Maundy Thursday 2008
Maundy Thursday is always my favorite
holy day
And I always talk about eating.
And often I get too long winded and go
on and on and people wonder when I’ll ever finish.
Something about ‘meals’ keeps me
talking beyond what is necessary.
So, this year I wrote it down so it
would be controlled and less than 10 minutes and you wouldn’t have
to wonder if I’d wandered off into some crack in my brain and
wouldn’t be back for a while!
Easter dinner is special in our home.
We aren’t surrounded by ‘family’ so we have invented a ‘family’
for holidays. We have friends who come to share our table on
Thanksgiving and Christmas and, most of all, for me, on Easter.
John will be there—a friend of mine
since college who lives in New Haven and is a Warden at Christ
Church. West Virginians through and through—John and I. We have a
patois that is Mountain Talk that few can follow if they didn’t
grow up in that lush and deserted place.
He’ll call me and say, “Hey,
Jim….”
And I’ll answer, “Hey, John…”
and we’re off and running about the dogs that won’t hunt and the
crazy aunts and stuff no one else understands.
Jack and Sherry will be there—our
friends who we met when we lived in New Haven. They are
southerners—Virginia and South Carolina. They usually bring a
country ham and dandelion risotto and a Green Salad (which is shredded vegetables and pecans in lime Jello for those not familiar with southern cuisine) for Easter dinner.
I know John and Jack and Sherry as
well as I know myself. We rub against each other in ways that make
life make sense.
And Mimi will be there. My ‘princess’,
my love, my precious girl. She is nearing 30 but she is still my baby
girl. An hour with Mimi is like an eternity in heaven for me. I love
her so. She is so wondrous—did you know she has become a girl scout
leader in Brooklyn for young girls from the projects? She raises
money for the American Ballet Theater for a living, but she embraces
young girls who need a mentor to make her life meaningful. She is so
precious to me I can hardly speak of her without weeping. And she
will be at the table.
This year, we will have ‘family’.
Uncle Frankie and his son, Anthony—bern’s favorite cousin, and
his daughter Francis and her life-partner Lisa will be at the table.
They hale from West Virginia but all live in Rhode Island now. They
will be there, bringing memories and stories that would otherwise not
be there.
And that is what the meal is about,
after all, the telling of stories to help us ‘remember’ and to
give us hope to go on. And we will eat the ham and the onion pie and
the deviled eggs and the salad and the scalloped potatoes and tell
the stories and be present—so remarkably present—to what is alive
and real and wondrous, even in the sad stories of Aunt Annie’s
death and the fact that Josh and Cathy and our granddaughters, Morgan
and Emma are in Taiwan this Easter and not with us. They will gather
around other tables—not to celebrate the resurrection because they
are either Buddhists or nothing at all—but they will gather around
a table to eat and tell stories and love each other and be present—so
present—to the heart of God.
That’s what this night is about. How
being around a table, sharing food, telling stories, loving each
other, hoping for the future, wondering what happens next….
That’s what this night’s about. A
table set and full of food. Family and friends gathered. Passing the
bread, sharing the wine….wondering what will happen next.
Because Jesus sat around that table so
long ago and shared his body and his blood with those he loved and
those he would never know.
Just sitting at a table, eating with
those you love, is a holy thing. A holy thing. A holy thing.
Remember that always. Remember that. Remember…
Wednesday, March 27, 2013
It's holy week, I should be excited...
But, instead, I just feel kinda blah. Half-way through the 10 day regimen of anti-biotics for my pneumonia, I still feel a bit punk.
Tomorrow is Maundy Thursday, my favorite holy day of the year. Maybe I'll click into 'holy week fever' tomorrow.
I talked to Bea today about hawks. If you drive down Rt. 9 toward the shoreline, you'll see dozens of hawks soaring above the highway. They seem to never flap their wings, just moving up and down on the air currents. Bea has a hawk on her property and she used to worry that one of them would snatch her little dog, Bela.
Once I was walking the labyrinth at St. James in Higganum and a hawk, who must consider the labyrinth part of his territory, sat in a low branch of a tree and watched me do the whole walk. It is hard to be focused on walking a labyrinth when a hawk is watching you. I know I'm lots bigger than a hawk, but they are intimidating birds.
A few days ago I watched a golden hawk, who considers our property as part of his territory, soar and dip for 20 minuets without once flapping his wings.
Imagine how amazing that kind of flight must be! Humans always long to fly, but I think flying like a hawk would be the ultimate experience of flight.
That's just what I imagine. I could be wrong since I feel so blah and punk and not quite right....
Tomorrow is Maundy Thursday, my favorite holy day of the year. Maybe I'll click into 'holy week fever' tomorrow.
I talked to Bea today about hawks. If you drive down Rt. 9 toward the shoreline, you'll see dozens of hawks soaring above the highway. They seem to never flap their wings, just moving up and down on the air currents. Bea has a hawk on her property and she used to worry that one of them would snatch her little dog, Bela.
Once I was walking the labyrinth at St. James in Higganum and a hawk, who must consider the labyrinth part of his territory, sat in a low branch of a tree and watched me do the whole walk. It is hard to be focused on walking a labyrinth when a hawk is watching you. I know I'm lots bigger than a hawk, but they are intimidating birds.
A few days ago I watched a golden hawk, who considers our property as part of his territory, soar and dip for 20 minuets without once flapping his wings.
Imagine how amazing that kind of flight must be! Humans always long to fly, but I think flying like a hawk would be the ultimate experience of flight.
That's just what I imagine. I could be wrong since I feel so blah and punk and not quite right....
Tuesday, March 26, 2013
creature sleep
So, Luke, our cat, isn't allowed in our bedroom at night. He sleeps on our bed a lot of the day but if he's in there at night he'll walk on our faces and want out to get to his litter box and generally make the night unpleasant.
Bela, the dog, does sleep with us. He starts out between up with his head up by ours and at some point he moves down in the bed and then comes back. Somewhere in the night, he wraps himself around my head on my pillow and often I wake up with a Puli hat.
But when Bern gets up, almost always before me, she lets Luke in the bedroom. He makes a wondrous little sound as he runs in, something like 'berrrrraaa' and jumps on the bed. We three--the dog and cat and I sleep for a while, but Luke then wants water and goes into the bathroom and makes an awful noise until I get up and fill a glass with water and put it on the floor for him. He drinks for a while--we worry, since he is 11 or 12 and drinks a lot of water, that he's failing, but there is no evidence of that.
Then he goes down and Bern feeds him breakfast and then he comes back up and Bela and I are asleep and when we wake up, Luke is with us.
I can't express how much I enjoy sleeping the creature sleep with Bela and Luke. It's something that I just don't understand. Sometimes the two of them are laying on the bed, touching and I reach out to touch them both and then doze off again.
I wouldn't recommend finding a Puli and a Maine Coon Cat to see if you like this morning ritual. Once you have them, they are part of your life and you may not long for such a commitment and connection.
But this I know and know fair well, waking up with a Puli and a Coon Cat as the world turns toward Spring and morning comes earlier....well, for me, that's about as good as it gets....Really....
Bela, the dog, does sleep with us. He starts out between up with his head up by ours and at some point he moves down in the bed and then comes back. Somewhere in the night, he wraps himself around my head on my pillow and often I wake up with a Puli hat.
But when Bern gets up, almost always before me, she lets Luke in the bedroom. He makes a wondrous little sound as he runs in, something like 'berrrrraaa' and jumps on the bed. We three--the dog and cat and I sleep for a while, but Luke then wants water and goes into the bathroom and makes an awful noise until I get up and fill a glass with water and put it on the floor for him. He drinks for a while--we worry, since he is 11 or 12 and drinks a lot of water, that he's failing, but there is no evidence of that.
Then he goes down and Bern feeds him breakfast and then he comes back up and Bela and I are asleep and when we wake up, Luke is with us.
I can't express how much I enjoy sleeping the creature sleep with Bela and Luke. It's something that I just don't understand. Sometimes the two of them are laying on the bed, touching and I reach out to touch them both and then doze off again.
I wouldn't recommend finding a Puli and a Maine Coon Cat to see if you like this morning ritual. Once you have them, they are part of your life and you may not long for such a commitment and connection.
But this I know and know fair well, waking up with a Puli and a Coon Cat as the world turns toward Spring and morning comes earlier....well, for me, that's about as good as it gets....Really....
I'm almost ready to take my taxes to the tax lady
Taxes, for 'ministers of the gospel' are a little odd, so I'm glad Jane is there since she's seen me through them for a bunch of years now.
Here's the oddest part of taxes for 'ministers of the gospel'. We are, by law, allowed to not declare any income that we can demonstrate went to the cost of housing. The history of this IRS allowance goes back to the point where it applied to ministers, school teachers and members of the armed forces. Over the decades the other two groups lost the exemption, but the Church, for all its flaws and warts, still is a mighty lobby in Congress. So it is still true.
So, if I can verify it, I don't have to declare any income for utilities, mortgage, repairs, improvements even toilet paper, if I have the receipts. AND, get this, I can still deduct my mortgage interest! Talk about 'double dipping'. Amazing. And, as Conkrite used to say, 'that's the way it is...."
Every penny I get paid by the Middlesex Area Cluster Ministry is, on my W-2 form "housing". Not declared as income. And whatever beyond that is housing expenses I can deduct from my Church Pension Fund payments and not declare.
SS, of course, which both Bern and I get, is not taxed since the money I make working is 'housing' and not income though I make enough that if it were income I'd have to give $ back to SS. Go figure....
Here's the problem. We did some major stuff last year:
new roof--$11,500
paint house--$5,900
new kitchen--$16,000
Add that $33,400 to the normal $24,000 in housing expenses and chances are, we'll pay no taxes this year and get a load of money back from both the Feds and the State.
My question for Jane is going to be this: can we spread this out a bit AND will this tax filing flag us for an audit?
I can pass the audit, it's just that I've been told it's a pain.
So, here's the thing: The Church Pension fund is a good reason to feel a call to priesthood in the Episcopal Church. We had more income this year than we ever had when I was working full time. Is that crazy?
And now my biggest worry is that I might be audited by the IRS. Is this life 'through the looking-glass or what?'
Here's the oddest part of taxes for 'ministers of the gospel'. We are, by law, allowed to not declare any income that we can demonstrate went to the cost of housing. The history of this IRS allowance goes back to the point where it applied to ministers, school teachers and members of the armed forces. Over the decades the other two groups lost the exemption, but the Church, for all its flaws and warts, still is a mighty lobby in Congress. So it is still true.
So, if I can verify it, I don't have to declare any income for utilities, mortgage, repairs, improvements even toilet paper, if I have the receipts. AND, get this, I can still deduct my mortgage interest! Talk about 'double dipping'. Amazing. And, as Conkrite used to say, 'that's the way it is...."
Every penny I get paid by the Middlesex Area Cluster Ministry is, on my W-2 form "housing". Not declared as income. And whatever beyond that is housing expenses I can deduct from my Church Pension Fund payments and not declare.
SS, of course, which both Bern and I get, is not taxed since the money I make working is 'housing' and not income though I make enough that if it were income I'd have to give $ back to SS. Go figure....
Here's the problem. We did some major stuff last year:
new roof--$11,500
paint house--$5,900
new kitchen--$16,000
Add that $33,400 to the normal $24,000 in housing expenses and chances are, we'll pay no taxes this year and get a load of money back from both the Feds and the State.
My question for Jane is going to be this: can we spread this out a bit AND will this tax filing flag us for an audit?
I can pass the audit, it's just that I've been told it's a pain.
So, here's the thing: The Church Pension fund is a good reason to feel a call to priesthood in the Episcopal Church. We had more income this year than we ever had when I was working full time. Is that crazy?
And now my biggest worry is that I might be audited by the IRS. Is this life 'through the looking-glass or what?'
marriage equality
I took a poll on The Cheshire Patch website today but my response will never be counted since I declined to join said Cheshire Patch and receive updates about life in Cheshire each day. My life in "The Shire" is fine and I don't really need to know how it is for others in our town, which may seem a bit distant and withdrawn, but the reason I love Cheshire is that 'life in Cheshire' essentially has no peaks and valleys. It's just sort of peaceful and full of sameness.
The poll was asking about my opinion regarding marriage equality. I have, when you think about it, no particular wisdom on the subject but I do know that I define my life and who I am in a very few ways and one of them is being married to Bern. I just don't understand why the opportunity to define your life by your marriage and your spouse should be denied to anyone.
As a child and adolescent, I had a lesbian first cousin who was in a decades long committed relationship with another woman. They lived in Florida and both taught at the same High School. But they drove to work in separate cars and didn't socialize at school. They were faithful their whole adult lives to each other but had to keep that defining relationship of their lives secret. Maybe knowing Sarita and Eloise as I was growing up--they were always around at holidays and during the summer--seeped into me by psychological osmosis. I really loved them--they were so much more interesting and fun than most of the Bradley family.
What I heard today from one of the lawyers for Proposition 8 before the Supreme Court about 'the purpose of marriage' was mindless and outrageous. He suggested the purpose of marriage was procreation. Justice Kegan got the biggest laugh of the day by saying people over 55 who were married weren't going to produce a lot of kids. Bern had her tubes tied when our daughter, Mimi was born. According to the logic of that argument, Bern and I had no business being married anymore since we would never produce off springs again. How ridiculous is that?
The kids of gay/lesbian relationships were on the heart of Justice Kennedy, who will probably be the vote that decides if the Supreme Court even addresses marriage equality on this go-around, commented that the children of same-sex relationships needed their parents to be legal and recognized. I never thought of that though I know a bunch of gay/lesbian couples who have children. In an era when so many children are born (as the old saying goes) 'without benefit of marriage', it just makes sense to provide the opportunity for as many as possible to have two parents. I never thought of that but it should be a position of the evangelicals who so object to children out of wedlock! How ironic would that be--the right-wing supporting same-sex marriage to make children 'legidimate'.
I'm the wrong one to ask. It just seems so unfair to keep people who want to be married from being married, period. I'm a great believer in marriage. Some of my colleagues in ministry used to call me "marryin' Sam" because I'd be a part of most any wedding since I thought if people wanted God somehow mixed up in their relationship, I ought to help them do that.
But that's just me, I guess. The winds of opinion have shifted greatly, but there are still many people who just don't get that love is love and commitment is commitment.
Gay and lesbian folks are often labeled promiscuous by straight folks. I wish I had kept count of how many straight men and women over the years of my ministry said to me: "if I WASN'T married" before telling me the affairs they would have had. I believe the vows of marriage have a "objective reality". Marriage, like other sacraments of the church, aren't simply 'symbols'.
Most Episcopalians who know me think I am hopelessly 'low church' since I went to Virginia Seminary and push informality to the limit. But the truth is, I truly, absolutely believe in the "objective reality" of the sacraments. Once, when St. John's in Waterbury was the site of the Downtown Co-operative ministry's Good Friday Service, an American Baptist was helping me give communion from the reserved sacrament (since Eucharist cannot be celebrated on Good Friday or Holy Saturday). I was administering the bread and he was passing the cup. I heard him say to someone at the altar rail, "this symbolizes the Blood of Christ". I went over to him and threatened to take the wine from him if he didn't tell the Truth as I believe it, "This IS the Blood of Christ".
The celebration and blessing of a marriage is a sacrament. It is (I know you know this....) The Outward and Visible Sign of an Inward and Spiritual TRUTH.
Sacraments matter ultimately to me. I've been a part of several same-sex marriages. Until this year, I was forbidden by the bishop of CT to hear the vows and pronounce the couple 'married'. I could 'bless' the union but not sign the marriage license. There had to be a JP or someone else who could sign the letters there. That's changed now with our new bishop. But I've not yet been involved in truly celebrating the sacrament--spiritual and legal--for a same sex couple.
I hope I get to do that sometime.
It will come. Marriage equality, love equality for gay/lesbian folks and straight folks will win the day at some point. And my granddaughter will not remember when that wasn't true. Perhaps not this time, though I hope and pray, but it is as inevitable as a tsunami. Just as it should be, I say.
Just as it should be....
The poll was asking about my opinion regarding marriage equality. I have, when you think about it, no particular wisdom on the subject but I do know that I define my life and who I am in a very few ways and one of them is being married to Bern. I just don't understand why the opportunity to define your life by your marriage and your spouse should be denied to anyone.
As a child and adolescent, I had a lesbian first cousin who was in a decades long committed relationship with another woman. They lived in Florida and both taught at the same High School. But they drove to work in separate cars and didn't socialize at school. They were faithful their whole adult lives to each other but had to keep that defining relationship of their lives secret. Maybe knowing Sarita and Eloise as I was growing up--they were always around at holidays and during the summer--seeped into me by psychological osmosis. I really loved them--they were so much more interesting and fun than most of the Bradley family.
What I heard today from one of the lawyers for Proposition 8 before the Supreme Court about 'the purpose of marriage' was mindless and outrageous. He suggested the purpose of marriage was procreation. Justice Kegan got the biggest laugh of the day by saying people over 55 who were married weren't going to produce a lot of kids. Bern had her tubes tied when our daughter, Mimi was born. According to the logic of that argument, Bern and I had no business being married anymore since we would never produce off springs again. How ridiculous is that?
The kids of gay/lesbian relationships were on the heart of Justice Kennedy, who will probably be the vote that decides if the Supreme Court even addresses marriage equality on this go-around, commented that the children of same-sex relationships needed their parents to be legal and recognized. I never thought of that though I know a bunch of gay/lesbian couples who have children. In an era when so many children are born (as the old saying goes) 'without benefit of marriage', it just makes sense to provide the opportunity for as many as possible to have two parents. I never thought of that but it should be a position of the evangelicals who so object to children out of wedlock! How ironic would that be--the right-wing supporting same-sex marriage to make children 'legidimate'.
I'm the wrong one to ask. It just seems so unfair to keep people who want to be married from being married, period. I'm a great believer in marriage. Some of my colleagues in ministry used to call me "marryin' Sam" because I'd be a part of most any wedding since I thought if people wanted God somehow mixed up in their relationship, I ought to help them do that.
But that's just me, I guess. The winds of opinion have shifted greatly, but there are still many people who just don't get that love is love and commitment is commitment.
Gay and lesbian folks are often labeled promiscuous by straight folks. I wish I had kept count of how many straight men and women over the years of my ministry said to me: "if I WASN'T married" before telling me the affairs they would have had. I believe the vows of marriage have a "objective reality". Marriage, like other sacraments of the church, aren't simply 'symbols'.
Most Episcopalians who know me think I am hopelessly 'low church' since I went to Virginia Seminary and push informality to the limit. But the truth is, I truly, absolutely believe in the "objective reality" of the sacraments. Once, when St. John's in Waterbury was the site of the Downtown Co-operative ministry's Good Friday Service, an American Baptist was helping me give communion from the reserved sacrament (since Eucharist cannot be celebrated on Good Friday or Holy Saturday). I was administering the bread and he was passing the cup. I heard him say to someone at the altar rail, "this symbolizes the Blood of Christ". I went over to him and threatened to take the wine from him if he didn't tell the Truth as I believe it, "This IS the Blood of Christ".
The celebration and blessing of a marriage is a sacrament. It is (I know you know this....) The Outward and Visible Sign of an Inward and Spiritual TRUTH.
Sacraments matter ultimately to me. I've been a part of several same-sex marriages. Until this year, I was forbidden by the bishop of CT to hear the vows and pronounce the couple 'married'. I could 'bless' the union but not sign the marriage license. There had to be a JP or someone else who could sign the letters there. That's changed now with our new bishop. But I've not yet been involved in truly celebrating the sacrament--spiritual and legal--for a same sex couple.
I hope I get to do that sometime.
It will come. Marriage equality, love equality for gay/lesbian folks and straight folks will win the day at some point. And my granddaughter will not remember when that wasn't true. Perhaps not this time, though I hope and pray, but it is as inevitable as a tsunami. Just as it should be, I say.
Just as it should be....
Monday, March 25, 2013
pimento cheese
Pimento cheese was a food group where I grew up. I'd take pimento cheese sandwiches (along with potted meat sandwiches and fried Spam sandwiches) for lunch when I was in elementary school. I can eat it with a spoon (which I highly recommend!) And since we're good friends with the Ellis' in New Haven (Jack's from Roanoke, Virginia and Sherry is vaguely from North Carolina) I sometimes get the pimento cheese they make. "Very tasty," as Jack would say. "Not bad for food," Sherry would answer.
Then, a few weeks ago, perusing the hummus section of Stop and Shop, I happened up on containers of "Palmetto Cheese", the "pimento cheese with soul". It's from Pawley's Island, for goodness sake. "Real Cheese, Real Southern and Really Good" it says there on the container. The only mildly strange thing is that the label also says, with some pride "Wisconsin Cheese".
I mean, this stuff is great. There is a little heat and a little kick to the pimento cheese. There is another variety of Palmetto Cheese with jalapenos. I haven't tried that yet, but will.
So I brought it home so excited I opened it as I took it from the bag (which took me some time since I've reached a place where I can't seem to 'open' much of anything) and tried it on Saltines. Oh, my goodness! Heaven sent! I've since tried it on most pimento cheese delivery devices and it never ceases to amaze and delight.
He's what I haven't figured out: why didn't I know my wife, Bern, who I've been married to for almost 43 years and known since I was 17 and she was 14, loved pimento cheese almost as much, if not more, than I do?
I mean I'm an Appalachian, white-trash, potted meat and Spam eating guy. Bern is half Italian and half Hungarian--ethnic through and through. Where does pimento cheese enter into those two noble cuisines? I'd never seen her eat it before, not even each fall when we're in North Carolina and Sherry either makes some or we go to the Pimento Cheese section of Food Lion (they have about a dozen choices). Never once, in all these years, this life-time we've shared.
Who knew she liked pimento cheese?
Well, I can't seem to keep us in the stuff. She is a binge eater know to have consumed a whole bag of Twizzlers or Super-sized potato chips in a sitting. And her latest binge is pimento cheese....
So, whenever I'm interested in having a pimento cheese encounter, the container is almost empty.
I even bought 2 containers a week or so ago and put a B on one and a J on the other. Three days later, both were gone.
The problem with pimento cheese (and why I shouldn't have taken it in a sandwich to school) is refrigeration is strictly necessary. So, I can't hide my container in my sock drawer or anywhere.
There it sits, in the refrigerator that Bern opens as if she owned it, ignoring the J on the top of the container and--presto-changeo--pimento cheese is a memory.
She says she's cutting back but I noticed a bag of potato chips in the pantry--which is her pimento cheese delivery system of choice--so I'm just not sure I can believe her.
Maybe I should bring home potted meat and Spam....Those, I'd bet you a lot, she's leave be....
Then, a few weeks ago, perusing the hummus section of Stop and Shop, I happened up on containers of "Palmetto Cheese", the "pimento cheese with soul". It's from Pawley's Island, for goodness sake. "Real Cheese, Real Southern and Really Good" it says there on the container. The only mildly strange thing is that the label also says, with some pride "Wisconsin Cheese".
I mean, this stuff is great. There is a little heat and a little kick to the pimento cheese. There is another variety of Palmetto Cheese with jalapenos. I haven't tried that yet, but will.
So I brought it home so excited I opened it as I took it from the bag (which took me some time since I've reached a place where I can't seem to 'open' much of anything) and tried it on Saltines. Oh, my goodness! Heaven sent! I've since tried it on most pimento cheese delivery devices and it never ceases to amaze and delight.
He's what I haven't figured out: why didn't I know my wife, Bern, who I've been married to for almost 43 years and known since I was 17 and she was 14, loved pimento cheese almost as much, if not more, than I do?
I mean I'm an Appalachian, white-trash, potted meat and Spam eating guy. Bern is half Italian and half Hungarian--ethnic through and through. Where does pimento cheese enter into those two noble cuisines? I'd never seen her eat it before, not even each fall when we're in North Carolina and Sherry either makes some or we go to the Pimento Cheese section of Food Lion (they have about a dozen choices). Never once, in all these years, this life-time we've shared.
Who knew she liked pimento cheese?
Well, I can't seem to keep us in the stuff. She is a binge eater know to have consumed a whole bag of Twizzlers or Super-sized potato chips in a sitting. And her latest binge is pimento cheese....
So, whenever I'm interested in having a pimento cheese encounter, the container is almost empty.
I even bought 2 containers a week or so ago and put a B on one and a J on the other. Three days later, both were gone.
The problem with pimento cheese (and why I shouldn't have taken it in a sandwich to school) is refrigeration is strictly necessary. So, I can't hide my container in my sock drawer or anywhere.
There it sits, in the refrigerator that Bern opens as if she owned it, ignoring the J on the top of the container and--presto-changeo--pimento cheese is a memory.
She says she's cutting back but I noticed a bag of potato chips in the pantry--which is her pimento cheese delivery system of choice--so I'm just not sure I can believe her.
Maybe I should bring home potted meat and Spam....Those, I'd bet you a lot, she's leave be....
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