One of the joys of Connecticut is that we really have four distinct seasons. And when Spring come it comes with a vengeance!
Where only a few weeks ago, there was dirt, plants now thrive. The hostas and ferns are back in our side yard; the 6 rhododendron plants are about to burst into bloom: in our back yard alone, there much be "50 Shades of Green" which are a lot more life-giving and inspiring than the gray shades.
Tulips and daffodils came early, before the host of flowers and fauna that are now exploding all around us.
It is rained most of the day, on and off, (I wish we could outsource some of our rain to California) which is making more things wake up.
Spring and the growth of things is something that makes me hopeful that life really does triumph over death in the end. I ponder that every year. Late may is a tad late for the final and irrevocable arrival of Spring, but I'll take it with joy and gratitude....
Friday, May 23, 2014
Thursday, May 22, 2014
Vanity, Vanity, all is Vanity...
I went into the package store where I buy wine to buy wine and a guy was there who I sometimes see late at night or on weekends. He obviously has another job and this is just a part-time guy.
I was the priest at his marriage--that I know--but I can't for the life of me remember his name. He still has a wedding ring on but I don't ask about his marriage. He's very friendly, though, so things must be OK...I only pray....
He has a goatee and I mentioned there were so gray hairs in there. He laughed. And then, for no reason I currently understand, told him something only a few people know.
My beard, which I've had since I was 25 except for two small interludes, started turning white when I was 35. So I colored it until I turned 40. At that point my hair was still dark brown and I thought--"I'm 40, I shouldn't be vain any more" and stopped coloring it.
It came in all white, as it still is 37 years later--not that I expected it to go brown or red or anything again.
And what was interesting is that people who knew me then knew something was different but not what. For months people said to me things like "are you OK?" and "how are you feeling?" and "anything up with you?"
Then my hair started turning white, so it didn't matter any more.
(The only two times I've cut my beard since I was 25 was once when we were going to Oak Island, North Carolina for vacation. Josh was maybe 6 and Mimi maybe 3. We stopped at a motel on the way and I cut my beard so I had a goatee that night. The day we arrived, I cut the rest off and my children were horrified and wouldn't have anything to do with me for several days.
The only other time was when I was on Block Island for two weeks by myself. And when I looked in the mirror I looked like John Goodman and immediately willed my beard to grow back super fast....)
I was the priest at his marriage--that I know--but I can't for the life of me remember his name. He still has a wedding ring on but I don't ask about his marriage. He's very friendly, though, so things must be OK...I only pray....
He has a goatee and I mentioned there were so gray hairs in there. He laughed. And then, for no reason I currently understand, told him something only a few people know.
My beard, which I've had since I was 25 except for two small interludes, started turning white when I was 35. So I colored it until I turned 40. At that point my hair was still dark brown and I thought--"I'm 40, I shouldn't be vain any more" and stopped coloring it.
It came in all white, as it still is 37 years later--not that I expected it to go brown or red or anything again.
And what was interesting is that people who knew me then knew something was different but not what. For months people said to me things like "are you OK?" and "how are you feeling?" and "anything up with you?"
Then my hair started turning white, so it didn't matter any more.
(The only two times I've cut my beard since I was 25 was once when we were going to Oak Island, North Carolina for vacation. Josh was maybe 6 and Mimi maybe 3. We stopped at a motel on the way and I cut my beard so I had a goatee that night. The day we arrived, I cut the rest off and my children were horrified and wouldn't have anything to do with me for several days.
The only other time was when I was on Block Island for two weeks by myself. And when I looked in the mirror I looked like John Goodman and immediately willed my beard to grow back super fast....)
Wednesday, May 21, 2014
Bern is Home!
She came at 3:11 to Union Station in New Haven. For some reason it seemed like all the people on the train must have gotten off. I went outside to look for her and she wasn't there. I wanted to call Tony and make sure she made the train, but of course I didn't have my cell phone. (For the most part, my cell phone lives in whatever jacket I wore last....But this time it was charging in the kitchen....)
No one had come up from the tracks for several minutes, then there she was on the escalator, moving toward me, smiling. I suddenly felt whole again....
We talked all the way home from the train about lots of things: The Goldfinch by Donna Tartt, which I've read and she's reading, what she did in Providence, how much of Uncle Frankie's house they got packed up, how neither of us has slept well while she was away, the kids, how Tony's doing, the closing of Everybody's, a Cheshire super market that sold out to Big Y, lots of stuff.
When we got home she spent about 10 minutes greeting the Puli, who really gets confused when one of us is away, then made coffee and appreciated the flowers I'd gotten for her homecoming and took a shower. I did a conference call about the last workshop I helped lead and then went to the store to get a chicken for dinner and then read in one room while she read in another. We agreed there was nothing on TV and made dinner and went to my computer after I cleaned up.
We've exchanged a hundred words or so since we've been home and then we sunk into our 'being alone together' normal routine.
But there's no one I'd rather 'be alone together' with.
Everything's all right now. Bern's home. We'll sleep well tonight.
The on Saturday the dog goes the the Kennel and we go to Baltimore to see Josh and Cathy and the girls.
Everything's back to normal and normal is what I like....
No one had come up from the tracks for several minutes, then there she was on the escalator, moving toward me, smiling. I suddenly felt whole again....
We talked all the way home from the train about lots of things: The Goldfinch by Donna Tartt, which I've read and she's reading, what she did in Providence, how much of Uncle Frankie's house they got packed up, how neither of us has slept well while she was away, the kids, how Tony's doing, the closing of Everybody's, a Cheshire super market that sold out to Big Y, lots of stuff.
When we got home she spent about 10 minutes greeting the Puli, who really gets confused when one of us is away, then made coffee and appreciated the flowers I'd gotten for her homecoming and took a shower. I did a conference call about the last workshop I helped lead and then went to the store to get a chicken for dinner and then read in one room while she read in another. We agreed there was nothing on TV and made dinner and went to my computer after I cleaned up.
We've exchanged a hundred words or so since we've been home and then we sunk into our 'being alone together' normal routine.
But there's no one I'd rather 'be alone together' with.
Everything's all right now. Bern's home. We'll sleep well tonight.
The on Saturday the dog goes the the Kennel and we go to Baltimore to see Josh and Cathy and the girls.
Everything's back to normal and normal is what I like....
Tuesday, May 20, 2014
Bern's still away...
I didn't sleep well last night and I'm sure it's that Bern isn't in the bed with me.
I woke up at 5 and then 6 and then got up at 7 (I thought it was 7:30 because, for reasons I don't understand, Bern keeps her clock over 20 minutes fast). Since she's not here, I took the dog for his first walk (which I always do) down Cornwall to the alley to the Congregation Church parking lot. Then, I took him, after his breakfast, to the Canal (which Bern does every day but Monday--which is the day she does the bills.) And I never walk him as far as she does on the Canal--they go about .7/mile (1.4 miles round trip) and I only go half-a-mile or so and back.
So I yawned all through Eucharist and the conversation of our Clericus group from 9:30-11. But I had three mugs of coffee and was alright after that, except for going to the bathroom quite often.
Anthony sent me a picture of Bern he took on his smart phone while they were eating lunch in Providence at an outdoor place. I wish I knew how to send it to you. She's so beautiful.
I do miss her madly.
I woke up at 5 and then 6 and then got up at 7 (I thought it was 7:30 because, for reasons I don't understand, Bern keeps her clock over 20 minutes fast). Since she's not here, I took the dog for his first walk (which I always do) down Cornwall to the alley to the Congregation Church parking lot. Then, I took him, after his breakfast, to the Canal (which Bern does every day but Monday--which is the day she does the bills.) And I never walk him as far as she does on the Canal--they go about .7/mile (1.4 miles round trip) and I only go half-a-mile or so and back.
So I yawned all through Eucharist and the conversation of our Clericus group from 9:30-11. But I had three mugs of coffee and was alright after that, except for going to the bathroom quite often.
Anthony sent me a picture of Bern he took on his smart phone while they were eating lunch in Providence at an outdoor place. I wish I knew how to send it to you. She's so beautiful.
I do miss her madly.
Monday, May 19, 2014
Bern's away
Bern went to Providence yesterday to be with her cousin Anthony who is trying to clean out the house where he and his father lived--Bern's Uncle Frank who died a month or more ago.
The dog is a pain. He listens to Bern but not to me. I'm yelling at him a lot to no avail. Usually I just go and make him do what I want.
I woke up this morning and Bela was on his side, his head on Bern's pillows, looking, for all the world, like a 55 pound version of her!
It's odd, Bern and I can be in our house all day and rarely exchange words besides "I'm going out" or "be back soon" or "do you need anything while I'm out?" Yet her absence makes an enormous difference.
Oh, often we talk for long times, but mostly we're just so comfortable being with each other that few words matter. "What can I make you for dinner?" is something we both say.
And, when she's gone, I miss her madly. Nothing is quite right, know what I mean? An emptiness that is palpable and a little painful.
She'll be back Wednesday. I'll have flowers and dinner all planned. Things will be better when Bern comes home....
The dog is a pain. He listens to Bern but not to me. I'm yelling at him a lot to no avail. Usually I just go and make him do what I want.
I woke up this morning and Bela was on his side, his head on Bern's pillows, looking, for all the world, like a 55 pound version of her!
It's odd, Bern and I can be in our house all day and rarely exchange words besides "I'm going out" or "be back soon" or "do you need anything while I'm out?" Yet her absence makes an enormous difference.
Oh, often we talk for long times, but mostly we're just so comfortable being with each other that few words matter. "What can I make you for dinner?" is something we both say.
And, when she's gone, I miss her madly. Nothing is quite right, know what I mean? An emptiness that is palpable and a little painful.
She'll be back Wednesday. I'll have flowers and dinner all planned. Things will be better when Bern comes home....
Friday, May 16, 2014
Happy Anniversary to me....
Yesterday was the anniversary of my ordination to the priesthood on May 15, 1976. The only reason I know this is that on every anniversary of my ordination I get an email from Louie Crew (who teaches at Rutgers, is a big deal lay person in the national church and founded Integrity.) And Louie's email always says something about the line from "The Messiah" by Handle that says, "How beautiful are the feet of he who brings good news...."
Sometimes Louie suggests I get a pedicure to celebrate my anniversary. This year the subject line was "See how beautiful your feet are...." followed by a lovely collect and best wishes.
I've never heard another priest talk about his/her emails from Louie on their anniversaries, but I bet he sends one to every priest...or at least to every priest who has ever been at General Convention with him. I'm sure (if you're not ME!) it would be easy to do on a computer...log in the email addresses and dates to send into some program, write the email for the year and then it would happen automatically.
(There is a lovely Indian woman at a local package store that always say, "Thanks, Love" to me when I buy some wine. Being an only child, I naturally assumed I was the absolutely only person she said, "Thanks, Love" to. Then I realized, standing in line, that she called everyone 'love'. It was a painful moment to realize how I consider myself the center of the Universe so much of the time....the 'norm', the 'template'....)
Which I why I know I'm not the only person Louie sends Anniversary greetings to. But when I get them, since without them I'd never remember the significance of May 15, I feel special and acknowledged and deeply rooted.
It was a great service, by the way, and the next day--the day of my first celebration after almost a year doing Deacon's Masses, the St. James Dancers did their first Dance Eucharist to the songs from Duke Ellington's 'Sacred Concert'.
Lovely.
Bill Pregnell, one of my professors at Virginia Seminary came to Charleston, West Virginia to preach my ordination sermon. I remember not a word of it.
I have pictures, some framed, of the event--so long ago, so far away.
As a priest, I've just reached the outer reaches of middle age--38. That's good news since this afternoon, standing out on the deck in an atmosphere that obviously wanted to rain but couldn't quite manage it, I, for the first time, marveled that I'm 67 years old! How did that happen? I feel about 38 (except for some aches and pains I can't explain)
I never intended to be ordained an Episcopal priest and in fact went, in some ways, kicking and screaming to knell at Bishop Atikinson's feet and have, over the years often questioned what the hell I'm doing here and why on earth I didn't go do something like be an English Professor that would have made much more sense.
But here, 38 years and 1 day after the fact, most of what I feel about how I spent much of my life is rather sweet and satisfied and 'at home with' in an odd way, like I ended up, against all better judgement and my own desires, exactly where I was supposed to be.
That's not bad, I wager, for how to spend the better part of your life.
I'm still swimming in the irony of the whole thing, but, quite honestly, it's been a 'long, strange trip' and I've mostly enjoyed every moment.
That what I would wish for everyone when they come to the end of 'work' and look back on those years. Really....
Sometimes Louie suggests I get a pedicure to celebrate my anniversary. This year the subject line was "See how beautiful your feet are...." followed by a lovely collect and best wishes.
I've never heard another priest talk about his/her emails from Louie on their anniversaries, but I bet he sends one to every priest...or at least to every priest who has ever been at General Convention with him. I'm sure (if you're not ME!) it would be easy to do on a computer...log in the email addresses and dates to send into some program, write the email for the year and then it would happen automatically.
(There is a lovely Indian woman at a local package store that always say, "Thanks, Love" to me when I buy some wine. Being an only child, I naturally assumed I was the absolutely only person she said, "Thanks, Love" to. Then I realized, standing in line, that she called everyone 'love'. It was a painful moment to realize how I consider myself the center of the Universe so much of the time....the 'norm', the 'template'....)
Which I why I know I'm not the only person Louie sends Anniversary greetings to. But when I get them, since without them I'd never remember the significance of May 15, I feel special and acknowledged and deeply rooted.
It was a great service, by the way, and the next day--the day of my first celebration after almost a year doing Deacon's Masses, the St. James Dancers did their first Dance Eucharist to the songs from Duke Ellington's 'Sacred Concert'.
Lovely.
Bill Pregnell, one of my professors at Virginia Seminary came to Charleston, West Virginia to preach my ordination sermon. I remember not a word of it.
I have pictures, some framed, of the event--so long ago, so far away.
As a priest, I've just reached the outer reaches of middle age--38. That's good news since this afternoon, standing out on the deck in an atmosphere that obviously wanted to rain but couldn't quite manage it, I, for the first time, marveled that I'm 67 years old! How did that happen? I feel about 38 (except for some aches and pains I can't explain)
I never intended to be ordained an Episcopal priest and in fact went, in some ways, kicking and screaming to knell at Bishop Atikinson's feet and have, over the years often questioned what the hell I'm doing here and why on earth I didn't go do something like be an English Professor that would have made much more sense.
But here, 38 years and 1 day after the fact, most of what I feel about how I spent much of my life is rather sweet and satisfied and 'at home with' in an odd way, like I ended up, against all better judgement and my own desires, exactly where I was supposed to be.
That's not bad, I wager, for how to spend the better part of your life.
I'm still swimming in the irony of the whole thing, but, quite honestly, it's been a 'long, strange trip' and I've mostly enjoyed every moment.
That what I would wish for everyone when they come to the end of 'work' and look back on those years. Really....
Thursday, May 15, 2014
A soft, spring rain
A soft spring rain is falling outside. I love rain in any form (unless it is part or a destructive hurricane) and especially the kind of soft Spring rain that is falling now.
Rain always makes me reflective. It makes me ponder stuff I normally don't--not because I don't want to but because pondering will get you into trouble on a sunny, 70's kind of time.
Here's what I'm pondering right now with the soft Spring rain falling: Life is, by it's very nature and essentially, empty and meaningless.
Life comes at us like the weather--it just comes and we can't determine it in any way that would matter. Empty and meaningless....
Today, the 9/11 museum was dedicated, The president and most folks who we assume matter about it all were there. What happened on 9/ll was like the weather--empty and meaningless--it just happened.
9/11 seems an odd thing to have a museum dedicated to, on one level. Just like Holocaust museums and the Quinnipiac University museum in Hamden dedicated to the Irish Hunger. Go figure....
But it makes my point for me: 9/ll, the Holocaust and the Irish Hunger simply happened. Like tonight's rain. But we human beings are "meaning" creating machines. There is no such thing out in the universe called 'significance'. You can't bring me a cup of 'significance' the way you can bring me a cup of coffee or water. You can't bring me a bag full of 'meaning' from anywhere.
Significance and Meaning is what we human beings make up about the weather, about a soft Spring rain.
I make up that Spring rain makes me ponder. All the rain is doing is falling. I decided that 'pondering' was caused by it.
I know I'm not making a lot of sense--because 'making a lot of sense' is what we human beings made up to deal with the emptiness and meaninglessness of life.
All I want to say about 'emptiness and meaninglessness' and 'making sense' is this: we would be a lot better off if we noticed the distinction between 'what happened' (a soft spring rain) and what we 'said about what happened' ('rain makes me ponder things....').
It would make us acknowledge that whatever 'meaning' there is to life and time and things and events, is what we 'made up' about 'what happened'.
That might just free us, I think, to 'make up' MEANING in a different way--a way that brought into being compassion more than conflict, love more than hate, openness more than bigotry, acceptance more than judgment, calmness more than anger, wonder more than fear, hope more than anything....
That's just the pondering that I know the rain didn't cause but I'm glad I 'made up' that the rain did cause it so I could ponder it.....
Rain always makes me reflective. It makes me ponder stuff I normally don't--not because I don't want to but because pondering will get you into trouble on a sunny, 70's kind of time.
Here's what I'm pondering right now with the soft Spring rain falling: Life is, by it's very nature and essentially, empty and meaningless.
Life comes at us like the weather--it just comes and we can't determine it in any way that would matter. Empty and meaningless....
Today, the 9/11 museum was dedicated, The president and most folks who we assume matter about it all were there. What happened on 9/ll was like the weather--empty and meaningless--it just happened.
9/11 seems an odd thing to have a museum dedicated to, on one level. Just like Holocaust museums and the Quinnipiac University museum in Hamden dedicated to the Irish Hunger. Go figure....
But it makes my point for me: 9/ll, the Holocaust and the Irish Hunger simply happened. Like tonight's rain. But we human beings are "meaning" creating machines. There is no such thing out in the universe called 'significance'. You can't bring me a cup of 'significance' the way you can bring me a cup of coffee or water. You can't bring me a bag full of 'meaning' from anywhere.
Significance and Meaning is what we human beings make up about the weather, about a soft Spring rain.
I make up that Spring rain makes me ponder. All the rain is doing is falling. I decided that 'pondering' was caused by it.
I know I'm not making a lot of sense--because 'making a lot of sense' is what we human beings made up to deal with the emptiness and meaninglessness of life.
All I want to say about 'emptiness and meaninglessness' and 'making sense' is this: we would be a lot better off if we noticed the distinction between 'what happened' (a soft spring rain) and what we 'said about what happened' ('rain makes me ponder things....').
It would make us acknowledge that whatever 'meaning' there is to life and time and things and events, is what we 'made up' about 'what happened'.
That might just free us, I think, to 'make up' MEANING in a different way--a way that brought into being compassion more than conflict, love more than hate, openness more than bigotry, acceptance more than judgment, calmness more than anger, wonder more than fear, hope more than anything....
That's just the pondering that I know the rain didn't cause but I'm glad I 'made up' that the rain did cause it so I could ponder it.....
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