OK, I'm getting older--which is better than 'not'--but it affects my memory.
After I posted the "I love crickets" post, it stuck me I might have written about them before. I searched my blogs and found I wrote about tinnitus in April and August and now in October.
I shouldn't be telling you the same thing multiple times (like Bern tells me I do to her....)
I'll get off crickets, promise.
And sorry (which I always tell Bern too....)
Monday, October 5, 2015
I love crickets
Cheshire is full of the songs of crickets tonight. And I love cricket song.
One thing the crickets do is make my tinnitus, which I've had for a decade or so, go away. "Ringing in the ears" doesn't do my particular version justice. Neither does "buzzing in the ears", the other definition for 'tinnitus' the on-line dictionary gives.
In fact, my tinnitus sounds exactly like cricket song. So, all in all, I'm lucky to have a sound in my head that sounds like a sound I love.
When I was diagnosed, there was a med-student working with my primary care physician. He was the one who told me what it was, gave it a name. Then he said, "it drives some people crazy. I've heard of cases when people killed themselves to get rid of it."
When Dr. Olsen came in, I told him, "you need to give some bed side manners training for this guy."
I'm not suggestible at all much, but planting the idea of suicide in someone who is a little off kilter wouldn't be a good idea.
There is also some key on an organ that turns off my internal crickets. I used to go listen to Bob Havery practice when I was at St. John's, Waterbury and every time my crickets would be gone for a few hours. And today, in the middle of a hymn, the crickets shut up.
I should find out what key it is. That would be helpful...but only if I were around a pipe organ....
Not bad to have cricket song as a constant companion. Not bad at all....
One thing the crickets do is make my tinnitus, which I've had for a decade or so, go away. "Ringing in the ears" doesn't do my particular version justice. Neither does "buzzing in the ears", the other definition for 'tinnitus' the on-line dictionary gives.
In fact, my tinnitus sounds exactly like cricket song. So, all in all, I'm lucky to have a sound in my head that sounds like a sound I love.
When I was diagnosed, there was a med-student working with my primary care physician. He was the one who told me what it was, gave it a name. Then he said, "it drives some people crazy. I've heard of cases when people killed themselves to get rid of it."
When Dr. Olsen came in, I told him, "you need to give some bed side manners training for this guy."
I'm not suggestible at all much, but planting the idea of suicide in someone who is a little off kilter wouldn't be a good idea.
There is also some key on an organ that turns off my internal crickets. I used to go listen to Bob Havery practice when I was at St. John's, Waterbury and every time my crickets would be gone for a few hours. And today, in the middle of a hymn, the crickets shut up.
I should find out what key it is. That would be helpful...but only if I were around a pipe organ....
Not bad to have cricket song as a constant companion. Not bad at all....
Sunday, October 4, 2015
fried apples and grits
Dean brought apples from his orchard to church today and offered them to anyone. I got a bag full and told him I thought I'd fry them.
He looked confused.
"Have you ever had fried apples?" I asked.
"Maybe," he said, "sometime".
This is the same guy who, when he was vice-chair of the Cluster Council, would have breakfast with me and Dick, the chair, the week before the cluster council meeting.
We met at a great restaurant in Durham that is now--sadly--a Fitness Center. Better food than weights and Zumba I say.
Anyhow, I found out in the 12 pages of the restaurant's menu, that they had grits. So I'd order them every time with my eggs and bacon.
Dick and Dean were confused. Both of them are too New England to believe in grits.
They asked me what grits were and I told them it came from hominy. Which was another question about what hominy was.
Finally I told them, "listen grits are a salt and butter delivery system."
That I thought they got.
I grew up with fried apples for breakfast and couldn't imagine everyone hadn't.
Well, except for Dean, I guess.
Fried apples, grits, sausage and bacon, home-fries, biscuits, eggs--the breakfast we'll have in heaven every day...with a little sausage gravy and some country ham on the side with blueberry jam.
Ah, that's the eternity I hope for....
He looked confused.
"Have you ever had fried apples?" I asked.
"Maybe," he said, "sometime".
This is the same guy who, when he was vice-chair of the Cluster Council, would have breakfast with me and Dick, the chair, the week before the cluster council meeting.
We met at a great restaurant in Durham that is now--sadly--a Fitness Center. Better food than weights and Zumba I say.
Anyhow, I found out in the 12 pages of the restaurant's menu, that they had grits. So I'd order them every time with my eggs and bacon.
Dick and Dean were confused. Both of them are too New England to believe in grits.
They asked me what grits were and I told them it came from hominy. Which was another question about what hominy was.
Finally I told them, "listen grits are a salt and butter delivery system."
That I thought they got.
I grew up with fried apples for breakfast and couldn't imagine everyone hadn't.
Well, except for Dean, I guess.
Fried apples, grits, sausage and bacon, home-fries, biscuits, eggs--the breakfast we'll have in heaven every day...with a little sausage gravy and some country ham on the side with blueberry jam.
Ah, that's the eternity I hope for....
Saturday, October 3, 2015
"Workshop mode"
In 1987 I was a participant in the Making a Difference workshop and got my priesthood back all new and possible. I owed the Mastery Foundation and have, by now, helped lead going on 50 of the workshops.
We have one in Washington, DC, starting a week from Monday.
I made my plane reservations today. I'm officially in 'workshop mode'.
What 'workshop mode' means is that my commitment and integrity and energy is leaning that way. In a sense, I'm already in DC at the retreat center at Catholic U. I'm already in the 'distinctions' that comprise the workshop. I'm already with Shane and Maggie and Bertram, the other leaders for this WS.
Once my travel plans are made, I'm in 'workshop mode'. I'm there and engaged and ready and can't wait.
This workshop gave me back my priesthood, all new and shining and it has never stopped being that since then. I am astonished that I have the opportunity to share that kind of transformation with others. And humbled beyond belief.
And, I'm ready and willing and able and excited beyond belief. In just a week and a day I'll be up in front of the room offering 'transformation' to a whole room full of people.
Doesn't get much better than that, far as I can see.....
We have one in Washington, DC, starting a week from Monday.
I made my plane reservations today. I'm officially in 'workshop mode'.
What 'workshop mode' means is that my commitment and integrity and energy is leaning that way. In a sense, I'm already in DC at the retreat center at Catholic U. I'm already in the 'distinctions' that comprise the workshop. I'm already with Shane and Maggie and Bertram, the other leaders for this WS.
Once my travel plans are made, I'm in 'workshop mode'. I'm there and engaged and ready and can't wait.
This workshop gave me back my priesthood, all new and shining and it has never stopped being that since then. I am astonished that I have the opportunity to share that kind of transformation with others. And humbled beyond belief.
And, I'm ready and willing and able and excited beyond belief. In just a week and a day I'll be up in front of the room offering 'transformation' to a whole room full of people.
Doesn't get much better than that, far as I can see.....
Friday, October 2, 2015
The 'subtle' is dead
OK, I can't not comment on Fr. Blazon's remarks from Fifth Business that I promised in my last post I wouldn't comment on.
Remember his words (or go to the last post to get the whole story) Blazon quotes Einstein, who said, "God is subtle, but he is not cruel"
The problem in America these days is subtlety is mostly non-existent. There are no subtleties in our public discourse. There is the Left and the Right. There is Liberal and Conservative. There is Yea and Nay and nothing in between.
There is 'political correctness' and what Donald Trump says. There is no nuance, no 'ironic but toward the truth', no middle ground.
We are locked in a battle that is 'my way or the highway' all around.
We need subtlety in how we talk about things with each other.
All we have is 'cruelty'.
How cruel of those congressmen who didn't go to the Pope's address because they knew he would mention climate change and immigration.
How cruel of Jeb Bush to say of the slaughter in Oregon, "Things happen."
How cruel of The Donald to say that if he's president he'll 'send back' any of the migrants from Syria who come here.
How cruel of the Congress to invent an investigation against Planned Parenthood--an agency that gives health care to mostly poor women--based on lies.
How cruel of the Speaker of the House in waiting to admit that the whole Benghazi investigation was to damage Hillary Clinton. (Oh, wait, that was 'the truth'--it was the made-up 8 committees to invent that a tragedy was a conspiracy was what was cruel.)
I could go on but since most everything would be about Republicans, I should stop lest you think I'm a Democrat.
The moral is, where is the subtlety in our public life? Where is the nuance? Where is the irony? Where is the complexity and the confusion?
Everyone is so sure of themselves and their views--me too, by the way.
I long for a public discourse full of actually grappling with issues rather than taking a side and standing by your position no matter what.
I long for subtlety and nuance and complexity.
I can't find it in the way we shout at each other.
But I need it. I do.
Remember his words (or go to the last post to get the whole story) Blazon quotes Einstein, who said, "God is subtle, but he is not cruel"
The problem in America these days is subtlety is mostly non-existent. There are no subtleties in our public discourse. There is the Left and the Right. There is Liberal and Conservative. There is Yea and Nay and nothing in between.
There is 'political correctness' and what Donald Trump says. There is no nuance, no 'ironic but toward the truth', no middle ground.
We are locked in a battle that is 'my way or the highway' all around.
We need subtlety in how we talk about things with each other.
All we have is 'cruelty'.
How cruel of those congressmen who didn't go to the Pope's address because they knew he would mention climate change and immigration.
How cruel of Jeb Bush to say of the slaughter in Oregon, "Things happen."
How cruel of The Donald to say that if he's president he'll 'send back' any of the migrants from Syria who come here.
How cruel of the Congress to invent an investigation against Planned Parenthood--an agency that gives health care to mostly poor women--based on lies.
How cruel of the Speaker of the House in waiting to admit that the whole Benghazi investigation was to damage Hillary Clinton. (Oh, wait, that was 'the truth'--it was the made-up 8 committees to invent that a tragedy was a conspiracy was what was cruel.)
I could go on but since most everything would be about Republicans, I should stop lest you think I'm a Democrat.
The moral is, where is the subtlety in our public life? Where is the nuance? Where is the irony? Where is the complexity and the confusion?
Everyone is so sure of themselves and their views--me too, by the way.
I long for a public discourse full of actually grappling with issues rather than taking a side and standing by your position no matter what.
I long for subtlety and nuance and complexity.
I can't find it in the way we shout at each other.
But I need it. I do.
The Old Man's Puzzle
I
want to share with you a short passage from Robertson Davies novel,
Fifth Business. An
elderly French Jesuit named Blazon is talking to a Canadian teacher
and writer named Dunstan Ramsey. Ramsey has just asked Blazon how he
can be a holy man after just having consumed a whole chicken and a
whole bottle of wine at dinner. Blazon then replies. Listen:
“Listen,
Ramezay, have you heard what Einstein says?—Einstein, the great
scientist, not some Jesuit like old Blazon. He says: ‘God
is subtle, but He is not cruel.’
There is some sound Jewish wisdom for your muddled Protestant mind.
Try to understand the subtlety, and stop whimpering about the
cruelty. Maybe God wants you for something special….
“….I
am quite a wise old bird but I am no desert hermit who can only
prophesy when his guts are knotted in hunger….I am deep
in the old man’s puzzle, trying to
link the wisdom of the body with the wisdom of the spirit until the
two are one….you cannot divide spirit from body without anguish and
destruction.”
“I am deep in the old man’s puzzle,” Father
Blazon said, “trying to link the wisdom of the body with the wisdom
of the spirit until the two are one.”
I'm not even going to comment on that. Just sharing it is enough.
Thursday, October 1, 2015
ok, I feel ready
I put in a lot of time today on the Gospel of Philip. I feel ready to lead it without faking it.
It's amazing how much you forget when you're not looking when you're 68. I've taught the Gospel of Philip before, a couple of years ago, and probably didn't need this much prep.
I'm 68. Just writing that, without saying it out loud, shakes me to my core, the very center of my being.
How can I be this old? How can I have a son who is 40 and a daughter who is 37? A wife 65. And granddaughters 9 and 6 almost? How did this happen? How does so much time pass?
My mind and heart and soul feels like they're approaching 35. My body, on the other hand, knows there are several decades more to take in mind.
When I wrote "68" up above, a part or me said, "wait, that must be 58", but I'm on social security and medicare and have been for 6 years.
How did I get this old? Back in my pseuto-Hippie days, I thought I would live fast, love hard, die young and leave a beautiful memory. I didn't think I'd make it to 50, much less 60 and being 19 months from 70 is like crazy!!!
Time flies when you're having fun.
I guess that's it. Not as bad as it could be: 'time flies when you're miserable.'
It's amazing how much you forget when you're not looking when you're 68. I've taught the Gospel of Philip before, a couple of years ago, and probably didn't need this much prep.
I'm 68. Just writing that, without saying it out loud, shakes me to my core, the very center of my being.
How can I be this old? How can I have a son who is 40 and a daughter who is 37? A wife 65. And granddaughters 9 and 6 almost? How did this happen? How does so much time pass?
My mind and heart and soul feels like they're approaching 35. My body, on the other hand, knows there are several decades more to take in mind.
When I wrote "68" up above, a part or me said, "wait, that must be 58", but I'm on social security and medicare and have been for 6 years.
How did I get this old? Back in my pseuto-Hippie days, I thought I would live fast, love hard, die young and leave a beautiful memory. I didn't think I'd make it to 50, much less 60 and being 19 months from 70 is like crazy!!!
Time flies when you're having fun.
I guess that's it. Not as bad as it could be: 'time flies when you're miserable.'
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