Reality in an ultrasound

Mimi emailed Bern and me ultrasounds of little Ellie, growing inside her.

Little hand, little foot, two profiles: I was shocked into the reality that our baby girl is having a baby girl in July!

I'd been in, not 'denial', but something like 'disbelief'. Mimi was here a week or so ago and didn't look pregnant to me. Of course she wears Brooklyn style and her tops were a little too flowing to show off anything.

But there was Ellie's profile and foot and hand for all the world (or at least Bern and me) to see.

Tim and Mimi will be great parents, as terrified as they must be right now.

So Ellie has stepped into my reality. And I thank God for her and welcome her.

(I can't quite tell who she looks like from the ultrasounds, but her profile is perfect.)

Just perfect.

Joy and wonder.

Mystery solved...at least one....

Big mystery last week.

Several mornings there were pages in my printer tray I didn't print. They were, it turned out, pages from Dr. Stombakis, the surgeon who removed my prostate.

Medical records. I couldn't figure out how they were being sent to me through my printer.

After three random assortment of pages arrived, I noticed they weren't on the kind of paper in my printer. They were on thicker paper.

I was dumbfounded.

Was my printer also a FAX machine and the doctor's office was faxing me my records? But a fax machine prints stuff sent to it on the paper in the machine. No one can send paper through a wire!

I was flummoxed. Totally.

I'd begin to think I was imagining the whole thing when a few more pages on that thicker paper would show up in my tray.

Maybe I was losing my mind--though I always thought you had to have one to lose it....

Then, just a day or two ago, I came into my little office and there were papers all over the floor--more medical records on that good paper.

I looked on top of the bookshelf where my printer occupies the middle shelf and saw a folder about to fall off. It was the folder Dr. Stombakis gave me when I started seeing a urologist closer to home (Meriden vs. Greenwich). One or two pages had been falling out at a time and miraculously landing on my printer's tray!

Mystery solved! That one at any rate.

Another mystery emerged when I started reading the pages. I didn't understand most of it since it was in the medical secret language it takes years of Med School to master. No mystery there.

The mystery was when I noticed the date of my surgery.

It's been 11 years!

I told someone a few weeks ago that I had prostate cancer "five or six years ago".

Half right!

I know I am lost in linear time--but I didn't know it was that bad.

Eleven years becomes 'five or 6' in my mind--how weird. (Take the 'in my mind' in that sentence with a grain of salt....)

You have to 'have one' to lose it....

Holy Week cometh....

Tomorrow is Palm Sunday. Holy Week is on the doorstep, ready to step in.

As an Episcopal priest, I should, it seems to me, be getting all misty about the arrival of Holy Week.

But, if I'm honest, I have to admit I'm more excited about the arrival of my children and grandchildren next week for Easter. Time with them is golden and all too rare. Jesus is always there!

I do like the drama of Holy Week and the Maundy Thursday/Good Friday liturgies. I don't have to do an Easter Vigil and I'm deeply thankful for that. Lots of 'church rats' love the Easter Vigil but I've never gotten into it. Easter for me is daylight and sunshine and warmth and Easter eggs and dinner with my family and some dear friends (we expect 13 for Easter dinner!)

So, my biggest thanks for Holy Week's approach is that it ushers in Mimi and Tim and Josh and Cathy and Morgan/Emma/Tegan into our lives for a few days.

But never mind all that: Holy Week comes...Enjoy!

(Or should we 'enjoy' the Passion of the Lord?  I think maybe we should....)

Even more enough...

We all know that the Republican 'establishment' (whatever that is now) is dead set on holding Trump to less than a majority of delegates and turning the Convention into a side show. More luck to them.

But the Donald said that if he has 'the most delegates' going into Convention, even if it isn't a majority, and he's denied the nomination there 'will be riots'.

I heard a supporter talk to Wolf Blitzer today and say, "riots wouldn't be the worst thing that could happen."

Wolf gave her three chances to say she didn't mean 'violence in the streets' and she never really did.

"Inciting to riot", last I looked, was against the law. Yet Trump, months ahead of Cleveland, is laying the groundwork for such nonsense.

I can only hope that a vast majority of Americans--Democrats, Republicans and Independents have enough sense to make sure D. Trump cannot be elected.

I believe that is true. But then, I haven't been right about anything yet....

Wearing the Green

We had corned beef and cabbage tonight since Bern's group meets tomorrow evening and she likes to have an earlier Thursday dinner. She put kale and two kinds of cabbage in--a great idea. She also made horseradish sauce to stop your breathing--which it is supposed to do!

I'm not as Irish as I pretend to be, but I'm some so I love St. Patrick's day. I also love Celtic music, which much means my Irish DNA, though small, is strong--who, besides a Celt could possibly like that music?

Plus, I'm going to Ireland again next month to help lead a workshop. Eight or so years in a row now. This one has 6 (I think) Israeli rabbinical students enrolled. I have enough time with the Irish accepts--there are lots of them! Good luck to my Jewish brothers....

Also, good luck staying kosher. There is nothing even vaguely kosher about Irish food. They could live on the potatoes, I suppose.

The Irish all think I'm Irish though my DNA is 65 percent Scandinavian. Come to think of it, most of the Irish folks DNA is probably Scandinavian as well! Those pillaging hoards from the north left their mark in may ways on the British Isles.

But, even if you aren't Irish, it's fun to pretend to be for the day. Obama's Irish, so you can be too!

Tomorrow it's ok to hold grudges!

My maternal great-grandfather came from Ireland during some famine or another with his two brothers. They got into such a fight on the ship that when they arrived at Ellis Island they all gave false names so they'd never be able to find each other in this new land.

The family name, according to the lore, was O'Connor. My great-grandfather told them his name was Jones--a Welsh name to add insult to injury.

The Irish are good at many things--'grudges' are one of them....

Why Ted Cruz makes me Crazy

Ted Cruz said today that the only thing that could keep him from supporting Donald Trump if Trump is the nominee is if Trump actually did go out on 5th Avenue and shoot someone (as the Donald said he could do and not lose support)!

The only thing crazier than Cruz saying that is his reason: "When I give my word I keep it."

One of the things I admire most in human beings is when they are able to change their minds and admit a former mistake of judgment. That quality enables us to create new possibilities rather than grit our teeth and 'do what we said'.

The Making a Difference Workshop I help lead talks about 'being your word'. That's important. Very. But we allow for the possibility of 'being' your 'broken word' as well. Fessing up that you didn't keep it and 'being' the one who didn't slavishly follow through and changed their mind.

Given all that, I should admire, of all people, Donald Trump--since he's forever changing his mind and not keeping his word. But I don't admire him, of course, since he just 'says what he needs to say' without any inkling of the consequences.

I do admire Hillary for the very thing Bernie accuses her of constantly--changing her mind and apologizing for past positions. Bernie--though everything he says, I agree with--is too locked into 'keeping his word' and 'being consistent'.

Consistence, remember, is the hob-goblin of small minds.

Give me someone who takes risks, steps out, sometimes screws up and then is man/woman enough to admit they were wrong and have changed their minds.

Adaptability and being open to the new is much more important to me than 'consistency' even when it is Bernie Sanders' consistence.

I want a leader who can admit they have made mistakes and 'be' the person who made them and 'fess up' and move on.

That's what I want.

I don't long for 'perfection' so much as being 'human' and admitting it, taking responsibility for it and 'being' even your broken word.

Just so you know where I am on all this--unless something shows me I'm wrong, then I'll let you know and apologize.....

the neighbor

We have a neighbor down the street who has a lab mix I call "Good Dog" because she is so well trained and so sweet.

I won't mention my neighbor's name and I've forgotten 'good dog's' real name. But here's the thing: about 4 months ago, my neighbor and his truck disappeared. There is another guy who used to be there about half-the-time and his car is there in the mornings and late afternoons now.

And Good Dog is still there--but not outside as much since the guy there now obviously works and our old neighbor didn't.

So, back to the beginning. When the old woman who lived in that house either died or went somewhere to die, the new neighbor moved in. He was too young to be retired (late 40's to early 50's) yet he didn't work and he and Good Dog were outside a lot. Very friendly. We talked as I walked Bela and Good Dog never came near Bela. So we could talk and I wouldn't have to drag bad dog away down the street.

This was 4 or 5 years ago. I never asked him what brought him to Cheshire and he never asked me either. Some of our neighbors know all about each other and some don't. And we honor that--we live in Cheshire for a reason, after all! Privacy is honored. Friendliness doesn't have to go very deep.

So, in my head I started inventing background on my neighbor. He was ex-military (the easiest solution for his not working) and he was well built and healthy. Then I thought ex-CIA or ex-Secret Service--both entertaining ways of explaining him.

After the guy who lives there now started coming for a few days at a time, I assumed they were lovers or...OMG...my neighbor was in the Witness Protection Plan and the visitor was his contact who would come to let him know when he would have to testify.

That was full of adventure in my head, let me tell you!

But on 4th of July and Easter my neighbor threw huge parties for people with out of state license plates (I know, I know, I'm a creepy snoop!--but I walk Bela every day past that house, OK?) So, who were all these people? He couldn't be in witness protection unless the Federal Marshalls were bringing their families on holidays. So--back to ex-military, ex-CIA.

Then he disappeared. And 'good friend/lover' moved in to keep Good Dog. I saw good friend the other day out washing his car and he looks a lot like my missing neighbor, so maybe he's a younger brother.

Every time the scenario changed, I lived out different former lives for my neighbor.

So where is he? Not in Florida for the winter since he'd have taken Good Dog in his Truck, that's also MIA. Recalled to the Military? Called up to be Secret Service for Donald? Federal prison for reasons I can't imagine? He died and his brother sold the truck and is devoted to Good Dog? And a dozen or more such stories.

I told a friend all this and he said, "why don't you just knock on the door and find out the truth?"

I thought about that for a long while and then said, truthfully, 'that wouldn't be as much fun!'

Before our cat, Luke, died, I used to realize I didn't want to be in his mind. I might never get out it would be so cat-like and Byzantine. I could get in and out of Bela's mind without much effort.

All this might tell you something: you most likely don't want to wonder what goes on in my head either....