I discovered about noon that I couldn't get online from my computer.
I mentioned it to Bern a couple of hours later when we were both reading on the deck. She went into 'fix it mode'.
I also noticed a bunch of TV stations weren't on either. I have no idea why I know it but I just assume that Cox handles all the stuff for us and if there was something wrong with internet Wi-Fi then it was wrong with cable TV.
Bern goes up to where the router and other things are in my office and started unhooked things and hooking them up again--a trick she'd learned before.
No joy. I suggest the TV/Wi-Fi connection but she isn't convinced. She tries to go on-line on her smart phone to get advice, but, oops! the Wi-Fi isn't working....
She fussed and fooled with things which, when I asked her if she could tell me what to do about it, she said 'no'.
So, I read on the deck, having made sure the channel for The Voice was working and Bern fretted.
I was thinking I wouldn't have to read anything about Donald Trump or look at email tonight, while Bern tried to phone Cox--their lines were busy. During the Voice she figured out an optional way to get on line on her phone and tried to email Cox--Cox's email (no big surprise! was down).
Half way through The Voice she said the only way to contact Cox was by tweet and said she'd probably, soon, have to join Twitter.
I watched TV.
Some stations and the internet came back on--which is how I'm writing this.
When she said Wi-Fi was back up I thought, "oh sh*t, I have to look at emails after all...."
We talked about my lazzie faire (sp!) attitude and her upset. Turns out she has this thing in the back of her mind when tech stuff goes wrong it's somehow her fault and she has to fix it. She knows it's an irrational thought, but there it is.
I don't know enough about all the technology to even imagine I did something to damage it!
I like 'being off the Grid' from time to time. Bern can't abide it.
Web woes affect people differently, is all I have to say.
Monday, May 9, 2016
Sunday, May 8, 2016
Spring comes to Connecticut
The strange yellow ball in the sky, that the elders had told us about, finally arrived today about 3 p.m.
After weeks of rain and clouds and clouds and rain, the rain stopped and the clouds parted.
It took until May 8--Mother's day--but the birds were singing, the chipmunks and squirrels were frolicking and the strange yellow ball was shining in the sky.
Spring has come, at last....
After weeks of rain and clouds and clouds and rain, the rain stopped and the clouds parted.
It took until May 8--Mother's day--but the birds were singing, the chipmunks and squirrels were frolicking and the strange yellow ball was shining in the sky.
Spring has come, at last....
Mother's Day
My mom was Marion Cleo Jones Bradley. Everyone called her Cleo.
She was 38 when I was born--unusual in 1947 in rural West Virginia. My mom and dad's friends were my friends' grandparents!
And I was their only child.
Being an only child could take up a week's worth of posts. But I am, on the whole, satisfied to be one. I am more independent and never bored, I think. Only children learn to fill the time of life in ways that are fulfilling. Since I never had brothers or sisters I can't very well 'miss' them.
My mother's family was rural poor--one of the most draining forms of poverty. My Grandfather, Eli Jones, couldn't work in the mines because he had lung issues and nothing else paid very well in McDowell County, West Virginia.
There were lots of stories (apocryphal or true) about their bitter poverty. Picking the slate dump (where all the 'unusable' stuff from coal mining was piled) for fuel; Aunt Elsie wearing galoshes to school because she had no shoes; having to wait until the tenants in the boarding house my grandmother ran for several years had eaten and eating what was left for supper; sharing coats in the winter; walking long distances to school--on and on. My grandmother never had indoor toilets until she moved into a trailer at 66 or so. I remember the outhouse well and having to chase away the chickens and ducks who piled up against it in winter because human waste produces warmth.
In spite of that, three of the Jones girls got Master's degrees in Education during summer school and at nights at Concord College and Bluefield State College. My aunt Elsie, who died a few months ago, eventually got a Ph.d.! Their only brother who survived childhood (2 didn't) raised 8 children in a fine house in Falls Mills, Virginia. Nearly all my first cousins (14 of them) went to college and did well in life.
I'm both proud and humbled that from such modest beginnings, my mother pulled herself up and was a first grade teacher for 30 years.
I can't remember her voice--she died a few days after my 25th birthday--but I remember her smile and her gentle, patient nature. (You don't work with first graders for that long and not develop gentleness and patience!)
She was a kind woman, I remember how she looked out for people who hadn't made it out of poverty, and a generous woman as well. I know she and my father gave away 10% of what they had, and not to the church, to people in need.
I suspect she was a woman of faith, but she never talked about it in those terms. And she was a woman of deep loyalty--to her family, especially.
Here's the only story I'll tell about her. It is story enough to know something of her character.
We attended (my mother and me) the Pilgrim Holiness Church of her family in Conklintown (I don't make these names up, by the way!) My father was some vague form of Baptist if he was anything and would drive us to church but stayed in the car to read the Sunday edition of the Bluefield Daily Telegraph and smoke cigarettes.
One Sunday, Preacher Peck, who, as I try to remember him, looked a lot like Ted Cruz ('nough said), introduced a time of prayer, which meant kneeling on the floor and resting your elbows on your pew and all praying out loud (some louder than others) until somehow everyone stopped praying. Preacher Peck said, "today let's pray for that sinner out in the parking lot smoking cigarettes and reading the paper."
I was sitting with some cousin or another and my mother stood up, came and took me by the hand and we left that church forever.
I don't remember her telling my father why we came out early and went home. It would have just been like her to never tell him, not wanting to upset him.
We became Methodists. My father often said, "Methodism won't hurt anyone...."
Happy Mother's Day, Mommy. I've lived much longer without you than with you. You never met your grandchildren, but you would have loved them and been patient and kind and gentle and generous with them. And they would have loved you greatly.
I know that and hope, in whatever way might be possible, that you know that too.
She was 38 when I was born--unusual in 1947 in rural West Virginia. My mom and dad's friends were my friends' grandparents!
And I was their only child.
Being an only child could take up a week's worth of posts. But I am, on the whole, satisfied to be one. I am more independent and never bored, I think. Only children learn to fill the time of life in ways that are fulfilling. Since I never had brothers or sisters I can't very well 'miss' them.
My mother's family was rural poor--one of the most draining forms of poverty. My Grandfather, Eli Jones, couldn't work in the mines because he had lung issues and nothing else paid very well in McDowell County, West Virginia.
There were lots of stories (apocryphal or true) about their bitter poverty. Picking the slate dump (where all the 'unusable' stuff from coal mining was piled) for fuel; Aunt Elsie wearing galoshes to school because she had no shoes; having to wait until the tenants in the boarding house my grandmother ran for several years had eaten and eating what was left for supper; sharing coats in the winter; walking long distances to school--on and on. My grandmother never had indoor toilets until she moved into a trailer at 66 or so. I remember the outhouse well and having to chase away the chickens and ducks who piled up against it in winter because human waste produces warmth.
In spite of that, three of the Jones girls got Master's degrees in Education during summer school and at nights at Concord College and Bluefield State College. My aunt Elsie, who died a few months ago, eventually got a Ph.d.! Their only brother who survived childhood (2 didn't) raised 8 children in a fine house in Falls Mills, Virginia. Nearly all my first cousins (14 of them) went to college and did well in life.
I'm both proud and humbled that from such modest beginnings, my mother pulled herself up and was a first grade teacher for 30 years.
I can't remember her voice--she died a few days after my 25th birthday--but I remember her smile and her gentle, patient nature. (You don't work with first graders for that long and not develop gentleness and patience!)
She was a kind woman, I remember how she looked out for people who hadn't made it out of poverty, and a generous woman as well. I know she and my father gave away 10% of what they had, and not to the church, to people in need.
I suspect she was a woman of faith, but she never talked about it in those terms. And she was a woman of deep loyalty--to her family, especially.
Here's the only story I'll tell about her. It is story enough to know something of her character.
We attended (my mother and me) the Pilgrim Holiness Church of her family in Conklintown (I don't make these names up, by the way!) My father was some vague form of Baptist if he was anything and would drive us to church but stayed in the car to read the Sunday edition of the Bluefield Daily Telegraph and smoke cigarettes.
One Sunday, Preacher Peck, who, as I try to remember him, looked a lot like Ted Cruz ('nough said), introduced a time of prayer, which meant kneeling on the floor and resting your elbows on your pew and all praying out loud (some louder than others) until somehow everyone stopped praying. Preacher Peck said, "today let's pray for that sinner out in the parking lot smoking cigarettes and reading the paper."
I was sitting with some cousin or another and my mother stood up, came and took me by the hand and we left that church forever.
I don't remember her telling my father why we came out early and went home. It would have just been like her to never tell him, not wanting to upset him.
We became Methodists. My father often said, "Methodism won't hurt anyone...."
Happy Mother's Day, Mommy. I've lived much longer without you than with you. You never met your grandchildren, but you would have loved them and been patient and kind and gentle and generous with them. And they would have loved you greatly.
I know that and hope, in whatever way might be possible, that you know that too.
Thursday, May 5, 2016
Something I remembered tonight
Driving home from seeing Howie inducted into the Haddam-Killingworth Hall of Fame (which he richly deserved) I remembered a question I used to ask to people (mostly women of color) who were applying to the Regional Council on Education for Employment (RCEE) which I was the Center Co-ordinator for while I was out of parish ministry back in 1985-89.
RCEE took talented folks who had fallen through the cracks and were on welfare and in 12 weeks got them entry level jobs at Yale, IBM and lots of Insurance Companies and other employers. It was remarkably inspiring work. I'm so thankful and humbled that I got to do it.
But I always asked the applicants this question: "if you were an animal, what animal would you be?"
It threw them off balance, which I wanted, and usually told me a great deal about them. Really.
It is disarming and very revealing what people say to that question.
So, I ask you, "if you were an animal, what animal would you be?"
It says a great deal about you. Ponder your answer. Let me know by commenting or emailing me at Padrejgb@aol.com. (Tech savvy folks have told me it's hard to figure out how to comment on my blog.)
Let me know and I'll tell you what that means about you--though it's just 'me talkin''.
Almost nobody we let into RCEE failed. And one of the determinations was the answer to that question.
Ponder what animal you would be if you were an animal.
It will give you quite a while of introspection.
Which is good.
RCEE took talented folks who had fallen through the cracks and were on welfare and in 12 weeks got them entry level jobs at Yale, IBM and lots of Insurance Companies and other employers. It was remarkably inspiring work. I'm so thankful and humbled that I got to do it.
But I always asked the applicants this question: "if you were an animal, what animal would you be?"
It threw them off balance, which I wanted, and usually told me a great deal about them. Really.
It is disarming and very revealing what people say to that question.
So, I ask you, "if you were an animal, what animal would you be?"
It says a great deal about you. Ponder your answer. Let me know by commenting or emailing me at Padrejgb@aol.com. (Tech savvy folks have told me it's hard to figure out how to comment on my blog.)
Let me know and I'll tell you what that means about you--though it's just 'me talkin''.
Almost nobody we let into RCEE failed. And one of the determinations was the answer to that question.
Ponder what animal you would be if you were an animal.
It will give you quite a while of introspection.
Which is good.
Wednesday, May 4, 2016
getting hurt...getting old
I hurt my foot two weeks ago. It's only now feeling back to normal.
Time was, it took two days rather than two weeks to heal from something like that.
Everything slows down as you get old.
Even time, it seems to me.
Oh, yes, a year seems to flash by, just the way they tell us it will as you age.
But I'm not talking about years. I'm talking about moments.
It seems to me that as I grow old, moments stretch out a bit. I am 'present' to the 'present' in a way I couldn't be when I was a younger human being.
"Being in the moment", I've noticed, lingers longer than it used to.
I think the whole 'time passes faster as we age' thing is because we have more 'past' to live in each day.
When I was a child, I had so much 'future' to imagine that I didn't fully appreciate 'the moment'. That went on and on I think--living into the future...until at some point you notice you have more 'past' than 'future' and you start dwelling back there in 'what was',
For me, one of joys and comforts of growing older (never mind taking longer to heal) is that 'past' and 'future' seem less important than 'right now'.
Moments expand for me because I am able to be more fully 'being' in the present.
When you are young, the future is a gift yet to be unwrapped. And too often, as we age, the past becomes an old gift to be poured over.
But for me, being here now, has become more and more possible. And that, I suggest, is the best gift of them all.
Savor the moment. That one and that one and this one just appearing....Be there in each of them.
The past cannot be undone. The future is yet to come.
But 'right now'....Well, that's the place to be, it seems to me.
Join me there...when you can....
Time was, it took two days rather than two weeks to heal from something like that.
Everything slows down as you get old.
Even time, it seems to me.
Oh, yes, a year seems to flash by, just the way they tell us it will as you age.
But I'm not talking about years. I'm talking about moments.
It seems to me that as I grow old, moments stretch out a bit. I am 'present' to the 'present' in a way I couldn't be when I was a younger human being.
"Being in the moment", I've noticed, lingers longer than it used to.
I think the whole 'time passes faster as we age' thing is because we have more 'past' to live in each day.
When I was a child, I had so much 'future' to imagine that I didn't fully appreciate 'the moment'. That went on and on I think--living into the future...until at some point you notice you have more 'past' than 'future' and you start dwelling back there in 'what was',
For me, one of joys and comforts of growing older (never mind taking longer to heal) is that 'past' and 'future' seem less important than 'right now'.
Moments expand for me because I am able to be more fully 'being' in the present.
When you are young, the future is a gift yet to be unwrapped. And too often, as we age, the past becomes an old gift to be poured over.
But for me, being here now, has become more and more possible. And that, I suggest, is the best gift of them all.
Savor the moment. That one and that one and this one just appearing....Be there in each of them.
The past cannot be undone. The future is yet to come.
But 'right now'....Well, that's the place to be, it seems to me.
Join me there...when you can....
Tuesday, May 3, 2016
you won't have Ted Cruz to kick around any more
The evening after Ted Cruz's most serious attack on Donald Trump (calling him, among other things: 'a serial philanderer' and 'a pathological liar) Cruz suspended his campaign for the GOP nomination for President.
He lost Indiana by double digits in percentage and Trump is almost certainly the nominee.
I won't miss him. He always stuck me as more dangerous than Trump in the long run. Cruz is a 'true believer' and true believers are always dangerous. Trump, at least, has no discernible 'beliefs', true or otherwise.
So, it's all over but the shouting in the Republican race.
Tell me the truth: a year ago would you have ever imagined this scenario?
Who did?
In my lifetime--which is getting longer daily--nothing like this has ever happened.
I am at a loss to explain the anger that has become the vehicle of Trump's ascension. Maybe, like NYTimes writer, David Brooks, said this week--I need to get out and meet some 'real people'.
Someone like me: a person who has admired and supported President Obama, a person for whom the 'great recession' made no difference in my life, a person who thinks America is 'great' already, a person who supports amnesty for undocumented immigrants and openness to the masses fleeing the Middle East and Africa, a person who fully supports Black Lives Matter and the LBGTQ community, a person who believes in equal rights for all and taxes raised to provide money for education, infrastructure and the poor...well, I guess I'm not 'real enough' any more.
May God have mercy on us all. The time between now and November 8 my try all our souls.
He lost Indiana by double digits in percentage and Trump is almost certainly the nominee.
I won't miss him. He always stuck me as more dangerous than Trump in the long run. Cruz is a 'true believer' and true believers are always dangerous. Trump, at least, has no discernible 'beliefs', true or otherwise.
So, it's all over but the shouting in the Republican race.
Tell me the truth: a year ago would you have ever imagined this scenario?
Who did?
In my lifetime--which is getting longer daily--nothing like this has ever happened.
I am at a loss to explain the anger that has become the vehicle of Trump's ascension. Maybe, like NYTimes writer, David Brooks, said this week--I need to get out and meet some 'real people'.
Someone like me: a person who has admired and supported President Obama, a person for whom the 'great recession' made no difference in my life, a person who thinks America is 'great' already, a person who supports amnesty for undocumented immigrants and openness to the masses fleeing the Middle East and Africa, a person who fully supports Black Lives Matter and the LBGTQ community, a person who believes in equal rights for all and taxes raised to provide money for education, infrastructure and the poor...well, I guess I'm not 'real enough' any more.
May God have mercy on us all. The time between now and November 8 my try all our souls.
Monday, May 2, 2016
Farm Foolish
Sunday I sat at a table with three guys who know about farming and realized how little I know about sheep, bees, be hives, the state bee inspector, alfalfa, chickens and eggs, shearing sheep, when to plant things, on and on.
Funny thing is, I grew up around farming. My Uncle Russel had a big farm with sheep and pigs and lots of stuff I know nothing about. My uncle Lee had cows when I was growing up. My father grew up on a farm and had huge gardens. My grandmother and mother and aunts canned anything that could, I suppose, be canned.
My family, on both sides, was close to the soil in many ways.
And I know absolutely zilch about it all!
I'm not sure if I just didn't pay attention or if people shielded it from me--like they shielded me from anything having to do with coal mining though my family weren't unfamiliar with the pits.
I'm going to have to ponder why I would have understood as much of what my three friends were talking about on Sunday if they had been speaking in Lithuanian.
As I sat there, I envied them: the things they knew that I don't and never will.
Humility, it seems to me, comes from 'not knowing'. And 'humility' is a good thing, much to be desired.
I got my plate full of humility listening to them talk.
Funny thing is, I grew up around farming. My Uncle Russel had a big farm with sheep and pigs and lots of stuff I know nothing about. My uncle Lee had cows when I was growing up. My father grew up on a farm and had huge gardens. My grandmother and mother and aunts canned anything that could, I suppose, be canned.
My family, on both sides, was close to the soil in many ways.
And I know absolutely zilch about it all!
I'm not sure if I just didn't pay attention or if people shielded it from me--like they shielded me from anything having to do with coal mining though my family weren't unfamiliar with the pits.
I'm going to have to ponder why I would have understood as much of what my three friends were talking about on Sunday if they had been speaking in Lithuanian.
As I sat there, I envied them: the things they knew that I don't and never will.
Humility, it seems to me, comes from 'not knowing'. And 'humility' is a good thing, much to be desired.
I got my plate full of humility listening to them talk.
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