Driving down I-81 with the Blue Ridge Mountains on one side, Mejol said, "God must really love green."
I am so glad she pointed it out because today on our deck, looking out at our backyard that Bern has been crafting for 30 years, I started counting different shades of green.
I got to 18 when I realized I'd only looked at one side of the yard and suddenly saw five different shades of green in the grass!
Connecticut is ablaze with greens, as the drive in Virginia was.
I need to pay more attention to Nature. I tend to have my nose in a book--well, not literally! Just my eyes on it--when I'm outside, while Nature is screaming at me in too many shades of green and too many colors: LOOK AT ME, YOU IDIOT!!!!!
Ponder the wonder of creation at least once a day for 10 minutes. It will fill you up until you can feel tears of joy near.
And pray, pray hard for those people in the West where fire is transforming nature into ash and all those people around the world where Nature is a threat and not a joy.
And, if you're anywhere like here, you must admit without argument that God must really love Green...
Friday, August 3, 2018
Thursday, August 2, 2018
My childhood--II
Was I spoiled as a child, the youngest of 18 cousins, 8 aunts and 8 uncles, Grandma Jones and step-grandma Bradley? Sure, absolutely, joyfully.
But I was also sheltered--both in a way that protects and a way that hinders.
When I was 12 or so, I asked my mother why I had to go visit relatives with them every time. I was old enough to stay home by myself, after all, and all the relative visits didn't interest me.
Here's what she told me--I swear to God, cross my heart--"what if we had a car wreck and died," she told me, "we wouldn't want you to be left alone."
Which meant, as I pondered it, it would be somehow better if we all died together.
That is 'too sheltered' in my mind and heart.
Soon after that I exerted myself for what may have been the first major time and only went to visit the people I wanted to see. I stayed home other times and played video games.
Well, of course I didn't do that. I stayed home and played with my toy soldiers or watched TV or, mostly, read.
Being an only child of older parents isn't always a cup of tea.
When I was a small child another cousin (which I realize I didn't count before since he was the son of my long dead aunt--my father's older sister) lived with my parents and me. His name was Pat LaFon and he was so much older than me I never thought of him as a cousin. He became a Nazarene minister, but was in his 20's when I was a child and he lived with us.
When he moved out I got his room. It was always called "Pat's room", even after I'd lived in it for years.
As safe and wondrous and loved as I was, I slept in "Pat's room" until I went to college.
That strikes me as weird in a way I can't explain.
But I was also sheltered--both in a way that protects and a way that hinders.
When I was 12 or so, I asked my mother why I had to go visit relatives with them every time. I was old enough to stay home by myself, after all, and all the relative visits didn't interest me.
Here's what she told me--I swear to God, cross my heart--"what if we had a car wreck and died," she told me, "we wouldn't want you to be left alone."
Which meant, as I pondered it, it would be somehow better if we all died together.
That is 'too sheltered' in my mind and heart.
Soon after that I exerted myself for what may have been the first major time and only went to visit the people I wanted to see. I stayed home other times and played video games.
Well, of course I didn't do that. I stayed home and played with my toy soldiers or watched TV or, mostly, read.
Being an only child of older parents isn't always a cup of tea.
When I was a small child another cousin (which I realize I didn't count before since he was the son of my long dead aunt--my father's older sister) lived with my parents and me. His name was Pat LaFon and he was so much older than me I never thought of him as a cousin. He became a Nazarene minister, but was in his 20's when I was a child and he lived with us.
When he moved out I got his room. It was always called "Pat's room", even after I'd lived in it for years.
As safe and wondrous and loved as I was, I slept in "Pat's room" until I went to college.
That strikes me as weird in a way I can't explain.
Tuesday, July 31, 2018
My childhood
Seeing my cousins last weekend has me thinking about my childhood.
We weren't poor--by no means and especially against the backdrop of rural Appalachian poverty. My mother taught school and my dad, a coal miner until after WW II's Europe ruined his lungs, owned a cafe for a time, worked for my uncle in a grocery store, had a dry cleaning route and finally sold insurance. And when I went off to college, mom and dad bought a house in Princeton for cash, just as they always bought cars for cash. (Dad was 43 when I was born and mom was 38. They never expected me! And I always wondered why they waited until I left to buy a house. Maybe they didn't want me to change schools, I don't know. But sometimes I think I was an 18 year interruption in their life together....)
We weren't poor, but until I left for college we lived in a two bedroom apartment over a small grocery store with no central heat and only an electric heater in the bathroom. Two stoves gave us heat in winter. Nothing gave us cool in summer except fans.
I was embarrassed by our apartment for the latter part of my life there. Almost everyone I knew, including Bern's family, had central heat and didn't have to bathe in a tin tub in the living room beside the Warm Morning stove in the winter. People had showers, for goodness sake. I was embarrassed to bring friends home in high school.
Mom and Dad were industrious and hard working and saving. My mother died two days after I was 25 and my father when when I was almost 40, with two children. He lived the last years of his life in a nursing home in Hamdan, CT. He lived with us in New Haven while I was Rector of St. Paul's there for a year, until he started wandering away and I'd have to go find him. He had enough savings to pay for his nursing home until the last year when I got him on Title 19. He was senile by then so he never knew.Good thing, he hated welfare!
His brothers--Sidney, Russel and Adelbert--were a step higher on the class system than most of my mother's family. And solid Republicans. My mother's family, blue collar and teachers, were Democrats. I sometimes think if they were all alive today that would be reversed.
I was profoundly and deeply loved. No one ever laid a hand on me in anger. My cousins kept me company until I was in school. It's almost embarrassing to reflect back on such an idyllic childhood--wandering the mountains with my friends in a town were everyone knew everyone--both Black and White--and where you were always safe.
So many childhoods are damaged and dangerous and mine had no damage or danger at all.
14 Jones cousins and 3 Bradley cousins and 16 aunts and uncles to nurture the youngest of all those cousins. I give thanks for my childhood. I'm not sure--though I hope--I could have overcome adversity in my early life.
But there wasn't any. Wholesome and mostly joyous.
What a way to grow up. How much to be full of gratitude for.....
We weren't poor--by no means and especially against the backdrop of rural Appalachian poverty. My mother taught school and my dad, a coal miner until after WW II's Europe ruined his lungs, owned a cafe for a time, worked for my uncle in a grocery store, had a dry cleaning route and finally sold insurance. And when I went off to college, mom and dad bought a house in Princeton for cash, just as they always bought cars for cash. (Dad was 43 when I was born and mom was 38. They never expected me! And I always wondered why they waited until I left to buy a house. Maybe they didn't want me to change schools, I don't know. But sometimes I think I was an 18 year interruption in their life together....)
We weren't poor, but until I left for college we lived in a two bedroom apartment over a small grocery store with no central heat and only an electric heater in the bathroom. Two stoves gave us heat in winter. Nothing gave us cool in summer except fans.
I was embarrassed by our apartment for the latter part of my life there. Almost everyone I knew, including Bern's family, had central heat and didn't have to bathe in a tin tub in the living room beside the Warm Morning stove in the winter. People had showers, for goodness sake. I was embarrassed to bring friends home in high school.
Mom and Dad were industrious and hard working and saving. My mother died two days after I was 25 and my father when when I was almost 40, with two children. He lived the last years of his life in a nursing home in Hamdan, CT. He lived with us in New Haven while I was Rector of St. Paul's there for a year, until he started wandering away and I'd have to go find him. He had enough savings to pay for his nursing home until the last year when I got him on Title 19. He was senile by then so he never knew.Good thing, he hated welfare!
His brothers--Sidney, Russel and Adelbert--were a step higher on the class system than most of my mother's family. And solid Republicans. My mother's family, blue collar and teachers, were Democrats. I sometimes think if they were all alive today that would be reversed.
I was profoundly and deeply loved. No one ever laid a hand on me in anger. My cousins kept me company until I was in school. It's almost embarrassing to reflect back on such an idyllic childhood--wandering the mountains with my friends in a town were everyone knew everyone--both Black and White--and where you were always safe.
So many childhoods are damaged and dangerous and mine had no damage or danger at all.
14 Jones cousins and 3 Bradley cousins and 16 aunts and uncles to nurture the youngest of all those cousins. I give thanks for my childhood. I'm not sure--though I hope--I could have overcome adversity in my early life.
But there wasn't any. Wholesome and mostly joyous.
What a way to grow up. How much to be full of gratitude for.....
Monday, July 30, 2018
Back in time
I drove to Baltimore on Friday morning.
Just before I left, Bern asked, "when's your train?"
For some 5 plus hours on the road south, I wondered why I hadn't taken the train. I could have rested, read, had something to eat. I did that when my Aunt Elise died and Mejol picked me up at the Baltimore train station and the next day we drove to Charleston, WV.
What an idiot, not to take the train!
Anyway, Mejol and I talked late into the night on Friday and on Saturday drove to Elliston, Virginia, 16 miles from nowhere and just beyond Roanoke to Jan/Ann's 80th birthday party. Here's how the 1st cousins on my mother's side broke down: Uncle Graham and Aunt Elise Jones (8), Uncle Lee and Aunt Juanette Pugh (4), Aunt Georgie and Uncle Jim Perkins (2) and Virgil and Cleo Bradley (1--me!!!) I was the youngest by almost 7 years of them all.
Jan/Ann are Jones' cousins.Five of the 8 remain alive. All were at the party.
Of the 15 of us, 5 are dead now.
When Mejol and I drove in and tried to find a parking place on a vast area, I saw my cousin, Richard Jones. I haven't seen him in decades and would have known him everywhere. He is an older version of who he always was.
Jan and Ann are still identical after 80 years. Both wore cowboy boots. Ann's were red and Jan's were orange so we could tell them apart.
Michael and Patricia--Michael younger and Patricia older--were there. Along with Richard they are the surviving 5 of the 8 Jones first cousins. I couldn't have picked Michael out of a two person line-up, he's changed so much. But he must work out--flat stomach, wide shoulders.
Joel Pugh was there--one of three surviving Pugh cousins. His sister Gail seems to be locked in by her husband and can't socialize though they live close to Elliston and his brother, Duane belongs to a cult that claims to be Christian but keeps the Jewish Sabbath and can't travel on Saturday. Marlin, the final Pugh, died a year or so ago.
Mejol is one of the Perkins cousins--her brother, Bradley is dead for years now. Lore was he was named for my father but Georgie couldn't abide either 'Virgil' or 'Hoyt', so she named him 'Bradley'.
Mejol and I were on the road for 9 hours on Saturday, still we stayed up that night talking. Mejol said she was one of the people who have known me my whole life. And she is. My parents sort of adopted her as a surrogate daughter until I came along unexpectedly when they were both 40 or more. Unusual in those days. Mejol went on vacation with us through my childhood and was my baby sitter and almost sister. She has known me all my life. Amazing. I was stunned by reality when she said that.
We had breakfast on Sunday with Elizabeth (Mejol's daughter) and her husband. Great 2nd cousin and 2nd cousin in law. I had sausage gravy on biscuits, a real joy for me.
Then I drove home.
Probably will write more about the weekend. And maybe not. Who knows?
Not me.
Just before I left, Bern asked, "when's your train?"
For some 5 plus hours on the road south, I wondered why I hadn't taken the train. I could have rested, read, had something to eat. I did that when my Aunt Elise died and Mejol picked me up at the Baltimore train station and the next day we drove to Charleston, WV.
What an idiot, not to take the train!
Anyway, Mejol and I talked late into the night on Friday and on Saturday drove to Elliston, Virginia, 16 miles from nowhere and just beyond Roanoke to Jan/Ann's 80th birthday party. Here's how the 1st cousins on my mother's side broke down: Uncle Graham and Aunt Elise Jones (8), Uncle Lee and Aunt Juanette Pugh (4), Aunt Georgie and Uncle Jim Perkins (2) and Virgil and Cleo Bradley (1--me!!!) I was the youngest by almost 7 years of them all.
Jan/Ann are Jones' cousins.Five of the 8 remain alive. All were at the party.
Of the 15 of us, 5 are dead now.
When Mejol and I drove in and tried to find a parking place on a vast area, I saw my cousin, Richard Jones. I haven't seen him in decades and would have known him everywhere. He is an older version of who he always was.
Jan and Ann are still identical after 80 years. Both wore cowboy boots. Ann's were red and Jan's were orange so we could tell them apart.
Michael and Patricia--Michael younger and Patricia older--were there. Along with Richard they are the surviving 5 of the 8 Jones first cousins. I couldn't have picked Michael out of a two person line-up, he's changed so much. But he must work out--flat stomach, wide shoulders.
Joel Pugh was there--one of three surviving Pugh cousins. His sister Gail seems to be locked in by her husband and can't socialize though they live close to Elliston and his brother, Duane belongs to a cult that claims to be Christian but keeps the Jewish Sabbath and can't travel on Saturday. Marlin, the final Pugh, died a year or so ago.
Mejol is one of the Perkins cousins--her brother, Bradley is dead for years now. Lore was he was named for my father but Georgie couldn't abide either 'Virgil' or 'Hoyt', so she named him 'Bradley'.
Mejol and I were on the road for 9 hours on Saturday, still we stayed up that night talking. Mejol said she was one of the people who have known me my whole life. And she is. My parents sort of adopted her as a surrogate daughter until I came along unexpectedly when they were both 40 or more. Unusual in those days. Mejol went on vacation with us through my childhood and was my baby sitter and almost sister. She has known me all my life. Amazing. I was stunned by reality when she said that.
We had breakfast on Sunday with Elizabeth (Mejol's daughter) and her husband. Great 2nd cousin and 2nd cousin in law. I had sausage gravy on biscuits, a real joy for me.
Then I drove home.
Probably will write more about the weekend. And maybe not. Who knows?
Not me.
One thing I love
One thing I love about the New Jersey Turnpike (and there aren't many!!!) is driving past Newark Airport.
On the way south you see planes taking off--huge things defying gravity and gaining altitude to the south. It is an incredibly busy airport and depending on the traffic you can see up to a dozen planes soaring in line, one after another, beginning to bank toward their destination.
Driving north, you see them landing, one after another, six or seven in view at once, dropping from space toward the runway. Lovely.
One thing I don't love is what waits at the northern terminus of the Turnpike--the George Washington Bridge. I hit the stop and go and decided to time how long it took, coming back from Baltimore on Sunday afternoon at 3 p.m. From the beginning of the line until I exited the bridge to go to New England was 42 minutes! Help me, Jesus!
That was comparable to the bridge at the southern end of the Turnpike--the Delaware River Bridge. Going down on Friday I sat on the bridge for 35 minutes. At least three Interstates and two other major roads divide at the southern end of the bridge and they are redoing the lanes, so lots of lanes are temporarily closed. At least Bern wasn't with me. She hates being suspended above water and 35 minutes actually on the bridge would have freaked her out.
I didn't like it much either.
When I think of something else I love about the New Jersey Turnpike I'll let you know.
Don't hold your breath....
On the way south you see planes taking off--huge things defying gravity and gaining altitude to the south. It is an incredibly busy airport and depending on the traffic you can see up to a dozen planes soaring in line, one after another, beginning to bank toward their destination.
Driving north, you see them landing, one after another, six or seven in view at once, dropping from space toward the runway. Lovely.
One thing I don't love is what waits at the northern terminus of the Turnpike--the George Washington Bridge. I hit the stop and go and decided to time how long it took, coming back from Baltimore on Sunday afternoon at 3 p.m. From the beginning of the line until I exited the bridge to go to New England was 42 minutes! Help me, Jesus!
That was comparable to the bridge at the southern end of the Turnpike--the Delaware River Bridge. Going down on Friday I sat on the bridge for 35 minutes. At least three Interstates and two other major roads divide at the southern end of the bridge and they are redoing the lanes, so lots of lanes are temporarily closed. At least Bern wasn't with me. She hates being suspended above water and 35 minutes actually on the bridge would have freaked her out.
I didn't like it much either.
When I think of something else I love about the New Jersey Turnpike I'll let you know.
Don't hold your breath....
Sunday, July 29, 2018
Driving to Missouri
Over Friday, Saturday and today, I've driven 1120 miles. I could almost have driven to the state line of Missouri.
Friday--5 1/2 hours in my car.
Saturday--5 1/2 hours down and 5 1/2 back with Mejol.
Sunday--5 1/2 hours in my car.
That's 22 hours in three days driving.
And it was worth it.
I loved it.
But now I'm exhausted beyond what I usually call exhaustion and am going to bed.
More later about the trip. And Mejol. And other folks.
But now, bed calls.
More later.
Shalom.
Friday--5 1/2 hours in my car.
Saturday--5 1/2 hours down and 5 1/2 back with Mejol.
Sunday--5 1/2 hours in my car.
That's 22 hours in three days driving.
And it was worth it.
I loved it.
But now I'm exhausted beyond what I usually call exhaustion and am going to bed.
More later about the trip. And Mejol. And other folks.
But now, bed calls.
More later.
Shalom.
Wednesday, July 25, 2018
wait a few minutes
Last couple of days has proven the old saw I hear in Connecticut from time to time--'don't like the weather? Wait a few minutes.'
From the time I've spent in Ireland, I've heard the same aphorism. In fact, once in Sligo, Republic of Ireland, the only time Bern went me on my trips to the Emerald Isle, in the course of 20 minutes in April, it rained, then snowed, then the sun shone, then it rained and sun shone and sleeted until the sun came out again. Amazing.
The last few days have been like that here in the Nutmeg State.
Yesterday, with the sun shining, I drove to the Cheshire Library (3 to 10 minutes depending on which and how many of the three red lights I get). When I got there I sat in the car for 10 minutes or so because it was raining so hard. Went to the library under clouds and came out 10 minutes later to sun. Drove to Stop and Shop (a three minute drive) and sat in the car for 10 minutes because it was raining so hard. Went into the grocery store with some sunshine and came out to clouds. Drove the 5 minutes back home and sat in the car for 10 minutes because it was raining so hard. Went in the house under clouds and joined Bern on our back porch in sunshine.
I kid you not. All that in under an hour.
Don't like the weather in Connecticut?
Wait a few minutes.
From the time I've spent in Ireland, I've heard the same aphorism. In fact, once in Sligo, Republic of Ireland, the only time Bern went me on my trips to the Emerald Isle, in the course of 20 minutes in April, it rained, then snowed, then the sun shone, then it rained and sun shone and sleeted until the sun came out again. Amazing.
The last few days have been like that here in the Nutmeg State.
Yesterday, with the sun shining, I drove to the Cheshire Library (3 to 10 minutes depending on which and how many of the three red lights I get). When I got there I sat in the car for 10 minutes or so because it was raining so hard. Went to the library under clouds and came out 10 minutes later to sun. Drove to Stop and Shop (a three minute drive) and sat in the car for 10 minutes because it was raining so hard. Went into the grocery store with some sunshine and came out to clouds. Drove the 5 minutes back home and sat in the car for 10 minutes because it was raining so hard. Went in the house under clouds and joined Bern on our back porch in sunshine.
I kid you not. All that in under an hour.
Don't like the weather in Connecticut?
Wait a few minutes.
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