Remarkable

The 101-year-old greeter met me at the door in her wheel chair.
Good afternoon, she said. How are you?
Good, I responded, leaning in toward her to shake her hand. And how are you?
Never better, she said with a laugh.
I laughed back and said I was always happy when I was wearing sassy shoes, and so I lifted my leg to show off my blue patent flats and she admired them with a cluck of her tongue and a shake of her head. I’m sure she didn’t think I was anyone’s pastor.

I made my way to his room where he and his wife of 63 years wait for me, smiling as I went. This visiting, after all, while I struggle to make the appointments and even some days to look forward to it, breathes new life into what I do.

I don’t know if they’ll see 64 years together. They might, but they might not.

She’s a remarkable woman, he says to me, looking at her, his eyes filling with tears.
Oh, I don’t know about that, she responds with a modest giggle.

I think you’re both pretty remarkable, I say. And when I think about the truth of that statement – of what they’ve seen and the way they’ve lived and the delight they still take in a life that has changed so drastically the past couple of years – my own eyes fill with tears.
I think you’re both pretty remarkable.

Too something

It's too cliche to say that I've been busy.
More like, I have these half-posts in my head, sort of formulated, and relatively lovely, until I try to write them down at which point they come out clunky, like a toddler wearing heels.

Circling

One day last week I spent the afternoon without access to the internet (OK, it was all day, but I was out of the office in the morning), and I realized that I *can* do things without a messaging, and checking various news sites, and and and, though I don't really want to. It took me awhile to find my groove that afternoon and to return phone calls, write checks, stare blankly out the window and realize that's OK, every once in awhile. Though, please, powers-that-be, don't let it be too often.

In the midst of this I discovered the desire to cut things us and paste them on more paper. Some cal it collage. Some call it mixed media. I call it a mild and cheap form of therapy. But I don't keep many supplies in my office -- a circle template, some folders that I repurpose after they've held committee reports and council statements and education proposals from pastors gone by, and some official magazines that I'm getting better at letting go of. I pulled out the file and grabbed a couple of magazines and sat down -- fighting the urge to read, again, the articles, and instead grabbing images -- faces, poetry, words, fonts. Lifting style and vision from the pages with scissor, with tear, with another purpose not yet realized.

Why was I holding this particular issue, I wondered. Over two years old now, and with a cover author that I didn't know (and still don't), it had sat on my shelf, been transferred at least twice from container to container, and still I held onto it, the large ampersand on the cover curling about itself, standout yellow on gray. On the pages were dreams, I realized, some of my dreams from before, from long ago, from yesteryear, from back then. Not realized, those offers and programs called forth from the page, come here, go there, low-residency, top folks, study with the best.

I got part way through the magazine before I started to feel that twinge, that pull, that things that said, this is why you've saved me -- because within these pages there is something more than script on paper, there is something more than programs and offers, there is something other than today or yesterday or even tomorrow -- hope, vision, dream. With that in hand, I wrote this all down, then turned to face the paper again -- scissors and glue, circle and promise, together to create a new vision from old dreams.

Hello?

My husband recently got a fancy new phone, you know, a "smartphone" that allows him to check email and send things on a qwerty keypad. It's nice and when he's driving, I use it to check things online and to send an occasional update or email. Mine is a standard flip phone, and it works just fine. However, as I find myself being out of the office more and more, on the road or simply away to places without (free) business centers or even a computer, I dream of being able to check in without having to go home or to the office. It seems silly in some ways to me, but in other ways it's a good use of resources... some might even say in this line of work, that it's good stewardship.

This morning he handed me the fancyschmancy device and said, "read this." Under the banner headline of "Smartphones Now Ringing for Women," the New York Times reported on the trend of women increasingly wanting smartphones -- iphone, blacberry, etc. He hadn't read more than the opening sentences, but as I've lusted after his phone he thought I might find it of interest.

Interesting, yes. Slightly enraging? Yep.

With quotes such as, "Women have been using them for years in business, of course, but many are finding that the phones can also help manage their families’ hectic schedules and keep them in touch with friends" Ms. Holson proceeded to illustrate that women can use a phone (and it doesn't have to be pink! WHAT?! Shock of all shocks!) to keep every bit of their life in order. You know, on top of all of the things that they do in the office. And, better still, it's not seen as "geeky" anymore to be connected. Perhaps if she'd left out the phrase "of course" that particular quote wouldn't have perturbed me quite so much. As if women had just realized that they could use a planner to schedule everything else -- and not. just. work.

Because look -- women can operate technology, too!

(Just for the record: I have nothing against the pink phone. I would happily use one if given the opportunity.)

Weepy

I finished a book tonight, and toward the end, I got all weepy. OK, by the time I closed the cover, I was wiping hot tears from my cheeks. The book wasn't a literary masterpiece, by any means, but it was touching and sad.

As I was chiding myself for the tears over a silly book, I thought about the other times that I've cried recently -- a movie, a song on the radio. And then I remembered a pattern I've developed. I don't nap, even Sunday afternoons; instead I plow through the day and whatever exhaustion I'm feeling. When evening comes, after dinner and often with a glass of wine, I'll watch Ty's makeover home show. You know the one. We call it the weepy home show -- because I cry. Every. Week. It took me awhile to realize that this emotional release was helpful, necessary, whatever -- but that it is an emotional release.

So it was with the book, the movie, the song. In the many ways that I'm strong in many places, the emotions sneak up on me and I'm discreetly trying to wipe away the wetness on my cheeks before I reach my next destination, or turn the aisle in the store after looking at a particularly touching card.

When I sat down to write this, I thought, "I'm tired. It's been a long weekend." But that statement stretched into a question of week? couple off weeks? month? And so I found myself weeping tonight, tears that slid off the side of my face as I finished my book.

Honored Roads

It’s a long ways, she said. I know it’s a lot to ask. And when I sat down with her today, she handed me a map, copied from a standard atlas. Roads and highways that I’ve come to know, numbers and directions that are being written on my heart in ways that I never would have expected. Stapled to the back of that sheet, which would be available to anyone, was another map. Closer in detail, and seemingly hand-drawn, though that would surprise me, the map showed acreage and owners, creeks (or cricks) and stands of trees.

I would be honored to stand at the graveside, to pour dirt on the casket, to pray for commendation, and to be present as you say your farewells. I would be honored to walk with you, my heels sinking into the rich dirt of this corner set aside for a place of remembrance and holiness. I would be honored to sit and hear you tell stories, to hear your laughter and see your tears, to learn about this man whom you loved, whom you still, will always love, to discover anew what he was all about – service and people, reaching out to those whom he did not know, making a difference with all he knew.

This thing that we do, as pastors, is exhausting and untimely. It’s messy and yucky, and we try to move between bedside and baseball game and babies’ first cries seamlessly. Sometimes that works, and we’re able to slide here and there, filling our wells to drain them into someone else’s. I speak in metaphor and idea; I ponder and reflect and ask “good questions” and at the end of the day, the quiet of the night, with only the tip-tip-clack of nails on keyboard, I wonder if any of it matters. If any of it makes a difference. And I know, really, that it does. That this is belief and faith; that this life (mine, that of a pastor, yours) is all about moving from this thing to that one, about shifting from one to the other and being honored to simply be part.

I’m tired today, and that’s OK. These days have been full of the things that make up life – games and conversations, hands reached out over tables and across chairs in family waiting rooms, heads bowed in prayer and thrown back in laughter. The sun has shone down, making hair warm and brows sweaty, stirring seeds deep in the earth, calling, “Come out! Come out!”

In a couple of days I will drive a couple of hours, probably more with construction and traffic, and when I get there, it will be holy ground: green studded with marble and granite, surrounded by those open-country sounds of early summer, cows and tractors, big trucks and cars on dirt roads. These are not roads I have traveled before, but in the ways of heritage, they are already written in my heart. We will open the earth, speak words and read prayers, we will lift our hearts and commend, and it won’t be far at all.

Traveling

Every summer we try to "go home." Living hours upon hours away from family has advantages, but we do try to make the pilgrimage each summer, and again sometime in the winter. It's sort of the deal we struck moving so far away. We grumble about it every time, and it's hard to spend time with family in such an intense way, seeing everyone in a short, compact amount of time, trying to make sure that everyone feels like they've had their fair share of us. Of course everyone wishes that there was more time, more days, more moments.

This summer, for a variety of reasons, we don't have anything on the calendar except a lot of times that won't work. In fact, we don't have any sort of non-work related travel on the calendar at all, until October. Perhaps that should change. It might help my outlook on the world, to know that there would be time away.

Lorenzo

I'm the type of person who can watch the same movie over and over and over. Of course not every movie is worthy of such a watching, a casual playing while I do something else, or an intentional burrowing on the couch, blankets and snacks around.

Lorenzo's Oil was one of them. I watched it several times, crying each and every time, awed by the strength of the parents, the dedication and the intensity.

The inspiration for the movie died yesterday at age 30. May he rest in peace.

Hanging

So much hangs in that moment between question and answer.

Truth? Maybe. Comfort? Probably. Laughter? Possibly.

Full-up

I'm all full-up, as my kidlet used to say, from this past week. All brimming with inspiration, of speakers and brushes with fame. I'm satiated with friends and connections, new and old. I'm a bit sloshy with the life, and drunk on conversation and idea.
And now I'm back, drawn again to word and immersed in a sacramental life. I'm asking questions again, of myself, my place, my calling, searching for clarity and synchronicity, trying to answer that which I asked others. I'm looking for that yearning bit and trying to stand apart.
It's not easy, this calling, and it's been good to have a break, to realize that no one else lives an especially easy life, either. That there are always obligations and questions, irritations and frustrations.

Trying to find a word.

The place, the people, the time:
Amazing, sacred, full, intense, delightful, unexpected.
Stunning, gracious, good-natured, laughing.
Divine. Quotidian.

Grand Tour Friday Five

From Songbird over at the RevGals:
One of our original ring members, jo(e), wrote yesterday about a trip she and her sisters are taking overseas with their parents, to celebrate their 50th wedding anniversary. Many other RevGals are headed for the Festival of Homiletics in the coming week (click here for information on a RevGals meetup!!).
In honor of these upcoming trips, herewith your Grand Tour Friday Five.

Name five places that fall into the following categories:
1) Favorite Destination -- someplace you've visited once or often and would gladly go again
There are so many!! As someone who loves to travel, there are many places I would gladly go again, so I'll list five in honor of the Friday Five:
Baltimore and Washington DC -- I would gladly go again to explore more than the Inner Harbor, and to simply explore more of the history. (Ok, I know that's two, but I'm considering that it could be done in one visit!)

Hawaii -- I've done the historical and touristy things, but I'd love to go with no other purpose than sitting in the sun and listening to the ocean.

Texas -- for good friends.

Montana -- if for no other reason than to lay on my back and gaze at the stars in Big Sky country.

Grandma's farm -- to lift dirt from the edge of the field and know that there is peace within that heritage of soil.

2) Unfavorite Destination -- someplace you wish you had never been (and why)
Bountiful, Utah -- we drove around there for a very. long. time. before realizing how lost we really were.

3) Fantasy Destination -- someplace to visit if cost and/or time did not matter
New York City, to which I've never been. Of course, I'd also love to visit Greece and have ample time to do both the historical AND the fantasy of a place by the sea and nothing to do but read and enjoy good food.

4) Fictional Destination -- someplace from a book or movie or other art or media form you would love to visit, although it exists only in imagination
I just finished reading The Pajama Girls of Lambert Square by Rosina Lippi, and if for no other reason than to spend a day in the shop Coccoon, I'd love to go there.

5) Funny Destination -- the funniest place name you've ever visited or want to visit
I've got nothin' for this one. Though the name of my hometown is pretty funny, so perhaps I'm sensitive to the funny-named town!

Signs

I've chronicled the Saga of My Unwashed Coffee Cups here before.

I washed the collection this morning, and realized that it's one of the tangible signs that I'm getting ready to go away for a bit. I wash my coffee cups. Some people clean their home. I wash cups.

Next week? I do believe it's called room service.

Better than the crossword puzzle

I never realize how entrenched I am in the little routines of my life until I change them. Obvious, perhaps, and yet.... perhaps I should change more than one of them in any given day.

This morning I had to stop and walk myself through the shampoo/rinse/condition/wash/rinse cycle because I'd moved my shampoo.

And this afternoon? I nearly just threw my chewed gum on the carpet of my office because I moved my garbage can.

Laughing?
Try it.

Words

You remind me of words

I said long ago

Words that I'd forgotten

and scenarios 

I had scrubbed clean away. 

You make me laugh

and somehow sad, 

not knowing what

this is all about. 

I scanned over some

pieces today

that represented 

more than the black and white

on the page, 

and that conjured up places

I'd allowed to gather dust. 

Tile by tile

Piece by piece

Creating a bit of 

wholeness. 

From the dirt

I raked 10 brown yard bags full of old mulch, leaves I'd banked around trees in the fall, crusted bed toppings that hadn't been tended to in years (?). It felt renewing to uncover the ground and see where things that had been left behind had turned the ground deep and rich, dark and cool. I plunked down some new bulbs and a path and some ridiculous cubic footage of fresh mulch, and visioned a little sitting area, if not for me for the birds. We live on a corner that's busy, though I prefer bustling, it seems to have better resale value though I know it's just semantics. And I love how the kids walk by from school and the neighbors honk and stop to tell me that I'm making them look bad with all I'm doing out there. 

It was cold, but after wielding my rake and the clippers and wearing the gardening gloves, I wiped the sweat away, leaving dark brown streaks across my forehead, remember that you are dirt, and to dirt you shall return. There was life among the decay that had happened over the winter, new leaves on things I thought had died, fresh shoots of things I wish had not survived, tendrils peeking through the ground looking bold and tender. I stood and visioned all sorts of foliage, creating the beds into a mishmash of color and bloom, of green, of life, ridding the corners of their barren brown. A frost warning prevented me from rushing out to stimulate the economy with my garden dreams, but last night a woman said to me, come to my yard, wander about to see what I have, there are lots of shoots, bleeding hearts and cup-plants, and .... and my vision took root again, and I want my hands to retain a speck or three of black beneath the nail, a reminder of the dirt from which I come. 

Wanting to know

I run and walk in these beautiful circles of people of faith, and sometimes I wish I didn't. Not in a way that says I want to throw it all away, but in a way that I dream of some perspective. How do people not affiliated with the church, any church, see the church -- and not even folks who are hostile or disenchanted, but folks who are just sort of ambivalent, who are churched in culture but not theology. 

Recently I've had the privilege of being back in touch with a college friend, and I've been able to start to formulate some questions, to say, "when we're able to be together, can we talk about these things?" Because I'm curious, not because I want to promote my agenda (as if I had one) or because I want to sell something, or whatever. But because I want to know. 

Because right now, I'm feeling like I don't know much. 

Available for an afternoon respite:

One, non-napping, slightly sassy, incredibly adorable toddler. Prone to runny noses, but very durable when it comes to falls. Currently struggling with pneumonia, but not letting that get in the way of his trip-planning (must include tractors, fire trucks, trains, and garbage trucks), thomas-watching, dvd-player manipulating, chicken-eating ways. At this very moment, despite repeated attempts for resting, he's in the big blue chair behind me, "reading," with feeling and emphasis, green eggs and ham. Exhausted mama will pack bag before opening wine, she promises. 

Easter Shoes

Enough said. 

Holy

I've often written and invited people into a holy exhaustion during this season -- come and worship, I've invited, feel the emotions that heighten and peak, and experience the glorious delight, the fear and joy that come with the resurrection.

I feel that holy exhaustion in a new way today, after having a funeral this morning with the sanctuary still smelling sticky sweet with Easter flowers, the cross still adorned with life and green, the alleluias still ringing in my ears. I feel that ache in my bones and that cloudy, hungover sense that makes me wonder what words are coming out of my mouth, as if I inhabit a different body. The deaths have lined up, one, two, three, and while the other two I will only mourn in my own way, not in the way of a leader, they are still present, and I struggle as always with the grief in the midst of sure knowledge of resurrection and everlasting life. It makes for a good sermon, but with it there is an exhaustion. Some might even say, a holy exhaustion.

Winter, still

It would sit on the ice in the middle of the river for months. People would buy tickets to guess when the ice below it would eventually give way and as the weather began to warm, each time we crossed the bridge -- which we did several times a day -- I would look to see if it was still there. 

I don't remember that my parents ever bought a ticket. I would guess they didn't. But watching the old junked car there was part of my childhood, pondering when the weather would warm enough and the river would run fast enough to break the ice free. 

I don't know how it got there, or how it was retrieved from the water after it went down, but it's one of those images imprinted on my mind. 

Today, I'm not above pondering just when the weather will warm enough to make it feel like spring is pending. Folks at church yesterday said, "By Wednesday, maybe Thursday," and I desperately want to believe them. I'd be thrilled with simply some sunshine, but I certainly won't turn down warmer weather. 

It's been a long winter, and I'm tired. 

And on a lighter note...

Some random tidbits from the world around me: 

* A few of the women whose blogs I read are pregnant. I'm excited for these births, even though I rarely (if ever) comment on their blogs. 

* I think chocolate is an acceptable food group for breakfast. Particularly with coffee. 

* I was sick last week. I hate being sick. 

* The whole personal pep talk thing? It should probably be a daily event, if not more. 

* My dog is sleeping very cutely right now. It makes me wonder why he's crazy-dog sometimes. 

* I had a "still, small voice" moment last night that I'm not sure what to make of. One of those times when I hear something in my head so very clearly, but so completely unexpectedly. 

*We're going to a fancy-schmancy dinner and dance this weekend. I'm particularly excited about the dancing option. 

* It's my birthday month. Soon it will be my birthday week. I need to figure out what I want to do for this celebration of my life. 

* If I could stay home and bake and cook all the time, I just might. Of course I know I would go batty and unproductive after about day three, but it's a good fantasy to have in the middle of a meeting. 

Let it

I just keep thinking, I have to let it go. And I do. Which isn't to say that I will, or that I have. Only that I recognize that I have to. Ugh. I hate that feeling. 

My mentor and I talked at length about this tendency to hold onto things and obsess about them, to let myself have the grace that I would give to someone else, to see that I deserve/need/am worthy of/do indeed receive grace even when I don't usually afford it to myself. 

Why can I preach about God's grace, but I have such a hard time feeling it myself? Maybe I'm OK with God's grace, it's grace for myself that I somehow am too stingy about? 

Let it go, let it go, let it go. 

Young

Tonight, after a fantastic haircut experience, I went for a drink with a girlfriend. 

And I got carded. 

I don't look that young. 

Cold

It's cold, and I'm tired. A wee bit sick, and cranky. Overwhelmed by my to-do list, and my want-to-do list. I've spent much of the past few days in pajamas, with my head in a fog, just not myself. Wanting the sun to shine into the depths of me, and reflect a brightness.
I opened the blinds in my office; perhaps that will help.
A sign of the fog that has descended? Not wanting to plan a birthday celebration for myself, or have anyone else do it, either. I love my birthday. And this morning I told my co-everything that I wasn't sure I wanted a party. Which isn't to say that I won't change my mind, but it's cold, and I'm tired.

Those days of my past

A small box of candy, a treat of some kind -- nothing extravagant, always special, wrapped or tied with ribbon and waiting, always magically waiting on the breakfast plate. 

Having to explain that we weren't doing anything special because he was probably doing something special with her. Wondering why I had to explain this to his friends, seething about the timing and the circumstances, just days before. 

Laughing with a girlfriend over margaritas and chips. 

Receiving not one but two unsigned bouquets, big and beautiful with cryptic messages, clearly from two senders. 

 

Not remembering many of these days, not thinking that they are really special, but always waiting to see what the day holds. Deliberating about a purchase or plan of my own. What to get the love, and the child who proclaimed as he bounced into our room this morning, "It's Val-en-tine's Day!"  

Made me day

This morning, as I was getting dressed and particularly loathing my body, our dear sweet child patted my leg and simply said with delight, "You're so soft, Mommy!" And proceeded to pat me in admiration and love.

Sometimes others don't even realize the gift they give us.

Peek!

Well, my goodness.
I do believe the sun's a-goin' to shine a wee bit.
Aw, shucks. It makes my heart warm just thinkin' about it.

Yum

So, before I forget about the fabulous meal that we had tonight, let me jot it down. Because it's not written anywhere else! 

Turkey-Stuffed Mushrooms

Pre-heat oven to 350

De-stem three portabello mushrooms and place upside down in baking dish to fit

Some olive oil, in a skillet

1 small onion, chopped as you like it and set to saute

2 cloves of garlic (or whatever you've got), prepared as you do and set with onion

1 lb of turkey burger (only about 1/3 to be used for this recipe -- freeze rest for chili), browned with onion and garlic

1 leftover baguette chunk from pan-sandwich shop, pulverized in processor

3 slices of provolone cheese, pulverized in processor (apart from bread)

Mix together in bowl

Drain turkey-onion-garlic mixture, and measure out 1/2 cup (or so)

Mix together with bread crumb-cheese mixture

Add some worcestire and soy to the top of the mushrooms; scoop mixture into mushrooms, packing lightly. Top with a splash of the w-sauce, if desired. 

Bake for 15-20 minutes. Serve. 

Did something

Today I was confronted with something I did wrong. It was valid, which makes it suck even more. But I owned up, apologized, and tried to move along. Several hours later, I've clearly not moved on. 

Tonight I  was confronted with something that I did right, couched in a way that made me feel like I did something wrong, or that there was no possible way that I even might have done the right thing. 

For the record? I did. the. right. thing. 

And I wonder why I have authority issues. 

Writing Anyway

I was going to use an external jump for my writing today, and had resolved to do it, so here I am, writing regardless.... and making it up as I go along. You're invited to play, too.

Things I want to do in the coming years, which I'm loosely defining as 5-7-10:
Take a sabbatical
Go on a fantastic vacation
Lose a few pounds
Incorporate more intentional cooking
Go on an art retreat

Places I'd like to go:
London
Vancouver
New York City
Maine
Nashville

Colors that surround me and give me life:
Pink
Red
Blue
Green

Things that excite me when they come in the mail:
Packages
Hand-addressed envelopes
Magazines
Catalogues, especially for flowers and home furnishings

Skills I have to get me through the day:
Laughter
Mobility
A new inner monologue (actually, a variety from which to choose)
Choices
Dreaming

Things that make me happy:
Coffee
Freshness
My kidlet saying "lizard" and asking to go see the lizard at the "'quarium"
The circle of people who support me
Knowing that the annual meeting is over for one more year
Energy

What's the opposite...

Of the golden touch? 

Other than my morning? 

Looking for humorous suggestions.... 

Few of mine are fit to print. And not that anything was tragically wrong, but it seemed that everything had something that wasn't right. 

Except my sermon, that is. Thank goodness I pulled myself together to preach because for the first time in a loooooong time I felt like my groove was back in the pulpit where it belongs -- instead of wherever it had been, flitting around a frozen pond somewhere. Hmpf. It better stay put. 

Nuts, oh nuts!

I like them just fine. Usually.
I'm not a fan of walnuts, especially in my brownies or any other baked good.
Cashews are a personal favorite.
Pecans are OK.
Peanuts seem sort of boring and ordinary, but I tolerate them.
Macadamias covered in chocolate or roasted slightly and salty. Yeah. That's good.

But recently? I can't get over the sense that I might be developing an allergy.

I have very little experience with allergies of any kind and feel fortunate that's the case. We're not a family known for food allergies -- on either side, extended or compact. In fact we like most foods, and will even on occasion eat those we don't like just so they don't feel left out. Except my mom has noted that she can't eat nuts, either. And that it used to just be walnuts, but recently it's other nuts, too.

So recently when I've eaten a nut, or it's been in something, and my mouth feels all tingly, I have to wonder if that's just not right. I'm not breaking out into hives, I'm not developing any visible reaction, I don't feel sick. Tingly is about the best I can come up with -- oh, and it doesn't go away right away.

I was hoping it was just walnuts, but the peanuts the other evening in the mix, and the macadamia nut cookie today.... well, yeah. There's that feeling.

Thoughts? Similar experiences? Or, am I just..... ;)

Little Things

Before Christmas I implemented a few things in my office that I have maintained in these days of January:

Music. Thanks to Katherine I discovered the holiday album from Over The Rhine. I listened to it every day. I just plugged my shuffle in, and while I desperately need to update it, I'm currently enjoying some Eddie From Ohio.

Candles. After decorating for a holiday function, I had some unscented candles that remained and I lit them one morning in the cold of December. They have since burned all the way down, but Restoration Hardware had some lovely red unscented candles on significant clearance that now grace the corner of my desk. When I'm feeling frantic, they calm me.

Post-it Mantra. I posted a couple of lists in December that gave some light to the interior monologue/voices in my head. I really couldn't post many of those in the light of day around my office, but one day in a fit of frustration I wrote out the following on a bright post-it and it rests atop my computer screen: "I'll never be balanced. I hope for centered... I pray for focused..."

What gives you life on "those days?" How do you calm the frantics?

The Reverse Date

Lunch, movie, pick up child from daycare. I guess it's not really a reverse date as it is a date in a different time zone. Regardless, we had one Monday -- it's been awhile, so it was lovely. 

We saw Juno. 

Go see it. 

Oh, and I cried. 

At the movie, but also? 

During the previews. 

Yep. That's me -- the one in front of you sniffling at the end of a 90-second trailer. 

K1, P1

Days since learning (again) how to k1: 7
Scarves completed: 5
Unfinished Projects from High School Completed: 1
K2, P2 swatches successfully completed: 1
K2, P2 swatches unraveled in frustration: countless
Emotion after discovering a yarn sale: elated
Projects on needles: 2
Most excited about: striped hat

And the sun shone brightly around....

A list of lovelies...

A quiet house

Wonderful choir

Candles to light

Reports that are done

People who care

Forgiveness for those who don't

Gentleness for my soul

Thematic stockings

Anticipation for gifts

Goopy frosting on cookies

Friends, wine, laughter

A napping child

Suitcases packed

Memories

Loved ones no longer with us

Simple delights

Reading lights for the car

Paid bills

Gracious spirits

Purring kittens

Butter, real, organic

Red toenails

Tears close to the surface

Peace

Pep Talk, Part Two -- the After-Call

After not getting a call back for over a week, and cringing nearly every time the phone rang at the office, I called again this afternoon. And had teh talk. Or didn't. Because it's Christmas. Right. 

So, there are times when not only must I gear up for a phone call, I must also talk myself down after the phone call. And, since I've already wept big tears of exhaustion and release, whipped up a batch of my Gram's cookie dough to be rolled out later, and told my mom on the phone that I'd had a shi**y day (we hardly ever swear among my family of origin, so it was sweet that she responded, without a hint of disapproval in her voice "I can tell, and I'm sorry you've had a shi**y day."), I bring myself (oh, and you) the post-call, "It's really going to be OK" list: 

* I hate that part of my job is helping people twice my age grow up. It's a good thing that I'm particularly great at doing it. 

* My day consisted of several different situations that required very unique skill sets. I have them all, and excelled at most them. Oh, heck, who needs modesty. I rocked. All. Day. Long. 

* I might not be wearing Those Jeans, but I am in my mind. 

* I can't take responsibility for something you refuse to do. 

* Look at me modeling healthy behavior! Look! Look! This is healthy behavior and communication. Did you take notes? 

* Breathe in, breathe out. 

* I won't be crushed if I don't have to do your funeral. Really. 

* My sermon's not written yet; you still have a chance to be featured prominently (at least in my mind). 

* Look at that lovely bottle of wine. Oh, and that one! And that one! 

* Would you like to see the list that outlines why I'm so wonderful?

* You're right, it is Christmas. Merry Christmas. 

HA!

I checked out some organize-your-life book the other day from the library. I do this occasionally -- thinking that there's a system out there that will help me manage what I do in a more productive, healthy way. Some of the work better than others, and all of them have something that I can take to heart and incorporate somehow into my life.

This one, though, encouraged me to track my interruptions. I realize this is a common thing, not unique to this book or author. And yet, as I've known before and believe strongly today -- nearly all I do is interruptions.

Today I've had no fewer than 10 -- ranging from assistance calls to singing parishioners in the hallway to a request for a headshot of my colleague and me for an unspecified purpose. Of course, we'd be happy to pose for a picture.

But when my sermon is less than stellar... can I just read the list of interruptions that I'm tracking? Yeah, I didn't think so.

Pastor Needs a Peptalk (aka, a new inner monologue)

I'm trying these on today (or at least right now before I make a potentially icky phone call):

*I am really, really fantastic.

*My boots can kick some serious something, if needed.

*Have you noticed how cute I am?

*Yes, I am that smart.

*No, you can't take my brain, my wit, or my baptismal right as a child of GOD away from me with your nastiness. I checked.

*Did you listen to my sermon? Maybe you should have. It was really good. And I was thinking about you when I wrote it.

*These jeans make my a** look fabulous. And it's not just me who thinks so.

*I can laugh at any situation. Just give me time.

*Where's my tiara?

And perhaps my favorite:
*OK, it's not always about me. But it's most definitely not about you today. So, maybe it is about me.

With that, I'm dialing the phone.

Silly Me...

I thought we were sleeping through the night, since we had been for over a year.

This business of waking up at 2:00 of the morning and not falling back to sleep, and then not napping? For the birds, in case you were wondering.

Friday Five

Sally over at the RevGals writes:

This has been a difficult week for me, the death of a little six year old has overshadowed our advent preparations, and made many of us here in Downham Market look differently at Christmas. With that in mind I ask whether you are the kind of person that likes everything prepared well in advance, are you a last minute crammer, or a bit of a mixture.....

Here then is this week's Friday 5:

1. You have a busy week, pushing out all time for preparing worship/ Sunday School lessons/ being ready for an important meeting ( or whatever equivalent your profession demands)- how do you cope?
Honestly, I probably get all freaked out, don't do anything and then get really crabby at the end of the week because I don't have enough time to do anything. Because that's healthy.
Coping: a glass of wine, some deep breaths, and hopefully a good night's sleep.

2. You have unexpected visitors, and need to provide them with a meal- what do you do?
I scrounge the cupboards for something -- there's usually some pasta or eggs. Or we go out or order pizza.

Three discussion topics:

3. Thinking along the lines of this weeks advent theme; repentance is an important but often neglected aspect of advent preparations.....
I love the idea of Advent as a time for reflection, considering it in many ways the time of year when I make resolutions and start over.

4. Some of the best experiences in life occur when you simply go with the flow.....
Yes. That's true. And yet I alternate between doing this reasonably well and trying to control that flow. Yeah, that works about as well as you might expect.

5. Details are everything, attention to the small things enables a plan to roll forward smoothly...
Yes, and no. I try not to become consumed with the small details -- but I recognize that sometimes we can't just wing it.

Bonus if you dare- how well prepared are you for Christmas this year?
Relatively well at this point. I have an idea for our cards, and have completed the design project for another family member. We've purchased and actually wrapped many of the gifts that we're giving. The beer is brewed and bottled, complete with red caps. Our travel plans are falling into place and we've procured supply for our time away.

It's December

I had one of those days during which about 100 blog posts went through my mind and none of them emerged on the screen. That's probably for the best -- I mean, who has time or desire to read 100 of my posts?! But at the same time I'm sitting here thinking that there were probably some good words lost! Another day, another time, right?

We (my co-everything and I) did a joint pastoral care visit today. I think that was a first for us. We saw some of my (our?) favorites in the congregation -- a sassy man in his 80s who had a knee replaced yesterday and his wife who is about the sweetest. Every time I see them they witness to me in a powerful and genuine way. I want to be like them when I grow up.

Our building addition has been complete for a couple of years now. Tonight there were "too many" things going on for the space, and we had to have a meeting in an office. I know this is a common dilemma for many congregations, and am truly not complaining, just observing. And wondering what it means for the future of this congregation.

I find myself amazed at my own love for my child. Which is not to say that I don't become frustrated at his dawdling, incessant questioning and resistance to going to bed. However, he's currently sleeping with the snowbrush from my car because he was so excited about it tonight. That's right.

I usually post at work and it's quick, or at home and it's on a browser that doesn't play well with the rest of the world so making links is difficult. But tonight I'm using the browser that does play well with others and want to share some of my other blog reading-perusing with you.

I read this one and wish I could make quilts like these. I started reading this one because of the clever, clever title, and I keep going back because she puts words together in delightful ways. I have laughed out loud reading this one, and have a wish list of things from her and her sister; the whole family is fabulously creative.

So, what have you been up to?

Two Shoes

I sent him to school (daycare) today with two shoes on his feet. 

Two different shoes. Not even remotely similar. One blue blinky-blinky, the other brown and usually a "Sunday morning shoe." 

It's been a tough couple of weeks around This House with a Toddler. Messed up sleeping schedules, new bed, eating, napping, family in town. He slept through the night last night, well at least until 5:30 or so when he crawled into our bed and said, "Make room for me, Mama." 

So, when we had a tantrum about the diaper and the shirt and the pants and the location of the favorite blankie and whether or not he could play with "the temperature" (yes, but only with the protective covering otherwise it beeps incessantly, which wasn't acceptable), and then he sat in my lap and undid the velcro straps on his brown shoes, handed them to me and let me put them on him, all without fuss, I was thrilled.  

When he took one off and handed me the blinky-blinky shoe, giggling, I put it on him. He let me put his coat on without drama, too, so I packed up the matching pair of mismatched shoes in a bag for him to carry with The Favorite Blankie, and watched him march triumphantly to the car.  I think we both feel like we got away with something this morning, which is what it's all about sometimes. 

Information, please

I love the idea behind Etsy.
But unless I follow a specific link, I get overhwelmed.
If you've used it, would you be willing to share your favorite artist, or two or six?
Thanks!

In response to a question

Where is the Spirit
Where is God when I...
am
preacherpoet motherdaughter
when I am the woman - the woman -
who cries at a yellow house
but does not. leave.it. behind
(and that is important)
when I am the woman
preacher poet who craves
recognition and a
sense of authority or a sense of feeling
of being known
but blogs anonymously, says
no, CRUMBLES when
challenged where is God
SPIRIT HOLY POWER GHOST
and what are my
yearning my challenges, my
gifts and how am I
true to them
I am pulled, pushed but
am I standing firmproudalive
with who I am, or am I shirking
the gifts that God has given
me? What do I yearn
for to do with a glass of
wine, a book and a pen.
what does this give me
the freedom
to do, from the trappings
of these walls we call
church together apart as
one in the world
what am I yearning and
dare I make plans
cast vision
claim mission
I am preacherpoet woman.

Looking Forward

Things I will love about the coming week:
Watching my folks play with the Kidlet.
Mashed Potatoes, because you know I make them with cream and butter and garlic
Turkey. Hot. Cold. Straight from the fridge.
Gravy. The only time of the year when I figure it's OK. Pants that fit be darned.
Pie.
Remembering Days of Thanks gone-by when we've been alone, with friends, with relatives, or hosting.
Playing cards.

There have been too many moments recently that I've wasted getting angry and frustrated with things that don't really matter. They simply don't matter, and yet they have consumed me and filled me with something no less than rage. I'm not proud or happy with the energy that I have wasted. And yet in the moment, clearly I was not able to extract myself from my own muck and mire.

So I look forward to these things, and pray that in the meantime I'm able to take delight in the things that aren't potatoes and gravy, but instead are things like:

Bedtime snuggles.
Book sales.
A glass of wine.
Being alive and of healthy body.

Words.

250.
Not what I wanted.
Razor-sharp.
Edgy.
Not my hair.
Or my mind.
who knew it would be so hard to find a black cami?
Or that I would use that word with such casual flair.
Dry and crunchy.
Again not my hair.
Kicking.
And scuffing.
Raking.
Obliques.
Band-aids.
Pretty folders.
Lists.
Meetings and water.
Tired.
Worry.
Cash.
Blessings.
A sermon.
Pen.
Piles.
Tins.
Sheets.
Fresh, smooth.
Crabby.
Tentative.
Back and forth.
Fighting.
Silence.

Promotion

I don't usually get all giddy about something like this, especially to the point of shamelessly promoting it on my blog.

But I came across these on a recent get-away, and I love them. Love them.

Of course I'm a sucker for all things pomegranate, but really.

OK, I wanted to find a link, but I can't. Pomegranate Lemon-Aid Mints, by Icebreakers. And they come in the cutest little tin. With a flip-top, so they take up less room in my sweet little purse.

And then I was over the top. I'm done. But when you see these at YOUR favorite T@arget, get some.

First

Just sealed the deal on my first cr@igslist purchase.

A bed for The Kidlet.

Which means we can reclaim our guest bed and have company again.

We've looked and looked and looked.

Because I'm cheap. And I don't like how a lot of things that are cheap look.

I'm also a little irrational about spending money which I get from my mother. It took her years to pick out a sofa, not to mention a new dining room table. I feel somewhat doomed as we now eat upon the dining room table that she replaced. There's a picture of me sleeping on top of the table next to a cake celebrating my baptism. Let it be known, though, that this table is not antique or heirloom worthy.

Maybe my next search will be for a table.

Regardless, there's a new bed being delivered tonight. It was cheap. And it looks good.

gift

She walked into the group, holding a brown paper shopping bag -- not from a grocery store, but the kind you get from a boutique, with rolled brown handles and nice tissue paper. I've stopped into the store before, gently fingering the lotions and soaps, inhaling deeply the organic, milled scent. It's not really my style, but I wonder if it could be if I had the money.

She approached me and said, I have something for you. Because of what you wrote the other day. It touched us, as things are these days.

And I thought about the pink ribbons and the cardiac tests, so unexpected, and the quiet faithfulness that exudes from them. She who birthed and raised a family on the other side of the world. She who tells fabulous stories with a twinkle. She who laughs and sighs. She who says with assured determination, everything's going to be OK. And I believe her because I need to as much for myself as for her. And if it's not? I brush that thought away like the tears on my cheeks.

When we were in Hong Kong, she began. And she wove a story for me about Psalm 121 and the outreach and the image that I had painted, of God coming down the hill after us. So I thought you should have this, she said, pulling a mug with a lid from the bag, and telling me its story. I thought you should have this, and know how much it meant the other day to read your words.

I hugged her, breathing in deeply all that she is. And then she wrapped the fragile mug back in the same tissue that had come with the bag, the paper still holding the scent of fancy soaps in its folds, and handed it to me.

posting, because it's tough to be a blogger without doing it

I'm tired of feeling like I can't catch up/keep up, and yet when I have time to do such things, I piddle it away.

Sometimes that piddling is in the form of self-care, so it's really not piddling, right? I hate it when I have to listen to my own sermons.

I burst into tears after seeing a piece of art in a most unexpected and unlikely place a couple of weeks ago. OK, burst is a strong verb, but "leaked into tears" doesn't have the same cliche-ness, even if it is more accurate and perhaps more poetic. I walked away from the print of a yellow house, but then went back, which is progress in and of itself. I've long tried to hold onto the idea that (when at all possible), it's best just to purchase that which moves me deep in my soul. The print is sitting in this room, and I find that I'm growing from it.

A dear woman gave me a gift this past week. I need to write the story behind the piece of pottery and why she gave it to me before I forget.

I woke up at about 4:00 this morning, and drifted between rest and restless for the next two hours, pondering the what-ifs, the what-nexts and the so-whats. Again, there's a reason that we write the sermons that we do -- we often need to hear them the most.

There is a break in the days to come, and for that I'm thankful. And giddy.

There are words and bits floating in my head. I thought about doing nanowrimo this fall, but not seriously. Of course I still have a couple of days to make some sort of commitment if only in my mind, right?

I raked leaves this afternoon, after confirming students and being relative-polite at parties. I love to rake leaves. And yet I wondered why my hands were tender as they cupped the cold wine glass -- really wondered, until I remembered. I'm sure there's a poem or a story in there somewhere about laying hands on crinkly-haired teen-age boys, glossy-haired teen-age girls, the leaves underfoot and my citified hands that gathered leaves and invoked that pesky holy spirit. but you'll note my awakening time this morning, and my lack of a nap (not that I'm a napper, but it's a good excuse) and realize that I simply don't have the creative bubbles within my syntax tonight.

Cooking with Pink Shoes

After a week of eating nearly every meal out, or at least very, very prepared, I was so excited to go grocery shopping last night! Joy! Divine! Pork tenderloin!!

Unlike my husband who would have come up with a plan for every meal and bought the ingredients for such meals, I perused the sales and purchased things that I figured I could make into a meal. Hence the following:

Discover that pork tenderloin is on sale for $1.99 a pound. Remember that we ate such a meal with friends a few weeks ago and it was really. really. really good. Buy two. Freeze one. Ignore the fact that you've never cooked one. Figure, it's meat -- how hard can it be?

Search for a recipe online. Don't write anything down. Vaguely remember words like: sear, apple vinegar, salt, apples, roast.

Consult pantry.

Realize it would be helpful to have a side dish. What goes with pork? Remember words like: apple. See things like potatoes. Start cooking.

Pour olive oil in skillet. Add kosher salt. And some pepper. And some vinegar. Wonder if you're making a salad dressing.

Heat. Hope that the tenderloin will fit on skillet that you usually use for pancakes. Figure you can cut it if it doesn't.

Wonder, when looking at the package, why this one is more than three pounds when almost every recipe calls for:
Tenderloin, 1-1.5 pounds. Figure you'll have to cook longer.

Open package. Realize that tenderloins are sold two-per package. Oh.

Sear meat.

Peel carrots that you discover in fridge of unknown freshness. Lay them in the roasting pan to form a rack. Pour in vinegar, a little oil. Chop garlic to add. Discover shallot. Add sliced shallot to roasting pan.

Place tenderloin on carrot rack, put in 400 degree oven. Think that you have too much vinegar. Go about business of peeling potatoes to cook in the salt and pepper searing mixture. Do the same with an apple. Fry. See the bacon in the fridge -- think, "I like bacon and potatoes and apples." Give it a whirl.

Serve tenderloin in slices with the potato-apple-bacon concoction with some warmed dates because even though you love-love-love dates, you're not sure how you're going to finish the 3-pound container of them that you bought at your favorite warehouse store. Even though you're nearly half way there. (I would have done this differently -- maybe put the apples over the meat in the oven as I think the recipe originally suggested.) Add some of the pepper bread from TJ's that you bought earlier to the plates.

Pour the wine.
Enjoy.

Shell

It's funny, because I never thought that I was the hiding type -- but I claim things about myself that allow me to hide -- age, vocation, my girly-ness.
Oh, I don't have to take credit/blame for my role in whatever it is that happens -- I'm too young to be taken seriously. They would never consider a woman. I'll just fluff my hair.
Ok, I'm not that girly. Really.
But as I've continued to walk through the crunching leaves, I know that I need to claim certain things about myself, deal with them, and keep walking.
It feels a bit like I'm coming out of my shell, though I've always been an extrovert.

This post brought to you by the letter 'v' as in Vague. Cheers.

On the spot

I usually think of really great things to say, after the event is over.
Tonight I was thinkin' on the spot.

We headed to the Big Warehouse Membership Store of Choice tonight because we needed a few things. Tempermental Toddler was in rare form, but at every threat of tantrum we were able to head him off at the pass:
"oooo.... look over there!"
"you don't want cookies. that'd be silly."
"should I shnoogle* your elbow?"
"should I shnoogle your elbow, again?"

And then as we're heading out the door (and after he's eaten nearly the whole industrial-size polish sausage), he anticipates that the woman checking our receipt will draw a smiley face (instead of just a straight line) for him.
But she doesn't.
And he turns to me with those big blue eyes and says, "But where's my smiley face?"

To which I respond:
"She drew it sideways, buddy."
And away we went.

*Shnoogle: to snuzzle, snuggle, and zrbrt a child's elbow (or knee or nose or arm) while making the snuffling sounds.

Tagged!

I was tagged by RevHRod. This one comes in sets of four. They're a collection of strange little tidbits.

Four jobs I've held:
Doughnut Fryer, Pastie Maker, Book Seller, Camp Counselor

Four films I could watch over and over:
With Honors, Mona Lisa Smile, Beautiful Girls, Oceans 11

Four TV shows I watch (Tivo):
Grey's Anatomy, Bones, Iron Chef, Ace of Cakes

Four places I've lived:
By a river, near a great lake, near a bigger river, near another great lake

Four favorite foods:
Pizza, a hotdish that my family makes, bacon-wrapped dates, cheese

Four websites I visit every day:
bloglines, hotmail, cnn, google

Four places I would love to be right now:
On a friend's blue couch, in bed, at a baseball game, around a campfire

Four names I love but would/could not use for my children:
Josephine, Kofi, Marjorie, Sebastian

Consider yourself tagged if you want to play!

Cooking in our kitchen = adventure

4:45 in the afternoon
I open our fridge and see: a whole lotta nothing. Well, that's not true.
A whole lot of somethings that should be tossed, and not much else.
I glance at our counter and see three acorn squash from the farmer's market.

Slice the squash, put butter and syrup (brown sugar would have been better) in them and into the oven they go.

5:30 pm.
I decide I really want some sausage in my squash.
We don't have any sausage in the fridge.
But we do have apples, which makes me think.... mmmm apples and squash.
Slice and peel apple.
Chop in processor.

A look into the freezer reveals meatballs of unknown flavor or seasoning (I know they were purchased at the C@stc@, and were given shelter during the flood at a neighbor's freezer, but the identifying packaging is long gone.).

Defrost meatballs.
Add to apple-chop and process.

Discover some parmesan cheese.
Add to apple-meat-chop and process.

Scoop into squash, and return to oven with more cheese on top.

I love being able to pull together a meal out of what appears to be not much -- this had better results than some, but there's such satisfaction to this kind of problem solving! Perhaps because no matter how it turns out, it's done and over and all cleaned up.

Fighting the Funk

Because these days coffee doesn't seem to be cutting it, I bring myself a list of things that should fight my funk.

Having lunch with a friend from long ago and far away, because it's right now and she's not so far away. Being able to rearrange my schedule to do that with relative ease.

Discovering a new outlet right next door to another outlet that I really, really like. If only ATL would move in next door to both of them.

Having the sense to leave a conference part way through it because it didn't fit my needs and the presenter was sucking the life out of me. No, I'm not being dramatic.

Trying to prioritize the reasons that I do what I do. Hearing our treasurer articulate that the congregation didn't call me to deal wtih advertising marketers, and that he'd be happy to call the ah-hem representative back.

Getting over some guilt.

Giving myself peptalks, and perhaps some actual therapy.

Recognizing the funk, even if I don't know what to do about it.

Preaching Poetry

There isn't much
that makes me think that writing
in free form
short
sentences
deep indents
staggered
lines
of
thought
will actually make my sermons any better.
Because when it comes right
down
to
it
I'm not slamming
(not that I was ever good at that when I tried)
in the pulpit
any more than I was when
I fancied
myself a poet far
far
from any
pulpit.

Last week
I sketched
my sermon
in some sort
of weirdfreeform
that I hoped would
break it (you know, the Word)
free
if only for me.

And I smiled when I thought about standing
before these nice, church folks,
spitting out words
in a rhythm
of stops
and starts
starts and
stops, then walking away to sing
the hymn of the day.

Then I swiveled
my chair to face the computer
and I typed long sentences
that flowed together and broke only when the margin butted in and made them jump to the next line as if scared that God's grace really couldn't flow like the Gospel promised.

Meeting, Meetings, Meetings!

This week's Friday Five over at the RevGals is all about meetings:

reverendmother writes: In honor of a couple of marathon meetings I attended this week:

1. What's your view of meetings? Choose one or more, or make up your own:
a) When they're good, they're good. I love the feeling of people working well together on a common goal.
b) I don't seek them out, but I recognize them as a necessary part of life.
c) The only good meeting is a canceled meeting.

I choose (a), with the mirror statement of course being, "but when they're bad, they're horrid."

2. Do you like some amount of community building or conversation, or are you all business?
I was once part of a monthly meeting that routinely started 15-20 minutes past the scheduled time as the men swapped stories about sports, building things, etc. It drove me silly. I don't mind a little conversation in the midst of the meeting, as it can build community. However, the total off-topic chatting should be left until the end, so that those who aren't part of it can just leave!

3. How do you feel about leading meetings? Share any particular strengths or weaknesses you have in this area.
I like to lead meetings -- especially larger-group brainstorming, visioning-type meetings. I think I'm relatively good at it, and I try to be respectful of people's time. The weakness or flip-side of that is that I might not give adequate time to a topic or a person because of the overall covenant to be done at a certain time.

Leading standing committee meetings isn't how I see my role in the congregation, and fortunately I don't have to do that!

4. Have you ever participated in a virtual meeting? (conference call, IM, chat, etc.) What do you think of this format?
I have participated in a number of conference calls. It's OK, and often necessary when dealing with a national board. There's so much value, though, in the face-to-face meeting that when possible it's my preference.

5. Share a story of a memorable meeting you attended.
One:
The many, many occasions in which I would call home on my way home from a council meeting and say, "It went well -- we laughed, I mean, really laughed together. I like these people."
Two:
The first large-group meeting that I facilitated at the congregation happened about 2-years into my tenure here. In some ways I think it shifted how people saw me as a leader.

I recognize these are both positive meeting memories -- there are also the meetings from which I've come home and put on my walking shoes, or poured a very, very stiff drink.

Let me know what you think about meetings!

And the winner is...

Lovely, humble, peanut butter.

Scoop peanut butter.
Lather. Rinse. Repeat.
Scrub with brush. Be gentle on fibers.
Wash with dish soap.
Repeat.
Repeat.
Repeat.
Wash in washer.
Hold breath.

My pants are fine.

So pretty. So, so pretty. So very pretty.

I'm rarely as excited to receive a package as I am when I've ordered from See Jane Work. Even though I chose the slowest shipping possible, and Monday was a holiday, and I checked the tracking number, I still asked my office every day this week, "Did I get a package?" My cynical co-everything, upon overhearing me ask this question, responded, "What do you think this is, Christmas?" Hmpf. See if I order him any lovely office supplies.

Anyway.

SJW makes receiving even the most mundane (ie, pencils and paperclips) lovely, not to mention the excitement when it's a new business card holder! *gasp* Or a *can you stand the excitement* financial organizer. If only their products could actually make me work. *sigh* Perhaps tomorrow will be more productive after I'm done gazing lovingly at the blue tissue paper in which everything was wrapped.

In the freezer

As I type, the aforementioned short/pants are in the freezer. Of course I realize (now) that many of you suggested using an actual ice cube, which might be why it felt so strange to be shoving my shorts around my ice cream, etc., this morning. It's a good thing that we haven't completely refilled our freezer from the afore-forementioned power outage. I'll of course keep you posted and thank you for all of your good advice.

With any luck at all, I'll forget that the clothing is there when I leave for the office and freak out tonight when I open the freezer for ice cream.

The ridiculousness (ridiculosity?) of this event to me wins at least top billing, which is why you get to read about it again -- and again when it comes out (or not) in the wash.

Great. Now what do I do?

Yesterday we discovered that a neighboring community had a parade -- a perfect activity for our little family.
So, we saw fire engines and bands and cheerleaders and politicians. We saw the biggest grocery basket I've ever seen and collected many tootsie rolls and those caramel things with the white stuff in the middle (which I love). We were touched by the number of children passing out things from the parade who walked over to our son and handed him something, realizing that he couldn't scramble for the candy like the big kids who surrounded him, or reach to catch something.
We spread our blanket out on the grass and watched all of it go by in glory. If only I'd stayed on the blanket. Instead, I perched for what felt like a moment on the curb. And when I stood, the wad of gum upon which I'd sat stretched and stretched and stretched.
It's been a long time since I've had gum on anything. How do I get it out? Help, please, dear readers! I was wearing a favorite pair of dark, long denim-ish shorts from AT Loft that I haven't had that long (thanks to the end-of-season sales), and I really don't want to lose them.

So that's where I get it...

I've loved to make collages since I was in about 7th grade and it was the only project in art class where I truly felt that I deserved/earned the grade I got. There was something about the composition of words with images and the contrast of light and dark, the combining of fanciful with real and then putting it all together. We made copies on an old copy machine and then colored some of them in. I think the original collages were 11X17, or at least bigger than 8.5X11, so we were able to make a copy that only showed part of our image, and I saw that, too, as an opportunity to crop something out that I didn't particularly like, or make a decision about only showing half of the picture of my family. Not sure what to do with these copies, I wrote letters to friends on the other side, and I'd be surprised if any of them remain.

But through that assignment, the practice of making something new out of pieces of something else was kindled for me. Like quilting, but not as useful.

Grandma died (I've written about this before) and we made the trek to the farmhouse when the ground was still cold and the rhubarb was just beginning to emerge, bulbous and deep red, from the rich black dirt-turned-grey. We kicked through leaves and hid our tears and stood gazing off into the distance over acres and acres of soil, of dirt, of land that has been in our family since they staked the claim and said, "Here." And then we turned the key and budged open the door with our shoulder, with our hip, stumbling a bit into the entryway with its cracked linoleum and little sink -- where for generations people "washed up" before sitting down at the table.

We poked around and pulled books off the shelves and sometimes someone would sigh loudly and a hand would reach out to the shoulder, rub-rub-pat. And I opened the door to the basement, the damp smell of earth greeting me, sharp and a little offensive. I pulled the chain for the light bare light bulb and inhaled that earthy smell quickly. In the years that it had been since I'd ever opened that door, and for the first time probably ever, I noticed that all of the walls and the ceiling in the space heading downstairs were covered with pages from magazines.

I pulled my mom over and simply pointed, my eyes asking questions and my body finding comfort in this collaged room. "Oh yeah, I remember when she did that," Mom said. "Your Great Aunt came out one weekend and they spent the whole time tearing pages out and pasting them on the walls, and the ceiling." She paused and looked around, shaking her head. "Making do with what they had," she said. "Pretty amazing, isn't it?" And then she closed the door.

I went back to that land of history last week, to do the final sort through what hadn't been burned onsite last summer. There were a lot of memories wrapped up in newspaper -- fragile plates that had hung on the walls, a lamp, a dish and jar that used to water chickens and now resides with me in the suburbs. "For when we start raising chickens," I told my husband when he raised his eyebrows at me.

And there were five boxes full of old magazines, mostly from the 1930s -- Woman's World, Life, Hampshire Herdsman, Successful Farmer -- all addressed to my grandfather, who has been dead for almost 50 years. I took a few of them -- interesting ads, things I could frame, stories of communism.

My mother has saved stacks of magazines. I have saved stacks of magazines. Covering the walls with the magazines was my grandmother's and her sister's way of doing something with what they had already read, piecing together bits of history to bring color and protection to the walls.

Re-Powered

It's become the cliche of my life -- oh, how we take for granted those things that we have until we don't have them anymore. Health, home, convenient access to anything, electricity. We lost our power Thursday afternoon. Sunday afternoon it reappeared. Three whole days without the ability to turn on lights, cook, check email at home, look anything up online, do laundry, dry my hair, watch TV. So quiet without that background hum. So dark at night without even the streetlight lit outside.

I've never wanted to cook or do laundry so badly in my life. Clearly part of my brain lost power, too.
However, no water entered our basement -- lest I have no tales to tell of an entire baseball card collection lost, having to rip up the second carpet in less than a year, or filling the curb with bags and bags of soggy things. It was not uncommon to hear stories swapped of this nature -- 3 inches, 10 inches, 3 feet of water.... evidently a litter box floats at that level.
And, we had water during the whole ordeal -- and due to an older water heater, our showers were warm -- hot, even.
I've truly never been so happy to see lights on in the living room as I was last night upon returning from dinner with friends. The trucks had been outside when we left and I said a sincere, "thank you" to the nice worker man before he climbed up the pole at the end of our driveway.

He looked me in the eye and said, "Don't thank me yet. Just because I'm here doesn't mean your lights are coming on." Talk about a deflating moment, but my thank you stood. There were nearly half a million people without power after Thursday. We were among the faithful remnant of 40-thousand or so folks still without it on Sunday morning. That's a lot of work that those workers did in not always pleasant conditions.

So, today we do laundry, empty our refrigerator and freezer of nearly all their contents, retrieve our salvaged frozen items from a friend's deep freeze, and start again taking for granted things like checking email from home, using our cordless phone, and being lulled through our day with that quiet hum that means things are running.

Returning

I love to get mail. As a child I ran to the mailbox to see if I had anything -- fortunately I had godparents and penpals who indulged me, or at least occasionally sent me something so that I could bounce back up the driveway. Returning from a week away from the office meant returning to a very full mailbox -- not to the point where my mail had been shifted to an actual box on the counter, but I did have to compress it in order to get it out of the slot.

Much of it went straight to the recycling bin, but even this brings me a little bit of joy, though I hate the concept of junk mail and how it offends the environment -- both the ecological and the aesthetic as it wastes away in piles upon my desk. But there were little delights -- thank you notes, handwritten correspondence, invitations to continuing education events, magazines to look forward to reading, etc. I have done my initial sort -- recycle, read later, read now, and file in my "someone loves me" folder.

This return to my office is also marked with a sense of satisfaction, as I remembered before I left, to wash those nasty, nasty coffee cups that had already started sprouting when I washed them. I'm afraid that my office would have needed some serious decontamination if I hadn't washed them, but there they sit -- gleaming and clean, just waiting for fresh hot coffee.

Perhaps I'll make coffee and read my mail. My work days this week are more contained this week as we're juggling daycare being closed, and my thought is that I'll be more productive. So far that's not the case.

All God's Critters....

Got a place in our building, I guess.

There's a new friend in the building.

A cricket.

Perhaps this other friend will take care of it. Because by the time someone got around to calling someone else to take care of that friend (and this was after multiple viewings by multiple people), taking care of that friend was prohibited due to the season.

I'll take the cricket any day, but it's sure loud.

Thoughts of the day

I need to charge more for non-member weddings.

We're planning a vacation. A tropical vacation. It's a long ways from now (more than a year) but I'm very, very excited. Given that we honeymooned in Canada, this will be delightful.

It's really warm outside, and that exhausts me.

We bottled the first batch of beer last night. My thoughts are now consumed with designing and printing labels for the "Hey, Honey...."

There's a fair amount of stuff I need to do before being away from the office next week. And before September. And before tonight, to be honest.

But all I want to do is go buy shoes. Which I might do after finishing the bulletin for draft purposes. So I should write the bulletin instead of blogging.

trying....

to post a whiny post about a stress-spot in my shoulder and it won't. post.

perhaps blogger has decided i'm too whiny.

i hate that.

Shoulder spot

I usually carry my stress in one spot. It's on the inside of my left shoulder. I discovered this tendency of mine while on internship as the spot would ache for about 24 hours as I held mine and what I perceived to be the collected stress of the congregation. Often I'd have lunch with two dear people after the last service and about mid-way through the meal the pain would subside and I'd breathe and be able to move a bit more freely.

Yeah. Healthy, I know.

The ache is back today. During that period in my life I could easily tell you exactly what things were sitting in that spot. Today it's a little fuzzier. A finished sermon (two hours before preaching) would help. The confidence that there's enough food for tonight's pot-luck would help. Some clarity about life in general (HA!) would help. And I guess by writing this, I'm hoping that whining about it on my blog will help!

Yeah. I'll see how that goes.

Friday Five: Weather

Sally shares for the Friday Five:
Here in the UK we are struggling with floods, other parts of the world have similar problems without the infrastructure to cope with it, still others are badly affected by drought.... My son Jon is in Melbourne Australia where apparently it has been snowing ( yes it is winter but still!).... With crazy weather in mind I bring you this weeks Friday 5...


1. Have you experienced living through an extreme weather event- what was it and how did you cope?
I lived in a place where it was below zero (F) for over 100 hours straight, snowed well over 100 inches of snow that same winter, and then the river flooded devastatingly. Because it wasn't something that happened overnight, but over the course of a couple of months, the exhaustion was a bit more drawn out. I spent many, many hours sandbagging.

2. How important is it that we wake up to issues such as global warming?
Very. And yet it seems like such a huge issue that it's difficult for me to begin thinking about it and my role in it.

3. The Christian message needs to include stewardship of the earths resources agree/ disagree?
Agree.

And because it is summer- on a brighter note....

4. What is your favourite season and why?
Oh, that's tough. I love them all, or at least parts of them.
Winter for the frost patterns and the sounds of ice cracking and the brilliant light of sun reflected from snow.
Spring for the fresh new life poking from the ground, and the squish of soggy ground.
Summer for the warmth and the array of colors.
Fall for the crisp crunch of leaves, and the brightness of air-cooled cheeks.

5. Describe your perfect vacation weather....
Warm during the days -- warm enough to swim and play outside. Cooler in the evenings, with a gentle breeze.

Lists. Check.

For awhile now I've kept a list of things to do on a piece of standard paper, rather than the expensive planner system that I never wanted to get messy. When I'm using wedding bulletin covers from 1974 that no one before me thought to recycle, I write more, cross things out, have more space. And I can still recycle them.
All of this is not to say that I've actually gotten more done. I've simply written more down, which I know is a difference. Occasionally -- every couple of days or so -- I'll realize I've done some things on the list and need to add more, so I'll take a new piece of paper and transfer the un-done to the new.
One of the things I know about myself is that making phone calls is never really a priority for me. I'll know that I need to call someone to follow-up, and won't, and won't, and won't. Sometimes it's ok, other times it bites me in the proverbial patooty, and other times I actually make the call.
Yesterday I was about to make a new list of to-dos. And I resolved to not transfer any of the phone calls I'd been shifting from list to list. For the next chunk of time (hour? hour and a half?), I placed calls. Sometimes I left a message, other times I reached someone and it was good. Some of the calls lasted a few minutes, and others were longer and filled with more than ministry, which was good, causing laughter to ring from my office.
I know I'm not reformed -- that there will be more days than not when I'll be overwhelmed and paralyzed by the sight of names to call on my to-do list, but for now it's clear.

Sweet Spots

Seeing the sunflowers that I so haphazardly planted actually growing.

Hearing my two-year old ask, as he crawls into our bed in the morning, "Is it breakfast time?"

The blossoms on my other scattered seeds.

Dinner with friends.

New babies in my life.

Feeling well enough to want coffee again.

Finishing a project.

Mailing a package.

Inscribing a book to a beloved child of God.

Showing the two-year old a watermelon at the store and having him ask, "Um, is it a plum?" And then he giggled.

Grilling.

A full house at worship yesterday.

Being done with VBS. Wah-hoo.

Lunch on the deck today.

Returned

I have returned from vacation. I am a little tanner in the way that I become, which is to say not much. I have returned, a little bit rested, which is to say that I am rested from not thinking much about this life that I lead in this place, and exhausted from intensely being someplace else.
I have returned from the land of water and cold and hot and family -- a place that is written within me in ways I'm still discovering, and in ways that amaze me. How can I remember such intricate details of my past simply by driving on a road, hearing a bottle-rocket, seeing a fawn, stepping over mud, peeing in the woods?

Things I Dig

I've been tagged for the Five Things I Dig About Jesus meme.... And, even though I'm on vacation, my folks have upgraded to high speed internet since the last time I was home (complete with a new computer!!).

1. He spoke in parables that no one could understand, that we still wrestle with today.
2. On the flip side, he used language that was common and spoke to people where they were.
3. He challenged the world.
4. He spoke peace, and inspires us to do the same.
5. He liked to eat and drink.

You know the drill.... Cheers.

Research?

Dear Research Company,

Shockingly, you left a message last night. I liked that.

Shockingly, you called back tonight at shortly before 10:00 PM. That, I didn't like so much.

While your website indicates otherwise, I can't imagine that anyone out there would like to take your survey after finishing an evening routine after 9 pm. Certainly few of us at neary 10:00. Short of emergencies and the occasional friend or family, no one calls us this late. I sound old, I know, but it's true.

Really, a research call at nearly 10. I still can't believe it.

No, I won't answer your questions. And, no, at this point I don't want to tell you a more convenient time to call. You're lucky I was as polite as I was.

I remain,
Forever indebted to caller ID.

Neighborly

We moved into our house in December, and as the weather has warmed and we've spent more time outside, neighbors have stopped and introduced themselves. We're on a waving basis with most of them, and a conversational first-name with others. I struggle with living as an adult in a neighborhood -- my desire to be anonymous, mixed with the question of how folks will respond to what we do, paired with really wanting to be good neighbors and part of the community. Some of our parishioners live in the area, and are friends with folks on the block, so many already knew all about us.

The woman who lives next door is maybe in her 70s, a widow with familiy nearby who are involved, and spunky and quirky. She loves our dog, appreciates the clean-up we've done to the side of our property that she sees, and will occasionally come over if she see me out.

Tonight was one of those warm, summery nights. I was away the first part of the week at camp, and now my colleague-in-everything is taking the second half of the week. After dinner (eggs for me, crackers for the boy), we started out on a walk ("a stroller 'venture"), and headed past her house along one of our regular routes. She called hello to us from the window, and then asked if she could join us on our walk, and she did, pointing out homes where she knew stories and calling out to folks who were outside. "My daughter dated their son," she'd say. Or, "my grandson stood up in their daughter's wedding."

While part of me had wanted to walk alone, chattering about to my son, her joining us was perfect.

8 Random Things About Me

I have been tagged by 1-4 Grace to do this -- so here goes
Okay, first the rules:
1. Each player starts with eight random facts/habits about themselves.
2. People who are tagged need to write their own blog about their eight things and post these rules.
3.At the end of your blog, you need to choose eight people to get tagged and list their names.
4. Don’t forget to leave them a comment telling them they’re tagged, and to read your blog.

My amendments to the rules:
I love, love, love to be tagged. It hearkens back to some weird junior high feeling of inclusion. But when it comes right down to the return of tagging -- I can't bring myself to either choose or, well, go through the work of tagging others. So.... as with all of these -- if you want to play, I'd love to read your randomness -- just let me know in the comments. And clearly I think that blogger should incorporate an em-dash into their auto-ness.

8 Random things about me:
1. I've recently rediscovered that I really like corn-nuts. And remembered that I've been to the place where they make corn-nuts. Or at least there was a very large outlet/factory store of corn-nuts that we used as a diversion during a rain delay at a golf tournament.
2. I really love a good pedicure, but the manicure is nearly completely wasted on me. I can't read while it's happening, I ruin it within days if not moments of getting it, and I can never decide on color for the fingers.
3. I collected stickers as a kid. I had one that was a numbered limited edition that I remember thinking was really going to mean something someday.
4. I am so much more likely to do something if you don't tell me to do it.
5. I am immensely proud of my pathetic gardening attempts this season. These include simply scattering seeds over a bed of dirt and thinking they might grow. It has actually worked with, ahem, scattered results.
6. I take pride in my father's dry sense of humor and the fact that he's passed it along to me. He was a science teacher until he retired and I found him witty even in high school when I was outwardly embarassed and yet bursting with pride at the same time.
7. I can have boundless energy.
8. I never thought that I'd end up where I am today.

Safe Passage

He sits in a lawn chair when the weather gets warm, bright vest on, stop sign twirling at his feet. He stands and greets the kids who come near him, nodding and questioning. And then he walks slowly into the intersection, his hand out behind him until the way is safe when he beckons to the children on scooters, foot, the occasional bicycle. Sometimes a parent waits for that crossing with the family dog, waving and calling, "Have a good day," before returning home or continuing the walk.

He nodded his thanks to me one day, as I stopped farther than most and waited what he must have perceived to be patiently. Some days I might wave, an anonymous passer-by thankful for his role in the life of the community.

On cold days, much of our winter, he waits for the rush in his small blue car that has seen better days, a cup of coffee steaming the windshield, and I imagine talk radio filling the air. His smile is the same, but there's less dawdling, more hurrying, and the parents wave quickly, bundled more tightly.

School's nearly out for the summer. Late the other day, a group of children stood on the sidewalk, calling to him with pen and yearbook, waiting for the beckoning hand to leave an impression in their book.

Moment

I noticed the curve of the sidewalk and thought it seemed like a cheerful curve, a happy curve, and at the same time rebuffed myself for anthropomorphing (is that the right word? used correctly?) the sidewalk. I noticed the curve of the sidewalk as I stepped off of it to let the man walk past me, step-step shuffle, shuffle, shuffle. His jacket -- thin, dark blue, indicated his allegiance to an organization -- hung from his shoulders and swayed a bit as he step-step shuffled his way toward the building.
The grass where I stepped to make more room was soft, cushiony, and my thoughts jumped to sod and grass seed and rain gauges and errands I was running and the pending rain that was starting to fall, lightly and without conviction. The rain, like the sidewalk, not especially in need of the human attributes I was assigning, but they were working for me.
I stepped back onto the sidewalk, the man having passed, and I paused in my mind to be thrilled at sharing the building behind me with old men, immigrant families, students. My canvas bag bounced against my hip, my self-pride at having remembered it tempered only by its necessity to leave the house.
My car was warm when I threw the bag on the side seat, knocking my lunch out of its wrapper, the remains of the energy bar (my second of the day, a sad substitute for a rain check lunch) crumbling as I picked it up. The heat had softened it, warmed the cherries, made it vaguely reminiscent of pie -- if I closed my eyes and breathed deeply.

Vacation, Celebration, Desperation

I started a post a few days ago that simply read: It's been so long.... I almost forgot my password.

It didn't post because an error message appeared indicating that the operating system had unexpectedly shut-down. This never happens. It started back up, but it spooked me. And, as I had been tired already, it didn't seem worth it to start all over again -- especially for such a pithy post.

We've taken a vacation and had some fun. Our son turned two. He now thinks that they'll sing happy birthday to him every time we go to a baseball game. My parents visited. People came over. I made an amazing train cake. I've now invested enough money in supplies that he'll have a train cake every year, ad nauseum. If he gets married, it might be the groom's cake.

I've been experiencing these pangs of something -- jealousy? sadness? loss? -- at not being at the Festival of Homiletics. This is definitely one of those to-do things on my list. Maybe next year, when it's in Minnesota (or so the rumors go....).

Much of Wednesday was spent on a ladder in the sanctuary, preparing for the weekend. A few desperate moments when we thought, is this really going to work. It did. It does. People who have already seen it are stunned. I get giddy every time I see walk past.

I've missed writing, these days (weeks?) that I've not. The weather has been warm and all I want to do is play in the dirt. I've done that, some, and it's at times like that when I dream of not doing what I do.

Friday Five

Once again Reverendmother has provided the following Friday Five:
There are two types of people in the world, morning people and night owls. Or Red Sox fans and Yankees fans. Or boxers and briefs. Or people who divide the world into two types of people and those who don't. Let your preferences be known here. And if you're feeling verbose, defend your choices!

1. Mac? (woo-hoo!) or PC? (boo!)
Why yes, the Friday Five author reserves the right to editorialize!
We had been a PC family for a long time, but our recent (ok, it's been almost 2 years) purchase was a Mac. We still use PCs at the office, but I love the Mac.

2. Pizza: Chicago style luscious hearty goodness, or New York floppy and flaccid?
Um.... neither. Thin crust, but crunchy.

3. Brownies/fudge containing nuts:
a) Good. I like the variation in texture.
b) An abomination unto the Lord. The nuts take up valuable chocolate space.

Thou shalt NOT put nuts in my brownies.

4. Do you hang your toilet paper so that the "tail" hangs flush with the wall, or over the top of the roll like normal people do?
Thank goodness I'm normal. At least on this one.

5. Toothpaste: Do you squeeze the tube wantonly in the middle, or squeeze from the bottom and flatten as you go just like the tube instructs?
I'll wantonly squeeze for awhile, but eventually I'll flatten and push.

Bonus:
Olives: green or black?
A friend once contended that each relationship has one person who liked olives and one who didn't. There are great exceptions to this, obviously, but I saw his wisdom. Of course he might have been telling me that we'd never be in a relationship as we sat together eating our olives. I will eat them both, but I've come to see the superiority of the green olive -- particularly stuffed with blue cheese or garlic and marinated in a martini.

Gadgets and Gizmos, Good Grief!

My new hair dryer arrived. I ordered it from friendly jungle online site because I could get free shipping and knew I wouldn't get to the store before it arrived. I did have a spare, of course, so not all was lost in the meantime.
This new one is pretty fabulous. And, it's a lot more hair dryer than I need. My child now points to it and says, "Mommy's newwwww hair dryer. Mommy dry-a hair." He then points to my hair, looks, and says, "Mommy all done dry-a hair."
If only this dryer could double as a printer for my office, as I'm about to throw that said gadget out the window. It's made me nothing but crabby-crabby-crabby all afternoon. Crabby-crabby-crabby, I tell you.

Things I'm doing

* Wishing I had more time in a day
* Wanting to do all of the improvements to the yard/house/garage today. OK, I'd settle for this summer/year, but that's not going to happen, either.
* Being amazed that the Kidlet is almost two. TWO.
* Looking forward to vacation. Even though the friend we'll see questioned our destination as being vacation-worthy. It has a zoo, we won't see our families, we'll have a hotel room, and it's not home. Sounds like vacation to me.
* Already not wanting to be at any of the evening obligations that I have this week.
* Recognizing (again) some of my neurotic tendencies about clothes, my body, shopping, money, food, relationships....
* Admiring how the animals in our own zoo are getting along these days.
* Trying to get caught up after a couple of weeks of the Kidlet being in and out of daycare. Nothing major, but a missed/shared day here and there puts us all more in maintenance mode than actually feeling caught up or proactive. Someday, right?
* Coming up with a vision for our lives beyond this place.
* Struggling with that overwhelmed feeling that can be oh-so-paralyzing.

Frantic, Frazzled, Frizzied

Part of my morning routine is drying my hair. It's getting longer, as my funtastic stylist is guiding me through a growing-out stage: we're nearly all one-length and below the chin -- longer than it's been in quite some time. But I have a lot of hair -- it's thick and while it's easy to style, it certainly has a flip on one side and not the other. Fantastic Stylist and I go back and forth about directional drying and time management, and I acknowledge that short of a lot of layers, it's not going to be a quick dry. Such are the dramas of my life.

This morning, after my dear, nearly-two-how-did-that-happen boy-child awoke early-early-early (for him at least, I'll admit it was only about 6:20), and the husband took him to daycare leaving me to get ready in peace, I set about that aforementioned part of my morning routine. And then the hair dryer cut out.

And then it quit completely -- shooting sparks from the handle that connects to the cord. Sparks. SPARKS. Causing me to cuss and jump and throw the dryer into the hallway and cuss some more. Here I go to the rest of the world -- less frantic, but still slightly frazzled and frizzied, with a bathroom smelling slightly of burnt plastic.

Overheard...

Or simply said to me over the past weeks.

While I was approaching a table holding nametags:
"Oooo -- PastorDH's wife must be coming. There's her nametag."
"That's me!"
Since we've started working together, I'm rarely referred to as PastorDH's wife. Can't say that I've missed it entirely, but that is how these women knew me, I guess.

From an adult on the morning of Good Friday during the craft portion of our children's worship:
"You look so thin without your robe on."

Absolutely nothing to say to that in response.

Just not

I'm here, and we're all healthy.

For some reason, I'm just not writing.

I'll be back.