Journal

Dear Lord. I remember you this morning. I look to you this morning. I center myself on you this day. My grateful heart goes to you this morning.
You bring me out of the petty worries scattered around the floor of my living space.
You feed me with your blessings.

What to wear? How to move? What to bring?
Let go and let God take care of these things. Just begin.

Dear Lord, I'm grateful. I'm up early on a holiday I hope to get a lot done with the help of Danielle. She is a blessing! Thank you for the gift of abstinence from overeating and the gift of others who are an encouragement and an example.

The day begins with gratitude and promise. Last night's fear of death is put aside.

Dear Lord, I groan with the pain of being human and being alive for so long. I am old yet I fear death. My doubts obstruct my hopes. I trust too much in my consciousness. How can I be afraid to lose myself in you?

I'm grateful that I work with adolescents.

For God is working in you, giving you the desire and the power to do what pleases him.

Dear Lord, I want to let you work in me.  The will and the power for my transformation comes from you.  Change me dear Lord.

. . . I press on to take hold of that for which Christ Jesus took hold of me.

Dear Friend, you came and found me.  I wasn't looking for you.  You used every trick in the book to capture me. Why me, Lord? I am so poorly equipped to hold a place in your kingdom. You hold my hand and I hold yours.

journaling - Let me hide myself in Thee

Dear Lord, I ask your protection as I monitor my fragile health. Dear Lord, you know how much gluttony and sloth have gotten me this way. Please hold me in your hand as I struggle toward health. Dear Lord may I increase in health to serve you better. If my back pain is my cross, help me to bear it. Help me to release weight and compulsion that make me unhealthy and of less use to you.
Your beauty and grace are my comfort and joy. Let me hide myself in you.

Dear Lord, I have been much too harsh and critical. I have been a scold. This had not helped anyone. My comments have not improved things. Dear Lord, may I show the grace that you have shown me. May I feel the love that helps us all grow and flourish. May I express this love to others.

Sunday morning ... a morning from my childhood. Watching people walk to church in couples and families, the chimes are playing Jesus Loves Me. I went to the early service ... the one with the "old" people ... and the scripture was from the Sermon on the Mount, starting with my confirmation verse (Matthew 6:19 ).  The hymns were familiar and we sang every verse.  By no means do I think of this old "mainstream" culture as the only way to celebrate Christ; I just enjoyed it on this particular morning.

Pastor Sharon apparently doesn't do sermons, but her prayers are wonderful. She seems to voice my concerns so well and she speaks with the assurance of God's mercy and love.

Journaling New Year

I measure my life in 20 year increments.
The third ...20 years ... was spent trying to forget the madness of the second. But nothing is more vivid than that madness.

Dear Lord, I am afraid of death as I am afraid of you.

Old friends have died, and more are yet to die. It's not that I miss being with them. When they were alive we were rarely in touch. I wonder at them falling into death. They sing "holy, holy, holy" whether they want to or not.

When are the indignities of life more painful than the indignity of death? Not yet. Not yet.

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This is the year of "when I'm sixty-four". I remember, when I was nineteen, trying to imagine it. Well now here it is. Of course it's different than I imagined.
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I get in trouble when I scold. Scolding usually turns around to bite me.
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When I was about 8 years old I used to make small worlds of fairies in the woods. I'd make tiny people out of paper, sometimes out of clothespins, and I'd set them up in little houses made of twigs, leaves, funguses, moss. I left them in different places in the woods so the lumberjacks would find them.

journaling

1.
I've been drifting away from the mirror
forgetting denying escaping the image of who I have been
who I am ...
instead i have been nobody and doing nothing

Dear God, you know me. I call out to you. Take me to the mirror. Shelter me, soothe me, but open my eyes, Dear Revealer.

2.
Here I am elderly
and eager to get older
and qualify for Medicare.
I'll quit my job and write
and read and watch movies.
I'll rescue a dog
and walk her for exercise,
up and down those stairs.
My grandmother was fat at my age
like me - though she wore a girdle, used no cane.
I think she was sharper mentally
She didn't have a job, but she did volunteer work

Dear God, my Grandmother taught me about you. May you bless her soul.
all the souls who showed me You. Thank you.

3.
Men. All so imperfect. Cruelly thoughtless. Liars. Pompous and vain. Foolish. But I am proud to have
loved the worthwhile and useful parts of them.

Dear God, help me to be patient with men.

An extra Thanksgiving gratitude ... for MY grandmother.

I'm a grandmother now, but on Thanksgiving I'm back to age 6 as we drive south to Tarrytown singing "Over the River and Through the Woods to Grandmother's House we Go!" My grandmother was a hugger and my parents were not, so for the hours we took I anticipated the hug she'd give us at the door. She would scoop my sister and me up and give us wiggly hugs. She smelled of talcum and bleach which she used for cleaning. She had sort of a lilting voice and had the kind of accent you hear in old movies. Sort of like Sidney Carlton in Tale of Two Cities 'Tis a far far better thing that I do ..." or her contemporary, William Powell.

She usually had items around with just us girls in mind, a doll, a tea set ... I don't remember ever being bored around grandma. She was great at crossword puzzles and Jeopardy. She taught us Canasta and even now if I'm passing something out and come out exact, I mentally give myself 300 points.

She wasn't noted for cooking so I can't recall any special foods at her house. I know that on Thanksgiving there would be turnips because she liked them. Nobody else liked them, but I missed their smell on Thanksgivings after she died.

Cleaning, Purging, Making a Mess

Matthew 6:19 Lay not up for yourselves treasures upon earth, where moth and rust doth corrupt, and where thieves break through and steal: 20 But lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust doth corrupt, and where thieves do not break through nor steal: 21 For where your treasure is, there will your heart be also.

I finally found my clown bald head and nose. All crumbled up. I guess rubber does that. Like the old rubber bands that are also useless.

I'm purging. I don't need to save the checks from 1979 (although it may be amusing to see what it was like to live on $3000 a year and health insurance cost $300 a month.) I'm setting aside trash to throw away, paper to reuse, paper for recycling (to be stored in the car until the school year when paper waste is weighed for the school contest), file folders and binders... I've got a pile of things to pass on to other teachers- they are unlikely to use them, but I can't bear to toss them directly into the trash.

In my teaching heyday I had a room of file boxes. Each box had a number, in each box were numbered files. Then I had a spreadsheet with each file number/box number and the description of the contents. Then I could simply sort the tags to locate every file I had on, say, Japan, and I didn't have to sort the files, the computer did the work. I got up to box 51. I boiled it down to about 15 a few years ago. And then I lost the spread sheet. I'm going to get it down to 3 or 4 boxes and I'll make a new spread sheet. I'd like to say I'll get that done before the month is over.

I try to describe this system to other teachers when they complain about disorganization. But their eyes tend to glaze over with boredom. I should learn that some people would rather complain that learn solutions. Also that I tend to be boring.

I'm taking a trip down old tech memory lane. There are illustrations I made using stick on materials on light blue grid paper. I'll scan a few and post them here. I remember the fun I had at the art supply store. This was a few years before I had my first computer. And there are drawings on acetate for the overhead projector. I also found some folders on uses for computers for teachers. This from the days when it was work to convince teachers that they might find computers useful. Those teachers are now retired and a new generation has found other things to balk about. I found a 3.5 in disk with files from my Science Center job.

Reading a book of poetry

I have just finished reading a book of poetry by someone I was acquainted with. Finished is the wrong word because I'm not done with reading this book. The poet is married to someone I used to know pretty well and the poet knew a number of other people I knew pretty well. Although I can't say I can remember ever having a conversation with him. For the past few years I've been reading his essays on Facebook and on the website of the Public Radio station he works for.

I'm wondering if the North Country of New York State is a peculiar part of the world or if I just burrowed into that part of the world in a peculiar way. Potsdam NY is a college town, but so is the Eastern Shore town where I live now. It seems that the people I knew in Potsdam were brainy and eccentric in a way I don't run into here. But then I wonder if I'm just not looking right. I am pretty convinced that language is different in upstate New York ... I noticed this when I found a childhood upstate NY friend living nearby and the melodies and rhythms of her voice were familiar in a way that was special to me - in great contrast to the alien sounds of the local Maryland voices.

Reading this book of poetry sounds so much like the North Country to me. I can't tell if I'm reading good poetry because the voice is so evocative of a time and place in my experience. I wonder if someone who has not known the same people, who has not experienced the "mud season", or who has not experienced the small chilly waterfalls, streams and rivers can respond in the way I am responding.

I only lived up there for about nine years. I've lived longer than that where I live now. But I don't feel as much at home. Two more variables to consider: my age then and now, and the historical times then and now. I'm not as malleable now, and I'm less able to scramble into different geological and social terrains and landscapes. I was part of the beginning of a food coop there and the birth of a day care center. I don't have a husband and a child with me any more. In my twenties, they created openings I no longer have. Here I'm active in the original CSA, but my involvement is more isolated and I don't feel much connection to the local membership. Up north, I was also entering the world of academics and the world of 12-step recovery (and the world where they intersected). Now, although I'm still sober, I'm not so connected to "the rooms" locally. (See DFWallace for some great descriptions of the old time AA)

Back in the day, hippies were still around. I was among that group and our group hadn't thoroughly alienated others yet. Then computers were just starting to happen. I was eager to be involved with them, but had no inkling how my world would be so different.

Years ago, even before I'd moved to the North Country, I wrote and did not mail a letter to a famous writer. I proposed that I could read his stuff better than anyone else. I still have that feeling, as a gifted reader, from time to time. The volume of poetry I have just read, recalls that feeling for me.

As is so often the case with my bloggishness ... this needs more revision and careful thought.

Teaching dream

It's unusual for me to have a teaching dream at the beginning of summer vacation. This morning I dreamed that I was looking for a job in the city and I was given a class to cover. The previous teacher was also there. I had some ping pong balls and as I was drilling the class. I would throw a ball and the child who held the ball would answer. The previous teacher started leading the drill. One child insisted on sitting on his desk. I moved over to him with no results. I spoke to him. No result. He would not give me his name. I had some small cardstock diecut forms to make 3d shapes and I gave them out as reinforcements (rather than candy). I gave one to a student who was sitting properly nearby.

Then I woke up and thought "What a good idea!"

I woke up with some positive energy today. It had rained all night and now the sun is shining and there is a breeze moving the tree leaves outside my window. As I move around, packing the garbage to go outside and clearing the kitchen sink, my bursitis slows me down and makes me sit. I take my morning meds. I formalize my daily plans.

later.....


After a few hours of sorting stuff on my desk, I'm exhausted. I found a stack of greeting cards I saved since my car accident a few years ago. They are full of humor and concern and prayers from people I still have not thanked. Nor have I emulated their kindness by sending greetings to others. I am crushed by shame and self- condemnation. And it's getting hotter outside.

Happy Easter - mundane thoughts

Overall, it's been a lovely Easter. I didn't feel up to going to the sunrise service and I'm pretty sure the "hard core" was there at 6AM. I heard people say it was the warmest sunrise service they had experience which was no surprise when you think it was so late in the year. CR managed to find daffodils for sale, but not in great quantity. I made some origami "easter egg" earrings before I went to the 10:30 service. At this late service, there were a portion of people who were actually squirming. They were clearly there as a favor to another family member. The girl in front of me was so uptight, I felt like giving her a neck massage ... but figured that would have been the last straw to send her screaming out to the street. Her whole crew raced out to the front sidewalk after the service while they waited for Aunt Dorothy. Since they were of mixed races, they looked quite attractive out on the sidewalk and created a nice impression of our congregation.

I'm sure people were uncomfortable about the lack of guidance on etiquette. We were dressed in the whole gamut - boys in suits and ties, a woman with a "covering" on her head, a man in a dashiki, political t-shirts, jeans, and I wore a very old dress with new sweater - and the singing behavior varied just as much. Many old folks remained seated along with a few non-participants, the guitar player's daughter danced with the music up front, Mr. Pastor raised his hands, and not many sang because the contemporary music was unfamiliar. I wished I had come to the more traditional 9 AM because I had those old hymns down cold. I shed a few tears missing my Dad who sang the old hymns so well. All made me reflect on what a strange occasion late Easter service was. It was the pastor's chance to deliver a message to those who only came once or twice year. I was not surprised that Martin delivered a positive message.

Later in the day I listen to Rick Warren's sermon which was similar. A little more direct and filled with metaphors using the testimony of a Chilean miner.

I decided not to break my meat fast today by cooking at home because I didn't want to inflict the smells on my vegetarian neighbor. I think she's gone back to DC now, so I'll be making corned beef tonight, and maybe lamb tomorrow. Even I hate the smell of lamb.

How to have a Treme marathon

Treme is the name of a neighborhood in New Orleans. It's also the name of a television series that is produced by Baltimore's David "Homicide, Wire, Corner" Simon. Simon has shown that he is an expert in making the location a starring character in a drama. Treme's previews promised good acting and noteworthy music performances. Along with the big name actors such as John Goodwin and Melissa Leo there are many exciting local musicians and a good seasoning of good cooks.

I have just finished a marathon of watching the first season. Here are my directions for how to do it.

First you have to have no TV, because if you had a TV you would be unable to resist paying for HBO and watching it when it first broadcast. Second you should have no local friends with class, because if you knew someone else who watched the show, you'd be borrowing the recording they made. Then you have to have patience to wait for it to arrive on iTunes.

I recommend not watching the episodes front to back. Yes, you should be watching your computer screen steadily as you would with any marathon. But, the experience is best stretched out by reading Alan Seppinwall's reviews on HitFlix and Dave Walker's (of The Times-Picayune) very informative blog after watching each episode. I even like to read the reader comments. All this gives me a feeling of being in the know. This practice goes back years ago to the mid 90's when I would join UseNet's Alt.TV.Homicide forum on the night right after Homicide had been on. I'm still in contact with many of the people I met there (Alan Seppinwall was one) although we don't meet regularly we did before Tivo. As it was with the early years of Homicide, the audience input is usually informed and entertaining. Treme requires a degree of intelligence and taste. Good jazz is not for the hoi palloi.

Because I include reading reviews and blogs about the show, it requires a pretty heavy investment of time. I'm on Easter break, but I have other things to do. That's where getting sick comes in handy. For the past two days I've had a sour stomach, an earache, and maybe a fever. I'm too sick to do little else but watch the show.

Another season is beginning and I'll probably have to wait a year to see more. Since I have it in my iTunes files, I'll probably watch season one again. It's very good.

Withdrawal - deferred

My internet connection is not working this morning and I have a while to think about what a blessing that could be. It is so easy to get distracted with the daily news and amusements found on Twitter, eavesdrop on the lives of friends on Facebook, look at weather patterns, growing eaglets, zoom around GoogleEarth views. Tuning into the internet gives me distraction from contacting my aunt, gives me reason to delay sorting papers (months worth of bills -fortunately I pay bills with the internet). Stumbling gives me reason to avoid writing my blog – which I am doing now on Word.

I get online with some worthy purpose in mind. Just now I was going to look up some audio books because Neil Gaiman said in his blog that listening to Dickens on audio books helped him to exercise. I figure I could turn down the volume of my chair dancing DVD and play an audio book on the computer, and as he discovered to be true, be less bored … and enriched in the process. But I have some audio files already downloaded, certainly enough to listen to for the small time segments of exercise. And cruising the web for good literature would be a minefield of distractions.

I have an apartment jam packed with worthy projects. My fingers may be flexible enough to play the fiddle again. And I’ve got Garageband and the Amazing Slow Downer programs to put JD Crowe on slow speed enough to play along. And that’s way down on my list.

Near the top is to make origami earrings to wear around as advertisements for the Japan project. The Japan project is to make and sell origami in little boxes (school colors) and donate the proceeds to Red Cross in Japan. They could certainly use some help.

I got this idea when I was bored silly proctoring a statewide assessment test and I began to pray to pass the time. My prayer was answered with an idea. I’d put tiny origami into small origami boxes and sell them as Christmas ornaments etc. and I’d ask my Japan-loving Otaku adolescent grandson to help. If I get a fully formed idea after prayer, I take it pretty seriously.

When I presented the idea to my grandson, he was not eager to do folding - he lacked the confidence – but he was willing to cut paper and I’m hoping to persuade him to do the bookkeeping (which would help with math). There’s a bright but bored student at school who loves to do folding, so I just provide him with fancy paper. That’s another reason to make jewelry during this Easter break: I can make him some to give to his mother/sister.

So I’m recognizing the signs of withdrawal from such a strong habit as the internet. Years ago when I quit smoking I’d periodically pat down my blazers in search of a forgotten pack. Now my mind drifts in the browser direction even as I am enumerating the benefits of not getting online. I usually forget that I don’t pay for my internet connection … I’m picking up something from WiFi. I don’t even know which of my neighbors has the unsecured linksys. I wonder if they have recently learned enough to make their connection secure. Or maybe the commuting neighbor is disconnecting hers. This has happened before, but I have no understanding of why it stopped and why it started back up. So I am left wondering about the future of my connection. Such a philosophical feeling!

But now I see I'm back on line, so I'll post this and get sucked in again for now.

Even when I'm an anthiest

... I'm glad I have a church.

I am not always a theist. Sometimes I think and act like I will simply rot when I die and random acts of kindness make no difference to anybody. Sometimes when I pray my mind drifts to shopping lists and sometimes church music just brings out the critic in me.

But when it comes to wanting to have a positive effect on the world, I'm always glad I'm in a church. As an individual I can recycle plastic and metals. I can give money to roadside beggars. I can offer rides to people who need them. I can donate to red cross. I can visit the sick. All of these actions reflect my good intentions. But I'm more active as part of a group. As a church member I feed and shelter local homeless people, contribute livestock to families in third world countries, help pay secondary school tuition for a student in Guatemala, recycle aluminum, and send hygiene kits to disaster regions such as Haiti and Pakistan. That is the activity of my church locally. We also are part of larger networks.

I urge you, the reader, to find a church that is actively being the hands and feet of Jesus. If you are in a church, but are not involved in action as a community, I urge you to find another church. Church is not just a place where you practice being nice.

Manna

It was great to be at my home church this morning. The contrast with my old church was pretty dramatic today.

Last week I visited my old church. I was really happy to see many of the people I love dearly and don't see much any more. I got to see Joyce S. who is in frail health. She's an "elder" in my eyes. She should be a deaconess, but the congregation doesn't think women should have that role. Since I've known her, she's been an exemplar of service. I remember watching her from a distance as she picked up nails off the lawn left there from a building that had been demolished after a fire. No one was around. No one asked her to do it. No one thanked her.

She began an English class for immigrants and worked for a long time as the sole teacher. When the class grew, even though her health limited her participation, she manned the sign-in table for the attendees for twice a week, week after week. She seems to always be around when something needs doing. I also noticed that the developmentally disabled people and mentally ill people would approach her to talk. Many people say they have a heart for the handicapped, but the handicapped people can determine who will and who won't give them any attention. I watch who they choose to talk to. Joyce gives them true respect. When she was able to drive she gave rides to people were in need. She visited the sick - I know she visited me when I was sick in a nursing home. She visited people at the Westover migrant camp, and when a man had a knife wound in his neck she held him in her lap applying pressure until the ambulance came.

Many of the people who served at the English class have gone on to other congregations. Amy C. has joined a church that has a stronger mission for service. I remember when she volunteered for ESL. I was stunned with gratitude that such a strong servant would find the time and energy, but then remembered that "if you want a good volunteer, ask a busy person." She was once nominated to be a deacon but the furor was great and she was in tears over being a "source" of disharmony.

I say I jumped church because of the dishes my new church used at the "Love Feast". I had wanted to go to a footwashing for a year before I finally attended one. My first post to this blog (http://tinyurl.com/4vsyofd) is my thinking about it. I had the impression that Christians participated in footwashing because Jesus did it and told us to do the same. And when I finally went I noticed they used real dishes - Corel. The church ministry center is so small that there is no dishwasher. The dishes are carted in tubs to different homes to be washed. I was so impressed that they didn't use paper or styrofoam. This church's behavior with its dishes showed me that this was where I belonged.

That was about three years ago (I'll have to look this stuff up and revise this blog as necessary). When I left my old church we studied the Bible carefully (a strength) and were reminded that homosexuality and abortion were sins (a waste of time and hot air enjoyed by many Christians). I personally didn't know anyone who appeared to be defending homosexual relationships or who were interested in terminating pregnancies. There were plenty of sins in evidence but they were never addressed. The preacher was speaking to a nodding choir. We were not challenged. It seemed the same when I went to check out the new pastor last week. (Not that I would have wanted to challenge the power structure that was in place if I were a new preacher!)

The people at my old church were for the most part very nice people. They excelled at being nice. And I'm afraid that's part of why I've left them. I need to be around people who are eager to be more than nice. The Christ I came to call Lord has asked me to take up a cross.

This morning at my new church the topic of the sermon was "give us this day, our daily bread". Martin had a Bible in his hand throughout. He wasn't making stuff up. He could have spent the time congratulating the congregation on the past two weeks of ministry to the homeless. We could be patting ourselves for doing our good deed for the year. (My old church does not participate in the inter-church rotating program at all). Instead he called us to realize that while it's hard for Americans to understand the importance of asking where the next meal would come from, we should be saying the prayer to keep us open for the understanding of the many who do not have the means to determine how their daily bread will be provided . He talked bout Heifer International and Free Trade buying as things we can do to help others. He even suggested that we could eat less!!! Nobody but my doctor and my relatives has ever had the nerve to suggest that I eat less. It's a lot closer to home than gay sex or abortion.

One verse he cited I want to remember when people discuss taxing the wealthy.
It comes at the end of the parable of the wise manager.
^{Luke 12:48} .... From everyone who has been given much, much will be demanded; and from the one who has been entrusted with much, much more will be asked.

Our church is feeling the economic crunch of the recession, but Martin suggested that we spend the lent season with a goal of filling an "ark" for Heifer International. Here he talked about one of my favorite topics: Manna

More on this to come. I plan to revise this post quite a bit.
It was a very challenging and invigorating service and I'm glad I was there to be a part.

Hello much neglected Blog

I'm out sick for the second day with a sick stomach. I'm watching a gory TV series on Netscape. No, it's not Dexter... that show lost my interest after the third season. I'm up to the fifth season of Wire in the Blood ... it's gorier but the hero has lots of compassion and a really good sense of humor.

I just read on Facebook that a man I used to work with has "joined the ranks of the recession affected unemployed". What's sad and stunning is that he has worked at the same place I worked with him almost 20 years ago. I'm waiting to be let go myself. If it weren't for health insurance, I'd be delighted to retire. I got an offer to get a bonus if I announced my retirement intentions in a few weeks. But they won't pick up my health insurance coverage unless I have 10 years in the system and I only have five years in this county.

I fell out of bed last night. Haven't done that in years and years. And I got back into bed without barely becoming conscious. I think if I'd fully woken up, I'd have had a harder time.

Social Media

I'll write this and then Twitter a link to it. Short items get twitter, a little longer items get Facebook, and long stuff goes on the blog. To a Yahoo Group (I think those things used to be called, or are called, "loops"), I post my daily meal plans and a list of gratitudes to God.

I got the urge to describe where I'm at today in more detail than usual. So that's a job for my blog, TMI. I'm drinking iced chamomile/ginger tea. Just had lunch of lettuce, mayo, cottage cheese, cucumber with salt and lime-pepper.

I'm feeling very grateful for cows today. From them I get cottage cheese and swiss cheese and cold milk and Stonyfield Farms yogurt, iced and regular. Cows appear regularly in travel stories and novels.

I'm rereading Henderson the Rain King. I read it when I was about 20. I'd forgotten what a wonderful writer Saul Bellow was and I'm rather pleased with my younger self for having discovered him.

Another rediscovery is spirulina. I mix it into a small applesauce container and feel like I'm getting my nutrients when I haven't had enough vegetables. My cousin turned me on to it years ago. Thanks cuz.

I'm looking forward to my year at work. I'll be doing stuff I haven't done before ... and if indicators are correct I will not be doing some things I have done (no lunch duty, locker duty, recess duty assigned as yet). New things are math tutoring after school which will increase my income a little, and being a "one on one" with a seventh grader during the work days.

The picture is a nice one of my son who is a graffiti artist at our local "Third Friday" events.

when we have been done wrong

Probably it's true for everyone that someone has done us wrong at some time in our life. And we have been accused of wrong-doing in the face of evidence that we have done good.

I used to post graphs of my student's reading progress in the hall to show that they had made remarkable growth. All the while I was being criticized for teaching reading improperly. It was a terrible year for me and it almost pushed me out of the education world completely. (Teaching is a terrible profession in many ways, but that will be the topic of another blog post). I look back at my professional career and find the most stressful and uncomfortable times have occurred when I was closest to God.

I expect that any one who is responding to God's command will run across a conflict with "the world". It is baffling. It is extremely uncomfortable. It is something we must go through, because it is not a conflict we can resolve.

^18-19"If you find the godless world is hating you, remember it got its start hating me. If you lived on the world's terms, the world would love you as one of its own. But since I picked you to live on God's terms and no longer on the world's terms, the world is going to hate you. (John 15:18, The Message)

I know for sure that I have been in that wonderful state that I knew the world hated me because I was living on God's terms. But I confess that wonderful as that state of being is, I still do so much to avoid it. Because when someone does me wrong, it's not reasonable. It's not fair. It's not comfortable. It's not a problem we can solve. Reasonableness, fairness, comfort, problem solving - these are worldly things that are attractive to me. Living in God's terms involves service, humility, ... love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, and faithfulness.

My prayer to God is that I can come to accept the world's hatred with joy.

Morning Bible Study

"There are two wars going on in the Middle East. The one threatens the earthly life of thousands. The other seeks the eternal life of millions. Does not God want to deal with us this morning about how utterly preoccupied we are with the one war, and how relatively ignorant and indifferent we are about the other?" - John Piper, on Acts 4:1-12

Infinite Jest - finished the first time

It took close to two years. I finished David Foster Wallace's Infinite Jest a few days ago. I plan to read it again. I was most impressed with how well DFW paints the culture of the 12 step programs - better than I've seen written anywhere else.

morning routine

Sarah used the key and knocked loudy on the door.

“Good morning, ladies. It’s me. Sarah. I’m your helper. Got any cleaning for me to do?

Gretchen’s voice probably from Ellen’s room. “Hello?”

Sarah was inside, hanging up her scarf and coat, changing into her housekeeping slippers from her clunky ‘shit kickers’. She put her snack in the refridgerator and made a mental note of the missing groceries and resolved to defrost the refrigerator in the near future.

She went upstairs to greet the ladies.

“It’s me. Sarah. It looks like I may be defrosting your refrigerator soon.”

“Oh Sarah. Good morning dear.” Gretchen greeted. She wondered if Sarah was a relative she was supposed to remember. “Yes, the refrigerator would be a good idea.”

“How’s Ellen?”

They both looked at the woman in her bed.

“She’d probably like a cup of coffee. But something’s wrong with the stove.”

Since Gretchen’s memory was worsening, Sarah was taking the knobs off the stoves in hopes that it would prevent Gretchen from turning something on and leaving it.

“That’s OK, Mrs. Wanderfelt. That’s why I’m here, to prepare things on the stove. I’ll be making you ladies breakfast. Would eggs and toast be alright? But first let me get Ellen ready to start the day.”

She went to Ellen’s bed and lowered the side bar. As she helped her swing her feet to the floor, she greeted her “Let’s help you go to the ladies room.” She patted the bed to check for wetness and was pleased to find it dry. Taking a hand and holding Ellen’s forearm with hers, they made their way to the adjoining bathroom. From the bathroom Sarah called out to Gretchen. “Would you like help washing up this morning, Mrs. Wandervelt? I left you clean clothes on your chair last night.”

By now Gretchen was sure that Sarah was a hired helper and that she and Ellen were being cared for. “God bless you, dear. I think I’ll be OK. I’ll wash up while you’re making our breakfast. And eggs and toast sound delicious. Ellen would probably like scrambled and I will too.”

She thought about when Ellen would be getting ready to go to work and never seemed to have time to eat a good breakfast.

caregiver

Taken from a dream and a quiet time


She was holding a piece of bread to eat, but started to shred it instead. Piece by piece it fell out of view on to the floor. She found another piece on her plate and lifted it to her mouth and felt it rest in her mouth. Her jaws moved for a while and then stopped and the bread rested on her lips. Then she pulled at it with her hand and shredded that piece as well. Gretchen came into the room and moaned “Oh Ellen, you need to eat your breakfast. Oh what a mess.” She picked up pieces, with pinching arthritic fingers. and put them in her pocket. She wiped Ellen’s face with the cloth napkin and offered a sip of the strong coffee which Ellen enjoyed with smiling eyes. After a few sips Ellen’s interest diminished and Gretchen switched to the orange juice which Sarah has “spiked” with nutritional supplements. Ellen started to reach for bread again and Gretchen moved her hand to a fork. With the fork in hand, Ellen was guided to the scrambled egg. The egg fared no better than the bread. It stayed at the front of Ellen’s mouth and then her tongue moved out and to the front of her gown. After wiping that and leaving it on the side of her plate, Gretchen asked “Would you like to try it with jam?” and put a little jam on another forkful of eggs. This time Ellen sucked it to the inside of her mouth and chewed a few enthusiastic motions. “Swallow” and she did, which made Gretchen beam with satisfaction.
“Dear God. Bless this food.”
A few minutes later, Sarah brought a small cup of applesauce. This contained Ellen’s morning medicines. Sarah spooned the sweet applesauce and Ellen was happy to receive it. Sarah left to record that Ellen had taken her meds.
Gretchen turned on the radio and asked Ellen if she could hear it alright. It was the university pubic radio that Ellen always liked. The news was hard to follow, but the voices were authoritative and familiar and both women enjoyed the routine. Gretchen sat in a wooden chair by the bedside, a chair adorned with crocheted cushions, and she made soft conversational comment in response to the news items.

Sarah opened her eyes just before the alarm clock went off. Such a thing happened to her often. She attributed it to having a finely tuned internal clock. It was a relief not to have the jar of the loud ring to start the day. On this day she was aware of a headache and her right nostril was definitely stuffed. She recognized this as the start of a week of dragging energy. As she stepped into her slippers, she made a mental note to detour past the cabinet of medicines on the way to the bathroom. Or perhaps after. She’d flush her nose with warm saline … something she could only consider when she felt bad enough … and she’d see if she had any Nyquil left over from her last cold.

She wasn’t worried about passing it on to Gretchen and Ellen. They were the ones who’d given it to her. First Ellen had it. Mysteriousy since she didn’t come into contact with anyone except a few cats. The Gretchen, which was no surprise since she lunched every day with Ellen, spooning her meals and probably tasting some at the same time.

As soon as Sarah had peed she hear her daughters stirring in the other room off the hall. Nikki probably had enough wake time to wet the bed, so Sarah didn’t rush in. She went to the clean laundry bags which were still by the front door and she dug out clean clothes for Nikki and herself. And another set of clothes to pack in Nikki’s day care bag. Then, having forgotten the cold medicine, Sarah bounced cheerfully into Nikki’s room. “Rise and shine.” And Nikki was standing in the crib with a glorious smile on her face. Even wet with urine, Nikki was like a fresh rose. Sarah flopped her down with one hand and with the other, cleared away the wet sheets and pulled off the wet diaper. Nikki accepted the attention with aplomb and then in a few minutes crawled across the floor as Sarah stashed the dirty laundry. Then Sarah scooped her daughter up and took her into the bathroom where they both took a morning shower together.

2. Breakfast for Nikki was a messy affair. Wearing only a clean diaper, she sat in her Nana’s high chair and gnawed on a biscuit. Sarah mixed up her cereal and with a spoon aimed at her mouth while alternating her own spoon into a cup of yogurt on granola for herself.


Nikki continued to be smiley. When the shower temperature was perfect, Sarah held her on her hip and stepped into the shower letting the water cover their sputtering heads and soak their backs. Sara used shampoo to lather their hair and bodies. Nikki played witht the suds on her mother’s head while Sarah cooed a morning wakeup song. In short time, they stepped out and were buffeted with towels. Nikki was standing but not walking. Sarah sat on the toilet seat and modeled to Nikki how to put on underpants and an undershirt as Nikki played with her own shirt by tossing it up in her grip.

A quick comb, a dash of deoderant for Sarah and they were in Nikki’s room, washing the crib mattress cover and then putting a diaper on Nikki. Sarah pried the shirt out of Nikki’s fingers and with a getting dressed song, pulled the shirt over her head. Then the bib overhalls and the many snaps at the inseam, socks on spagghetti feet, the new shoes to celebrate her first steps, and she was ready.

main character beginnings

A character has poor memory

Things can’t get worse, but they can.

A character’s child is cruel and heartless and grows up to be selfish and hurtful.

A character is unable to relieve another’s sorrow.

A character is oblivious to another person’s pain until it’s too late to help.

A character realizes he has forgotten obligations.

The friend of a character dies, but the character doesn’t know for a long time.

A character is planning to marry someone, but realizes she really doesn’t like him.

A character is planning to marry someone, but realizes her fiancé doesn’t like her.

A character is not recognized for the good she does.

A character is put on a pedestal for the good she does.

A character wants intimacy but doesn’t like to be around people for long.

A character likes being around people, but doesn’t want intimacy.

Being a widow.

Having one’s admiration count for something.

Having one’s opinion affect another’s action to a greater degree than wished.

Not being understood. Speaking an unknown language. Having the wrong set of social cues.

Friends committing suicide.

Worrying about money and feeling guilty about worrying.

Losing friends because you said something about them to someone else.

Being a boring person.

Gretchen

A character has poor memory = Gretchen,

The girl was to come after breakfast. Breakfast was in the kitchen. Gretchen put on the robe that was next to her bed and stepped into her slippers. The orange cat curled itself briefly around her legs and raised her tail. Gretchen scratched its hind side and sent a grateful thought to God. As she went to the bathroom she tried to construct a satisfactory ending to her interrupted dream, but it slipped away leaving only an unresolved sensation. She flicked the light switch but nothing happened. Gretchen told herself to ask the girl to change the burnt out bulb and she left the door open to used the light from the hall. She thanked God for another day of continence and she took the last paper off the roll. She changed it and put the empty roll cardboard into her robe pocket.

Ellen

Things can’t get worse, but they can. - Gretchen

A character’s child is cruel and heartless and grows up to be selfish and hurtful. = Gretchen

A character is unable to relieve another’s sorrow. – Sarah, Gretchen

Being a widow. = Gretchen

Having one’s admiration count for something. = Gretchen

Worrying about money and feeling guilty about worrying. [ Gretchen

Ellen

A character has poor memory = Gretchen, Ellen

Not being understood. Speaking an unknown language. Having the wrong set of social cues. [ Ellen

Larry

A character is oblivious to another person’s pain until it’s too late to help. = Larry

A character realizes he has forgotten obligations. = larry

Sarah

The friend of a character dies, but the character doesn’t know for a long time. = sarah Having one’s opinion affect another’s action to a greater degree than wished. = Sarah

Friends committing suicide. = Sarah

A character is planning to marry someone, but realizes she really doesn’t like him. = Sarah

A character is put on a pedestal for the good she does. = Sarah

Nichel

A character is planning to marry someone, but realizes her fiancé doesn’t like her. = Nichel

A character likes being around people, but doesn’t want intimacy. = Nichel

Losing friends because you said something about them to someone else. [ Nichel

Ed

A character wants intimacy but doesn’t like to be around people for long. = Ed

Being a boring person. [ Ed

…………………….

Settings

Cement sidewalks cracked heaved by tree roots , grass , dog poo, wonder what they ate to make the poo like that, sometimes leached, sometimes too full of nutrition, ants, anthills of tan sand bursting out of contrasting soil, curbs. cars = heavy, bulky, colorful, chairs built for lounging, settling in to watch the movie of the passing scenery, too big for children who had to kneel to look outside. Children watching the door handle or their feet sticking out to the edge of the seat. Adults flicking cigarette ash out the triangular vent window. Sidewalks strangely empty. Save for the postman, save for children walking to or from school. Teenagers paired with friends, youngsters in bouncing packs. Crazy people that everyone knew their name but nobody talked with. A house with packed dirt in the place of lawn. Peppered with bits of toys. Separated from its neighbors with disorganization. Again everyone knew their name. Spilled sweet things attracting ants.

Stones missing in cement. Waiting for the stop light, watching others ignore it, if everyone else jumped off a cliff would you join them? Feeling awkward standing alone on the curb, holding the imaginary hand and waiting for the go ahead, wondering where I’d be now if I crossed, watching the alternative reality fade as it passed on ahead. The early bird catches the worm. Watching the alternative reality catching its worms. Following my lead. Letting hurry make my decisions. Letting hurry take responsibility. Hurry causing a blur where nothing is visible but the ground, nothing is seen but my feet. At the forefront. If I looked to the side I’d be off in a new direction. Holding myself intact with hurry. Pressing against the membrane of the future. Leaning into the …

Holding back has its own independence. Going slowly takes its own speed. Holds its own freedom, flexible in its increasing latitude. Fewer names to learn.

character problems

A character has poor memory

Things can’t get worse, but they can.

A character’s child is cruel and heartless and grows up to be selfish and hurtful.

A character is unable to relieve another’s sorrow.

A character is oblivious to another person’s pain until it’s too late to help.

A character realizes he has forgotten obligations.

The friend of a character dies, but the character doesn’t know for a long time.

A character is planning to marry someone, but realizes she really doesn’t like him.

A character is planning to marry someone, but realizes her fiancé doesn’t like her.

A character is not recognized for the good she does.

A character is put on a pedestal for the good she does.

A character wants intimacy but doesn’t like to be around people for long.

A character likes being around people, but doesn’t want intimacy.

Being a widow.

Having one’s admiration count for something.

Having one’s opinion affect another’s action to a greater degree than wished.

Not being understood. Speaking an unknown language. Having the wrong set of social cues.

Friends committing suicide.

Worrying about money and feeling guilty about worrying.

Losing friends because you said something about them to someone else.

Being a boring person and knowing it.

Bloodborne pathogens

The child with AIDS didn’t know he had AIDS. I found out when he had been hospitalized and a home/hospital teacher came to pick up work for him. That teacher told me that it had taken such a long time to get a teacher because Peanut had AIDS. I didn’t know that it was legal to tell people. I still don’t. His parents had died and his very affectionate grandmother was raising him. He was smaller than the other third graders and his friends called him Peanut. Because he was frequently absent from school, his grades were not very good. But he was a cheerful and willing student. The day I learned he had AIDS I went home and cried a great deal.

The next year I taught fourth grade and I had Peanut in my class again. I was careful to teach students universal precautions in the first week of school. Universal precautions is the term used to cover how one should deal with blood borne pathogens. Universal precautions tell us that we should treat everyone as if they had a disease like hepatitis b, or AIDS because one could never be sure they didn’t. In urban Baltimore that was even more important, and in my classroom, at least one bloodborne pathogen was a certain possibility.

One October it seemed that my worst fears were realized. Another student came running into the classroom with Peanut. Peanut was holding his arm out, dripping red.

“Peanut’s been stabbed!” the student shouted.

“Don’t touch it,” was my first response and I moved to push the other student out of reach.

Then he and Peanut started to laugh.

“It’s Halloween blood!’ they exclaimed.

It took me a few seconds for the information to soak into my panicking head. The blood was fake, it certainly had fooled the teacher, and the teacher’s reaction was certainly gratifying to the practical jokers.

Complicated dreams

My parents established a rule when we kids were young that one could not tell their dreams before they had eaten breakfast. By the time we’d eaten breakfast we’d forgotten our dreams or had found more entertainment in the wide-awake world. We grew up thinking that it was rude to tell one’s dreams, that it was an imposition to bore others with what was real only in our imagination. So now when someone wants to tell me about a dream, especially if they have just had it, I recoil as if someone is being rude to me.

This morning I woke up with the phrase “complex dream” in my head. As I tottered to the loo, I decided “complicated dream” was a better phrase. I noted the words as something I’d want to be using in my novel, words that would be fresh and far from cliche, words that would be useful. As the day went on, the phrase lost most of its charm. It wasn’t a cliché but it didn’t pack a punch either (to use a cliché).

So now I’m not only rethinking the phrase but rethinking my policy of not listening to others’ dreams. If dreams are truly experiences, as much as experiences are in the “real’ world , and I’m happy to listen to someone’s experience even those that have nothing to do with me, then I can listen to the dreams of someone else. Since I live alone, I can assume that the dreams I hear about will usually be after breakfast. Although I think the last time someone tried to tell me a dream it was my sister who was sharing a hotel room with me. My sister was always more oblivious to family norms than I was.

I grew up so sensitive to family rules that I probably imagined some of them. I was a lover of rules. I probably still am, which explains why I enjoy third graders so much. They are “ruly” kindred spirits. Knowing and following the rules has a certain security. People who know me would probably be startled to hear me say I’m attached to rules. I talk too much and too loudly, I sing too much and too often, I resort to sarcasm more than what is socially acceptable.

Here’s another rule, which was given to me by my grandmother: when you write, avoid using the word “I”. People who use “I” a lot are selfish and self centered. Stands to reason. The reader does not want to hear all about me, the reader wants me to indicate that I’m interested in them. So I’ve come to believe that I’m hopelessly selfish and self centered. Even a sentence indicating my avid interest in you begins with “I”. I’d love to hear what you think about such and such. I wonder how you are doing.

An unspoken rule of my upbringing was that the bathroom was a fantastic world, fresh from Science Fiction adjacent to your world. Once you step into the bathroom chamber and close the door, you leave the home world behind. You don’t communicate through that door. Conversations do not continue through a bathroom door. I did not realize this was a rule until I visited other people who did not have this rule. My friend Judy continued conversations in her bathroom and I was expected to join her. It was a culture shock.

Annoyed

This may be the wrong time, but a blog that nobody reads is probably a good as place to vent as any. There has been a tragedy in our town. People were greatly concerned and then greatly saddened as events unfolded. Thanks to popular blogs and thanks to facebook, people are ready and able to voice their thoughts. I wish many of them didn't. The popular anger is coming out as hate. Hate for the perpetrator, hate for his family, hate for the victim's family, hate for the judicial office holders, hate for the state senate, hate for the governor. The popular wish to console is coming out as pop theology. No, the victim is not, nor has ever been, an angel.

People have suggested lynching, castration, harassment, banishment, "accidents" and restoring the death penalty. So far, nobody's complaining about or suggesting we change the me-first values that allowed the family jumbles that made it possible for the tragedy to happen.

Is global change real?

Of course it is. Is human action a factor? How could it not be?
Today is "blog action day". My blog hasn't been too active since summer vaction has been over, but here is a little action. For better, more thoughtful actions, go here.

Dear Archie

It's 3:30 AM and I'm wide awake. I'd set my alarm to four so I could get up and do a little house cleaning. I'm wondering how being sick in bed can mess up a whole place, but here I am. I really need to do a lot of housecleaning, but Flylady (a great website) suggests doing it a bit at a time. Starting with Clean Your Sink. It's amazing how having the habit of having a clean sink will spread out to the whole house. I started the sink project yesterday. I'm going to have to buy rubber gloves, brillo, and a new sink trap. Flylady has a whole page on how to clean a sink, and then how to maintain it.

Today's cleaning involves cleaning my bed. My bed is actually a living room futon which is slowly falling apart because I assembled it myself and the bolts are unscrewing. I put a box spring under the mattress which gives it stability and height and now it's actually a queen size bed. I have a few Guatemalan quilts on it. One as a large cover, another as a throw rug. Since it's a large bed, it tends to accumulate stuff. Dirty sox and a blouse, clean pieces of an old sheet I tore up to use as rags to wipe out my clean sink, my computer, charging cords for palm pilot and cell phone, magazines, a large pad that vibrates in 5 places and heats up (It was a gift from an ex-daughter in law to help out my bad back. I call it "my boyfriend"), two buckwheat hull pillows, a bunch of the explanatory notes that come with refilled prescriptions.

Well enough domestic chatter. I thought I'd like to write to you, but I'm not too good at small talk and really don't know what to say to maintain an online conversation. As I look it over, it sounds rather bloggish and I'll probably put a copy of it in my blog (which has been neglected lately). But consider it an effort for friendly chatter.

And I'll try to


attach a funny for you.

Why I can't be president

Something has come to light.