Further Reflection

After finishing the Jodi Picoult book Nineteen Minutes,  I am reflecting on my own expectations for any book's ending.  I always want the books I read to somehow end "well".   With this one,  I was looking for a "good"  or "satisfactory" ending, whatever that might be.  I was looking for some kind of grace or redemption. {kindness, compassion, forgiveness, mercy}.   The "good" ending I found in this book was simply that the truth came out. Certainly it did not end "well" as most of the characters were forever changed, or in jail, or dead.   But as a reader of this fictitious event,  I was satisfied that what really happened came to light.
Keeping secrets can destroy a person, and in telling the truth, one of the main characters made it possible for her to someday be able to move on with her life.

It was a riveting and thought-provoking novel, dealing with painful social and psychological insight.  It was gut wrenching.

I am going to be more intentional about praying for my sixteen year old granddaughter, soon finishing tenth grade in her high school.  I certainly do not know whether or not she feels like she 'fits in' in school, or is an outsider.   I notice from her Facebook page status that she is in her first relationship.  I suppose I should be happy for her,  but mostly I find that terrifying.

Teenage-hood is hard to navigate in any era.  I know that my own had more than their own share of challenges and woes.    Lord help us!

Fantasy Job

I am past the point now of desiring or expecting any more 'jobs' in the ministry.  But it occurred to me recently, that there is a 'fantasy job' I would love to have.   I would love to write a daily or a weekly column or article for the newspaper.  Of course, newspapers are no longer the public's news source of choice, and are in a slump, so those jobs hardly exist at all any more .

I like to have a predictable pattern of my days.  I like to work at home.  I like to write.  What could be better? I'd have a pen name, of course, perhaps Sally.  My weekly article could be called Sally Says. I would espouse my views on an endless array of ideas. My column would be filled with wisdom, humor and keen observations about human life.

In the Ladies Lit Club, one has to give a twenty minute paper once a year.  The topic for next year was recently announced, and from that general assignment, everyone has to choose a book they will write about, using that topic.  In less than a week,  my ten page paper is already ready.  And it is not due until October!

In today's world, writers blog.  I am grateful for my few and faithful readers.  Since Sally Says is not likely to happen in this life,  thankfully, there is Being Sixty Plus!   It is my fantasy job without the pay and without the pressure.

How fortunate I am!

Nineteen Minutes

I am currently reading a novel by Jodi Picoult entitled Nineteen Minutes.  I have read at least three other novels she has written. She tends to write about very difficult subject matter.  Perhaps her best known is My Sister's Keeper.  The friend who loaned Nineteen Minutes to me did so with a warning, saying:  It helps if you don't have any teenagers.   With a daughter in her twenties, I'm not so far removed from the high school days that I am unaware of its cruelties.  I remember her trials and tribulations and was relieved when she made it safely to her college years.  There, at least, there are more options for friends than in a small town.

This novel is about a fictional school massacre, based on Columbine High School.  It is a very disturbing book.  It is not just the massacre that is disturbing,  but human nature in general as it is portrayed.  The boy who had been brutally bullied all his life had done the shooting, and of course ended up in jail.  The first time someone was brought to share his cell, someone he described as a 'special needs' kid,  the shooter grabbed that boy's glasses and crushed them,  just the way others had with him again and again.  Somehow,  I suppose, I had hoped that knowing how humiliating that was would have kept him from that behavior.  But sadly human nature does not often work that way.  The more degraded a person is,  the more likely that person is to inflict the same kind of pain on others.

I am about two thirds through the book, and cannot imagine how it could have a good or even satisfactory ending.  Reading it makes even me wonder how justice could be rendered in this case. The cruelties and shame inflicted on the poor unpopular kid should not go unpunished,  but that was what had always happened,  because to turn in the offenders only makes it worse for the one who is bullied.   None of this is to suggest that the perpetrators who were shot deserved to die.  Of course, they did not.

What is missing for me so far is grace.  So far there has not been any.  None for the shooter or his parents.  None for the student tormentors who lived.      That is what would make for a satisfactory ending to this book.  A bit of grace would go a long way.   It might come in the form of kindness, compassion, forgiveness, mercy.

I have read books before that ended without the slightest hint of grace, and hated them.   I have higher hopes for this book,  as I believe the writer does not have a completely dark and grim view of human nature.   I guess I'll find out soon enough.

Eat and Play

We enjoyed a delicious feast and family gathering today.  There were eleven of us.  Two were missing (V&M).    Once we get past thirteen,  it will be time for a new and different "dining arrangement" because the dining room cannot accommodate any more than that.  But we do have an open space beyond the kitchen where we can stretch out to handle probably up to sixteen or so seated.  But that would be down the road, when V&M have children.

I prepared several "easter hunts"-----egg hunts for the little ones outside,  and scavenger hunts for the older granddaughter and other adults inside.  I think they enjoyed following the clues to find the prizes.

Zanni

Cilla brought her significant other Rick today, our first time to meet him.  I do think he enjoyed himself, and we loved having him with us.  If I lined up my three sons-in-law and one significant other shoulder to shoulder, it would be striking how similar they are in height...probably all within half inch of each other, all possessing very dark hair (some with a bit of gray).

The worship service this morning was filled with outstanding music.  Both the choir and organist outdid themselves with the level of gloriousness.  It's hard not standing up and doing a cheer!  I have to contain myself.

I do love Easter!   He is risen, and because of that,  we know that life goes on.  There is more yet to come.   I  can only assume it involves family gatherings, reunions,  and an ever expanding table where we sing and feast,  and laugh and love together at the heavenly banquet.

Easter Soon

     Easter has always been my favorite day of the Christian calender, and no wonder, as it is the central event of the Christian faith.  While I was working,  I loved preaching on Easter most of all.  Christmas was much harder for me,  but ah, sharing an Easter message was the very best part.  When I was nearing my retirement in 2008,  I remember thinking that the one thing I would miss most was preaching on Easter.  But as providence would have it,  I got a couple of more opportunities.   Easter 2009, I was working as interim in Cicero, and got to preach that Sunday.  In 2010, I was working as interim in Cortland, and got to participate in the service as associate pastor. This year, in my new role as 'person in the pew',  I have been asked to be liturgist, so even yet, I am a participant.   Surely, those days will soon be over,  but I do love all things Easter.

This year, for the first time in a long time,  I am cooking a family Easter dinner.  I did not do that while I was working, since Easter Sunday was the biggest day of the year, and I was exhausted in the afternoon, after preaching at several services.  I am really looking forward to the family Easter event.  I have created some Easter egg hunts for little ones, and some Easter hunts (follow the clues) for a couple of the adults.

I am still waiting for spring.  It is still cold and gray, and occasionally snowing.  Surely, with May just around the corner, warm weather cannot be far behind!  How I long for sunshine and warmth!   For the moment, I'll have to settle for tulips and daffodils to get me through.

Big Boy, Little Toy

  

A.  It is an enclosed motorcycle.  B.  It is a Mercedes.  C.  It is a Smart Car  . D. It is a totally frivolous indulgence!   

Answer:   All of the above.  In his senior years of wanting to indulge himself,  Gerry was longing for a motorcycle (which he used to have).  After thinking about it for a long time, he decided against that option.  (Thankfully!)   This little Smart Car is made by Mercedes.  (He always wanted a Mercedes).   It has no purpose other than a completely fun travel toy.

Gerry is now the proud owner of this funny looking vehicle.  A birthday present from us both.  It is almost a convertible, but not quite.  The car has a large sunroof, so if you slide that open and let the windows down, it effectively functions like a convertible.

We are planning a number short trips--some sightseeing, overnight, and back home.  This is a perfect car for that goal.  Truthfully, there is little luggage space, just room for two people, so we will have to pack light!

I'm not sure how long this particular urge will last,  but if it makes Gerry happy  (and it seems to make him laugh out loud), then I'm all for it.  Move over world,  here we come!  (in half a car :)

Long Island Weekend

 We went to Long Island this weekend to visit daughter V and her husband Matt.   Another very important part of the weekend plan was to go into the city on Saturday to see Garrison Keillor's Prairie Home Companion show, which Gerry loves.   It was a delightful performance, with really good guest musicians, to include a pair from the musical across the street,  Anything Goes.  The PHC Show (as it is abbreviated) is really the airing of a live radio show.  Keillor is such an odd person who seems genuinely not at home in his own skin.  And in a way I cannot explain,  his voice and his actual physical appearance do not seem to match.  Nevertheless, he is monumentally talented and the show was excellent entertainment. Keillor and radio are a great match.

It was a dismally rainy night to be navigating New York City.  We did have to stand in the rain for fifteen minutes until the doors opened.  But once we were inside, it was well worth it.

Sunday was Palm Sunday, so we attended with daughter V, who sings in the choir of the Grace UMC.  I noticed right away how pleased I was with  the order of the service.  After serving and attending a church of a different denomination for quite a while,  I immediately appreciated a 'good ole united methodist order of worship.'  It felt like comfort food.

Gerry and I were pleased that we more successfully navigated our way out of the city and home than on any other occasion.  Who knows?  Maybe some day, we will actually get comfortable driving it. I take that back.  Used to it, maybe, but comfortable is probably a bit of a stretch.

Our life pace is so much slower.  And we are fine with that!

Albino Deer

We took a journey across the Finger Lakes region of central New York today, on a little adventure to look at a car Gerry is interested in.   Along the way,  we traveled through Seneca County, which happens to be a rather desolate, sparsely populated area.  There are a couple of small towns,  but miles and miles of just agricultural lands, or government lands.

There is a large enclosed area that stretches a number of miles, with a tall fence, topped with barb wire.  As I recall,  it is an abandoned military area.   I think at one time some nuclear materials were stored there;  thus the fence that keeps people out.   And deer in.

Gerry grew up not far from that area, and he mentioned that the fenced in area has a huge population of albino deer.   I found that so fascinating, and could not even imagine what an albino deer must look like.   And fortunately,  I did see one quite clearly.  Had I not seen it there in the trees,  I would not have believed a deer could actually be white.  But indeed it was.

Since they are fenced in,  I assume they reproduce among themselves,  producing a larger number of albino deer than one would find in the general deer population.

Although the fenced in area is many square miles, still, it does seem a little bit sad to think the deer they can never roam free.  On the other hand,  presumably,  what keeps deer in, keeps hunters out!

Warm Day

  On the first warm day of spring,  the warm blooded little ones are in the pool!   Me, I had on layers!  But I have noticed that younger people  like college students, and grand-daughters-(above)    tend to have on short sleeved T-shirts when it is yet cool, or else they are playing in the pool!

It was at least 77 degrees today, and humid.   It is not due to last, but certainly a most agreeable experience.    I made a little visit to see my daughter and grand-daughters today.  Fortunately, most of my children and grand-children do not live very far away.  The one that lives the furthest away,  lives about five hours downstate. (it could be worse!)

In the background of this picture, one can see the garden,  which will eventually grow vegetables.  And, actually, you can still see patches of snow in the distance, in the woods.  In the middle of the picture is the playhouse that daddy built.

I heard what I thought was quacking noises, but they told me it was frogs, that frogs 'winter over' in the mud, and come out of the mud in the spring.  I didn't know that!!  Where I grew up,  I remember tadpoles which became frogs, so I don't think there was much need to hibernate for winter.

A warm day is a good thing.   Of course, soon enough, we'll be complaining about the bugs and heat, just like we did about the cold and the snow.   For such is weather and life.

Pope Joan

The circle of women in my life pass along books they have read, with the instructions to pass them along to someone else.  The book I am currently inhabiting is entitled Pope Joan.  Apparently, there is a legend, and likely a true story of a woman who sat on the papal throne for two years around 855.  She wore men's clothing and presented herself as male, so not surprisingly, her tenure as Pope has been expunged from the official record of those who served as Pope.

This is a very difficult book to read.  The reason it is difficult is because of the content---namely, the severe oppression, abuse, and  mistreatment of women.  The setting is during the Dark Ages, so it is extremely brutal. But perhaps the hardest part of reading this book for me, is that the brutality and cruelty and violence all spring from the early church and its officers and leaders.

I have always found it difficult to accept and process the reality that so much of the oppression of women stems from the interpretation and application of scripture.  Women were always suspect, considered either unclean or evil,  the very source of temptation and sin, and inferior by nature. In the Dark Ages, they were not allowed to read, study, learn.  To desire any of these things was considered unnatural, diabolical, dangerous.

Joanna was a German peasant girl of keen intellect.  She was severely beaten by her father, a church canon,  for reading a book. Had she not escaped, he would have killed her for disobedience.  She was fortunate to have those who encouraged her, and eventually, because of her great abilities, she rose through the hierarchy of the church and was eventually elected as Pope,  serving briefly.  I don't yet know what happened to her. (though I have read that there are several theories).

This book was written by a woman from Syracuse, New York and it has been made into a movie.  If I ever have the chance, that is one movie I would love to see, though the violence would be hard to take.

I also recently read Three Cups of Tea about an American who managed to build schools in rural Afghanistan, primarily for girls.  I must say that the description of the tribal people of the middle east, mostly uneducated,  is a stark reminder that little has changed in many parts of the world, where girls are of little value.

What is so excruciating for me is the suggestion that the inferiority, hatred, violation against women is, in fact, the very will of God.

I suspect that at some deep subconscious level,  it was that 'screaming within my soul' that contributed toward my ministry calling.  At the very least,  I could model Christ through love and faithfulness, compassion and intellect, leadership and servanthood.  That call is what I believed with my whole being to be the will of God.

There were always nay sayers.  Sadly, I guess,  there always have been, always will be.  We persevere.

Hosting the Ladies

Today was my day to host the Ladies Lit group.  It is quite an event, actually.  Fortunately, you get a co-host to help with the food preparation, serving and clean up.

I must say that I think it was a hit.  Everyone admired our lovely home.  Unlike many older homes, it is very open.  In fact, the kitchen opens right onto the living room.   That has many advantages.  Today, I discovered it also has a disadvantage.  While someone is making a presentation in the living room, we are right there making 'kitchen noises' getting ready for the tea party between presentations.  We were quiet, but I discovered that my new percolator pot is very very noisy, making all sorts of loud perking, knocking, and sputtering noises.  (but it makes good coffee).

There were twenty two ladies present today.  I managed to muster enough dishes, cups and silverware to set a pretty table. The co-host asked what she could bring, and I did ask her to bring her silver coffee serving pot.  My mother had one of those, but it was not something that survived to get passed along.

The dessert was also a big hit.  In fact, everyone  wanted to recipe, which is quite simple.  I used an 'old family recipe'----angel pecan pie.

I do enjoy entertaining, so it is not something I mind doing.  (Though it does require a lot of cleaning and polishing to have everything just right.)

One thing I did not think to take a picture of is the table.  How I wish I had.  I used a silver tray, two silver compotes, silverware, and a sugar and creamer set that once belonged to my mother.   Between that, and the recipe which was also hers,  it certainly brings to mind my mom.

The ladies themselves are interesting, well educated, accomplished, active in the community and love learning.   All things considered,  I'd have to say, I do think my mother would have been proud!

Thursday Nights

 Thursday nights usually means a potluck and program at church.  The program can be on anything from birds to flowers to travel adventures.  Last week, we played the "Wagon Wheel" game.  The purpose is to learn something new about the people around you.

Two rows of chairs were set up facing one another.
The outside row was the one to move clockwise when
the time was called.  We were given a question and one minute each, and the two people facing one another took turns answering that particular question. Then we rotated.  I thought the questions were quite interesting.

In what ways do you most hope you are like your mother?  (surprisingly, this was hard for many people)
What do you remember about last Sunday's sermon?  (I did especially well on this one.)
What was your first job, or some interesting job you did when you were young?
What is your favorite city? (the one I currently live in)
What do you think heaven will be like? (I have a lifetime worth of questions ).
If you were a television host, who would you most want to interview? (living person)
If you knew you absolutely could not fail, what is something you would do?

On the 'job' question,  I remembered an interesting experience with a job I had the summer I graduated from college. It was Mississippi in 1967.  Two of us were employed by the Organization of Economic Opportunity to recruit families to enroll their children in a new government program, Headstart.  Most poor families (for whom this program was targeted) were deeply suspicious of any federal government idea or representatives. We knocked on doors, walking in neighborhoods.  For some black families, it was probably the first time that 'white girls' had knocked on their doors, or been in their homes.

What I experienced was contrary to what I might have expected, based on the racism at the time.  It was the poorest white folks who had the most filthy homes.  The poor black homes were neat, orderly.  For some reason, I can still picture a simple table with a white lace doillie and a framed photograph of a loved one.

After that summer, I left that city, and the state, and have no idea about the outcome of the Headstart program in that particular location.  I hope that some we recruited did enroll and benefit from it.   I know that thousands have, in the years since.

It was certainly a unique experience in my life, opening door into homes I could otherwise never have entered at that time in history.

Rain and Me

This day of spring thunder and rain brings back memories, and causes me to reflect a bit, on rain and me.  That relationship has evolved over the years.

As a little girl, I loved the rain, like a duck or a sponge, and wanted to absorb
as much of it as I possibly could, soaking into me.
I sought it out for pleasure and for fun.

But a thunderstorm in the deep south is nothing like
a New York rain.  There, it comes in the midst of heat and humidity and is more like taking a warm shower, never cold.

Later in life, in 1981 to be exact, I was the "victim" of a
severe flood which pretty much destroyed most of my
worldly goods and made its way four feet high in my living room.  It was a hard time.  But also a good time.  It was when the rains blew Gerry into my life, who remains to this day. For a while, I marked my life BF and AF, meaning before the flood and after the flood.

For a long time after that event, the sound of hard rain on the roof would stir up fear and anxiety.  I was lucky to have escaped alive, to be honest, in the flood of 1981.

Now, I no longer have a fear reaction to rain, and rarely think of that flood long ago.  Today's sound of thunder and severe rainstorms reminds me of other times, but does not frighten me.


I think I have a greater fear of drought than of rain.  I'd rather live in a rainy area than arid one.  Now, I am more likely to think of rain in terms of watering the garden, and the flowers and the trees.   Long gone are the days of the rain watering me.  And no longer do I think of the rain filling my house.  Instead, I look forward to the vegetation that it makes possible.  I think of it as life giving.

The evolution of water in my own life is somewhat akin to that in scripture.  In the beginning, God's spirit swept across the waters and brought forth life and light. Then when God was displeased,  the waters of the flood wiped out all that was evil, and started all over. In time, God provides the Word,  to quench our spiritual thirst, being born again.  That Word lives in me.

Other People

It seems to be human nature for us to compare ourselves and our lives to that of other people.  Hopefully,  one can train themselves not to do that very much, but I do believe that to some degree it is inevitable.  That being said, I would comment that Gerry and I attended a funeral recently of a long time colleague of Gerry's, a faculty friend, even a long ago roommate.

The Memorial Service was quite extensive, with a number of speakers from the various areas of his life  (family, work, church).  The service was almost two hours long, filled with glowing accolades about the beloved "John", and what a great father, friend, husband, fellow Christian, etc. he always was.  Indeed, "John" was always personable, cheerful, happy.  The problem for us was that he seemed to be so perfect, his life seemed to be so perfect. Perfect marriage for fifty years,  three grown children all pursuing their doctorates. Lovely grandchildren.  He was a dedicated church member whose imprint was everywhere in the church. As a woods craftsman, he had even made the pulpit!   When one unavoidably compares their lives to "John's", most anyone would come up short.

In the car, Gerry was reminiscing about "John" and recalling a time when he smoked cigarettes.  I said, "Well, then he wasn't perfect!"  Gerry laughed and said:  "Everything you heard was post thirty years old.  He accepted the Lord when he was thirty.  I knew him in his twenties!"  Somehow, that was good to hear.

For me, as I reflected on the experience, I saw no signs of deep struggle or hardship.  (And I have had so many!) Is it really possible to live a life without those?  Perhaps.  But that is hard for me to imagine, as my own life has been riddled with disappointment, broken relationships, failure and endless struggle.  Of course, it has also always been marked by faith, love, compassion, optimism and perseverance.

I just read a line in a novel I just started that really spoke to me.  It speaks to me about my own imperfect life.
And I think it is true.  And there is just no way around it!

Wisdom must always be bought with pain.

Ancestry

There is a television show I watch called Who Do You Think  You Are?  Each show follows a particular celebrity's search for their ancestral roots.   I have found each episode quite fascinating, and it inspires me to want to do some genealogical research myself.  It appears that one can follow Ancestry.com and tap into all kinds of significant documents which shed light on what might have been going on in a person's life.

The insights and revelations that have been discovered in each episode lead one to believe that there is a lot more going on than just dates, and facts and figures.   And I might add, there is probably a lot more going on than just genes.  In other words, there seem to be relational patterns,  spiritual kinships, and all sorts of other unexpected twists and turns.

Gweneth Paltro was searching her family ancestry trying to understand her grandfather,  who obviously had a dismal childhood, and whose mother seemed at best, ambivalent, at worst completely indifferent. He had no compassion for his mother, and was filled with pain and disappointment all his life.  Because of that, the family never talked about that great-grandmother.

The genealogists review of the census reports revealed some startling information.  It turns out that the great-grandmother lost a daughter.  She would have been filled with grief from that loss, no doubt.  Then two months later, she gave birth to another child, so she was pregnant at the time of the other child's death.  That she might have been hormonal, distressed, depressed should be no surprise, knowing those circumstances.
Those simple facts give a plausible explanation as to why she may not have been able to adequately care for her older children.

Of course, not everything will appear in documents.  There are many reasons why people do not talk about tragedies.  I am so grateful to have learned from my uncle, just a few years ago, of a tragedy in my own mother's life which happened to her as a youth.  That information gave me a whole new way of understanding my own mother.

All sorts of traits and tragedies,  inclinations and ideas get passed along multiple generations in a family. Perhaps if something doesn't get worked out or resolved in one generation, it gets picked up by the next, completely unbeknownst to the one who 'inherits' it.

 I suspect that I come from a long line of ancestors who might be characterized has having a well developed sense of spiritual curiosity.  There have been several preachers.  I probably am one of a long line.

Some day, when I am bored and curious, I will log on to Ancestry.com and start a quest of my own.  Who knows what might come up?