August 17, 2009, August 31, 2009
The Joys of Water Aerobics
My ideal exercise is water aerobics. I think that I burn as many calories laughing at myself as I do actually doing the exercises. Originally I had my own aerobics routine which combined movements from physical therapy sessions for a bad back along with actual aerobic exercises remembered from the class I took at the High School in Edwards many, many years ago. I hope that you will use up some calories laughing at what I am about to share about the joys of water aerobics.
I used to pick up Mary Jean (Wayering/Hunter) for our weekly class in Edwards. The main thing I remember about the high school pool was that it was COOOOOOOLD! One of the joys of water aerobics is the relief one feels when the heart keeps beating in spite of the shock upon entering that coooooold water. Another joy is that moment when/if one's body actually adjusts to the temperature and one can stop shivering. It is entirely possible to shiver throughout an entire hour of exercising.
But I am getting ahead of myself regarding these joys. Initially, joy is felt upon successfully putting on a bathing suit. Then there is the challenge of actually entering the pool itself. The pool where I exercise now (the Y in Fulton) has a wonderful little staircase. It is fairly easy to step down into the water gracefully. I have been in pools though where the only option is a step ladder carved into the side. Kids scale this feature with ease. Or they jump in the deep end with great joy and and a total absense of fear.
These wall ladders are not conducive to graceful entrances for someone of my age and stature.Seems to me that the Edwards pool had metal ladders which are a better option than the ones carved into the wall but not as good as the steps I get to use now. I no longer simply jump into any pool. I need a slow entry option. I want to savor that joy of adjusting to the cold gradually. I'm not a kid anymore. There is no longer any joy attached to jumping in the deep end. Another joy in Fulton is that there is no deep end. It is four foot deep all the way across. Still, walking down those steps into the pool is a challenge on days when the arthritis in my knees is acting up. But I digress.
When I first moved to Pennellville, I was overjoyed to discover the Y's pool. Bonnie Frawley took me on the grand tour of Fulton including a dip in the pool at the Y. (Then we went to lunch at Mama Gina's) For the first year, I was a regular. Two to three times a week I would work out for an hour, take a dip in the hot tub and treat myself to breakfast on the way home.Then we got snowed in the second winter. There were three weeks when I could not get to Fulton. My workouts got fewer and fewer until I wasn't going at all. That is, until this summer when the horrible heat and back pain conspired and convinced me it was time to go back.
I used to work out from 7-8 a.m. Now I'm older. I sleep later. When I arrived at
7:30 a.m. expecting to have an hour to work out on my own, I discovered that there was an Aqua Aerobics class which met from 8-9 a.m. on MWF. No problem! I work out on my own for a half-hour, then work out with the class. A major part of the workout is the laughter. Do you know what happens when one places a 10-12 inch diameter ball between one's legs and tries to move around the pool sideways? That's what the instructor told us to do. First the ball popped up to the surface and bopped me in the back of the head. I replaced it. A few sidesteps later, it popped out the front and bopped me in the nose. I replaced it and heard the command to go the other way. I don't know how many times that ball popped out that first day but I'm sure glad there were no video cameras on site. One of the other students shared the secret to success at the next class. Use a small, squishy ball. Don't go for one of the fully inflated ones. Works like a charm. There's a little green ball at least three inches smaller than the others that I try to grab before anyone else gets their hands on it. The joy at first was laughing at myself. Now the joy is the satisfaction of making it two complete rounds without losing that ball once!
We move on to using those styrofoam dumbbells. They weigh next to nothing. First we wave them over our head holding them with both hands until my shoulder muscles are screaming for relief. Then we do "up and out" motions, one in each hand until the muscles in my upper arms are screaming as loudly as the shoulder muscles. Phew! A bit of relief as we plunge the two of them with one hand down under the water - first on one side, then the other until a whole other set of muscles is begging for a rest, which we get. Because we've started on the legs - downhill ski, cross-country ski, crunches and knee taps. The teacher goes into a whole other routine which requires one's head to be back in the water - one's feet are supposed to be poking through the water in front of us. I jog in place and do my own variations. I had a serious ear infection last year. I am not supposed to get water in my ears. I have special ear plugs to wear. But if I wear them during class, I can't hear the instructions.
Some days we get to play with the stretch bands - a giant-sized rubber band type torture device. After this routine of stretching and pulling, I am seriously wondering if God intended us to do this to our bodies. Other days, we sit and swing on those things called noodles, do leg lifts to the front, to the side, to the back, jump up and down off a lip on the wall of the pool, swish those noodles across the surface of the pool and then hold them over our heads so that they look like a rainbow and stretch to reach Heaven. Until finally, it is time to do the final stretching routine we call "cool down" where we stretch every part of our body that can be stretched - including our thumbs and individual fingers. Phew! We are done for the day. And where is the joy, you may ask?
The joy is that we have passed a profitable hour and our bodies are the better for all that stretching, jumping and squeezing that we have done. There is another joy in my corner of the pool. At least there is on sunny days. The sunlight somehow connects with the overhead light beams and creates a honeycomb design of rainbow lines on the floor of the pool. When my hurting muscles are telling me to quit, those colorful wavy lines of light help me to focus and keep going. It is also a joy to know there are others there sharing the pain and the gain of this class. I will miss the joy of their company and companionship.
The fall schedule moves the class to the 9-10 a.m. spot. I will continue to come in from 7:30 - 9:00 a.m. I will add some of the exercises I have learned to my own routine and do my exercises solo until next summer when the schedule changes back.
I started writing this on August 17th. Remember those 90 degree days? Sorry I missed the deadline these last couple of weeks. It was a challenge to just keep breathing on those days. I did not shower and change out of my suit at the Y. I wore that cold, wet suit home and it kept me cool for hours. What a joy that was! But now the heatwave has passed.
When class ends each day, the joys do not end. There is the challenge of climbing up the stairs to exit the pool. One feels weightless while in the water. When we pull our body up out of that water, it feels like the weight of the world descends upon the shoulders as we adjust to feeling our full weight outside the pool. Then there is the fun part of getting out of the wet bathing suit. It is a challenge getting a dry body into a dry suit. It is equally challenging to get a wet body out of a wet suit. A sense of humor helps a lot. Showering and getting dressed for the real world again entails almost as much effort as it took to exercise for an hour. It is always a joy when street clothes are back in place and we head for the door - happier and healthier than we were when we arrived. Try Aqua Aerobics for yourself! They are good for body and soul! Especially if one is willing to laugh at one's self.
Friday, September 18, 2009
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
Play, Part 2
July 13
Spiritually Speaking
Play Time, Part 2
Play time is over. Vacation ended yesterday. I didn't get to play any games of miniature golf but I did win several games of Hearts, Scrabble and one game of Life. Remember that old board game? Now it is computerized and loads of fun to play. I ended the game with more than $6 million in the bank, a house with $1 million, a Ph. D., a best selling novel and a sub-compact car. I earned most of my money because early on in the game I discovered a cure for baldness which gave me $900,000, leaving the other players eating my dust for the rest of the game.
Each player gets a credit card which you slide into the little computer on your turn. It keeps track of your salary, your taxes, appreciation and depreciation - all the math of all the money matters you encounter. It also deducts 10% of your income per child. It also allows you to go as deep into debt as you wish. At one point I was a million in debt. That cure for baldness sure paid off. If you want a good family game, the new game of Life is fun to play for hours and hours. One game could last for days and days. You decide on how many turns you want to play and tell the computer. It keeps track, tells you when the game is done and converts all your dollars to Life Points at the end to see who wins. Enjoy!
In my family, Monopoly was always popular. We did play this for days on end. The game would be set up on a card table and we'd just keep playing until all but one player was bankrupt. I didn't win too many games of Monopoly but I loved to play it. Those house and hotels were easy to buy and build. Chance and Community Chest cards could make or break you. And we played that all our fines would go under the Free Parking corner instead of into the bank. When you landed on Free Parking, you got to keep whatever money was there. I liked the green properties best. They were good income and had lots of visitors. I always kept a "Get Out of Jail Free" card too. You never knew when that was going to come in handy. A similar board game which we still love to play is Careers.
Word games, board games and card games - these were an essential part of our social life while growing up. Somewhere around 12 or 13, we could join in the adult games and no longer be forced to play outside with the little kids. Dad used to play pitch with us at breakfast on Saturday mornings. Mom would play Scrabble anytime anywhere. Company came to us or we went to visit most Saturday evenings. Adults played Pinochle marathons. We children were left to our own devices. Sometimes we played board games, some times we made up our own games and eventually we would all fall asleep while the adults played on.
Stuart Brown, the president of the National Institute for Play (\Yes, there really is such a thing!) contends that play is essential for the growth and development of our brains. Pretty heavy duty responsibility for such a light-hearted and oh, so easily done enterprise. According to scientific research though, the play that helps our brain the most is full body movement. Our childhood games of playing house may or may not have helped depending on how much pretend housekeeping we did as opposed to rocking the babies to sleep, or sleeping ourselves. Our walks in the woods were unquestionably good for us, body, brain and soul. The benefits of recess time spent on the playground at school are harder to calculate.
Hopefully, we all have a few younger years to look back on as "play's good old days." In our minds, we may idealize play - remembering only the good. Or we may demonize play - remembering only the bad. My memories contain the whole gamut. There were bullies on the bus and playground whose play was hurtful. I was never among the first ones chosen for those lively games of Dodge Ball or softball. On the other hand I excelled at jump rope and Hopscotch. I resented it when I was assigned "parenting" duty and had to watch my brother and sisters playing. There were lots of fights to break up, little fun for me. On the other hand, I had many hours of solitude in the rock fort I built out along the back fence. Mom would have to send someone to get me. I wasn't quite out of earshot, but she didn't know that.
Scientists argue over the ultimate purpose of play. Why they are worrying about this, I don't know but scientists will research just about anything. Do boys play differently than girls? Are children being damaged by staring at computer screens and video games? Are they missing something when fantasy play is filled with Hollywood's imaginations rather than their own? These are some of the questions being addressed in current studies. Some think that play is a way that we practice and prepare for future responsibilities. Another theory is that our kaliedoscope of play activities makes us flexible and adaptable to the constant changes life throws at us daily. A few think that play is a luxury afforded only in the good times.
By studying monkeys, cats, rats, mice and even small children, all of the above theories have been both proven and disproven. Most of the play activities of animals are similar to the things they need to do when they grow up. But one study of cats proved that their hunting prowess was equally well developed whether or not they had played as kittens. Adequate play time does not always guarantee adaptability and flexibility. And, even in the concentration camps, children found ways to play proving it is not a luxury. (Check out the book/movie "The Boy in the Striped Pajamas" . Keep the tissues handy. There are lots of tears as well as play.)
"The Boy in the Striped Pajamas" deals with the innocence of play under the most horrific conditions.
Lord of the Flies by William Golding deals with the whole range of human qualities found in us.
As children most of us crave and carve out spaces where the adults cannot tell us what to do. Golding's story is a graphic account of what happened to one group of children when they had the world all to themselves. Play can be filled with trust and trickery - often both. Play can deal with truth and lies - usually both. Play can deepen friendships or destroy relationships. I don't care to study it in depth. I know that all that we do as children contributes to who we become as adults.
As children play time can be a safe haven from the raw reality of the world. It can also be a scary place where we magnify and multiply our worst fears, the world's greatest evils. There's a word for the latter - a wonderful word for a terrifying phenomena - phantasmagoria. This is when children's thoughts run wild and all the chaotic bits of the real world get tumbled together and pulled haphazardly apart in new, sometimes even scarier confabulations. I remember a few of those nightmares. I prefer to keep play a safe haven.
We hear the goodness of play with each joyful squeal of a happy child. We can see the benefits of play on each ecstatic face. We rediscover the world in a childlike way whenever we watch children at their best. We hear the downside of an active imagination whenever we run to comfort a child having a bad dream. We see the dark side of playfulness whenever we have to help a child confront a bully or deal with rejection. Play can mean gobs of goodness incorporated into life at its best, or a tidal wave of evil at its worst.
Scientists can argue over the ultimate purpose and meaning of play for as long as they want. I'm determined to keep on playing - whether they can prove it is good for me or not. I hope to minimize the nightmarish aspects of play, and maximize the protective fun loving aspect of it. I was quite happy to win the games that I did. On the other hand, I do think my sister was having malevolent thoughts especially when I got that $900,000, every time I managed to give her the Queen of Spades in Hearts and every time I got a seven letter word in Scrabble. The past week of play time was pure goodness and fun! It will have to last until the next vacation.
Playmate, I can't come out with you
My dolly has the flu
Boo-hoo-hoo-hoo-hoo-hoo
Can't climb your rain barrel
Slide down your cellar door
But we'll be jolly friends forevermore.
Spiritually Speaking
Play Time, Part 2
Play time is over. Vacation ended yesterday. I didn't get to play any games of miniature golf but I did win several games of Hearts, Scrabble and one game of Life. Remember that old board game? Now it is computerized and loads of fun to play. I ended the game with more than $6 million in the bank, a house with $1 million, a Ph. D., a best selling novel and a sub-compact car. I earned most of my money because early on in the game I discovered a cure for baldness which gave me $900,000, leaving the other players eating my dust for the rest of the game.
Each player gets a credit card which you slide into the little computer on your turn. It keeps track of your salary, your taxes, appreciation and depreciation - all the math of all the money matters you encounter. It also deducts 10% of your income per child. It also allows you to go as deep into debt as you wish. At one point I was a million in debt. That cure for baldness sure paid off. If you want a good family game, the new game of Life is fun to play for hours and hours. One game could last for days and days. You decide on how many turns you want to play and tell the computer. It keeps track, tells you when the game is done and converts all your dollars to Life Points at the end to see who wins. Enjoy!
In my family, Monopoly was always popular. We did play this for days on end. The game would be set up on a card table and we'd just keep playing until all but one player was bankrupt. I didn't win too many games of Monopoly but I loved to play it. Those house and hotels were easy to buy and build. Chance and Community Chest cards could make or break you. And we played that all our fines would go under the Free Parking corner instead of into the bank. When you landed on Free Parking, you got to keep whatever money was there. I liked the green properties best. They were good income and had lots of visitors. I always kept a "Get Out of Jail Free" card too. You never knew when that was going to come in handy. A similar board game which we still love to play is Careers.
Word games, board games and card games - these were an essential part of our social life while growing up. Somewhere around 12 or 13, we could join in the adult games and no longer be forced to play outside with the little kids. Dad used to play pitch with us at breakfast on Saturday mornings. Mom would play Scrabble anytime anywhere. Company came to us or we went to visit most Saturday evenings. Adults played Pinochle marathons. We children were left to our own devices. Sometimes we played board games, some times we made up our own games and eventually we would all fall asleep while the adults played on.
Stuart Brown, the president of the National Institute for Play (\Yes, there really is such a thing!) contends that play is essential for the growth and development of our brains. Pretty heavy duty responsibility for such a light-hearted and oh, so easily done enterprise. According to scientific research though, the play that helps our brain the most is full body movement. Our childhood games of playing house may or may not have helped depending on how much pretend housekeeping we did as opposed to rocking the babies to sleep, or sleeping ourselves. Our walks in the woods were unquestionably good for us, body, brain and soul. The benefits of recess time spent on the playground at school are harder to calculate.
Hopefully, we all have a few younger years to look back on as "play's good old days." In our minds, we may idealize play - remembering only the good. Or we may demonize play - remembering only the bad. My memories contain the whole gamut. There were bullies on the bus and playground whose play was hurtful. I was never among the first ones chosen for those lively games of Dodge Ball or softball. On the other hand I excelled at jump rope and Hopscotch. I resented it when I was assigned "parenting" duty and had to watch my brother and sisters playing. There were lots of fights to break up, little fun for me. On the other hand, I had many hours of solitude in the rock fort I built out along the back fence. Mom would have to send someone to get me. I wasn't quite out of earshot, but she didn't know that.
Scientists argue over the ultimate purpose of play. Why they are worrying about this, I don't know but scientists will research just about anything. Do boys play differently than girls? Are children being damaged by staring at computer screens and video games? Are they missing something when fantasy play is filled with Hollywood's imaginations rather than their own? These are some of the questions being addressed in current studies. Some think that play is a way that we practice and prepare for future responsibilities. Another theory is that our kaliedoscope of play activities makes us flexible and adaptable to the constant changes life throws at us daily. A few think that play is a luxury afforded only in the good times.
By studying monkeys, cats, rats, mice and even small children, all of the above theories have been both proven and disproven. Most of the play activities of animals are similar to the things they need to do when they grow up. But one study of cats proved that their hunting prowess was equally well developed whether or not they had played as kittens. Adequate play time does not always guarantee adaptability and flexibility. And, even in the concentration camps, children found ways to play proving it is not a luxury. (Check out the book/movie "The Boy in the Striped Pajamas" . Keep the tissues handy. There are lots of tears as well as play.)
"The Boy in the Striped Pajamas" deals with the innocence of play under the most horrific conditions.
Lord of the Flies by William Golding deals with the whole range of human qualities found in us.
As children most of us crave and carve out spaces where the adults cannot tell us what to do. Golding's story is a graphic account of what happened to one group of children when they had the world all to themselves. Play can be filled with trust and trickery - often both. Play can deal with truth and lies - usually both. Play can deepen friendships or destroy relationships. I don't care to study it in depth. I know that all that we do as children contributes to who we become as adults.
As children play time can be a safe haven from the raw reality of the world. It can also be a scary place where we magnify and multiply our worst fears, the world's greatest evils. There's a word for the latter - a wonderful word for a terrifying phenomena - phantasmagoria. This is when children's thoughts run wild and all the chaotic bits of the real world get tumbled together and pulled haphazardly apart in new, sometimes even scarier confabulations. I remember a few of those nightmares. I prefer to keep play a safe haven.
We hear the goodness of play with each joyful squeal of a happy child. We can see the benefits of play on each ecstatic face. We rediscover the world in a childlike way whenever we watch children at their best. We hear the downside of an active imagination whenever we run to comfort a child having a bad dream. We see the dark side of playfulness whenever we have to help a child confront a bully or deal with rejection. Play can mean gobs of goodness incorporated into life at its best, or a tidal wave of evil at its worst.
Scientists can argue over the ultimate purpose and meaning of play for as long as they want. I'm determined to keep on playing - whether they can prove it is good for me or not. I hope to minimize the nightmarish aspects of play, and maximize the protective fun loving aspect of it. I was quite happy to win the games that I did. On the other hand, I do think my sister was having malevolent thoughts especially when I got that $900,000, every time I managed to give her the Queen of Spades in Hearts and every time I got a seven letter word in Scrabble. The past week of play time was pure goodness and fun! It will have to last until the next vacation.
Playmate, I can't come out with you
My dolly has the flu
Boo-hoo-hoo-hoo-hoo-hoo
Can't climb your rain barrel
Slide down your cellar door
But we'll be jolly friends forevermore.
Play, Part 1
July 6, 2009
Oh playmate, come out and play with me.
And bring your dollies three.
Climb up my apple tree.
Look down my rain barrel.
Slide down my cellar door.
And we'll be jolly friends forevermore.
This song was on a record which I played
over and over and over and over. I sang it
with or without the record. It can take me
right back to childhood and those carefree
days when I got to play at Grandma's house -
with the wind up Victrola, the play spaces
in her flower garden, hunting for kittens in
the hayloft and helping Grandpa plant his
garden whether he wanted or needed my
help or not.
I consider myself most fortunate that
I grew up before televisions and computers
could monopolize my time. I remember hours
and hours of outdoor play - sometimes
alone, sometimes with other children;
sometimes with toys, sometimes with just
my own imagination. Or any combination
of the aforementioned.
There were many make-believe villages
built in the dirt under the shade of Grandma's
snowball bush. Hours and hours spent
playing house with cousin Jeannie, the
number of children depending on the number
of dolls we could find that day. Doll clothes
and actual baby bottles were optional.
Naked dolls always had pretend clothes to
wear which Jeannie and I could clearly see
and fully describe.
There was an element of play to chasing
the cows from the pastures to the barn come
milking time. There were trails to be named
and the obvious hazards to be avoided. When
herding cows one must watch carefully where
one steps. A playful attitude could be stopped
in mid-stream when forced to clean cow poop off
the bottom of one's shoes. To say nothing of
the lectures and turned up noses of the adults
hanging about if they noticed what had
happened because we had failed to get it all
off and our aroma made our presence
an intense annoyance to all for the rest of
the night.
We climbed across the monkey bars and
other playground equipment at school every
which way but loose. We wrestled each
other to the ground, pushed each other into
mud puddles on occasion, played endless
games of marbles and/or hopscotch at
recess. In the wintertime, there were
sledding and tobaggan parties, ice
skating, along with snow forts and snowball
fights. What fun!
Little did I know then how important
all this playtime was for the development
of my character. At least that is the
theory of Stuart Brown, M.D. who wrote
a book, Play: How It Shapes the Brain,
Opens the Imagination and Invigorates
the Soul. I heard him being interviewed
on the radio. I think I will have to read
this book. Sounds like fun!
Dr. Brown contends that the timeless,
guilt-free and purposeless hours spent
in play give us problem solving skills,
enable us to set visionary goals, and give
us the ability to trust and
to have empathy for the needs and welfare
of others. The murderers he interviewed
in prisons had never had the privilege of
playtime. Introducing play techniques is
actually benefitting these prisoners. They
are being changed for the better.
All of us are better off for
having had time to play as children.
And we do our children and grandchildren
a favor if we find ways to give them time
out to just be kids and play - without
benefit of computers, televisions,
ipods, cell phones or organized sports
programs. Even when we are adults,
we still need unstructured and seemingly
purposeless play time.
Lack of play makes one rigid and less
open-minded in thinking about people
and the world. Lack of play leaves one
easy prey for chronic depression and
less able to adapt to change. Know anyone
like this? I do. Some days it is me.
We are warned against "helicopter parenting" -
that is, hovering real close, trying to protect
our children from all hurt and harm which
can happen while playing. We ought not
exercise total control over how our children
interact and play together.
Yes, we need to intervene in case of serious bodily
harm, but Dr. Stuart suggests that some degree of rough
and tumble play actually prevents violence in later life -
and if we get hurt now and then, we feel the pain - and when
we realize how hurt we are - that's how we gain
empathy, hopefully deciding that we don't want to
inflict that kind of pain on anyone else. Combativeness
is normal - in girls and boys! We learn how to handle it
healthily when we are young, if allowed to experience the
school of hard knocks from time to time.
Well, it's not that simple but there is a big chunk
of truth in Dr. Stuart's observations. I'll talk more
about the importance of play next week. I'm on
vacation this week. And I foresee some games of
miniature golf in my near future. Find some
play time of your own. I hear it is good for the
soul!
Oh playmate, come out and play with me.
And bring your dollies three.
Climb up my apple tree.
Look down my rain barrel.
Slide down my cellar door.
And we'll be jolly friends forevermore.
This song was on a record which I played
over and over and over and over. I sang it
with or without the record. It can take me
right back to childhood and those carefree
days when I got to play at Grandma's house -
with the wind up Victrola, the play spaces
in her flower garden, hunting for kittens in
the hayloft and helping Grandpa plant his
garden whether he wanted or needed my
help or not.
I consider myself most fortunate that
I grew up before televisions and computers
could monopolize my time. I remember hours
and hours of outdoor play - sometimes
alone, sometimes with other children;
sometimes with toys, sometimes with just
my own imagination. Or any combination
of the aforementioned.
There were many make-believe villages
built in the dirt under the shade of Grandma's
snowball bush. Hours and hours spent
playing house with cousin Jeannie, the
number of children depending on the number
of dolls we could find that day. Doll clothes
and actual baby bottles were optional.
Naked dolls always had pretend clothes to
wear which Jeannie and I could clearly see
and fully describe.
There was an element of play to chasing
the cows from the pastures to the barn come
milking time. There were trails to be named
and the obvious hazards to be avoided. When
herding cows one must watch carefully where
one steps. A playful attitude could be stopped
in mid-stream when forced to clean cow poop off
the bottom of one's shoes. To say nothing of
the lectures and turned up noses of the adults
hanging about if they noticed what had
happened because we had failed to get it all
off and our aroma made our presence
an intense annoyance to all for the rest of
the night.
We climbed across the monkey bars and
other playground equipment at school every
which way but loose. We wrestled each
other to the ground, pushed each other into
mud puddles on occasion, played endless
games of marbles and/or hopscotch at
recess. In the wintertime, there were
sledding and tobaggan parties, ice
skating, along with snow forts and snowball
fights. What fun!
Little did I know then how important
all this playtime was for the development
of my character. At least that is the
theory of Stuart Brown, M.D. who wrote
a book, Play: How It Shapes the Brain,
Opens the Imagination and Invigorates
the Soul. I heard him being interviewed
on the radio. I think I will have to read
this book. Sounds like fun!
Dr. Brown contends that the timeless,
guilt-free and purposeless hours spent
in play give us problem solving skills,
enable us to set visionary goals, and give
us the ability to trust and
to have empathy for the needs and welfare
of others. The murderers he interviewed
in prisons had never had the privilege of
playtime. Introducing play techniques is
actually benefitting these prisoners. They
are being changed for the better.
All of us are better off for
having had time to play as children.
And we do our children and grandchildren
a favor if we find ways to give them time
out to just be kids and play - without
benefit of computers, televisions,
ipods, cell phones or organized sports
programs. Even when we are adults,
we still need unstructured and seemingly
purposeless play time.
Lack of play makes one rigid and less
open-minded in thinking about people
and the world. Lack of play leaves one
easy prey for chronic depression and
less able to adapt to change. Know anyone
like this? I do. Some days it is me.
We are warned against "helicopter parenting" -
that is, hovering real close, trying to protect
our children from all hurt and harm which
can happen while playing. We ought not
exercise total control over how our children
interact and play together.
Yes, we need to intervene in case of serious bodily
harm, but Dr. Stuart suggests that some degree of rough
and tumble play actually prevents violence in later life -
and if we get hurt now and then, we feel the pain - and when
we realize how hurt we are - that's how we gain
empathy, hopefully deciding that we don't want to
inflict that kind of pain on anyone else. Combativeness
is normal - in girls and boys! We learn how to handle it
healthily when we are young, if allowed to experience the
school of hard knocks from time to time.
Well, it's not that simple but there is a big chunk
of truth in Dr. Stuart's observations. I'll talk more
about the importance of play next week. I'm on
vacation this week. And I foresee some games of
miniature golf in my near future. Find some
play time of your own. I hear it is good for the
soul!
Thursday, June 25, 2009
June 22, 2009
Letting Go
We recognized our college graduates
in church on Sunday. We applauded
this milestone in their lives and their
plans for the future. Parents across
the nation are contemplating a major
irreversible change in the parent/child
relationship. They are growing up and
going out on their own.
Letting our children go out on their own
is a complicated emotional enterprise.
I remember the crying jags I went through
during Fran's senior year of high school.
I kept picturing how empty and quiet the
house would be once I was alone in it.
She was going off to college. She was
excited. I was proud of her and happy
for her. But that maternal bond was
strong. Silence and loneliness loomed
on the horizon.
I was her mother. I was certain that she
needed my constant vigilance and
parental guidance. How could she possibly
live without it? On the other hand,
I remembered how eager I was to leave
home when I went off to college. I was
quite certain at the ripe old age 18 that I didn't
need any vigilance or parental guidance.
As Fran packed her bags and prepred to
move out, I tried to comfort myself with that
memory of my own willful independence
at her age. I tried to let go of the internal
maternal bear hug in which I would have
liked to have held her for eternity.
I cried all the way home when I left her
at her dorm room that first year. I cried
constantly for nearly forty-eight hours as
I rattled around the now empty house. The
second morning of being home alone, I awoke
to the quiet without tears. I didn't have
to drive her to school. There were no
music or dancing lessons to remember,
no arguments over what time she needed
to be in or whether or not her homework
was done.
Instead of tears, I suddenly realized
that I was free. I only had my own
schedule to worry about. I could go out
to breakfast. I could go shopping without
arguing over which radio station to listen
to in the car, or which stores to go to in
the mall. I could do things I wanted to do!
Wow! I could be "me" again, instead of
Fran's mother. Maybe letting her go and
trusting her to grow up on her own wasn't
going to be so bad after all.
Lots of parents are starting the transition
of letting go now. Sitting through their
son's or daughter's graduation being pleased
and proud, while at the same time feeling
fearful and sad. We wonder what the future
holds, worry about how to stop being
the parent who protects and provides; and
become a parent who can "let go and let
God."
We go through this "letting go" transition
in many relationships as we come to terms
with who people really are and let go of
who they have been in our lives. I remember
when I moved to Rochester to
go to seminary. My sister Becky was
working on her degree at the University of
Rochester. We had always had a close
bond. But I had always been the big sister.
She had always been my baby sister. She
failed to appreciate my affectionate teasing
and persistent reminders that she was my
"baby sister."
I thought I was being funny until the first
time she drove me somewhere. I don't
remember where we were going but she
was driving. I was a nervous wreck
stepping on an imaginary brake pedal
like a driving instructor. It took months
before I could ride with her and trust her
as an experienced driver instead of thinking
of her as my "baby sister." It took a long
time to be able to relate to her as an adult
in her own right, perfectly capable of driving
a car and chauffeuring me around without
any pesky reminders of her "baby sister"
status. I had to let go of her as my baby sister
and embrace her as my sister, friend and
equal.
I crossed this bridge with Fran yesterday.
She's my thirty something daughter. We've
been through a lot of crises and conflict.
The letting go process takes a lot
longer and is a lot harder when the person
in question is your own flesh and blood.
Fran came down for a family gathering for
Father's Day in her new to her car. (Thanks
Bill Hawn!!!) She came to church in Pennellville
and she drove the two of us to Kirby's to meet the
others. We've ridden together before - but I was always
the over-protective mother and back seat driver who
rode in the front seat with her. Yesterday I let go of that
protective parent role and just enjoyed the ride
with my daughter, my friend and my equal.
It took awhile. Because she still annoys me
with her radio roulette routine.
As soon as a song comes on which she
doesn't like, she surfs until she finds a station
playing one she does. But it was her car
and her radio. She can even change stations
with a control on the steering wheel. I didn't
argue. I didn't make fun of her. I waited for
the next station to pop up and accepted that
it would change at her whim. I was quite
amused when she finally did keep one station
on - and it was music from the 40's - music
that BOTH of us enjoy. We had a great ride
and I closed another chapter in the book of
letting go and opened a new chapter on
being a parent to a child who is not a full-
fledged adult.
Of course, our children are always our children.
And, as parents, we'll always feel that we have
the right to tell them what to do - and that by
rights they ought to listen to our wisdom. But
time and again we will come to points at which
we must close another chapter in the book of
letting go. They graduate. The go off to work
or school, get their own place to live, fail to write
home or call or email. We're no longer privvy to
their private life. We have to let go and trust
that we have taught them enough to be on their
own and give them room to become their own
person - a person we will need to respect as
another adult - even though, in our heart of hearts,
we will always wish they were still a child who
needs us.
There will be moments when they will come to
us - and need us to be their parent again -
but only temporarily. They will become parents
themselves and come to us - apologizing for
not understanding what they put us through,
asking us how we did it, determined not to make
the mistakes we made and, in the process,
making mistakes of their own.
Coming to see them and accept them as
grown ups in their own right is a lifelong process.
Though we will always be their parent,
there will always be lessons to learn about
letting go and allowing them to become all grown
up like us.
4th of July
I don't remember when we started doing the
4th of July the way we do. It is a grand open
house event at Dad's. We all bring a dish to
pass: Aunt Fran's potato salad; Aunt Helen's
salt potatoes and chocolate Wake Cake;
Sonya's mac' and cheese, Becky's devilled eggs
and enough others to feed an army.
Everyone is invited by word of mouth. No
formal invitations are sent. No one is ever
turned away. It is always a mystery how
many will show up. And the picnic is held
rain or shine.
Though relegated to the sidelines as a
cheerleader these days, I used to be able
to hit a double or triple to right field - and
catch a pop fly when it came my way too
in the annual softball game. This is a highlight
of any 4th of July gathering - weather permitting.
We don't really keep score and anyone
can play.
Those who are very young, get assistance
with batting and somehow that fielder on
first base never seems to catch the ball
in time to put you out. There's always
someone to guide you to the next base.
And you may not have a clue why you
are running - and some of the youngest
ones have been known to take off for the
swingset before they make it to home base -
but most earnestly listen for instructions and
love the cheers of the crowd when they
finally cross home plate.
Those who can still hit, but are no longer
able to run, may have an assigned runner.
There is then the option - you may take
your base and take your chances - or let
the youngster run the gamut.
Mom used to organize a cutthroat croquet
game. You would think this lawn game
would be calm and civilized. Not when
Uncle Bruce gets hold of a mallet! He
loves to send other balls far afield whenever
he gets the chance. He plays to win and
so did Mom. It was often more exciting to
watch the croquet match than the softball
game. We haven't had one lately. I miss
the mayhem and banter with Uncle Bruce
in the middle of the mix.
Meanwhile there were card games and
conversations going on around the tables
and chairs borrowed from church. There
were hotdogs, hamburgs and sausage patties
on the grill, every condiment under the sun,
any non-alcoholic beverage you could want,
salads, deviled eggs, salt potatoes and
desserts galore. No one went hungry.
I confess that there has been many
a year when I spent the day inside
taking a nap in the recliner and missing
much of the festivities. We are a very
diverse family. If discussions got onto
politics and/or religion, my views were
the minority. It is not a day for arguing,
so I would just excuse myself and go
take a nap. My favorite past time was
playing Scrabble when I could
find a worthy opponent who wasn't
playing croquet or softball.
Fire works often ended the day. When
Fran and I were living there with
Mom and Dad, we used to go to Colgate
University to watch the fireworks. I wonder
if they still have them there. Some years
a car load would go to Sylvan Beach or
Oriskany Falls.
My favorite fireworks memory though -
is the year I was in Lexington, Massachusetts
visiting my best friend who had moved there,
Laurel Dutcher. I missed being home with
the family but I have never seen a more
spectacular display than I did that year
next to the village green where the
Revolutionary War began.
Other years I spent worrying about Fran
as she helped Cory Clark set up for
fire works in and around Edwards. I'm
glad she doesn't do that any more.
But I'm grateful to those who do.
A fire works display is the perfect ending
to any 4th of July celebration.
We often get so enmeshed in our family
celebrations of the 4th of July that we
forget the real holiday. On July 4, 1776
we declared our independence from
Great Britain and began our struggle
to become "the home of the brave and
the land of the free."
July 4, 1776 is the day that the Declaration
of Independence was formally adopted by
our first Congress. It took until August before
it was signed by all. Did you know that
the first celebration was actually on July 8th in 1776?
The Declaration of Independence was read
aloud, city bells rang and many a band played.
I don't know whether or not there were fire works.
It was not declared a legal holiday until 1941.
In 1776 there were 2.5 million Americans.
As of July 4, 2008, there were 304 million.
We are a great nation. We are a diverse
nation. Freedom is the quality we celebrate
on the 4th. Freedom is something we
frequently fail to appreciate. Freedom is
sometimes something we misunderstand.
Freedom from Great Britain, that's what
we gained in 1776. To be our own nation,
making our own laws as well as our own
mistakes.
Freedom is something people around the
world are still fighting and dying for. It is a
privilege we need to appreciate and celebrate.
Appreciating freedom means accepting
the diversity of our nation (as well as our own
families). Freedom means agreeing to
disagree aggreeably about matters such as
politics and religion in order to be the
democracy our founding fathers meant
us to be, and the Revolutionary War allowed
us to be.
There's a quiz online on the Declaration
of Independence - that document which
first proclaimed our freedom. Take the quiz,
It reminds us of the real reason for all the family
gatherings and fire works on every 4th
of July.
http://www.history.com/content/declaration/quiz
Letting Go
We recognized our college graduates
in church on Sunday. We applauded
this milestone in their lives and their
plans for the future. Parents across
the nation are contemplating a major
irreversible change in the parent/child
relationship. They are growing up and
going out on their own.
Letting our children go out on their own
is a complicated emotional enterprise.
I remember the crying jags I went through
during Fran's senior year of high school.
I kept picturing how empty and quiet the
house would be once I was alone in it.
She was going off to college. She was
excited. I was proud of her and happy
for her. But that maternal bond was
strong. Silence and loneliness loomed
on the horizon.
I was her mother. I was certain that she
needed my constant vigilance and
parental guidance. How could she possibly
live without it? On the other hand,
I remembered how eager I was to leave
home when I went off to college. I was
quite certain at the ripe old age 18 that I didn't
need any vigilance or parental guidance.
As Fran packed her bags and prepred to
move out, I tried to comfort myself with that
memory of my own willful independence
at her age. I tried to let go of the internal
maternal bear hug in which I would have
liked to have held her for eternity.
I cried all the way home when I left her
at her dorm room that first year. I cried
constantly for nearly forty-eight hours as
I rattled around the now empty house. The
second morning of being home alone, I awoke
to the quiet without tears. I didn't have
to drive her to school. There were no
music or dancing lessons to remember,
no arguments over what time she needed
to be in or whether or not her homework
was done.
Instead of tears, I suddenly realized
that I was free. I only had my own
schedule to worry about. I could go out
to breakfast. I could go shopping without
arguing over which radio station to listen
to in the car, or which stores to go to in
the mall. I could do things I wanted to do!
Wow! I could be "me" again, instead of
Fran's mother. Maybe letting her go and
trusting her to grow up on her own wasn't
going to be so bad after all.
Lots of parents are starting the transition
of letting go now. Sitting through their
son's or daughter's graduation being pleased
and proud, while at the same time feeling
fearful and sad. We wonder what the future
holds, worry about how to stop being
the parent who protects and provides; and
become a parent who can "let go and let
God."
We go through this "letting go" transition
in many relationships as we come to terms
with who people really are and let go of
who they have been in our lives. I remember
when I moved to Rochester to
go to seminary. My sister Becky was
working on her degree at the University of
Rochester. We had always had a close
bond. But I had always been the big sister.
She had always been my baby sister. She
failed to appreciate my affectionate teasing
and persistent reminders that she was my
"baby sister."
I thought I was being funny until the first
time she drove me somewhere. I don't
remember where we were going but she
was driving. I was a nervous wreck
stepping on an imaginary brake pedal
like a driving instructor. It took months
before I could ride with her and trust her
as an experienced driver instead of thinking
of her as my "baby sister." It took a long
time to be able to relate to her as an adult
in her own right, perfectly capable of driving
a car and chauffeuring me around without
any pesky reminders of her "baby sister"
status. I had to let go of her as my baby sister
and embrace her as my sister, friend and
equal.
I crossed this bridge with Fran yesterday.
She's my thirty something daughter. We've
been through a lot of crises and conflict.
The letting go process takes a lot
longer and is a lot harder when the person
in question is your own flesh and blood.
Fran came down for a family gathering for
Father's Day in her new to her car. (Thanks
Bill Hawn!!!) She came to church in Pennellville
and she drove the two of us to Kirby's to meet the
others. We've ridden together before - but I was always
the over-protective mother and back seat driver who
rode in the front seat with her. Yesterday I let go of that
protective parent role and just enjoyed the ride
with my daughter, my friend and my equal.
It took awhile. Because she still annoys me
with her radio roulette routine.
As soon as a song comes on which she
doesn't like, she surfs until she finds a station
playing one she does. But it was her car
and her radio. She can even change stations
with a control on the steering wheel. I didn't
argue. I didn't make fun of her. I waited for
the next station to pop up and accepted that
it would change at her whim. I was quite
amused when she finally did keep one station
on - and it was music from the 40's - music
that BOTH of us enjoy. We had a great ride
and I closed another chapter in the book of
letting go and opened a new chapter on
being a parent to a child who is not a full-
fledged adult.
Of course, our children are always our children.
And, as parents, we'll always feel that we have
the right to tell them what to do - and that by
rights they ought to listen to our wisdom. But
time and again we will come to points at which
we must close another chapter in the book of
letting go. They graduate. The go off to work
or school, get their own place to live, fail to write
home or call or email. We're no longer privvy to
their private life. We have to let go and trust
that we have taught them enough to be on their
own and give them room to become their own
person - a person we will need to respect as
another adult - even though, in our heart of hearts,
we will always wish they were still a child who
needs us.
There will be moments when they will come to
us - and need us to be their parent again -
but only temporarily. They will become parents
themselves and come to us - apologizing for
not understanding what they put us through,
asking us how we did it, determined not to make
the mistakes we made and, in the process,
making mistakes of their own.
Coming to see them and accept them as
grown ups in their own right is a lifelong process.
Though we will always be their parent,
there will always be lessons to learn about
letting go and allowing them to become all grown
up like us.
4th of July
I don't remember when we started doing the
4th of July the way we do. It is a grand open
house event at Dad's. We all bring a dish to
pass: Aunt Fran's potato salad; Aunt Helen's
salt potatoes and chocolate Wake Cake;
Sonya's mac' and cheese, Becky's devilled eggs
and enough others to feed an army.
Everyone is invited by word of mouth. No
formal invitations are sent. No one is ever
turned away. It is always a mystery how
many will show up. And the picnic is held
rain or shine.
Though relegated to the sidelines as a
cheerleader these days, I used to be able
to hit a double or triple to right field - and
catch a pop fly when it came my way too
in the annual softball game. This is a highlight
of any 4th of July gathering - weather permitting.
We don't really keep score and anyone
can play.
Those who are very young, get assistance
with batting and somehow that fielder on
first base never seems to catch the ball
in time to put you out. There's always
someone to guide you to the next base.
And you may not have a clue why you
are running - and some of the youngest
ones have been known to take off for the
swingset before they make it to home base -
but most earnestly listen for instructions and
love the cheers of the crowd when they
finally cross home plate.
Those who can still hit, but are no longer
able to run, may have an assigned runner.
There is then the option - you may take
your base and take your chances - or let
the youngster run the gamut.
Mom used to organize a cutthroat croquet
game. You would think this lawn game
would be calm and civilized. Not when
Uncle Bruce gets hold of a mallet! He
loves to send other balls far afield whenever
he gets the chance. He plays to win and
so did Mom. It was often more exciting to
watch the croquet match than the softball
game. We haven't had one lately. I miss
the mayhem and banter with Uncle Bruce
in the middle of the mix.
Meanwhile there were card games and
conversations going on around the tables
and chairs borrowed from church. There
were hotdogs, hamburgs and sausage patties
on the grill, every condiment under the sun,
any non-alcoholic beverage you could want,
salads, deviled eggs, salt potatoes and
desserts galore. No one went hungry.
I confess that there has been many
a year when I spent the day inside
taking a nap in the recliner and missing
much of the festivities. We are a very
diverse family. If discussions got onto
politics and/or religion, my views were
the minority. It is not a day for arguing,
so I would just excuse myself and go
take a nap. My favorite past time was
playing Scrabble when I could
find a worthy opponent who wasn't
playing croquet or softball.
Fire works often ended the day. When
Fran and I were living there with
Mom and Dad, we used to go to Colgate
University to watch the fireworks. I wonder
if they still have them there. Some years
a car load would go to Sylvan Beach or
Oriskany Falls.
My favorite fireworks memory though -
is the year I was in Lexington, Massachusetts
visiting my best friend who had moved there,
Laurel Dutcher. I missed being home with
the family but I have never seen a more
spectacular display than I did that year
next to the village green where the
Revolutionary War began.
Other years I spent worrying about Fran
as she helped Cory Clark set up for
fire works in and around Edwards. I'm
glad she doesn't do that any more.
But I'm grateful to those who do.
A fire works display is the perfect ending
to any 4th of July celebration.
We often get so enmeshed in our family
celebrations of the 4th of July that we
forget the real holiday. On July 4, 1776
we declared our independence from
Great Britain and began our struggle
to become "the home of the brave and
the land of the free."
July 4, 1776 is the day that the Declaration
of Independence was formally adopted by
our first Congress. It took until August before
it was signed by all. Did you know that
the first celebration was actually on July 8th in 1776?
The Declaration of Independence was read
aloud, city bells rang and many a band played.
I don't know whether or not there were fire works.
It was not declared a legal holiday until 1941.
In 1776 there were 2.5 million Americans.
As of July 4, 2008, there were 304 million.
We are a great nation. We are a diverse
nation. Freedom is the quality we celebrate
on the 4th. Freedom is something we
frequently fail to appreciate. Freedom is
sometimes something we misunderstand.
Freedom from Great Britain, that's what
we gained in 1776. To be our own nation,
making our own laws as well as our own
mistakes.
Freedom is something people around the
world are still fighting and dying for. It is a
privilege we need to appreciate and celebrate.
Appreciating freedom means accepting
the diversity of our nation (as well as our own
families). Freedom means agreeing to
disagree aggreeably about matters such as
politics and religion in order to be the
democracy our founding fathers meant
us to be, and the Revolutionary War allowed
us to be.
There's a quiz online on the Declaration
of Independence - that document which
first proclaimed our freedom. Take the quiz,
It reminds us of the real reason for all the family
gatherings and fire works on every 4th
of July.
http://www.history.com/content/declaration/quiz
June 15, 2009
But while he was yeat at a distance,
his father saw him and had compassion,
and ran, and embraced him and kissed him.
Luke 15:20b Parable of the Forgiving Father
Jesus took commonplace people,
places and things to use in his
teaching stories called parables.
These stories might exaggerate,
clarify, confuse, prove, disprove
or simply bring to life real issues
with which the real people of his day
were dealing on a daily basis.
Parables were meant to teach.
Yet their lessons were not always
clear cut. I look at these stories
like precious gems. Each time
I read one, it is like picking up a
beautiful amethyst (my favorite gem),
holding it up to the light to discover
new facets and new beauty with each
viewing.
When the Gospels give an interpretation
of a parable, it is generally something
that was added to the text at a later date.
Jesus told the stories to make people
think for themselves. There was no single
lesson to be learned by those listening.
No parable proves this better than
the Parable of the Forgiving Father -
more popularly called The Prodigal Son.
Some would, of course, identify with the
young man who left his home and family
to follow the devices and desires of his
own heart. The fact that the father was willing
to settle his estate before he was dead -
well, that would pique listeners' curiosity
because as far as they knew, no sane
father would do that - not for any son -
least of all the youngest.
But at this point in the story, most are imagining
themselves as that youngest son who gets
tomorrow's inheritance today and the chance to go
off by himself and do anything he wants as well.
Who among us has not had a time in our lives when we
wanted to just get away from the pain and
problems, the ruts of responsibility of ordinary life?
There are very few who have not fantasized about having
loads of money and no one to spend it on
but ourselves? A dollar and a dream is definitely
part of our culture today. A dream of being able
to do exactly as this youngest son was doing.
Some listeners would be more than ready
to take off with this young man, imaginining what their
life would be like if they could walk away
from all their obligations. Some would
daydream about a life free of responsibility,
the opportunity to pursue any personal pleasures
they had at any given moment. Of course, the
fantasy gets snapped back to reality when Jesus uses
this young man's journey - happily leaving
home but then returning humbled and
humiliated - to show how
wrong the young man had been. Ooh,
maybe we don't want to be that
young man after all.
Once we know the end of the story, the
next time we hear it we'll identify more
sympathetically with the father. What
an ungrateful son! How sad and hurt
the father must have been for a son to
choose this course of action! Listeners
who idenfied with the father would be
angry at this self-centered and self-
absorbed teenager. As the father, we
may feel righteous anger, rejection,
maybe even some self-pity until we
remember the ending of the story -
where the father welcomes home this
wasteful wanderer with open arms.
Ooh, maybe we don't want to identify
with the father after all. Forgiveness
and love like that, well, that's a tall order for
ordinary people. It is hard to imagine
welcoming this ingrate home without
at least a lecture - and some kind of
punishment. But that's not how the
story goes.
The only other main character is the
older brother. People would hear these
stories over and over again. They would
easily understand the older brothers
outrage at how his father was favoring
his younger sibling.. Hadn't he,
the older son, stood by his father faithfully?
Hadn't he taken up the slack and done
double duty to cover for his brother's
desertion? He hadn't wasted his father's
hard-earned money. Why hadn't his father
ever thrown him a party? Ooh, being the
older brother leaves a bad taste in one's
soul. He insists on wallowing in self-pity
and self-righteousness. He refuses to join
in the celebration. It's definitely
more fun to imagine ourselves back at the party
with the father and the younger son.
Look at all the lessons Jesus packs
into this one story. Look at the complexity
of each character. The main lesson, of
course, is that God is like the father in the
story - we are like one or both of the sons.
If we take the blessings God gives us and
squander them on years of wasteful living,
God will still love us when we come to our
senses, repent and request forgiveness.
God will exceed our humble expectations.
All we want is to get back in God's good
graces. God will throw a party and make
sure we have the best seat in the house -
the best clothes - the best food! WOW!
Okay, maybe we do want to identify with
the youngest son. He gets the happy
ending. Or, perhaps after seeing the
foolishness of the older brother's attitude
and actions, we'll have a newfound
appreciation for God's role in our lives:
how hard it must be for God when we
turn our backs and walk away; how
patient God has to be when we think
like the older brother that God's love
is a reward for good behavior rather
than an amazing resource available
to us for every day living whether we
are good or bad. The younger son failed
to value the bond of love until he was
at rock bottom. The older son
failed to understand that it was always
there. He didn't have to earn it. It wasn't
his reward for good behavior. His father's
love had been there for his benefit every
moment of his life.
The older son could have been celebrating
every day with his father. He worked
hard. He did all that was expected of him.
But he never said, "Hey, Dad, do you know
how much I love you? Let's have a party
to celebrate our relationship. You are an
awesome father and I just want you to know
it." What a party they could have had!
If the older brother had been able to
understand that love was a gift to be
shared - not a reward to be earned -
well, then he would have welcomed his
brother home too and helped his father throw
the party!
This little parable from Luke 15:11-32 is
full of other insights. I could preach on
this one story for the rest of my life. These
are only a few highlights which I thought
were good ones to share for Father's Day.
Our mortal fathers will have their faults
and flaws - ways in which they fall short
of God's capacity for love. But this secular
holiday - yes, it makes money for the card
manufacturers - but it is also a good excuse
to look at our Dad or the father figures in
our lives, to see what God sees in them
and to tell these fathering folks in our lives
how we see God in them. It may or may
not be a biological father - may not be any
relation at all - but someone who shared
love with us as the father in the parable does.
Someone who sometimes gives us exactly
what we ask for, lets us go off on our own
to learn from our own mistakes like the
father does for the youngest son.
Someone who has had patience with us,
is there for us day in and day out, someone
we failed to appreciate and/or to understand
as the older brother did for his father in this parable.
Someone who welcomes us home with open arms -
without the scolding or moralizing we deserve - but
instead throws a party and invites everyone to join in
the joyful celebration or our return and the love we
share.
Celebrate those someone's in your lives. And wish
them a Happy Father's Day.
But while he was yeat at a distance,
his father saw him and had compassion,
and ran, and embraced him and kissed him.
Luke 15:20b Parable of the Forgiving Father
Jesus took commonplace people,
places and things to use in his
teaching stories called parables.
These stories might exaggerate,
clarify, confuse, prove, disprove
or simply bring to life real issues
with which the real people of his day
were dealing on a daily basis.
Parables were meant to teach.
Yet their lessons were not always
clear cut. I look at these stories
like precious gems. Each time
I read one, it is like picking up a
beautiful amethyst (my favorite gem),
holding it up to the light to discover
new facets and new beauty with each
viewing.
When the Gospels give an interpretation
of a parable, it is generally something
that was added to the text at a later date.
Jesus told the stories to make people
think for themselves. There was no single
lesson to be learned by those listening.
No parable proves this better than
the Parable of the Forgiving Father -
more popularly called The Prodigal Son.
Some would, of course, identify with the
young man who left his home and family
to follow the devices and desires of his
own heart. The fact that the father was willing
to settle his estate before he was dead -
well, that would pique listeners' curiosity
because as far as they knew, no sane
father would do that - not for any son -
least of all the youngest.
But at this point in the story, most are imagining
themselves as that youngest son who gets
tomorrow's inheritance today and the chance to go
off by himself and do anything he wants as well.
Who among us has not had a time in our lives when we
wanted to just get away from the pain and
problems, the ruts of responsibility of ordinary life?
There are very few who have not fantasized about having
loads of money and no one to spend it on
but ourselves? A dollar and a dream is definitely
part of our culture today. A dream of being able
to do exactly as this youngest son was doing.
Some listeners would be more than ready
to take off with this young man, imaginining what their
life would be like if they could walk away
from all their obligations. Some would
daydream about a life free of responsibility,
the opportunity to pursue any personal pleasures
they had at any given moment. Of course, the
fantasy gets snapped back to reality when Jesus uses
this young man's journey - happily leaving
home but then returning humbled and
humiliated - to show how
wrong the young man had been. Ooh,
maybe we don't want to be that
young man after all.
Once we know the end of the story, the
next time we hear it we'll identify more
sympathetically with the father. What
an ungrateful son! How sad and hurt
the father must have been for a son to
choose this course of action! Listeners
who idenfied with the father would be
angry at this self-centered and self-
absorbed teenager. As the father, we
may feel righteous anger, rejection,
maybe even some self-pity until we
remember the ending of the story -
where the father welcomes home this
wasteful wanderer with open arms.
Ooh, maybe we don't want to identify
with the father after all. Forgiveness
and love like that, well, that's a tall order for
ordinary people. It is hard to imagine
welcoming this ingrate home without
at least a lecture - and some kind of
punishment. But that's not how the
story goes.
The only other main character is the
older brother. People would hear these
stories over and over again. They would
easily understand the older brothers
outrage at how his father was favoring
his younger sibling.. Hadn't he,
the older son, stood by his father faithfully?
Hadn't he taken up the slack and done
double duty to cover for his brother's
desertion? He hadn't wasted his father's
hard-earned money. Why hadn't his father
ever thrown him a party? Ooh, being the
older brother leaves a bad taste in one's
soul. He insists on wallowing in self-pity
and self-righteousness. He refuses to join
in the celebration. It's definitely
more fun to imagine ourselves back at the party
with the father and the younger son.
Look at all the lessons Jesus packs
into this one story. Look at the complexity
of each character. The main lesson, of
course, is that God is like the father in the
story - we are like one or both of the sons.
If we take the blessings God gives us and
squander them on years of wasteful living,
God will still love us when we come to our
senses, repent and request forgiveness.
God will exceed our humble expectations.
All we want is to get back in God's good
graces. God will throw a party and make
sure we have the best seat in the house -
the best clothes - the best food! WOW!
Okay, maybe we do want to identify with
the youngest son. He gets the happy
ending. Or, perhaps after seeing the
foolishness of the older brother's attitude
and actions, we'll have a newfound
appreciation for God's role in our lives:
how hard it must be for God when we
turn our backs and walk away; how
patient God has to be when we think
like the older brother that God's love
is a reward for good behavior rather
than an amazing resource available
to us for every day living whether we
are good or bad. The younger son failed
to value the bond of love until he was
at rock bottom. The older son
failed to understand that it was always
there. He didn't have to earn it. It wasn't
his reward for good behavior. His father's
love had been there for his benefit every
moment of his life.
The older son could have been celebrating
every day with his father. He worked
hard. He did all that was expected of him.
But he never said, "Hey, Dad, do you know
how much I love you? Let's have a party
to celebrate our relationship. You are an
awesome father and I just want you to know
it." What a party they could have had!
If the older brother had been able to
understand that love was a gift to be
shared - not a reward to be earned -
well, then he would have welcomed his
brother home too and helped his father throw
the party!
This little parable from Luke 15:11-32 is
full of other insights. I could preach on
this one story for the rest of my life. These
are only a few highlights which I thought
were good ones to share for Father's Day.
Our mortal fathers will have their faults
and flaws - ways in which they fall short
of God's capacity for love. But this secular
holiday - yes, it makes money for the card
manufacturers - but it is also a good excuse
to look at our Dad or the father figures in
our lives, to see what God sees in them
and to tell these fathering folks in our lives
how we see God in them. It may or may
not be a biological father - may not be any
relation at all - but someone who shared
love with us as the father in the parable does.
Someone who sometimes gives us exactly
what we ask for, lets us go off on our own
to learn from our own mistakes like the
father does for the youngest son.
Someone who has had patience with us,
is there for us day in and day out, someone
we failed to appreciate and/or to understand
as the older brother did for his father in this parable.
Someone who welcomes us home with open arms -
without the scolding or moralizing we deserve - but
instead throws a party and invites everyone to join in
the joyful celebration or our return and the love we
share.
Celebrate those someone's in your lives. And wish
them a Happy Father's Day.
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Music! Music! Music!
Music hath charms to soothe the savage breast,
to soften rocks, or bend a knotted oak....
A bride mourning the death of her groom
says these words in Act 1, Scene 1 of
William Congreve's 1697 play, "The
Mourning Bride." It is often misquoted,
substituting beast for breast. Almeria,
the bride, is bemoaning the unrelenting
pain of her grief, curious as to why music
is not able to give her the healing peace
she seeks. Music is comforting.
Music may be soothing. It seeps right
into the depths of our souls. But music
cannot make the pain of grief
miraculously or magically disappear.
Nonetheless, it can and does distract
and delight us. Music can make a
happy occasion happier, a sad occasion
easier to bear.
In fact, Karl Paulknack concluded
in an article in the Christian Science Monitor
that we actually need music in order to survive.
"Music finds the invisible pieces inside our
hearts and souls...like a telescope that looks in
rather than out." As a singer and musician
myself, I agree with Mr. Paulknack's conclusion.
We each have our individual tastes in music.
Some love classical. Others love jazz, bluegrass,
or country. The all time favorite hymns like "How
Great Thou Art", "In the Garden" and "Amazing Grace"
please just about anyone. But no one style answers the
needs of everyone. In fact every generation's music tends
to offend the preceding generation. I clearly remember how
much my parents hated The Beatles. And their parents were
scandalized by the likes of Elvis Presley. Thank goodness,
we have an abundance of styles to soothe all the savage breasts
of any age throughout the world.
I can't remember life without music. As soon as
I came home from the hospital, Mom had me listening
to the radio. We loved the Jim Deline show on WSYR.
I learned to sing listening to the harmonies of Norma
and Sandy Bigtree. Even then, I wanted to sing like
them. I couldn't even talk yet. I memorized songs
as easily as I memorized the ABC's. Before I started
Kindergarten my repertoire of popular and Sunday
School songs was quite extensive.
My Aunt Frances lived in NYC. She had been
a missionary to the Philippines. I loved it when she
came home for a visit. She was my first piano teacher.
On the unheated porch at Grandma's house, with a
quite out of tune piano, she taught me to read music.
I can still play the first two songs she gave me to
learn.
In 2nd grade, Mrs. Kaltenbach and Mrs. Stauffer
taught us songs like "Oh My Papa" and the "Lichtensteiner
Polka" along with many others. I still remember all the
words to the Papa song but the German has evaporated.
This was in addition to a regular music class. We also
learned to square dance with these two teachers. We must
have been good because we got to appear on television. It
was the best year of elementary school for me because it was
the year with the most music.
The year I received a violin from my grandfather
and free lessons was memorable too. I was in fourth or
fifth grade. We got piano lessons whenever Mom and Dad
had enough money. This meant a trip to the big city of
Oneida. Mom would drop us - and our $3 each - off at Doris
Rhinehart's house on Stone Street. We'd get to read comic
books and pet her Dalmation "Pepper" while the others played
their scales and lesson pieces. I took more lessons at Crane
School of Music in Potsdam after I was married. It was hard
for me to understand why I couldn't have had lessons all the
time. It is a regret with which I have had to make my peace.
In Junior High, I was blessed to be offered free organ
lessons. The catch was that I had to agree to become the next
church organist so that my teacher, Arlene Alger could retire
and get married. I not only became the organist for the United
Methodist Church but also played for the Presbyterians. In fact,
they paid better. I earned $3 a week for my church and a whopping
$5 a Sunday from the Presbyterians. I played until I went off to
college. I didn't pick up the organ playing again until I needed
a paying job to help pay for seminary. I was a church organist
again for two of the three years of seminary. By the third year
I was a supply pastor.
As a pastor there was precious little time to play piano or
organ. But I count it as one of my blessings that I was able to
play for a few months for the Trinity Episcopal Church in Gouverneur.
Their organ was nearly identical to the one on which I first learned
to play - and, except for one hymn which it ended up that none
of us really knew - I hope that the music soothed listeners' souls
as much as it did mine as I played.
Recently I've started using those performance trax CD's and
learning NEW songs!!! What fun! It can take me as long as a
year to get a song performance ready. I will always regret not
learning to sing professionally too. When my thyroid was removed
in 1978, the vocal chords were scraped and damaged. There was
no way of knowing if the damage was permanent. I had no voice
at all for more than six months - six very frustrating months.
Fran, my daughter, was a toddler - an active, always getting
into trouble toddler. I had to wear a whistle around my neck
in order to keep her little butt safe and sound. I made a deal
with God - I know, we're not supposed to do that but I wasn't a
pastor then and I didn't know any better.
I told God that if my voice returned, I would learn to sing.
Eventually my voice did return and I did manage to get in a year's
worth of voice lessons before the divorce. When I first joined the
choir at the church in Norwood, my voice could barely be heard and
I was terrified of solos. Now I'll sing at the drop of a hat, don't
usually need a mike and the more solos the better. Many thanks to
Sandy Richards for giving me that first solo and encouraging me to
sing.
All of which brings me to the purpose of all these music, music,
music memories. Four years ago, I had this vision of a tent meeting
taking place at the Pennellville UMC. It was NOT a fundraiser. It
was an evangelism event!!! Music! Music! Music! I woke up all
excited. The excitement died in the face of reality. How could
we ever do such a thing? It was just a dream. And I put it in the
back of my mind. Two years ago, we had an ecumenical Lenten
study group. We shared visions God had given us. And when I
shared mine, the response was - "why can't you do it???" "Just
do it!"
I nearly gave up twice because no one was showing up at
planning meetings. One of the last things Dorothy Bell shared
with me was how excited she was about this event happening in
Pennellville. I didn't have the heart to tell her I had given
up. After she died last December, I called one more meeting
and FINALLY we got plans off the ground.
It has taken two years but the tents are rented. The
portapotties are due to be delivered. And the following music
groups have agreed to perform: Tired Hands String Band,
Diamond Someday, The Atkinson Family, Dennis Shortslef,
Les and Linda Green. Chris McCabe, Diana Gardiner and myself
will be filling in between groups. And Alice Popps will do a
couple of Native American dances around supper time. Watch for
more publicity of this event!
Meanwhile mark your calendar for Saturday, August 1, 2009
and head for 389 County Route 54. There will be music from
noon until 9 p.m. We hope to end with a bonfire and a singalong.
There will be music! music! music! Hopefully, this day will
soothe many a savage breast - and folks will leave with serenity filled
souls. Music does indeed have magical and miraculous charms
to add to anyone's daily life. And some of us wholeheartedly believe
that we need music in order to survive. Spiritually speaking, music
is simply good for the soul!
Monday, May 18, 2009
The Real Memorial Day
May 25, 2009
Lilacs, lilies of the valley, American flags placed on the
graves of Veterans, red paper poppies for sale, parades
and picnics - all are associated with our celebration of
Memorial Day. The Indianapolis 500 has been part of this
holiday since 1911. Most of us view it as the unofficial
beginning of summer. It is also the most dangerous season
for car accidents. There were and still are major objections to
observing it on a Monday instead of it's traditional observance
on May 30th.
According to Prof. David Blight of Yale University, the first
Memorial Day was observed by freed slaves just
after the Civil War in 1865. It was at a race track
in Charleston, SC which was also the site of a
prison camp. There was a mass grave for the
Union soldiers who had died in captivity. This
group of newly liberated men and women took on
the task of digging individual graves and reburying
the dead soldiers. This was a daring and dangerous
enterprise for freed slaves to do in the South.
Three years later they returned to place flowers on
those graves. There was a parade, patriotic singing
and a picnic. They called it Decoration Day.
It was May 30, 1868.
Northerners credit Waterloo, NY with first celebrating
Memorial Day on May 5, 1866. General John A. Logan
issued a proclamation on behalf of the Grand Army of
the Republic - a veterans' group - that Decoration Day
become a national observance. It was first observed
on May 30, 1866. The date was chosen because it
was NOT the anniversary of a battle. The graves of
Union soldiers were decorated in remembrance of their
sacrifice. Waterloo's role in creating this holiday was
nationally recognized by official proclamation signed
by then President Lyndon B. Johnson on May 26, 1966.
The alternate name of "Memorial Day" did not appear
until 1882. It did not become the official name until
1967. Four years later the date was moved from
May 30th to the last Monday in May. Hence we will
celebrate it on Monday, May 25th this year.
For me, this holiday is also associated with my
mother's death. We had all been home for the
holiday. We had watched the local parades
which we had been part of as children. We
heard the 21 gun salute coming from the cemetery.
Then we went home for a picnic lunch. It was
the last time we were all together.
In December of 2000, the U.S. Congress passed
"The National Moment of Remembrance Act."
It is meant to encourage the people of the United
States to give time, talent and money to their
country which affords them the freedom and
opportunities of living in a democracy. We are
asked to pause, wherever we are at 3 p.m. on
Memorial Day for a minute of silence to remember
those who have died in service to this nation.
This year we need to give special attention and
appreciation to the young men and women who
have fallen in Afghanistan and Iraq. It is good to
solemnly remember the dead - especially as a
nation - all together on the same day. It is also
good to say thank you to those who have returned
from battle alive, as well as those who are
still fighting.
Let us remember our history and be grateful for our freedom.
Let us celebrate the present with our loved ones, sharing
all the joy and gratitude we can.
Let us pray for our future with all the wisdom and grace we
can muster.
Have a blessed Memorial Day!
Drive safely and those who live in Phoenix, NY
wish Mary Earle a Happy Birthday
on the "real" Memorial Day - May 30th.
Lilacs, lilies of the valley, American flags placed on the
graves of Veterans, red paper poppies for sale, parades
and picnics - all are associated with our celebration of
Memorial Day. The Indianapolis 500 has been part of this
holiday since 1911. Most of us view it as the unofficial
beginning of summer. It is also the most dangerous season
for car accidents. There were and still are major objections to
observing it on a Monday instead of it's traditional observance
on May 30th.
According to Prof. David Blight of Yale University, the first
Memorial Day was observed by freed slaves just
after the Civil War in 1865. It was at a race track
in Charleston, SC which was also the site of a
prison camp. There was a mass grave for the
Union soldiers who had died in captivity. This
group of newly liberated men and women took on
the task of digging individual graves and reburying
the dead soldiers. This was a daring and dangerous
enterprise for freed slaves to do in the South.
Three years later they returned to place flowers on
those graves. There was a parade, patriotic singing
and a picnic. They called it Decoration Day.
It was May 30, 1868.
Northerners credit Waterloo, NY with first celebrating
Memorial Day on May 5, 1866. General John A. Logan
issued a proclamation on behalf of the Grand Army of
the Republic - a veterans' group - that Decoration Day
become a national observance. It was first observed
on May 30, 1866. The date was chosen because it
was NOT the anniversary of a battle. The graves of
Union soldiers were decorated in remembrance of their
sacrifice. Waterloo's role in creating this holiday was
nationally recognized by official proclamation signed
by then President Lyndon B. Johnson on May 26, 1966.
The alternate name of "Memorial Day" did not appear
until 1882. It did not become the official name until
1967. Four years later the date was moved from
May 30th to the last Monday in May. Hence we will
celebrate it on Monday, May 25th this year.
For me, this holiday is also associated with my
mother's death. We had all been home for the
holiday. We had watched the local parades
which we had been part of as children. We
heard the 21 gun salute coming from the cemetery.
Then we went home for a picnic lunch. It was
the last time we were all together.
In December of 2000, the U.S. Congress passed
"The National Moment of Remembrance Act."
It is meant to encourage the people of the United
States to give time, talent and money to their
country which affords them the freedom and
opportunities of living in a democracy. We are
asked to pause, wherever we are at 3 p.m. on
Memorial Day for a minute of silence to remember
those who have died in service to this nation.
This year we need to give special attention and
appreciation to the young men and women who
have fallen in Afghanistan and Iraq. It is good to
solemnly remember the dead - especially as a
nation - all together on the same day. It is also
good to say thank you to those who have returned
from battle alive, as well as those who are
still fighting.
Let us remember our history and be grateful for our freedom.
Let us celebrate the present with our loved ones, sharing
all the joy and gratitude we can.
Let us pray for our future with all the wisdom and grace we
can muster.
Have a blessed Memorial Day!
Drive safely and those who live in Phoenix, NY
wish Mary Earle a Happy Birthday
on the "real" Memorial Day - May 30th.
How Does Your Garden Grow?
May 18, 2009
How Does Your Garden Grow?
Gardening is an exercise in optimism.
Marina Schinz, photographer and author
I went to the garden store on one of those
warm days. Now it is cold. I've got a little
red wagon filled with plants. I've got my first ever
topsy turvy planter holding an unsuspecting
tomato plant. I can't wait to see if it's really
as good and as easy as those infomercials
proclaim it to be. I'm going to try a cucumber
vine in the other one I bought.
I've got one quarter of my flower beds dug up
and ready for new plants. I'm scratching my head
trying to remember the name of the plants which
I planted last year. Some are quite prolific.
They are filling in just as I wanted them to do.
I don't suppose it matters if I know what they
are in the grand scheme of things. I'll just
enjoy watching them grow and be pleasantly
surprised when they are all grown up for this
season. Maybe by then I'll remember what they
are.
I've got fresh rhubarb. The plants I brought
here from Dad's three years ago have finally
established themselves. The lilacs are in
full bloom under my bedroom window along
with the lilies of the valley. I wish it would
warm up so I could have the window open
and drink in their scents, especially first thing
in the morning. Ferns are unfolding in their
shady nooks too - all that I didn't accidentally
massacre with the weedwhacker last week.
Every year I am determined to buy a trellis
for the wild blackberry bushes. I think of this
when I am hanging out clothes and those little
thorns grab my clothes and leave painful
scratches on any exposed skin. Maybe this
will be the year I actully accomplish this
task.
I'm trying to fill in the flower beds with perennials
to minimize the care needed. But gladioli and
iris - and dahlias when I plant them - they all need
to be dug up and replanted each year. I'm not
good at doing that. Kneeling is already impossible.
Bending over is easier now that I exercise regularly
but gardening gets more labor intensive with each
passing year.
I've got my basket of pansies from Easter which
I have managed to keep alive. I have the haul
from my trip to the garden store which patiently
waits for their place in the sun. I have two broccoli
plants which a friend gave me. I have several
packets of sunflower seeds which I hope will have
a chance to grow rather than ending up in a
squirrel, chipmunk or bird's stomach.
Thanks to Jim Faulise, my sunflower mailbox is
back in service. Thanks to Ryan Wood, the lawn
finally got mowed. Hopefully, we'll keep ahead of
the grass from now on The rest of the work at hand
is up to me. In fact, I should be out there working
instead of writing about working. The weeds are
already winning in the front flowerbeds.
I cheated this year. Last year I started things
early from seed. This year I bought one of those patio
cherry tomato plants. It is loaded with green tomatoes.
In fact there are two of them almost ripe enough to pop
in my mouth.
Although most of what I plant fails to grow as
bountifully and beautifully as the pictures in the
garden magazines, I will do it every year for as
long as I can move. I do like exercising optimism.
One of my success stories is my super-size milkweed
plants. I fed them Miracle-Gro one year and now I have
a bumper crop. I have to warn those who like to pull weeds,
that the milkweed growing in MY garden does NOT
get pulled. Milkweed attracts monarch butterflies,
which proves to be delightfully entertaining.
I wholeheartedly agree with Maria - the photographer
and author quoted above - "gardening is an exercise
in optimism." It requires rigorous physical exercise
to get things in the ground and to keep the weeds
at bay. But it is sheer, soul filling joy to watch
everything grow and bloom as the summer progresses.
Even though it is only in the sixties and breezy today,
Memorial Day is not far away. Excuse me now, I have to
go exercise my optimism. I may have to wear my long johns
and a flannel shirt to keep warm, but I've got lots to do -
and, for the moment, optimism to spare and share.
Happy Gardening!
How Does Your Garden Grow?
Gardening is an exercise in optimism.
Marina Schinz, photographer and author
I went to the garden store on one of those
warm days. Now it is cold. I've got a little
red wagon filled with plants. I've got my first ever
topsy turvy planter holding an unsuspecting
tomato plant. I can't wait to see if it's really
as good and as easy as those infomercials
proclaim it to be. I'm going to try a cucumber
vine in the other one I bought.
I've got one quarter of my flower beds dug up
and ready for new plants. I'm scratching my head
trying to remember the name of the plants which
I planted last year. Some are quite prolific.
They are filling in just as I wanted them to do.
I don't suppose it matters if I know what they
are in the grand scheme of things. I'll just
enjoy watching them grow and be pleasantly
surprised when they are all grown up for this
season. Maybe by then I'll remember what they
are.
I've got fresh rhubarb. The plants I brought
here from Dad's three years ago have finally
established themselves. The lilacs are in
full bloom under my bedroom window along
with the lilies of the valley. I wish it would
warm up so I could have the window open
and drink in their scents, especially first thing
in the morning. Ferns are unfolding in their
shady nooks too - all that I didn't accidentally
massacre with the weedwhacker last week.
Every year I am determined to buy a trellis
for the wild blackberry bushes. I think of this
when I am hanging out clothes and those little
thorns grab my clothes and leave painful
scratches on any exposed skin. Maybe this
will be the year I actully accomplish this
task.
I'm trying to fill in the flower beds with perennials
to minimize the care needed. But gladioli and
iris - and dahlias when I plant them - they all need
to be dug up and replanted each year. I'm not
good at doing that. Kneeling is already impossible.
Bending over is easier now that I exercise regularly
but gardening gets more labor intensive with each
passing year.
I've got my basket of pansies from Easter which
I have managed to keep alive. I have the haul
from my trip to the garden store which patiently
waits for their place in the sun. I have two broccoli
plants which a friend gave me. I have several
packets of sunflower seeds which I hope will have
a chance to grow rather than ending up in a
squirrel, chipmunk or bird's stomach.
Thanks to Jim Faulise, my sunflower mailbox is
back in service. Thanks to Ryan Wood, the lawn
finally got mowed. Hopefully, we'll keep ahead of
the grass from now on The rest of the work at hand
is up to me. In fact, I should be out there working
instead of writing about working. The weeds are
already winning in the front flowerbeds.
I cheated this year. Last year I started things
early from seed. This year I bought one of those patio
cherry tomato plants. It is loaded with green tomatoes.
In fact there are two of them almost ripe enough to pop
in my mouth.
Although most of what I plant fails to grow as
bountifully and beautifully as the pictures in the
garden magazines, I will do it every year for as
long as I can move. I do like exercising optimism.
One of my success stories is my super-size milkweed
plants. I fed them Miracle-Gro one year and now I have
a bumper crop. I have to warn those who like to pull weeds,
that the milkweed growing in MY garden does NOT
get pulled. Milkweed attracts monarch butterflies,
which proves to be delightfully entertaining.
I wholeheartedly agree with Maria - the photographer
and author quoted above - "gardening is an exercise
in optimism." It requires rigorous physical exercise
to get things in the ground and to keep the weeds
at bay. But it is sheer, soul filling joy to watch
everything grow and bloom as the summer progresses.
Even though it is only in the sixties and breezy today,
Memorial Day is not far away. Excuse me now, I have to
go exercise my optimism. I may have to wear my long johns
and a flannel shirt to keep warm, but I've got lots to do -
and, for the moment, optimism to spare and share.
Happy Gardening!
Monday, May 11, 2009
The True Vine
May 11, 2009
The True Vine
Did you know that there are vineyards
in nearly half of the counties in New
York State? New York State is the
2nd largest producer of wine in the
United States. California, of course,
is number one in this field. I had no
idea that New York State had that
many vineyards though.
Did you know that two thousand years
before Jesus was born, the Egyptians
were praising the abundance of wine in
the country where he was born? It seems
that Syria-Palestine has ideal conditions
for vineyards? The Egyptians had to create
raised beds and bring in soil for growing
grapes. Even with all of that effort, their
wine never rivalled that of Jesus' land.
The land of Canaan was the heart
of vine growing long before Jesus said:
"I am the true vine,
and my Father is the vine grower."
Everyone listening to Jesus would have
immediately had a mental picture of a
local vineyard. For the people of Jesus'
day grapevines were as familiar a sight
as McDonald's golden arched "M" is for
us today. Vineyards were everywhere.
They provided good fruit, good wine and
good money for their owners, plenty of
employment for the local folks too.
My Father removes every branch in me
that bears no fruit. Every branch that
bears fruit, my Father prunes to make
it bear more fruit.
I've been studying the Bible for nearly
sixty years now. Yet whenever I read
an old familiar passage like this, something
new pops out. In the past, I've always
associated pruning with getting rid of
the barren branches - the ones with no
fruit. For the first time, it sank in that
there was more to pruning than taking
out the barren branches. Pruning was meant
to make fruitful branches bear MORE fruit.
Not a stunning insight - but I had always
associated pruning with getting rid of
what was useless, bad or dead. This time
I heard Jesus saying that pruning was
meant to improve and increase the
production of grapes.
You have already been cleansed
by the word which I have spoken to you.
Abide in me as I abide in you.
Jesus is the vine. God is the vine grower.
We are the branches who are supposed
to be growing and producing an abundance
of grapes. The grapes represent all that
is good in this life - love and laughter,
close and caring relationships, living to gain
ever increasing wisdom and an attitude of
constant wonder - an ongoing process of
growth leading to spiritual maturity, giving
our every moment of life on earth meaning.
Jesus is the vine. God is the vine grower.
We are the branches drawing sustenance
from them both.
I love this allegory! It gives such a clear
and comforting image of our relationship
to God and the primary purpose of our
existence - to grow and bear fruit.
Just as the branch cannot bear fruit by itself
unless it abides in the vine,
neither can you unless you abide in me.
Another aspect of this insight is the
affirmation that pruning is NOT punitive.
Pruning is meant to minimize waste
and maximize growth.
I am the vine,
you are the branches.
Those who abide in me
and I in them bear much fruit
because apart from me
you can do nothing.
If branches do not bear fruit or choose
to leave the vine, there are dire consequences.
Whoever does not abide in me
is thrown away like a branch and withers.
Such branches are gathered,
thrown into the fire and burned.
Too often folks associate this with the eternal
fires of Hell. For me, it is simply stating the
consequences of trying to live without any
connection to God. Even those who choose
to leave or are pruned away serve a purpose.
They are gathered and provide fuel for fires that
cook food and keep people warm. Being
thrown in the fire to be burned is not a punishment.
It is a consequence of being disconnected.
When we sever our relationship with God,
we are useless in the sense that we can
no longer bear fruit. But we are still useful as
fuel for much needed fires.
If you abide in me and my words abide in you,
ask whatever you wish and it will be done for you.
My Father is glorified by this, that you bear much fruit
and become my disciples.
This probably gets misunderstood more than
any other part of this passage. It does NOT mean
that God becomes our Fairy Godmother granting
every wish and whim we think up. It is about
an eternal relationship with God, a forever
connection to Jesus and a non-stop commitment
to live life on God's terms - bearing fruit as one
of many branches who are providing spiritual
nourishment for the world at large. This is the
foundation out of which our requests to God
will be made - asking for whatever we need to
keep going and growing. It is NOT about asking
for "things" for ourselves. It is about asking
for strength and support for ourselves so that
we can keep adding to the abundance of God's
goodness and grace in this world.
As my Father has loved me so I have loved you.
Abide in my love.
If you keep my commandments
you will abide in my love,
just as I have kept my Father's commandments
and abide in my Father's love.
This is my favorite verse. All I have to do is
let Jesus soak up the sun, drink in the rain and
give me what I need to grow, grow, grow. God
harvests the grapes, prunes me when I need it
and all I have to do is stay connected and
productive. Jesus keeps the God-ness I need
flowing so I can just keep on growing. A nice secure
arrangement if you ask me.
I have said these things to you
so that my joy may be in you,
and your joy may be complete.
A happy ending! If you need the sight of
a real vineyard to enhance your understanding
and appreciation of this grapevine allegory,
head out towards Wolcott, NY and get yourself
intentionally lost. I did last week. I always
have to explore where I will come out if I go
the opposite way of what will take me home.
I ended up on Lummisville Road. I passed
Chimney Bluff State Park. I saw spectacular
views of Port Bay. I did u-turns on several
Dead Ends. I went around in circles for about
an hour surrounded by acres of orchards,
fertile farmland and vineyards. I ended up
going back to Wolcott and returning home
on my usual route, chuckling at myself for
not realizing how close to Lake Ontario I was.
It was a great day for a ride in the country and
it produced a bumper crop of good fruit - in the
form of inner peace.
I have written this column so that my inner
peace may be shared with you, and it will either
affirm the peace you already have or move you
to bear some of that good fruit for yourself today.
The True Vine
Did you know that there are vineyards
in nearly half of the counties in New
York State? New York State is the
2nd largest producer of wine in the
United States. California, of course,
is number one in this field. I had no
idea that New York State had that
many vineyards though.
Did you know that two thousand years
before Jesus was born, the Egyptians
were praising the abundance of wine in
the country where he was born? It seems
that Syria-Palestine has ideal conditions
for vineyards? The Egyptians had to create
raised beds and bring in soil for growing
grapes. Even with all of that effort, their
wine never rivalled that of Jesus' land.
The land of Canaan was the heart
of vine growing long before Jesus said:
"I am the true vine,
and my Father is the vine grower."
Everyone listening to Jesus would have
immediately had a mental picture of a
local vineyard. For the people of Jesus'
day grapevines were as familiar a sight
as McDonald's golden arched "M" is for
us today. Vineyards were everywhere.
They provided good fruit, good wine and
good money for their owners, plenty of
employment for the local folks too.
My Father removes every branch in me
that bears no fruit. Every branch that
bears fruit, my Father prunes to make
it bear more fruit.
I've been studying the Bible for nearly
sixty years now. Yet whenever I read
an old familiar passage like this, something
new pops out. In the past, I've always
associated pruning with getting rid of
the barren branches - the ones with no
fruit. For the first time, it sank in that
there was more to pruning than taking
out the barren branches. Pruning was meant
to make fruitful branches bear MORE fruit.
Not a stunning insight - but I had always
associated pruning with getting rid of
what was useless, bad or dead. This time
I heard Jesus saying that pruning was
meant to improve and increase the
production of grapes.
You have already been cleansed
by the word which I have spoken to you.
Abide in me as I abide in you.
Jesus is the vine. God is the vine grower.
We are the branches who are supposed
to be growing and producing an abundance
of grapes. The grapes represent all that
is good in this life - love and laughter,
close and caring relationships, living to gain
ever increasing wisdom and an attitude of
constant wonder - an ongoing process of
growth leading to spiritual maturity, giving
our every moment of life on earth meaning.
Jesus is the vine. God is the vine grower.
We are the branches drawing sustenance
from them both.
I love this allegory! It gives such a clear
and comforting image of our relationship
to God and the primary purpose of our
existence - to grow and bear fruit.
Just as the branch cannot bear fruit by itself
unless it abides in the vine,
neither can you unless you abide in me.
Another aspect of this insight is the
affirmation that pruning is NOT punitive.
Pruning is meant to minimize waste
and maximize growth.
I am the vine,
you are the branches.
Those who abide in me
and I in them bear much fruit
because apart from me
you can do nothing.
If branches do not bear fruit or choose
to leave the vine, there are dire consequences.
Whoever does not abide in me
is thrown away like a branch and withers.
Such branches are gathered,
thrown into the fire and burned.
Too often folks associate this with the eternal
fires of Hell. For me, it is simply stating the
consequences of trying to live without any
connection to God. Even those who choose
to leave or are pruned away serve a purpose.
They are gathered and provide fuel for fires that
cook food and keep people warm. Being
thrown in the fire to be burned is not a punishment.
It is a consequence of being disconnected.
When we sever our relationship with God,
we are useless in the sense that we can
no longer bear fruit. But we are still useful as
fuel for much needed fires.
If you abide in me and my words abide in you,
ask whatever you wish and it will be done for you.
My Father is glorified by this, that you bear much fruit
and become my disciples.
This probably gets misunderstood more than
any other part of this passage. It does NOT mean
that God becomes our Fairy Godmother granting
every wish and whim we think up. It is about
an eternal relationship with God, a forever
connection to Jesus and a non-stop commitment
to live life on God's terms - bearing fruit as one
of many branches who are providing spiritual
nourishment for the world at large. This is the
foundation out of which our requests to God
will be made - asking for whatever we need to
keep going and growing. It is NOT about asking
for "things" for ourselves. It is about asking
for strength and support for ourselves so that
we can keep adding to the abundance of God's
goodness and grace in this world.
As my Father has loved me so I have loved you.
Abide in my love.
If you keep my commandments
you will abide in my love,
just as I have kept my Father's commandments
and abide in my Father's love.
This is my favorite verse. All I have to do is
let Jesus soak up the sun, drink in the rain and
give me what I need to grow, grow, grow. God
harvests the grapes, prunes me when I need it
and all I have to do is stay connected and
productive. Jesus keeps the God-ness I need
flowing so I can just keep on growing. A nice secure
arrangement if you ask me.
I have said these things to you
so that my joy may be in you,
and your joy may be complete.
A happy ending! If you need the sight of
a real vineyard to enhance your understanding
and appreciation of this grapevine allegory,
head out towards Wolcott, NY and get yourself
intentionally lost. I did last week. I always
have to explore where I will come out if I go
the opposite way of what will take me home.
I ended up on Lummisville Road. I passed
Chimney Bluff State Park. I saw spectacular
views of Port Bay. I did u-turns on several
Dead Ends. I went around in circles for about
an hour surrounded by acres of orchards,
fertile farmland and vineyards. I ended up
going back to Wolcott and returning home
on my usual route, chuckling at myself for
not realizing how close to Lake Ontario I was.
It was a great day for a ride in the country and
it produced a bumper crop of good fruit - in the
form of inner peace.
I have written this column so that my inner
peace may be shared with you, and it will either
affirm the peace you already have or move you
to bear some of that good fruit for yourself today.
Monday, May 4, 2009
On With the Show!
May 4, 2009
Spiritually Speaking
I spent Sunday afternoon watching SUNY Oswego's
production of Steven Sondheim's musical
"Into the Woods." Characters from several
fairy tales make journeys 'into the woods' for
various reasons. All learn valuable, though
sometimes painful, lessons. The first act,
however, finds everyone with a happy ending.
Their wishes are fulfilled. And viewers are tempted
to think the play is over. It isn't.
In the second act, all the happy endings go
awry with the arrival of one very angry giantess.
Her husband had been accidentally killed in the
first act. She wanted vengeance. Only four
characters are left standing at the end. All are
determined to have more realistic expectations
for life and to be content with what they have
instead wasting time and energy on wishes
and fantasies of what might be. It was a delightful
show starring Gregory Reynolds, a former tenor
in the choir at the Pennellville church - now a
sophomore at SUNY Oswego. Thanks to his
proud mother, Karen many of us were privileged
to see the show this past weekend. I love a good
musical. Sitting there watching Little Red Riding
Hood, Cinderella, a baker (Gregory) and his wife,
the Big Bad Wolf, Jack and many, many others
romp through the woods, singing and dancing up
a storm, reminded me of how much I enjoyed
being part of a theater group in my younger days.
Maybe when I retire, I'll be able to incorporate
this time-consuming pasttime back into my
life.
I usually worked behind the scenes. I got involved
in a local summer theater group the first two years
of college because the young man I was dating at
the time was involved. He was a star.
Our troupe had little money but lots of talent and time.
Trent, my boyfriend of the moment, played
Matt, the lead in Harvey Schmidt's and Tom
Jones' musical "The Fantastiks" the first summer.
He had a gorgeous tenor voice. That musical
has beautiful tenor solos. My favorite one was
"Soon It's Gonna Rain" a plaintive love song sung
by Matt and Luisa, the main characters who love
each other. I admit that I was extremely jealous
of his leading lady back then. I can't even remember
her name now. I worked on props, costumes and
publicity.
I also held a cast party at my house that first
summer. My parents were on vacation in Florida
with my two youngest sisters. No, I didn't have
permission to have a party. But I was 19 years
old, my parents were away and hey, it's what
you do at that age. I had chaperones. A married
couple from England were in the area for a brief visit
so I invited them to the show and the party.
Prof. Jones, the male half of this couple,
had been a visiting geography professor
the previous year at SUNY Potsdam. He and his wife,
Barbara had only been in Potsdam for one year. I took
his class, and then kept in touch when they returned
to England.
I didn't see anything wrong with inviting a few friends
over to meet them, celebrating the closing of the play
and stocking the fridge with a few six packs.
Well, I did know that it was wrong. But I was 19
and sure that I wouldn't be caught. Did I mention
that alcohol was never allowed in our home? Imagine
the drama, and my personal ethical dilemma,
when my parents returned home two days
early during this party. I don't think there has ever
been a more dramatically complex moment in my life.
I have blocked out most of the details - except for how
I sent those six packs home with the guests and
thanked them for bringing them in the first place.
They looked at me like I was crazy and I insisted
that they take home what they had brought. No
way was I going to get busted for buying beer as
well as having an unauthorized party. Need I
remind you readers, I was 19. The drinking age
was 18 back then - so at least I hadn't broken any
laws - just my parents' rules.
Mom and Dad discouraged my theater
work after that. I insisted that others had
brought the beer and little had been consumed.
I pleaded for mercy because Barbara and Arthur
were both adult chaperones and nothing bad
happened. I cleaned the house. I tried to make
amends. And I was back in the troupe by the
next summer.
Trent played the lead in George Kaufman's and
Moss Hart's "You Can't Take It With You." No
music in this one. This time we had little money and
lots of laughs. I worked on props and costumes
again. No cast party. I learned my lesson.
And my parents stayed home the whole summer
anyway..
My theater career ended temporarily when Trent
and I broke up and I went to live in France. When
I returned to this country, I spent a quiet summer
working before returning to Potsdam for my senior
year. I had an evening French class. It was a
small and intimate class. We often went to a
place called "Station for Steak" - a local eatery -
to socialize after class. There was also an English
literature class which let out at the same time. The
professor knew two of the people in my class and
he often joined us for our social hour. Before the end of the
semester, we were all invited to the wedding of the
man who owned the restaurant. The reception was
at the "Station for Steak" with live music. The English
Professor asked me to dance. He was a very good dancer.
Turns out, he was also involved in the local theater
group, The Potsdam Community Theater. He was
starring in their production of "The Melodrama."
I can't remember who wrote this one. Bill, the
English Professor overplayed the villain's role as
was befitting this predictable tale of woe where the
innocent young maiden is rescued from the wiles
of the villain by a handsome young hero. I didn't
actually work on this play. I did attend all of its
performances.
Bill and I ended up getting married. We worked
on productions of "Come Back, Little Sheba"
and "Damn Yankees." I actually made the chorus
line in Damn Yankess - as well as working on props,
publicity and costumes. Those are good memories.
Stephanie, another member of the Potsdam
troupe, and I made annual pilgrimages to NYC
to see at least one Broadway show each year.
I got to see Harvey Korman in Plaza Suite, the
first run of Chorus Line and The Wiz, an unforgettable
tour of the Metropolitan Opera House and a
lecture by Bob Fosse. It's been a long time since
those NYC trips. Today's performance brought
them all back.
My daughter, Fran ended up being a theater major.
I was amazed at her talent in a high school play
where she played a character similar to Anne Frank.
I can't remember the name of the play. She had been
memorizing lyrics since she was three. One of her
favorites is "A Charlie Brown Christmas." I think she
knows the entire show by heart. I enjoyed travelling to
Niagara University to see her in college productions.
One of the best was "On a Clear Day You Can See Forever."
I also traveled to Prestonsburg, Kentucky to see
"Dead Men Don't Wear Plaid." She had arranged for
me to be the volunteer they called up on stage in the
last act to play "Heart and Soul" on the piano. She
was also in a few shows with the Grasse River Players
in Canton. And now we are both too busy to get
involved in any theater productions.
It takes hours and hours of hard work to learn a part,
to get all the scenes blocked out, get sponsors,
print posters and programs and do the publicity.
But there is no thrill like opening night, when the
overture plays, the house lights come up and the
performance is on. For many of us, this feeds our
souls in ways that nothing else does. I get to do
many mini-dramas as part of Vacation Bible School,
occasionally even a Sunday sermon. But I do dream
of retirement - and the luxury of having time to
join a theater group again. Being part of a show
is a soul nourishing adventure from the trembling
tryouts through the applause of the crowd
as the curtain comes down on the last performance.
Spiritually Speaking
I spent Sunday afternoon watching SUNY Oswego's
production of Steven Sondheim's musical
"Into the Woods." Characters from several
fairy tales make journeys 'into the woods' for
various reasons. All learn valuable, though
sometimes painful, lessons. The first act,
however, finds everyone with a happy ending.
Their wishes are fulfilled. And viewers are tempted
to think the play is over. It isn't.
In the second act, all the happy endings go
awry with the arrival of one very angry giantess.
Her husband had been accidentally killed in the
first act. She wanted vengeance. Only four
characters are left standing at the end. All are
determined to have more realistic expectations
for life and to be content with what they have
instead wasting time and energy on wishes
and fantasies of what might be. It was a delightful
show starring Gregory Reynolds, a former tenor
in the choir at the Pennellville church - now a
sophomore at SUNY Oswego. Thanks to his
proud mother, Karen many of us were privileged
to see the show this past weekend. I love a good
musical. Sitting there watching Little Red Riding
Hood, Cinderella, a baker (Gregory) and his wife,
the Big Bad Wolf, Jack and many, many others
romp through the woods, singing and dancing up
a storm, reminded me of how much I enjoyed
being part of a theater group in my younger days.
Maybe when I retire, I'll be able to incorporate
this time-consuming pasttime back into my
life.
I usually worked behind the scenes. I got involved
in a local summer theater group the first two years
of college because the young man I was dating at
the time was involved. He was a star.
Our troupe had little money but lots of talent and time.
Trent, my boyfriend of the moment, played
Matt, the lead in Harvey Schmidt's and Tom
Jones' musical "The Fantastiks" the first summer.
He had a gorgeous tenor voice. That musical
has beautiful tenor solos. My favorite one was
"Soon It's Gonna Rain" a plaintive love song sung
by Matt and Luisa, the main characters who love
each other. I admit that I was extremely jealous
of his leading lady back then. I can't even remember
her name now. I worked on props, costumes and
publicity.
I also held a cast party at my house that first
summer. My parents were on vacation in Florida
with my two youngest sisters. No, I didn't have
permission to have a party. But I was 19 years
old, my parents were away and hey, it's what
you do at that age. I had chaperones. A married
couple from England were in the area for a brief visit
so I invited them to the show and the party.
Prof. Jones, the male half of this couple,
had been a visiting geography professor
the previous year at SUNY Potsdam. He and his wife,
Barbara had only been in Potsdam for one year. I took
his class, and then kept in touch when they returned
to England.
I didn't see anything wrong with inviting a few friends
over to meet them, celebrating the closing of the play
and stocking the fridge with a few six packs.
Well, I did know that it was wrong. But I was 19
and sure that I wouldn't be caught. Did I mention
that alcohol was never allowed in our home? Imagine
the drama, and my personal ethical dilemma,
when my parents returned home two days
early during this party. I don't think there has ever
been a more dramatically complex moment in my life.
I have blocked out most of the details - except for how
I sent those six packs home with the guests and
thanked them for bringing them in the first place.
They looked at me like I was crazy and I insisted
that they take home what they had brought. No
way was I going to get busted for buying beer as
well as having an unauthorized party. Need I
remind you readers, I was 19. The drinking age
was 18 back then - so at least I hadn't broken any
laws - just my parents' rules.
Mom and Dad discouraged my theater
work after that. I insisted that others had
brought the beer and little had been consumed.
I pleaded for mercy because Barbara and Arthur
were both adult chaperones and nothing bad
happened. I cleaned the house. I tried to make
amends. And I was back in the troupe by the
next summer.
Trent played the lead in George Kaufman's and
Moss Hart's "You Can't Take It With You." No
music in this one. This time we had little money and
lots of laughs. I worked on props and costumes
again. No cast party. I learned my lesson.
And my parents stayed home the whole summer
anyway..
My theater career ended temporarily when Trent
and I broke up and I went to live in France. When
I returned to this country, I spent a quiet summer
working before returning to Potsdam for my senior
year. I had an evening French class. It was a
small and intimate class. We often went to a
place called "Station for Steak" - a local eatery -
to socialize after class. There was also an English
literature class which let out at the same time. The
professor knew two of the people in my class and
he often joined us for our social hour. Before the end of the
semester, we were all invited to the wedding of the
man who owned the restaurant. The reception was
at the "Station for Steak" with live music. The English
Professor asked me to dance. He was a very good dancer.
Turns out, he was also involved in the local theater
group, The Potsdam Community Theater. He was
starring in their production of "The Melodrama."
I can't remember who wrote this one. Bill, the
English Professor overplayed the villain's role as
was befitting this predictable tale of woe where the
innocent young maiden is rescued from the wiles
of the villain by a handsome young hero. I didn't
actually work on this play. I did attend all of its
performances.
Bill and I ended up getting married. We worked
on productions of "Come Back, Little Sheba"
and "Damn Yankees." I actually made the chorus
line in Damn Yankess - as well as working on props,
publicity and costumes. Those are good memories.
Stephanie, another member of the Potsdam
troupe, and I made annual pilgrimages to NYC
to see at least one Broadway show each year.
I got to see Harvey Korman in Plaza Suite, the
first run of Chorus Line and The Wiz, an unforgettable
tour of the Metropolitan Opera House and a
lecture by Bob Fosse. It's been a long time since
those NYC trips. Today's performance brought
them all back.
My daughter, Fran ended up being a theater major.
I was amazed at her talent in a high school play
where she played a character similar to Anne Frank.
I can't remember the name of the play. She had been
memorizing lyrics since she was three. One of her
favorites is "A Charlie Brown Christmas." I think she
knows the entire show by heart. I enjoyed travelling to
Niagara University to see her in college productions.
One of the best was "On a Clear Day You Can See Forever."
I also traveled to Prestonsburg, Kentucky to see
"Dead Men Don't Wear Plaid." She had arranged for
me to be the volunteer they called up on stage in the
last act to play "Heart and Soul" on the piano. She
was also in a few shows with the Grasse River Players
in Canton. And now we are both too busy to get
involved in any theater productions.
It takes hours and hours of hard work to learn a part,
to get all the scenes blocked out, get sponsors,
print posters and programs and do the publicity.
But there is no thrill like opening night, when the
overture plays, the house lights come up and the
performance is on. For many of us, this feeds our
souls in ways that nothing else does. I get to do
many mini-dramas as part of Vacation Bible School,
occasionally even a Sunday sermon. But I do dream
of retirement - and the luxury of having time to
join a theater group again. Being part of a show
is a soul nourishing adventure from the trembling
tryouts through the applause of the crowd
as the curtain comes down on the last performance.
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Tribute to a Friend
The holiness and the hecticness of the last two weeks
has subsided. It is the Monday morning after Easter
and so far so good. A few phone calls to return but
enjoying the momentary calm and quiet. Two
funerals, Palm Sunday, Maundy Thursday, Good Friday,
Sunrise service and the grand finale of Easter Sunday
celebrations including a Baptism/Confirmation
are officially behind me.
This week's main task is to sort through all the jokes
and funny stories I've collected and/or been given for
the past year. Some will be used as part of this
Sunday's Holy Humor liturgy. Long ago, Easter
Sunday through Bright Monday - which will be next Monday,
April 20th - these seven days after Easter were filled with
picnics and parties marked by joy and laughter as folks
stretched out the celebration of Jesus' Resurrection.
Practical jokes were normal and numerous for clergy and
laity alike. The rationale behind all this wholesome mischief
and mayhem was that God had played the biggest and best practical
joke of all time on the Devil by raising Jesus from the dead.
What better, more appropriate response than a week filled with
mirth and merriment?
I'm not exactly up to the mirth and merriment level
yet. I think a good long nap, absolute quiet and doing
absolutely nothing for a few hours is in order. There is
much to ponder. Time is needed to mull over the events
of the last two weeks and let their impact sink in. There
is one impending change which hangs like a cloud of
sadness as I plan next Sunday's fun.
Rev. Lauri Craig arrived in Phoenix about three months
before I arrived in Pennellville. We have worked well together
over these last six years - as colleagues, then confidantes,
and now good friends. What fun we have had planning something
new and different each year for the Down by the River Service!
What adventures we have had moving the service inside one
of the churches when the weather refused to cooperate. I worked
the desk while Lauri, Bob and the dogs did the CROP Walk
where we raised money for hunger - global and local. We did
our best to publicize each other's fundraisers and not have
two at the same time. For the most part, we succeeded.
We have shared leadership at worship services at Syracuse
Home, done a few funerals together and covered for each
other while away on vacation.
We were constantly trying to involve more of the community in
activities and projects sponsored by the Southern Oswego County
Council of Churches. Most have probably forgotten our first and
only community Thanksgiving dinner? It seemed like a good idea
at the time. Our "Heart to Heart" kit project (making kits for kids
for Church World Service to distribute at disaster sites) was a
resounding success though much more time consuming that we
had imagined. If you have ever attended the annual Youth Awards
banquet, you have heard one of us bless the food and one give the
Benediction. We were also part of the Baccalaureate service at
JCB each June. And each September 11th, we participated in the
Memorial Service at Henley Park.
There have been many meetings held over lunch at Larkin's and
other local eateries. We also discovered the luscious latte available
at the State Street Cafe. We have done a variety of things for Lent -
always taking a lead at the weekly lunches, sometimes sharing a study
group, frequently planning joint services for Holy Week. As we stood
behind the altar table on Maundy Thursday consecrating the elements for
Holy Communion, we realized that this would be our last service together.
It was a sad realization.
We have been there for each other when our mothers' died. We have
both appreciated working with Doug and Gordon Tappan on way too many
funerals these past six years. We share prayer concerns and pray for
each other's parishioners on a regular basis. Sometimes we've even been
able to visit each other's people in hospitals and nursing homes.
It is hard to say good-bye to what has been a huge part of our
relationship - providing pastoral care and spiritual leadership
for the Phoenix community. We have worked together easily and
can look back on many, many collaborative worship experiences
which hopefully have been spiritually nourishing for those
who attended. I will miss working with Pastor Lauri. We have
weathered many seasons together. And now, as it says in
Ecclesiastes 3, "there is a time to weep,and a time to laugh."
It will be time for both in the two weeks ahead. Though
Sunday, April 26th will be Pastor Lauri's last Sunday as my
colleague in ministry here in Phoenix, I thank God that it
will not be our last day as friends. But the 26th will bring tears.
Here's an email contribution which will hopefully bring
laughter on the 19th, Holy Humor Sunday. My apologies to
blondes everywhere, including my sister Andrea.
The True Meaning of Easter in Canada
Three blondes died and found themselves standing before St. Peter.
He told them that before they could enter the Kingdom,
they had to tell him what Easter represented.
The first blonde, a American, said "Easter is a holiday
where they have a big feast. We give thanks and eat turkey."
St. Peter said, "Noooooo" and he banished her to Hell.
The second blonde who was British said, "Easter is when we
celebrate Jesus' birth and exchange gifts."
St. Peter said, "Noooooo" and he banished her to Hell.
The third blonde, a Canadian, said she knew what Easter was,
and St. Peter said, "So, tell me."
She said, "Easter is a Christian holiday that coincides
with the Jewish festival of Passover. Jesus was having Passover
feast with His disciples when He was betrayed by Judas, and the
Romans arrested Him. He was nailed to a cross where he died. Then
they buried Him in a tomb behind and sealed the entry with a very
large stone."
St Peter said, "Very Good.'
Then the blonde continued, "Now, every year the Jews roll away
the stone and Jesus comes out. If he sees his shadow, we have six more
weeks of hockey."
St. Peter fainted
A time to laugh? Or a time to weep?
has subsided. It is the Monday morning after Easter
and so far so good. A few phone calls to return but
enjoying the momentary calm and quiet. Two
funerals, Palm Sunday, Maundy Thursday, Good Friday,
Sunrise service and the grand finale of Easter Sunday
celebrations including a Baptism/Confirmation
are officially behind me.
This week's main task is to sort through all the jokes
and funny stories I've collected and/or been given for
the past year. Some will be used as part of this
Sunday's Holy Humor liturgy. Long ago, Easter
Sunday through Bright Monday - which will be next Monday,
April 20th - these seven days after Easter were filled with
picnics and parties marked by joy and laughter as folks
stretched out the celebration of Jesus' Resurrection.
Practical jokes were normal and numerous for clergy and
laity alike. The rationale behind all this wholesome mischief
and mayhem was that God had played the biggest and best practical
joke of all time on the Devil by raising Jesus from the dead.
What better, more appropriate response than a week filled with
mirth and merriment?
I'm not exactly up to the mirth and merriment level
yet. I think a good long nap, absolute quiet and doing
absolutely nothing for a few hours is in order. There is
much to ponder. Time is needed to mull over the events
of the last two weeks and let their impact sink in. There
is one impending change which hangs like a cloud of
sadness as I plan next Sunday's fun.
Rev. Lauri Craig arrived in Phoenix about three months
before I arrived in Pennellville. We have worked well together
over these last six years - as colleagues, then confidantes,
and now good friends. What fun we have had planning something
new and different each year for the Down by the River Service!
What adventures we have had moving the service inside one
of the churches when the weather refused to cooperate. I worked
the desk while Lauri, Bob and the dogs did the CROP Walk
where we raised money for hunger - global and local. We did
our best to publicize each other's fundraisers and not have
two at the same time. For the most part, we succeeded.
We have shared leadership at worship services at Syracuse
Home, done a few funerals together and covered for each
other while away on vacation.
We were constantly trying to involve more of the community in
activities and projects sponsored by the Southern Oswego County
Council of Churches. Most have probably forgotten our first and
only community Thanksgiving dinner? It seemed like a good idea
at the time. Our "Heart to Heart" kit project (making kits for kids
for Church World Service to distribute at disaster sites) was a
resounding success though much more time consuming that we
had imagined. If you have ever attended the annual Youth Awards
banquet, you have heard one of us bless the food and one give the
Benediction. We were also part of the Baccalaureate service at
JCB each June. And each September 11th, we participated in the
Memorial Service at Henley Park.
There have been many meetings held over lunch at Larkin's and
other local eateries. We also discovered the luscious latte available
at the State Street Cafe. We have done a variety of things for Lent -
always taking a lead at the weekly lunches, sometimes sharing a study
group, frequently planning joint services for Holy Week. As we stood
behind the altar table on Maundy Thursday consecrating the elements for
Holy Communion, we realized that this would be our last service together.
It was a sad realization.
We have been there for each other when our mothers' died. We have
both appreciated working with Doug and Gordon Tappan on way too many
funerals these past six years. We share prayer concerns and pray for
each other's parishioners on a regular basis. Sometimes we've even been
able to visit each other's people in hospitals and nursing homes.
It is hard to say good-bye to what has been a huge part of our
relationship - providing pastoral care and spiritual leadership
for the Phoenix community. We have worked together easily and
can look back on many, many collaborative worship experiences
which hopefully have been spiritually nourishing for those
who attended. I will miss working with Pastor Lauri. We have
weathered many seasons together. And now, as it says in
Ecclesiastes 3, "there is a time to weep,and a time to laugh."
It will be time for both in the two weeks ahead. Though
Sunday, April 26th will be Pastor Lauri's last Sunday as my
colleague in ministry here in Phoenix, I thank God that it
will not be our last day as friends. But the 26th will bring tears.
Here's an email contribution which will hopefully bring
laughter on the 19th, Holy Humor Sunday. My apologies to
blondes everywhere, including my sister Andrea.
The True Meaning of Easter in Canada
Three blondes died and found themselves standing before St. Peter.
He told them that before they could enter the Kingdom,
they had to tell him what Easter represented.
The first blonde, a American, said "Easter is a holiday
where they have a big feast. We give thanks and eat turkey."
St. Peter said, "Noooooo" and he banished her to Hell.
The second blonde who was British said, "Easter is when we
celebrate Jesus' birth and exchange gifts."
St. Peter said, "Noooooo" and he banished her to Hell.
The third blonde, a Canadian, said she knew what Easter was,
and St. Peter said, "So, tell me."
She said, "Easter is a Christian holiday that coincides
with the Jewish festival of Passover. Jesus was having Passover
feast with His disciples when He was betrayed by Judas, and the
Romans arrested Him. He was nailed to a cross where he died. Then
they buried Him in a tomb behind and sealed the entry with a very
large stone."
St Peter said, "Very Good.'
Then the blonde continued, "Now, every year the Jews roll away
the stone and Jesus comes out. If he sees his shadow, we have six more
weeks of hockey."
St. Peter fainted
A time to laugh? Or a time to weep?
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Plenty to Fear?
March 24, 2009
Spiritually Speaking
Plenty to Fear?
I am putting pen to paper on Tuesday,
March 24, 2009 at 9:00 a.m. A few
of today's headlines are:
-More Madoff Assets Found
-Biggest Rally on Stock Market in 4 Months
-Furor over AIG Bonuses
-$50 Million of AIG Bonuses Returned
-$9 Trillion Debt in our Future?
-NATO Troops Kill Afghan Driver
-North Korea Reasserts Right to Satellite Launch
-Youth in Court over Killing in Northern Ireland
-Kurdish Rebels Won't Stop Fighting in Iraq
-Missing Woman's Body Found in Antwerp, NY
-Health Insurance Squeezes U.S. workers
-What We're Splurging and Skimping on Right Now
-Blizzard Shuts Down Parts
of Wyoming and South Dakota
Large corporations are laying people off daily.
Small businesses are floundering. Unemployment is
rising. The fighting in Iraq and Afghanistan continues
to keep our troops in harm's way. The coffins
continue to come home. Closer to our communities,
crimes and violence pepper the evening local news.
Granted, there are glimmers of hope - the bonuses
being voluntarily returned by AIG employees and the
rally in the Stock Market, but for the average family
trying to make ends meet - often with one or both
parents unemployed or underemployed; for those
who are watching their retirement nest eggs shrinking,
their investments dwindling, or even
disappearing all together - along with those who
feel the pinch more intensely each day as they fall
further and further behind on fixed incomes- the future
can look bleak and frighteningly hopeless.
Many people draw comparisons to
The Great Depression. Will this or won't it turn
into a second Great Depression? There are similarities:
unequal distribution of wealth, excessive speculation
on the Stock Market, and bank failures. While not
exactly the same causes and/or consequences, it is
similar enough to raise fear and anxiety. Hopefully, we
can glean good knowledge from those Depression years
and thereby avoid the most dire consequences of the thirties
as we face today's economic crisis.
Franklin Delano Roosevelt set in motion the New Deal.
It's measures put homeless, hungry, unemployed men
to work on construction and conservation projects across
the country. There are many alive today who can point
with pride to projects they helped to build or forests they
helped to plant. Eleanor Roosevelt, frustrated because the New
Deal did not help women, set in motion her own New
Deal for the homeless, hungry and unemployed women
of the day. Both Roosevelt's received plenty of criticism for
their attempts to restart the economy. Until their measures
kicked in and the economy turned around, there was
a high level of fear and anxiety for the average American,
suspicion and skepticism about the President's actions
and our country's future.
It took FDR four hours to draft his 1933 inaugural speech.
His words offer as much encouragement and support
today as they did when he first spoke them.
This great nation will endure as it has endured, will revive
and will prosper. Let me assert my firm belief that the
only thing we have to fear is fear itself- nameless,
unreasoning, unjustified terror which paralyses
needed efforts to convert retreat into advance.
H.W. Brands, author of A Traitor to His Class:
The Privileged and Radical Presidency of Franklin Delano Roosevelt
observes:
Before long this line about having to fear only fear would be hailed
as a landmark of presidential rhetoric. At the time it didn't seem so...
not the least since it was patently false. Americans had plenty to fear....
By 1933, one quarter of all American workers were unemployed.
Thousands were underemployed. Five thousand banks had failed.
The Stock Market had lost 75% of its value. A half million home
mortgages had been foreclosed. Without property taxes, municipal
governments and even public schools were ailing and failing. Many
staunchly refused any government relief. Those who accepted it found
it was, at best, inadequate but better than nothing. A tide of
homelessness swept the country. The birth rate fell by one third.
Americans had plenty to fear starting with massive unemployment,
widespread hunger and a collapsing financial system. Yet coming from
one who had just survived an assassination attempt following a decade
long battle with polio, it struck a reassuring tone.
Roosevelt's reassurance about fear did not make the headlines the next
day. His attack on the money changers of the day did. People wanted
to know that the President was taking action. They needed to see justice
coming to the greedy ones who had created the crisis. The newspapers
read:
Roosevelt assailed the unscupulous money changers of Wall Street
as those responsible for America's plight. He said, "Plenty is at our
doorstep but a generous use of it languishes in the very sight of the supply.
...Yes, the money changers have fled from their high seats in the temple
of our civilization. We may now restore that temple to the ancient truths.
The measure of that restoration lies in the extent to which we apply social
values more noble than mere monetary profit. ...Our greatest primary task
is to put people to work."
Today his words about the only fear we have to fear being fear itself
is what we remember. Good words. Sound sentiment. But we,
like those who lived through the Depression era, have plenty to fear.
Unfortunately fear will paralyze us in the past, or at best in the present
moment. Or we can face that fear and find our faith. Faith that we can
work for good, faith that the good we do will make a difference - that
is what will move us into the future with hope. Fear holds hope hostage.
Faith frees it. Fear hoards things, makes us look out only for ourselves.
Faith frees us to share whatever we have, committed to improving the quality
of life for as many as possible - not just for ourselves.
President Roosevelt appealed to the people for a unified
support of his leadership. He knew that there would be
criticism no matter what he tried to do. He also recognized
the dire needs of the nation and did what he could to
alleviate the homelessness, hunger and unemployment.
He learned from his own mistakes. We can look back and
learn - from what worked and what did not.
We must face our fear, then wade through it and climb out
of fear to stand on the solid ground of hope, committed to
walking forward with faith - faith that we can do good, that
the good we do will make a difference - and even the mistakes
we make will provide valuable learning - for us - for all future
generations.
Only a foolish optimist can deny the dark realities of the
moment. And yet our distress comes from no failure
of substance. We are stricken by no plagues of locusts.
Compared with the perils which our forefathers conquered,
because they believed and were not afraid, we have still
much to be thankful for. ...Plenty is at our
doorstep but a generous use of it languishes in the
very sight of the supply.
Spiritually Speaking
Plenty to Fear?
I am putting pen to paper on Tuesday,
March 24, 2009 at 9:00 a.m. A few
of today's headlines are:
-More Madoff Assets Found
-Biggest Rally on Stock Market in 4 Months
-Furor over AIG Bonuses
-$50 Million of AIG Bonuses Returned
-$9 Trillion Debt in our Future?
-NATO Troops Kill Afghan Driver
-North Korea Reasserts Right to Satellite Launch
-Youth in Court over Killing in Northern Ireland
-Kurdish Rebels Won't Stop Fighting in Iraq
-Missing Woman's Body Found in Antwerp, NY
-Health Insurance Squeezes U.S. workers
-What We're Splurging and Skimping on Right Now
-Blizzard Shuts Down Parts
of Wyoming and South Dakota
Large corporations are laying people off daily.
Small businesses are floundering. Unemployment is
rising. The fighting in Iraq and Afghanistan continues
to keep our troops in harm's way. The coffins
continue to come home. Closer to our communities,
crimes and violence pepper the evening local news.
Granted, there are glimmers of hope - the bonuses
being voluntarily returned by AIG employees and the
rally in the Stock Market, but for the average family
trying to make ends meet - often with one or both
parents unemployed or underemployed; for those
who are watching their retirement nest eggs shrinking,
their investments dwindling, or even
disappearing all together - along with those who
feel the pinch more intensely each day as they fall
further and further behind on fixed incomes- the future
can look bleak and frighteningly hopeless.
Many people draw comparisons to
The Great Depression. Will this or won't it turn
into a second Great Depression? There are similarities:
unequal distribution of wealth, excessive speculation
on the Stock Market, and bank failures. While not
exactly the same causes and/or consequences, it is
similar enough to raise fear and anxiety. Hopefully, we
can glean good knowledge from those Depression years
and thereby avoid the most dire consequences of the thirties
as we face today's economic crisis.
Franklin Delano Roosevelt set in motion the New Deal.
It's measures put homeless, hungry, unemployed men
to work on construction and conservation projects across
the country. There are many alive today who can point
with pride to projects they helped to build or forests they
helped to plant. Eleanor Roosevelt, frustrated because the New
Deal did not help women, set in motion her own New
Deal for the homeless, hungry and unemployed women
of the day. Both Roosevelt's received plenty of criticism for
their attempts to restart the economy. Until their measures
kicked in and the economy turned around, there was
a high level of fear and anxiety for the average American,
suspicion and skepticism about the President's actions
and our country's future.
It took FDR four hours to draft his 1933 inaugural speech.
His words offer as much encouragement and support
today as they did when he first spoke them.
This great nation will endure as it has endured, will revive
and will prosper. Let me assert my firm belief that the
only thing we have to fear is fear itself- nameless,
unreasoning, unjustified terror which paralyses
needed efforts to convert retreat into advance.
H.W. Brands, author of A Traitor to His Class:
The Privileged and Radical Presidency of Franklin Delano Roosevelt
observes:
Before long this line about having to fear only fear would be hailed
as a landmark of presidential rhetoric. At the time it didn't seem so...
not the least since it was patently false. Americans had plenty to fear....
By 1933, one quarter of all American workers were unemployed.
Thousands were underemployed. Five thousand banks had failed.
The Stock Market had lost 75% of its value. A half million home
mortgages had been foreclosed. Without property taxes, municipal
governments and even public schools were ailing and failing. Many
staunchly refused any government relief. Those who accepted it found
it was, at best, inadequate but better than nothing. A tide of
homelessness swept the country. The birth rate fell by one third.
Americans had plenty to fear starting with massive unemployment,
widespread hunger and a collapsing financial system. Yet coming from
one who had just survived an assassination attempt following a decade
long battle with polio, it struck a reassuring tone.
Roosevelt's reassurance about fear did not make the headlines the next
day. His attack on the money changers of the day did. People wanted
to know that the President was taking action. They needed to see justice
coming to the greedy ones who had created the crisis. The newspapers
read:
Roosevelt assailed the unscupulous money changers of Wall Street
as those responsible for America's plight. He said, "Plenty is at our
doorstep but a generous use of it languishes in the very sight of the supply.
...Yes, the money changers have fled from their high seats in the temple
of our civilization. We may now restore that temple to the ancient truths.
The measure of that restoration lies in the extent to which we apply social
values more noble than mere monetary profit. ...Our greatest primary task
is to put people to work."
Today his words about the only fear we have to fear being fear itself
is what we remember. Good words. Sound sentiment. But we,
like those who lived through the Depression era, have plenty to fear.
Unfortunately fear will paralyze us in the past, or at best in the present
moment. Or we can face that fear and find our faith. Faith that we can
work for good, faith that the good we do will make a difference - that
is what will move us into the future with hope. Fear holds hope hostage.
Faith frees it. Fear hoards things, makes us look out only for ourselves.
Faith frees us to share whatever we have, committed to improving the quality
of life for as many as possible - not just for ourselves.
President Roosevelt appealed to the people for a unified
support of his leadership. He knew that there would be
criticism no matter what he tried to do. He also recognized
the dire needs of the nation and did what he could to
alleviate the homelessness, hunger and unemployment.
He learned from his own mistakes. We can look back and
learn - from what worked and what did not.
We must face our fear, then wade through it and climb out
of fear to stand on the solid ground of hope, committed to
walking forward with faith - faith that we can do good, that
the good we do will make a difference - and even the mistakes
we make will provide valuable learning - for us - for all future
generations.
Only a foolish optimist can deny the dark realities of the
moment. And yet our distress comes from no failure
of substance. We are stricken by no plagues of locusts.
Compared with the perils which our forefathers conquered,
because they believed and were not afraid, we have still
much to be thankful for. ...Plenty is at our
doorstep but a generous use of it languishes in the
very sight of the supply.
Monday, March 16, 2009
Look Down, Spring Has Sprung!
On Mon, 3/16/09, Connie wrote:
Monday, March 16, 2009, 12:26 PM
Rev. Connie Seifert
527 County Route 54
Pennellville, NY 13132
cseifert@twcny.rr.com
March 16, 2009
Spiritually Speaking
There are super streamlined, stripped down, fairly highly
evolved critters who will be appearing on the scene any
moment now. The first one you see is a guarantee
that spring is truly here. Simple and slippery,
they have played a major role in the history of
the world. In fact, the world would not be what
it is today if they were not doing their thing all
over the world. Do you know what silent, almost
unnoticed creature I'm talking about?
There are 23 families, 700 genera and 7000 species.
They range in size from one inch to two yards long.
On one acre of land, they are known to plow up,
ingest and eliminate 16-30 thousand pounds of
soil. There may be as many as eight million of
them in this one acre. Their tunnels prepare
the ground for crop roots, aid in water circulation and keep
the soil supplied with pockets of oxygen. They feed
on the bacteria and fungi in the soil, digest it and then
excrete it as rich topsoil. Their poop is rich in nitrogen,
calcium, magnesium and phosphorous. The grass truly
is greener wherever they are living. They are a blessing to
gardeners, farmers, landscapers and those who do a lot
of fishing.
They have no bones but they do have quite complex muscles.
They hug the ground with one end, pull along the
other end which then hugs the ground so that the
front end can stretch out again, repeating this
process for as long as they live. They can be long
and slender one minute and look like a little grayish
brown super ball the next.
They have no eyes but they have light sensitive cells.
They are also sensitive to touch and chemicals (which
some of us shudder to remember from High School biology
labs.) Their brains control their movements and
their ability to detect light. If their brain is removed
however, their behavior does not visibly change. They have
no lungs. Oxygen passes through their skin.
They have five hearts. I have no idea why.
Between their hearts are glands which process
the excessive amounts of calcium they ingest
with all the dirt they eat. They are both male
and female at the same time. Their reproductive
antics are fully described on this web page:
http://www.backyardnature.net/earthwrm.htm
They are much too x-rated for this column.
Most of us collected them when we were children.
They would come out by the hundreds after a
rainstorm. The biggest and fattest
ones called night crawlers were prized by
people going fishing. They make great bait.
As long as they remain underground, they are
safe from predators but pesticides can do them
in along with killing the weeds. Once they surface,
birds and other small mammals may make a meal
of them. And we, pluck them up to feed to
the fish. The jury is still out as to whether or not
their burrowing enables pollutants to enter into
ground water. Their beneficial disposal of bacteria
and fungi enriching the surface soil is invaluable for
farmers, gardeners and those who prize a lush, green lawn.
You can even buy them for indoor/outdoor composting
all year round. They will eat your garbage and give
you a nutrient rich compost to use in the garden.
I've been toying with the idea of purchasing them for
years. These composting worms are called Red
Wigglers. You can buy 500 of them for about $30.
This spring may be the year I actually order them.
The geese have been hogging the limelight this
past week as a sign of spring's arrival. Spring begins
on Thursday just before you will read this column.
It has been hard to miss the geese. They are noisy
and numerous. The snow geese were in Pennellville
on Saturday the 14th of March. I missed them this year.
But Rich didn't and he shared his sighting with me before church
yesterday. During worship, the pasture next to the
church was filled with Canadian geese. They left before
the last hymn. I don't think they were paying much attention
to the sermon either. But, now that spring is officially here,
instead of looking up to see more flocks of returning geese,
look down at the ground in the hopes of spotting an earthworm or two.
Once they come out into the sun, winter is officially
over and spring is officially sprung. Let the planting begin!
Thank God for earthworms!
Dotty shared during our Joys and Concerns that her
crocuses were already up. Mine are still buried under
five feet of snow. I will be watching for the first robin
to hop across the lawn. I've ordered a basket of pansies
for Easter which will then need to find a permanent home
in my flower bed. And now, I will be watching and waiting
to see my first earthworm of 2009. I'll let you know if
I find the courage to order the Red Wigglers. Happy Spring!
Some of the above facts were also gleaned from:
http://soils.usda.gov/sqi/concepts/soil_biology/earthworms.html
http://www.planetnatural.com/site/red-wiggler-worms.html
With Angels' Whispers,Connie
When the love of power is overcome
by the power of love,
then we will have peace.
Jimi Hendrix (actually he just
sang this - now I can't remember
who actually said it.)
Monday, March 16, 2009, 12:26 PM
Rev. Connie Seifert
527 County Route 54
Pennellville, NY 13132
cseifert@twcny.rr.com
March 16, 2009
Spiritually Speaking
There are super streamlined, stripped down, fairly highly
evolved critters who will be appearing on the scene any
moment now. The first one you see is a guarantee
that spring is truly here. Simple and slippery,
they have played a major role in the history of
the world. In fact, the world would not be what
it is today if they were not doing their thing all
over the world. Do you know what silent, almost
unnoticed creature I'm talking about?
There are 23 families, 700 genera and 7000 species.
They range in size from one inch to two yards long.
On one acre of land, they are known to plow up,
ingest and eliminate 16-30 thousand pounds of
soil. There may be as many as eight million of
them in this one acre. Their tunnels prepare
the ground for crop roots, aid in water circulation and keep
the soil supplied with pockets of oxygen. They feed
on the bacteria and fungi in the soil, digest it and then
excrete it as rich topsoil. Their poop is rich in nitrogen,
calcium, magnesium and phosphorous. The grass truly
is greener wherever they are living. They are a blessing to
gardeners, farmers, landscapers and those who do a lot
of fishing.
They have no bones but they do have quite complex muscles.
They hug the ground with one end, pull along the
other end which then hugs the ground so that the
front end can stretch out again, repeating this
process for as long as they live. They can be long
and slender one minute and look like a little grayish
brown super ball the next.
They have no eyes but they have light sensitive cells.
They are also sensitive to touch and chemicals (which
some of us shudder to remember from High School biology
labs.) Their brains control their movements and
their ability to detect light. If their brain is removed
however, their behavior does not visibly change. They have
no lungs. Oxygen passes through their skin.
They have five hearts. I have no idea why.
Between their hearts are glands which process
the excessive amounts of calcium they ingest
with all the dirt they eat. They are both male
and female at the same time. Their reproductive
antics are fully described on this web page:
http://www.backyardnature.net/earthwrm.htm
They are much too x-rated for this column.
Most of us collected them when we were children.
They would come out by the hundreds after a
rainstorm. The biggest and fattest
ones called night crawlers were prized by
people going fishing. They make great bait.
As long as they remain underground, they are
safe from predators but pesticides can do them
in along with killing the weeds. Once they surface,
birds and other small mammals may make a meal
of them. And we, pluck them up to feed to
the fish. The jury is still out as to whether or not
their burrowing enables pollutants to enter into
ground water. Their beneficial disposal of bacteria
and fungi enriching the surface soil is invaluable for
farmers, gardeners and those who prize a lush, green lawn.
You can even buy them for indoor/outdoor composting
all year round. They will eat your garbage and give
you a nutrient rich compost to use in the garden.
I've been toying with the idea of purchasing them for
years. These composting worms are called Red
Wigglers. You can buy 500 of them for about $30.
This spring may be the year I actually order them.
The geese have been hogging the limelight this
past week as a sign of spring's arrival. Spring begins
on Thursday just before you will read this column.
It has been hard to miss the geese. They are noisy
and numerous. The snow geese were in Pennellville
on Saturday the 14th of March. I missed them this year.
But Rich didn't and he shared his sighting with me before church
yesterday. During worship, the pasture next to the
church was filled with Canadian geese. They left before
the last hymn. I don't think they were paying much attention
to the sermon either. But, now that spring is officially here,
instead of looking up to see more flocks of returning geese,
look down at the ground in the hopes of spotting an earthworm or two.
Once they come out into the sun, winter is officially
over and spring is officially sprung. Let the planting begin!
Thank God for earthworms!
Dotty shared during our Joys and Concerns that her
crocuses were already up. Mine are still buried under
five feet of snow. I will be watching for the first robin
to hop across the lawn. I've ordered a basket of pansies
for Easter which will then need to find a permanent home
in my flower bed. And now, I will be watching and waiting
to see my first earthworm of 2009. I'll let you know if
I find the courage to order the Red Wigglers. Happy Spring!
Some of the above facts were also gleaned from:
http://soils.usda.gov/sqi/concepts/soil_biology/earthworms.html
http://www.planetnatural.com/site/red-wiggler-worms.html
With Angels' Whispers,Connie
When the love of power is overcome
by the power of love,
then we will have peace.
Jimi Hendrix (actually he just
sang this - now I can't remember
who actually said it.)
Monday, March 9, 2009
Easter Eggs
Do you have happy memories of
coloring Easter eggs? Is this activity
still part of your Easter preparations?
Alas, it is no longer part of mine. But I
still have many blown out eggs which
Fran and I decorated in years gone by.
They are packed away somewhere.
Many have loops of thread and buttons
so that they could adorn a naked
branch brought in from the outdoors
in early spring. We had as many
Easter decorations as we did for
Christmas.
Throughout the year, we would
painstakingly prick a hole in both
ends of the eggs used for baking
or scrambled eggs for breakfast.
Blowing the insides out of the eggs
required tremendous lung power.
It was worth the effort. The eggs
accumulated until we had two dozen
or more to color just before Easter.
Of course, we had to do at least a
dozen hard boiled eggs as well.
One can never have too many eggs
when it is time to decorate them.
The containers which held the dye
had to be just right - deep enough
to cover the entire egg with color.
We had a set of Corning cups which
worked like a charm. Included in with
the dye, there were always those wax crayons
and paste on decals to add to the creative
fun. We had a special tray where
the eggs could dry. It was always
a highlight of Lent, coloring those
Easter eggs and anticipating the
jelly beans and chocolate which
would magically appear on Easter
morning - BEFORE Sunrise worship.
At one point in our Christian history
it was believed that eggs boiled on
Good Friday, if kept for one hundred
years, the yolk would be transformed
into a diamond. There are no known
diamonds actually created this way
but it is an interesting theory.
Supposedly, if Good Friday laid eggs
were cooked on Easter, they were
believed to promote the fertility of
a farmer's trees and crops. They
were also said to prevent sudden death.
If you found two yolks in an egg on
Easter, it meant you would soon be
rich. Since I've never found an egg
with two yolks on Easter - nor do I
know anyone who has, I cannot
vouch for or against the truth of this
traditional belief.
In the early years of the observance
of Lent - the forty days and nights
preceeding Easter minus Sundays
which are considered mini-Easters -
both eggs and meat were forbidden.
This may be where the whole Pancake
Tuesday tradition got its start. Folks
had to use up all the eggs in the house
before the sun set on Ash Wednesday.
The egg itself has always been a
symbol of Christ's Resurrection - his
rising from the dead on Easter morning,
an empty tomb proving that he was
not dead. Egg rolling contests are
based on the act of rolling away the stone
blocking the entrance to the tomb
on Easter morning to discover that it
was empty. The most famous Egg Rolling
Contest takes place on the White House lawn each year.
President Obama's daughters, Malie and Sasha
are probably excited about their first one.
Wonder if they get to color Easter eggs?
Some believe that eggs made their way
into our Christian Easter celebration by
way of Pagan customs. This may or
may not be true. There are many creation
stories in other cultures where the
entire world comes from a single egg.
But the egg has been part of the Passover
since the earliest times recorded in the
Bible. It is dipped in salt water to remind
us, as we eat it, of the tears cried by the
Hebrew people when they were slaves in
Egypt. In the Passover meal, as it is in
our current customs, the egg was a sign
of new life associated with spring - a season
when the world comes back to life after
the winter rest.
I cannot wait to see the crocuses pop their
purple and gold blossoms into the world.
This has been a long, hard winter. I will
be watching for the tulips and daffodils
to add their delightful colors to the world
once more. I'm already planning this
year's crop of sunflowers. I won't be
coloring Easter eggs, but the memories
of doing so always come to mind when
we begin that count down to Easter morning.
I pray that all the snow is gone before
our joyful Easter celebration begins!
From my lips to God's ears.
coloring Easter eggs? Is this activity
still part of your Easter preparations?
Alas, it is no longer part of mine. But I
still have many blown out eggs which
Fran and I decorated in years gone by.
They are packed away somewhere.
Many have loops of thread and buttons
so that they could adorn a naked
branch brought in from the outdoors
in early spring. We had as many
Easter decorations as we did for
Christmas.
Throughout the year, we would
painstakingly prick a hole in both
ends of the eggs used for baking
or scrambled eggs for breakfast.
Blowing the insides out of the eggs
required tremendous lung power.
It was worth the effort. The eggs
accumulated until we had two dozen
or more to color just before Easter.
Of course, we had to do at least a
dozen hard boiled eggs as well.
One can never have too many eggs
when it is time to decorate them.
The containers which held the dye
had to be just right - deep enough
to cover the entire egg with color.
We had a set of Corning cups which
worked like a charm. Included in with
the dye, there were always those wax crayons
and paste on decals to add to the creative
fun. We had a special tray where
the eggs could dry. It was always
a highlight of Lent, coloring those
Easter eggs and anticipating the
jelly beans and chocolate which
would magically appear on Easter
morning - BEFORE Sunrise worship.
At one point in our Christian history
it was believed that eggs boiled on
Good Friday, if kept for one hundred
years, the yolk would be transformed
into a diamond. There are no known
diamonds actually created this way
but it is an interesting theory.
Supposedly, if Good Friday laid eggs
were cooked on Easter, they were
believed to promote the fertility of
a farmer's trees and crops. They
were also said to prevent sudden death.
If you found two yolks in an egg on
Easter, it meant you would soon be
rich. Since I've never found an egg
with two yolks on Easter - nor do I
know anyone who has, I cannot
vouch for or against the truth of this
traditional belief.
In the early years of the observance
of Lent - the forty days and nights
preceeding Easter minus Sundays
which are considered mini-Easters -
both eggs and meat were forbidden.
This may be where the whole Pancake
Tuesday tradition got its start. Folks
had to use up all the eggs in the house
before the sun set on Ash Wednesday.
The egg itself has always been a
symbol of Christ's Resurrection - his
rising from the dead on Easter morning,
an empty tomb proving that he was
not dead. Egg rolling contests are
based on the act of rolling away the stone
blocking the entrance to the tomb
on Easter morning to discover that it
was empty. The most famous Egg Rolling
Contest takes place on the White House lawn each year.
President Obama's daughters, Malie and Sasha
are probably excited about their first one.
Wonder if they get to color Easter eggs?
Some believe that eggs made their way
into our Christian Easter celebration by
way of Pagan customs. This may or
may not be true. There are many creation
stories in other cultures where the
entire world comes from a single egg.
But the egg has been part of the Passover
since the earliest times recorded in the
Bible. It is dipped in salt water to remind
us, as we eat it, of the tears cried by the
Hebrew people when they were slaves in
Egypt. In the Passover meal, as it is in
our current customs, the egg was a sign
of new life associated with spring - a season
when the world comes back to life after
the winter rest.
I cannot wait to see the crocuses pop their
purple and gold blossoms into the world.
This has been a long, hard winter. I will
be watching for the tulips and daffodils
to add their delightful colors to the world
once more. I'm already planning this
year's crop of sunflowers. I won't be
coloring Easter eggs, but the memories
of doing so always come to mind when
we begin that count down to Easter morning.
I pray that all the snow is gone before
our joyful Easter celebration begins!
From my lips to God's ears.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
