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.

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!

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.

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.