No Claim to Sainthood

2011-09-30T17:20:00.001-04:00

Six months

Maybe things will slow down a little now.

I've mostly cleaned out my old house and gotten it ready to rent out. It's about time; I've been married for six months now!

For two middle-aged people used to living alone and doing things exactly their own way in their own houses, marriage is an adjustment.

I see no reason, for example, to store bath soap in the kitchen cabinet. It's not really very useful there. So, I store it on the bathroom shelf, and my adored tears the kitchen cabinet apart looking for soap.

He has a general policy against rearranging things.

My adored one likes routine. I get bored. When I drive to church, I always take the shortest, most direct route, so we can hopefully get there on time. I take various alternate routes on the way home, however, because I like to see what's going on around town. My adored sees no reason for this.

He thinks he can improve my driving and parking-space selection with various helpful suggestions he freely offers; I think not.

I'm a better driver, anyway.

I think he needs to get rid of more junk; he thinks I need to get rid of more junk. He likes animal fat; I explain why olive oil is better for my health and his.

But, my adored one has a great heart underneath his self-proclaimed "grumpy" old exterior. He makes me coffee in the morning. I even saw him pick up the bottle of olive oil to cook something the other day.

2011-08-10T18:12:00.003-04:00

Chickens across Texas

This column ran in the newspaper lately. Soon, I'll have some more to say on the afterlife, but in the meantime, "Chickens across Texas."

I've lost two of my pets in recent months — my beloved dog, Molly McGuire, and the baby of the family (at age 7), Jack the Brat cat. Some readers saw Molly out and about town. She loved to go places.
Now, I have one pet left, a 13-year-old cat named Shamu, who must take medication twice a day for a hyperthyroid condition.
When my husband and I went on vacation recently, a belated honeymoon at a beachfront condo, we were loath to leave Shamu behind. So, we covered his carrier with a brightly colored beach towel and sneaked him in.
Traveling/sneaking with pets is a tradition that began in childhood. Dogs and cats got special status in planes my father flew across the Atlantic and the Caribbean, getting them to new Navy duty posts.
When I was just a small child, we traveled in a big, old station wagon from Hutchinson, Kan., to Corpus Christi, Texas: my parents, a carsick border collie, two kids and two chickens. The chickens had come into the house as Easter gifts — one dyed bright blue and the other bright pink. Most of the dye had grown out, leaving them strangely mottled.
Dad stopped at a gas station for directions. The attendant looked in the station wagon and saw a border collie foaming at the mouth, two strange-looking birds and two grubby kids. He backed up about six steps before giving directions. That border collie, Lassie, traveled to North Africa and back with us.
I returned through U.S. Customs from Panama with a screaming small parrot inside a covered cage; I had hoped to slide through quietly. Nobody asked any questions about the noise or what was under the towel. I think no one wanted to wait all day with a screaming bird until he was taken to quarantine.
Cats and dogs have stayed with me in hotels and motels too many times to count.
When Molly was about a year old, she traveled with friends and me to West Texas and back. A motel maid in Texas spotted her in the room, but said nothing.
These animals are such great companions. I read recently that because of their long association with humans, pets absorbed the ability to love. I believe that's true. There's no more unconditional love than a dog can give, or a cat.
Molly, who was my Christmas present to myself in 1999, adopted from the Flagler Humane Society, was full of the kind of joy and love that can come only from the Holy Spirit. Jack would jump on the counter and stand on his hind feet to nuzzle my face as I put on makeup in the morning.
I've learned much from living with pets. One lesson is how love can triumph over the misery in this world. Another is, if there's a heaven, Molly and Jack will greet me there.

2011-08-02T10:27:00.004-04:00

Goran Koch-Swahne

I just read over at Padre Mickey that our friend Goran Koch-Swahne passed away. I'm so sorry to hear that — Goran seemed like a gentle friend, though so far away in Stockholm.

God bless you, Goran, and may you rest in peace, with angels watching over you.

2011-08-01T21:44:00.004-04:00

Watching Emily

Tropical Storm Emily has formed in the Atlantic. It's the first storm this year that's even looked like it might give Florida a hard time. We'll have to watch her progress.

Dear Lord, look after the people in Puerto Rico, the Dominican Republic and others who might be in Emily's path.

2011-08-01T21:18:00.002-04:00

Back to the grind

It's been back to work, and the vacation has already worn off. It was great while it lasted, though!

My employer has been faced with the problem most small businesses are having: health insurance. The premiums jumped up again, and a quest started for better rates. Slightly lower rates (lower than the renewal of the old policy — still more than we were paying) were found, with a much higher deductible. Some employees said they couldn't afford the insurance any more. Understandable. Some wanted the employer contribution in cash, instead.

The issue became very emotional. People's health issues became a topic. A finger was pointed at me, because of my diabetes. That was, however, only one issue among a number that led to the higher rate. I verified that through the insurance agency.

I still don't like it that someone tried to play the blame game at my expense.

2011-07-13T16:47:00.006-04:00

The vacation continues

The view from our balcony:

Did I mention we brought Shamu to the beach with us? Although he doesn't appear interested in splashing salt water with us down at shore, he seems to be having a good time. He's getting lots of attention with us not dashing away to the office, and rubs and extra tinned cat food - forget the dry rations this week!

Shamu likes sitting in my lap. He doesn't like the camera in his face so much.

He's quite vocal when he inquires about breafast, until I turn the camera on him. Then, he quiets down.

While he's not dashing off to the office, Mr. T, my husband of just about four months now, brought some of the office with him. I expected that — he's on his laptop and the phone, making calls, writing e-mails and drafting briefs.

Mr. T isn't a fatcat attorney. His passion is Sunshine Law — forcing local governments to act in the sunshine, and going after them when they don't. He also defends clients caught in the hooks of foreclosure mills, usurious credit-card holders and other rat bastards.

Mr. T at work.

And he does it with zeal. That's one of the things that drew me to him. I'm glad he's getting out of the office and getting some relaxation this week.

2011-07-11T17:23:00.002-04:00

Things that make me go {sigh}

I've been phasing into the Presbyterian Church without becoming active in it yet, and I'm pretty happy there. I thought I would miss the Episcopal rituals, but for the most part, not, and I haven't missed the "stuff" in this diocese.

Then bloowie, I was propelled eight years back in time. A couple of months ago, the Presbie Church, y'all may have noted, OK'd gays/lesbians to wear the collar. The world didn't end or anything. Clouds still roll by. The sun sets and rises.

At its June 21, 2011 meeting, the Session followed the lead of the Presbytery of Central Florida and passed essentially the same motion that had been approved by the Presbytery, when it met on June 7.

“We believe that when the Book of Order states in 2.0104b (Amendment 10-A) that ‘standards for ordained service reflect the church’s desire to submit joyfully to the Lordship of Jesus Christ in all aspects of life’ that this means among other things that officers in the church are required to live either in fidelity within the covenant of marriage between a man and a woman, or chastity in singleness. Persons refusing to live according to these requirements shall not be received, ordained or installed as ministers of the word and sacrament, elders and deacons in .... FL.”
...
This motion is to provide guidance to those nominating committees and the Session itself as the ordaining and installing body of this congregation. Rev. Frank Allen, the Stated Clerk of Central Florida Presbytery attended and gave guidance to the Session in its discussion of this motion. The motion passed on a 5-4 vote of the 10 voting members present.

Sigh.

Same old stuff here in Central Florida. Still, the national church's action is encouraging, and the fact the motion narrowly passed here on a 5-4 vote is encouraging, too.

I haven't heard any of the nastiness that was going around here in the Episcopal parishes post Robinson. I hope that's because there isn't any, and not just because I'm not "in" enough to be hearing it. There's certainly been nothing in the sermons.

I think how easy it was for Mr. T and me to get our marriage license and get married. Then I think of some of the people I know who have been in committed relationships for many years, and can't make it legal, even in the civil sense.

Sigh.

How we want to make God subservient to our prejudices and wants.

2011-07-10T13:04:00.002-04:00

Second honeymoon

Ah, yes. We're in the second day of a glorious week at the beach. It was a wedding gift from dear friends who own a beachfront condo.

Mr. T and I had a mini-honeymoon in the Keys a few weeks after the wedding. Now, we've got more time to relax. Right now, my warrior is napping, exhausted from working so many hours so he could get away.

Not that Mr. T will get away completely. He never does — the trip to the Keys was tied to a case he handled while we were down there. But it's good to get a break.

Last weekend we spent near Birmingham, Alabama, at the invitation of Mr. T's aunt. It was a great Fourth of July weekend, with a big multi-family bash and a great cookout. I met some distant cousins of mine, so I had some family there, too.

My cousin Jack is from West Virginia, like my father, and from the same little county, though they never knew each other. My father would have been a little older. Jack's wife is named Pat, like me.

Then, away this week. I'm prepared for a nice, relaxing time. Reading, beaching, blogging, sleeping, whatever I feel like doing. The good life.

2011-06-18T17:15:00.004-04:00

And now for the weather

The weather around here just knows no moderation.

We've been dealing with wildfires for the past six weeks or so. The gov declared the state in a state of emergency because of fires burning up the peninsula, and on Thursday, so did the county. It's not really that dramatic; it's mostly to get FEMA funds and such. There's no military law in effect or anything like that.

One of the fires came perilously close to the old saintly household, which I'm still clearing out very slowly — I'm living with my hubby.

A thundershower came through yesterday evening, producing a nice downpour. We could do without the lightning, however -- it just starts more fires.

A few minutes ago, the weather radio squawked at me — a severe thunderstorm warning.

Aieeeee....

****

NOTE: The rains started around the end of June. We're in the green!

Thank you Father for seasonable rains to make lush your land, replenish the lakes and streams, and grow crops.

2011-06-16T14:36:00.004-04:00

Doing better

The other morning, I found myself singing as I fixed breakfast, and realized this was the first time I'd done that since Jack disappeared. That told me I'm getting better now.

Oh, I can still tear up suddenly. Overcoming grief is a funny thing — one moment you're convinced you're all over it; the next minute you're bawling. And one grief recalls earlier losses.

I watch and fuss over Shamu, my poor loner. He's often fussy and fretful. It usually comes out as begging for food and sometimes for attention, but I wonder if he's reacting to the losses in his own way.

Shamu is 13 years old, and he's never been alone in his whole life. There was always Jack with him, even when I was out of town and Molly was at the kennel. Usually he had the both of them. And when he was a younger cat living with my mother, she was always home.

Now, he's home alone 10-12 hours a day.

I read that the fretfulness can come as the result of his thyroid condition, so who knows exactly what goes on in his mind.

I remember how frightened of Molly Shamu was when he came into the household. He got over that. Molly was playful, but so gentle.

Thinking of how Molly was in those final weeks of her life. She was stiff from arthritis, and getting up and down got more difficult for her. She may have been in more pain than I imagined, but she was so full of grace. She was brave and strong and loving until the end.

I hope I can have even a fraction of that.

2011-06-04T15:51:00.007-04:00

The hardest entry

This is probably the hardest entry I've had to write, and it's taken a little while to be able to write it.

Molly and Jack a few Christmases ago, with some of their Christmas loot.

I've lost two members of my little family: Jack the Brat cat, and Molly McGuire, the best dog in the whole wide world (TM), aka Betsy.

Jack was just starting to settle in to the new house. I was too. But the door from the utility room to the back yard doesn't always catch properly. We came home one night, and the door had blown open, and the door from the utility room to the kitchen had blown shut.

Read Jack's story here.

At first we thought Jack was somewhere in the house — there are lots of hidey places where it was hard to find him. But we walked all around the yard and around the house and around the block calling him. Nothing.

We finally went to bed. Jack would hide away until bedtime often, still getting accustomed to things. Then he would get up on the bed with us. He didn't this night, but we heard a commotion a lot over, and a cat screaming. By the time we ran out there, it was all quiet — deathly quiet.

I hoped that was not Jack, and kept looking for him, including running across county to the Humane Society several times, in case he had been trapped. Nothing. He's never shown back up.

That was April 19 that he disappeared, almost two months now.

Then we lost Molly.

She went to the pooch beauty parlor and got a spring haircut in time for the wedding, and we realized she had lost weight. She seemed to be getting more arthritic too, having trouble with her back legs.

Read Molly's story here. She was my Christmas present to me.

I took Molly to the vet, who diagnosed dysplasia, and prescribed super glucosamine and pain medication. I was already cooking for Molly and trying to get some weight on her.

My friend Coe kept Molly while Mr. T and I went on a delayed honeymoon to the Keys. Coe, an old pro at dog care, cooked for her too. Molly gained a few pounds.

She continued to gain some weight, and seemed to be feeling much better. She would clean up her dish and bark for more.

Then, one Wednesday in May, she just quit eating.

I thought perhaps I'd overfed her, and her body just needed a little break. Molly was drinking water, though some of it came back up.

On Friday, I came home and checked on her at lunchtime, and Molly seemed to feel better, and hadn't spit up any. Friday night, though, she threw up every bit of water she drank. She was so thirsty, but couldn't keep it down.

Saturday morning, I called the vet, but there was none on duty. I called another veterinary clinic, and they squeezed her in. The vet took one look at Molly, felt her stomach, and shook his head.

They did some tests. Molly's liver readings were off the scale bad. Her kidneys were in bad shape. The vet suspected she might has some congestive heart failure, too.

He could send off samples for expensive tests to pinpoint the problems, the vet said, but the result would be the same: Molly was filled with cancer inside and was coming to the end of her life.

I was too stunned to accept this right away. The vet gave Molly a subcutaneous IV to get fluids in her, and let us take her home to see how she did over the remainder of the weekend.

The vet was right. Molly kept throwing up every bit of water she drank, and the water that came back up now had the sickly-sweet smell of things gone really sick.

After one really bad bout Sunday afternoon, I thought Molly might die. She lay on the floor, seemingly semi-comatose. After a little while, though, she got up, drank some more water, then wanted out.

Molly went into the back yard, and walked all around. I think she knew, and was saying her goodbyes. She came and leaned against my legs a couple of times, like she used to do when she wanted affection.

I lavished affection on her all weekend, telling her how much I love her, stroking her back and stomach, and rubbing her ears. I hope she knows how much I love her.

The vet had said to bring her water, but Molly wouldn't let me — she insisted on getting up and getting it herself. Once on Monday, she let me bring her water. She was having trouble standing by then.

We loaded her onto the back seat of the car, and went back to the vet. The vet and an assistant came out to the car and gave Molly the inoculation that ended her misery and her life. That was on May 16.

It seemed fitting that Molly died in the car. That was the same car in which she rode home with me from the pound, when she was just a little puppy. The same car in which she loved to go anywhere with me, her whole life. Molly's favorite words were "go" and "ride."

We brought her back home, and my husband, Mr. T, buried her near the front steps.

Losing Molly and Jack was like losing children. I am still grieving them both, and will be.

I will post more later.

2011-04-11T10:10:00.006-04:00

A married woman

My new husband and me, with our Pastor Michael B., right after the ceremony.

Here we are, celebrating our third (week) anniversary.

It's been good. Now, we're on a slightly delayed honeymoon trip, on our way to the Florida Keys. We drove down yesterday evening, and stopped in Miramar (near Fort Lauderdale) for the night. We'll get into the Keys and our rental condo in Islamorada this afternoon,

My husband, being the good workaholic lawyer he is, is responding to some correspondence on his laptop, as I type on mine. But he's doing that after going to the hotel breakfast bar and getting us coffee. What a good man.

The wedding was beautiful. I don't think that's just my bias; so many people told me it was the most beautiful wedding they've ever been to. Most of the credit goes to our pastor, the brides-peeps (hate the word "matron") and other friends who decorated the church, our friend Rog Lee who sang for us during the wedding, Roy, who played a trumpet duet with the church organist for the recessional, and all the people.

The church was chock full of friends and family. That was the best part.

The first reading was Song of Solomon 2:10-13 and 8:6-7
10 My beloved spoke and said to me,
“Arise, my darling,
my beautiful one, come with me.
11 See! The winter is past;
the rains are over and gone.
12 Flowers appear on the earth;
the season of singing has come,
the cooing of doves
is heard in our land.
13 The fig tree forms its early fruit;
the blossoming vines spread their fragrance.
Arise, come, my darling;
my beautiful one, come with me.”
6 Place me like a seal over your heart,
like a seal on your arm;
for love is as strong as death,
its jealousy[a] unyielding as the grave.
It burns like blazing fire,
like a mighty flame.[b]
7 Many waters cannot quench love;
rivers cannot sweep it away.
If one were to give
all the wealth of one’s house for love,
it[c] would be utterly scorned.

Our pastor preached on it, talking about timing — now, the timing is right; the time has come.

The passage is so meaningful on so many levels.

It literally was and is spring in Florida, after a cold winter, with trees budding, wildflowers blooming, and vegetables sprouting.

The orange blossoms in my bouquet, on the altar, and decorating the pews, gave off their intoxicating, sweet fragrance, the classic fragrance of spring in Florida. Friends and I gathered them the day before at a local orange grove, whose owner generously let us cut orange branches, kumquats and ferns.

The weather was perfect on our wedding day: sunny, and with a high in the low 80s, and with a gentle springtime breeze.

I've been through a winter of the soul, and I believe, so has my beloved. After so many years of being alone — for both of us — this is a new spring, a new beginning, a new life.

And, it's good.

2011-03-03T16:22:00.003-05:00

Diary of a Mad Bride: the gifts

My sweetie and I told everyone we don't want wedding gifts. We have two houses full of too much stuff as it is, and we're not registered anywhere. Most people are ignoring the "no gift" request.

I'm finding I don't mind. It's kind of nice to get gifts — I haven't gotten a lot of them in the last years, given my paucity of family. Im liking the attention and the fuss.

My sweetie's big family gave a big party/shower for us a couple of weeks ago. Saturday, some of my friends are throwing a shower for me. More gifts!

But I don't want to get carried away. I take exception to those brides who want to tell you exactly what you should give them, and it's often pricey. Some brides are very pushy in gift solicitation, and that's not what it's about.

And, one gift per person or couple. No need to bring a second gift to the wedding! Your presence there is gift enough, and we'll have a great party.

On a related note, I'm now officially a member of the Presbyterian Church. An Episcopresbyterian I am!

Wedding countdown: just a little over two weeks.

2011-02-01T19:49:00.002-05:00

Thinking of you, Dad

Tomorrow will be the 32nd anniversary of my father's death. I was just a young woman when he died, terribly, of cancer.

I still miss him.

He would be pleased about my upcoming marriage, I think, and he would like my future husband.

When I was a child, Dad used to talk to me at the kitchen table. He said I'd get married one day and have a family of my own. That would be the most important thing in the world to me.

I think it will be. I feel so blessed to have found someone who is a good and amiable companion, who is honest and true. And, though we will have no children, I will come into a vast network of nieces, nephews, cousins and other family members from his side.

I love it.

I just want to grab the little niece who will be flower girl and hug her tight. And the nephew, who will be ring-bearer, who will even get a haircut, he's so excited about the ceremony. They're all looking forward to getting a new aunt, and I, them.

When my sweetie and I watched the Veteran's Day parade downtown, I looked at all the elderly vets — the ones of my father's generation. I suddenly got a strong sense of my father's presence there, with me. Probably the power of suggestion, but I was happy for that presence, and comforted by it.

I believe that presence will be with me when I walk down the aisle.

2011-01-15T19:03:00.002-05:00

Diary of a mad, middle-aged bride

1. The panic sets in

Yes, here I am, about to embark on the course of holy matrimony in just two months.

People ask me if I'm excited. I am, in a contained way. We've had a few months to settle into our engagement, and the wedding was far off enough to not get hyped up about. The true knee-knocking excitement will set in around the first of March, I think.

Yet, a burble of thrill bubbles up through my mind at times. I know that I am truly blessed.

In the meantime, my friends are going into overdrive of hyped-up activity. I'm going to have the mother of all showers, I think, thanks to my dear friend Coe who is in her element and on a mission to create the bridal shower of the century.

Of course, all this means I'm being peppered with all sorts of questions — music, theme, colors and guest list. Do I prefer this or that? Exactly WHAT SHADES of cream, gold and green do I have in mind, my future sister-in-law wants to know. She wants to get to work on the dress for her daughter, who will be flower girl at the wedding (and the most gorgeous one ever — she's a doll).

The only response I can muster to most of these questions is a look of stupidity and an "uhhhh.... I dunno."

I finally got the shower guest list together, mostly. I'm going to have to add a few names of people I didn't think of to put on the original list.

Ah, but all these wonderful people. I'm amazed. My friends, my future family members who are welcoming me with open arms.

I'm truly blessed, if a little unhinged.

2010-12-05T21:56:00.002-05:00

Second Sunday of Advent

Yipes! Here we are at the second Sunday of Advent already! Last Sunday was spent in travel, returning home from a Thanksgiving visit with Mr. T's parents. I had a wonderful time.

I love this time of year. The mystery that's at the heart of faith, of our ties to ancient times, places, people and God. How we can wax scientific but never fully explain creation. How God could dwell among us. The mystery of life and blood. The mystery of this galaxy spinning inside this universe for billions of years.

The images whirl in my head like the cosmos. I love to look at photos of stars and the Milky Way and nebulae and comets. And to look at the seas and birds at flight.

It's all part of that mystery.

I expect to understand more when I come face to face with my creator.

2010-11-26T11:54:00.004-05:00

My amazing life, Part Deux

Here's what's been going on with me: The story of my amazing life, part two.

I put in my application to pursue a vocation as priest last fall, if you will remember. The bishop called me in for an interview, and didn't give me much hope. He said he was "alarmed" by someone of my age pursuing a vocation. Even if I were to get approved and go to seminary, I'd graduate much in debt and with no job for me in this diocese.

After hearing the stories of the process and the grilling by the commission on ministry to weed out anyone who might be considered even slightly liberal, and a look at the names of committee members, I didn't feel there was any hope - even if the bishop gave his ok to pursue the application.

At the same time, Mr. T. and I were moving toward marriage. He certainly wouldn't want to relocate to North Dakota or someplace up north where they might take as a priest a middle-aged old woman suspected of being friendly to gays. Mr. T is a lawyer, and has established his practice here. I wouldn't ask him to move cross-country and get licensed there, when he is very happy right here.

So, I dropped out of the process.

In September, he formally posed the question, and I accepted. We'll get hitched in March!

Announcing our engagement on the courthouse steps

I'm so greatly blessed. Who'd have thought I'd find someone to love and love me back? Someone I can trust and depend on, too. But I did.

Next revelation

I'm going to (gulp) leave the Episcopal Church. Mr. T goes to the local Presbyterian Church. Instead of driving across the county, I'm going to transfer to the Presby church in January.

It will be nice going to a church close to home and work, where I can be there in five or 10 minutes. I've been driving cross-county for going on eight years — 45 minutes each way just to attend a half-hour meeting. I've grown tired of the journey, and tired of going to church alone. That's the last place I have been going alone, because Mr. T and I go everywhere together.

I suppose the fact that I've been going so far attend an Episcopal Church, when there are three in my area I don't want to attend, says I don't really belong in this diocese.

Still, I will miss my church home, and the many wonderful people there who surrounded me with love and support when my brother, then my mother, died. And where the vestry gave 100 percent support to my application for the process.

But, I've been to the Presbyterian church with Mr. T a few times, and it is a lovely church. I think I will like it there.

So here I am now, at the home of Mr. T's parents in North Florida, having the best Thanksgiving of my adult life. They and the whole family have welcomed me with open arms, and they're great people. They love parties, too.

That's what we did for Thanksgiving yesterday — went over the line into Alabama, to the farm of some old family friends. About 30 people were there, for a big covered-dish dinner, walking the farm, porch-sitting, feeding the chickens, guitar-playing and just enjoying.

Mr. T's family is big and social. I like that.

Today, we're just hanging around the house. A cold font is coming through, and it feels like Thanksgiving weather.

Thank you, Lord. You have been so good to me.

2010-11-20T11:13:00.001-05:00

Hello I love you

It's been a long, long time since I've posted, and I have not forgotten you, my friends. Much has happened and changed in my life. I will post soon and tell you about it.

2010-01-18T17:54:00.004-05:00

Weather or not

UPDATE SATURDAY, JAN. 23 — They say, if you don't like the weather in Florida, just wait 10 minutes. It's true. We're having some glorious weather with highs near 80 the past couple of days. Yes, that's the ticket.

Getting ready to go to an outdoor fundraiser food-fest. Catch ya later!

POSTED EARLIER — Here we are into the middle of January!

I went away for Christmas, for the first time in many years. I spent the holiday in North Florida, with Mr. T and his parents. It was a lovely Christmas.

We went to a Christmas Eve service in a little Methodist church. A cold front was moving through, and it poured down rain while we were in the service. Lightning illuminated the stained-glass windows. It made it feel even cozier inside.

Most of the New Year has been devoted to fighting the cold - we had almost two weeks straight of freezing nights. Now, lest you Yankees laugh at the idea of a panic over a low 27 degrees, we're just not meant for it here. It kills the valuable ferns and citrus trees.

I'm on a well and have to worry about the water pipes freezing up. Some of the pipes run aboveground to the water softener. I was out at midnight turning the hose to dribble mode to keep the pipes open. Sigh.

We're just not used to freezes. But I repeat myself.

2009-12-22T18:43:00.006-05:00

Getting ready

It's almost Christmas, and the Saintly household is almost ready. Not that we will actually be ready, but Christmas comes anyway.

Saint Pat and Molly wish you a Merry Christmas

The Saintly social secretary does, too

And Shamu (AKA Elvis) says, "Peace on Earth, Baby!"

We should have an interesting Christmas. More to come ...

2009-12-12T13:14:00.005-05:00

When a cat and a dog meet: forbidden love

He walked into the house. Their eyes locked, then so did their lips. It was love at first sight.

That was more than five years ago, and they're still in love — Jack the Brat cat and Molly McGuire, the Best Dog in the Whole Wide World.

She was an older woman who cared for the injured young cat, like in a Hemingway story. He vowed to stay by her side forever.

His kin sniffed at the relationship. Her kin would have liked to have him for breakfast. Society frowned. The church refused to bless their union.

Yet, here they are, still together, after all these years. They are a bit older now. Molly's face has grown whiter. Jack is entering middle age.

Their love remains steadfast.

2009-12-10T17:40:00.004-05:00

Cattitude

"What? Are you talkin' to me???"

Jack the Brat

2009-12-09T08:59:00.002-05:00

St. Matthew tells it like it is

You go, Matthew.

That's one saint who sometimes went on a rip.

The hypocrisy Matthew talked about is still alive today. Shockingly, some can even be found in pulpits. Yes. Our parish is fortunate that the poor matter, and not just the people who can make the big contributions.

For, it's not the tithe or the gold or the check that's brought to the altar that is holy. Those things are not to be worshipped. It is God, who inhabits the sanctuary, who is holy. He will sanctify us and our offerings.

Meanwhile, we strain out a gnat, but swallow a camel. Yes, our priorities are skewed.

Hypocrisy is alive and well these 2,000 years later. I see it on the dais at city council meetings - the council member who delights in telling the audience how he is there for "the people," but treats people badly and makes it nearly impossible for them to contact him with their cares and concerns.

The more things change, the more they stay the same.

Here's today's reading from the Gospel of Matthew:

Matt. 23:13-26 (NRSV)

13 'But woe to you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! For you lock people out of the kingdom of heaven. For you do not go in yourselves, and when others are going in, you stop them 15Woe to you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! For you cross sea and land to make a single convert, and you make the new convert twice as much a child of hell as yourselves 16'Woe to you, blind guides, who say, "Whoever swears by the sanctuary is bound by nothing, but whoever swears by the gold of the sanctuary is bound by the oath."

17You blind fools! For which is greater, the gold or the sanctuary that has made the gold sacred? 18And you say, "Whoever swears by the altar is bound by nothing, but whoever swears by the gift that is on the altar is bound by the oath." 19How blind you are! For which is greater, the gift or the altar that makes the gift sacred?

20So whoever swears by the altar, swears by it and by everything on it; 21and whoever swears by the sanctuary, swears by it and by the one who dwells in it; 22and whoever swears by heaven, swears by the throne of God and by the one who is seated upon it.

23'Woe to you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! For you tithe mint, dill, and cummin, and have neglected the weightier matters of the law: justice and mercy and faith. It is these you ought to have practiced without neglecting the others. 24You blind guides! You strain out a gnat but swallow a camel!

25'Woe to you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! For you clean the outside of the cup and of the plate, but inside they are full of greed and self-indulgence. 26You blind Pharisee! First clean the inside of the cup, so that the outside also may become clean.

The Word of the Lord.

2009-12-07T07:15:00.003-05:00

Waiting in faith

Yesterday, I lit the second Advent candle.

This is another version of "O Come Emmanuel," with some beautiful art to remind us of the magnitude of the promise.

2009-12-07T06:45:00.003-05:00

My soul sings; my soul waits in silence

Yes, my soul does both in the span of a day.

Zeph. 3:14

Sing aloud, O daughter Zion; shout, O Israel! Rejoice and exult with all your heart, O daughter Jerusalem!

Canticle 15 The Song of Mary
Magnificat Luke 1:46-55

My soul proclaims the greatness of the Lord,
my spirit rejoices in God my Savior; *
for he has looked with favor on his lowly servant.
From this day all generations will call me blessed: *
the Almighty has done great things for me,
and holy is his Name.
He has mercy on those who fear him *
in every generation.
He has shown the strength of his arm, *
he has scattered the proud in their conceit.
He has cast down the mighty from their thrones, *
and has lifted up the lowly.
He has filled the hungry with good things, *
and the rich he has sent away empty.
He has come to the help of his servant Israel, *
for he has remembered his promise of mercy,
The promise he made to our fathers, *
to Abraham and his children for ever.

From Psalm 62 Nonne Deo

1 For God alone my soul in silence waits; *
from him comes my salvation.

2 He alone is my rock and my salvation, *
my stronghold, so that I shall not be greatly shaken.

2009-12-06T09:10:00.010-05:00

Christmas parade

It's the annual small-town spectacle of tradition: the Christmas parade. Molly (AKA Betsy, the Best Dog in the Whole Wide World) and Saint Pat were ready for it.

Saint Pat and Molly: ready to roll

Molly loves parades - especially being in them, but she likes the spectacle in any manner in which she can participate.

We met Mr. T at his office, and fortified with a shot of expresso fortified with antifreeze to ward off the unusual chill, headed to the Boulevard.

Mr. T heart Molly, too:

You won't see huge balloon-animals or hundred-thousand dollar floats. It's no Macy's parade. Instead, you see kids, kids, kids - school groups, bands, gymnastics classes, ROTC, you name it.. And politicians. And church and civic groups. Veterans. Animal groups. Dance groups. Just about anybody with a pickup truck and a flatbed. Or a big convertible.
It's a lot of fun.

Kids and manger scenes:

The middle-school band

One float featured the barking dog version of "Jingle Bells." Molly woofed along with it. She also barked at every dog she saw. She got loose one time, and ran out into the parade. The spectators weren't good disciplinarians — they applauded her.
Molly had a great time. So did we.

The Christmas holiday season now has begun officially.

2009-12-04T07:17:00.003-05:00

Waiting ... o please come, o Lord

Here's an interesting version of my favorite piece of Advent music.

From this morning's Daily Office reading, Amos 5:

For thus says the LORD to the house of Israel: Seek me and live ... The one who made the Pleiades and Orion, and turns deep darkness into the morning, and darkens the day into night, who calls for the waters of the sea, and pours them out on the surface of the earth, the LORD is his name ... Seek good and not evil, that you may live; and so the LORD, the God of hosts, will be with you, just as you have said. Hate evil and love good, and establish justice in the gate; it may be that the LORD, the God of hosts, will be gracious to the remnant of Joseph.

I know you, oh Lord who made the Peiades and Orion. I wait for you with joy building in my heart and hope fluttering like a bird in my soul. I know you will be gracious, o lover of souls.

2009-12-03T07:34:00.002-05:00

Giving thanks for the Earth, and mending our ways?

From today's morning prayers, a reminder that the Earth belongs to God — all of it, from the seas to the deep caverns of the earth.

We're gonna have some 'splaining to do about the way we're treating the Divine Real Estate, I think. Can we mend our ways?

And let's give thanks for his goodness and mercy:

Venite Psalm 95:1-7

Come let us sing to the Lord; *
let us shout for joy to the Rock of our salvation.

Let us come before his presence with thanksgiving *
and raise a loud shout to him with psalms.

For the Lord is a great God, *
and a great King above all gods.

In his hand are the caverns of the earth, *
and the heights of the hills are his also.

The sea is his, for he made it, *
and his hands have molded the dry land.

Come, let us bow down, and bend the knee, *
and kneel before the Lord our Maker.

For he is our God,
and we are the people of his pasture and the sheep of his hand. *
Oh, that today you would hearken to his voice!

2009-12-01T23:41:00.002-05:00

Midnight music

"I want a shot at redemption."

Paul Simon

2009-11-30T19:20:00.004-05:00

The advent of Advent

Now we're in the season of Advent. Advent means a coming. In the liturgical calendar, it's the season preceding Christmas. We're awaiting Jesus' coming or birth. It's a time of expectant waiting, of anticipation and preparation.

It's a time of affirmation, too. Of saying "Yes!" to God.

Mary did. The first chapter of the Gospel of Luke tells us of Gabriel's visit to Mary. He told her of the child she would bear:

"How will this be," Mary asked the angel, "since I am a virgin?"

The angel answered, "The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you. So the holy one to be born will be called the Son of God.

Some translations use "hover" instead of overshadow.

I picture the Holy Spirit hovering over Mary, as a parent hovers over a child at a crucial moment, tenderly tending to her, preparing her body and strengthening her spirit for what was to come. Then, the divine reaches into Mary, who inmost being is well known, and touches something. There! It begins. This new life on Earth, planned since the beginning, begins.

And we read the parallel in the first chapter of Genesis:

In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth.

Now the earth was formless and empty, darkness was over the surface of the deep, and the Spirit of God was hovering over the waters.

The Spirit hovered over the deep, preparing it. Then, the Spirit moved. Divine power touched the void. The Earth was formed, the dome of the sky separated from the deep, and life began to bud.

Two beginnings, closely allied, and a God who calls forth new life.

Back to Mary.

I wonder what she thought, as the next months passed. She must have hugged her secret to herself, marveling. Anxiety and excitement must have mixed in near equal portions, though Gabriel told her not to fear.

She was expectantly waiting for a miracle she knew would come. She didn't know just how the future would unfold after she gave birth to the child she was told to name Jesus, but she raced toward it, eagerly.

We now push toward Christmas, eagerly, expecting the miraculous.

Sign of the time

Ah, we are foolish, always seeking signs and wonders, when they're all around us, if we but look.

Look at my Christmas cactus, for example, loaded with buds that are beginning to bloom, heralding the approach of Christmas:

2009-11-28T20:31:00.007-05:00

Giving thanks for a good Thanksgiving

I sit here full from the third Thanksgiving dinner in three days and say, "Thank you Lord."

Thank you for good friends. Thank you for the hearty affirmation to a call to ministry from my parish family, especially some wonderful vestry members and Fr. R. What will happen is up in the air, as the Bish is alarmed by my advanced age. Whatever happens, I will remember the affirmation I got, even and especially from a person or two from whom it came as a surprise.

Thank you that I'm feeling well.

Last year, I was sick and spent the day alone, sacked out on the sofa coughing. I had a virus that got hold of me and didn't let loose for a couple of months. Now, I'm not only not sick, I have more energy than I've had in a while. As a result, my house is cleaner, and I'm blogging more often.

Thank you, Lord for everything. For, all good things come from you.

Here's how Thanksgiving went down: I came home from work Wednesday and cleaned up the house. I cleaned out and baked two pumpkin squash, so they'd be ready to cook with the next morning.

I got up Thanksgiving morning and made pumpkin pies and spicy pumpkin soup. (Yes, I love pumpkin.) I was afraid the thinner pie overcooked, so of course, I had to taste test it. It was delicious, and so was the other one.

Mr. T. brought over a fresh turkey. He wanted to cook it on the grill, so he went at it on the patio, while inside, I started mashed potatoes, dressing, green beens, and a broccoli-peas-and-carrot mixture.

Smokin'

My charcoal kettle-grill was a little small for the turkey. The lid wouldn't close over it properly. We brought it inside after a while; I wrapped it in aluminum foil and baked it in the oven to make sure it cooked through. The turkey came out wonderfully — with the smoky taste from the grill, done through and juicy and tender.

We ate leftovers Friday night.

Today, I spent the afternoon/early evening with friends who always do a big-family Thanksgiving get-together on the Saturday after. More feasting and fellowship. Then, home to my snug house.

Thank you Lord, for so many good things.

And the animals, who got turkey and more attention than usual with me at home for the holiday and Mr. T visiting, said, "Amen."

2009-11-14T12:27:00.005-05:00

Wet dog day

Speaking of dogs, somebody in the Saintly household really needed a B-A-T-H. (It's the word we dare not utter here.)

Luckily for me, the Best Dog in the Whole Wide World isn't one to carry a grudge.

And often, I find, forgiveness is K-9.

2009-11-11T08:59:00.006-05:00

Amen and Bow Wow

Thanks to my friend Patricia, who sent me a link to this — GoD And DoG. Take a look:

Molly/Betsy is my canine daily reminder of God's love and presence in my life. She is a true source of unconditional love:

2009-11-11T08:06:00.002-05:00

Of war and peace; Armistice Day and Veterans Day

Armistice Day (Veterans' Day) (11 Nov 1918)

Today, we remember Martin of Tours, who traded his sword for a Bible. May we follow his example:

Martin of Tours, 11 November 397
written by James Kiefer

Martin was born around 330 of pagan parents. His father was a soldier, who enlisted Martin in the army at the age of fifteen.

One winter day he saw an ill-clad beggar at the gate of the city of Amiens. Martin had no money to give, but he cut his cloak in half and gave half to the beggar. (Paintings of the scene, such as that by El Greco, show Martin, even without the cloak, more warmly clad than the beggar, which rather misses the point.) In a dream that night, Martin saw Christ wearing the half-cloak.

He had for some time considered becoming a Christian, and this ended his wavering. He was promptly baptized. At the end of his next military campaign, he asked to be released from the army, saying: "Hitherto I have faithfully served Caesar. Let me now serve Christ." He was accused of cowardice, and offered to stand unarmed between the contending armies. He was imprisoned, but released when peace was signed.

He became a disciple of Hilary of Poitiers, a chief opponent in the West of the Arians, who denied the full deity of Christ, and who had the favor of the emperor Constantius. Returning to his parents' home in Illyricum, he opposed the Arians with such effectiveness that he was publicly scourged and exiled. He was subsequently driven from Milan, and eventually returned to Gaul. There he founded the first monastary in Gaul, which lasted until the French Revolution.

In 371 he was elected bishop of Tours. His was a mainly pagan diocese, but his instruction and personal manner of life prevailed. In one instance, the pagan priests agreed to fell their idol, a large fir tree, if Martin would stand directly in the path of its fall. He did so, and it missed him very narrowly. When an officer of the Imperial Guard arrived with a batch of prisoners who were to be tortured and executed the next day, Martin intervened and secured their release.

In the year 384, the heretic (Gnostic) Priscillian and six companions had been condemned to death by the emperor Maximus. The bishops who had found them guilty in the ecclesiastical court pressed for their execution. Martin contended that the secular power had no authority to punish heresy, and that the excommunication by the bishops was an adequate sentence. In this he was upheld by Ambrose, Bishop of Milan. He refused to leave Treves until the emperor promised to reprieve them. No sooner was his back turned than the bishops persuaded the emperor to break his promise; Priscillian and his followers were executed. This was the first time that heresy was punished by death.

Martin was furious, and excommunicated the bishops responsible. But afterwards, he took them back into communion in exchange for a pardon from Maximus for certain men condemned to death, and for the emperor's promise to end the persecution of the remaining Priscillianists. He never felt easy in his mind about this concession, and thereafter avoided assemblies of bishops where he might encounter some of those concerned in this affair. He died on or about 11 November 397 (my sources differ) and his shrine at Tours became a sanctuary for those seeking justice.

The Feast of Martin, a soldier who fought bravely and faithfully in the service of an earthly sovereign, and then enlisted in the service of Christ, is also the day of the Armistice which marked the end of the First World War. On it we remember those who have risked or lost their lives in what they perceived as the pursuit of justice and peace.

Prayer

Lord God of hosts, who clothed your servant Martin the soldier With the spirit of sacrifice, and set him as a bishop in your Church to be a defender of the catholic faith: Give us grace to follow in his holy steps, that at the last we may be found clothed with righteousness in the dwellings of peace; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever. Amen.

From the Daily Office:

Canticle 11 The Third Song of Isaiah
Surge, illuminare Isaiah 60:1-3, 11a, 14c, 18-19

Arise, shine, for your light has come, *
and the glory of the Lord has dawned upon you.

For behold, darkness covers the land; *
deep gloom enshrouds the peoples.

But over you the Lord will rise, *
and his glory will appear upon you.

Nations will stream to your light, *
and kings to the brightness of your dawning.

Your gates will always be open; *
by day or night they will never be shut.

They will call you, The City of the Lord, *
The Zion of the Holy One of Israel.

Violence will no more be heard in your land, *
ruin or destruction within your borders.

You will call your walls, Salvation, *
and all your portals, Praise.

The sun will no more be your light by day; *
by night you will not need the brightness of the moon.

The Lord will be your everlasting light, *
and your God will be your glory.

Glory to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit
as it was in the beginning, is now, and will be for ever. Amen.

2009-11-09T20:51:00.003-05:00

As for me, give me single-payer insurance any day

Health care should be a right in our country

Visit http://Wormwood's Doxy. She has a terrific post on the scummy tactics the health-insurance industry is using in the fight over health-insurance reform.

Let's face it. Insurance companies are not there to help you get needed health care. They exist for one reason: to make a profit, just like any other corporation.

Covering claims cuts into profit. It makes insurance companies unhappy, so they try to avoid it.

The whole idea behind insurance was the law of large numbers. The theory was, a lot of people could band together and put money in a pot. Then, there was money to cover rebuilding the house that burned down, for example.

The insurance companies like the "large number" parts. Only they want large numbers who don't file claims. That's why we have government insurance - Medicare - for the retired. They're kinda prone to needing health care. Never mind all the money they put into the pot without filing claims when they were younger. The insurance companies didn't want them, so it's ok for a single-payer system for them.

It's all about profit.

Even if you have insurance, it's a nightmare. File a claim, and find out about all kinds of co-pays and out-of-pocket expenses you never expected. Call the company to inquire, and get a different answer from each customer-service rep you speak to as to why something wasn't covered, or why you had to pay a lot out of pocket for something that was supposed to be covered.

Get hit with the unthinkable, a cancer that won't respond to any conventional treatments. Go to a respected cancer-treatment center in the U.S. to enroll in promising clinical trials, and find out your insurance covers zip, even though your doctors sent you there because it's your only chance. Doesn't matter - not covered.

Or, find yourself unemployed. Then, you lose your group health coverage, and can't afford to buy it privately. It's one more blow, and one more worry. I volunteer at a local faith-based free clinic for the broke uninsured, and I see them.

First, they got laid off. Then, they lost their home, then got sick. They're terrified.

According to statistics garnered by Associated Press, about 4 million Americans, many of whom never expected to find themselves needing these services, are expected to visit the nation's 1,200 free health clinics this year. At the same time, clinics are dealing with loss of revenue due to the economy.

Even if there's a free clinic for routine health care, you're SOL if you need to go to the hospital, or need treatments the free clinic can't provide.

In one of the wealthiest countries in the world, people can't get basic health care. There's no reason for this.

Health care should be a community service, just like law enforcement or public schools, which we should not allow to be handed over to private companies, either.

Private enterprise is a good thing, for the most part. Life and death and who gets medical care should not be determined by the profit motive.

There won't be serious reform unless we, the people, get mad enough to demand it and vote out of office lawmakers who only give it lip service.

Are you up for the revolution?

2009-11-06T19:14:00.006-05:00

Amazing

In the summer, the Central Florida heat and humidity obscure the star field. On these cooler, clearer fall evenings, I get a gorgeous view of the night sky on the road home.

The sky hints at all the stars my Cousin Gary captured in this photo:

This night, the stars are scattered across the dark sky like diamonds on black velvet, large and clear, sparking light at me. Too many to count. So close I want to raise up my hand, like a child, to touch them.

I know a little bit of the science of the universe. The stars have been there for billions and billions of years. Tonight, though, it seems like the stars were put there for me to find.

I stop and sit quietly with God, taking in the beauty of his work.

How marvelous are your works, Lord. Though they are beyond our ability to fully understand, you gave us the ability to appreciate the skill and artistry of your hand. You want us to share in the pleasure you take in such beauty.

Genesis 15:5
And he brought him outside and said, "Look toward heaven, and number the stars, if you are able to number them."

Job 26:7
He stretches out the north over empty space; He hangs the earth on nothing.

Psalm 8:3-5
When I look at your heavens, the work of your fingers,
the moon and the stars, which you have set in place,
what is man that you are mindful of him,
and the son of man that you care for him?
Yet you have made him a little lower than the heavenly beings
and crowned him with glory and honor.

Amazing. Thank you, Lord.

2009-10-02T18:07:00.004-04:00

St. Pat takes a vacation

Yes, it's true! The first in a long time!

I finished up the environmental-stewardship Bible study, which went very well, and took a vacation. It was more of a stay-cation.

My friend Mr. T. had a gift certificate for a stay at a hotel on the beach, which he said he didn't have time to use. He gave it to me.

Delirious view: the sun rises over the Atlantic

It was deliriously wonderful to get up in the morning with nothing more pressing to do than sit on my balcony with a a cuppa coffee and watch the sun rise. Then, I went beach-walking, swimming and relaxing.

Now I'm back at the grind.

My Sandhill Crane friends continue to visit, and they're a treat. I can't complain. Life is feeling pretty good.

2009-08-04T21:06:00.005-04:00

Betsy goes to the beach

Betsy is the best dog in the world, despite the fact she stays cooped up an awful lot while I'm away at work and play.

Sunday was her day. She got packed up into the car, and we headed for the doggy beach. It's only about 45 minutes away, but it seems hard to find time and/or energy to make the trip, and Betsy hasn't been in a good while.

Betsy scopes out the water.

She's not all that crazy about water. Sunday, however, she found a friendly Huskey who was playing in the water. I unleashed Betsy, and she splashed out to him.

She would run back to me once in a while, to make sure I wasn't leaving her, then it was back to her new friend. They ran around in the water.

Betsy met several other dogs, got lots of pets and compliments, and just enjoyed herself thoroughly.

She was a tired and happy camper when we got home.

We need more trips to the beach!!

2009-07-16T14:51:00.002-04:00

A moment of bragging

My job doesn't pay much, and the benefits are minimal. So I'll take what I can get, and what I got was another Press Association award for writing - first place!

Yay. This makes several first-place awards, along with some second- and third-place awards in my arsenal.

I'd like to thank the association and my mommy and my friends and ....

(Thank you, Lord.)

2009-06-28T15:29:00.010-04:00

Life on the river

We're in the heat and heart of a Florida summer. That means it's hot and humid, when it isn't roasting and sweltering.

The great thing about living next to a beautiful Florida river like the St. Johns is spending the evening on it. That's just what I did last night, with a few friends, like Mr. T here, who enjoyed a few brewskis and gator bites, as we sat on the deck at a little restaurant on the river, catching the river breeze and some good music.

In the water next to the deck, a baby 'gator bided his time, plotting revenge:

"Will you please share a little fish, or shrimp, or ... some ladyfingerrssss?"

Our table included a view of the boats coming in:

Meanwhile, consummate musician-songwriter Rog Lee sang songs of Florida:

A boy fished off the restaurant's dock:

Dusk watercolored the scene:

The colors deepened, as night began to fall:

Ah, the beautiful St. Johns. It's worth protecting.

2009-06-14T16:01:00.006-04:00

Me and my rainbow

Or, the rainbow that followed me home

We had a movie night at church last night. It was potluck and Evan Almighty.

I love this movie about a modern-day Noah. I reviewed the movie here when I first saw it a couple of years ago.

A terrific storm moved through just about time the event was supposed to start - the kind with nasty black clouds, tornado warnings and the whole bit. I had to wait out the storm before I could get to the church, it was raining so hard.

At the end of the movie, there's a rainbow, just as in the Biblical story.

As I drove home afterward, I could see a huge rainbow in my rear-view mirror. The rainbow seemed to be following me. By the time I came off the highway to turn toward home, the rainbow was to the side of me, instead of behind me. The end of it could have been right over my house.

I snapped a picture out of my car window as I sat at the stop light, waiting to turn toward home. As evening was falling, the rainbow didn't show up as brilliantly as it did just a quarter-hour earlier, but it was there:

It was a reminder, like the stories of Noah, Moses, Ruth and others - God doesn't speak to just the "perfect" people. He speaks to all of us, and will use even us goofs and klutzes to do his will, in all our weaknesses.

The cynical will say the rainbow's appearance was just a coincidence. That it appeared to follow me, and stay with, all the way home, was nothing special. Just light through a prism.

I know better.

2009-06-12T19:47:00.003-04:00

In the world

Here's the thing: I've been going through this calling thing, and talking to God about it a whole lot. It's drawing me very close.

These quiet moments, alone with my maker, are so precious. I want to spend more time like this.

Of course, the world goes on - the job always keeps me busy; I'm involved in a lot of things at church and fellowship with my friends there. Then, there's social life after work - going to hear great music with my friends.

I'm overflowing. It's all good. But ...

Maybe that's the way it's supposed to be. We are called to be in the world, but not of the world.

Sometimes, I'd like to be like Julian, an anchoress — reclusive and spending lots of time in prayer and contemplation. I could crawl out of my hidey-hole now and then, to share my visions.

I think I just have to make sure I have enough time for solitary prayer and meditation.

2009-06-06T15:20:00.003-04:00

Who orders the stars, who brings the Milky Way spiraling past in the darkness?

It is only you, God.

From Job 38:

The LORD Speaks

1 Then the LORD answered Job out of the storm. He said:

2 "Who is this that darkens my counsel
with words without knowledge?

3 Brace yourself like a man;
I will question you,
and you shall answer me.

4 "Where were you when I laid the earth's foundation?
Tell me, if you understand.

5 Who marked off its dimensions? Surely you know!
Who stretched a measuring line across it?

18 Have you comprehended the vast expanses of the earth?
Tell me, if you know all this.

19 "What is the way to the abode of light?
And where does darkness reside?

31 "Can you bind the beautiful Pleiades?
Can you loose the cords of Orion?

32 Can you bring forth the constellations in their seasons
or lead out the Bear with its cubs?

33 Do you know the laws of the heavens?
Can you set up God's dominion over the earth?

Take a look at this.

Galactic Center of Milky Way Rises over Texas Star Party from William Castleman on Vimeo.

2009-05-26T20:48:00.004-04:00

Green water

There’s a new spigot at my kitchen sink. It’s a small one, used just to provide drinking water.

I got it after talking to a friend who owns a water-lab company about the sorry water situation in Central Florida. The discussion evolved into problems with water in plastic bottles.

I live in the county, where I use well water. I’ve always been a little suspicious about drinking it, so I would buy drinking water at the store.

I try to conserve. I don’t water my bahia grass. I hardly ever wash my car. (That’s mainly due to laziness, but I’ll count it as conservation.)

I recycle and reuse.

I reused the big plastic jugs my favorite iced-tea comes in, filling them up with filtered water from the machines at Publix or Wal-Mart. I’d refill individual-size plastic bottles to carry water around with me.

Then, I got worried about the chemicals that leach from plastic containers into the water.

For a quick summary of concerns, go to About.com.

A local conservationist friend alerted me to the problems of estrogen-like compounds, both carcinogenic and messing with one’s hormonal system, that come from plastic bottles.

Plastic is everywhere, including around the water we drink.

It seems there’s no way to win. Everything’s going to do you in.

But the water-lab friend said a simple charcoal-filtration system, installed under my sink, would clean my well water just fine. Water should be stored in glass, not plastic.

Folks, we have become a truly plastic society. It’s hard to find any glass containers, except the old-fashioned jars used for putting up preserves. Everything is plastic.

A truly plastic society

I rooted around my garage and found a couple of gallon-wine containers made of glass, left over from parties several years ago, and cleaned them up. Now, I have cold water in the fridge, and a extra bottle of drinking water in the kitchen, for emergencies, in nice glass jugs.

No more lugging water in plastic jugs from the store.

That left only the problem of how to take “to go” water with me. Those nice chi-chi stainless-steel water bottles are expensive.

I found a stainless-steel bottle for $9.99 at my local Publix grocery store, and a free Publix shopping bag came with it.

I wanted stainless steel, not aluminum, because there have been health complications connected to use of aluminum pots and things. I’ve seen aluminum bottles some places.

I had checked out some of the online ads for stainless-steel bottles. Google the company before you order. Some have complaints about excessive shipping charges. Some have complaints about funny smells, etc. coming from the bottle.

There was no shipping charge for the bottle I bought last night, of course. I’m trying it out today, and there’s no funny taste or odor, and the price was good.

2009-05-24T03:41:00.003-04:00

40 days and 40 nights?

I woke up at 3:30 to the sound of rain, something I usually enjoy. Except this comes after a solid week of rain. More than 20 inches of it has fallen on some parts of the county - more than they got during Tropical Storm Fay.

We needed rain. Red flag warnings have been up for months, because of tinder-dry conditions. Now, the weather has taken us from dry to waterlogged. No moderation.

Pray for the people whose homes are flooding. Pray for moderate weather.

After terrible fires one summer, I promised not to complain about rain, so I'm just asking you for moderation, Lord. Make your face and the sun to shine on us. Comfort the flood-afflicted, and help them through this. Restore balance.

In your name's sake,

Amen.

UPDATE May 26 — The rain has slowed down to the more typical once a day shower or storm. It's giving floodwaters a chance to recede. It's good to see some blue sky and sun.

2009-05-18T13:20:00.002-04:00

Hello, Crane!

And now, a break from the depressing news. More crane news!

These magnificent birds, Sandhill Cranes, have really made a comeback the past few years. This fellow (?) is one of a pair that stay around my neighborhood.

He — I think I'll call him Craniac — was in my front yard one morning last week, by himself.

Craniac looked at me inquisitively. I started talking to him in a soft tone of voice, and he cocked his head, as if listening intently. He calmly walked up to within a few feet of me.

We shared a communal moment together. It was a spiritual moment. Craniac tried to share what it's like to be a crane, and I tried to understand.

What magnificent birds!

Peace and joy

I've had many more moments of peace and even joy, lately. It's from making the decision to go forward with a call to ministry.

I don't know if I'll end up ordained. I know the process is bringing me closer to God, a benefit already realized.

I've been spending more quiet time in meditation, seeking God's wisdom and guidance. That can only be a good thing.

Peace and joy, out for now.

2009-05-06T15:36:00.005-04:00

One week, two saints

Arrggh! Here it is, May already. I was about to let two of my favorite female saints slip past - both have feast days this week. They are:

Monnica, Mother of Augustine of Hippo
4 May 387

Augustine takes leave of his mother, Monnica

Monnica gives us one of the greatest examples of intercessory prayer of all the saints. She prayed her whole life for her son Augustine's conversion to Christianity, along with her husband's. She made a number of mistakes along the way, but we see through her story how God will redeem our mistakes.

Augustine not only became a Christian, he became one of Christianity's greatest thinkers and theologians.

Methinks he got it from his mother. Monnica's simple statement, "Nothing is far from God," is one of the most succinct statements of faith and trust in God I have ever read.

James Kiefer's bio:

We know about Monnica almost entirely from the autobiography (the Confessions) of her son Augustine, a major Christian writer, theologian and philosopher (see 28 August). Monnica was born in North Africa, near Carthage, in what is now Tunisia, perhaps around 331, of Christian parents, and was a Christian throughout her life.

Her name has usually been spelled "Monica," but recently her tomb in Ostia was discovered, and the burial inscription says "Monnica," a spelling which all Ac (Archaeologically Correct) persons have hastened to adopt. (On the other hand, it may simply be that the artisan who carved the inscription was a bad speller.)

As a girl, she was fond of wine, but on one occasion was taunted by a slave girl for drunkenness, and resolved not to drink thereafter. She was married to a pagan husband, Patricius, a man of hot temper, who was often unfaithful to her, but never insulted or struck her. It was her happiness to see both him and his mother ultimately receive the Gospel.

Monnica soon recognized that her son was a man of extraordinary intellectual gifts, a brilliant thinker and a natural leader of men (as a youngster he was head of a local gang of juvenile delinquents), and she had strong ambitions and high hopes for his success in a secular career. Indeed, though we do not know all the circumstances, most Christians today would say that her efforts to steer him into a socially advantageous marriage were in every way a disaster. However, she grew in spiritual maturity through a life of prayer, and her ambitions for his worldly success were transformed into a desire for his conversion. He, as a youth, rejected her religion with scorn, and looked to various pagan philosophies for clues to the meaning of life.

He undertook a career as an orator and teacher of the art of oratory (rhetoric), and moved from Africa to Rome and thence to Milan, at that time the seat of government in Italy. His mother followed him there a few years later. In Milan, Augustine met the bishop Ambrose, from whom he learned that Christianity could be intellectually respectable, and under whose preaching he was eventually converted and baptised on Easter Eve in 387, to the great joy of Monnica.

After his baptism, Augustine and a younger brother Navigius and Monnica planned to return to Africa together, but in Ostia, the port city of Rome, Monnica fell ill and said, "You will bury your mother here. All I ask of you is that, wherever you may be, you should remember me at the altar of the Lord. Do not fret because I am buried far from our home in Africa. Nothing is far from God, and I have no fear that he will not know where to find me, when he comes to raise me to life at the end of the world."

PRAYER (contemporary language)

O Lord, who through spiritual discipline strengthened your Servant Monnica to persevere in offering her love and prayers and tears for the conversion of her husband and of Augustine their son: Deepen our devotion, we pray, and use us in accordance with your will to bring others, even our own kindred, to acknowledge Jesus Christ as Savior and Lord; who with you and the Holy Spirit lives and reigns, one God, for ever and ever.

Julian of Norwich

Friday (May 8) is the feast day for Dame Julian of Norwich. You know she's my fav, right up there with Mary Magdalene. I feel her spirit poking around in my psyche, sometimes, trying to find something of her.

Sometimes she succeeds, with teachings such as:

"This blessed friend is Jesus; it is his will and plan that we hang on to him, and hold tight always, in whatever circumstances; for whether we are filthy or clean is all the same to his love."

"Glad and merry and sweet is the blessed and lovely demeanour of our Lord towards our souls, for he saw us always living in love-longing, and he wants our souls to be gladly disposed toward him . . . by his grace he lifts up and will draw our outer disposition to our inward, and will make us all at unity with him, and each of us with others in the true, lasting joy which is Jesus."

When things get tough, as they are wont to do, I quote Julian under my breath: "All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well." I say it like a breath prayer, over and over, and it's incredibly comforting.

On days when it all just seems too hard, Julian reminds me about God's will, not mine, and that I'm supposed to hang on tight to him, "in whatever circumstances."

One of Julian's writings I first read was her vision of God holding the Earth in his (or her) hand, and it was something as small as a hazelnut ("a small, brown nut") held in his mighty palm. He would never, ever lose it, but would treat it tenderly.

It takes my breath away how well this mystic of the Middle Ages understood the fragility of our island home, this fragile Earth.

Thank you, Mother Julian. I love you.

Julian is probably the best-loved of all the English mystics. She was born around 1342, and her feast day is observed May 8. She's believed to have died on that date around 1417.

2009-04-13T07:38:00.003-04:00

Monday, minor miracles and water

It's back to work today. I'm headed out of town to cover a Water Management District hearing on a request to draw water out of the river for municipal use.

The fight is ongoing. Conservationists will be there to protest it. It's the beginning of a push to draw up to 260 million gallons a day (mgd) out of the little river. The conservationists will likely lose the fight. The matter has already gone before a state-administrative judge, who kicked the case back the Water Management District.

Another project, for a water-bottling plant to draw 500 mgd a day from wells drilled into the aquifer, will probably gain approval, too. That one isn't on today's agenda.

It is lunacy. Local governments are still promoting growth and development, while we're running out of usable water.

Here's the little miracle part:

Thursday, I was coming down with a cold. Friday morning, I was running a little temperature. The cough that hurts began to tear at my chest.

I kept praying, and drinking lots of water. I prayed through the noontime Good Friday service. I sipped water, as a guest pastor preached on "I thirst."

Friday evening, I took communion at the end of the service. I came home tired, but uplifted. I blogged, then to bed.

Around 4:30 in the morning, I woke up. A pervasive sense of wellbeing enveloped me. I lay in bed, luxuriating in it. After a while, I went back to sleep. I awoke with that same sense of wellbeing.

It's hard to explain that feeling. It's like a mountaintop experience -- knowing the Holy Spirit's immediate and enveloping presence, God's love washing over me. My awareness of it kicked up a few notches.

My cold symptoms were evaporating. There was no fever. The painful tightness in my chest was gone. Just a bit of a runny nose was all that was left. By Sunday, that was largely gone, too. I got through the service with repairing to the sacristy once to blow my nose. A miracle. I was able to participate in that Easter service. And it was special. Fr. R was full of the spirit, and it infected the congregation.

Now, this cold business may not seem like a miracle to a casual observer. But it is a miracle to me. It was God, expressing his love through the Eucharist and through water, which is life.

Which brings me back to today's topic: water.

It belongs to God. We are merely his stewards, looking after our master's Earth. He lets us use precious water to sustain life. How can we justify misusing it and destroying ecosystems and aquatic life, perhaps ultimately our own, in blindness and greed?

Lord, have mercy on us. Show us and our leaders what you would have us do.

2009-04-10T17:20:00.006-04:00

Good Friday

It's a day of sorrow, suffering, shame and grief.

Jesus, God in flesh, speaks his last words, as he dies on the cross.

It's hard to begin to conceive what he endured for us.

Heartsickness awakens other griefs, new and old. I grieve not only Jesus, but all those I love but see no more. Dad, who died too young so many years ago, but who would have turned 85 this Lent. Karen, even younger, who died only two weeks and two days ago. All of them.

Bitterness is the taste in my mouth.

Sorrow is for the things we did to Jesus and the things we do today. Scratch us, some 2,000 years later, and find a barbarian just beneath the surface. We are so capable of the vilest actions.

Yet he loved us. He died loving us, despite what we did and do. He still loves us.

On God's Friday, I grieve. But joy comes in the morning.

Just as Jesus commended himself to his father's hands, so I commit myself and all those I love. In life and death, we are safe in his hands.

Sunday, we will receive a garland of praise and gladness.

Lord Jesus Christ, Son of the living God, we pray you to set your passion, cross and death between your judgment and our souls, now and at the hour of our death. Give mercy and grace to the living; pardon and rest to the dead; to your holy Church peace and concord; and to us sinners everlasting life and glory; for with the Father and the Holy Spirit you live and reign, one God, now and forever. Amen. -- from The Book of Common Prayer

2009-04-05T18:26:00.009-04:00

Palm Sunday

This morning's service began outside the church. We went inside, waving bits of palm frond for Palm Sunday. Lucky for us, there's plenty of palms around here.

Joy seized me I entered the sanctuary. Joy was just there. I was full of joy, the joy of the Lord. It was amazing and wonderful. I'm still riding on that joy, despite dealing with some difficult things today.

I could picture myself on the road to Jerusalem so many years ago:

The air is a little cooler. I arch my neck into it, as I stand in the scant shade the palm tree provides.

Other than the breath of breeze, the road to Jerusalem is quiet. I am quiet, waiting, still.

I straighten my tired back. I want to stand tall and at attention, for I know he is coming. My savior is coming toward me.

I saw him before. I heard his words, and I cannot forget him. I've been waiting for him.

I watch, hand to brow to shade my eyes, as I peer into the distance.

Nothing. But I know he is coming. He is on his way to Jerusalem today.

At last, see a speck of white. It is a colt. Little puffs of dust raise from the colt's feet and around the ankles of the people walking behind the animal.

It is my lord who sits astride the colt.

The group draws closer.

Hosanna! My redeemer is here.

Joy fills me. It's depth surprises me. It fills me; it overflows me; it comes from the center of my being. I can almost feel it drip from my fingertips.

The Messiah is here. Hosanna! Hosanna!

I fall in at the back of the procession. I don't know how this journey will end, but I will follow him.

***

This disciple reminds of the one I wrote about a few years ago. Of course, this disciple is thee and me.

It started as a Maundy Thursday meditation, then grew into a story about a young disciple to whom I can relate -- of strong faith, yet sometimes foolish, and quick to succumb to despair. I think my own understanding grew through writing the story. The disciple is one of my favorite creations.

Here's the story, for those of you who haven't read it.

A disciple's tale

Maundy Thursday: Who will wash these feet?

Prologue, in the spiritual plane:

Feeling pissy, Satan asks, "For heaven's sake. If you're God, how can you demean yourself with their smelly, stinky feet?"

Jesus looks at him with pity, then says, "Humility fosters love, from both the giver and the recipient."

"Oh, fine." Satan says. "Just continue with this 'humble servant' bit. See where it gets you."

"You will see," replies Jesus. He sighs. "Most of the time, my disciples don't get it, either."

***
The Disciple's tale:

It had been a long week. Jesus came riding into the city as an honored prophet. Many accepted Jesus as our Messiah, and some continued their disbelief. Jesus had been saying some puzzling things that we did not understand, but tonight, we would relax and have this supper together.

It is the time of the Passover. As it is written in the Book of Genesis, "This day shall be a day of remembrance for you. You shall celebrate it as a festival to the Lord; throughout your generations you shall observe it as a perpetual ordinance."

It is the custom to bathe before coming to a banquet. We arrive clean, except for our feet, which get very dirty on the streets and roads. Usually, a servant will bring water to wash the guests' feet before the banquet.

We came in, and found our accustomed seats. We said prayers and sang songs just as we do every time we come together. Nothing seemed different tonight than any other night except that Judas was gone, and except that tonight, there was no one to bring water to wash our feet, and no one volunteered.

I thought about it, but didn't want to appear lower than my actual station, for I was a disciple, not a servant.

We proceeded with the meal. I was careful to keep my dirty feet out of sight. They discomforted me. I saw Jesus get up and wrap a towel around his waist.

He took a towel, bowl and basin and began to wash his disciples' feet. I drew back in embarrassment. I heard Peter protest, then acquiesce.

I lurked in the back in confusion, hoping to avoid notice.

These ugly feet were no fit offering to the Lord. I kept them tucked back, hidden from his sight.

Jesus approached me.

"Why then, Lord, are you now kneeling in front of me, like a servant? Are you going to wash my feet, too?" I asked. I was shocked.

"No, I can't allow that," I said.

My feet were caked with dirt, for I had been long on the road this day. My toenails were thick and uneven. The nails and cuticles of my toes were grimy. My feet were covered in thick calluses and dry, cracked, peeling skin. And more dirt.

Lord, I thought, I can't let you look upon these feet, much less touch them. You were not meant for this.

Jesus looked up at me.

I implored, "Ask something else of me, Lord, and I will give it, I will do it."

He gazed at me steadily. I saw love and compassion in his eyes, and I was smitten in return.

I knew he understood my embarrassment, my pride that made me want to hide these unattractive members from his sight. But he already knew. He had already seen.

Hesitantly, I pulled my feet from their hiding place.

The water sparkled as he poured it over my feet. I heard a soft murmuring and splashing of water.

Layer by the layer, he washed the grime away. The water was soothing, relaxing. I felt the blood moving through my feet, my hands, my heart. I floated into this renewal.

Jesus' hands healed the cuts and sores on my feet. He held my feet as he carefully dried them with the towel. My feet were clean and warm.

Who am I that my Lord should tend to me as a servant?

No one. Yet he makes me worthy.

I am filled with a deep peace.

Thank you Lord, for this gift.

This is what happened with the Lord on the night of Passover. He taught us.

What I received from the Lord, I hand on to you. Let me look upon you with Christ's eyes, see you with Christ's love, treat you with Christ's humility. Allow me now to follow Christ's example of servanthood. Allow me to wash your feet.

We will be blessed if we do these things for each other.

Saturday morning

Where is my God?

How can it be that my Lord is dead? I thought that cruel execution would be stopped. I prayed for it to be stopped. Yet my Lord is dead.

How could you have left me? How could you have forsaken me?

I am desolate with grief.

People on the streets snicker and say, "Where is your Lord now?"

I don't think I can even stand, yet I run from their sneering faces. I run from the image of the blood-soaked figure, lifeless, as his mother croons over him. That image has the force a thousand knives plunged into my heart. I run from it.

I run like a dog who has lost its master, loping this way then that, pawing the ground, panting with thirst.

I stop in a grove of olives. I rend my shirt. I claw at my chest until I see drops of bright, red blood fall to the ground. Yet there is no atonement for what was done. I am sick in my soul.

My Lord, my Lord, have you left us? How could you abandon us?

The sunlight is dull and wan. I watch until nightfall, and there are no stars.

I cannot sleep. Oh God, grant me death, too. My face is stiff with tears that brought no comfort, and still I cannot sleep.

I stumble back into the city, avoiding the soldiers and the mockers, and ask where they have taken my Lord. I find the tomb. I sit and lean against the stone wall.

Was it only two nights ago that we broke bread? You washed my feet. I look at them now and they are filthy and bloody.

My Lord, where have you gone?

I will wait here for whatever is to come. I lean against the cold stone, and at last, I sleep.

Saturday night, Sunday morning

Listen to my story:

I sleep against the hard stone of the tomb of my Lord Jesus, called the Messiah, who had been crucified and buried. A couple of guards come by and poke at me, but I refuse to move. I am too exhausted and too grieved to care. If they take my life, so much the better. I no longer need it.

I go back to sleep.

"Disciple, wake up. Arise," comes a voice.

I float up to consciousness from a very deep place.

"Awake. Your Lord needs you."

A creature stands before me, luminous in the dark. It is beautiful, the creature, but very strange. Almost like a man, but not. I have trouble seeing it properly. Its glow makes it hard for me to focus on it.

The world is moving in odd ways.

It speaks. "Don't go fainting on me. You have work to do."

The creature touches the stone in front of the tomb. It rumbles away from the entrance to the cave.

Listen. I see the risen Lord.

He walks toward me. He is beautiful, so beautiful. He glows with a luminosity much greater than that of the creature beside me.

It is him.

I can see the empty funeral linens behind Him.

He's dressed in white. He moves with a fluid grace. I don't know how this could be, but it is.

He has risen. He shines in glory. I see it with my own eyes.

Listen to the good news.

I remember what He said about the three days. I hadn't understood.

With one scarred hand, He touches my forehead. Peace comes over me.

"Tell the others when they come. Disciple, you will make disciples. Tell your story."

I can only say yes.

I kneel. He puts His hand on the top of my head for a moment, then walks past me in radiance.

My clothes are now beautiful and white. The wound on my chest is gone. My feet are clean and soft, and my skin is as fine as a child's.

He has done many miraculous things. This is the most miraculous.

"Wait here for the others," says the creature who had awakened me. It only can have been an angel.

I sit on top of the stone, waiting and examining my new clothes and my new skin, when the Roman guards come back. I enjoy their confusion over the open tomb.

"Are you looking for Jesus of Nazareth?" I ask in my best and most holy of voices. I chortle at the guards'confusion.

They look into the cave and then look at me in my new appearance with their mouths open, not recognizing the disciple they tried to roust a little earlier.

"He is not here. He is gone. An angel came and moved the stone with one finger. Now he is risen and he is gone."

I am now laughing, holding my sides. I realize this is joy, come back into the world.

"He died, but he rose again. He will never forsake us." I lift my arms. "Share my joy!"

The guards back carefully away from me, then run up the path from the tomb.

I sit rocking myself, singing, praying and praising and laughing through the night. I wait until I see Mary Magdalene on the path, then I jump down from the stone, landing lightly on my feet, ready to tell her the good news.

***

Listen, all of you, to my testimony and we shall make disciples of many, for Jesus Christ is alive. He brings life and salvation.

Hosanna!

2009-03-31T00:08:00.002-04:00

A death in the family

The past five days have all run together. My best friends who are like family to me, lost their grown daughter. They still don't have the word on cause of death.

My friends are still in shock and anger. They have been able to count on friends surrounding them and helping them with the details. It hasn't all really sunk in. K had two small children they will be raising, and they've had a lot to keep them preoccupied.

I was fond of K, and haven't even wrapped my own mind around the fact she's dead.

After making the funeral arrangements, her father said nobody should have to do that for his own child. He's right.

Tomorrow, or rather later today, is the funeral. I'm supposed to do a Bible reading and speak, which I'm happy I can do.

Keep my friends and their family in your prayers. The hardest part is just beginning.

God who comforts those who mourn in Zion,
comfort this mourning family.
You know the despair of losing a beloved child;
Help them heal. Hold this family close
and shelter them under your wing.
Give them your peace.
In the name of your son, our savior
Jesus Christ, Amen.

2009-03-24T05:41:00.003-04:00

Here I am, Lord

Here I am, awake since 4 o'clock this morning, thinking, praying.

Last night was a milestone. I have been talking to Father R about vocation. Last night, he brought it up to the vestry. Their response was largely enthusiastic.

Many seemed to be expecting it. Or at least expecting something -- a discussion about either the diaconate or the priesthood. I've been hearing priesthood. This has been going on for a good five years. Now, I've been hearing 'NOW.' So, the discussions with Father R and going public.

Now, the tough stuff starts, that whole discernment process. Whether the diocese and a parish discernment committee will hear the same call for me remains to be seen.

It's in God's hands. All I can do is be obedient, and pray for the right outcome. I will go wherever God wants me. Or stay.

Keep me in your prayers.

2009-03-02T17:59:00.002-05:00

Bizarro news: Justice, or at least the eyewitness, is blind

The e-mail came in with the subject line "WRONGFULLY INCARCERATED, RECENTLY EXONERATED BREVARD RESIDENT WILLIAM DILLON SPEAKS TO THE PUBLIC SATURDAY, MARCH 7, 2009"

Then, one reads in the text of the e-mail:

The state's case against Dillon was based largely on the testimony of an admitted perjurer who had a sexual liaison with the case's lead investigator during the investigation, a fraudulent dog scent expert, a partially blind eyewitness and an individual whose own charges in a rape case were dropped in exchange for his testimony, which included numerous details at odds with known facts in the case.

Poor Mr. Dillon, who served 27 years for murder.

How bad was this guy's lawyer, I wonder? Or what WAS the deal in Brevard County, Florida? It took examination of DNA evidence to get him off?

How does one become a fraudulent dog-scent expert? What about a one-eyed eyewitness?

Acchhh. So many questions.

2009-02-18T13:54:00.003-05:00

Florida: Where the environment will bite you in the butt

I just can't resist this. It made me smile.

It came in an e-mail dealing with very serious issues -- the water shortage in Florida. At this point, it's more perceived than actuality, but cities and county governments are looking down the road and seeing population growth, and at the same time, less water available from their wells.

Alternatives being discussed include tapping a low, slow-flowing river like the St. Johns to building an ocean-water desalinization plant off the coast. Miles and miles of pipe would crisscross the peninsula, shifting water from one locale to another.

The problem is, small changes in the environment can have enormous consequences. Salt and pollutants filtered from treatment plants would be dumped back into the river or ocean, raising salinity levels. Lowering the level of the river-and-lake system will affect plant, aquatic and animal life. What about years of drought, when those water levels are already lower than usual? Who gets the water? The river or thirsty people? (Or their thirsty lawns?)

I could go on, but I won't, here.

None of the politicians want to talk about limiting growth.

Perhaps fortunately for the environment, the tanking of both the economy and the Central Florida housing market has slowed growth -- without political interference.

The population will likely shrink when water from desal plants costs $9 a gallon, I suppose.

2009-02-13T16:40:00.007-05:00

More health stuff

WARNING: GROSS STUFF DISCUSSED. NOT FOR THE EASILY QUEASY.

Addendum Feb. 18 - Now the gastroenterologist wants me to come back for lower GI X-rays. Seems there was a portion of my gut, the caecum, he couldn't get a look at. He couldn't find the markers to take a look. And, with the large polyp (about an inch long, he said) removed, he wants to get a look, to make sure nothing else is lurking up there.

Anybody else been through all this?

PREVIOUSLY POSTED

Along with the blood test, which revealed diabetes, (see earlier post) my doctor sent me for an eye exam, a mammogram and a colonoscopy.

Results of the eye exam were good - I have just middle-aged eyes, with no damage caused by blood sugar.

Results of the mammogram and colonoscopy were along the lines of "ok for now, but..." which is good news, all things considered.

Because I hadn't had a mammogram, they want me to get another one in six months, so they can compare lymph nodes in my left breast, to see if they are growing. Sigh. But it could be worse. There's also some "granular matter" which I gather isn't bad in itself.

When I went in for the colonoscopy, I told them they better make it good, 'cause they weren't going to get me back for another one!

The night before, drinking vile solution to clean out my bowels, was a night of hell. The directions said I would have a "bowel movement" after about an hour of starting the stuff, of which I was supposed to drink a glass every 10 minutes.

I didn't have a "bowel movement" (their euphemism for explosive diarrhea) for a good two hours, and thought my stomach was going to pop.

Once I started, I couldn't stop. It was wretched. To add insult to injury, I was supposed to give myself an enema the next morning. I made my best effort.

In contrast, the procedure was a piece of cake. I watched them inject sleepy-time juice into my IV, and I was out like a light. I had a very nice nap, until the nurse woke me up. She told me the doctor removed a large polyp (growth) from my colon.

Waiting for the biopsy on it made this week a long one, but I finally heard the results this morning. I had a tuberovillous adenoma. It's a tumor that isn't cancerous, but could become so if left in place.

I'm to meet with the doctor next week to go over things. From what I googled today, it will mean more frequent colonoscopies to come. Another sigh.

The two "okay for now" things is a little bit worrying. But I think I'm lucky – or it was the spirit at work – that I got so sick and went to the doctor when I did.

Thank you, Lord. As always, you shadowed me under your wing, and protected me. Thank you again for your graciousness.

2009-01-30T17:57:00.003-05:00

Parish goes mad, elects Saint Pat

Yes, gentle readers. That was the other thing going on while Saint Pat was discovering the big "D." Saint Pat got elected to the vestry at her church.

There was a whole new slate of us, just about, so it wasn't too hard. A couple of people nominated me, and there was no opposition. It ain't easy getting people to run for vestry, I figure.

It will be interesting. I believe we have a good vestry. We'll have to be able to work together to bring our parish through these trying times. Like just about every parish, we're struggling with dwindling finances and other assorted problems.

Our former rector asked me about running for the vestry a few years ago, but experiences at my former parish were still too fresh in my mind. I ran screaming.

Now, well, fools rush in where angels fear to tread.

I'm praying I'll be a blessing to the parish I've grown to love so much.

2009-01-25T19:43:00.007-05:00

Nose-to-nose with the big "D"

Elvis the cat isn't the only one in the Saintly household facing a change.

St. Pat has the big "D" -- diabetes. She's doing the finger prick and glucose check every morning, and taking medication.

It's the type 2 diabetes that can be controlled largely through diet and exercise, and losing weight, which I'm doing.

I'm guessing I've had it for a few years. I hadn't had a real physical in a good dozen years.

Something hadn't been right with me for a while, and it was getting worse. That virus that was going may have spiked it up -- I was sick from the middle of November until after the first of the year.

The doctor sent me off to a lab for some tests, and her office called me a few days after I got them. I was to go get another blood test right away. A follow-up doctor's appointment was already scheduled for me. There was no "Will this date work for you." Just "Get in here."

So, there I was, and here I am.

It could have been the big "C" or something I couldn't do anything about. I can do something about this. It's God's way of dealing with me.

You see, I had been praying for God to help me in my struggle to lose weight and get healthier. I believe this was his wake-up call, to spur me into action.

My blood sugar has been dropping steadily the past 10 days, though it's not quite yet to where it should be. Patience. I'm losing weight and working myself back into regular exercise.

And working to remember to take the medication. That's the hard part - I'm not used to taking prescriptions, just a vitamin when I think of it. But I have to be on a regular schedule with medications and foods.

I was in a Catch-22 -- the more fatigued you feel, the less you want to exercise, and the less you exercise, the more fatigued you become.

Extreme fatigue is one of the symptoms of diabetes.

The diet hasn't been bad. It's a healthy one -- leaner proteins, lots of healthy vegetables -- complex carbohydrates -- and simple ones here and there. I'm dropping weight.

No, Padre Mickey!!! I'm not going to start eating a steady diet of steak tartare! I don't care if raw meat cured Sra. Chompita's metabolic problems!!

I've been curing my chocoholic tendencies by eating a piece of sugar-free dark chocolate now and then, and sometimes, sugar-free chocolate ice cream for dessert.

And I feel a lot better than I have in a good while.

Thank you, Lord, for not putting me in the belly of a whale.

Thank you for looking after me, and getting me to the doctor, even when I didn't want to go. Thank you for the medical advances that are helping me and so many others.

Thank you for getting me on the road to better health.

2009-01-14T19:11:00.005-05:00

Cat speaks out about inhumane treatment

It's a new year, and a lot new is going on. First, though, an update from last year. Elvis (see black-and-white cat in previous post's photo) has a grievance to air.

Elvis speaks

I want to tell the world of the indignity inflicted on me and my comrade Jack these past few months.

Now, I know I'm a bit on the portly side, but that's as it should be, for a cat of my stature.

The indignity began when the Saintly One got some wild idea about taking me to the vet, and put me in a defective cat-carrier for transport. As she lifted the carrier to put me in the car, it just fell apart. It was none of my doing. It was clearly defective workmanship in these newer, more cheaply made carriers that just snap together. It was workmanship, not my weight that was the problem.

Anyway, the carrier split apart, and I came tumbling out. The Saintly One quickly grabbed me and put me back in the horrid thing. She drove to the vet's office, where she carried it and me in, holding the carrier in her arms, instead of grasping its handle.

The vet's staff seemed to think that was pretty amusing. Then they weighed me, all glorious 24 pounds of me, and shock spread over their faces.

The vet took on a stern tone and said I simply must lose weight. Humph. The vet used no tact or sensitivity to my feelings. She sold the Saintly One some simply ghastly raw, frozen food for me and Jack to eat.

Oh, it was horrible. Jack and I both curled our lips at this stuff, which was billed as being like what cats in the wild would eat. Yucchhh. We are sophisticated housecats, thank you very much, not some kind of barbarians! We wouldn't even eat it when she cooked it for us.

We planned our strategies. We refused to eat the stuff, no, not even any kibble that brushed past it. Jack was most adamant about it, and lost a noticeable amount of weight. I timed it so I could steal food out of the dog's dish. Despite my efforts, I lost some weight.

Finally, the Saintly One gave up on the vet's stuff, either raw or cooked. She cooked it and fed it to the dog, Betsy, who refused to act in solidarity with us, and ate it like it was good. Paugh.

I eagerly looked forward to the return of our regular rations, but they remained small. My heart soared when the Saintly One came in with some canned cat food, but alas, she added only little bits of that to our diet.

Betsy caught on to my pilfering out of her dish, and guards it vigilantly now.

I've had no chance. I've lost some of my glorious girth.

Oh, I've worked hard to save it. For example, I stomp up and down the length of the Saintly One while she lies sleeping, in a vain attempt to get her to get up and add food to my dish. She just knocks me away.

I eat my canned food quickly and go for Jack's, but I'm not always successful at getting it. Then, I eat the dry food.

I beg and beg, but my normal rations have not been restored. I'm just a shadow of my former self.

Is this any way to treat a dignified, 10-year-old cat? I ask you.

I'm calling on all cats to support me. Start sending cards and letters to the Saintly One, demanding this inhumane treatment stop now.

NOW!

2008-12-27T12:17:00.003-05:00

Christmas greetings

We're in the Christmas season! The Saintly household is having a pretty good one.

I went to the Christmas Eve service, then to a get-together at the house of Bible-study friends.

I served at the Christmas morning service, a smaller crowd. That service was celebrated in the little-old chapel, and I really enjoyed it, then had Christmas dinner with my friends Michelle and Ken.

Here are Betsy and Elvis, waiting for Santa to show. Betsy is wearing Christmas finery, because she is my Christmas dog - my Christmas gift nine years ago, from the Holy Spirit, who led me to the next county north, where I found Betsy at the SPCA. She was just a little border-Collie Australian-shepherd puppy, stuck in a pen with some big bruisers. I took her home, and she's been a blessing ever since.

Every Christmas, Betsy has more white on her muzzle. Her spirit is as loving as always. The Best Dog in the Whole Wide World is what I call her.

Elvis is now at least 10 years old. I gave him to my mother for her birthday, when Elvis was just a teeny thing - small enough to sit in the palm of your hand, but full of personality. I think that was in 1998, but it may have been a year earlier. So, he's 10, if not 11. I took Elvis in five years ago when my mother's Alzheimer's got bad.

Elvis is still spry, and he's as full of himself as he was as a little kitten — non-stop personality. We'll talk about the diet in the next post.

Betsy and Jack the Brat settle in for a nap. Betsy snuggles in a squeaky teddy bear under her arm. She got it for Christmas. Betsy loves squeaky toys.

Jack the Brat, the baby of the bunch, is now 4 1/2 years old. He came into my life just before the devasting triple hurricanes of 2004 struck Central Florida. He had been injured, and needed care. The vet asked me to foster him, and, as she planned, I couldn't turn loose of him.

So, those are the "children" of the household, each special in his or her own way, and bringing delight.

Except for the time when I have to clean up yak, or diarrhea, or kitty litter kicked all over the floor, or something shredded all over the living room. But those are minor trials.

Life is so much fuller with these companions.

2008-12-05T17:55:00.004-05:00

St. Pat goes cruising, followed by weeks of overwork

The good news is, I got a cruise in before I got sick. That was before Thanksgiving. It was a nice cruise, a repeat of the itinerary from our 2006 church cruise, from Melbourne to Nassau and back.

We went on a different Royal Caribbean ship called Monarch of the Seas. The ship we cruised on in 2006 was retired from the fleet. Monarch was very similar, but a little newer. The coolest thing about it? Our captain was a woman, and fantastic - a real sharpie!

The very most fantastic thing about the cruise was we sailed around 5:15 on Nov. 14 — the day Space Shuttle Endeavour lifted off at 7:55 p.m. Captain Karen took us out and positioned the ship so we would have a great view of the liftoff from the decks.

It was gorgeous. It had already turned dark, and there was a fulll moon, the size of a dinner plate, hanging in the sky to my right, as I waited on deck. It cast ghostly white fingers atop the water.

Then, to my left, I could see a faint orange glow on the horizon, exactly where sea and sky appeared to meet. It grew larger and brighter. It was gorgeous, a huge ball of orange and red, lifting into the sky and arcing toward us.

It cast its own fiery fingers across the water, overpowering the pale and wan moon.

I held my breath, as I always do at booster separation. Then, the shuttle continued, like a bright white star moving across the heavens. Perfect.

We went straight from dinner to the deck, and I didn't have my camera with me. I decided that was better, even though I don't have photos to brag of - I spent the minutes experiencing it, instead of fiddling with the camera.

I did get a nice photo or two the next day, as we into Nassau Harbor, though.

When we got back, I was coming down with a bronchitis plus head-cold thing that's been going around. I've been sick for just about three weeks, but am mostly over it now, thank goodness. I couldn't take time off to recuperate - I was working 12 and 14 hour days. sigh.

I'm glad I got through the cruise BEFORE I got sick, though.

I had a good time. I give this cruise a B+. The only downer was the weather turned windy and a little chilly, and we didn't stop at the little private island on the way back - the weather was too foul. I didn't mind much - we just cruised around, instead.

Now, I'm looking forward to Christmas, and another day or two off.

2008-10-29T20:19:00.004-04:00

Living the life political

It's election season, and I've been in the thick of it -- interviewing local, state and congressional politicians running in this area. I'm more involved in writing political stories than ever, and I'm getting the nasty side, the innuendos and smear campaigns up close.

Maybe it just seems worse this year than ever, but I think it is worse. I'll be glad when elections are over.

I've even had an angry politician take a swipe at me. Maybe that means I've arrived.

Tonight, I'm going to see Sen. Barack Obama and former President Bill Clinton live in person, over in the Orlando area. Oh boy.

I've had some good times, despite all the work. I went to a wine festival Friday night for my birthday, then went to see the movie "W" Sunday. I've been going out with friends after work a lot the past week or so, which is good, because I had been a little isolated with my work schedule, but it still seems like I'm hardly ever home.

I quit my part-time job, after getting a pay raise to do more editing chores at the newspaper. That means I'm working longer hours at the paper. I may have to get another part-time job the first of the year, but I'm enjoying the breather from running back and forth.

Peace out for now. I'll write you about the Obama experience!

2008-09-05T19:09:00.003-04:00

Weather, paint and holidays

I keep pledging to post more often, then go another two weeks with no posts. Soon, I will reform! I will quit working so many hours and take more time to walk the dog, keep my house decently clean (good enough for the Health Department, anyway) and blog.

The weather has taken a toll on my time, personally and professionally - I've been Weather Central at the newspaper, updating the Web site blow-by-blow on the storms, along with my other duties.

Then, on Labor Day, I started painting. The walls have been touched up here and there since I moved in nine years ago, but now I'm doing real painting.

So, I started on my living/dining/kitchen area Sunday and continued Monday. Then I went back to work with late nights covering city meetings, and haven't finished yet! But, I will this weekend. After that big area with cathedral ceilings, the rest of the house will be easy. I'll do just one room a weekend and have the house ready for the holidays.

A few weeks ago, I had the old, ratty rugs pulled out and ceramic tile put in. With the rooms painted, a new sofa and the house cleaned up, I'll be ready for the holidays.

And I'm ready have nice holidays. They haven't been great the past years, between family deaths, illnesses and other problems. I'm ready.

And I've been feeling the Holy Spirit's presence.

More to come on that.

2008-08-22T22:14:00.004-04:00

Adios, Fay

Fay is mostly gone, now. We're still getting squally showers off and on, and probably will through the night, but nothing bad. Thank God.

Here's a weird little thing: Little earthworms have been crawling up the outside walls of my house the past couple of days, looking fore safety. They drown when the earth is saturated with water.

I took a picture of this little guy who made it all the way up a window, seeking higher ground:

I emptied and washed out my rain barrel the first of the week, in preparation for Fay. It's been overflowing all week. I got this neat shot in this morning's rain:

2008-08-21T22:33:00.004-04:00

Waiting on fickle Tropical Storm Fay

I'm sitting here listening to the rain fall. It's rather nice, actually — the steady drip of rain falling from the roof, mixed with softer and heavier rainfalls.

It's been raining here for a few days now. I count myself fortunate, because my house sits fairly high and dry, and because I haven't had 30 inches of rain like they've had in southern Brevard County. Maybe 6-8 inches, instead. I haven't had the high winds, either. Just a few gusts.

According to the weather forecasts, I should have been getting 30-45 mph winds this evening. That forecast, like most of them, has been wrong. I'm not ruling them out for the night, though.

Fay has been a cypher all along, defying the standard conventions and what is expected of tropical weather.

For one thing, what tropical storm comes on land, then gets stronger? That's just what Fay's done. I've been covering her all week.

It wasn't until she came onto the Florida Peninsula she developed into a tighter cyclonic system, and even developed a rudimentary eyewall, both signs of a hurricane.

It was thought Fay might turn into a hurricane before she made landfall in South Florida. She didn't. She was expected to weaken after she made landfall. She strengthened.

Even after cutting across the state, Fay was still packing 60 mph winds, sometimes edging up to 65 mph.

She got to the Space Coast and sat. And sat.

She finally moseyed up the Atlantic a few miles to Daytona Beach. And sat, and sat.

She finally started moving inland this afternoon -- at 2 mph.

Fay, what's your hurry?

Fickle Fay, move away and don't come back another day -- this NOAA shot was taken this afternoon, not long before Fay finally started making her dramatic 2 mph turn inland, around the Volusia/Flagler county line in East Central Florida.

Fay gave herself the luxury of dumping horrendous rains on Brevard, and now parts of Volusia County, but not on my little patch of it.

I thank God, and pray Fay won't stay.

If she moves west back across the peninsula into the Gulf, who knows what she'll do?

A forecaster I talked to said Fay will be one for textbooks, and a case study, because her behavior has been so unusual. She's proof cyclonic storms aren't all just about wind or even storm surge. Fay is a rain-maker extraordinaire.

2008-08-18T20:55:00.003-04:00

St. Pat's weather central - Tropical Storm Kay

Tropical Storm Kay stepped all over Cuba and is now ready to pounce on Southwest Florida tomorrow morning. She's now about 105 miles south of Naples, FL. Sustained winds are around 60 mph, but Kay may make it to hurricane status, 74 mph, by the time she makes landfall.

(TS Fay water vapor image cribbed from NOAA/National Weather Service)

The saintly household, with the rest of the county, is under a tropical storm warning. We're expected to get winds of 40-50 mph, with perhaps higher gusts, starting late tomorrow afternoon, as the the storm pushes up the Florida Peninsula. There are chances of isolated tornadoes tonight and tomorrow.

Fay's exact path is uncertain, but it looks like we're in for bad weather whichever track she takes. Wind shear will keep her from turning into another Hurricane Charley if the one model is correct, predicting Fay will cross the southern portion of the peninsula, go eastward into the Atlantic a bit, then make a u-turn for Central or Northern Florida.

I'm kind of thinking and praying we won't get anything really nasty here.

2008-08-17T08:51:00.003-04:00

Home improvement

The floors of the saintly household have been changed out. They're now lined with ceramic tile, instead of worn out, chewed up wall-to-wall carpeting.

It's been an exhausting couple of weeks. First, there was getting ready for the tile setters to come. Then, there was have the tile setters (actually, one setter and an assistant) in the house all week. Then, there's been trying to put the house back together.

Then, there was the lack of sleep. Poor little Jack the Brat cat was traumatized. He's scared of strangers, and runs and hides under the bed at the first sign of invasion.

Jack not only had strange men invading his domain, his whole domain changed!

The tile setters left my bedroom until last, and Jack stayed hid out by day. By night, he wandered the house, crying, because he didn't understand the changes. I could soothe him for only moments at a time.

The real trauma came when they pulled out the bed (his safety blanket) and tiled the bedroom.

Jack is just starting to recover. I got him drunk on catnip one night, and that seemed to help. I left out a catnip-infused scratching board, and he loves it. He rubs his face on it, then rips into it.

Betsy aka The Best Dog in the World got another hair cut - short - in an effort to reduce the amount of fur flying through the air. Hah.

I'm still trying to put the house back together, but not too much, because I want to paint first.

Meanwhile, I'm keeping an eye of Tropical Storm Fay, now near Cuba. The storm is expected to hit the Keys. She could strengthen into a hurricane, if she moves on into the Gulf.

So far, it's been a quiet hurricane season. I'm praying it stays that way.

2008-07-25T19:58:00.006-04:00

Signs of life

Yes, dear hearts, I'm still here. I'm tired of working too much between my two jobs, but I'm surviving.

We've been deluged with rain the past couple of weeks, and that's just what we need. The rainfall totals for the year and the aquifer are both running low.

Everything is green, joyously and vibrantly so. The grass and clover, the plants in my yard are drunk on their extra rations of water!

These elephant ears by the patio are on a mission to repopulate my yard - lots of little ones are coming up.

My rose bushes have finally produced one rose this summer, but it's a glorious one, and it's stayed full all week.

Betsy, always alert to the possibility of thunderstorms, hears the dreaded sound of thunder approaching this evening.

St. Pat's new rain barrel overfloweth

Dear Lord, thank you for the gorgeous colors you give us -- greens and reds, blue sky, crystalline water. Thank you for the gift of life, not only our own, but that which abounds in the world around us. Guide us and instruct is in caring for this life. We know we are only your stewards, and none of it belongs to us. Amen.

2008-06-24T09:17:00.003-04:00

Happy happy joy joy

I got a rain barrel, courtesy of my farming friends. It sat beneath the spot where two parts of my roof join, patiently waiting for rain. We got a little, one afternoon. I looked into my barrel a few days later, and found only dried residue.

Now, the rains have come. We've had some deluges, and the wildfire threat has largely passed. My rain barrel overfloweth. Yippee! Now, I have auxiliary water for times when storms that knock out my electricity — and access to well water. Plus, there's water for plants when the weather is dry.

We have a new rector at church, Fr. R. Though I'm still grieving our interim, Father M., who died a couple of months ago, I'm happy to greet Fr. R. He's middle of the road enough to keep the congregation together, I think, and he has a sense of humor and fun. I'm hoping and praying for good things to come. I'll write more later.

A couple of people spearheaded a move to start a community-supported farm nearby, and I'm very interested. I've been covering the movement through the newspaper, and intend to become a member. A 5-6 acre plot of land has already been offered to start the farm, and I'm getting ready to go out there and get photos of a tractor at work, tilling the ground.

Yipppee! Farmer St. Pat. Who'da thunk?

2008-05-18T17:25:00.004-04:00

Florida Mistral

We've had hot, dry and windy weather. Perfect for brushfires, which have dotted the landscape.

It's been a dry spring, and the wind came last Sunday. I call the wind the Florida Mistral. Our Mistral is a fierce, hot and arid wind, blowing out of the west-southwest.

Last Sunday, the gusts were scary at times. They rattled the front door and windows unnerving Betsy, who moved from her usual nap spot by the front door to a more protected spot between the coffee table and sofa. The winds brought dry underbrush to tinderbox conditions.

We've been lucky in the saintly household -- so far, no fires very close to us, but the wind is still blowing, with no precipitation expected. Fires numbered around 103 around the state the last count I saw. Some were set deliberately.

The grass is yellow-brown and dry. It crunches beneath your feet.

Ah, Florida. Land of extremes.

Pray for rain.

2008-04-30T20:20:00.006-04:00

Hola a Padre Mickey y la hermosa Mona

Padre, thank you for being concerned about me, along with the other posters! I was going to say so on your blog, but you shut off comments to go on vacation. Oy!

Some of my best memories of Panama are of staying at a little cottage on the beach, way up the coast from the Canal Zone. There, you meet the true Panama and its wonderful people.

I don't know who owned the cottage - a friend of a friend of my parents. It sat alone on the beach. We had the dunes and the wide open spaces in which to play!

Some of my school friends would come with me. We had no surf boards, so we sat on our inflatable beach rafts and rode in on the big rolling waves, yelling "Cowabunga!"

An adult was always perched on the little bluff overlooking the beach, armed with binoculars and watching for sharks. We were ordered out of the water occasionally, and never had any close encounters.

At night, we built bonfires on the beach. Try doing that around here, and the Beach Rangers would be on you like fleas on a hound dog!

A couple of the locals brought their horses, one time, and offered them for our rental, which we accepted. Now, these were plow horses, and I doubt they had ever been ridden much. They came with no saddles or bridles.

I took horseback riding lessons in my youth, so wasn't afraid of riding them. The horse I got just wasn't into the spirit of things, though. I sat on him, said, "Giddyap, vamos," and other sundry commands to get going.

He just turned his head and looked at me as if to say, "What were you thinking?"

After coaxing, the horse would walk several steps, then turn to gaze quizzically at me again. We lurched down the beach. This went on for a little while, until one of the sudden afternoon thunderboomers came up, letting a good ripping boom roll up the beach.

That horse suddenly turned into thoroughbred racing material. He took off as hard as he could go, with me clinging onto him by the mane. I caught up and passed my friends, and my horse kept going.

Finally, I got him to stop. Then, he turned his head and looked inquiringly at me again. We plodded along.

Ah, the good times.

The cottage had no electricity. We used gas for lights and cooking, and it gave the place the feel of another era. We would read or play board games in the evening, in the glow of the gaslight, when we weren't out on the beach.

A special treasure in the cottage was a Victrola, with a number of Tin Pan Alley hit records to play on it. Some of the records were square. I'm not making this up. (The grooves on them were circular, though.) Those records were probably collector's items then, and would be worth a fortune today.

I wonder whatever happened to them, to the cottage and all the people.

Con mi amor,

Santa Patricia

P.S. - Sending camera money

2008-04-27T13:52:00.007-04:00

The best and worst of times

My dear friends, I'm sorry I've been out of touch. I appreciate you so much.

The last weeks have been the best of times and the worst of times.

I'll start with the worst. Our interim rector, Father M. died suddenly, Saturday afternoon. I suppose "suddenly" is a relative concern. He was in the hospital a couple of weeks ago, with a heart problem I understand he'd had all his life. He was back at church last Sunday, though, and looking well.

He apparently went to bed for a little nap yesterday, and didn't wake up.

It's not at all the worst way to go. Still, it wrenched my heart. Father M. was an unfailingly kind and gentle man. He orchestrated a wonderful service so I could grieve surrounded by friends when my mother died, back in September.

Father M. celebrates the Eucharist during our church cruise in November:

Depart, O Christian soul, out of this world;
In the Name of God the Father Almighty who created you;
In the Name of Jesus Christ who redeemed you;
In the Name of the Holy Spirit who sanctifies you;
May your rest be this day in peace
and your dwelling place in the Paradise of God.
(From The Book of Common Prayer, "A Commendation at the Time of Death.")

I am grieving now, but couldn't join the congregation today. My car is temporarily out of service, and I'm put out the mechanic didn't get it fixed the end of the week. That's the trouble with my commute to church. It's a bit far.

Regardless, I know Father M. is in the glorious and joyful company of the saints in heaven.

Mostly work, some play

I've been slammed with work the past weeks (OK, a month) since my last post. I keep getting hit with one late-breaking story after another, cool in a way, but difficult when I'm working two jobs. I've often gone from one job to the next, then back to the first to finish writing a story. Then either go out with friends for a glass of wine to stave off isolation, or home to fall in bed, so I can start another day in the morning.

At least being without a running car has given me time at home this weekend (and time to blog!).

Work hasn't been all bad. I've gotten to do some neat things. I took an airplane ride in a World War II vintage Texan, an advanced trainer aircraft, when History Flight came through on a barnstorming tour.

I figured on a quick five or 10 minutes around the airport, but the pilot took me up for a great flight, putting the plane through its paces. We did a variety of loops and rolls over the countryside. It was wonderful.

Last week, I found out I will be the recipient of not one, but two journalism awards from the state press association. One is for a series on our local homeless people, and another for religion writing. Not too shabby!

Saving the best for last: claiming the blessing

We had a great healing mission at the church not long after my last posting, with Jack and Anna Marie Sheffield. I came with no great expectations, after disappointment with big talk from leaders but not much happening at other healing missions the past few years.

I received inner healing, deep in my heart and spirit, as we prayed. I can't explain it; I just accept it. I felt the Spirit of God surround me, the words of his love pouring out on me, and his love, which is healing, flow through me.

I've had more peace since than than I've had in my adult life. Not that family, financial and other problems have disappeared, by any means.

After a month to make sure I didn't experience just a temporary emotional reaction to the mission, I know I'm operating more from a center of peace to deal with the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, for God is my shield. I've know this, but now I know it in a more deeply personal way.

I've been inner focused, any time I've had a chance to rest. That had a lot to do with my lack of blogging.

Healing hasn't come to me in one big pow. It comes in smaller and larger measures. That's all right; the divine hands are doing the measuring.

2008-03-21T20:22:00.003-04:00

Lord, have mercy

It's Good Friday.

I've hardly given a thought to Holy Week. It's been rush, rush, rush to get things done, to run from one job to another. By the time I get home at night, I'm good for nothing.

I've hardly stopped to pray, to meditate, to do any of the things I want to do during Holy Week. It's all just sliding past.

Yet, I feel his presence. He's here with me, knowing I will turn to him sooner or later.

Yes, Lord, here I am. I'm sorry I haven't been listening. I'm sorry I haven't been asking.

I don't know what you want me to do; I don't know what you want for me right now. I promise to spend more time seeking your presence and your counsel. I promise to listen and to heed.

Lord, have mercy on me.

2008-03-19T21:32:00.004-04:00

Our glorious Iraqi victory

Today's Washington Post tells us, "For a majority of Americans, today marks the fifth anniversary of the start of an Iraq war that was not worth fighting, one that has cost thousands of lives and more than half a trillion dollars. For the Bush administration, however, it is the first anniversary of an Iraq strategy that it believes has finally started to succeed."

That would be the big "surge" strategy. It could have us outta there in just years.

I'm reminded this optimism came from the president who told us in the beginning the incursion into Iraq would be a 30-day mopping-up operation. In and out.

This is the same man who, a little less than five years ago, showed up on the deck of an aircraft carrier in a stylish pilot's flight jacket and told of of the glorious victory we had attained.

May, 2003

Meanwhile, the death toll mounted, mandatory extensions of duty became standard, and our economy is down the drain. Now, Osama bin Laden still lurks in Afghanistan (or somewhere) and issues more threats.

Pardon my cynicism.

2008-03-13T15:11:00.003-04:00

What I like about Florida

The days now are sunny and clear - warm, but not too warm. Perfect.

I took this photo on another such day, back in December, at Blue Spring. I barely managed to catch the image of this gorgeous great blue heron sweeping over the water before it was gone.

2008-03-09T16:56:00.003-04:00

A disciple's tale

I wrote this story back in 2004 and reran it two years ago. It started as a Maundy Thursday meditation, then grew into a story about a young disciple I can relate to. Foolish, protesting strong faith but quick to succumb to despair. I think my own understanding grew through writing the story. The disciple is one of my favorite creations.

Maundy Thursday: Who will wash these feet?

Prologue:

Feeling pissy, Satan asks, "For heaven's sake. If you're God, how can you demean yourself with their smelly, stinky feet?"

Jesus looks at him with pity, then says, "Humility fosters love, both from the giver and the recipient."

"Oh, fine." Satan says. "Just continue with this 'humble servant' bit. See where it gets you."

"You will see," replies Jesus. He sighs. "Most of the time, my disciples don't get it, either."

***
The Disciple speaks:

It had been a long week. Jesus came riding into the city as an honored prophet. Many accepted Jesus as our Messiah, and some continued their disbelief. Jesus had been saying some puzzling things that we did not understand, but tonight, we would relax and have this supper together.

It is the time of the Passover. As it is written in the Book of Genesis, "This day shall be a day of remembrance for you. You shall celebrate it as a festival to the Lord; throughout your generations you shall observe it as a perpetual ordinance."

It is the custom to bathe before coming to a banquet. We arrive clean, except for our feet, which get very dirty on the streets and roads. Usually, a servant will bring water to wash the guests' feet before the banquet.

We came in, we disciples, and found our accustomed seats. We said prayers and sang songs just as we do every time we come together. Nothing seemed different tonight than any other night, except that Judas was gone, and except that tonight, there was no one to bring water to wash our feet, and no one volunteered.

I thought about it, but didn't want to appear lower than my actual station, for I was a disciple, not a servant.

We proceeded with the meal. I was careful to keep my dirty feet out of sight. They discomforted me. I saw Jesus get up and wrap a towel around his waist.

I remember...

Jesus took a towel, bowl and basin and began to wash his disciples' feet. I drew back in embarrassment. I heard Peter protest, then acquiesce. I lurked in the back in confusion, hoping to avoid notice.

"Why then, Lord, are you now kneeling in front of me, like a servant? Are you going to wash my feet, too?" I asked. I was shocked at the thought of it.

"No, I can't allow that," I said.

My feet were caked with dirt, for I had been long on the road this day. My toenails were thick and uneven. The nails and cuticles of my toes were grimy. My feet were covered in thick calluses and dry, cracked, peeling skin. And more dirt.

Lord, I thought, I can't let you look upon these feet, much less touch them. You were not meant for this.

These ugly feet were no fit offering to the Lord. I kept them tucked back, hidden from his sight.

Kneeling, Jesus looked up at me.

I implored, "Ask something else of me, Lord, and I will give it, I will do it."

He gazed at me steadily. I saw love and compassion in his eyes, and I was smitten in return.

I knew he understood my embarrassment, my pride that made me want to hide these unattractive members from his sight. But he already knew. He had seen -- he had already seen everything.

Like Peter, now I wanted to be washed all over. I wanted whatever would make me more worthy. But he required just this tonight.

Hesitantly, I pulled my feet from their hiding place.

The water sparkled as he poured it over my feet. I heard a soft murmuring and splashing of water.

Layer by the layer, he washed the grime away. The water was soothing, relaxing. I felt the blood moving through my feet, my hands, my heart. I floated into this renewal.

Jesus' hands healed the cuts and sores on my feet. He held my feet as he carefully dried them with the towel. My feet were clean and warm.

Who am I that my Lord should tend to me as a servant?

No one. It he who makes me worthy.

I am filled with a deep peace.

Thank you Lord, for this gift.

This is what happened with the Lord on the night of Passover. He told us to love one another, to be servants to each other. He showed us.

What I received from the Lord, I hand on to you. Let me look upon you with Christ's eyes, see you with Christ's love, treat you with Christ's humility. Allow me now to follow Christ's example of servanthood. Please allow me to wash your feet.

We will be blessed if we do these things for each other.

Saturday morning

Where is my God?

How can it be that my Lord is dead? I thought that cruel execution would be stopped. I prayed for it to be stopped. Yet my Lord is dead.

How could you have left me? How could you have forsaken me?

I am desolate with grief.

People on the streets snicker and say, "Where is your Lord now?"

I don't think I can even stand, yet I run from their sneering faces. I run from the image of the blood-soaked figure, lifeless, as him mother croons over him. That image has the force a thousand knives plunged into my heart. I run from it.

I run like a dog who has lost its master, loping this way then that, pawing the ground, panting with thirst.

I stop in a grove of olives. I rend my shirt. I claw at my chest until I see drops of bright, red blood fall to the ground. Yet there is no atonement for what was done. I am sick in my soul.

My Lord, my Lord, have you left us? How could you abandon us?

The sunlight is dull and wan. I watch until nightfall, and there are no stars.

I cannot sleep. Oh God, grant me death, too. My face is stiff with tears that brought no comfort, and still I cannot sleep.

I stumble back into the city, avoiding the soldiers and the mockers, and ask where they have taken my Lord. I find the tomb. I sit and lean against the stone wall.

Was it only two nights ago that we broke bread? You washed my feet. I look at them now and they are filthy and bloody.

My Lord, where have you gone?

I will wait here for whatever is to come. I lean against the cold stone, and at last, I sleep.

Saturday night, Sunday morning

Listen to my story:

I sleep against the hard stone of the tomb of my Lord Jesus, called the Messiah, who had been crucified and buried. A couple of guards come by and poke at me, but I refuse to move. I am too exhausted and too grieved to care. If they take my life, so much the better. I no longer need it.

I go back to sleep.

"Disciple, wake up. Arise," comes a voice.

I float upward to consciousness from a very deep place.

"Awake. Your Lord needs you."

A creature stands before me, luminous in the dark. It iss beautiful, the creature, but very strange. Almost like a man, but not. I have trouble seeing it properly. Its glow makes it hard for me to focus my eyes on it.

The world is moving in odd ways.

"Don't go fainting on me. You have work to do."

The creature touches the stone in front of the tomb. It rumbles away from the entrance to the cave.

Listen. I see the risen Lord.

He walks toward me. He is beautiful, so beautiful. He glows with a luminosity much greater than that of the creature beside me.

It is him.

I can see the empty funeral linens behind Him.

He's dressed in white. He moves with a fluid grace. I don't know how this could be, but it is.

He is risen, shining in glory. I see it with my own eyes.

Listen to the good news.

I remember what He said about the three days that I hadn't understood.

With one scarred hand, He touches my forehead. Peace comes over me.

"Tell the others when they come. Disciple, you will make disciples. Tell your story."

I can only say yes. I kneel. He puts His hand on the top of my head for a moment, then walks past me in radiance.

My clothes are now beautiful and white. The wound on my chest is gone. My feet are clean and soft, and my skin iss as fine as a child's.

He has done many miraculous things. But the most miraculous is that he lives.

"Wait here for the others," says the creature who had awakened me. It only can have been an angel.

I sit on top of the stone, waiting and examining my new clothes and my new skin, when the Roman guards come back. I enjoy their confusion over the open tomb.

"Are you looking for Jesus of Nazareth?" I ask in my best and most holy of voices. I chortle at the guards'confusion.

They look into the cave and then look at me in my new appearance with their mouths open, not recognizing the disciple they tried to roust a little earlier.

"He is not here. He is gone. An angel came and moved the stone with one finger. Now he is risen and he is gone."

I am now laughing, holding my sides. I realize this is joy, come back into the world.

"He died, but he rose again. He will never forsake us." I lift my arms. "Share my joy!"

The guards back away from me carefully, then run up the path from the tomb.

I sit rocking myself, singing, praying and praising and laughing through the night. I wait until I see Mary Magdalene on the path, then I jump down from the stone, landing lightly on my feet, ready to tell her the good news.

***

Listen, all of you, to my testimony and we shall make disciples of many, for Jesus Christ is alive. He brings life in abundance, life everlasting and salvation.

2008-03-09T16:08:00.003-04:00

Lazarus

Lazarus, Lazarus, where did you go?
Once freed from the dank fetid tomb,
They say it was the Messiah who brought you back.
Couldn't you stay and tell me what you saw?
What happened to you those three days full?
Tell me, tell me.

What did you see, where did you do?
Did you just slumber? Did you descend to hell?
Did you stroll down streets of gold?
Are you glad to be snatched from the dead,
to walk with the sun on your face once more
-- Or is it hell to be snatched from heaven.

2008-03-07T19:42:00.003-05:00

A quiet evening at home

This morning's tornado watch was extended from noon until 7 p.m., then from 7 p.m. until 2 a.m. We haven't had any really bad weather, just some hard rain. We saw a little hail this afternoon.

I saw more little bits of hail bouncing up in front of my car's headlights while ago, when I came up my driveway. It's now thundering ominously.

Yep. A good night to stay in. I'll think I'll watch a movie -- I got Babel today -- or read.

2008-03-07T07:43:00.002-05:00

Tornado watch

Well, here we are, with the third severe weather watch in 10 days. My weather alarm sounded at 6:45 a.m., with a tornado watch in effect until noon.

It started with tornado watches all day Tuesday a week ago, then severe weather watches this past Tuesday, then today's tornado watch. Is all this stuff just the usual, cyclical pattern? Or have our weather patterns undergone an atypical change, because of global warming?

I don't know. It seems like the first many years I lived here we never worried about tornadoes. An occasional thunderstorm would catch us as fronts came through, and that was it. Now, tornado watches are becoming typical, from the end of December through spring. Then it's time for hurricane watches.

2008-03-06T08:40:00.008-05:00

Betsy's spring do

February means springtime in Florida, and the advent of shedding.

Betsy, a border collie/Australian Shepherd mix, has copious amounts of long fur with a wiry undercoat. She sheds in chunks, with the undercoat curling up, catching loose fur and snarling like crazy. Betsy hates to be combed or brushed. It pulls, and she has even more sensitive skin than me.

So, for the past few years, I've been giving her haircuts through the shedding months - February through November.

Here's her new do. You can't see it too well, because Betsy is camera shy and skulks off when she sees the camera. She doesn't mind me giving her a haircut too much, though. Then I can brush her remaining fur with a soft brush. I left the "feathers" on her legs and her fluffy tail long, but cut the rest of her fur short.

Betsy flees the paparazzi:

Jack and Elvis are much less camera shy:

2008-02-29T15:37:00.006-05:00

UPDATE 3-7-08: SEE A VIDEO OF THE SPEECH at ShadowVote.org.

The right to vote?

Here's a shocker from Leon County Florida Supervisor of Elections Ion Sancho: The Constitution of the United States does not guarantee citizens the right to vote in a presidential election.

You heard me right. The story I wrote on Sancho's talk got me arguments in the office. Everyone thinks the Constitution affords us that right, and perhaps the spirit of the Constitution does. But it doesn't explicitly give or imply that right.

Sancho quoted the infamous 2000 case Bush vs. Gore, the one that decided George Bush won the election.

In the decision, it was noted in Per Curium, Section II-B (page 104), "The individual citizen has no federal constitutional right to vote for electors for the President of the United States unless and until the state legislature chooses a statewide election as the means to implement its power to appoint members of the Electoral College." [Bolding is mine.]

According to the 1892 Supreme Court decision in McPherson v. Blacker, state legislators can select the electors, an option which several states chose for many years — not the voter. The state can take back that power any time it chooses.

If there is a vote, equality in voting is protected; there can be no discrimination. But, the overall right to vote is not protected.

Big Brother can decide he knows what's better for us.

Sancho is calling for a constitutional amendment to ensure the right to vote for president. He believes it was an oversight by the framers of the Constitution that there is no guarantee of the right to vote. It's left up to the states.

If some partisan state officials were to decide to invoke the right to select members of the Electoral College, instead of allowing the voters to vote, there would probably be an outcry, now. But give it a few years of spin, and who knows?

Who'd have thought 10 or 15 years ago we'd have given up so many rights in the name of "Homeland Security," or that an attorney general of the United States would stand there and argue we don't really need the Geneva Convention?

Losing the "right" to vote for president could happen.

Get out and VOTE this fall.

2008-02-20T08:22:00.006-05:00

My teachers done teached me good

Your Language Arts Grade: 100%

Way to go! You know not to trust the MS Grammar Check and you know "no" from "know." Now, go forth and spread the good word (or at least, the proper use of apostrophes).

Are You Gooder at Grammar?
Make a Quiz

Yes, it's true. Moi, not a graduate of Florida's public schools, knows a wee bit of spelling and grammar.

Thanks to Janis at Juanuchis' Way for the link.

Schools are so different now than when I was in high school (back in the days of horse and buggy). I'm afraid many high-school students would not pass that grammar quiz.

I was in Blockbuster a few evenings ago. As I checked out Becoming Jane, I remarked I was really getting back into Jane Austen. The clerk, who looked to be about 19 years old, looked at me blankly.

Now, I thought even if she hadn't read Jane Austen, she might know her name from the movies -- this one and The Jane Austen Book Club, (which I saw a few weeks ago, and enjoyed) and maybe the movies based on Austen's novels.

But no. She was not only clueless (heh-heh, the name of a modernized movie version of an Austen novel), she was huffy about it.

"I wouldn't know anything about that," she said.

What a shame. I fell in love with Austen's gentle novels when I was in high school. Of course, I was a nerd, even then.

Still, I feel sorry for these kids, who seem to know only Britney Spears and reality TV shows.

I've been watching Jane Austen's novels come to life on PBS-television's Masterpiece Theater. Currently, we're in the middle of Pride and Prejudice, with smart and spunky Lizzie Bennet and the melancholic Mr. Darcy falling in love.

We know Mr. Darcy's dour demeanor is about to change.

2008-02-19T06:32:00.011-05:00

Florida: the land time and sense forgot

Mark Twain said, "God made the Idiot for practice, and then He made the School Board."

A number of Florida school boards are trying to prove that saying. They are stuck in the Victorian era, outraged that scientists say they are descended from monkeys. Yah, it's like the Scopes trial never happened.

This is their grasp of the concept of evolution, which they vigorously oppose being taught in the schools -- though it already is taught. Just the word "evolution" is avoided in curriculum guides.

Today, the state board will vote on new standards for science teaching in the state, and some of those new standards require that students be able to explain the theory of evolution by the time they graduate from high school.

When that news hit, the fur began to fly. School boards in some districts, especially in north Florida, passed resolutions against the measure. They demanded Creationism and intelligent design be taught as equally valid "scientific" explanations of the origins of humankind. Hearings around the state on the new standards ran hours and hours, as anti-evolutionists railed against these new-fangled teachings.

The local school board proved an exception to Twain's dictum, at least in this matter.

I imagine the state board will pass the science standards, including the one on evolution. Florida students are lagging too far behind in science not to.

While we may not be descended from apes or chimps, it's clear that genetically, we're not too far from these primates:

Update 2-20-08: the new science standards are in. Evolution will be taught, albeit with the emphasis that it's "the scientific theory of evolution," as a sop to its opponents.

It's all just a theory, children. Hush, now; everything will be all right.

2008-02-12T11:54:00.000-05:00

Disenfranchised in Florida

I'm getting pretty put out with the national Democratic Party. First, they told us Florida Democrats our votes in the presidential primary wouldn't count. As if disenfranchising the faithful Democratic voters would be an effective punishment or deterrent to state officials in a Republican administration, who made the shift to an earlier primary date! (though I kinda like Gov. Charlie Crist.)

The latest was talk of a special caucus, as party leaders tried to back-pedal a bit.

Bah, humbug! Why should votes already taken be thrown out? Take the results you have, Democratic Party, and quit jerking us around. Your voters will lose faith in you.

And no backroom deals. No superdelegates deciding for us.

I don't say this out of partisan politics -- I will support Obama or Clinton, and was undecided what my vote would be until I got into the voting booth and had to make some sort of decision.

But I went to the effort to vote, like so many others. These votes should count.

2008-02-12T11:44:00.000-05:00

Ali Gator: Making soup

Ali Gator says stop on by.

"I'm making a big pot of soup for a Lenten feast. None of that wimpy vegetarian stuff. I like a nice stew. Come on over for lunch," he says.

2008-02-08T12:45:00.000-05:00

Good times and not so good

Yipes! Dear friends, I didn't realize how long it's been since I last posted.

At least it hasn't been all work and no fun, just mostly.

I had a good time last Sunday, down by the St. Johns River, listening to friend Rog Lee perform.

Rog is one of those people who has a special gift. He's not just a singer-songwriter, he's a poet, who tells us of Florida as it is, and as it should be. You might get to see him on the TV-show America's Got Talent - Rog got a private audition for the upcoming season!

Now, it's Lent, which is probably pretty fitting for my mood, which has been introspective and another of the reasons I haven't posted much, I guess. Feb. 2 was the anniversary of my dad's death many years ago, and mother's death a few months ago stirred up grief over dad's death, too. He was younger when he died than I am now.

Things have been pretty quiet in the Diocese of Central Florida. The convention came and went without getting a constitutional change to make us members of the Anglican Communion, in place of, and not in addition to, being a constituent member of the Episcopal Church. A handful of parishes are set on leaving, apparently without big fights over property, and one parish that earlier announced it would leave, changed its mind. A good thing.

I don't think the would-be Nigerian-bound contingent has all gone away. They've just gone to re-group.

2008-01-21T16:21:00.000-05:00

Remembering Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. -- the dream thrives

I was just a kid when Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. came to prominence as a civil-rights leader. I remember the "I have a dream" speech and a few marches, and that's about it. We lived overseas during a good part of his rise as a leader, and I'm sure I missed a lot.

We came back to the states just in time for his assassination. It was a terrible time of murders, of marches.

I really didn't come to appreciate the minister until I was an adult, and read his speeches.

One that brought tears to my eyes was this account:

In 1967, King spoke to a group of students at Barratt Junior High School in Philadelphia. He said, “I want to ask you a question, and that is: What is your life's blueprint?”

He went on the say, “Whenever a building is constructed, you usually have an architect who draws a blueprint, and that blueprint serves as the pattern, as the guide, and a building is not well erected without a good, solid blueprint.”

“Number one in your life's blueprint, should be a deep belief in your own dignity, your worth and your own somebodiness. Don't allow anybody to make you fell that you're nobody. Always feel that you count. Always feel that you have worth, and always feel that your life has ultimate significance,” King urged the students.

We all need a good, solid blueprint. Whatever our race, our sexual orientation, our circumstances, even our looks -- whatever negative messages we received growing up. First, we have to believe in our own dignity.

King was felled by an assassin's bullet in 1968.

The birthday of civil rights leader and Nobel Peace Prize winner Dr. Martin Luther King, is remembered on the third Monday of January. King was born Jan. 15, 1929.

The son of the pastor of Ebenezer Baptist Church in Atlanta, King answered a call to the clergy, as well as to a call to seek equality for all and to advocate for the poor and against the war in Viet Nam. He believed in nonviolent forms of protest, which led to his arrest at a number of demonstrations throughout the South.

He came to prominence as a leader in the civil-rights movement after he led the black boycott of segregated buses, resulting in the desegregation of Montgomery, Ala., bus service in the mid-1950s.

King's “I Have a Dream” speech was delivered in front of the Lincoln Memorial at the climax of a 1963 civil-rights march through Washington, D.C. It helped speed the passage of major civil-rights legislation through Congress.

King’s dream was not one just for young black people. His vision was one of children standing together, hand-in-hand.

He said, “I have a dream that my four children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin, but by the content of their character.”

At 35 years of age, King was the youngest person ever to win a Nobel Peace Prize. King was also a founder of the Southern Christian Leadership Conference in 1957.

2008-01-14T10:43:00.000-05:00

In my right mind?

I succumbed to temptation and took this quiz. I think I'm actually more in the middle than the results indicate, because the quiz questions force you to answer once extreme or the other. I would have taken the middle, if offered the option. But, maybe that's my left brain kicking in.

You Are 30% Left Brained, 70% Right Brained

The left side of your brain controls verbal ability, attention to detail, and reasoning.

Left brained people are good at communication and persuading others.

If you're left brained, you are likely good at math and logic.

Your left brain prefers dogs, reading, and quiet.

The right side of your brain is all about creativity and flexibility.

Daring and intuitive, right brained people see the world in their unique way.

If you're right brained, you likely have a talent for creative writing and art.

Your right brain prefers day dreaming, philosophy, and sports.

Are You Right or Left Brained?

2008-01-05T08:27:00.000-05:00

On a weather roller coaster

As a couple of commenters have noted, we've had some cold weather here. We're on a weather roller coaster. We've had record highs and lows in the space of a couple of weeks!

We went from highs in the 80's to highs in the 50's before Christmas, then it warmed back up for New Year's Eve -- I wore sandals -- then turned cold again. We had a FREEZE the other night! Now, this may not seem a crisis to Yankees, but down here, it endangers the citrus industry and fern growers (another big local industry), who scramble feverishly to put out heating pots and misters to protect their crops.

I have to worry about water pipes freezing. My well assembly and water softener have above-ground pipes, and I've awoken a few times in past years to no water until the sun melted the ice.

This time (the first freeze for three or four years), I was out in the dark turning on a a low flow to the sprinkler on the side of the house. This kept water moving through the pipes enough to keep them from freezing up. My hands got wet and it felt like they were being stabbed! Betsy went out with me, and thought we were going to go for a walk. I told her sorry, I'm going back inside to warm up.

The ice coating on the grass and on my fence was quite pretty the next morning.

Now, the weather's turning milder again.

2008-01-01T19:05:00.000-05:00

Animals of my life

As we roll toward Epiphany, I've taken note of the animals in my life. Betsy, the best dog in the whole wide world, and who graciously puts up with Christmas Eve antlers (for a few minutes)is my Number 1, closely followed by cats Jack the Brat and Elvis.

This Christmas, a couple of more animals have been added to the roll call.

I adopted a Manatee named Phyllis through the Save the Manatee Club. She's a habituee of nearby Blue Spring State Park, and a reminder that we need to work to protect the river and the spring from the side effects of development and population growth. Ground water levels are in danger of becoming low enough to dry up marshes, destroy ecosystems and allow salt-water intrusion, because of drawing down for drinking for the thirsty and growing population.

There are already changes to Blue Spring because of nutrient loading from nitrates found in runoff from lawn fertilizers and from septic tanks. The manatees, other wildlife and our water sources are all in peril.

Finally, some people in Africa are better off because of a Christmas gift from my friends -- the donation of a couple of goats in my name through the Episcopal Relief fund. Goats are especially valued for their milk, meat, manure -- and the offspring the produce. It's hard for us to imagine the poverty in some countries, and how much difference a goat can make.

Thank you, Lord Christ, for the bounty and diversity of life you put on this planet. Make us your trustworthy stewards of this Earth and teach us to care for it and each other.

Remind us who have so much that we are to share what we have with those in need.

In your name's sake, I pray.

(Ed. note: I started this post New Year's Day, but didn't finish it until this morning, Jan. 5)

2007-12-29T13:46:00.000-05:00

Happy Holidays from sunny Florida

Warm season's greetings from sunny Florida! I snapped the photo of this gator at the run at Blue Spring State Park.

It's been gator weather - warm and sunny, after just a couple of cool days right before Christmas. Highs in the 80s today. It's supposed to turn chilly right after New Year.

This baby is enjoying the sunshine while he can get it. He says, stop on by, chat a while.

A big Happy New Year!

2007-12-27T14:41:00.000-05:00

Glad tidings

Another Christmas Day is gone, but I'm trying to enjoy the season of Christmas. It seems like I've done nothing but work. I get very limited paid time off from work, and was here at the office for a good part of Christmas Eve, then went home.

I had Christmas Eve dinner at the home of one of the evangelical/Pentecostal ministers in town, and it was a lovely Italian-style buffet - his family is Italian. Yes, I'm ecumenical -- I get around! Then, I went to the late Christmas Eve service, where I put on a Santa hat to do one of the readings. With my red sweater and long, black skirt, I was Mrs. Santa Claus.

Friends shared Christmas Day dinner with me. I baked a pecan pie to bring, and we played board games after dinner.

Betsy's another year older

Betsy got her annual a couple of weeks ago, and the vet is now calling her a "senior" dog. Betsy was a little miffed at that, but good-naturedly, didn't bite, even when the vet poked around her butt. The vet pronounced Betsy in excellent health, thank goodness.

Waffling and fence-sitting

Yes, in response to someone's question. Our Bishop Howe is straddling the fence so hard I'm sure his privates are sore. This is his latest missive to clergy; it's in the same vein as previous letters. I received it Dec. 17, and copy-clipped it exactly as forwarded to me:

My Dearly Beloved Brothers and Sisters,

Most of this letter was written two weeks ago, but I did not believe it was timely to send it. I think that the Protocol has now been adopted by the Diocesan Board it may be right to do so.

Not a single one of you has asked the question: "Bishop, why are you allowing these rectors who want to 'disaffiliate' the space to pursue their objectives? They are clearly in the process of abandoning the communion of this Church. Why are you not moving against them by inhibition and deposition?"

Here is my answer to the unspoken question: I am deeply sympathetic to any who believe that the current leadership of The Episcopal Church has greatly compromised the "doctrine, discipline and worship of Christ as this Church has received them." And I am extremely reluctant to discipline those who, for conscience sake, are finding they MUST "disaffiliate. "

I believe that many of our clergy and lay leaders have attempted to be completely loyal to our received heritage, and have tried to reform a Church that is in many ways errant. And they have finally concluded that such reformation is not going to be successful. They want to "protect" the members of The Episcopal Church entrusted to them from any further spiritual incursions against them.

I am not convinced we have come to a point of no return. But I understand why they may believe we have done so. I believe it is still possible to be a faithful parish, or a faithful diocese, within The Episcopal Church. And I am still eager to hear what the Archbishop of Canterbury has to say about all of this.

Some of our people have expected and hoped that I would attempt to "lead the Diocese out of The Episcopal Church." (They are, frankly, deeply disappointed in me!)

I do not believe that is possible, though I recognize that some of our Bishops are attempting to do precisely that. I do not think they will be successful. They can leave, and they can take any number of clergy and laity with them. They can affiliate with some foreign jurisdiction such as the Southern Cone.

But there will be a remnant who will NOT want to leave, and that remnant will constitute the continuing Diocese of Pittsburgh, San Joaquin, Fort Worth, etc.

I expect that millions of dollars will be spent in lawsuits that will ultimately fail as far as those who wish to leave are concerned. And I cannot be part of that.

Nor can I be part of litigation against those who, for conscience sake, believe they must leave The Episcopal Church. These are faithful brothers and sisters who only want to remain true to what we have always been: orthodox Anglican Catholic Christians.

We have spent two months (four meetings, approximately twelve hours) attempting to craft a Protocol (a page and a half) which is finally in place - to deal with those who wish to "disaffiliate. " This Protocol does not spell out the whole process. It merely brings to the threshold of being able to deal with those congregations. I want to state again my gratitude for the prayers of so many, and my particular gratitude for the members of the Board, the Standing Committee, the Special Task Force, and especially our Chancellors. We could not pay them for the time they have invested on our behalf!

The Protocol does not guarantee success. If the leaders of some congregations offer unreasonable proposals, and we cannot possibly accept them, and if I and the Board offer counter proposals that these leaders cannot accept...there is no guarantee whatsoever that somebody may not do something that the other side will find litigious. I believe that nobody wants to go there. But we may not be able to avoid it.

The Church of the New Covenant attempted to transfer title to a separate non-profit 501 (c)(3) corporation, and forced our hand four years ago. We had to file suit, and we did so. Something like that could occur again. I pray it does not.

On one level, I think the honorable thing those who wish to "disaffiliate" would be to simply walk away.

That is what happened at St. John's, Melbourne, and Shepherd of the Hills, Lecanto. And it appears that is what is about to happen at St. Edward's, Mount Dora.

But, on another level, I believe that there is a validity to the argument of some who wish to 'disaffiliate" that it is they who have been faithful, while the national leadership of The Episcopal Church has increasingly abandoned the very heritage we have all sworn to protect.

So, I want to try to work with these brothers and sisters if it is at all possible. (It may not be.) We have received proposals from three of these congregations so far. In all honesty, I do not think any of the three are realistic. But now that the Protocol is in place, we can begin to discuss these proposals.

Each church's situation is unique, and each will have to be dealt with on its own merits. My life, since October 18, has been totally consumed with all of this, and I can tell you there is not a shred of joy in any of it. (Ernie's, too.)

I will attempt to keep you apprised of where we are as this process unfolds.

My warmest regards in our Lord,

(And yes, you may post off the list so long as you post the whole thing.)

The Right Rev. John W. Howe
Episcopal Bishop of Central Florida

Our diocesan convention is coming up in January. Some of the "reasserters" want to get some bail-out language into our diocesan constitution. The new, pertinent language is in bold. The final paragraph is an addition, also.

As long as we're a constituent member? As determined by whom? Who are they to grant conditional allegiance?

Sigh.

Here's the proposal:

DIOCESE OF CENTRAL FLORIDA

Thirty-Ninth Annual Convention

JANUARY 25 &26, 2008

Title of Resolution: C-1 Amend Diocesan Constitution, Article III

Presenter: The Reverend Eric Turner on behalf of the Diocesan Board

Date: November 15, 2007

RESOLVED: That this 39th Annual Convention of the Diocese of Central Florida

Article III

Purpose

The Diocese of Central Florida acknowledges its allegiance to be due to the One, Holy, Catholic and Apostolic Church of Christ.; {and recognizing the body known as the Protestant Episcopal Church in the United States of America otherwise known as the Episcopal Church to be a true branch of said Church, having rightful jurisdiction in this country, hereby declares its adhesion to the same and accedes to its Constitution and Canons.} Furthermore, this Diocese is a constituent member of the Anglican Communion, a Fellowship of those duly constituted Dioceses, Provinces, and regional Churches in communion with the See of Canterbury, upholding the propagating the historic Faith and Order as set forth in the Book of Common Prayer. So long as The Episcopal Church is the constituent member Province of the Anglican Communion with rightful jurisdiction in this country, the Diocese of Central Florida declares its adhesion to the same and accedes to its Constitution and Canons.

The Diocese of Central Florida acknowledges itself to be called and sent to exercise the ministry of Jesus Christ in the Holy Spirit, celebrating and proclaiming the mystery of redemption to the praise of God's glory, the benefit of His Church and the salvation of the world. To this end the Diocese acknowledges its duty to provide for the worship and honor due Almighty God, to provide for the tradition of the Faith and the proclamation of the Gospel, to provide for the welfare of those given to its care, and to labor to demonstrate the truth in love that the Kingdom of Christ be advanced in the world and that the Church be edified into Christ.

2007-12-21T11:20:00.000-05:00

Christmas Greetings

Betsy, simply the best dog in the whole wide world, wishes everyone a very Merry Christmas.

More news to come.

2007-11-30T06:45:00.000-05:00

Singing Christmas ditties

Yes, Thanksgiving's barely over, and Saint Pat is already singing and humming Christmas songs. Purists like MadPriest will heap shame upon her, for sure.

What's a poor girl to do? The merchants have made it clear it's Christmas NOW. The municipal Christmas parade will roll in tomorrow's muggy evening air. (It's still warm here, though a "cold" front is supposed to move in midweek.) Betsy, the best dog in the world, will be crushed to find the saintly employer won't have a float this year; therefore, she will be unable to march in the parade.

Betsy loves marching in parades. She doesn't mind motorcycle roars and truck backfires, as long as she's marching. The only things that spook her are horses. Those are big, scary dogs, the likes of she's never seen before!

Though we won't have a parade float tomorrow, tonight, my employer will take part in the downtown open house, so us employees will have to be Christmas-y.

Meanwhile, what is Thanksgiving weekend without football? Just fine, to me. I don't watch it.

Friends are more into pigskin punting, though, and even get their kids and grandchilluns into the act:

Even mighty football players get tired and fussy!

Sunday, my dear friends from church invited me over to feast on Thanksgiving leftovers, then we went boating on the Halifax River.

The Halifax is an intercoastal waterway, separated from the waters of the Atlantic Ocean by only a thin peninsula of land. It is wide and shallow, with salt water from the inlet mixing with freshwater from the Tomoka basin. You can see dolphins and manatees along its stretch.

While the St. Johns River is quiet, deep and mysterious, the Halifax says, "Come on and play with me!" Fishermen, jet skiers, and boaters of all sorts share its waters.

Watch a flock of seagulls winging low over the water, searching for dinner, and you'll never think of them as awkward or ungainly birds again.

The Ponce Inlet Lighthouse looks over the Atlantic Ocean in the background, while a sailboat makes it way up the Halifax River.

To see more photos of the Halifax River, go to Pat's Flickr photo album.

2007-11-23T07:50:00.000-05:00

Moving into holiday season

Saint Pat spent the day as a bird of the air, or a lily of the field: She toiled not, yet her good Father provided for her.

Thanksgiving was a day of living off the fruits of other people's efforts, and it was a good one!

I went to church in the morning, followed by a great Thanksgiving luncheon in the parish hall. I sat at the table with the bird griller. Yes, the parish turkeys had been grilled over charcoal, and the turkey was quite tasty, with a slight mesquite flavor!

Our turkey chef and his wife had been in a bad auto accident. They were cheerful, and grateful for their continuing recovery, though the missus still wears a large brace around her midsection. When I left, they reminded me to wear my seatbelt. Sweet people.

After a few hours at home doing some housekeeping chores and baking a pumpkin pie to take with me, I went to my friends Bob and Linda's house for a small dinner party. We enjoyed a wonderful dinner of roasted Cornish hens with mashed potatoes, peas, cranberry sauce, salad, wine, and of course, aforementioned pumpkin pie for dessert. It was cool enough to eat on the front porch, which had been decorated with Japanese lanterns. The whole house was lovely, and the feast beautifully presented. My friend Linda can outdo Martha Stewart!

I did think about the things for which I am grateful. The nasty cold bug made me appreciate my overall good health, and the senses of smell, taste and hearing!

I'm grateful for good friends, for my home -- my haven -- and for the ability to enjoy life. I'm grateful for the cruise. I'm grateful to God for pulling me through the bad times and giving me the good ones.

God gave me good things for my enjoyment, and it's disobedience not to honor his intention.

I want to enjoy life. I watched my mother refuse to enjoy it, and I don't want to be like that. She was determined that Thanksgiving (and every other holiday) was nothing but another day to her, and even though a turkey may be prepared, there was no joy allowed in her house, especially if it was just her and me for the holiday. And was it was usually just her and me. My brothers always had better things to do. I spent some dreary Thanksgivings and Christmases at her house.

This is no disrespect to my mother. It was her woundedness, and her anger with God and the world, which got worse after Dad died. Dad enjoyed holidays, and they were good when he was around, but Mom outlived him by many years.

I will celebrate the holidays. Holy days are holy.

Thank you, Lord for all the good things of this life.

Today, I'm going to the newspaper office for a little while, but I'm not going to work all day, and I'm taking Betsy, the best dog in the world, for whom I'm also grateful, with me.

Tomorrow, I'm going to the house of friends Michelle and Ken, where there will be a big Thanksgiving party, and more turkey feasting.

Thank you, Lord.

2007-11-18T07:58:00.000-05:00

Great vacation, back to the daily grind

I'm back. The cruise was great!

Here's what we did:

The band of cruisers met in the church parking lot on a chilly Monday, Nov. 5, and climbed on a charter bus headed for the Port of Tampa, where we boarded the Carnival ship Inspiration.

A view of the Inspiration from a tender boat at Grand Cayman. The ship got underway that afternoon, and the chilly weather was soon left behind.

We spent Tuesday at sea, and Father M led us in a church service. It was a day to relax, hit the decks, and get involved in shipboard activities. After supper, there was a show, with rock-and-roll song and dance.

Wednesday, the Inspiration dropped anchor at Grand Cayman. We had choices of scuba diving, snorkeling, shopping, island tours or whatever we wanted to do. I went snorkeling, which was terrific -- until I got back on ship and was horrified to discover videos of my wide load climbing into the snorkeling boat was being broadcast hourly over the ship's TV station!

Thursday, we docked at Cozumel, where again, we could choose from a number of excursions. A number of us opted for a trip to the Mayan ruins at Tulum, which overlook a cliff along the Caribbean. We traveled there by a catamaran bus-taxi and a wheeled bus. The ruins were beautiful and fascinating relics of a bygone culture.

Maybe they just downplayed the bloodier aspects of Mayan life here, but I got an impression of a more peaceable life at Tulum than I got from the Mayan ruins I visited in Copan, Honduras a couple of years ago. Tulum temples celebrated the air, the water and other life-giving forces of nature.

It was a beautiful spot, with buildings lining a cliff overlooking the turquoise waters of the Caribbean.

Friday we spent at sea. Mother C celebrated the Eucharist, then it was time for fun -- games, the giant water-tube slide, or relaxing in the spa or on one of the decks. We saw a Latin-music inspired show -- watch out, Carmen Miranda!

Passengers responded to the dare to come to a midnight deck party in bathrobes.

Saturday, we were back home again, and trying to decide where to go next year.

Yes, I know -- I've been back for a week without posting.

I came down with a nasty sinusy-cold thing as soon as I got home. Better than on the cruise! But I couldn't take off work, and worked 11 and 12 hour days, then came home and collapsed into bed. No blogging.

I'm over the worst of it now, and a weekend to mostly rest is definitely helping.

Comparing cruises

I had a good time aboard Carnival.

If I had to compare, I would give last year's Royal Caribbean an "A-" and Carnival a "B."

Perhaps this was a misfortune of everyone arriving at the same time, but there was a long queue to check-in and board the Carnival ship. Lunch on deck, once we got there, was zooey, with people grabbing for tables and chairs and juggling carry-on bags, because we couldn't yet get into our cabins to deposit them. It went much more smoothly for last year's cruise.

Carnival's dining room offerings were good; Royal C's were superb. The service was great on both ships. Traveling companions who had been on other Carnival cruises said the food was better on those trips. Some didn't like the "entertainment" in the dining room -- after the main course, the Maitre D' and wait staff would sing and engage cruisers in song and dance. I thought it was fine and fun.

Our Maitre D', George. Part dining room supervisor, part showman.

I didn't like Carnival's scrambled eggs, either in the main dining room or at the grill, which also served breakfast. The eggs tasted like they were made from cheap powdered stuff. The other food, while not top-notch, was good, though. The buffet lunch and supper food served in the Brasserie was very good.

The wait staff was great.

Cardinal sin No. 1: Carnival's coffee wasn't very good. It tasted rather bitter and overcooked. I ended up drinking hot tea or hot chocolate at breakfast. One could supposedly buy gourmet coffee beverages at an onboard coffee shop, but I never did, in protest. I did have a great cuppa at a coffee shop at Georgetown on Grand Cayman, and sipped it while I watched the boats come in and out of the bay from a seat by the window in the second-floor shop.

Cardinal sin No. 2: the drinks weren't very good. Those of you who know Saint Pat knows she has a certain fondness for Margaritas. She never makes them at home, but at a Mexican restaurant, or on a cruise, she might order one. The Margarita ordered on the cruise just wasn't very good. It tasted like it was made from cheap mix.

The entertainment was great on both ships. On Royal C last year, there was a professional-stage show every night. On the Carnival cruise, there were audience-participation games a couple of nights. Maybe that was due to the lengthier voyage.

Carnival came up tops in staterooms. My budget-priced cabin was much larger than Royal C's, with a nicer shower.

Both ships had loads of activities. You could stay busy constantly, or opt for the quiet of your cabin or the library. I took some naps in between events.

I felt slightly more like I was being herded around at times aboard the Carnival ship, which was brimming with passengers. Sometimes it was hard to find a place to sit on deck, at least with a little table for my cup of tea.

But, as I said, I had a good time. After hearing some good and some very negative stuff about Carnival, I'm happy to give this cruise a thumbs up.

2007-11-04T23:53:00.000-05:00

Going on vacation

At last, it's here. My much-awaited vacation. Dear Lord, may we have safe travel and a joyous trip.

More about that to come.

New prayer gig

Friday night, I took my first shift doing intercessory prayer at the new, faith-based free clinic in town.

It was awesome.

I prayed with four people, two couples. In between, and before and after, I prayed up the building, the staff (all of whom donate their professional skills) and the patients.

And, in between, I sat with my prayer book and read evening prayers and compline and the collects for the day. I had time to meditate and just be with God. I soaked it up.

The people with whom I prayed thanked me. They had no idea. I was the one who was blessed, by them and by that time in the prayer room.

Thank you Lord, that you call us to you, from the business of the world. You refresh us with your spirit.

2007-11-02T21:11:00.000-04:00

A trip up the St. Johns River

I went up the river with a watchdog-conservationist group called the St. Johns Riverkeeper the other day. They rightly figure the more people know and love the river, the more they will want to protect it. I snapped these photos during the trip.

Like most of our water resources, the St. Johns, one of the few rivers to flow south to north, is threatened by development, by the growing need for water, and all the other indignities with which we can threaten it.

An anhinga (snakebird) dries itself on a dock alongside the river.

Plans to withdraw water from the river to satiate the thirst of the population boom in Central Florida are a major cause of concern. The various cities along the river are talking about pulling a total of 262 million gallons of water a day from the river. Treatment plants would pull salts, other minerals and pollutants from the drinking water. Guess what they'll do with the waste: discharge it into the river, thus not only reducing the water level, but increasing the water's salinity, threatening the river ecosystem.

What a mess we make of things.

The old fishermen who grew up on the river say it's gone downhill from the times of their youth, but the St. Johns is still gorgeous, and there's still plenty of fish and wildlife, even if the quantities of bass aren't there anymore.

The Riverkeeper believes it isn't too late to save the St. Johns, but like for the rest of the planet, time is running out.

Rivers are like people, I suspect, each with its own personality. The St. Johns is lush, darkly beautiful and mysterious.

A bald eagle watches our boat go by.

The water, the hyancinths and short vegetation, the taller grasses and the trees all provide habitats for wildlife on the the river. The trees are filled with snowy egrets.

2007-10-23T23:13:00.000-04:00

Of wine-tastings, B-17s, and a spot of fun

Lest you think Saint Pat spends all her time worrying over the state of the Anglican Communion and separatist parishes in Central Florida, let me assure you, she's been having some fun lately. It's been most needed.

First, friends took me out Friday night for our annual wine-tasting. This is a local tradition and fundraiser. It always falls near my birthday, and the admission ticket is my birthday present. It involves wandering from one station to another in our little downtown, tasting all the wine you can hold down. A few yuckky samples went into bushes, but I enjoyed quite a few more, and restrained myself, didn't drink TOO much - and I had a designated driver. We met some other friends of mine at I-Hop for late-night coffee.
Saturday, I had lunch with friends and porch-sat, then went to another friend's house for a showing of My Fair Lady, one of my favorite musicals from my youth. Some of it is really dated now, but Rex Harrison can still charm the birds off the trees.

Sunday I went to church, then laid around the house and recuperated from earlier weekend activities. I napped and watched movies on TV.

Monday, oh boy, oh joy, I got to go for a ride on a B-17 Flying Fortress. That's the big bomber that flew missions from England over Europe, and helped us trounce the Nazis in World War II. The ride was a job perk - a publicity flight for the touring aircraft, Aluminum Overcast. She's lovingly restored and maintained.

The plane

What a great experience. Some of you know I have a private pilot's license. I never got to pilot anything like a B-17. What an awesome experience to go up in one!
Here's the take off. Pardon the jiggling camera.

The flight was smooth, with the B-17's four radial engine purring like four big cats in a small room.

Our intrepid pilots, Dave and Bob, after a perfect landing.

What great days!

Thank you Lord, for great friends to share life, and the great experiences you give us.

2007-10-16T07:11:00.000-04:00

Celebrating St. Margaret, Queen of Scotland

Back to some posts about female saints!

I use James Kiefer's bios a lot, but I lifted this one from Notable Women Ancestors, which is full of colorful detail.

Margaret, Queen of Scotland
16 November 1093

A woman after me own heart: She got them all taking Communion!

When the people were afraid of taking Communion on Easter because they felt too sinful, she said, "if the Savior had intended that no sinner should receive the Holy Sacrament, He would not have given a command which, in that case, no one could obey. "We," said she, "who many days beforehand have confessed and done penance and fasted and been washed from our sins with tears and alms and absorption, approach the table of the Lord in faith on the day of His Resurrection, not to our damnation but to the remission of our sins and in salutary preparation for eternal blessedness."

Amen.

St. Margaret, Queen of Scotland

Margaret was born around 1045 in Hungary, the daughter of the exiled English Prince Edward "the Outlaw" Atheling of the English royal house of Wessex, and a German Princess named Agatha. Margaret was raised in the court of St. Stephen, King of Hungary. In 1057 when she was about 12, Margaret and her family returned to England, where the king was St. Edward the Confessor.

After the Norman conquest in 1066 and after her father's death in 1068, Agatha with her son and two daughters resolved to return to Hungary and embarked with that intent. Their ship was driven up the Firth of Forth to Dunfermline, where Malcolm III, king of Scotland, received them hospitably and granted them refuge. He very soon offered the whole family a permanent home with him and asked that the Princess Margaret should become his wife. Margaret, who was very devout and much impressed with the futility of earthly greatness, had very nearly determined to be a nun, but when Malcolm's request was made to Edgar, "the Childe said 'Yea,'" and Margaret was persuaded to marry the king as his second wife.

Malcolm III was born ca 1031 and founded the house of Canmore, which ruled Scotland for more than 200 years, and consolidated the power of the Scottish monarchy. He was the son of Duncan I, who was killed (1040) by Macbeth. Malcolm lived in exile until he defeated and killed (1057) Macbeth near Lumphanan in Aberdeenshire. He succeeded to the throne in 1058, and married Margaret ca. 1068-1070.

Her holiness and wisdom had an impact on Malcolm, causing him to be a better ruler. Malcolm regarded his wife with holy reverence, and with most devoted love followed her advice, and guided by her he became not only more religious and conscientious but more civilized and kinglike. The king's devotion to her and her influence over him were almost unbounded. He never refused or grudged her anything, nor showed the least displeasure when she took money out of his treasury for her charities. Although he could not read, he loved her books for her sake, handling them with affectionate reverence and kissing them. Sometimes he would take away one of her favorite volumes and send for a goldsmith to ornament it with gold and gems. When this was done, he would restore it to the queen as a proof of his devotion.

In addition to her influence with her husband and her sons, who later succeeded their father in ruling Scotland, Margaret took a direct role in helping the people of Scotland. She devoted time and money to works of charity, assisting the poor, the aged, orphans, and the sick. She also prevented a schism between the Roman Church and the Celtic Church, which had been cut off from Rome. In addition, she introduced European culture to Scotland, and did so more successfully than the forceful introduction in England under the Normans.

She was as saintly and self-denying on the throne as she could have been in the cloister. She at once perceived it to be her duty to benefit and elevate the people among whom it was her destiny to live, and this she undertook with the greatest of diligence and the most earnest piety. There existed so much barbarism in the customs of the people, so many abuses in the Church, so much on all hands to reform, that she called together the native clergy and the priests who had come with her, her husband acting as interpreter, and she spoke so well and so earnestly that all were charmed with her gracious demeanor and wise counsel and adopted her suggestions.

St. MargaretMargaret is credited with the introduction of English (Roman) usages into the Scottish church. Among other improvements, Margaret introduced the observance of Sunday by abstaining from servile work, "that if anything has been done amiss during the six days it may be expiated by our prayers on the day of the Resurrection." She influenced her people to observe the forty days' fast of Lent, and to receive the Holy Sacrament on Easter day, from which they had abstained for fear of increasing their own damnation because they were sinners. On this point she said that if the Savior had intended that no sinner should receive the Holy Sacrament, He would not have given a command which, in that case, no one could obey. "We," said she, "who many days beforehand have confessed and done penance and fasted and been washed from our sins with tears and alms and absorption, approach the table of the Lord in faith on the day of His Resurrection, not to our damnation but to the remission of our sins and in salutary preparation for eternal blessedness."

Margaret re-founded the monastery on the Island of Iona (originally founded by Saint Columba, an Irish missionary who found the monastery in 563 in an attempt to convert the Picts). One of her first acts as queen was to build a church at Dunfermline, where she had been married. She dedicated it to the Holy Trinity. She gave it all the ornaments that a church requires, amongst them golden cups, a handsome crucifix of gold and silver enriched with gems, and vestments for the priests. Her room was never without some of these beautiful things in preparation to be offered to the Church. It was like a workshop for heavenly artisans; capes for the singers, sacerdotal vestments, stoles, altar clothes were to be seen there; some made and some in progress. The embroideries were executed by noble young ladies who were in attendance on her.

No man was admitted to the room, unless she allowed him to come with her. She suffered no levity, no petulance, no frivolity, no flirtation. She was so dignified in her pleasantry, so cheerful in her strictness that every one both loved and feared her. No one dared to utter a rude or profane word in her presence.

She did much for the secular as well as for the religious improvement of her country. She caused traders from all lands to bring their goods, and thus introduced many useful and beautiful articles, until then unknown in Scotland. She induced the natives to buy and wear garments and stuffs of various colors. She is said to have introduced the tartans that afterwards became distinctive of Scottish costume. She instituted the custom that wherever the king rode or walked he should be accompanied by an escort, but the members of this band were strictly forbidden to take anything by force from any one, or oppress any poor person. She beautified the king's house with furniture and hangings, and introduced cups and dishes of gold and silver for the royal table. All this she did, not that she was fond of worldly show, but that the Court should be more decent and less barbarous than heretofore.

Numbers of captives were taken in the wars in raids between England and Scotland, and many English prisoners were living as slaves in Malcolm's lands. They were of somewhat better education and superior culture to the Scots and gradually advanced the civilization of their captors. Many of these were set free by the queen.

When she met poor persons, she gave them liberal alms, and if she had nothing of her own to left to give, she asked her attendants for something that she might not let Christ's poor go away empty-handed. the ladies, gentlemen, and servants who accompanied her took a pride and pleasure in offering her all they had, feeling sure that a double blessing would reward their alms when given through the saintly queen.

She provided ships at a place on the Firth of Forth, still called "The Queen's Ferry," that all persons coming from distant parts on pilgrimage to St. Andrews might be brought across the water free of charge. She also gave houses and servants on either shore for their accommodation, that they might find everything necessary for their repose and refreshment and might pay their devotions in peace and safety. Besides this, she built homes of rest and shelter for poor strangers in various places. From childhood she had diligently studied the Holy Writ and having a keen intelligence and an excellent memory, she knew and understood the Scriptures wonderfully well. She delighted to consult learned and holy men concerning the sacred writings, and as she had a great gift for expressing herself clearly, they often found themselves far wiser after a conversation with her. Her love for the holy books made her spend much time in reading and studying such of them as she had. She longed to possess more portions of the Word of God, and she sometimes begged Turgot and other learned clergymen to procure them for her. Margaret brought up her eight children very strictly and piously, instructing them in the Holy Scriptures and the duties of their station and associating them in her works of charity. She made a great point of their treating their elders with becoming respect. The fruit of her good training appeared in their lives for long years after her time.

There were many holy anchorites living in cells or caves in different parts of Scotland. These the queen occasionally visited, conversing with them and commending herself to their prayers. It was not uncommon in the ancient Celtic Church for devout secular persons to withdraw for a time from association with the rest of the world; they devoted themselves entirely to prayer and meditation for a long or short season, and then returned to the ordinary duties of life. A cave is still shown, not far from Dunfermline where tradition says this holy queen used to resort for solitude and prayer.

stained glass from the Chapel of St. Margaret in Edinburgh

Her abstinence was so great and her care for her own needs or gratification so small that her feast days were like the fast days of others. She fasted so strictly that she suffered acutely all her life from pain in her stomach, but she did not lose her strength. She observed two Lenten seasons in each year - the forty days before Easter and the forty days before Christmas. During these periods of self-denial, her biographer says that after sleeping for a short time at the beginning of the night, she went into the church and said alone three sets of Matins, then the Offices of the Dead, then the whole Psalter, which lasted until the priests had said Matins and Lauds. She then returned to her room and there, assisted by the king, she washed the feet of six poor persons who were brought there by the chamberlain. After this, she "permitted her body to take a littel slepe or nodde". When it was morning she began her works of mercy again; while the psalms were being read to her, nine little destitute orphans were brought, and she took each on her lap and fed it with her own spoon. While she was feeding the babies, three hundred poor persons were brought into the hall and seated all round it. As soon as Margaret and the king came in, the doors were shut, only the chaplains and a few attendants being present while the king and queen waited upon Christ in the person of His poor, serving them with food and drink. After this meal, the queen used to go into the church and there, with tears and signs and many prayers, she offered herself a sacrifice to God. In addition to the "Hours", on the great festivals, she used to repeat the Psalter two or three times, and before the public Mass she had five or six private Masses sung in her presence. It was then time for her own dinner, but before she touched it she waited on the twenty-four poor people who were her daily care at all seasons; wherever she happened to be, they had to be lodged near the royal residence.

She had a Gospel Book which she particularly prized and often read. It had beautiful illuminated pictures, all the capital letters shining with gold. One of her people, when passing through a stream let it fall into the water, but was not aware of his loss and went on. By-and-by the book was missing and was looked for everywhere, and eventually found at the bottom of the stream; the pieces of silk that were between the leaves to prevent the letters rubbing against each other were washed away; the leaves were shaken to and fro by the movement of the water, but not a letter was obliterated. She gave thanks for its restoration and prized it more than ever. This book, with the water stain on the last leaf, is now in the Bodleian Library.

For more than six months before her death, Margaret could not ride on horseback and was often confined to bed. Malcolm invaded England many times after 1068. supporting the claim of his brother-in-law Edgar Atheling to the English throne. In 1072, however, he was forced to pay homage to William I, and in 1091, to William II. Shortly before Margaret's death, the king, against her advice, made a raid into Northumberland where he and her eldest son, Edward were slain by Norman forces at Alnwick. Malcolm died at Alnwick Castle on November 13, 1093. The queen, who had a presentiment of it, and said to those that were with her, "Perhaps this day a greater evil has happened to Scotland than any that has befallen it for a long time."

Three days after this, she felt a little better and went into her oratory to hear Mass and receive the Holy Communion. She then returned to bed, and growing rapidly worse, begged Turgot and the others who were present to keep commending her soul to Christ with psalms. She asked them to bring her the black rood, which she had brought from Hungary and always regarded with great veneration. It was of gold set with large diamonds and said to contain a piece of the actual cross of Christ. She devoutly kissed and contemplated it, and when she was cold with the chill of death, she still held it in both hands and kept praying and saying the fifty-first psalm.

Her son Edgar, who had gone with the king to Northumberland, came into her room to tell her of the death of his father and brother. Seeing his mother was dying, he was afraid to tell her the sad news; but she said, "I know, I know, I conjure you to tell me the truth," and having heard it, she praised God and died, just three days after her husband, on November 16, 1093 at Edinburgh Castle. The Annals of Ulster for 1093 say, "Maelcolaim Mac Donnacha sovereign of Alban and Echbarda his son, slain by the Franks. His queen, viz. Margarita, died through grief before the end of (three) days."

While her body still lay in Edinburgh Castle, Malcolm's brother, Donald Bane, assisted by the King of Norway, attacked the castle, but he only watched the gate, thinking the other parts of the fortification inaccessible. Margaret's family and her faithful attendants escaped by a postern called the West Yhet, taking with them the revered corpse. A thick mist hid them from the enemy. They crossed the sea and arrived without hindrance at Dunfermline, where they buried her according to her own wish. Malcolm was succeeded briefly by his brother Donald Bane. Margaret's brother, Edgar the Atheling took Margaret's children to England, and for fear of the Normans, gave them privately to friends and relations to be brought up. He afterwards helped to restore them to their country. Margaret's sons continued her work, which contributed greatly to a golden age in Scotland for two hundred years after her death. First to the throne was son, Duncan II. Three other sons also succeeded to the throne: Edgar (r. 1097-1107), Alexander I (r. 1107-24), and David I (r. 1124-53). Margaret and Malcolm's daughter, Edith, also known as Matilda, became the wife of England's King Henry I, the fourth son of William the Conqueror.

Prayer (contemporary language)

O God, who called your servant Margaret to an earthly throne that she might advance your heavenly kingdom, and gave her zeal for your church and love for your people: Mercifully grant that we who commemorate her this day may be fruitful in good works, and attain to the glorious crown of your saints; though Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever.

Psalm 146:4-9 or 112:1-9
Proverbs 31:10-11,20,26,28
Matthew 13:44-52 (Bap)

2007-10-08T22:46:00.000-04:00

The Confession of St. Pat

I'm back from Virginia, where my mother was finally laid to rest next to my father, in view of the Blue Ridge Mountains, where they lived after Dad retired from the Navy.

Morning view of the Blue Ridge in the mist, from the burial site

I think of the life they had together there, in the mountains -- their dreams, their plans for the future, so many years ago -- and wonder, is there any meaning to all this? What's the point of living, breathing, hoping, to have it all reduced to ashes and dust?

The logical part of my mind argues life is a purposeless endeavor, a joke on humankind, who presumes to more, but nothingness comes in the end. There's no grand purpose or design to our being. We just live our little bit and die, to sleep, to dream no more.

Nothingness. Love and dreams vanquished, life often ended in suffering.

Yet, I am convinced there is more. I have experienced the love of Christ, who came searching for me, and who has protected me. I believe what he said. I know my mother is precious to him, and she is healed and whole, and made beautiful.

It is in Christ, in God, we live and move and have our being, and he is eternal. I do not know his plans, but I know he will never desert us.

He is my savior, whom I shall see with my own eyes.

As for me, I know that my Redeemer lives
and that at the last he will stand upon the earth.
After my awaking, he will raise me up;
and in my body I shall see God.
I myself shall see, and my eyes behold him
who is my friend and not a stranger.
(from the liturgy for burial in the Book of Common Prayer)