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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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 ...

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.

Cattitude

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

Jack the Brat

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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!