Elizabeth has left a post about hanging out her laundry with which I whole-heartedly concur. I left a comment there, but I'll post it here, too, in case there are other Crunchy Cons out there who think the sight and smell of hanging out the laundry to dry is worth the slight extra effort and time.
First, there's nothing like the smell of line-dried laundry. No fabric softener on earth can duplicate it. Then, there's a softness to all but the towels that also cannot be duplicated by any fabric softener. (And towels soften up amazingly if, as you take them off the line, you give them a couple of sharp slaps against your legs before folding them. Fluffs them out.) And the sight of clothes dancing on a clothesline in a freshening breeze practically screams HOME! You can almost smell the apple pie cooling in the kitchen. (For the record, I have never baked an apple pie in my life.)
OK, I can practically hear Mimi jumping up and down, shouting, "But what about RAIN?" (Mimi lives in the Pacific Northwest.) This was my chief comment to Elizabeth's post. I told her to consider the addition of a "utility porch" somewhere on her house. I had one in the back of a house we rented in Massachusetts for two years. It was just heavenly. It was just a back porch with clotheslines strung across the ceiling from side to side -- five of 'em, wrapped around hooks that had been screwed into the side supporting beams of the porch roof. Every morning, before leaving for work (I was working at the time), I would wash a load of laundry and hang it out to dry. And in the evening, I'd bring it in off the line, all fresh and soft. One year, it rained for an entire week in the spring, and I washed clothes every day. And every day, I'd bring them in, all fresh and soft -- and dry.
My current house does not have a utility porch, and we've lived in it for 21 years. I keep toying with the idea. But there's an awkward bulkhead (door to the cellar) that juts out from the middle of the back of the house, and I cannot design any way around it, short of a trap door -- and I really don't want to go there.
So, in the winter, I dry my "smalls" on racks in the kitchen, which moisturizes the air beautifully. And I take my sheets and towels to the laundromat and suffer with machine-dried laundry. Hanging out laundry in the fresh air is one of the few things I actually like about summer.
An aside here: Portsmouth Naval Ship Yard is not too far from our house. Submarines routinely come in for repair, and the crew are billeted with local families while the ship undergoes repair. One of my friends once hosted a young sailor from California for about six months. They all got along very well, and on his last night before reporting for sea duty, they took him out to a local lobster pound for dinner. As they sat around enjoying Maine "lobstah," the young fellow thanked them profusely for their hospitality, then added: "There's just one thing I've never understood. What is the significance of this local custom of hanging out clothes in the back yard?"
!!!!!!!!!
Monday, September 24, 2007
Saturday, September 22, 2007
My Blog is Worth...
My blog is worth $3,387.24.
How much is your blog worth?
Cribbed from s-p, whose blog, according to these yahoos, is worth nothing. I suspect that their monetary value is based on how often one blogs -- s-p, having a real life (unlike yours truly), rarely blogs.
In other news, the visit with Father Costin went very well. We got the place tidied up sufficiently to look like civilized folk; he went from room to room, blessing the house (I didn't open the door to the porch, which is still full of boxes that we are gradually throwing out, and I didn't let him down into the basement -- he just "threw some holy water down there," as Jim requested), and then we all sat down to lunch. As he was blessing the food, I happened to glance over towards the corner, where I have a small sideboard, and spotted...
...six cans of Campbell's Soup that Jim had put there and forgotten to put away.
So much for gracious living. ;-)
Update to this post: I forgot to note that Father also blessed the outside of the house, something no priest had ever done before (probably because at the time of the usual house blessing, there's about a foot of snow in the backyard). I wash a load of clothes every day, and on Thursday, I wash my "whites"; and since we don't have a dryer, being Crunchy Cons, my laundry hangs in the back yard. So there's Father, traipsing all around the house, including the back yard, and there's my laundry, keeping time to "When Thou wast baptized in the Jordan, O Lord." At least the underwear was decorously hidden behind the T-shirts.
We had a nice visit, and the food was good. And he left his Trebnik book here, so I guess that subconsciously, he wanted to come back. (But I brought it over to church the next day.)
I can't help wondering what the nuns next door made of this guy in a black robe sprinkling water all over the place, including on their hedges...
Sunday, September 16, 2007
General Nuisance
When my kids were little, they were big on Richard Scarry books. I can't recall which of the many it was, but one of them featured a minor character named General Nuisance (I seem to recall him saying, "Won't you please get up, Mr. Soldier?" at reveille. Yeah, right.)
Well, I have the feeling that General Nuisance is about to visit our house, only it isn't really General Nuisance who's coming -- it's mild-mannered little Father Costin, who's coming to bless our house on Thursday. Nothing drastic, this is just his way of introducing himself to his parishioners and getting to know them better, and I think it's very sweet of him to want to visit everybody outside of the normal visitation cycle at Epiphany.
Here's the rub: Jim and I don't do a lot of entertaining, so our really-very-small house gets cluttered easily. All it takes is one or two pieces of paper, and, "Oh, I'll take care of this later," and inside of 24 hours, the place looks like a bomb hit it. Now, I cannot clean around a mess -- things have to be tidy before I can see the grime -- so there's also quite a bit of, well, grime around.
And Father C. has a reputation for being immaculate.
And Jim learned his cleaning skills in the military, where they did white-glove inspections once a week, and used to strip the floors and re-wax them on a weekly basis.
You see where this is going?!
I am very sure that my mild-mannered little priest would be horrified to think that he was causing so much Uproar in my house, but on the other hand, this is what happens when you get so busy with taking care of an old man's affairs that you Let Things Go. The kitchen table is still cluttered with various kinds of paperwork, and I remember my in-laws' house looking very much like ours does now, full of paperwork that they didn't want to lose track of (these people have never heard of, hello, FILING PAPER?!?!?!), so I shouldn't be surprised that their son has adopted their crummy habits.
So we will get our house in sufficient order that a civilized person can enter it and not run screaming to the Board of Health that he's about to come down with MRSA as a result of having set foot in our house. And it will promptly get as cluttered and grotty as it was before we cleaned it.
Sigh.
Well, I have the feeling that General Nuisance is about to visit our house, only it isn't really General Nuisance who's coming -- it's mild-mannered little Father Costin, who's coming to bless our house on Thursday. Nothing drastic, this is just his way of introducing himself to his parishioners and getting to know them better, and I think it's very sweet of him to want to visit everybody outside of the normal visitation cycle at Epiphany.
Here's the rub: Jim and I don't do a lot of entertaining, so our really-very-small house gets cluttered easily. All it takes is one or two pieces of paper, and, "Oh, I'll take care of this later," and inside of 24 hours, the place looks like a bomb hit it. Now, I cannot clean around a mess -- things have to be tidy before I can see the grime -- so there's also quite a bit of, well, grime around.
And Father C. has a reputation for being immaculate.
And Jim learned his cleaning skills in the military, where they did white-glove inspections once a week, and used to strip the floors and re-wax them on a weekly basis.
You see where this is going?!
I am very sure that my mild-mannered little priest would be horrified to think that he was causing so much Uproar in my house, but on the other hand, this is what happens when you get so busy with taking care of an old man's affairs that you Let Things Go. The kitchen table is still cluttered with various kinds of paperwork, and I remember my in-laws' house looking very much like ours does now, full of paperwork that they didn't want to lose track of (these people have never heard of, hello, FILING PAPER?!?!?!), so I shouldn't be surprised that their son has adopted their crummy habits.
So we will get our house in sufficient order that a civilized person can enter it and not run screaming to the Board of Health that he's about to come down with MRSA as a result of having set foot in our house. And it will promptly get as cluttered and grotty as it was before we cleaned it.
Sigh.
Sunday, September 09, 2007
A Note from Our Son
Yes, that's himself over there, doing his Nathan Fillion imitation (for those of you familiar with the defunct Fox Channel TV show "Firefly"). He says that the one on his left is very left-wing, and the one on his right is into Wicca, and all the rest are married. But I love the look on his face, so this is my current favorite Chris photo.
That's not what I'm blogging about, however. This note from him just came into my inbox:
BLET-backed bill would create rail expansion in New Hampshire
CLEVELAND, August 1 — The governor of New Hampshire signed a BLET-backed measure on July 27 that will help create railroad jobs and revitalize freight and passenger rail service in the state.
Governor Lynch's signing of New Hampshire Senate Bill 75 at Nashua City Hall in Nashua, N.H., establishes the New Hampshire Rail Authority Board, which will make it easier for railroad companies to make inroads in New Hampshire while creating new job opportunities for BLET members.
Establishing viable railroads would help spur economic growth in the state, Governor Lynch said. Also, "It will help reduce congestion on our roads, improving public safety and reducing air pollution."
The measure establishes a New Hampshire Rail Transit Authority that will have responsibility for developing and providing commuter rail and related rail transportation services in New Hampshire. The measure should help state lawmakers achieve a major rail transportation goal, which is the establishment of a high speed rail corridor between Boston and Montreal, via New Hampshire and Vermont.
According to William Remington, Legislative Representative of BLET Division 191 in Lunenburg, Mass., rail service in New Hampshire — with the exception of two Amtrak trains the Downeaster and Vermonter — is currently limited to tourist trains and a few shortline railroads.
"It was time for a change and we pushed for it," said Remington, who is also 3rd Vice Chairman of the Massachusetts State Legislative Board.
The BLET, in conjunction with the International Brotherhood of Teamsters, worked for months to secure passage of the measure through the New Hampshire legislature.
The Senate bill, SB-75 (New Hampshire Rail Authority Board), passed by a vote of 189-120 and was signed by Governor Lynch on July 27, 2007. It became effective the same day. The House bill, HB-311 (Committee to Review Liability Issues for Commuter Rail Operations), was passed by a vote of 17-0.
Also, as part of the bill, Governor Lynch will appoint three board members — with rail experience — to the Rail Transit Authority. Their job will be to seek funding and open corridors that would bring commuter rail into the state, while protecting the interest of existing communities.
Dan Lauzon, 1st Vice Chairman of the Massachusetts State Legislative Board, and Wayne Gagne, a member of BLET Division 57 (Boston), played key rolls in testifying and furthering the legislation. Brother Remington said that George Newman, Chairman of the Massachusetts State Legislative Board, and Mike Twombly, Springfield Terminal-Delaware & Hudson General Chairman, were also extremely supportive and continually lent assistance throughout the process.
Also playing a large role was Dennis Caza, a D.R.I.V.E. Field Representative from the International Brotherhood of Teamsters and a member of Teamsters Local 633.
"It is a great experience working with Brother Caza and look forward in working with him and the Teamsters again," Brother Remington said.
Brother Gagne also serves as Chairman of the New Hampshire Commuter Rail Advisory Committee. Brother Remington is the founder and first president of the New Hampshire Railroad Revitalization Association. He is also Legislative Representative of the New Hampshire Commuter Rail Advisory Committee and committee member of the New Hampshire Operation Life Saver.
*****
Now, I have no idea what BLET is, and as you may be able to deduce from all the "Brother"s in this post, it's from a union newsletter. However, this is great news for this household -- not only does it mean that Chris might eventually be able to find work even a bit closer to home (though compared to Philly, Enfield is heaven), but also -- we've been great fans of rail travel for a very long time. It worked for us as subway commuters in NYC, it worked for us whenever we wanted to go places in Germany, and it has worked for us ever since Amtrak's Downeaster inaugurated service from Portland, ME to Boston, MA in 2000. Every time we travelled to Philly to visit Chris, we took the train, and it's been a major annoyance not to be able to rely on mass transit to get places around NH.
I hope, I hope, I hope that is about to change.
Happy dancing in Rottenchester tonight!!
Saturday, September 08, 2007
Update
As usual, I have been up to no good. This past Tuesday, the fall semester at the University started, and I am repeating third-year Russian, not because I failed it, but because I found this past summer that I was actually able to use it, and now I want to refine it. Also, as the Russians say, "Repetition is the mother of learning" (повторение мать учение).
Then, this past Thursday, my priest, his wife, two ladies from church, and I travelled to Boston to hear the Sretensky Monastery Choir. WHOA. The best way to describe it was that it was a completely Russian experience. I heard more Russian on Thursday night than I hear in a whole year of Russian classes. The music wasn't all sacred -- lots of folk songs -- and after each and every one, either somebody would whistle, or this lady a couple of seats away from us would yell out, "Bravo, BRA-vo!" And the encore...well...they had translations for everything else they sang, but not the encore, so my Russian came in particular use then. Otherwise I would never have understood this:
"Russia was always holy, because it was always an Orthodox nation. Russia is holy, because it is an Orthodox nation. Holy Russia will always be an Orthodox nation!" Put that in your pipe and smoke it, Billy Graham!!
Finally, on a much lighter note, there's this:
Yep. That's me. The Grammar Nazi. Now you know why it matters so much to me that I get Russian grammar right.
Then, this past Thursday, my priest, his wife, two ladies from church, and I travelled to Boston to hear the Sretensky Monastery Choir. WHOA. The best way to describe it was that it was a completely Russian experience. I heard more Russian on Thursday night than I hear in a whole year of Russian classes. The music wasn't all sacred -- lots of folk songs -- and after each and every one, either somebody would whistle, or this lady a couple of seats away from us would yell out, "Bravo, BRA-vo!" And the encore...well...they had translations for everything else they sang, but not the encore, so my Russian came in particular use then. Otherwise I would never have understood this:
"Russia was always holy, because it was always an Orthodox nation. Russia is holy, because it is an Orthodox nation. Holy Russia will always be an Orthodox nation!" Put that in your pipe and smoke it, Billy Graham!!
Finally, on a much lighter note, there's this:
You Scored an A |
 You got 10/10 questions correct. It's pretty obvious that you don't make basic grammatical errors. If anything, you're annoyed when people make simple mistakes on their blogs. As far as people with bad grammar go, you know they're only human. And it's humanity and its current condition that truly disturb you sometimes. |
Yep. That's me. The Grammar Nazi. Now you know why it matters so much to me that I get Russian grammar right.
Thursday, August 23, 2007
It's Too Quiet
Not in the way I used to mean it. Since Chris moved back to New Hampshire, it feels like he's home again, even though he lives two hours away, so it doesn't feel as deathly quiet around here as it used to (even though it actually is!).
No, what I'm referring to is that I've actually had a chance to catch up on all the fun things that I've let go over the past year, like needlework, and in doing so, I find I'm having too much time to think. (I have also been working on a new book, which limits my Thinking time -- a good thing, as you will see.) And what I find I'm Thinking about, is This Time Last Year.
I came a little too close to the Grim Reaper for comfort, frankly. Now, while the thought of dying doesn't bother me particularly, the thought of leaving behind the people I love just eats at me. Now I find that it's difficult to forget; I hear music that I heard from that time, or think, "This time last year, I didn't even have enough energy to pick up a needle," and the whole horror washes over me again.
I'm assuming this is a form of PTSD? Anyone else have this kind of thing, where, when horrible anniversaries roll around, you relive them? How did you cope?
Obviously, this isn't the first horrible thing that happened to me in life, but it took me 20 years to get over the last truly horrible thing, and I'd rather not take so long this time (for one thing, I may not have 20 years -- comforting thought!). I'd say, "There's always booze," but have been informed that with a background that's half Irish and half Russian, I should just surrender to my Inherent Alcoholism, and that's all I need to stay away from that particular "consolation." And I have never found therapy to be particularly helpful.
Any ideas?
No, what I'm referring to is that I've actually had a chance to catch up on all the fun things that I've let go over the past year, like needlework, and in doing so, I find I'm having too much time to think. (I have also been working on a new book, which limits my Thinking time -- a good thing, as you will see.) And what I find I'm Thinking about, is This Time Last Year.
I came a little too close to the Grim Reaper for comfort, frankly. Now, while the thought of dying doesn't bother me particularly, the thought of leaving behind the people I love just eats at me. Now I find that it's difficult to forget; I hear music that I heard from that time, or think, "This time last year, I didn't even have enough energy to pick up a needle," and the whole horror washes over me again.
I'm assuming this is a form of PTSD? Anyone else have this kind of thing, where, when horrible anniversaries roll around, you relive them? How did you cope?
Obviously, this isn't the first horrible thing that happened to me in life, but it took me 20 years to get over the last truly horrible thing, and I'd rather not take so long this time (for one thing, I may not have 20 years -- comforting thought!). I'd say, "There's always booze," but have been informed that with a background that's half Irish and half Russian, I should just surrender to my Inherent Alcoholism, and that's all I need to stay away from that particular "consolation." And I have never found therapy to be particularly helpful.
Any ideas?
Sunday, August 19, 2007
What Color Crayon Are You?
| You Are a Green Crayon |
 Your world is colored in harmonious, peaceful, natural colors. While some may associate green with money, you are one of the least materialistic people around. Comfort is important to you. You like to feel as relaxed as possible - and you try to make others feel at ease. You're very happy with who you are, and it certainly shows! Your color wheel opposite is red. Every time you feel grounded, a red person does their best to shake you. |
Thursday, August 16, 2007
Update on New Kid
A couple of people left comments on my post concerning the "New Kid on the Block," so I thought I'd respond this way.
Catherine -- it just gets better and better. He's just such a nice person. New priests often come with an Agenda. Fr. Dean saw himself as revitalizing an aging community, and he did -- unfortunately, he also stepped on a lot of older toes to do that, and people got hurt. The last priest seemed to have as his agenda closer ties with the heterodox community, which wouldn't have been a bad thing, if it hadn't also involved little gems like "icons" of St. Francis of Assisi and St. Dominic (from those Bridgebuilders crackpots), ecumenical services that included the local rabbi giving a sermon while standing in front of the icon of the Annunciation, and those little girls Going Where No Orthodox Little Girl Had Ever Gone Before -- I've crabbed enough about that that I don't feel the need to go into it again.
(By the way, in case anyone is actually buying "icons" from Bridgebuilders, I should note that I refer to them as "crackpots" because they so obviously subscribe to the theory that what makes an icon is the style of painting, and nothing more. You should have seen my priest's face when I made mention of their "icon" of Harvey Milk, the San Francisco official who was gunned down because he was gay. This is the kind of thing they get up to.)
Fr. Costin, to give the New Kid his name -- Fr. Costin also has an agenda. As he said to me, "People will forget about their petty grievances when they return to their spiritual focus." If it's possible to fall in love spiritually, I think I've just done that! :D
Elizabeth -- it wasn't the old priest who told Fr. Costin that I would "turn against him," but a member of the parish council who is best described as an Old Woman. The poor soul used to be a very responsible member of the community till he had a stroke; now he can't practice in his former profession, and seems to spend his days lurking around the church and finding things to gossip about. This is why this particular bit of gossip doesn't bother me for my own sake, but it does hurt in the sense that this nice young priest must be wondering when and how he's going to get hit between the eyes. I won't say "Never" -- I'm sure that eventually, we'll have some kind of difference of opinion -- but I hope we can resolve it, as I did my differences with Fr. Dean. It's when people won't listen that eventually, I just stop trying.
I'd like to try to get a picture of these people so I can put it up on my blog. They are just such a cute family!
Catherine -- it just gets better and better. He's just such a nice person. New priests often come with an Agenda. Fr. Dean saw himself as revitalizing an aging community, and he did -- unfortunately, he also stepped on a lot of older toes to do that, and people got hurt. The last priest seemed to have as his agenda closer ties with the heterodox community, which wouldn't have been a bad thing, if it hadn't also involved little gems like "icons" of St. Francis of Assisi and St. Dominic (from those Bridgebuilders crackpots), ecumenical services that included the local rabbi giving a sermon while standing in front of the icon of the Annunciation, and those little girls Going Where No Orthodox Little Girl Had Ever Gone Before -- I've crabbed enough about that that I don't feel the need to go into it again.
(By the way, in case anyone is actually buying "icons" from Bridgebuilders, I should note that I refer to them as "crackpots" because they so obviously subscribe to the theory that what makes an icon is the style of painting, and nothing more. You should have seen my priest's face when I made mention of their "icon" of Harvey Milk, the San Francisco official who was gunned down because he was gay. This is the kind of thing they get up to.)
Fr. Costin, to give the New Kid his name -- Fr. Costin also has an agenda. As he said to me, "People will forget about their petty grievances when they return to their spiritual focus." If it's possible to fall in love spiritually, I think I've just done that! :D
Elizabeth -- it wasn't the old priest who told Fr. Costin that I would "turn against him," but a member of the parish council who is best described as an Old Woman. The poor soul used to be a very responsible member of the community till he had a stroke; now he can't practice in his former profession, and seems to spend his days lurking around the church and finding things to gossip about. This is why this particular bit of gossip doesn't bother me for my own sake, but it does hurt in the sense that this nice young priest must be wondering when and how he's going to get hit between the eyes. I won't say "Never" -- I'm sure that eventually, we'll have some kind of difference of opinion -- but I hope we can resolve it, as I did my differences with Fr. Dean. It's when people won't listen that eventually, I just stop trying.
I'd like to try to get a picture of these people so I can put it up on my blog. They are just such a cute family!
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
When You Have Too Much Time on Your Hands...
...this is what you get up to.
This is an adaptation of an Ellen Maurer-Stroh cross-stitch design of roses and lilies. I charted them out on top of a St. Olga cross, and the idea is to stitch this design onto at least two analoy covers: one for the main analogion in the church itself, and one for the analogion that stands in the narthex. There are four other analogia, and for them I will stitch a plain St. Olga cross, no flowers -- I have to make some kind of progress. ;-)
Saturday, August 11, 2007
New Kid on the Block
Over the past six or so years, all my readers have been very patient with me as I've done my "wandering Jew" act through various jurisdictions and parishes -- something I do truly deplore, but with my home parish having become something of a laboratory for the Orthodox/Catholic experiment, I didn't feel I had much choice. The ROCOR parish where I would have preferred to settle folded when its priest took up a new post; we tried going to that parish for a couple of years, but the distance proved to be too much, and we finally settled on a parish some 40 miles away, where at least I knew I could trust the priest not to do anything too Innovationist. At the same time, every other week we would attend Liturgy at a very small Greek parish nearby, which only has Liturgies every other week. It worked out well enough, though I never really felt at home in the 40-miles-away parish.
Well - my original parish is finally freed from the "Latin Yoke" ;-> and we have a new priest! This one's a corker: He's from Romania. He has his Bachelor's from Harvard, and his Ph.D. from CalTech in Theoretical Physics (!!!) - no idea where his Master's is from - and says he never had any real exposure to Christianity until he and some friends bicycled from CalTech to a Romanian parish about an hour away. The priest there gave a very powerful sermon about confession, and this guy decided then and there that he had to make some radical changes in his life. "Radical" is the word -- from Theoretical Physics to Metaphysics?! God love him!
Now, when Fr. Dean was in charge of this parish, I used to chant weekday Liturgies for him. When the "Latin" priest was in charge, I actually developed nodes on my vocal cords, so was unable to sing for three years, and by the time they cleared up, he had made other arrangements for a weekday chanter, so I was out of a job -- just as well, since over those three years it became obvious that this was not someone you could work with. (He has a "don't confuse me with facts" personality.) Since those "other arrangements" consisted of his oldest son, and that whole family is gone now, I thought, maybe this new priest would need a weekday chanter. So I introduced myself to him.
It turned out that my reputation had preceded me: The new priest had already talked to Fr. Dean! =:0 So we hit it off very well from the start, and I actually have had the chance to sing for him at Paraklesis, and on the Feast of the Transfiguration. He's also interested in my needlework.
Now for the rabbit punch: After Paraklesis on Monday, he was blowing off a little steam because the actual chanter of the parish, the guy who sings on Sundays, was supposed to be there, and wasn't. As Father said, it puts a tremendous strain on his own voice to have to sing everything, which he did because he's just been teaching the Paraklesis melodies to me. I forget now how we got on the topic, but I said something about, "I don't know what you've heard about me from the parish" - this is a parish that loves to gossip, and never puts a good light on anything when there's a possible bad explanation - and he said, "They tell me that you will turn against me."
With friends like these....
What bothers me about that is not that it's untrue - I can see why these wahoos would come up with that kind of explanation - but that someone was so eager to get his knife into me that he would disturb the peace of mind of a new young priest to do it. Okay, maybe he was just trying to prepare the priest for that eventuality; it certainly happened with the last priest, though there were actual reasons for my "turning against" him, and when I explained these to the new priest, he understood that he hadn't gotten the whole story. And I suspect, from comments passed over the past six years, that my not singing for the Latin priest was interpreted as leaving in a snit; as I said, why look for a real explanation when there's a bad spin to put on it?
Be that as it may, I like this new young fellow very much. He's enthusiastic without being pushy, he has a singing voice to die for, and frankly - I like that he's from an Eastern Bloc country. This says to me that he has really struggled for his faith, that he's not Orthodox "because Greeks are Orthodox," but understands the necessity for spiritual growth - actually, he's a lot like Fr. Dean. I can't wait to see what his Bible studies are like. His sermons are already a hoot, since he brings a lot of science into them - as one of the Jordanville monks once said to me, it's so interesting to see how priests bring their former lives into their sermons.
And meanwhile, I will also have to deal with the ill will of my former parish. But that I'm not too worried about, mostly because they seem to think their opinion actually should matter to me, and of course it doesn't - as long as the "new kid on the block" and I are able to communicate well. So far, so good!
Well - my original parish is finally freed from the "Latin Yoke" ;-> and we have a new priest! This one's a corker: He's from Romania. He has his Bachelor's from Harvard, and his Ph.D. from CalTech in Theoretical Physics (!!!) - no idea where his Master's is from - and says he never had any real exposure to Christianity until he and some friends bicycled from CalTech to a Romanian parish about an hour away. The priest there gave a very powerful sermon about confession, and this guy decided then and there that he had to make some radical changes in his life. "Radical" is the word -- from Theoretical Physics to Metaphysics?! God love him!
Now, when Fr. Dean was in charge of this parish, I used to chant weekday Liturgies for him. When the "Latin" priest was in charge, I actually developed nodes on my vocal cords, so was unable to sing for three years, and by the time they cleared up, he had made other arrangements for a weekday chanter, so I was out of a job -- just as well, since over those three years it became obvious that this was not someone you could work with. (He has a "don't confuse me with facts" personality.) Since those "other arrangements" consisted of his oldest son, and that whole family is gone now, I thought, maybe this new priest would need a weekday chanter. So I introduced myself to him.
It turned out that my reputation had preceded me: The new priest had already talked to Fr. Dean! =:0 So we hit it off very well from the start, and I actually have had the chance to sing for him at Paraklesis, and on the Feast of the Transfiguration. He's also interested in my needlework.
Now for the rabbit punch: After Paraklesis on Monday, he was blowing off a little steam because the actual chanter of the parish, the guy who sings on Sundays, was supposed to be there, and wasn't. As Father said, it puts a tremendous strain on his own voice to have to sing everything, which he did because he's just been teaching the Paraklesis melodies to me. I forget now how we got on the topic, but I said something about, "I don't know what you've heard about me from the parish" - this is a parish that loves to gossip, and never puts a good light on anything when there's a possible bad explanation - and he said, "They tell me that you will turn against me."
With friends like these....
What bothers me about that is not that it's untrue - I can see why these wahoos would come up with that kind of explanation - but that someone was so eager to get his knife into me that he would disturb the peace of mind of a new young priest to do it. Okay, maybe he was just trying to prepare the priest for that eventuality; it certainly happened with the last priest, though there were actual reasons for my "turning against" him, and when I explained these to the new priest, he understood that he hadn't gotten the whole story. And I suspect, from comments passed over the past six years, that my not singing for the Latin priest was interpreted as leaving in a snit; as I said, why look for a real explanation when there's a bad spin to put on it?
Be that as it may, I like this new young fellow very much. He's enthusiastic without being pushy, he has a singing voice to die for, and frankly - I like that he's from an Eastern Bloc country. This says to me that he has really struggled for his faith, that he's not Orthodox "because Greeks are Orthodox," but understands the necessity for spiritual growth - actually, he's a lot like Fr. Dean. I can't wait to see what his Bible studies are like. His sermons are already a hoot, since he brings a lot of science into them - as one of the Jordanville monks once said to me, it's so interesting to see how priests bring their former lives into their sermons.
And meanwhile, I will also have to deal with the ill will of my former parish. But that I'm not too worried about, mostly because they seem to think their opinion actually should matter to me, and of course it doesn't - as long as the "new kid on the block" and I are able to communicate well. So far, so good!
Thursday, August 09, 2007
New Name
Back in February, I posted about the newest "member" of our family, my new red Toyota Matrix. At the time, she was Molly. She has a new name, "Minnie." (Which I don't especially care for -- makes me think of Minnie Mouse. I liked Mimi, but the hubster, loyal son of Das Vaterland that he is, says it's "too French." Sigh.)
Anyway, what occasioned the name change was meeting an actual person named Molly at the Summer School. Charity forbids my saying very much about this, umm, interesting person, except to note that she was a third-year student this year, and is the only person I have ever seen conduct a choir with a hula motion. Most of us conduct with the "opposable thumbs" approach, i.e., we move our arms in opposite directions from each other. Molly conducted by moving her arms in the same direction at once. She did get her certificate -- I'm not sure if it was because she didn't fall apart altogether during the final exam, or because they would do anything to make sure she didn't come back.
She had other idiosyncrasies. Let's just leave it at that. But I knew that if I ever referred to "Molly" again, it wouldn't be my little red car I'd be thinking of. Hence, the name change.
And, just before we left for Jordanville, we got another Toyota Matrix. This one's pure white, and its name is "Snoopy." It started out life as "E. B." (the hubster being an admirer of E. B. White), but "Snoopy" fits it much better. Its purchase was occasioned by a broken tie rod, followed by the discovery that all the other tie rods on the car were also in shaky condition, and fixing one of these puppies, in this neck of the woods, costs upwards of $400. Plus, the car was a 1994 Escort -- hard to find parts for it, at this point. Plus, the floor was rusting out altogether, and in NH, your car doesn't pass the state inspection if the floor is rusted. (Doesn't matter if the headlights are out of balance, or even if the tie rods are about to fall apart -- as I learned one September, after a state inspection the previous month -- but that floor had better be good and solid. Go figure.)
Fortunately, we paid cash for the first car, so we only have one car payment to handle. But the hubster was considering retirement, before this latest discovery. Now - well, who knows?
Anyway, what occasioned the name change was meeting an actual person named Molly at the Summer School. Charity forbids my saying very much about this, umm, interesting person, except to note that she was a third-year student this year, and is the only person I have ever seen conduct a choir with a hula motion. Most of us conduct with the "opposable thumbs" approach, i.e., we move our arms in opposite directions from each other. Molly conducted by moving her arms in the same direction at once. She did get her certificate -- I'm not sure if it was because she didn't fall apart altogether during the final exam, or because they would do anything to make sure she didn't come back.
She had other idiosyncrasies. Let's just leave it at that. But I knew that if I ever referred to "Molly" again, it wouldn't be my little red car I'd be thinking of. Hence, the name change.
And, just before we left for Jordanville, we got another Toyota Matrix. This one's pure white, and its name is "Snoopy." It started out life as "E. B." (the hubster being an admirer of E. B. White), but "Snoopy" fits it much better. Its purchase was occasioned by a broken tie rod, followed by the discovery that all the other tie rods on the car were also in shaky condition, and fixing one of these puppies, in this neck of the woods, costs upwards of $400. Plus, the car was a 1994 Escort -- hard to find parts for it, at this point. Plus, the floor was rusting out altogether, and in NH, your car doesn't pass the state inspection if the floor is rusted. (Doesn't matter if the headlights are out of balance, or even if the tie rods are about to fall apart -- as I learned one September, after a state inspection the previous month -- but that floor had better be good and solid. Go figure.)
Fortunately, we paid cash for the first car, so we only have one car payment to handle. But the hubster was considering retirement, before this latest discovery. Now - well, who knows?
Sunday, August 05, 2007
He can't have been really 20, but...
...he looked it, the young man standing in church four Sundays ago, up there in Jordanville. Very Russian-looking, short blond hair, slight build, looking very solemn and serious -- with three children clustered around him, two little girls about 7 or 8, and a little boy about 3. In the more conservative ROCOR churches, men stand on the right-hand side of the church, and women stand on the left, and usually, the children stand with the women, so this young man was all the more noticeable with his three little children clustered around him, each little girl holding a hand, and the little boy smack up against his front. And they just stood there, from about the Gospel onwards.
Now, because Jordanville is a hierarchical seat, services there take a long time. A Sunday Liturgy can take three hours. People wander in and out throughout; you get to a point where you need a "seventh-inning stretch," as my Church Slavonic instructor once put it, so you drift outside and sit for awhile, get some fresh air, then wander back in and find a place to stand. Not this family. They just stayed put the whole time, and let me tell you, those kids didn't move an inch. Yet there was no question of the affection between father and children; he let them do pretty much anything they liked with his hands, and when one of the little girls let go, his son (looked just like him!) promptly picked up the hand and put it on top of his head.
Then, just before Communion, the dad leaned down and whispered to one of the girls, who nodded, and then he took off, leaving the three children behind. I saw them craning their necks to watch him go, and wondered what that was all about. A few minutes he reappeared--with an infant in his arms. And shepherded the three other children up for Communion, along with the infant.
This guy has four children.
I saw him for all the Sundays I was in Jordanville. The second Sunday, the kids stayed with him, and I was interested to see his method of "discipline": When the little boy put his hands into his pockets, the dad just reached down and gently removed the hands, then put them at the boy's side. And they stayed there. The third Sunday, I saw the same children, but this time with a sweet-looking young woman who actually let them sit down on one of the stools placed around the cathedral. It was amusing to note that they were actually a little wigglier with her around! At Communion time, dad reappeared--apparently, this time he had "infant duty"--and after Communion, those kids just moved to his side and stayed there, although mom was still in church.
When church let out, those kids reverted to being kids--not that they were remotely whiney, but just racing around all over the place, blowing off steam--and the parents just stood there talking, with the dad swinging the infant back and forth in its car seat, chatting easily with his wife and smiling. He certainly didn't come across as some kind of disciplinarian fanatic, but somehow, he had gotten across to his kids how to behave in church, and they did.
I couldn't help contrasting their behavior with the American kids I know, who are so rambunctious and make their presence such an ordeal for everyone around them--not necessarily at Liturgy, more like in the public sphere (like grocery stores), but even at church, kids raised by American parents are much more disruptive than these kids were. What is it about Russian parents and children? I mean, these weren't the only kids in church, but the only thing that made them noticeable was their father, who really did look about 20 years old. The other kids in church were just as well-behaved. As my husband said (he was there for the third Sunday, and I pointed out the family), they knew that church was a special place, and that they were supposed to have "church manners."
I wish I knew how Russians do it. And I wish they'd share the secret with today's parents.
Now, because Jordanville is a hierarchical seat, services there take a long time. A Sunday Liturgy can take three hours. People wander in and out throughout; you get to a point where you need a "seventh-inning stretch," as my Church Slavonic instructor once put it, so you drift outside and sit for awhile, get some fresh air, then wander back in and find a place to stand. Not this family. They just stayed put the whole time, and let me tell you, those kids didn't move an inch. Yet there was no question of the affection between father and children; he let them do pretty much anything they liked with his hands, and when one of the little girls let go, his son (looked just like him!) promptly picked up the hand and put it on top of his head.
Then, just before Communion, the dad leaned down and whispered to one of the girls, who nodded, and then he took off, leaving the three children behind. I saw them craning their necks to watch him go, and wondered what that was all about. A few minutes he reappeared--with an infant in his arms. And shepherded the three other children up for Communion, along with the infant.
This guy has four children.
I saw him for all the Sundays I was in Jordanville. The second Sunday, the kids stayed with him, and I was interested to see his method of "discipline": When the little boy put his hands into his pockets, the dad just reached down and gently removed the hands, then put them at the boy's side. And they stayed there. The third Sunday, I saw the same children, but this time with a sweet-looking young woman who actually let them sit down on one of the stools placed around the cathedral. It was amusing to note that they were actually a little wigglier with her around! At Communion time, dad reappeared--apparently, this time he had "infant duty"--and after Communion, those kids just moved to his side and stayed there, although mom was still in church.
When church let out, those kids reverted to being kids--not that they were remotely whiney, but just racing around all over the place, blowing off steam--and the parents just stood there talking, with the dad swinging the infant back and forth in its car seat, chatting easily with his wife and smiling. He certainly didn't come across as some kind of disciplinarian fanatic, but somehow, he had gotten across to his kids how to behave in church, and they did.
I couldn't help contrasting their behavior with the American kids I know, who are so rambunctious and make their presence such an ordeal for everyone around them--not necessarily at Liturgy, more like in the public sphere (like grocery stores), but even at church, kids raised by American parents are much more disruptive than these kids were. What is it about Russian parents and children? I mean, these weren't the only kids in church, but the only thing that made them noticeable was their father, who really did look about 20 years old. The other kids in church were just as well-behaved. As my husband said (he was there for the third Sunday, and I pointed out the family), they knew that church was a special place, and that they were supposed to have "church manners."
I wish I knew how Russians do it. And I wish they'd share the secret with today's parents.
Saturday, August 04, 2007
Back to Our Sheep!
Yes, I know I've been back for two weeks. The first week, Jim was still working from home, so the computer was virtually unavailable. The second week, while he was gone on a business trip -- believe it or not, I was still catching up from my trip to Jordanville!
And what a trip it was. It did rain quite a bit -- actually, just about every day -- but even so, the highs each day were in the 60s, which is my kind of weather (the kids from California, though, were freezing!). I did actually complete my goal, which was the first course in Church Slavonic -- whether or not I passed, is still up for grabs, since the grades appear not to have been submitted, but for the first time ever, I answered every single question on the test, so I'm hopeful. I met, of course, a number of young people who were utterly charming, as well as one lady a bit closer to me in age, who was helping out in the kitchen (bless her) and who is well known in ROCOR circles as a producer of Church music. (I don't want to use her name without her permission.)
And it was so nice to catch up with all the instructors out there, especially the Choral Methods instructor, Nikolai Alexeyevich Myshkin. Last time I was in Jordanville, he gave me his address and said I could write to him; but I held off doing that until I could do so in Russian. Well, I finally did write to him, all in Russian, at the beginning of June, thinking it would take a week or two to get there -- he told me he got my letter two hours before he was due to leave for the States! It took a whole month to get there! I sat in on a couple of his classes, which I had already taken and passed, just for the purpose of seeing how much I could pick up in Russian (he only teaches in that language, and people in the class provide the translation). I understood about half, and I find, since coming back home, that I'm much more willing to take a chance in writing in the Russian language.
WHOA! I HAVE BEEN WANTING TO DO THAT FOR 45 YEARS, AND NOW I'M DOING IT! You can't imagine the thrill!
I had a number of experiences out there that I'd like to blog about, but don't want this to become too long, so I will just post this last bit, and then hope to post more during the week: On the Saturday when we were taking our final tests in the various subjects, I was having breakfast, cramming for Church Slavonic, when in walked that instructor. He sat down to have his own breakfast, and naturally, since he wasn't taking any tests, he proceeded to hold a conversation with one of the other non-students present. I listened in for a bit, then opened up my Slavonic notes and said, "Well, back to the salt mines." And this particular instructor added, "Or, as the Russians say, 'Back to our sheep.'"
SHEEP?!?!
I asked a couple of the native Russians there if they had ever heard that expression, and they told me that yes, it comes from a movie that was made a number of years ago, about two peasants who go to court over a charge of sheep-stealing. The movie was supposed to be a complete mock on the Soviet government, with the two peasants railing at each other about every conceivable aspect of their lives, and periodically the judge would bang his gavel and yell, "Back to our sheep!" The Russians use this expression nowadays to mean, "Let's get back to business."
And so, those of you who read this blog -- "Back to our sheep!" Let's get back to blogging!
And what a trip it was. It did rain quite a bit -- actually, just about every day -- but even so, the highs each day were in the 60s, which is my kind of weather (the kids from California, though, were freezing!). I did actually complete my goal, which was the first course in Church Slavonic -- whether or not I passed, is still up for grabs, since the grades appear not to have been submitted, but for the first time ever, I answered every single question on the test, so I'm hopeful. I met, of course, a number of young people who were utterly charming, as well as one lady a bit closer to me in age, who was helping out in the kitchen (bless her) and who is well known in ROCOR circles as a producer of Church music. (I don't want to use her name without her permission.)
And it was so nice to catch up with all the instructors out there, especially the Choral Methods instructor, Nikolai Alexeyevich Myshkin. Last time I was in Jordanville, he gave me his address and said I could write to him; but I held off doing that until I could do so in Russian. Well, I finally did write to him, all in Russian, at the beginning of June, thinking it would take a week or two to get there -- he told me he got my letter two hours before he was due to leave for the States! It took a whole month to get there! I sat in on a couple of his classes, which I had already taken and passed, just for the purpose of seeing how much I could pick up in Russian (he only teaches in that language, and people in the class provide the translation). I understood about half, and I find, since coming back home, that I'm much more willing to take a chance in writing in the Russian language.
WHOA! I HAVE BEEN WANTING TO DO THAT FOR 45 YEARS, AND NOW I'M DOING IT! You can't imagine the thrill!
I had a number of experiences out there that I'd like to blog about, but don't want this to become too long, so I will just post this last bit, and then hope to post more during the week: On the Saturday when we were taking our final tests in the various subjects, I was having breakfast, cramming for Church Slavonic, when in walked that instructor. He sat down to have his own breakfast, and naturally, since he wasn't taking any tests, he proceeded to hold a conversation with one of the other non-students present. I listened in for a bit, then opened up my Slavonic notes and said, "Well, back to the salt mines." And this particular instructor added, "Or, as the Russians say, 'Back to our sheep.'"
SHEEP?!?!
I asked a couple of the native Russians there if they had ever heard that expression, and they told me that yes, it comes from a movie that was made a number of years ago, about two peasants who go to court over a charge of sheep-stealing. The movie was supposed to be a complete mock on the Soviet government, with the two peasants railing at each other about every conceivable aspect of their lives, and periodically the judge would bang his gavel and yell, "Back to our sheep!" The Russians use this expression nowadays to mean, "Let's get back to business."
And so, those of you who read this blog -- "Back to our sheep!" Let's get back to blogging!
Wednesday, July 04, 2007
And Speaking of Singing...
...as I was a couple of posts ago, I'm off on Friday for two weeks of singing Russian Orthodox Church music.
There's a monastery in upstate New York, not too far from the Baseball Museum in Cooperstown, which hosts the Summer School of Liturgical Music for two weeks every summer. If you go through all the courses, over a three-year period, you are certified as a choir director and/or Reader in the Russian Orthodox Church Outside of Russia. I completed this course in 2003, went back in 2004 to help out in the kitchen (and sing, of course), missed it in 2005 for my grandson's second birthday -- I'll never do that again -- and last year, well, we know about that.
So I need this course this year. I plan to take a couple of refresher courses in Choral Conducting Methods and Church Music History, and, never having passed Church Slavonic, I really want to take that course for a (ahem) fourth time. Well, come on, most folks who take it at least have to read the stuff in church on Sundays. Until a few years ago, I never even knew it existed.
Now, I do attend a Greek church. So why am I taking courses in Russian Orthodox choral singing? Well, apart from the chance to sing four hours a day, with music composed by the likes of Rachmaninov, when I began the course I was in fact a choir director. Shortly after completing the first third of the course, my choir and I had a falling out, and I have not conducted since then, but the course material itself is so compelling that I just had to go back and finish it out, and I did.
However, there is now an ulterior motive: We have a new priest. I have met him, like him very much, and spoken with him at length about the parish, the choir, and the fact that although there are a number of Russians in the area, they don't seem to feel awfully comfortable at our church. They show up for Pascha, then crawl back into the woodwork until the next year. He would like to change that.
My husband points out that any such effort is likely to put a number of Greek noses far out of joint, and he's probably right about that. Some folks in the parish are still in a snit that they've had to put up with a non-Greek priest for the past six years, and the new priest is also not Greek, but Romanian. Still, seven years ago they didn't even want to have English in the parish, and now they use it all the time, so I hope that there's hope. If you focus on the Church as a spiritual hospital, this isn't usually a problem, but if you focus on it as an ethnic club, that's where the sparks fly. Will keep you all posted how this goes.
Meanwhile, I shall shortly be off for my spiritual "fix" for the year. I need it.
There's a monastery in upstate New York, not too far from the Baseball Museum in Cooperstown, which hosts the Summer School of Liturgical Music for two weeks every summer. If you go through all the courses, over a three-year period, you are certified as a choir director and/or Reader in the Russian Orthodox Church Outside of Russia. I completed this course in 2003, went back in 2004 to help out in the kitchen (and sing, of course), missed it in 2005 for my grandson's second birthday -- I'll never do that again -- and last year, well, we know about that.
So I need this course this year. I plan to take a couple of refresher courses in Choral Conducting Methods and Church Music History, and, never having passed Church Slavonic, I really want to take that course for a (ahem) fourth time. Well, come on, most folks who take it at least have to read the stuff in church on Sundays. Until a few years ago, I never even knew it existed.
Now, I do attend a Greek church. So why am I taking courses in Russian Orthodox choral singing? Well, apart from the chance to sing four hours a day, with music composed by the likes of Rachmaninov, when I began the course I was in fact a choir director. Shortly after completing the first third of the course, my choir and I had a falling out, and I have not conducted since then, but the course material itself is so compelling that I just had to go back and finish it out, and I did.
However, there is now an ulterior motive: We have a new priest. I have met him, like him very much, and spoken with him at length about the parish, the choir, and the fact that although there are a number of Russians in the area, they don't seem to feel awfully comfortable at our church. They show up for Pascha, then crawl back into the woodwork until the next year. He would like to change that.
My husband points out that any such effort is likely to put a number of Greek noses far out of joint, and he's probably right about that. Some folks in the parish are still in a snit that they've had to put up with a non-Greek priest for the past six years, and the new priest is also not Greek, but Romanian. Still, seven years ago they didn't even want to have English in the parish, and now they use it all the time, so I hope that there's hope. If you focus on the Church as a spiritual hospital, this isn't usually a problem, but if you focus on it as an ethnic club, that's where the sparks fly. Will keep you all posted how this goes.
Meanwhile, I shall shortly be off for my spiritual "fix" for the year. I need it.
Monday, June 18, 2007
Tagged by Emily
See links to other blogs at right. I wasn't specifically tagged, but she said, "anyone reading this post," so Good Little Do-Bee that I am, I thought I'd play along.
Rules: After posting these rules, each player proceeds to list 8 relatively random facts/habits about himself/herself. At the end of the post, the player then tags 8 people and posts their names, leaving them a comment on their blogs to let them know.
1. Although I love to sing, I'm not all that wild about opera. Go figure.
2. Speaking of singing, my late aunt told me once that I could sing before I could talk. Whoa.
3. I have never been able to sit around in my jammies for very long, and prefer to get dressed the second I get up.
4. I loved being a secretary. If I'm not sitting at a typewriter or keyboard, I don't feel as if I'm working.
5. I would have loved to have at least half a dozen children, but got a late start. Sigh.
6. I am a shocking housekeeper, despite really loving a clean and tidy home. It's tempting to say that it's hard to be clean and tidy when living with a packrat, but I seem to have developed tendencies along those lines myself.
7. If my chores aren't done by 9:00 a.m., they won't get done at all.
8. Despite my terror of flying, I actually do hope to make it to Russia one day.
Tagging: anyone who reads this blog, since I appear to have just six readers, per Bloglines.
Rules: After posting these rules, each player proceeds to list 8 relatively random facts/habits about himself/herself. At the end of the post, the player then tags 8 people and posts their names, leaving them a comment on their blogs to let them know.
1. Although I love to sing, I'm not all that wild about opera. Go figure.
2. Speaking of singing, my late aunt told me once that I could sing before I could talk. Whoa.
3. I have never been able to sit around in my jammies for very long, and prefer to get dressed the second I get up.
4. I loved being a secretary. If I'm not sitting at a typewriter or keyboard, I don't feel as if I'm working.
5. I would have loved to have at least half a dozen children, but got a late start. Sigh.
6. I am a shocking housekeeper, despite really loving a clean and tidy home. It's tempting to say that it's hard to be clean and tidy when living with a packrat, but I seem to have developed tendencies along those lines myself.
7. If my chores aren't done by 9:00 a.m., they won't get done at all.
8. Despite my terror of flying, I actually do hope to make it to Russia one day.
Tagging: anyone who reads this blog, since I appear to have just six readers, per Bloglines.
Sunday, June 17, 2007
You Must See This
Over on the right are links to my favorite blogs ("Other Sheep of This Fold"). Click on Nancy's (Treasured Heart) to see something that -- well, it took my breath away. You do have to let it run for a couple of seconds before you realize what it's about, and turn up the sound -- it's well worth it.
Update: Paul Potts won the competition! Elizabeth, God bless her, has posted all three of his performances on her blog, and when I clicked on over to You-Tube, there was also a clip of the announcement that he was the winner. Just thrilled for this guy, and so very, very pleased that culture is not dead, after all.
Update: Paul Potts won the competition! Elizabeth, God bless her, has posted all three of his performances on her blog, and when I clicked on over to You-Tube, there was also a clip of the announcement that he was the winner. Just thrilled for this guy, and so very, very pleased that culture is not dead, after all.
Dictionary definition of "Margaret"
| How could I resist? Margaret -- [noun]: A real life muppet 'How will you be defined in the dictionary?' at QuizGalaxy.com |
Friday, June 08, 2007
Red Alert
Ever since last August -- I think we all know what happened then -- I have had a really difficult time keeping to my prayer rule. At that time, I'm sure it was just sheer physical exhaustion, as my body recovered from a major assault on it, and then from a life-threatening illness (turns out that MRSA kills a lot of people). Also, dh was home a great deal, and over the years, he's made it plain that he thinks prayer is for "holy rollers."
Well -- his tune has gradually changed, and since he's been home this past month, recuperating from his own stay in the hospital -- I think I blogged about that -- he doesn't seem to mind my praying so much. This week, when I reminded him that I was fasting (he wanted to fix me eggs for breakfast), he just said, "Oh! Okay!" This is a major change for him.
So there isn't too much excuse for the fact that I managed a bare minimum, sometimes, of prayer rule throughout Lent and the Paschal season. I'm just starting to get into it a bit more regularly now. It's embarrassing; I'll have to bring it up in confession; but until today, I haven't been able to figure out what the problem is.
Today I got it. Now I just have to remember it, which is why I'm blogging about it.
When Jim's home, I'm on nonstop Red Alert, a military term for, "Be ready to leap into action at a moment's notice." Yep, that's me.
What happened this morning was that as I was debating whether or not to get into my prayer rule, at 8:30 a.m. (it takes about an hour to do the whole thing), Jim suddenly shouted, "Do you consider this redundant?" and proceeded to quote a sentence that, well, actually was redundant. He does this all the time, bouncing grammar rules off me; he's actually very savvy with the English language himself, but if he isn't sure about a point, it's me he comes to. And while it's flattering, it's also very interfering.
"Would you put a semicolon here?"
"Is a colon followed by one space or two?" (It's two. Semicolons are one space.)
"How does this sound to your ear?" (Reads the rough draft of a report he's doing for work.)
"How many days did I work from home last month?"
Etc.
When he goes into Boston to work, this is not a problem, only when he works from home. Sometimes I feel like saying, "There is life in Rochester when you aren't here, I don't live in a state of suspended animation until you get home, so please stop acting as if I had nothing better to do all day than dance attendance on you." In the heat of the summer, it gets real interesting; he leaves off working around 3:00 (having worked since 6:00 a.m., so all you taxpayers are still getting your money's worth!), and then I'm supposed to Drop Everything at a moment's notice so we can drive up to his favorite swimming hole, where he swims for a couple of hours while I work on embroidery and stew about dinner, which I will still have to prepare when we get back home. Why do I have to go along? It's More Fun with me along.
Do any of you married women have a similar situation, or is this yet another manifestation of the Generation Gap?!?!
And you single gals: Think about this, when you get to hankering after being married. You don't have a life. You're on nonstop Red Alert.
Well -- his tune has gradually changed, and since he's been home this past month, recuperating from his own stay in the hospital -- I think I blogged about that -- he doesn't seem to mind my praying so much. This week, when I reminded him that I was fasting (he wanted to fix me eggs for breakfast), he just said, "Oh! Okay!" This is a major change for him.
So there isn't too much excuse for the fact that I managed a bare minimum, sometimes, of prayer rule throughout Lent and the Paschal season. I'm just starting to get into it a bit more regularly now. It's embarrassing; I'll have to bring it up in confession; but until today, I haven't been able to figure out what the problem is.
Today I got it. Now I just have to remember it, which is why I'm blogging about it.
When Jim's home, I'm on nonstop Red Alert, a military term for, "Be ready to leap into action at a moment's notice." Yep, that's me.
What happened this morning was that as I was debating whether or not to get into my prayer rule, at 8:30 a.m. (it takes about an hour to do the whole thing), Jim suddenly shouted, "Do you consider this redundant?" and proceeded to quote a sentence that, well, actually was redundant. He does this all the time, bouncing grammar rules off me; he's actually very savvy with the English language himself, but if he isn't sure about a point, it's me he comes to. And while it's flattering, it's also very interfering.
"Would you put a semicolon here?"
"Is a colon followed by one space or two?" (It's two. Semicolons are one space.)
"How does this sound to your ear?" (Reads the rough draft of a report he's doing for work.)
"How many days did I work from home last month?"
Etc.
When he goes into Boston to work, this is not a problem, only when he works from home. Sometimes I feel like saying, "There is life in Rochester when you aren't here, I don't live in a state of suspended animation until you get home, so please stop acting as if I had nothing better to do all day than dance attendance on you." In the heat of the summer, it gets real interesting; he leaves off working around 3:00 (having worked since 6:00 a.m., so all you taxpayers are still getting your money's worth!), and then I'm supposed to Drop Everything at a moment's notice so we can drive up to his favorite swimming hole, where he swims for a couple of hours while I work on embroidery and stew about dinner, which I will still have to prepare when we get back home. Why do I have to go along? It's More Fun with me along.
Do any of you married women have a similar situation, or is this yet another manifestation of the Generation Gap?!?!
And you single gals: Think about this, when you get to hankering after being married. You don't have a life. You're on nonstop Red Alert.
Wednesday, June 06, 2007
White Flower
With thanks to Philippa:
| You Are a White Flower |
 A white flower tends to represent purity, simple beauty, and modesty. At times, you are dignified like a magnolia. And at other times, you represent great ecstasy, like a white orchid. And more than you wish, you're a little boastful, like a white hydrangea. |
Wednesday, May 30, 2007
HO-LY COWWWWWWWWW...
...as Phil Rizzuto used to say when Mickey Mantle would knock one clear over the bleachers.
This morning I finally got to watch "Ostrov," or "The Island," in English, a Russian film with English subtitles that I have been reading about since last December. I did buy it as far back as February -- didn't know that there were two different formats for watching this baby. The European format is PAL, and it's supposed to be superior to NTSC, which is the American format -- so why aren't we using NTSC (referred to, by a priest of my acquaintance, as "Never The Same Color")? Go figure.
Anyway, I am still reeling. Everyone said, "You gotta see this film, it's a must-see," and I concur. Absolutely. The only caveat I would add is that it really helps to be Orthodox; otherwise, the protagonist just looks like a nut. But if you're Orthodox, you understand up front that he's a Fool-for-Christ, and that his wacko behavior is what makes possible the many miracles that take place in the movie.
It's also a good reality check for those of us who aspire to the monastic state. In the beginning of the film, during WWII, he's humping coal on a barge, and 30 years later, at the monastery, he's still humping coal, keeping the monastery's fires stoked. This is not an easy thing to do in a Soviet-era monastery; the Soviets made sure that living conditions were, well, unliveable, and there many scenes that show just how difficult this monk's life is, even by monastic standards.
What I came away with: All of us really are called to this radical way of life. Not to giving up our homes and families, or those things that go along with having homes and families, but those little luxuries we allow ourselves (like that ice cream I had when I got home from shopping because "I needed to make room in the freezer". Really. Honest to Pete).
I will have to watch this movie a lot more often to internalize it, but on first seeing -- it was, to me, a call to monasticism while living in the world. Oh, two other things I got from it: one, you don't choose the monastery, God places you in it (this monk would never have become a monk if he hadn't been dragged there by monks who were trying to save his life). And two, from a scene where the monk is reading Psalm 1, "Blessed is the man": "He shall bring forth his fruit in its season." In its season: How many of us try to rush this season? I sure do. I want fruit now. I keep forgetting that the same God Who created that peach tree out in my back yard, created me, and it's entirely possible that I'm no readier to bear fruit than that peach tree is, right this very second. I'll have to wait till September to slurp up its tiny, perfect peaches. And whatever season it is when I'm ready to bear fruit: that's not for me to know.
Get this movie, if at all possible.
This morning I finally got to watch "Ostrov," or "The Island," in English, a Russian film with English subtitles that I have been reading about since last December. I did buy it as far back as February -- didn't know that there were two different formats for watching this baby. The European format is PAL, and it's supposed to be superior to NTSC, which is the American format -- so why aren't we using NTSC (referred to, by a priest of my acquaintance, as "Never The Same Color")? Go figure.
Anyway, I am still reeling. Everyone said, "You gotta see this film, it's a must-see," and I concur. Absolutely. The only caveat I would add is that it really helps to be Orthodox; otherwise, the protagonist just looks like a nut. But if you're Orthodox, you understand up front that he's a Fool-for-Christ, and that his wacko behavior is what makes possible the many miracles that take place in the movie.
It's also a good reality check for those of us who aspire to the monastic state. In the beginning of the film, during WWII, he's humping coal on a barge, and 30 years later, at the monastery, he's still humping coal, keeping the monastery's fires stoked. This is not an easy thing to do in a Soviet-era monastery; the Soviets made sure that living conditions were, well, unliveable, and there many scenes that show just how difficult this monk's life is, even by monastic standards.
What I came away with: All of us really are called to this radical way of life. Not to giving up our homes and families, or those things that go along with having homes and families, but those little luxuries we allow ourselves (like that ice cream I had when I got home from shopping because "I needed to make room in the freezer". Really. Honest to Pete).
I will have to watch this movie a lot more often to internalize it, but on first seeing -- it was, to me, a call to monasticism while living in the world. Oh, two other things I got from it: one, you don't choose the monastery, God places you in it (this monk would never have become a monk if he hadn't been dragged there by monks who were trying to save his life). And two, from a scene where the monk is reading Psalm 1, "Blessed is the man": "He shall bring forth his fruit in its season." In its season: How many of us try to rush this season? I sure do. I want fruit now. I keep forgetting that the same God Who created that peach tree out in my back yard, created me, and it's entirely possible that I'm no readier to bear fruit than that peach tree is, right this very second. I'll have to wait till September to slurp up its tiny, perfect peaches. And whatever season it is when I'm ready to bear fruit: that's not for me to know.
Get this movie, if at all possible.
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