KQ's garden

Thanksgivings

2011-11-29T22:07:00.000-08:00

You know, for someone who is a fairly traditional person... for someone who was raised with something of an Norman Rockwell mentality... I have had some pretty odd Thanksgivings.
Back in the day when my kids were less independent (a.k.a. before they were grownups) we had what I called even and odd years. On the even years, we were all together: my kids, my folks, my siblings - everyone. It was great. It's always great when we are all together. I am/we are so blessed. And then there were the odd years. My kids were with their dad, my siblings were with their in-laws, and I was... mostly left to fend for myself. Those holidays were certainly odd. I've made some interesting choices.
There was the year that I was invited to spend Thanksgiving in Louisville. I got to spend quite a bit of time with T. and Marty, and meet T.'s family, which was great. And Louisville is beautiful. (My joke with T. is: I'd love to see it some time!) I had a nice solo ramble through a neighborhood cemetery. And I saw Churchill Downs from the airplane window. Mostly, I was indoors with a lot of cigarette smoke. But it was great. Also: a little weird.

There was another year, also with T. At the time he had a lot of friends in the Folsom (gay) leather crowd. We went to a woman's house in Dublin. Her name, I was told, was "Mama", and she takes in all the orphaned gay men and their friends for the holiday meal. I did a big number on my own head before I even got there. It was fairly ordinary holiday gathering. And it was quite a trip.
The most incredible holiday meal I have ever experienced was with my kids in Seattle. There was to be a gathering at J.'s friend's house, pot luck. We arrived on time, sweet potatoes in hand. Counting us, there were 6 people in the house. The TV was on, tuned to something bizarre (maybe that was just me), and everyone in the house was turned towards the tube. There was no table. All attempts at conversation fell like a lead balloon. It was the longest two and a half hours I have ever spent. Ever.
This year was a bit odd, but pales in comparison to anything mentioned above. I was sick with a cold, so I spent the day all alone. I just couldn't risk infecting anyone - especially Dad - with my cooties. And ya know, it was fine. I slept in, snacked a little, talked to my son, my daughter and T. on the phone, made a little thanksgiving photo album on facebook, watched a lot of TV (mostly The Waltons), baked a pumpkin pie without a crust. And when the day was over, my mom dropped off a huge tray of leftovers from the family dinner.
So blessed, am I!

Mmmm...

2011-08-09T08:00:00.000-07:00

Don't you just love summer tomatoes?

I like leaving them out on the counter in a pretty bowl... preferably, made by my sister!

Even though they are pricier than grocery store 'maters, I go a little crazy with the heirlooms at the farmer's market this time of year. They are 120% tastier, meatier and fresher than grocery store tomatoes, so I don't feel too bad about the expense. I like to get at least one of every color, and a nice mix of sizes - from bigger-than-my-head (almost) to the teensy tiny ones - and before I know it, I've got about seven pounds of tomatoes.

As much as I love them, it can be a challenge to finish them off before they go bad. You can't refrigerate them or they'll turn into mushy, flavorless things, and you know rotten tomatoes do no one any good!

So what to do? Well, I've found a few simple, lovely things to do with Summer's "love apples". Ridiculously simple, so here you go:

Broil 'em:

Cut in half or slice thickly - should be no more than 2" tall -as many tomatoes as you think you might eat. Place on an broil-proof pan, sprinkle with herbs (unless I have some nice fresh stuff, I use the generic "italian seasoning" because I'm just not very picky.) Sprinkle with parmesean cheese. Broil until cheese is melty and tomatoes have wilted.

Marinate 'em:

A few hours before meal time, cut tomatoes into bite-sized chunks and place in a non-reactive bowl. Add to this: one clove finely chopped fresh garlic, torn or minced fresh basil, oregano, ground pepper, red pepper flakes. Toss gently. Pour some good olive oil over all, and toss gently again. Cover. Leave this on the counter for at least 2 hours. The tomatoes will release their juices and make a lovely accompaniment to pasta or as a bruschetta topping - no cooking!

but above all, enjoy 'em!

&**%$##!!!!! (part 3)

2011-08-08T08:00:00.000-07:00

"It is not what goes into the mouth that defiles a person, but it is what comes out of the mouth that defiles.
"What comes out of the mouth proceeds from the heart, and this is what defiles. For out of the heart come evil intentions, murder, adultery, fornication, theft, false witness, slander. These are what defile a person..."
Matthew 15: 11, 18-20

I've heard the above passages cited as an argument against profanity. But I have to wonder and ask: does a cuss word really defile? Is swearing the fruit of "evil intentions, murder, adultery" etc.? I'm thinking that perhaps Jesus was not referring to those "seven dirty words" that George Carlin was so fond of. (And no, I'm not going to link to those. You can find them easily enough if you are so inclined!)

I think Jesus meant that evil ideas and actions (kind of like the legal definition of free speech) - whether spoken, written or acted upon - are what defile us. It is the recurrent theme of the Gospels: what is in our heart matters to God. Our appearance, wealth and language do not.

I know a young woman - a friend of my kids - who is a devout Christian and an avid Giants fan. She was enamored of Brian Wilson (and this was before the beard), in part because he is not shy about proclaiming his Christian faith. (There is a lovely article about that here.) But one day she saw a game where he gave up a crucial hit, and let an unmistakeable F-bomb fly with full force.

kind of like that.

(photo from google images)

She said that it changed her opinion of him. I was surprised at this, and sarcastically wise-cracked, "yeah, because of course we know that professional ball players never swear..." It gave her pause, and I think she eventually changed her tune. (Besides, Brian's not only an amazing athlete and bone fide goofball, he is a genuinely Good Guy.)

Maybe sometimes profanity is the only way we can express our passion in the heat of the moment. Not all of us can be creative in these moments.

I'm coming to understand that the use or non-use of those few words have little to do with our personal faith walks. After all, what is more harmful: to withhold care for the poor, or an expletive? To wage violence, or to let fly with an angry cuss word? I really think that God cares much less about the words we use than what abides in our hearts.

&**%$##!!!!! (part 2)

2011-08-07T07:00:00.000-07:00

I remember clearly when an incident at church made me think about my usage and tolerance of profanity. We were between pastors, and our young "pulpit supply" guest minister used the word "suck" repeatedly throughout his sermon. As in, "that really sucks". I was flabbergasted the first time, and annoyed at every repetition. Now, I admit that "suck" is one of my least favorite words as it is currently used in our language. But even with that factored out, it was inappropriate. The casual use of "suck" - "pissed off" is another example - in our vernacular has crept in to the point where it is fairly mainstream. Maybe the young pastor thought he was being edgy or cool, and it might be so in another setting. But he bombed in the pulpit. There is a time and place for everything, and language usage is no exception.

I was watching an episode of Martha Stewart the other day, and she had Ted Danson on the show. He accidentally let out a minor cuss word while they were cooking - on live tv - and immediately realized what he'd done. It's amusing... watch it here. It was their conversation that follows that I found interesting:

Ted: Do you ever swear when you're cooking?

Martha: [sarcastic] Oh, never. I never swear.

I really never thought of Martha as particularly profane, but as they discussed later (not in the above clip), everybody swears.

Well, nearly everybody.

Properly used, a cuss word can be very effective. Especially if one is not prone to using that part of the vocabulary, you're pretty much guaranteed to elicit a head turn when you do slip one in.

Even more impressive in my book, though, is the creative use of non-profane expletives. I know a woman who is a master of this. Her "aw, shucks" might be the most sincere expression of regret I've ever heard. (She also regularly uses "golly", and the more emphatic "golly gee".) "Crikey" is good. So are "fie!" and "nertz!". A former boss used "Jeezel Petes" - that was fun. Anybody remember Mork's "shazbot!"? Yeah, I enjoy those. I'm nearly as impressed when corporate advertising gets in the act:

*** to be concluded ***

&**%$##!!!!!

2011-08-06T12:41:00.000-07:00

Cussing.

We all have different ways of using the language, don't we? Profanity is pervasive in our society, and the tolerance level for the words has risen to the point that it just doesn't matter to some people. A righteous and upstanding citizen can let a blue streak go - and yet, no harm is done. No lightening strikes.

Things certainly have changed. From HMS Pinafore's "damme" uttered by Captain Corcoran in 1879, to Clark Gable's "frankly, my dear..." in 1939, to current film and television, society's tolerance and understanding of swearing has changed dramatically. I might be a little behind the times. An example: the now-defunct "Six Feet Under". It was a fun, quirky show about a family of funeral directors. I liked it, but I have to admit that when I watched it I was pretty appalled by the language. I actually counted during one episode, and if I recall correctly there were 23 F-bombs in those 55 minutes. I'm not a prude by any stretch of the imagination, but I think that is excessive. I'm not a fan of the casual use of expletives. In many cases - as my ex-husband used to say - swearing only serves as proof of a limited vocabulary.

I remember learning all of the words and what they meant (more or less) when I was a young lass in middle school. And I used them, boy oh boy. In fact, I was able to achieve grammatically correct, multiple four-letter word sentences on a fairly regular basis. Never in front of my parents, of course.

she doesn't LOOK like a potty mouth, does she?

That is, until that one day when Dad heard me drop an F-bomb while I was playing outside with the neighborhood kids. You might wonder what his reaction was - but I can't tell you, because when he bellowed my name, I flew inside the house and disappeared into my bedroom as fast as I could! I don't think I came out for a week. I suppose Dad thought that my obvious shame and self-imposed grounding was punishment enough! By the time I reached high school (at the ripe old age of 14,) I realized that what I had was a bad habit. I swore reflexively, without thought or moderation. And so I decided to quit. To this day, I've learned that because I cannot seem to exercise moderation in this area, it's either complete abstinence or fairly "loose lips". I've chosen abstinence, and I don't swear freely any longer - well... hardly ever.

Like many instances of personal freedom, I don't really mind if you swear. I mean, sure - gratuitous, casual cussing won't necessarily endear you to me. And if I hang out with you on a regular basis, I might inadvertently pick some of that up from you. That would bug me; it would disturb my soul, and I'd have to re-moderate myself. (But that's my problem, not yours!)

My current stance: these are real words, not evil or even necessarily harmful. As long as they are not turned into weapons, what do I care?

****to be continued****

lemonade

2011-07-10T00:26:00.001-07:00

So. I finally looked at the pictures that have been in my camera for two weeks, ever since the 2011 Q Fambly Campout. (It was a tender, lovely, cohesive and a little-bit strange weekend. But mostly wonderful.)

Not all of the photos turned out well. Like this one:

(click on any image to enlarge)

It's okay, but just kind of... boring. So I played with the editing feature on iPhoto, and ended up with a kind of painterly image that I actually like a lot:

See? like someone painted it with vibrant colors and a splashy style

There are also people shots that didn't turn out well. I'm going to blame the bright light and shadows... fair or not, that's my story and I'm sticking to it.

too far away, out of focus, and the faces are unclear

Here are my son A. and my cousin's daughter F. They are, naturally, talking about playing baseball. Or probably whiffle ball. There are roughly 24 years between them, but they love each other and played like cousins - because that is who they are. Editing the photo in a similar fashion to the example above, I got a cartoony, drawn effect that I also like.

here, the above faults are not an issue, because now we what we see is their familiar, fond body language.
Not to mention: they are luminous!

... and your Dad

2011-06-21T09:01:00.000-07:00

I have two friends who lost their fathers just this month. I think that brings to a total of six dear friends whose dads have passed away in the first 6 months of the year. The poignant irony of the fact that my father, sick as he has been, is still here... well, it's enough to bring on a little guilt.

Which is irrational, I know.

The fact that my father continues on is a testament to his doctors, his wife, his stubbornness and his faith - not necessarily in that order.

The fact that your father is no longer here does not diminish his doctors, wife, personality or faith. I am so grateful to your father for bringing you into the world, and helping to form the wonderful friend you are to me. I am grateful to you, for providing an example of how to live through such a devastating experience.

We do what we can while we are here. Celebrating the love which we were given, and the lives which brought us life. Learning, sharing, supporting, loving, grieving... it goes around and comes around. I am so grateful to have your company along this blessed journey.

for my Dad

2011-06-19T13:39:00.000-07:00

the card I made for him, Father's Day, 2010
for a larger/clearer image, click on it!

top: Easter 1964- Dad, Mom & the 5 kids
below: February 1994 -Dad and his 7 grandkids

May 2010 - the whole famn damily

top: 1949 - Dad and his dog Raggs
below: 1992 - Dad and Daisy

top: 1970 - Dad & his two youngest
below: 1986 Dad & his oldest grandson

top: 1959 - Dad, 8-month-old me & a popsicle in Yosemite
below: 1977 - Dad, 8-month-old Aaron & Dad's PIPE

1995 - Dad & Kevin (the youngest grandchild)

top left: Valentine's Day 1976

bottom left: 1975
right: their 50th anniversary, on a bench of the playground where they met in the 8th grade

love, Kathy

17 things I've learned...

2011-06-17T23:25:00.000-07:00

... about being a wedding florist...

The bride will have some theme or color scheme in mind before the process starts. Learn what this is. If possible, get a fabric swatch (or photo, or internet link) of the dresses and/or suits.
Set seasonal guidelines. Peonies don't bloom in the fall, and Dahlias do not bloom in spring.
Help the bride remember details. Will there be flowers at the venue? Where? Do the parents need flowers? Does the officiant? Is there a flower girl or ring bearer? How old are they? Will the bride or her attendants use a flower/flowers in her hair? What about the reception?
Discuss budget ahead of time, and stick to it. Even if this is a labor of love, nobody likes expensive surprises.
Make detailed lists. How many bouquets? boutonnieres? How many pieces to each?
Take the bride to the flower market a couple of weeks before the wedding. It helps if she brings a friend or her mom, to keep her grounded a little - the flower market can be a bit overwhelming!
Use this excursion to really learn about the bride. What flowers does she love? Or hate? Is there a must-have quirky detail that she likes? A color that she absolutely does not want? Pro or con on baby's breath?
Order any must-have, important flowers 2 weeks ahead of time. Use a reliable vendor, and strike a good deal.
Do the non-floral work ahead of time: buy ribbon, gather supplies, clean and disinfect buckets, set up a work station.
Make sure your clippers and scissors are sharp.
Get some help. Even if help is mostly there for moral support, that's going to be priceless to you. Plus: it's really hard to wrap a bouquet by yourself. Also, delivery is easier with some help!
Learn in advance the couple's wishes for delivery. Where will they be, and at what time? Pin them down on this detail.
Get some good rest during the week before the wedding. (You may be working very long hours on the wedding day and the day before!) Eat right, and drink lots of water.
Use a silverware caddy to transport the bouquets in small glasses of water.
Be early.
Bring supplies to the venue: extra ribbon, clippers, towels, flowers, floral wire and glue... be ready for anything to break or fall apart.
Relax! They asked you to do the flowers because they like your work. Plus: this is really fun.

I've only done two weddings; I am far (very, very far) from an expert, and I have a lot to learn! Still, some lessons are more hard-won than others. No point in squandering these, so it's good to make notes!

vacation!

2011-06-17T11:21:00.000-07:00

Day One of eleven days in which I do not have to appear at my workplace. Hallelujia!

It's not that I hate my occupation. I don't. I actually love it a lot. I love connecting with the patients. I love my (gifts) abilities to put them at ease, educate, and empathize with them. I love the opportunity to observe a vast spectrum of our society. I love being told that I am good at what I do, and the positive feedback I receive, from my patients and my doctors.

*this is how I want to take care of my patients - and I do, when "they" let me.

An affirming moment yesterday:
It was a busy morning. I called Patient B in, and noticed Patient A, who had been elsewhere in the clinic. "Are you done with Dr. ___?" "Yes." "Okay, we'll be with you soon." It was a typical exchange, nothing remarkable. When I brought Patient A into the exam room, he was very cheerful - not unusual for him. He began our conversation, thanking me for replying to his phone message a few days ago. He was effusive with his praise. He never expects to reach someone on the phone when he calls, much less receive a call back when he leaves a message. He went on to say, "I would like to tell you that you were the subject of conversation in the waiting room. People were talking about how nice you are." Wow. How lovely!

(Tangent: !!! I am always fairly appalled at the low expectations for service in this particular, enormous, HMO under which I am currently employed. I am even more appalled at the low respect my fellow employees [and managers] have for the time, feelings and dignity of the patients. Based on my limited experience here, if I had to quantify the corporate attitude toward ethics, it would be that the sole motivation is avoidance of litigation. If it's not illegal, screw patient dignity.)

*if this woman was a patient where I work - and this image is certainly representative of
the patients I meet - she would likely: expect to be acknowledged only after offering her
HMO number (and not her name),never be asked if her assigned appointment is convenient for her,
never expect to have her medical tests explained to her, never expect to reach a warm human
being if she calls the doctor (not expect an answer to a message),
never expect the support staff to be pleasant or knowledgeable.
Anything outside of those expectations is considered extraordinary.

Anyway.

Vacation! More later (no, I really mean it this time!) Wedding flowers to show, and other stories to tell: perhaps some baking projects, gardening, a baseball game... I'm free! I'm free!

*none of the above images originated with me; they are compliments of Google images.

o what a rainy season

2011-03-24T00:04:00.000-07:00

fourth day of Spring, 50º and very, very wet.

dashing between the rainshowers...

Spring is here!

2011-03-23T11:20:00.000-07:00

confession

2011-03-22T22:22:00.000-07:00

I did something terrible.

Driving to and from work in San Francisco, there are - inevitably - people begging in the street. Not on the street. In the street. At large intersections, men (it's almost always men) wander between the lanes of cars, holding signs, endangering themselves and others when the light changes and the traffic moves. It's not legal - there are laws against panhandling in traffic because it's so dangerous. But it is pathetic.

I still haven't figured out what to do about the hungry people who intersect with my life. I am so fortunate. We are so fortunate. There is nothing, nothing so special about us that entitles us to be free from hunger while others are not. It is good to be grateful for our blessings, to pray for those who do not seem to be equally blessed, and to work for the betterment of others. I need to work on that third part.

The other day I was driving home, and I had a snack in the car. Munching away, I approached the corner of Market and Gough, and there he was: the guy with the shopping cart. He is often on that same corner when I'm on my way home from work. When the light turns red, he walks up the row of cars with his sign, hoping for a handout. (He, unlike his brethren at Mission and Van Ness in the morning, stays on the sidewalk.) I knew he was there, but I did not look. In fact (and this, to me, is the shameful part) I put my hand up to my temple, as if I was shielding myself from the sun, hiding from him. It was not the sun that was blinding: it was his pain. I had food right next to me, but I gave him nothing. I pretended that he had not touched my heart. I pretended as if it didn't matter. I pretended that he didn't matter, and I drove away.

When I returned home, I took the leftovers of an inedible casserole flop I'd made a few days before, and I dumped it down the garbage disposal. More food wasted. More food that will feed no one who needs to be fed.

O, the disgrace.

Lord have mercy.

brilliant

2011-03-19T09:53:00.000-07:00

Spent some time on my day off Thursday with my sister. The evening before, with a dear friend whose calling seems to be listening intently. Apparently, all is not lost, even in this dry land.When it rains in the dessert, miracles can happen.

unfocused

2011-03-17T10:00:00.000-07:00

Unfocused am I, that's for dang sure. Whether it's organizing my day at home, figuring out relationships at work, keeping any semblance of a spiritual life, managing money, seeing to eating good foods and getting exercise - none of it is exactly honed in.

And yet - the faithful part of me adds - there is beauty in there. Underneath the fuzzy lack of clarity, sheer beauty.

tulip and stock "leftovers" from a Sunday arrangement

Must. Focus.

love, KQ

Lenten journeys

2011-03-16T11:05:00.000-07:00

I like keeping a page-a-day calendar in the kitchen. It's fun to tear off that page, read the new day's message - it's kind of a ritual. I usually get Mary Engelbriet's calender, and it is always a comforting, wise and/or cute way to start the day. This year I thought I'd try something different. I bought one with a pretty photo and a scripture passage on each page. Well, the scripture is in tiny white lettering on a light green background - wait, let me get my glasses - ha! And the photos... well, they're pretty, all right. But into the second week of January, I caught on to something. (Hey, wait a minute...) Every photo was of a path. Or a road. Or a trail. Or a road. Every stinking picture was a metaphor for "journey". 300+ photos of the same thing? That's a little too much for me!

There are so many "journey" metaphors for Lent. I'm not going to list them here - not that I could possibly undertake such a task. Like all travelers, sometimes we need a little help along the way. I posted on Facebook last week a request for on-line or podcast Lenten reflections. (I was actually hoping for podcasts, as that would have worked well into my resolve to start walking for excercise again. Alas, I've yet to hear of or find one.)

I got two suggestions, and actually found a third. One of the suggestions - forgive me, Crickl - just seemed more complex than I could manage this time around. But this one is working for me. And this one intrigues me. Plus, there's always this (good year-round, actually).

a journey of opening...

love, KQ

oh, there you are.

2011-03-15T22:46:00.000-07:00

Poor, little neglected blog.

I guess I just haven't felt much like writing these days. Work has been brutal - literally - and it takes a few hours and all of my energy to recover from each day's ordeal. Not fun.

Still, though. I don't mean to abandon this, so I've come up with an idea. For Lent*, I'll just post a pretty picture. Hopefully, one you've not seen before. Maybe a few words, but at least a photograph. Here's the first one:

beautiful, fragrant paperwhites in my garden

*yes, I realize that we are already a week into Lent. Shh.

love, KQ

we interrupt this blog...

2011-01-20T18:48:00.000-08:00

... the design features of blogger are beginning to mystify me. this doesn't look the way I want, but I have to fix it later!

pat-a-pan

2011-01-05T07:51:00.000-08:00

For the twelfth, and last day of Christmas, I thought I'd go literal! As the song implies, this means twelve drummers drumming. I will spare you any rendition of "The Little Drummer Boy" (while I like the song, many have been driven mad by it.) Instead, another of my favorites to sing. This is the very same arrangement that the Schleptet used to sing (minus the cheesy morning announcer), even taking it Christmas caroling.

I hope to post a Christmas wrap up later - no time just now!

something about flocks and shepherds

2011-01-04T12:00:00.000-08:00

The cool thing (or, frankly, annoying if someone picks the "wrong one") about hymns and carols is that there can be more than one tune for a hymn. Likewise, there can be more than one hymn sung to a given tune! (Come to think of it, it can be confusing, too.)

One of my favorite Christmas carols to sing in a congregation is rarely on anyone's top ten list, so it's kind of under the popular carol radar: While Shepherds Watched Their Flocks by Night. It is one of the first carols I ever learned - I think my Sunday School class must've sung it in a pageant or something when I was quite small. (Though I am fairly certain I would not have been able to participate in a pageant at all when I was quite small. Memories are so tricky!) It tells the story of what happened to the Bethlehem shepherds on Christmas night. I have always found it thrilling to imagine myself in their place:

While shepherds watched their flocks by night, all seated on the ground,
The angel of the Lord came down,
And glory shone around, and glory shone around.

“Fear not!” said he, for mighty dread had seized their troubled mind.
“Glad tidings of great joy I bring
To you and all mankind, to you and all mankind.

“To you, in David’s town, this day is born of David’s line
A Savior, who is Christ the Lord,
And this shall be the sign, and this shall be the sign.

“The heavenly Babe you there shall find to human view displayed,
All meanly wrapped in swathing bands,
And in a manger laid, and in a manger laid.”

Thus spake the seraph and forthwith appeared a shining throng
Of angels praising God on high,
Who thus addressed their song, who thus addressed their song:

“All glory be to God on high, and to the Earth be peace;
Good will henceforth from Heaven to men
Begin and never cease, begin and never cease!”

Here is, I think, the original tune - one that I can't recall ever singing myself - gorgeously sung by some English lads:

Lovely, no? I do know at least three versions of this carol (there are more than that, though!) and have sung them at different times of my life. This one brings memories of Skyline Choir (the video doesn't start exactly at the beginning of the song):

There is a really silly/cute interpretation of this tune, starting at about 4:30 in this clip. (I can't find it on it's own, only in this ten-minute video!) I have fond memories of Aaron and I rolling on the floor with laughter at this little guy. If you enjoy VeggieTales, you'll love it!

Here's the tune I learned as a child, and it is still my favorite. It's been interesting searching videos for these blog posts, as I do not always immediately (or ever) find what I'm looking for. I think this one captures the spirit of my memories of this song the best!

Which is your favorite? Or is it one I've missed? Do share!

Breath of Heaven

2011-01-03T12:00:00.000-08:00

(hearing from Joseph, we now hear from Mary's story)

I have traveled many moonless nights. Cold and weary with a babe inside. And I wonder what I've done. Holy father, you have come and chosen me now to carry your son.

I am waiting in a silent prayer. I am frightened by the load I bear. In a world as cold as stone, must I walk this path alone? Be with me now. Be with me now...

Breath of heaven: hold me together, be forever near me, Breath of heaven! Breath of heaven, lighten my darkness, pour over me your holiness. For you are holy, Breath of heaven.

Do you wonder as you watch my face, if a wiser one should have had my place? But I offer all I am for the mercy of your plan. Help me be strong... help me be... help me....

Breath of heaven: hold me together, be forever near me, Breath of heaven! Breath of heaven, lighten my darkness, pour over me your holiness. For you are holy, Breath of heaven.

This song has been a part of my Christmas for many, many years. After singing it this Advent with my little church choir, however, it will never be the same. I will now always hear Ms. Laura Grace singing in slightly anxious, dulcet maiden tones the (well-imagined) words of Mary, and the angelic choir in response. I will remember the tears and the love that were evident in response on that December Sunday morning. I will remember the look of fierce pride and love on Laura's father's face, and the calming reassurance on her mother's.

I will remember the realization that Mary's pleas - hold me together, be near me, lighten my darkness - are supplications that I have made in the past, perhaps we all have, and that my friend Sue, who sang right beside me that morning, now makes on a daily basis. And I remember that those who cry out to God - we are the lucky, the blessed ones. For we believe that there is One who hears our pleas. Breath of Heaven.

Joseph's Song

2011-01-02T12:00:00.000-08:00

words and music by Michael Card

How could it be? This baby in my arms sleeping now so peacefully - the son of God, the Angel said - how could it be?

Lord, I know he's not my own. Not of my flesh, not of my bone. Still, Father, let this baby be the son of my love.

Father, show me where I fit into this plan of yours. How can a man be father to the son of God? Lord, for all my life, I've been a simple carpenter. How can I raise a king?

How can I raise a king?

He looks so small, his face and hands, so fair. And when he cries the sun just seems to disappear. But when he laughs it shines again. How could it be?

Father, show me where I fit into this plan of yours. How can a man be father to the son of God? Lord, for all my life, I've been a simple carpenter. How can I raise a king? How can I raise a king?

How could it be? This baby in my arms sleeping now so peacefully - the son of God, the Angel said - how could it be?

How could it be?

Auld Lang Syne

2011-01-01T00:33:00.000-08:00

sure, it's a long clip. but classics are totally worth it, right?

Should old acquaintance be forgot,and never brought to mind ?
Should old acquaintance be forgot,and days of old lang syne
For auld lang syne, my dear, for auld lang syne
we'll take a cup of kindness yet, for auld lang syne.
We two have paddled in the stream, from morning sun 'til dine;
But seas between us broad have roar'd since auld lang syne (v.4)
And there’s a hand my trusty friend ! And give us a hand o’ thine!
And we’ll take a right good-will draught, for auld lang syne. (v.5)

So this is the song we sing, in the wee hours of this day. It is foreign, it is tossed off without a thought. We don't even know what it really means. Well... not so fast. According to Wikipedia (the inerrable source quoted above), Sally was right, it really is about old friends: "The song begins by posing a rhetorical question as to whether it is right that old times be forgotten, and is generally interpreted as a call to remember long-standing friendships.

I am as likely as anyone to get mushy around the holidays, especially about old friends. If I were to do a call-out here, the list would be long, not terribly interesting (after you'd read the names you already know) and likely - inadvertently - incomplete.

I simply know that I am inordinately blessed by good and even excellent friendships, and have been for most of my life. I cannot imagine the poverty of being without loved ones. Heck, I got sick the other day, and five people offered to bring me groceries. Well-stocked cupboards aside, that is some wildly generous stuff. What rare, rich and fortunate beings we are, to be so blessed as to live in a community of caring fellow humans! To be connected, one to the other, by love and by friendship. Words hardly do justice, and cannot truly express my joy in you, dear friend. As I grow older and, hopefully, wiser, I pray that I take my friends less for granted and give thanks for the extraordinary human bounty they represent!

Happy 8th day of Christmas to you all!

a Charlie Brown Christmas

2010-12-31T09:07:00.000-08:00

While not actually a Christmas carol, the music to Charles Schultz' 1965 television special is iconic to anyone who grew up in that era or any subsequent generation. Vince Guaraldi's score is perfect, and any cut from it - even the "non-Christmasy" music - instantly conjures up Christmas for me.

Capturing the Christmas Spirit can be tricky. Charlie & Co. are masterful at portraying this without being sticky or maudlin. The message of the show, of course, cannot be missed. We are celebrating much more than tinsel and lights in this season!

Here's "Christmas Time is Here" from the opening credits.

Today's the seventh day of Christmas!

Mary had a baby

2010-12-30T23:19:00.000-08:00

I have had the honor and privilege of singing wonderful music with wonderful people. My first real choral experience was in high school, when the first thing I recall singing on stage was Handel's Messiah. We sang nearly the entire work, the Christmas and Easter portions, and I sang my first (and last) public solos in the recitative Then Shall the Eyes of the Blind be Opened (prophetic, no?) and the alto part of He Shall Feed His Flock. Overlapping my high school experience was Skyline College Choir, under the direction of the extremely talented Dr. Patricia Hennings (a.k.a. "Cap'n Pat").

Those two musical experiences literally formed and colored the rest of my life. Aside from my blood relatives, there is not a single friendship or relationship I have made since that cannot be traced back to those choirs. And that includes my children!

Out of the Skyline choir came the Schleptet. Later given the more acceptable name, "Acapellicans", we were friends who sang well together. No fewer than eight - often ten or twelve - we were never sure how many would be together, hence the "schlep" in our -tet. My singing talent, I think, is based mostly on the ability to surround myself with others who sing well. The raw talent in this group was utterly divine, with many who had natural voices that vocal pros would give their right tonsil to have. This was especially true of Carolyn and Linda, our sopranos.

One night after being out Christmas caroling in the frigid damp, we were feeling particularly - ambitious? high on our collective talent? nostalgic? Something like that. We'd been wanting to record our Christmas music, had not done so, and time was running out. So Bill got out the microphones and recording equipment, and we gave it a go. With the sopranos almost completely out of voice, we could have just one take per song, and we filled up a cassette tape with beautiful music - and priceless memories.

One of my favorite cuts from that evening is "Mary Had a Baby". Despite her protestations and facial contortions, Linda nailed the solo. Of course, all I have is an old cassette tape from 1985. So the version below will have to do. But I tell you true, in all modesty, we sounded better than the youngsters here. We were divine.

we interrupt our regular programming...

2010-12-29T22:22:00.000-08:00

On the fifth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me... food poisoning! Recovery is imminent, but no caroling for me today. Be back soon!

Solstice

2010-12-28T12:00:00.000-08:00

from this source

Did you see it? Last week, the full moon occurred on the Winter Solstice - and then, to top it off, it eclipsed. Like, totally. What an amazing confluence of cosmic events: it has not happened since the early 17th century, and it shan't happen again until 2094 - I don't intend to be around for that one! I do not necessarily believe that the things that happen in the sky influence my earth-bound behavior. However, I am a big fan of natural events and good timing, not to mention being a big fan of the Creator of such events.

I almost missed it - I thought it was going to be on the evening of the 21st, but (in this time zone) it happened at about 11:30 on the evening of the 20th. (I'm so glad I was paying attention!) It was raining on and off, so I was also unsure that anything would be visible in the heavens... but the sky cleared, and I ventured outside around 11:15. I wasn't sure where to look, so I just went out to the courtyard of my building - there are no great views of the sky there, but I didn't really know where the moon would be in the sky at that time. All I needed was to look up: there she was, directly over my head.

http://mantoos.com/science/winter-solstice

So beautiful. So strange.

Not long after totality was reached, the clouds returned and hid the moon. (I felt some relief to be going inside - my neck ached from tipping my head back so far!) My constant companion, my iPod, was with me as I watched bella luna... playing selections from the many versions of Windham Hill's Winter Solstice recordings. It is an Advent tradition for me to begin my Christmas music listening with these ~~albums~~ recordings. They relax and inspire meditation in me, and I play them often. So of course, I had the Windham Hill playlist going as I dashed outside into the cold. It was a perfect companion.

P.S. ~ it's the fourth day of Christmas!

the bleak midwinter

2010-12-27T12:00:00.000-08:00

snowflake stars are cut from silvery origami paper

Today is the third day of Christmas. I seem to have spent the first two days (and, possibly, the day before that) dining exclusively on cookies. This behavior must stop ~ my body is craving vegetables, meat and milk at this point. Back to work now, that shouldn't be a problem.
This song is one of my very favorites to sing in Advent and Christmas. It is also one of the very favorites of the Bethany Quartet ~ and I sure missed singing this, and any Christmas music with them this year! The first time I ever heard In the Bleak Midwinter was in Julie Andrew's holiday special in 1987, hence the video link above. (Click on it, click on it! It's so good. Not only was Ms. Andrews the star, but her guests were Placido Domingo, the King's Singers and John Denver ~ certainly all-stars in my music library.)

There is nothing I do not love about this song:

In the bleak midwinter frosty wind made moan
Earth stood hard as iron, water like a stone
Snow had fallen, snow on snow,
snow on snow.
In the bleak midwinter long, long ago.
Angels and archangels may have gathered there.
Cherubim and seraphim thronged the air.
But his mother only, in her her maiden bliss,
worshiped the beloved with a kiss.

What then shall I give him, poor as I am?
If I were a shepherd I would bring a lamb.
If I were a wise man I would do my part.
Yet what I can, I give him: I will give my heart.

It's that last verse. As a person of little means (as far as this society is concerned), it gives me pause - and hope. Whenever I have a meager offering to bring, this verse runs through my head and I feel comfort. It is no small thing to give from the heart - in fact, it is the only gift that matters.

this flake, and those above, were "cut" with an iPhone app, "the Flake Factory"!

the Cradle Song

2010-12-26T12:18:00.000-08:00

Be near me Lord Jesus
I ask thee to stay close by me forever,
and love me, I pray.
Bless all the dear children
in thy tender care,
and fit us for heaven to live with thee there.

It's enough to break your heart, isn't it? Those words, that song, that tune... It is achingly tender and oh, so beautiful. Of course, I am in a fairly tender spot right now, but it brought tears to me this morning in worship. Something about being rocked gently and loved tenderly... something about the inclusivity of all the dear children... something about living our lives in a way that is fitting for the One who loves us so dearly... All that sentiment in just three or four breaths? Impossibly sweet.

Yesterday was Christmas Day. (Today, of course, is the second day of Christmas, and we still have ten more to go!) All the dear children were under one roof for my family yesterday: my parents, their five children, all seven grandchildren and the single great-grandchild. With spouses and friends, there were twenty-one of us. We had a rollicking good time, yes we did. We ate well, laughed and kidded each other, caught up on each other's news. We tried a white elephant gift exchange for the first time, and that was just too fun. I looked over at one point (I think it may have been when nephew KMQ opened a gift that consisted of 2 packs of staples and a chipped dental mold of his father's teeth) and Dad was wiping tears of laughter from his eyes. Overjoyed was the sentiment of the evening!

There was the joy of simply being together, of course. (I am not the only one of my family who subconsciously counts heads - and if someone is missing, the joy is diminished ever-so-slightly.) But there was more to it than that. We all know that it could be the last time for us all to be together for Christmas, which adds both a sting and a richness to the experience. The way that we were able to achieve it is bittersweet as well. For the first time in my recollection, Dad put out an edict: his only gift was to be that we would all be together. It goes without saying that this is what he always wants of us, for any holiday. But it has never been decreed... until this year.

Which brings us to the logistics of getting everyone there. This is not a difficult request for most of us. However, my middle brother DQ, who lives the farthest from us, has a very hard time traveling these days. He is too ill to get himself to us, and often too ill to travel at all. Because of this, he has missed a wedding, and most birthdays and holidays in the past few years. Knowing this, my son took it upon himself to get my brother to Christmas. A. called DQ and arranged ahead of time (though he was not going to take no for an answer!) He left right after breakfast and drove the 90 miles to pick up DQ, brought him to us... and when the festivities were winding down, did the whole thing again in reverse. Spending about 8 hours on the road. Mostly in a driving rainstorm. The night before he had an early flight out to Anchorage.

So this is the other part of what breaks my heart with tender joy. That my dear son has grown to be a man with such a generous heart. That my feeble brother was willing to risk his pride in letting him do so, as well as in revealing to us how feeble he has become. That my father risked his own pride by asking us all to give him his heart's desire. And that we all managed to gather in joy and love. We acknowledged what is before us but did not allow it to diminish us in any way ~ and in fact, our collective circumstance has enriched us beyond imagination.

Thanks be to God for these tender blessings!

on the bright side

2010-12-03T23:09:00.000-08:00

On the day before Thanksgiving I was at work, doing my usual stellar job of tending to the eyeball patients. A "frequent flyer", a blind woman who is in the midst of multiple surgeries, came in for her pre-op exam, and her young-adult son accompanied her. I ushered them in and shut the door, and only then did I notice that he was sniffling and snuffling and then SNEEZING and COUGHING without covering his face. In a very small space. Just spitting it out into the air we were all breathing.

Yuck.

I left the room momentarily, and brought back a mask for him to put on. He sneezed a few more times before he got it on (I should have just put it on myself!) It was too late, of course. In exactly 3.2 days, I had his cold and it was kicking my butt.
Thanks, dude.

++++++++++++++++++++

Okay, but here's the thing. I decided I was not going to let this get me down. Rather than dwell in the misery of it all, I started thinking of the up side:

I was not sick for Thanksgiving.
I may have been sick on December 1st, but that will be long gone by December 21st.
I have so far, through the intervention of many, many foreign substances, managed to avoid any respiratory infection. It's just a cold.
While I was not able to call in sick any day this week (long story) my boss sent me home early on Tuesday and Wednesday, so I didn't have to kill myself (much) working while feeling like crap.

And ya know what? It helped. I'm still really congested, but I worked a whole day today and then went to get some dinner and do some shopping. I'm really tired, but I made it. And tomorrow will be fine, too. I may not get to go to the Advent festival AND the progressive dinner, but that will be okay.

see? not Grumpy!

I just love it when that happens.

None of the images in this post are mine. That should be obvious, but now I've confirmed it. Thanks, Google images!

my only thanksgiving recipe

2010-11-21T19:49:00.000-08:00

One of the drawbacks (or benefits, as the case may be) of being the only one in your family who lives in an apartment is that you're simply not going to be the one to host holidays or parties. I've lived in this apartment for 14 years, I think. (Wow!) The only time I had everyone over was when I moved (though they were never all here at the same time) and on the day of Grandma M's memorial service. I do wish I lived in a big ol' house - I'd be the Christmas party house for sure.

So anyway, I've never roasted a turkey. There, I've said it. I think I've made mashed potatoes before, but that was probably 30 years ago or more. (I've got a good excuse for that one: I'm allergic to raw potato - break out in a terrible rash wherever it touches me.) However, I am usually good for bringing a dish or two to wherever the party is on Thanksgiving, and what follows is the recipe for the one I usually bring.

My friend B. asked for the recipe the other day, and I obliged... and thought I'd also share it with this space, in case others might enjoy. So - I hope you enjoy!

I'll give you the basics (I think I got it from a magazine ad in the 80's), and then the things I do to change it up, too, in case that appeals to you.

Berry Mallow* Yam Bake**

*I nixed the marshmallows years ago - it's already pretty darn sweet!
** hey, I googled "berry mallow yam bake" and this recipe is still alive on the interwebs!

combine:
½ cup flour
½ cup brown sugar, packed
½ cup rolled oats
1 tsp cinnamon

cut in until mixture resembles coarse crumbs:
⅓ cup butter the original said margarine, but I know better these days!

toss 1 cup of this mixture with:
2-17oz cans yams***
2 cups fresh cranberries
***of couse, nowdays the cans are a bit smaller. I use the 29 oz can. you can also use fresh, peeled sweet potatoes or yams, cut in 2" chunks - though you should bake it a little longer!

Place in a 1½ cup casserole, top with remaining crumbs. Bake at 350º for 35 minutes.

Simple, right? I usually make at least a double batch of this for my family. For the church dinner, I use 3 large cans of yams. I like to stir in chopped candied ginger and/or fresh orange zest with the yams & berries. And we've liked the resulting heat when I added a couple teaspoons of chipotle powder to the sugar mixture. At any rate, it's a really pretty dish; it's nice to have a non-beige item on the plate at T'giving! (Yeah, I've never taken a picture of it, so no photos here. Sorry.) Oh, and if you want to add the marshmallows, the original recipe calls for 1½ cups sprinkled on when it's finished baking, then under the broiler until lightly browned. I think that was how I set my oven on fire in 1982!

love, KQ

Cuma Lolita Smith

2010-11-20T10:52:00.000-08:00

I wish I could remember what that last word was on this apron...

Cuma is an odd name, isn't it? Add to that Lolita and you've really got something... She was born November 20, 1908. She and her sisters (Goldie and Viola) grew up in Kansas in the dawn of the 20th century. I wonder what the names were about. Were they family names? Did they just sound pretty to my great-grandparents? I guess I'll never know.

this illustration by Mary Engelbreit has always reminded me of her - it looks
like her, including what she would wear, for one thing, and it's something
she might say, for another!

She married Grandad (Claude Norman - not such an unusual name, but very distinctive, almost patrician) in the 1920's - eloped, actually, and ran off to California with his best friend in tow. Cuma was a flapper - or at least, had the wardrobe for it, for my mom still has a yellow flapper dress in the attic. Claude was a newspaper man: he set type back when every letter of the news was placed by hand. (He was also an avid photographer - he kept a dark room and did all of his own processing by hand.) They divorced around the time when I was born, I think. By then they were in San Francisco. No one talked about that sort of thing back then, and later on it hardly seemed relevant (or prudent) to mention.

Grandma and Mom, in front of the house at 38th and Vicente in the '70s

So Cuma lived alone, in the same house in the Sunset district and within walking distance of the SF Zoo for almost 50 years. She worked for the Emporium, in the bookkeeping department on the fourth floor. They did the work with #2 pencils, and would use those until they were about 3" long. Grandma saved those 3" pencils (they were painted a nice purplish blue, and still had good erasers) and gave them to us. I think I was in shock when I started going to school and learned that pencils were actually yellow and twice as long as the ones at home!

Market street, San Francisco. Grandma's store on the right, with the streetcars that she rode to

and from work right in front. On the other side of the street: Woolworth's, which had the
best penny candy selection in the [our] world, and a renowned lunch counter, where we
were treated once or twice when we went downtown.

The "Big E" store had a carnival on the rooftop every December, and I remember Grandma took me there once, just the two of us. I wasn't so hot on the rides, but I remember there was a crafts table that won me over. She kept her Emporium employee discount even after she retired, and was generous in sharing that benefit.

these were my favorites!

She was our "candy grandma"; she always had a dish of Brach's mix in a jar in her kitchen. There was also a shelf in her hall closet with some toys: a "wooly willy", and a domed "Mt. Everest" where you had to get the marble up to the top of the mountain.

I remember sitting near her furnace grate, especially if it was chilly, playing with the toys. I never wanted to wander too close to her stairs: they were narrow and steep, and turned a blind corner in the middle. They scared me for much of my childhood - I was afraid of heights - especially when I grew too old to scoot myself down while sitting! Still, her living space was upstairs, so those steps were inevitable at least twice per visit.

counting the punch cups at our house on Christmas in the 70's

She developed macular degeneration and was blind in the last decade or so of her life. Even so, she managed to fashion a new cute Christmas ornament for us every year, usually made of felt and embroidery. To my amazement (not hers, though), she also got herself around town with little difficulty most of the time. Once when I was driving near her neighborhood with T., there she was, sitting at a bus stop. We stopped the car, and I walked towards her: "Grandma? It's Kathy!" Once she got over the startle (folks don't really talk to each other at city bus stops), she reluctantly consented to a ride home with us. I introduced her to T., and she apologized that she couldn't really see him very well. He responded, "I'm very handsome", which made her (and me) giggle.

She took a bad fall when she was 88, doing something typically Cuma. She always kept a bucket near the tub, to save the water that ran while it was getting hot. She would then carry the bucket of water downstairs, to use to water her plants. Just because she was blind and in her late 80's, she was not about to quit that conservation she'd practiced all her life!

She'd been complaining for a while by then that she was done with this life - and about a year after that fall, life was done with her. I miss her, at least her sweeter nature, and I know she's proud of us and how we've grown up.

flanked by her two kids: Uncle R. and Mom

Happy birthday, Grandma. I love you!

change...

2010-11-20T10:33:00.000-08:00

a most intricate quilt

I really, really love the transition seasons.

fall makes me want to live in a small country town.
(but so does spring. and winter. and summer.)

This week I knew that fall was finally here when the temps rose over eighty (F) and then dropped to the high forties in the space of a day and a half. I was trying to figure out why I love that so much...

rainbows are everywhere when you know where to look...

I think it's the fresh, sting of cold when one walks outside from the warmth of home - the warmth lingers in the body, but the skin tingles with the chill. It's a delicious feeling to me. And then the reverse is also true: cold, cold skin (and/or fingers, toes, nose...)feels the immediate change moving indoors, and there is that tingle again as the comforting warmth envelops...

jewels that fall to the earth and then dissolve into it...

Oh, and the wet of rain, the slant of the sun, the changing (finally!) leaves and impossibly blue sky... for all these things, and more, I give thanks.

let's find more time to go wandering this season!

the Summer of twenty-ten (part VII) - the antedote

2010-10-24T15:18:00.000-07:00

The Game.

Poets have said it better than I... it is eternal. It is simplicity itself. It is life. It is the best in us, it is the worst in us. It is green grass, blue skies - it is mud and rain.
It is pageantry and the star-spangled banner. It is a millionaire's game. It is a child's game.
It is not, any more, the national pastime. It is not a designated hitter. It is not Dodger blue, and it is not leaving in the top of the seventh. It is not booing your own. It is not the most expensive seat. It is not the same as having a picnic with a show going on in front of you.
For me, it is the romance: Fathers and sons (mothers, daughters, brothers, sisters, aunts, uncles, grandfathers, grandmothers) enjoying the game, telling stories, having a catch. It is seeing your kid put a ball in the pocket of his glove, wrap it with a rubber band and stick it under his mattress. It is sportsmanship (and sportswomanship).

It is best friends from kindergarten, all grown up, brought together again by the baseball gods to stand for the anthem.

It is pulling up to a farmstand and finding a cart of balls. It is watching the team win, turning off the television, and passing gently away into that good night. (Good night, Grandad. ♥)

It is Mike Ivey hitting in the bottom of the ninth, bases loaded, on a Friday night against the Dodgers at the 'Stick. It is a frozen chocolate malt blowing off your wooden spoon in swirling winds. It is the record that breaks. It's all that history. It is brothers sharing the outfield. It is old players coaching newer ones. It is the legends.

Mays

Cepeda

McCovey

Marichal

It's the stories: the ones that will break your heart, and those that cause your spirit to soar.

It really is the crack of the bat and the roar of the crowd. It is cheering for the home team, 40,000 orange rally rags waving in unison. It is the remembering of glory and heartbreak and falling in love with the team. It is the chess game strategy. It is the tragedy of the loss. Yes, it is even a bad call at the plate.

photo courtesy of Google images

It is clever, charming, beloved broadcasters.

It is wearing orange on Fridays. It is hating the Dodgers. It is not caring much about the Series unless Your Team is in it. It is crying for joy when Your Team makes it to the Series.
It is not life or death. It is not more important than loved ones lost, or sick, or hurt. But it is a balm against those things. It is a sweet distraction. It is a reprise from the pain. And sometimes it can even be the antidote for the grief, easing it enough to snap the stress and hurt and anger and make all of those things less severe, helping you to go on.

the Summer of twenty-ten (part VI) - in Memoriam

2010-10-23T23:36:00.000-07:00

September 24

Twelve days after the wedding, a memorial service was held for the Bullis family. The Quartet was asked to sing, as well as the choir and the Prayz group. Our four living former pastors were invited to attend, and accepted. An army of ushers was formed.

Because Bethany holds 200 people at most, and estimates were that there would be five times that in attendance, we had a logistics problem. Enter 1st Presbyterian Church of Burlingame. They have a much, much larger sanctuary, with overflow rooms and even a large patio where the service could be broadcast to more overflow. The pastors worked things out, and we were told where and when to show up. When we did, it was amazing: all we needed to do was make the music. The church had thought of everything, took care of every detail from printing the bulletin - to helping with the sound check - to setting up rooms for the family, pastors and musicians to wait - to passing out water during the (quite warm) service. They were warm and gracious, unobtrusive yet enveloping. I know that the Bethany community will always be grateful for their hospitality.

Like the Sunday following the disaster, there was a feeling of family coming together. So many people from Bethany's past showed up to love and grieve with us. The pastors shared themselves without reservation, and what a comfort it was to have the rock of their presence. (The current pastoral circumstance is far from comforting, which made this even more important.) The choir sang an arrangement of "Amazing Grace" (Sung here by the Turtle Creek Chorale). The Quartet sang Bobby McFerrin's the 23rd Psalm. T. played his composition, Elegy in Eb, on the cello. The family shared with us precious memories of each loved one. A few close friends also shared memories. There was nothing about the afternoon that was not beautiful.

After the service there was a reception at Will's high school, just a mile or so from the church. (Attendees of the service were encouraged to park at the school, and buses were used to transport to the church.) It was held in the gym, with long tables spread with food down half the length of the gym under unreal, yellow lights. I got there late (took Mom home first, at her request), and had little opportunity to speak with the family. However, I did speak to a few of their neighbors - other folks from Bethany, who survived the blast - and I was so grateful to hug them and tell them that I was glad they had made it.

Winding down, T. and I sat out on the front lawn of the school, looking at the moon and replaying the previous few days and amazing event we'd just been part of. (This is part of what we do for each other: help one another to digest the big events in our lives.) I remember thinking that I was so grateful (there's that word again!) for the relationships I hold with the many dear friends I saw that day. I thought about how the grass felt on my bare legs, and when was the last time I sat on the grass? I remembered my own high school days. I thought about how - even in the midst of terrible sorrow - it was, truly, a perfect evening.

the Summer of twenty-ten (part V)

2010-10-17T12:38:00.000-07:00

I ask you: could there be a more lovely setting?

After church on Easter, my dear friend's daughter Piper approached me. Her mama had alerted me that the question was coming: would I be the florist for her wedding? A whole range of emotions swept through me at the thought. Holy cow. What a huge responsibility! and honor! and challenge! I'm not really a florist! I love flowers! (I need the money!) I said yes. When I agreed to take the job, I had no idea what was in store for the summer. When Dad got sick(er) I'd think, "can I bear this and do Piper's flowers?" Somehow, the answer was always yes.

sunflowers: the bride's favorite, and such a cheerful flower!

Piper and I corresponded over the summer, and I learned that she was definitely not going to be a bridezilla (thank heaven!) Like her mama, she is an easy-going spirit. The wedding site was found and Sunday, September 12 was chosen. She wanted happy, bright colors with sunflowers, lavender and poppies; an overall wildflower look. (The poppies were nixed - it was an evening wedding, and they close at night!) She was going to have six (SIX!) bridesmaids, each dressed in a different color, and her betrothed would have six groomsmen.

(Frankly, I thought this was a bit excessive when I heard about it, but at the wedding I realized: there was so much love in this wedding that there had to be 12 attendents, just to help carry it all!)

I planned out what I'd need for 7 bouquets, 10 boutonnieres, 2 corsages and 2 flower girl baskets. One fun Saturday morning, I met Piper, her sister and mama and best friend at the flower market. We wandered around, and I showed them a few things, they showed me what they liked: sunflowers (gold), bachelor's buttons (blue), hydrangea (green), sweet william (her betrothed's name) (hot pink), an ornamental grass, and gold and red "brains" (cock's comb) were some of the favorites.

I had my own mini-flower market going in the garage...

I added some veronica, red gerberas and purple sweet peas to fill out the (extensive) color palatte.

Oh, how I LOVE sweetpeas! These had pretty short stems -
couldn't make it into the bride's bouquet - but they sure were purty in the others!

Some feathers caught my eye... perfect for the men's boutonnieres! Piper was not at all sure about that, but when I explained it to her, she was on board. It was all coming together, and I was alternately nerve-wracked and excited.

pheasant feathers, dried lavender and satin ribbon. classy, no?

The weekend before the wedding, I assembled all of my hardware: preservative, wire, foam, pins, ribbons, glue - everything I could find that might help. I scrubbed down and disinfected with bleach an army of plastic buckets. I pre-ordered the sunflowers and bachelor's buttons. Unable to secure fresh lavender stems, I not only bought 3 live plants, but I also moved on a hot tip and (ditching church) high-tailed it to a farmer's market 25 miles away where I could buy nice bundles of the dried herb.

yeah, I'm a mite bit proud of these...
even the father of the bride complimented me on them,
and he (to quote a breakfast cereal commercial) hates everything!

That week, I was fully ready with my checklists and time tables. I made all the bouts, since all but three would not have any fresh flowers in them - and those I could easily add to later. Thursday, my day off, was September 9. I went to the markets and gathered up the flowers. Armloads of them - my entire back seat was brimming with blooms! They all went to my parents' garage - where it stays relatively cool even on a hot day - to get fresh cuts and plunged into preservative-laden water. I set up a couple tables and some chairs...

the workshop. flower baskets and bouts
in the foreground, oodles of blooms, everywhere!

And then, it was 6:11 p.m. and San Bruno exploded.

Again, I said to myself, "can I bear this and do Piper's flowers"? The answer: "you must, so of course you can". That's fine and dandy, but now I was not only grieving, but the power was out and I was instantly about a half-day behind schedule. Saturday dawned warm and bright. I worked in the morning, then went to the wedding rehearsal - oh yeah, the Quartet was singing, too! My dear friend B. came back with me (thanks, B!) to help, and gallantly made herself useful while I spinned out of control for a bit. Then we got to work and banged out six beautiful bridesmaids bouquets. I finished the bride's bouquet, made the "centerpiece" and cleaned up for the night, placing the bouquets in ice chests.

bridesmaids bouquets

Sunday morning - wedding day! According to my master schedule, I was going to skip church, but with the events of 9/9 I could not do that. I had to be with my people. I also could not afford the 2 hours it would require to attend - there were bouquets to wrap, bouts to finish, corsages to make... I did what I had to do, and when I got to church, I looked for volunteers to help with the finishing touches afterward. I found three lovely friends to agree, Jenny jumped in - doing a yeoman's job - as my assistant for the day, and Mom helped too!

bridesmaids bouquets and centerpiece

Oh, what a flurry of flowers, friends and activity there was in the garage that afternoon! Six of us, plus T., who came to look at the structural requirements of the centerpiece (I was so worried about hanging that thing!) With barely enough time, Mom and J. offered to take pictures of the finished product while I dashed home to change... and we were off!

I couldn't figure out how we were going to transport the bouquets,
except in drinking glasses. But those fall down!
I sent J. to the church to pick up a couple of dish pans.
She found these wonderful silverware holders and saved the day!

Delivered the flowers and bouts - to wild acclaim. Realized that the corsages had been forgotten back at the house - but because of a terrible traffic accident, we couldn't get back. A quick call to B. and her hub K., and they graciously agreed to pick them up on their way. Went to the site, got to work on hanging the centerpiece. It worked! (Okay, so it had to be hung a couple of different times, and J. did the ladder work, and then K. helped to make it hang higher, and all right some of the flowers fell out, but I had this great glue that works on wet foam... so it all worked out!)

all's well in the end, right?

So: the project of the flowers was a blessing in that it was an urgent distraction from our grief - a place to look away for a short time, to catch our breath before moving further into mourning. The women who helped me were each grateful for the distraction too - working with our hands to make something beautiful, in the company of loving sisters, can only be good. And I am oh, so grateful to them for their help. It takes a village, indeed. The wedding was a joyful island in a sea of sorrow, and it was buoyant enough to carry us all along for a few days; blessed relief.

The following photos were taken by Piper's wedding photographer, Jeremy Young

flower girl basket, filled with lavender

the groom, sporting his feather-and-"brains" bout

of course, the bride

I was SO happy to see that the colors in the
bouquets matched the girls' dresses perfectly!

the Summer of twenty-ten (part IV)

2010-10-09T21:45:00.001-07:00

September 9 - one month ago

I was home, my day off. I'd been running around all day, buying flowers and supplies for the wedding (more on that later), getting the flowers cooled and in buckets, etc. I was in my apartment when there came an immediately identifiable sound: jet engine, very close. Weird, I thought in that split second, that it keeps coming. While nearby, they don't usually fly right over this area - especially on a sunny day. And then the sound did not get quieter, nor louder, and then a BOOM. Running to the window, I looked northwest in the direction of the sound. Above the roofline of the adjacent building I saw the column of smoke.

I ran out of the apartment and down the stairs, bare feet, no keys. I wanted to get to where I could see better. Well, the view was no better from 3 floors down on the sidewalk than it was in my apartment, but I could tell better where it was. Clearly, it was part of my neighborhood, not in my section, but on the other side of San Bruno Ave.

(click to enlarge)
'A' is where the blast happened; 'B' is my street.
this also encompasses my parents' home (near the oval track
in the SE corner) and my church (just SW of 'B')

The next hour or so are a blur. Neighbors who came outside the same time as me let me back into the building. I turned on the t.v. - and was frustrated initially that there was nothing there, just the evening news. I called Mom and Dad - they were fine, and had an excellent view of the smoke and fire. Dad was sure it was not an airplane - the theory I was going on - but a gas line. (How right he was.) I called T. to tell him that San Bruno was going to be on the news, what I knew, and that I was safe. All this time, and for about 2 hours, the roar of the "jet engine" did not cease.

Finally, the news of the explosion came on - reporting a possible plane crash (per local reports, based on the sound we all heard) or maybe a gas station explosion. They showed some initial photos... just smoke, no perspective or landmarks. And then there was an aerial shot, panning from Lunardi's and the [intact] gas station, across San Bruno Ave, and down Glenview... to Claremont... where my friends the Bullis family were.
No.
No, no, no, oh no.

Will, Sue, Janine and Greg, at Janine's college graduation, June 2009

Will, with his dad Greg looking on, in 2006 at Bethany's 50th anniversary

I posted on facebook that we were safe some time before the power went out. With no lights, I decided I wanted to be with my parents - just in case. From their elevation, I could indeed see the fire. I stood on the hill behind their house and watched - I don't know for how long. I saw the airplanes come in, bombing the fire with retardant, over and over again, for at least an hour. I prayed. And I hoped that Lavonne, Sue, Greg and Will were somewhere, anywhere else at that hour.

Lavonne at one of our 1st Saturday dinners

Mom & Dad's phone kept ringing, and several of the calls were robo-calls from the sheriff's department, announcing a voluntary evacuation for all within ¾ of a mile of the explosion. They decided that they would stay in place - and I'd decided that I was sticking with them for the duration. Calls from my sister, reassuring her that I'd take care of the folks if need be, making sure that her father-in-law had someone with him. Checked on my friend Anne, who lives very near, but above, the blast. Called my kids, who had not yet heard of the explosion. I told A., "just look up; you can see the smoke from anywhere you are right now". I went home to pack a bag, finding 4 voice mails: 2 from the sheriff, one from a dear friend from the Woods, one from a reporter for the Examiner. We had take-out dinner. I did not take any photos. I did not sleep well in my old bedroom.

Next morning we learned that Sue was safe. She was at work in a late meeting. A search was on for the others. I think we all knew that they were no longer on Earth, but still we waited for official word. It did not come for nearly a week. Sunday, we all gathered for church. It was packed. It was surreal. It was comforting. It was agonizing. It was sacred. It was so, so beautiful to all be together, even in our grief.

Will and Janine, with friend Michelle (R), at a chilly beach party for First Saturday

Lavonne (R) with friends K. and B. at that same beach party.
I didn't realize until I went searching for these photos:
Lavonne joined in the fun for MANY of our 1st Saturday events!

(It was not unexpected that there might be unfamiliar faces among us in worship, but it turned out that three of those were members of the press. They were quite persistent - inappropriately so. The invasion of the neighborhood by helicopters and small aircraft would be so relentless that I found myself raging at them over those first several days - a sign of some PTSD on my part.)

my roofline and one of the ever-present choppers

Next: a blessed union, a blessed distraction.

the Summer of twenty-ten (part III)

2010-10-07T22:21:00.000-07:00

Dad and Alice - "The Brown Shirt Incident" - February 1979

July-August

Dad took his youngest sister's passing hard. He always figured that, as the eldest sibling, the one with the most health problems, he'd be the one "to go first". He wasn't prepared for the heartbreak - none of us were, but he and Alice had something special.

A week after she passed, Dad started to feel really bad. As usual in these situations, he went to his cardiologist... and they found that his heart was, indeed, in need of some additional maintenance. A procedure was scheduled, but he continued to feel weaker and worse. Finally one day, he did not have the strength to stand long enough to shave.

Time for another doctor visit, and I was asked to drive. He could barely make it to the car, and by the time we traveled the 20 miles to his doctor, things were even worse. He couldn't get out of the car, and passed out for a few minutes (eyes open, extra scary.) We went to the ER and eventually admitted to a room - none of the tests showed anything unexpected. As it turned out, he was bleeding internally - something besides his heart was going very, very badly. The miracle: one week after almost dying, 4 days in the ICU and receiving enough blood transfusions to fill 3 adult humans, he was back at home with some new meds and a new diagnosis: lymphoma.

He was still in the hospital when it was time to go to Alice's memorial service. That was really hard. He couldn't go to his only great-grandson's first birthday celebration. He couldn't go to the family campout - also really hard for him.

Although we have been, in theory, faced with Dad's mortality since his quintuple bypass in 1981 (when the doctors gave him a maximum of 24 months to live), he's always beaten those odds. This time is different. Theory has turned into reality for me: my father is mortal, and it appears that his work is nearly finished.
I am devastated. I am preparing. I am supported by a dozen or more angels who have loved me and supported me and prayed for us and {pat pat pat}-ted me through this. It is an unspeakable blessing to have such beautiful friendships.

And... he is fighting. Time in the cath lab (cardiac procedures), chemo, in-patient setbacks, trips to the ER, and he continues to (stubbornly, of course) continue.

I am, not for the first time, amazed by his strength.

the Summer of twenty-ten (part II)

2010-10-02T22:52:00.000-07:00

the only one missing is brother DQ - too ill to drive down from Davis that day

The season began innocently enough. We had a very, very cool spring, with only 3-4 warm (over 65º) days in the course of months; and everyone was looking forward to longer, warmer days - even me. This has been the Year of Milestone Birthdays in the Q family: my brother PQ and sister in-law CEQ turned 60. Brother CQ turned 50, and his son KMQ turned 18. Niece GB turned 21. And Mom turned 80 on Memorial Day. So the next weekend we had a party at my sister's house.

just part of the great room. what lines the wall to the left, not in this shot,
and the wall behind the photographer, are floor-to-ceiling windows. spectacular!

NJQB and my brother in-law GB have the house where the parties should be. It is on the coast, on the top of a mountain, and (before the trees grew up so tall) overlooking the ocean. It is a humble home, built into the crook of the mountain, but with a wonderful kitchen and a great room that fits all of us. All 20 (or more) of us!

despite my sister's protests, there is a LOT of room in her tiny kitchen for many hands!

a good family philosophy has served them well - for over 30 years

We usually pot luck these things, and I was asked, as usual, if I'd like to make the cake. Of course! With so many people, though, and for such an auspicious occasion, a simple cake would not do. And, being my older sister, NJQB had to be certain to tell me what to do. ;o) "Make a sheet cake", she said. "Do you have a sheet cake pan? Borrow mine", she insisted. I told her I could handle it. Her response: "be sure there's enough cake!" It was Mom's 80th birthday, of course it had to be special, and I had an idea in the back of my head.

so innocent, so trusting... and, by the way, on the inside? it was lemon cake,
with a layer of lemon curd, and frosted with an unbelievable amount of cream cheese frosting

Could I pull it off? Yes. (There are battle stories, but that is perhaps for another time.) No one knew... the cake appeared to be an elegant (but boring) white-frosted cake, decorated with (real) gold flakes. When asked what flavor it was, I answered truthfully: lemon. Although as the baker of the cakes, I am usually the person who also carves them up, I asked that Mom cut her own cake this time. "Just the first slice", I said. Oh, no...she was having none of it. I insisted, and persisted. The surprise was worth it!

PQ and NJQB got creative, cutting it up. I'm glad - it looks so pretty like this!

an extra, gratuitous photo.
my folks are so darned cute together!

Next up: not so fast, my dear.

the Summer of twenty-ten (part I)

2010-10-01T21:29:00.000-07:00

October already. Really? Wow. I am truly glad that the Summer of 2010 is over. I think that the events of the past few months will stay with me, literally, for the rest of my life. This past summer has felt abundant in life in all of its forms - sorrowful, joyful, stressful, suspense-filled, dread-filled, horrifying, rich in blessings and gratitude.

I've wanted to write about it. I did write a bit, about Aunt Alice, and about the campout and some hijinx. But because I feel that I have been either living moment-to-moment (in stress) or recovering (possibly hiding) from the stress, it has been impossible to write as much as I'd have liked. I think if I am ever going to process what has come to pass in the last few months, writing is what needs to happen. Bear with me; this will be in several chapters.

mischief

2010-08-20T20:28:00.000-07:00

Scene:

The Q family gathers at a house in suburban California. They have just attended a beautiful service to memorialize their beloved wife, mother, aunt and grandma, and now are relaxing and reminiscing together. Most have changed into casual clothing and many are gathered around the pool in the backyard. The girl cousins are sitting at the side of the pool, feet dangling in the water, soaking up the warm sun. Suddenly, the women shriek. Someone has turned the sprinklers on, just behind them. All eyes turn to the boy cousins, CQ and Cousin D, who give each other high-fives while they laugh at their sisters and cousins.

Scene:
A few weeks later. It's Thursday evening, the first night of the Q family campout. There are tents and RV's encircling a grassy area in the middle of a redwood forest. One of the youngest cousins, CQ arrives with his two teen sons and begins to set up their tent. Once the tent is up, the air mattresses are inflated. This takes a long, long time. A small crowd gathers at the door to the tent. CQ's bed, in the center of a very large tent, is filling up the space. It grows and grows - it is the size of a queen bed and box spring, three times the size of the boy's air mattresses. Once all is in place, the bed is taller than the tent window and is visible from across the lawn. The family disperses to fix their dinners.

Scene:
The family is gathered around the campfire in the center of the lawn. Laughing, talking, teasing & story-telling ensues. Cousin R looks up and says, "CQ, what happened to your bed?" We all follow his gaze - the bed is no longer visible through the window. In fact, upon further inspection, it is utterly flat. Giggling commences from the family while cursing emanates from CQ. He leaves to find his air pump and start over again. Peace settles over the camp.

Scene:
Friday morning, and the family either bounces or drags from their beds. (We all have different morning temperaments.) Word travels around that young JC was the one who pulled the plug on the mattress. His mom, Cousin C, has a mischievous grin on her face. She is cooking up a revengeful scheme in payment for the sprinkler incident after her mother's memorial, and she is not done yet!

Scene:
Friday night, and the family is again gathered 'round the fire. Cousin C whispers to all the girl cousins that she has a plan for CQ's bed tonight. An hour or so later, the whispers go 'round again: the deed has been done. CQ's mattress is now deflated and hidden in the women's restroom. He discovers this development around bedtime. He retaliates by lifting up every seat in the girl's loo. (He was caught red-handed, but this reporter did not have the heart to tell him the truth: that women just think the restroom has been cleaned when we see the seat up.) Once the mattress is dragged out of the loo, it must be inflated. The family, knowing how long that will take, retires to their respective sleeping bags.

Scene:
Saturday morning, and the early risers have had their breakfast, but most are still snoozing. Yours truly rises and makes her way to the loo. On the return trip, Cousin RH (the designated photographer of the group) summons her over to a camper. Wanna see something? he says, and holds out his camera. The photo within is truly worth 1,000 words: CQ, asleep on his prized air mattress, on the floor of the men's room.

The Rest of the Story:
After he found his bed in the wee hours of Saturday morning, CQ went to his truck for his air pump. The car was locked. He located his key chain - which was missing only one key, the one for the truck. Not to be outdone, CQ had a spare pump! It had to be plugged in, so he dragged the mattress into the men's room and pumped up the mattress. Success! That is, until he realized that the mattress would not fit through the door. Exhausted (and perhaps a little tipsy), he went back to his tent, retrieved his sleeping bag, and fell into blissful sleep next to the showers. Sunup Saturday morning, Cousin RH went to take his shower, and found CQ, sound asleep. Of course he grabbed his camera. What else could he do with his time? (He couldn't shower...)

We love a good laugh!
from left to right: sister NQB, BIL GB, Cousin R, son Aa, CQ and Yours Truly
photo courtesy of young Cousin CF

heirlooms

2010-08-20T18:38:00.000-07:00

campfires are not mythical, but they are magical.
(* photos taken by Cammy Fumar)

We have gathered every year since 1981. Before that, we were all together for most of the major holidays: Easter, Mothers Day, Thanksgiving and Christmas. But the family just got too large. There were spouses and in-laws to consider, then babies, and it was just too hard to get together every time a holiday rolled around. But we missed each other, dearly. We decided to chuck it all, and to gather together for just one weekend each year: a family campout.

shadows... taken from the inside of my tent

We get along. Brother & sisters, their children and their children's children ~ we love each other and value our time together. People I know say that this is unusual. Perhaps they think that we belong to the Great American Mythical Family. They may be right. Not that we don't have our troubles ~ every family does. But we also have something very, very special, and the Q Family Campout is where it all comes together.

The place and date varies. It's still tough coordinating schedules, not everyone makes it, but somehow we manage. We gather on a Thursday, and depart on Sunday. On Saturday night we have a big ol' potluck dinner, ("something to barbeque and something to share") and even those who are non-campers but are close enough to drive come and join us. Uncle Wayne says the blessing, and we all cry. It's tradition!

part of the great circle of prayer in 2009
not all of us are people of faith, but on this occasion, we bow our heads together.

We began a new tradition a few years back, when Grandma's centennial came around. I guess we're calling it "the candle ceremony", and that's as good a name as any. One hundred (or so) candles are placed on a table. In the center, two pillars in a glass hurricane represent Grandma and Grampa. Surrounding them are candles representing their four children, a son and three daughters, and their spouses. Next, the 16 grandchildren, their spouses, children, and so on.

*2010 - the original four families

The candles are lit in the order of birth, (those who are present light their own candle,) and with each candle the beloved's name and birthdate are spoken. Though we begin in cool darkness, we finish in warmth and light. It is a beautiful thing and never fails to move me.

2009

We miss those who cannot be with us, and rejoice in those who are present. We hug each other, sometimes laugh and often cry. It is a sacred time.

*2010

Aunt Alice

2010-08-11T11:37:00.000-07:00

taken at a family campout in the 1989. see? her hands are full, working on a project!
(photo by my Dad)

This is my Aunt Alice. Dad's youngest sister, Mom to three daughters and a son, grandmother of six. Uncle Wayne's bride of 56 years.

Uncle Wayne and Aunt Alice on the beach, celebrating their 50th wedding anniversary
(photo by Russ Hyde)

These two are so in love. They always dressed alike. They retired on the same day, so as not to waste a minute of their precious time together. They cooked, fished, worked and played as a team, inseparable.

Give Alice any challenge, and she would accomplish it. Incredibly creative, her hands were rarely idle. She could always be counted upon to come up with a wonderful craft project or a delicious recipe. She always had an opinion, and she loved to laugh. She was a Presence.

Alice in the center, with Aunt Ele on the left and Grandma on the right, some time in the 60's.
(the Coors and the Salems are Alice's)
(photo by Dad)

That is why I miss her so. Even though in recent decades we only saw each other once a year, those few days were always rich with Aunt Alice's presence. Preparing food for our family's annual reunion this week, I found myself thinking, "hmm... Alice would like this..." and then I'd stop short, and remember that she would not be with us this year, for the first time ever.

She was a great lady, and I will always love her and miss her.

weird conversation of the week

2010-07-11T09:12:00.000-07:00

[scene: a Chevron gas station, pumps #8 and #10, Redwood City, California]

[I begin filling my tank, and a car pulls up behind me. I don't look up. I hear a man's voice, speaking lovingly to a child in the car.]

white male: Stay in the car, honey, Daddy's going to put some gas in the car.

A couple of minutes pass, then:

white male: Hey, I see your bumper stickers there. [pointing] What do you think of the whole Melissa thing?

me: hmm?

white male: [pointing] I saw your bumper stickers. What do you think about Melissa Etheridge?

..and neither is bigotry, or hatefulness, or fear

me: er... I don't really follow pop culture

white male: You know who she is, right?

me: Sure...

white male: (three-minute dissertation of some celebrity scandal involving a lover and child custody)

me: Oh. That's too bad.

white male: Yeah, well, I thought everybody knew about that. I mean, Melissa Etheridge! I saw your bumperstickers! [pointing]

This one came to me in a dream - I'm pretty sure it was the Holy Spirit.

me: Um... I really don't pay attention to celebrity news, sorry.

white male: I mean, it doesn't matter who you are, women, guys, we're all the same right?

me: [nodding] Yup.

white male: What she did - that's just wrong!

me: Yeah... I don't really know anything about it. I don't really pay attention to pop culture. [Hello? How many times do I have to say this?]

white male: Well, I was in The Business. So I know about this stuff.

me: [okaaaaaay...]

white male: I mean, guys or girls, it doesn't matter, right?

me: [finished pumping the gas, trying to get back in the car] Right. Doesn't matter, treat everyone with respect.

white male: [now shouting across the pumps] Well, you know what they say - opinions are like assholes. Everyone has one, and they all stink!

me: [gets in car, buckles up and leaves] What the heck was that??!

Dude, didja miss the Christian part of my message?!

proud

2010-06-27T21:39:00.000-07:00

Tonight marks the end of another Pride weekend. Not that I took part in any of the festivities. I have been to one pride parade, about 6 years ago. And before that, once, I volunteered at the AWSF booth on a Pride Saturday. Mostly, I try to avoid the crowd and traffic that seem to accompany such events. So it's not the weekend, per se, that moves me.

Not that it isn't fabulous!
photo courtesy of google images

Though I don't usually attend the festivities, in my heart I am so proud of my LGBT brothers and sisters. I cannot imagine how difficult the life of someone on the "other team" can be. The stirrings in childhood of feeling different, other, alien ~ with few (or no) role models. In adolescence/early adulthood, the courage that it takes to come out. The endurance that is required to be in a group that is still, in most places, routinely discriminated against. For those who are closeted, the fear of being found out and the oppression of not feeling able to fully be their complete and honest selves.

It is true that some LGBT persons do not succeed at these challenges. In particular, gay teens account for a disproportionate number of the homeless, prostituted and suicidal. The failure, one imagines, is in the family when a child turns to these conclusions. It's the saddest thing, isn't it? For a family to allow a child to be lost for such a thing as love or attraction to "the wrong person"? Many who survive their adolescence still bear the scars of a traumatized beginning. There are hundreds of thousands among the walking wounded in the US, victims of the intolerance, hate, misplaced religious fervor, ignorance and abuse.

While all of that is true, there are even more success stories. There are families who love their children for who they are, no ifs, ands or buts. Thank God. Gay people fill every role in our society ~ teacher, doctor, construction worker - really everything from congress person to dog catcher. The world is changing, and in a very good way.

gotta love PFLAG
photo courtesy of google images

What we honor in June, Gay Pride Month, is the beginning of true change for the LGBT community in the US: Stonewall. In 1969 it was common for police to raid gay bars and arrest all those inside. The men in the Stonewall bar had had enough one June night, and began a protest that would last several days and change the world.

a drag queen striking a pose for the camera before the paddy wagon door is shut at Stonewall.
photo courtesy of google images

The courage that a bunch of drag queens exhibited in that time equals, in my mind, the members of the Civil Rights movement in the 60's,

clockwise from top left: W.E.B. DuBois, Malcolm X, Rosa Parks, Reverend Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.
photo courtesy of google images

or those who worked against apartheid in the South Africa of the 80's and 90's.

President to-be Nelson Mandela
photo courtesy of google images

What has always offended me about people who discriminate against our gay brothers and sisters is that they use God to justify their hate. I mean, just look at that sentence. In what universe could God ever justify hate? And yet, people seem to think that God is this small. (An extreme case, to be sure, and you might even think that site is a joke, but it is not.) Westboro bunch may be overt, but they are no less hateful - and likely do less damage - than the ex-gay movement. Whichever, they do it in the name of Christ - who, I believe, weeps whenever a gay person is abused in this way.

Matthew Shepard memorial, Wyoming
photo courtesy of google images

The antidote to this, for me, is to work from within the Church for change. There is an ever-growing number of organizations, who are gaining in number and power, who help us to see the light. Mel White's Soulforce was one of the first. Virtually every Christian denomination - Presbyterians, Methodists, Baptists, Catholics, Latter-Day Saints (to name a few), as well as other world religions, have specific groups to fight against religious intolerance. As we do this work in our churches, there are many more resources available. My group has found this to be especially valuable and informative. I am encouraged that the church is making larger strides towards healing the wounds we have made on the innocent children of God who do not identify as heterosexual. It is a very slow, and often frustrating journey. But, as the great Dr. King said about the inevitability of justice:

"I just want to do God's will. And He's allowed me to go up to the mountain. And I've looked over. And I've seen the promised land. I may not get there with you. But I want you to know tonight, that we, as a people, will get to the promised land. So I'm happy, tonight. I'm not worried about anything. I'm not fearing any man. Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord."

Amen, and amen. †

ah, Spring - a gardener's lament

2010-05-23T18:35:00.000-07:00

from a couple of years ago, before I gave up on the hummingbird feeder

Warning - what follows is mostly gripe. If you do not enjoy gripe, please move on... this might not be pretty!

Spring is such a gorgeous time of year. Everything wants to grow. Brown hills turn green. Flowers burst forth. New life abounds. All of creation sings out with joy. Right?

Well, sure. But there is also this:

I'm told that Spring began on March 20. Can't prove it by me. We had about a week of delightful weather: temps in the low 70's, blue skies, birdsong - it was wonderful. That was back in March. Maybe even before the 20th, I'm not sure. Since then, it's been cold. Or wet. Or windy. Or cold and windy. Or wet and cold.

For the last 2 weeks, the wind has been ever-present and unrelenting. This is no gentle breeze. No, no. This is shake the house, break off branches, kill the new leaves, 30 mph wind gusting up to 45 mph. And the sound! Rattling the vents, howling through the trees, it is not a pleasant sound like rain or thunder. O how I despise wind. (To be fair, I hasten to add that it is much easier to deal with since the landlord replaced the 40+ year-old windows two summers ago. The wind actually cracked two of those old windows. But I still hate the wind, more than anything else in my life.)

between gusts, all is well

however, that does not last long, and this poor
little tree gets whipped around quite a lot.

Which is why I have to tie the tree (as well as
the hanging basket, not pictured) to the balcony.
Otherwise it would be rolling around or
crashing into the window.

It's also been incredibly cold here. Now, of course "cold" is relative - I am fully aware that I live in what is known as a temperate climate. (Just F.Y.I. to those who have not lived here, that means that it can be in the 50ºs or the 80ºs in April, August, November or January. Just sayin'.) So yes, in the low 50ºs all season long. Outside and in. I refuse to turn on the heat after April 1, so it's been about 58º in here most of the time. Layers of sweatshirts, heavy socks, and blankets abound.

The one good thing I can say about this unseasonably cold season is this: It's kept the ladybugs around.

my hero. or heroine.

See, Spring also brings aphids. They spring to life like everything else. The unfair advantage that Nature gave to aphids is that they can reproduce asexually. Which means that where one aphid is, three days later you can have a hundred sucking the life out of your plants. I have seen clusters of aphids where this is abundantly apparent - one large aphid surrounded by 99 little ones. It's kind of amazing, but it is really not a pleasant thing to see a favorite plant encrusted with the vile things.

Sadly, this is an indoor infestation. The plant had to be
destroyed, lest the infestation spread to more plants.

There are things one can try to eradicate the pestilence. I'm told that a good, hard spray of water will knock them off the plants and all will be well. That would be great, except that I (a) grow everything in pots, and the spray would empty the pots of soil and (b) have no hose. There is insecticidal soap, a "green", safe way of killing many garden pests. Unfortunately, you have to hit every bug that needs to be killed, and when they are everywhere, some are bound to be missed (see reproduction habits, above.) Also, the spray wilts the flowers - not a happy side effect. Enter the ladybug.

This critter is amazing. It can eat 100 aphids a day. Multiply that by the 1500 bugs you get in a container at the garden center for under $10, and you've got one environmentally-friendly pest solution. Trouble is, my gardening space is only about 3' wide and 9' long, and those ladybugs have wings. They are fickle things, not giving one thought to the fact that I've given them their freedom, and will fly away into a calm, blue sky and warm sun.

Ah HA! The silver lining. The little darlings are staying right here in my garden, hoovering up the aphids at a rapid pace. How wonderful. Maybe when the weather rights itself (one can always hope) and we get the Spring that is due to us, the flowers will still be around to enjoy.

maybe they'll even multiply!

That would almost make all this misery worth it. Almost.

my morning stages

2010-05-13T08:56:00.000-07:00

I have developed certain patterns in my fumbling attempts to get up and out the door each morning workday. (It's actually true every morning, but certainly much worse when I need to be somewhere in the morning!) To my surprise, these appear to echo the Kübler-Ross stages of grief. Please allow me to illustrate.

Denial. This can begin as early as the night before, but usually occurs after the alarm first goes off. Despite the fact that I have barely left enough time to bathe, dress, eat and maybe pack a lunch before going out the door and facing the 12-mile, 40-minute drive through traffic into San Francisco that begins my day, I decide that I will really only need about 30 minutes for the process. No, 25. Wait - 20.

Bargaining. This is where the snooze alarm comes in. The reasoning behind hitting that snooze one more time looks a lot like denial (see above.)

Shock. This is what happens when I (a) sleep through the alarm/snooze, (b) manage to set the wrong time for waking, (c) set the right time for waking but neglect to turn the alarm on, or (d) miscalculate in the denial/bargaining phases. I will open my eyes to an inordinately bright sky, look at the clock, and then realize that I have exactly 5 minutes before I need to be out the door. Whoo, the adrenaline that courses through my veins when this happens could fuel a ~~jet.~~ ~~locomotive.~~ third grader through recess.

Acceptance. I get out of bed.

Depression. I realize I cannot go back to bed if I want to maintain my status as a functioning adult. I stumble around, bleary-headed, trying to remember how to dress myself and where I put my shoes. Caffeine helps this, but it usually does not have time to kick in before I leave the house (because I've only left myself 20 - no, wait - 15 minutes to get ready). Then, when it does kick in, I feel better but I also have to pee.

Anger. I'm fairly slow to anger in general, but when I need to get through those 12 miles in 30minutes,please,dammit,Idon'tHAVE45minutesforthiscommute! Well, things can get a little testy. Words like "stupid" and "idiot" and "move it!" might pass my lips.

Guilt. This is what happens when it sinks in that I am, indeed, going to be late for work. Not only that, but it's my own darned fault for being so foolish and indulging in the denial and bargaining that brought me to this state. Again.

I really wonder: what would life be like if I were a morning person?

I've seen a heckuva lot more sunsets than sunrises, that's for sure!

old 1st

2010-05-03T23:23:00.000-07:00

Rose window, taken from across VanNess Ave

Visited a different church yesterday, Old First Presbyterian in SF, on Van Ness Ave. It's a place I've wanted to visit since I first saw the place a few summers ago (whilst waiting for T. to buy some sound equipment at the Guitar Center.) I took these photos then, not on Sunday...

Since that first glimpse, I've learned a few things about the church: They are the oldest active Protestant congregation in the state. They are a More Light congregation. And a local saint, Glenda Hope, was ordained into service by that congregation. Since I'm taking a bit of a break from Bethany, I thought I'd stop by and see for myself what they're up to.

the narthex is ornately painted and illuminated

I did not arrive on time. I was actually vacillating about whether to go or not... and I ended up splitting the difference and going 30 minutes late. The sermon had just begun when I walked in. I was being warmly greeted by an usher (who "ushed" me to sign the guest book and then "ushed" me to put on a name tag, and then ~~"ushed"~~ pointed out to me through the plate glass window - the entrance doubles as a crying room - a good place to sit) when I recognized a familiar, drawling voice. "Is that Glenda?!" Yes indeed, it was.

Rose window, from inside the Sanctuary

I had stumbled upon the celebration of Glenda's 40th anniversary of her ordination into the Ministry of Word and Sacrament. (In 1970 it was no small thing to ordain a woman to be the pastor of a church!) It was an honor to hear her preach, and that honor was doubled when she served me communion later.

I enjoyed my time at Old First. When I have visited churches in the past, they have mostly not been Presbyterian. This time, the liturgy was familiar, as was the hymnal and even the congregation... it was as if I was visiting a branch of the family I'd not yet met. The pipe organ was impressive, the choir was ... adequate, the hymns familiar, joyful and decidedly not weird - a nice change of pace for me.

exterior detail

There was an adult baptism, an infant baptism, and new members were welcomed. Communion was served in a simple and beautiful way, by intinction. They offer the congregation the choice of wine or grape juice - those who choose wine walk up the chancel steps to where the pastors serve (which is how I managed to be served by Rev. Hope.) I cannot remember the last time I had wine for communion, but it was a very long time ago, and I truly appreciated the difference.

Perhaps the most blessed thing about my experience was that I was totally unknown. All I needed to do was be there. No meetings after, no one I "had to" speak with, no duties, no distractions. It was peaceful. I want to go back - this time, for the whole service. Maybe in a couple of weeks.

exterior brick work

updating

2010-05-03T23:03:00.000-07:00

I suppose I'm just going to be one of those sporadic bloggers - the type that kind of bugs me, because when I find someone interesting to read (and of course, that is in the eye of the beholder) I want to read something new all the time, but they only post once a fortnight or so. Not that there are many (any?) reading this, but if you are: sorry to be such a flake.

Lent has come and gone, and we are already in the 5th week of Easter. So just to close the door on my "productive" (or lack thereof) Lent, here's the final tally:

~~upload the last 4 weeks' worth of photos from my camera~~... ~~tend my very neglected garden~~... ~~embroider Max's onsies...~~ ~~wrap Emilie's gift~~ ~~~~and give it to her parents~~ ... ~~write the minutes from last month's Worship Committee meeting~~...~~ ~~read and highlight and/or redline the recently completed Mission study... ~~clean the bathroom~~...~~ fix the (collapsed, egads) interior of my craft cabinet... ~~laundry~~... ~~find out why the engine light went on in my car~~ ... tie and hem my picnic blanket... ~~figure out how to use my new iHome machine so I don't have to wear the earbuds to bed...~~ make a new holiday-related craft. (note on 2/28 - the holiday has passed. Do I still make these, or wait until next year?) ... ~~change the sheets~~... make a new bedspread... ~~go outside and take photos...~~ make and market and sell my photo cards (ahem)... take a walk... ~~bake off the rest of the gingerbread dough~~... ~~take out the garbage~~... vacuum... put the dates (birthdays and such) in my 2010 calendar... learn how to crochet a ball (maybe a few for Max and one for Emilie)... ~~bake something for tonight's OMN@B~~... ~~make a craigslist ad for the ~~Calie Celae Calaei~~~~ ~~that Irish celebration~~ ~~at the church... learn how to spell it~~ ~~Ceili! .~~.. ~~pay the February bills~~... do my taxes... plant stuff into the now-cleared out garden... ~~edit those 4 weeks of photos~~... ~~watch as much of the Olympics as I can (which is good for the onesies project, too).~~ ... get the Advent/Christmas banners back from wherever they are right now...

Enough of the old news. Here, as promised, are Max's onsies:

robot with hightops

go Giants!

dragon (kinda proud of this design)

stroke of genius (imho)

Lenten update, week #2

2010-02-28T13:15:00.000-08:00

There was a minor setback when some sort of wimpy flu bug grabbed hold of me last week. How is it that, every single time I have worked up some good resolve to change my ways, my physical plant shuts down and/or revolts? Hmm... Well, I shall not be moved: I have resumed making some modest progress. Not only that, but I've not had a "wasted day" since I got back on my feet last Wednesday. Yay me!

So here's the list, last posted 8 days ago, with progress noted:

~~upload the last 4 weeks' worth of photos from my camera~~... ~~tend my very neglected garden~~... embroider Max's onsies... (Note on 2/28: these are almost done; just have to embroider the cute little accents on them. Will show photos when they are finished! ~~wrap Emilie's gift~~ ~~and give it to her parents~~ ... ~~write the minutes from last month's Worship Committee meeting~~... ~~read and highlight and/or redline the recently completed Mission study~~... ~~clean the bathroom~~... fix the (collapsed, egads) interior of my craft cabinet... ~~laundry~~... ~~find out why the engine light went on in my car~~ ... tie and hem my picnic blanket... figure out how to use my new iHome machine so I don't have to wear the earbuds to bed... make a new holiday-related craft. (note on 2/28 - the holiday has passed. Do I still make these, or wait until next year?) ... ~~change the sheets~~... make a new bedspread... go outside and take photos... make and market and sell my photo cards (ahem)... take a walk... ~~bake off the rest of the gingerbread dough~~... ~~take out the garbage~~... vacuum... put the dates (birthdays and such) in my 2010 calendar... learn how to crochet a ball (maybe a few for Max and one for Emilie)... ~~bake something for tonight's OMN@B~~... make a craigslist ad for the ~~Calie Celae Calaei~~ ~~that Irish celebration~~ ~~at the church... learn how to spell it~~ Ceili! ... ~~pay the February bills~~... do my taxes... plant stuff into the now-cleared out garden (note on 2/28: this has begun but has not been completed)... ~~edit those 4 weeks of photos~~... ~~watch as much of the Olympics as I can (which is good for the onesies project, too).~~ (note on 2/28 - gosh I enjoyed these Olympics) ... get the Advent/Christmas banners back from wherever they are right now...

New for today/this weekend: Write an article for the church newsletter as assisgned by my (More Light) Task Force (I missed the March edition deadline!)... ~~make a poster for Sunday's committee fair~~... ~~arrange the Sunday flowers~~... deal with the piles of stuff in my bedroom... fix the sewing machine (broken for about 7-8 years, but I've had the part I need for that long, as well)... ~~grocery shop~~... ~~put away the groceries~~... ~~get a haircut~~... ~~order prescription refills~~... figure out what it means and how to manage the fact that I agreed to be the church webmistress... reschedule a Worship Committee meeting... schedule a Task Force and an OMN@B meeting...

Oh, and take a nap!

Granted, it would appear that great progress has been made... and some of these items are long-range things, have been on my mental to-do list for years now. But before I go patting myself on the back, I also need to remember that this started 14 days ago, and ... well, okay. I'm not going to beat myself up. Onward! And thank you, God!

missing: 1,000 words

2010-02-26T22:13:00.000-08:00

turning a city block after work
a sight made me

halt

and catch my breath.

t'was 20 minutes before sun set
90 minutes after moon rise:
the orbs almost facing
in the sky.

it rained most of today
but the clouds had receded from the city
leaving an island
of clear blue
surrounded by thick
sunlit
whipped cream mounds
(the top side
of rainclouds.)

I was facing east
the sun at my back.

in front of me
a half-mile down geary street:
st. mary's cathedral
resplendent in golden light
billowing rain clouds behind her
the near-full moon hanging
in a deep blue sky above.

I watched
as an airplane flew in front of the moon
and one second later
was dazzled
when the sun suddenly reflected
off all of the windows
in the sky scrapers
behind the church.

of course I had no camera.

photo harvested from google images

updating the list

2010-02-20T16:38:00.000-08:00

There has been progress, albeit small! I am beginning to get things done:

(Feb 14)
Here is a list, in no particular order, of the things I would like to accomplish in the next day/days/week/weeks: ~~upload (or is it download?) the last 4 weeks' worth of photos from my camera~~... ~~tend my very neglected garden~~... embroider Max's onsies... ~~wrap Emilie's gift~~ ~~and~~ give it to her parents... write the minutes from last month's Worship Committee meeting... ~~read and highlight and/or redline the recently completed Mission study~~... clean the bathroom... fix the (collapsed, egads) interior of my craft cabinet... ~~laundry~~... ~~find out why the engine light went on in my car (this is new, and it will be addressed before I drive any further, I promise)~~ (note on 2/20: one oil change, one air filter, one air flow sensor and $300 later, this has been taken care of!)... tie and hem my picnic blanket... figure out how to use my new iHome machine so I don't have to wear the earbuds to bed... make a new holiday-related craft... ~~change the sheets~~... make a new bedspread... go outside and take photos... make and market and sell my photo cards (ahem)... take a walk... ~~bake off the rest of the gingerbread dough~~(note on 2/20: I threw it out - it was from December - there are no eggs or dairy products in the dough and was probably okay, but I threw it out)... ~~take out the garbage~~... vacuum... put the dates (birthdays and such) in my 2010 calendar... learn how to crochet a ball (maybe a few for Max and one for Emilie)... had enough? At least my Christmas decorations are put away.

There are things added to the list, now....
bake something for tonight's OMN@B... make a craigslist ad for the ~~Calie Celae Calaei~~ that Irish celebration at the church... learn how to spell it... pay the February bills... do my taxes... plant stuff into the now-cleared out garden... edit those 4 weeks of photos... watch as much of the Olympics as I can (which is good for the onesies project, too)... get the Advent/Christmas banners back from wherever they are right now...

Mostly, I am happy that there is, at last and for now, forward motion. Keep it comin', Lord!

dust, to dust returning...

2010-02-17T22:39:00.000-08:00

Almost didn't make it to the Ash Wednesday service. (It's always so hard to get anywhere by 7:00 on a work night.) I decided to grab an "after school snack" and then go, having dinner later. Though I probably missed the first half, I'm glad I went. The service was quite spare, and the songs simple.

Ubi caritas et amor, ubi caritas Deus ibi est.
(Where there is charity and love, God is there)

Come and fill our hearts with your peace; you alone, o Lord, are holy.

Lord, prepare me to be a sanctuary, pure and holy, tried and true. With thanksgiving, I'll be a living sanctuary for you.

The first was sung in English, but I love the Latin - probably because that is how I learned the song. The second is one of my very favorite (and well-used) meditative songs... it is best to sing it over and over and over again, until it sinks in deep and becomes part of my breathing and being. The third has not been a favorite of mine; it has a fairly modern, "pop"esqe tune. However, tonight the words were what carried me, and I went into a good place with those.

The silences were the most wonderful...

In the last, long period of silence all was still - until a distant train whistle broke the silence. It reminded me that we are not (as I tend to imagine on holy days) in ancient Christian times, walking in the dust that Jesus trod. No, we are in 21st century America, where trains whistles still blow, cell phones go off, and electronic gadgets remind us that we are late for church.

Even so. Lent comes to this wonderfully imperfect, American culture - as surely as it came to the English and Germans in the 1930's, slave traders in the 19th century, our founding patriots in the 18th century, to the Italians and French during the renaissance, and so on, through the ages.
It is so odd to see people walking around with an ashen "†" on their foreheads. These people with whom I share my experience - my family of friends, brothers and sisters in Christ - are all 21st century beings, too. And yet we carry the ancient symbol on our foreheads tonight. We are but dust and ashes, (carbon-based beings!) and to dust we shall return. What we celebrate is eternal - even in this modern time. And so we observe and celebrate Lent in our way, in this time.
I think this is the first time I've wrapped my brain around the idea that liturgy is not a reenactment of events that happened long ago. Though our traditions have their origins with Christ, through the timeless hand of God they stretch through the ages, morphing and evolving with the centuries, to meet us here, and they will greet us again in the future.

I'm still trying to figure out how I'll observe Lent this year. A while ago, I thought I might be giving up Facebook. I heard on NPR this morning that English priests asked their congregations to give up carbon emissions for at least one day of Lent, to relieve climate-change suffering for the poor around the globe. (A lofty goal! Imagine not using electricity/gasoline for even one day per week!) I might be working on this. I might keep you posted. ;o) Time will tell.

a valentines day memory

2010-02-15T11:19:00.000-08:00

(candy photos courtesy of Google images)

This happened one February 14th, some time in the early 70's when my younger brother and I were still living at home. It was the weekend. Mom was doing housework (I might have been helping her), Dad was working in the garage with Charlie.

Dad has always had a thing for Necco wafers, and so there are always (Necco's) conversation hearts around for Valentine's Day. Mom sent a few downstairs to Dad. He sent one back, saying something like "my way". She sent one back to him, something like "wise up".
They went back and forth for a few rounds, actually having an argument with those little candies! Gradually, though, the comments softened to "sweetheart" and "kiss me". I seem to remember a big smooch (ew!) when Dad finally came upstairs to wash up.
Another year (or maybe it was the same year?) Mom really wanted new bricks for a project in the backyard. Dad bought them, brought them home on Valentine's day, and did this, which could be seen from their bedroom window:
And that's how you stay married for 60+ years.

here and now

2010-02-14T19:06:00.000-08:00

(illustrations courtesy of Mary Engelbreit)

A fairly constant theme of this (adult, childless) season of my life has been an inability to get things done when I don't need to be at work or have some other commitment.

I think this may be because I ~~never get anything done unless~~ work best on deadline

~or~

there are so many interesting things to do, I cannot choose which to do first and so I sit at the computer and... the day disappears.

~or~

I am an expert procrastinator

~or~

I have been depressed

~or~

I always want/plan/hope to get things done first thing in the day, so I can have the rest of the day (after lunch) to play, guilt-free. Except on these free days, I end up sleeping in, having a slow, relaxing breakfast-and-read, and by the time I'm done with that it's noon and the day has been wasted. (Rolling my eyes right along with you on this one.)

~or~

I got a new iPod touch four weeks ago, and haven't been able to put it down since.

~or~

I am very (very) good at relaxing

You get the idea.

Here is a list, in no particular order, of the things I would like to accomplish in the next day/days/week/weeks: upload (or is it download?) the last 4 weeks' worth of photos from my camera... tend my very neglected garden... embroider Max's onsies... wrap Emilie's gift and give it to her parents... write the minutes from last month's Worship Committee meeting... read and highlight and/or redline the recently completed Mission study... clean the bathroom... fix the (collapsed, egads) interior of my craft cabinet... laundry... find out why the engine light went on in my car (this is new, and it will be addressed before I drive any further, I promise)... tie and hem my picnic blanket... figure out how to use my new iHome machine so I don't have to wear the earbuds to bed... make a new holiday-related craft... change the sheets... make a new bedspread... go outside and take photos... make and market and sell my photo cards (ahem)... take a walk... bake off the rest of the gingerbread dough... take out the garbage... vacuum... put the dates (birthdays and such) in my 2010 calendar... learn how to crochet a ball (maybe a few for Max and one for Emilie)... had enough? At least my Christmas decorations are put away.

Here's what happened today:

I did some gardening at the church yesterday, and promised my garden that I would take care of it today. Church first, though, with meetings after.

(12:00) After church I decided to run a few errands. I wanted to make a cool new craft, (after the gardening, of course) and had everything I needed except for some fuseable webbing. I went to the craft/fabric store (they were having a sale: 20% off everything at Beverly's!) and bought what I needed, plus a few extra things (because they were 20% off, natch). I realized I was right next to the party store, and I've been out of red paste food coloring (not a life-sized depiction) so I bopped over there and picked some up.* I picked up some lunch and then headed home.

[*Tangent: while I was there, I realized that this week is chock full of holidays: Valentines Day (meh) and the start of Lunar New Year today. President's Day tomorrow (they had huge posters of Mr. Obama, and I was really tempted). Mardi Gras on Tuesday. Ash Wednesday. Wow. How is a girl to know what colors to wear with all this going on?!]

(2:00) Once home, I was having lunch while ~~not~~ watching the olympics, and chatting with some on-line friends. (3:00) Then I did my usual reading: the comics, Post Secret, a couple of blogs. (4:15) It was warm in the room, and despite the caffeine I'd ingested, I got pretty sleepy. I set a timer for 45 minutes and took a nap.

(5:00) With about an hour of light left, It was now-or-never for the garden. I decided that I didn't really want to do that any more (and I can give it better and longer attention tomorrow), so I gave myself permission to start the craft! Cool!

Walked into the bedroom, where the supplies were. Eyeballed the pile of laundry, and thought what the heck, sorted and started the first of 4 loads. Changed the bed. Swept the kitchen floor. Scrubbed the kitchen floor. Did I start the cool craft? No!

My theory here is, when my time is all my own, there is something about my brain that causes me to want to do something, anything but what is on the actual agenda. How weird is that? It's true, I did accomplish a few things, but they are not the things I'd set aside to do today. I am, in fact, writing a blog post instead of that lovely craft.

I [heart] Trader Joe's, chapter 97

2010-01-24T22:09:00.000-08:00

Getting out of the car this afternoon after a marathon of church (choir rehearsal, worship service, congregational meeting, worship committee meeting - almost 5 hours!), I had a really good idea for a blog post.

By the time I was upstairs, it was forgotten.

I haven't forgotten you, little blog!

So instead of whatever brilliant insight I was going to write, let me tell you about my currently favorite salad. Looking at the bowl, I realize that almost everything is from Trader Joe's... which has been a theme here on occasion, no?

a big bowl of baby spinach leaves
grape tomatoes, cut in half
3-4 whole canned (not marinated) artichoke hearts, quartered
handful of pine nuts, toasted
a good hunk of feta cheese, crumbled (I used a lot of this, about an ounce [?] because it's been around a while and it needs to be eaten up, but it looks like even more in this photo!)
Newman's Own light vinaigrette (the only non-TJ ingredient here)

Relish with delight and in good conscience.

emptying the ol' emailbox

2010-01-03T23:17:00.000-08:00

A friend sent this to me around this time last year; I think I was too wrapped up in my personal loss at the time to appreciate it thoroughly, nor to share it (as it should be shared). So, a year late and a dollar short, I hope you enjoy it as much as I have:

The Turning Seasons

The pendulum swings, and swings back.
Every action has its equal and opposite reaction.
So we are born, and eventually we die.
We plant seeds in the spring, and rip out roots in the fall.
Killing and healing tread on each other's heels.
Buildings go up, and get torn down;
new buildings emerge from the ruins of the old.
The Phoenix rises from its own ashes.
You lose someone you love;
you bounce like a ping-pong ball
between tears and hysterical laughter.
If despair were forever, you couldn't carry on,
but you carry on because you know
despair will someday be displaced by dancing again.
You can't make love all the time;
sooner or later, you have to become friends.
You misplace your house keys; you find them.
You forget someone's name;
it comes back to you in the middle of the night.
You lose a job, and a new career opens up.
You spend the first half of your life gaining possessions,
and the second half giving them away.
The animated conversations of young lovers mature
into the comfortable silences of long familiarity.
Why should we expect a single state of mind,
a single snapshot of experience, to last indefinitely?
Does a pendulum stop at the end of its swing?
So war and peace, love and hate,
togetherness and aloneness,
inevitably cycle and recycle.
This is how God teaches us.
Life is full of resurrections.

(by Jim Taylor)

all the best to you and yours in 2010!

2010-01-01T15:57:00.000-08:00

advent calendar #2

2009-12-04T11:41:00.000-08:00

a beautiful classic:

(distraction)

2009-12-02T23:02:00.000-08:00

well, I have pulled out the Christmas music, have begun re-visiting the Advent calendar sites, and the season is underway. yeah. except for the excruciating pain and the fact that I'm fairly immobile.

oh, bother.

yesterday (12/1) I woke with some fairly strong pain in my right shoulder. must've slept on it wrong. it was really hard to even drive - turning left, in particular - but the pain wore off/worked itself out by the end of the work day.

this morning when I woke, my shoulder was frozen. I couldn't move my right arm, except by lifting it with my left. moving my elbow away from my side was impossible. about 30 minutes later, I was able to move enough to dress myself, and I went to work. with a heating pad. things got a little better... and then worse again.

I've got an appointment in the morning to see a doctor. was offered good drugs, but declined them because I thought I had vicodin at home. later discovered that I don't, alas. now icing it, and taking lots of aleve (temporarily!) I am hoping for a miracle recovery... the Christmas spirit will not be derailed by this!

Advent calendar #1

2009-12-02T22:26:00.000-08:00

(not my photograph)

In celebration of the season of Advent, I am going to avail myself (and you, dear Reader,) of the many Advent calendars that are available in this treasure trove we call The Web.

Ironically, first up we have a secular calendar. (If, indeed, one can call the very Heavens "secular"...) Enjoy, check the site for daily updates, and be sure to read the captions for extra enjoyment.

P.S. this is my 100th post!

an Advent opportunity

2009-11-30T23:22:00.000-08:00

It is an interesting thing to balance, this time between now and the end of the year. On one hand, there's Christmas. Joyful red and green celebrations, twinkling lights, peppermint and jingle bells; elegant, raucous, beautiful, silly music; pine boughs, wet streets and secretive errands to bustling stores ~ I love it all. On the other hand, there is Advent. Candlelight, reverence and preparation for the Child who was born to die for us all; solemn hymns, passionate purple, the spirit of discovery, wonder and unworthiness of it all ~ this, I also love.

In recent years, I have been so very concerned with keeping Advent, that I lost Christmas. I became such an Advent pharisee that the season became lost. A short excerpt from last December's blog:

I count myself among a small minority who prefers to honor Advent - in church, at least - by not rushing Christmas before it's time for that baby to be born. ...without Advent, how can one enjoy Christmas? I don't know. I just feel as if, by insisting on putting Advent first before Christmas in my personal celebration, in these past few years I've missed both and end up somewhat empty-handed and empty-hearted when Christmas comes around.

I'm not one to get caught up in the hype - in fact, I will run in the other direction if I see hype creeping in - so gross consumerism is not the issue here. A change of heart is in order, and shan't be too difficult. After all, I've been a Christmas Keeper from way back. I love this stuff, and I'm going to let myself have it!

Tonight I read a wonderful sermon by a Unitarian minister who goes by the name of Peace Bang in the blogosphere. She makes excellent points about what she calls the confusion of the season, and recommends we treat Advent/Christmas like the thanksgiving feast: "I think that if you want a juicy holiday season, you must rest like the turkey. A half an hour every day." A daily dose of Advent-Sabbath, if you will. So that is what I am going to do.

Starting tomorrow, December first, I am going to do one thing each day to celebrate and prepare for Christmas. It might be something big, it will probably be something small - but it will be my own personal Advent task: to find joy in this balance of preparation and celebration.

so very thankful

2009-11-26T21:23:00.000-08:00

for the beauty of creation:
the earth...

...the sea and sky;

for miracles:

tiny...

...small and mighty...

and very, very large;

for freedom

(photo via google images)

and for hope;

for dear friends:

sister-friends,

life-long friends....

distant friends....

virtual friends...

friends steadfast...

and true...

for friends, departed;

for those who guide and comfort;

for this place...

... and for this one;

for the smell of turkey in the kitchen...

...which reminds me of these people;

and for these people...

these people...

and especially for these ~ two pieces of my heart;

for this family...

...those near, and those departed.

For all of these things,
and for every breath I take, each blink of the eye;
I give thanks to you, dear Lord.

love, Kathryn

gratitude, day 12

2009-11-25T22:18:00.000-08:00

God gave you a gift
of 86,400 seconds today.
Have you used one to say

"thank you"?

~William A. Ward

gratitude, day 11

2009-11-25T12:56:00.000-08:00

for a quiet dinner with a friend, and for the privilege of sitting with him through the mourning process, I am truly thankful.

gratitude, day 10

2009-11-23T22:06:00.000-08:00

The spirit of God has made me,
and the breath of the Almighty gives me life.

- Job 33:4

For sunshine
crisp air
green veg chili*
wine-poached pears
creativity
and a surprisingly easy day

I am truly grateful.

*it turned out really, really good!

gratitude, day 9

2009-11-22T22:56:00.000-08:00

Gratuitous photo to take up space in the blog
and make it appear more appealing (if not more interesting to read.)
Look at how weathered those prayer flags look!
And the tree! How golden!
This photo has nothing at all to do with the contents of this blog post.

Today was more of an adventure (in a small way) than I bargained for. Remember that day when n-o-t-h-i-n-g was scheduled or required? Ha. Ha ha ha.

After quite a long and joyful evening last night, I stayed up (again) way too late for no good reason other than I wasn't sleepy. (Blog post on day 8 will be up soon, I hope.) Six hours later, my alarm went off and I was up. Fixed a mocha, sat and checked out Post Secret and a few other things, and then got dressed for church.

Arrived an hour early, and I wasn't sure if there would be enough time to take care of what I needed to do: arrange the flowers (sunflowers, orange dahlias, muddy red-green hydrangea, and this weird stuff with red blossoms - it looked autumnal) for Andy's birthday, take off the apron and "finish" my outfit, do a mic check and read through today's readings for the lectionary all before 10:00. Well, either I am getting faster, or time was moving really slowly, because I got those flowers done by 9:25! I had plenty of time... phew!

After church, I took Mom home and we discussed the menu for Thursday. I am cooking a lot: sweet potatoes, a zucchini appetizer, and spinach salad. (The distribution of labor in a pot luck with only 5 people, two of whom are my kids, and another my father leaves not-so-much distribution after all.) I'm looking forward to it, actually. I'm really enjoying cooking these days.

I planned to take a nap, then didn't. Got busy on the computer and listening to a new CD (Yo Yo Ma & Friends Songs of Joy & Peace - wonderful! FIVE renditions of Dona Nobis Pacem!) forgot to have lunch, and once refueled, returned to the kitchen to make that green veggie chili. It turned out quite nicely, I think - will give it a day or so to mellow out. So much slicing and chopping and dicing! Onions, garlic, three kinds of peppers....

Okay, the peppers. There was a yellow bell, and two others. I forgot that I bought not two, but just one anaheim pepper, and the other was a poblano. They both looked the same. Well, they weren't the same, and I realized this just after I tasted a bit of that poblano. HOT. And then, of course, I also realized my mistake: no gloves when I chopped that sucker up. I shrugged it off - nothing hurt - and commenced with the chopping: zucchini, eggplant, green onion, cilantro. Figured (after I tasted that pepper) that (since nothing hurt) I'd clean off the cutting board after everything was chopped up. Mistake numero dos.

By the time the rest of the stuff was in the pot, my fingers were kind of burning just a bit. And then, suddenly, they were burning quite a lot. Okay, so wash the hands. Which made it worse. Well, I was a girl scout, I knew what to do. I poured a small glass of milk and put my fingers in it. (Lactose acid kills capsicum, supposedly.) Well, it still burned, and I was not expecting that. So I got on line again, one hand still in the milk, to ask facebook for help and to read about home remedies: rubbing alcohol (topical), vodka (internal?), baking soda, vegetable oil, bleach, you-name-it. I tried the baking soda (no difference, but I just dissolved it in milk), oil (maybe this helped?) and then just went back to milk. Three hours later, the chili was cooked and my hand was feeling less so.

My, this is turning into a long (and quite parenthetically heavy) post. With no pictorial evidence.

Another gratuitous photo to take up space in the blog
and make it appear more appealing (if not more interesting to read.)
No ladybugs were harmed in the writing of this post.
All rights reserved, except in places where they aren't reserved, your offer may vary.

Suffice to say: I've been fed - physically, musically, spiritually and socially - and will continue to be so for the foreseeable future.

And for that, I am truly grateful.

gratitude, day 8 (ish)

2009-11-22T22:49:00.000-08:00

Saturday(the true day 8) was so full that I did not have time to pause and write about how very thankful I am for all that occurred. Let's see...

On the Saturday before Thanksgiving, my church has a big celebration. It is, for me, one of the best days on the church calendar, and my favorite non-worship event. This has evolved over the years, from being an all-out dinner cooked in the church from soup to nuts (well, from jello salad - with questionable mayonnaise topping, as I recall - to pumpkin pie.) The ladies of the church - and it was always the ladies, of course - got pretty tired, and then they retired, and no one stepped up to take their place in such a monumental endeavor. We didn't want to end the tradition, though, so we adapted (hello, Mr. Darwin!) and now it's a pot luck. The volunteer cooks (and one head chef - hello, Anne!) prepare the turkey, dressing and cranberries. The rest of the meal - mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, veggies and salads - we bring to the dinner. And oh, what culinary delights! Some folks (moi) bring the same thing every year, and we all look forward to our favorites (hello, Berta's heart-attack-potatoes!)

This year Mom & Dad actually made it home from their annual fall road trip in time to join me at the dinner. I haven't been able to really sit with them to hear stories about their travels, but there were non-family members at the table, so I got to hear about some of their trip. Dad's off-hand comment about "what we'd really like to do next year" nearly made me choke on my turkey. The trip is strenuous, and Dad's health has not been great, I didn't really think they'd go this year! I guess it's good to have something to look forward to... Lord, have mercy!

And then, after dinner, the best part! We have an annual talent show! This, too, has evolved over the years, depending on who is in the congregation. We've had 10-year olds with clarinet solos (hello Ed!), Dana Carvey's "church lady" impressions (hi Geoff!), readings of "Gunga Din", youth club skits, classical music, songwriter's presentations... oh, how I could go on. It's always such a delight, and (current era) always so darned impressive that we have so very many talented people in our congregation!

This year we evolved yet again, and combined the evening with our monthly Open Mic night. We had two guest acts, as well as the slew of Bethany performers, and oh, boy it was so fun. One of the couples did an hilarious rendition of a scene from Oklahoma! and ended up smooching. (In church! the scandal!) I did my annual reading of this delightful writing by Ian Frasier. (It's now in book form, too!) There was a song about hellfire - with a really tight band - and all of the music was just amazing. I came home with a glow, and that didn't wear off for ... oh, hours and hours.

And for these things, I am truly grateful.

gratitude, day 7

2009-11-20T23:23:00.000-08:00

(no, not these. these were for Laura Grace, three weeks ago.)
photo courtesy of the Henry family

I am really looking forward to this weekend. With ~~a terrific~~ my favorite event at church (pot luck thanksgiving dinner and open mic talent show!) tomorrow, and

a b s o l u t e l y . n o t h i n g .

scheduled for Sunday, it sounds pretty much perfect. Before all that starts, though, there is grocery shopping, gas-filling (oh, that must be first on the agenda), flowers to buy and arrange (happy birthday, Andy!) and a sweet potato - cranberry dish to fix. Oh, yeah, and at some point I'll be making that veggie green chili.

Whew, I should go to bed.

And for that, I am truly thankful.

gratitude, day 6

2009-11-19T22:10:00.000-08:00

Today I got my stitches out. It looks... well, not quite ready yet. One of the steri-strips has already fallen off, so it will be interesting to see what happens. After that, I went to the farmer's market and got some veggies for a recipe that's coming together in my head: a vegetarian green chili. It remains to be seen if that actually gets cooked, but I think I can mostly just throw all the ingredients in the crock pot and let it cook itself. I'd hate to kill all those beautiful veggies.

I came home and wrote for a couple of hours (something I started in May for the blog, but it never came out. Today it came out, but it's not exactly seasonal... so it's still under wraps. Then I got to talk to some friends on line, and then a friend on the phone. It was so lovely to just be home, with the beautiful autumn sunshine streaming in.

Once the sun was down, I took some leftovers (mmm, ricotta and spinach-stuffed shells - but I'd already had them five or six times this week) to Mom and Dad. I visited with Mom for a while. She had been working in the back yard all day long, and looked tired, but not done in. Dad was on his way to go to the pool for his water therapy, so we didn't visit much. I'm glad that they are home, and looking so good.

Dinnertime: It is no secret that I am a fan of Trader Joe's. A lot of their stuff is cheaper, better, more awesome or more original than your typical grocery. Oh, and deeeelicious.

Not every night is gourmet city around here, but I do enjoy a nice meal. Tonight I had one of my favorites: TJ's orange chicken over (TJ's) fresh spinach. While I was heating the sauce in the microwave, I sliced up some red bell peppers and green onions, and threw that in the bowl. When the chicken came out (20 minutes at 400º) it went into the bowl too. A quick toss, and poured it over that big bowl of spinach. It is was so yummy, and - well - not too unhealthy! Yum, yum and yum.

(please note that I am not known for my food photography! eek!)

And for all of these things, I am truly thankful!

gratitude, day 5 (ish)

2009-11-18T00:48:00.000-08:00

So I had a bit of a crash last weekend, when I learned that (for reasons too complex to go into here, not entirely my fault but certainly not without my help) my biweekly check was short by about half. This is my "fat" week, when all the money doesn't have to go to rent, so I was really looking forward to being more comfortable for a couple of weeks. When the opposite occurred, I kind of freaked out a bit. Okay, I was (briefly) terrified when I learned what happened.

A day or two passes, and equilibrium returns. While I regret the error, I am not without resources, even a rescue net or two. All will be well.

Then on Monday, I heard a radio report on folks who are really suffering from the recession: the children of the un- or under-employed. People across our country, likely some of my neighbors, are going without food, medical care, and losing their homes. And they have children. These parents, just like the rest of us, only want the best for their kids in this troubled world. But their babies are going hungry.

I ~~imagine how~~ cannot imagine how those parents feel, without any net under them. As someone who was raised in a very comfortable, suburban, two-parent family, I cannot imagine being a child of that situation. Not only that, but I returned myself and my children to that home, so the three of us could have that security while they were growing up. I can certainly speculate on the fear, the longing, the anger, and the psychological damage that is happening in those families. I know that I would be terrified if I were in their place.

I currently have no children to raise; I do not have to provide for anyone but myself. I don't think I'm going to lose my home, or go hungry. (Ha - as if!) I am not going without heat, prescription medicine or comfortable furnishings.

I need to find a way, even in my own personal poverty, to help my neighbors who have less.

For these blessings, I am truly so very thankful.

gratitude, day 4

2009-11-18T00:02:00.000-08:00

(from Google images - isn't it gorgeous?!)

ah, gratitude: it must take practice; this is harder than I thought. I am committed, I think, to seeing this through and to be more consciously thankful on a regular basis. (did someone say "discipline"? whazzat?)

daily blogging is harder than I thought, too. there was to be a larger post today, something a little deeper, but it is late now and that will have to wait for another day. didn't actually make it by midnight, but here goes...

my parents have made it safely home again from their insanely brave, 9-week road trip.

tonight in a church meeting, I openly disagreed with a friend on an issue. all seemed well, but in the parking lot I expressed concern to her ~ there's not usually much dissent in these meetings. she was fine! welcomes the honesty, and returns it!

I (broke down and) had some delicious hot fudge tonight after the meeting.

and for these things, I am truly thankful.

gratitude, day 3

2009-11-16T21:53:00.000-08:00

I received a little card in the mail today:

your biopsy showed: No tumor left!

for this, I am truly thankful.

gratitude, day two

2009-11-15T08:39:00.000-08:00

Today I am thankful for cinnamon, for the fun of cooking with a friend, and for NPR

a time of thanksgiving

2009-11-14T10:47:00.000-08:00

I am going to attempt a discipline in the coming days... to post, as often as possible (I'd like to say "daily", but I am a realist and don't need the pressure) a statement or reflection or muse on gratitude for the rest of the month.

Gratitude - thanksgiving to the One who gives us life - is essential for happiness, isn't it? Certainly, for those of us who believe in the One.

Today, I am grateful for ...

crisp fuji apples
the gathering 'round my friends Andy and Melinda's kitchen table last night...
the hope of an interesting afternoon...
the fact that I currently receive a regular paycheck...
the change in weather and the cool, crisp days...
remembrance day... (here and here, for starters) even if it is a few days late

Okay, more tomorrow - if all goes according to plan...

Veteran's Day

2009-11-11T11:11:00.000-08:00

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly.
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved, and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

~ World War I Colonel John McCrae, a surgeon with Canada's First Brigade Artillery

cheater!

2009-11-09T21:10:00.000-08:00

I've been itchin' to cook lately. Usually I think I want to cook, buy the groceries, and then lose the initiative before I actually get to make the dish(es) I have in mind. Food wasted, produce dies... it's not pretty.

So (another sign of a healthier me) imagine my delight when I managed to put together TWO recipes on Saturday! Well... one of them was chocolate chip cookies, so maybe that doesn't count; except that I never bake just for me, so (again, and caloric content aside) yay me! The other dish was a variation of this one, and oh boy was it tasty! (Thank you, Smitten Kitchen!) Lots of leftovers... at least three day's worth of meals.

Tonight: well, I wasn't really in the mood for cooking at all, but then I read this on Pioneer Woman, and I suddenly really, really needed chicken enchiladas. So... I cheated. And it was really, really good.

Cheater's Chicken Enchiladas
Heat oven to 400º. Place about a dozen frozen, ready to heat chicken taquitos in a shallow baking dish. Cover with canned green enchilada sauce (save the rest for another time - it freezes well in ziplock sandwich bags!) Sprinkle with shredded jack cheese - as much or as little as you like. Bake, uncovered, for 15-20 minutes until bubbly and a toasty brown on top. Serve with a little sour cream, chopped green onion, and a nice green salad.

Easy peasy cheater's dinner!

I have a cheater's jambalaya, too, but one culinary delight at a time... ;o)