devotional

I swear, I was not looking for this, it just came to me as a gift.

the girl has something to say!

(with thanks to my friend Crickl, who posted it on her blog!)

worth repeating

This article ran in the San Francisco Chronicle 10 years ago, on the occasion of my parents' 50th anniversary party. With deep gratitude to our former neighbor, Mark Simon, I think it bears repeating today, my Mom and Dad's 60th wedding anniversary:

Their Door Was Always Open to Me

Good neighbors and great times remembered

MARK SIMON

Saturday, July 24, 1999

SAN BRUNO -- It is no small irony that I'm missing the Quickerts' 50th wedding anniversary celebration today, a party to which I am actually invited.

For most of my formative years in San Bruno, whenever the Quickerts had a party, I showed up, usually uninvited.

Or, more precisely, I showed up with the youthful confidence that I was always invited at the Quickerts, because that's how they made me feel.

They were my neighbors -- Bill and Norma ``Skip`` Quickert, whose anniversary is being observed today, and their five children, Pat and Dan, Nancy, Kathy and Charlie.

Pat is a year older than I, Dan the same age, and Nancy a year younger, and we spent our childhoods together, playing games in the street, laughing, arguing, building forts, and waging days-long games of ``Monopoly'' and ``Risk'' in the summer.

I lived across the street, on a windswept hill near Crestmoor High School, and I grew up in their home as much as in mine -- a home in which they still live.

A family matter is forcing me to be away unexpectedly, so I'll be unable to attend the gathering. I know it will come as a surprise to them.

I'm told that for years after I grew up and moved away, if the Quickerts were having a birthday party and there was a knock at the door, they expected me to be standing on the porch, ready for cake.

I was always at the Quickerts' house. I broke at least one window there -- Dan always blamed for breaking another because I ducked when he threw something at me -- and I broke my arm there falling off the back fence.

I was always welcomed in, a fact that still surprises me, given that I was little more than a pair of dirty glasses and a smart-alecky attitude.

Mr. Quickert was a tease with a twinkle in his eye -- big and bluff and on the lookout for harmless fun.

He was a salesman for a company that made restaurant supplies, and he worked an unusual schedule. Sometimes that meant he would get home late, rouse the kids from bed, and it would seem like a party.

It also meant that sometimes he'd bring home syrups for soft drinks or snow cones and he would treat all the kids in the neighborhood.

Once, I was annoying Pat and Dan, shining a flashlight in their bedroom window. Mr. Quickert set up a blinking spotlight and aimed it back at my room, and it ran until I gave.

He was handy -- at my home we were notoriously inept with tools.

On more than one occasion, left home without adult supervision, I broke something or something overflowed or something fell apart. He would come to my house and fix it, no questions asked.

I also remember teasing him back one morning, waiting for Dan and Pat to walk to school. They got mad at me for picking on their dad, but I can still see the look on Mr. Quickert's face that said it was fine.

Mrs. Quickert, petite and quiet, was the calm at the center of a house with five children, her husband and, usually, me.

I never heard her raise her voice, although more than once I saw the iron inside when she was saying no to her children.

She didn't laugh out loud, but her nose would wrinkle in a certain way and her smile was warm and inviting.

If Mr. Quickert made me feel like I could hold my own, Mrs. Quickert made me feel approved of. She would say nice things to me about my appearance at a time when no youngster feels good about his appearance.

She would talk to me and she would be interested in what I was saying, although heaven knows why.

I could say much more. They were always active in their church -- working on the grounds over the years. I know in her later years, Mrs. Quickert has been a busy community activist.

But what I remember -- what is at the core of my life as a boy and a young man in San Bruno -- is that they were good friends and good role models and good people.

They were good neighbors.

A few months ago, I was in the old neighborhood. I had taken someone to the church parking lot at the top of the hill. It affords a sweeping view of the Peninsula, and I was trying to explain some things about the area to a newcomer.

Mr. Quickert came walking up the hill with his dog.

We chatted a few minutes and then I blurted out that he must have been surprised I turned out all right.

``Yes, yes I am,'' he said. He paused, as though thinking it over, and then he said it again. ``Yes, I really am.''

As he turned to walk back down the hill, you could see the twinkle in his eye.

Deep Peace

It is Thursday night. It has been a very long couple of days, and earlier this evening I described myself as feeling like an old dish rag, used up and wrung out. Battling with learning about computer functions, programming (?), upgrades. Doing battle with my bank. Getting really upset and angry with the bank situation - which equals, in my case, crying about it.

[Side note ~ I wish that I could get angry and upset and just - be angry and upset. The tears come, every time. And I feel weak and stupid for crying at a time when I feel I should be more powerful and focused. It is the time when I feel most like a "stupid girl" instead of an empowered woman. Half a century into this life, and I'm still doing the crying thing. Don't get me wrong: I think crying is a good and important thing to do. Just... not when one should be making a point, or standing up for one's self.]

Okay, so all wrung out. But by late afternoon, a few things changed. I did some baking. I got a call from T. to go have a coffee break, and we sat out on the sidewalk sipping our beverages and just talking about our feelings. I could feel the pressure just seep away... and I was looking forward to choir rehearsal tonight.

I love choir because I love to sing, and I still feel like I don't sing enough. I love choir because T. is there, and so many of my dear, dear friends are there, and I just love being with those people. I love choir because I come away feeling more centered than I did coming in.

Our anthem for Sunday is an acapella piece that T. wrote months ago, not knowing the circumstance under which it would ultimately be sung. He dedicated it to B., who is struggling with cancer and putting up a real tough fight. The words are a Gaelic blessing, arranged by John Rutter:

Deep peace of the running wave to you.
Deep peace of the flowing air to you.
Deep peace of the quiet earth to you.
Deep peace of the shining stars to you.
Deep peace of the gentle night to you.
Moon and stars pour their healing light on you.
Deep peace of Christ,
the light of the world to you.

I had a feeling about this particular choir practice. We had a death in our congregation last week, B.'s husband. It was sudden and jarring, and we are still trying to wrap our minds around the loss. Sweet B. is doing well - considering everything, remarkably well. She was there tonight, and we all got to sit and just be with her. Folks asked gentle questions about how she and the kids are doing, what sort of things she'd like for the memorial service... and we all just sat together like a family and loved her. It was a precious, sacred time.

When it was time to go, K. suggested a song. We sang "Breathe on Me, Breath of God", and it was... perfect. A beautiful ending to a sacred time.

Breathe on me, breath of God,
Fill me with life anew,
That I may love what Thou dost love,
And do what Thou wouldst do.

Breathe on me, breath of God,
Until my heart is pure,
Until with thee I will one will,
To do and to endure.

Breathe on me, breath of God,
Till I am wholly thine,
Until this earthly part of me
Glows with thy fire divine.

Breathe on me, breath of God,
So shall I never die,
But live with thee the perfect life
Of thine eternity.

s.n.a.f.u. part II

I won't go into detail... but things are not entirely settled here regarding The Plan To Get Everything Up and Running in the 21st century. My attempts to reinstate my account with mac.com/mobileMe were resolved, in that the account works now. However, somehow my bank was billed eleven times for the annual fee, thus causing an enormous overdraft on my account and freezing my ability to use my checking account. BIG fun, that. Still waiting for that to clear up, hoping I don't run out of gas before it happens.

In other techie matters - I am SO not a technical person, and if I didn't know that before I sure as heck do now - I am wishing I knew more about how to make a nice banner. This is how I want the banner to look. Not a big deal, but it's just a little nicer. Not happening just yet. One thing at a time, I guess.

I hope to get all this stuff wrapped up soon and then move on to more interesting subject matter, post pretty pics, that sort of thing. Onward! (Here's a picture to tide us all over... from last June's Yosemite trip)

memorial day

In honor of all who've fallen in service to the beloved country...

...they are legion. may they be at peace. may we, someday, learn how to wage peace.