Everyday Life – Page 21 – The Monica Chronicles

June 3, 2013

More Living Greene and Loving It

This peony has nothing to do with my subject, but it was so pretty this year, I had to share it!

This weekend I was again reminded why I love living in this small Central Virginian community so much. Greene County is a community. It’s small, but that’s what makes it so easy to jump right in and become a part of it, that and the extreme warmth and hospitality of the people who live here. All three days, Friday, Saturday and Sunday were chock filled with events and experiences that made me both proud and fortunate to have found a life here.

Early Friday morning, I met up with my friend Moira Rodriguez at William Monroe High School to present scholarships to two deserving young women in this year’s graduating class. Moira is currently the president of the Woman’s Club of Greene County and I had served on the scholarship selection committee. The Woman’s Club works hard all year holding an annual yard sale in the spring and Holiday Craft Fair in the fall to raise the funds necessary to support our scholarships and Christmas Gift program for needy children.

Moira and I both arrived at the high school a little after eight o’clock and after checking-in with the reception committee, we were escorted to the teacher’s lounge to wait with the other scholarship presenters. The room was overly warm and crowded with people representing a broad spectrum of our community. Naturally, the usual service organizations were represented (Lions and Kiwanis), there was a woman from the local chapter of the DAR, folks from the Farm Bureau and the electric co-op. There was a young Marine, straight and tall in his dress blue uniform and a one rather elderly woman, her back bent with time. He represented his corps, she was simply a private citizen, awarding a scholarship because she wanted to. And, she wasn’t alone. In fact, there were several scholarships awarded in remembrance of loved ones lost to battles in service to their country or with medical challenges. Whatever the reason, there were enough scholarship awards and recipients to fill the better part of two sides of a legal sized piece of paper – not bad for a class with members numbering just about two hundred.

We were introduced en-mass and marched into the gym where the entire lower classes sat in the bleachers to the right and family and friends of the senior class sat on the left. After we were seated behind the podium, the senior class marched into the gym in their cap and gowns. Most of the gals had decorated the tops of their miter boards to indicated the school they would be attending in the fall. Some. of the guys did the same, but not with as much oomph as the girls. Even though I really didn’t know any of them, I felt pride for them and their families as I recalled the years my young ones graduated, more than a few years ago.

One by one we took our turn walking up to the podium to present our awards. It was a very long ceremony. It seemed shorter to me because I chose to wear my “pretty” watch which was still set on daylight savings time. It wasn’t until I glanced at the clock on my dashboard that I realized I’d been there for just about three hours! In the end, I was glad my watch wasn’t right, it allowed me the luxury of not feeling rushed and let me savor the experience.

Early Saturday morning, I was headed down the same road, about the same time to Standardsville to work at the Greene County Habitat for Humanity booth at this year’s Strawberry Festival hosted by the Stanardsville Methodist Church. Once our tent was up under the shade of an old cherry tree on the Courthouse lawn, I spent the day inviting folks to take refuge from the hot sun in the shade of my tent and then coyly suggesting they might want to join our steering committee. Sadly I wasn’t able to convince anyone to complete one of the beautiful volunteer applications I’d prepared for the day, but we did manage to sell seven t-shirts and a small cash donation to fund our building fund – not much, but every little bit counts.

The best part of the day was simply being there, talking to the people. I spotted several folks I’d seen at the award ceremony the day before and realized that I’m beginning to recognize more and more faces wherever I go in the county; it’s a really nice feeling. People around here are always ready to pick up on a conversation, whether they know you or not. That works for me since I roll that way myself!

Sunday evening, our parish held a dinner to celebrate our pastor, Father Larry Mullaney’s twenty-fifth anniversary of his ordination. By five-thirty, the Hall was so full of folks that two additional tables had to be set up to accommodate everyone and the buffet tables were groaning under the weight of the dozens of pot-luck style side dishes, salads and deviled eggs. Anyone who walked away hungry only had themselves to blame.

All in all, it was a great weekend of community. These are just the few I attended. Early Saturday, while I was working the Strawberry Festival, Dave was handing out water at the first water station at the Wounded Warrior 5K Walk/Run through the UVA Research Park where his office is located. Simultaneously, Spring Hill Baptist Church was sponsoring a 6o mile bike ride fundraiser for Habitat for Humanity called The Tour d’Greene and the Boy Scouts were hosting a pancake breakfast at the Ruckersville Fire Station. For such a small place, there was a lot going on. You really have to work hard at not being a part of our community, and that’s the way I like it.

FOOTNOTE:

Friday evening, Dave and I checked out a new Mexican Restaurant that opened up next to the Shell Station on US29. El Monarca II (as in Monarch butterfly) is a small, family run eatery featuring better than average Mexican cuisine. I had the chicken with chorizo sausage and cheese on top. The platter came with beans, rice and a generous serving of steamed veggies. Our waitress also brought me a small dish of pickled cactus for me to sample. It was very yummy and reminded me of my grandmothers hot garlic spears. It’s definitely worth a try if you’re in the area and have a hankering for Mexican food!

May 30, 2013

OK, So Now I Can See How They Could Bug You

Last week I wrote with nonchalance regarding our seventeen year cicada event. This week, while I am still far from being annoyed by these bugs, I am impressed by them. They are everywhere, in every stage of their life cycle; from the pencil sized holes they leave as the nymphs dig their way up from their subterranean nurseries. Empty exoskeletons still cling to the undersides of leaves. Finally, the adult cicadas buzz and zip around the garden, providing extra nutrition to the bird population and fun and games for Izzie, our calico.

One of the thousands of holes in our garden left by maturing cicadas. — One of the thousands of holes in our garden left by newly hatched cicadas.

The remains of mid-life clings to the underside of these pine needles

Continue reading “OK, So Now I Can See How They Could Bug You”

May 24, 2013

Cicadas Don’t Really Bug Me

The first time I noticed it, I was transplanting my tomatoes in the back yard. It was a warm morning and the distant whrrr of neighborhood heat pumps added a background of mechanical white noise to the symphony of bird songs and wind dance through the tree tops. As I listened to these routine morning sounds, I picked up a distant sound that wasn’t quite right. The mechanistic rhythm wasn’t so precise. Somebody’s going to have to have their HVAC system checked, I thought, and I hoped it wasn’t me.

A couple of days later, as I was walking through the gym parking lot, I heard the same sound, a distant roar, like far off rushing water or farm equipment. What was it?

Then it occurred to me – CICADAS.

Despite the media hype heralding the arrival of the 17 year cicadas, I assumed that since our neighborhood was so new that any batch of baby cicadas nested in our area seventeen years ago would have been scraped away with the topsoil when the land was developed. I figured we would escape the onslaught of the clicking hoards.

I was wrong.

I began to notice hundreds of tiny holes the paths through the wooded part of our yard the deserted exoskeletons clinging to the leaves on the trees above. It was undeniable; they’re here!

By day they crawl across the top of the lawn, drying their wings in the sun (which has been a challenge lately) by night they sacrifice themselves by crashing into our windows, flying full speed towards the light.

They are beautiful, they are plentiful, and they are loud but they are hardly the pestilence warranting the hype. They aren’t even an inconvenience, rather one of those things that make you go “hmmmm”.

In fact, in comparison to this spring’s devastation in Oklahoma, I feel almost frivolous taking note of a few thousand extra insects in the yard.

Nature is mighty. We may be able to control some aspects of our lives, or convince ourselves that we do, but nature will always be wild and free; both beautiful and powerful and particularly unconcerned with the lives affected by its actions.

As humans, the best we can do, and it is the best; what makes us human, is to carry on despite the challenges Mother Nature provides.

This morning, NBC’s TODAY show showcased the reopening of the Boardwalk at Seaside Heights, NJ. I was amazed to see the overhead shots of the string of shops and planked walks. It looks practically the same as it did the first time I was there, forty years ago for my high school senior “cut-day”.

Nature is strong, but human nature is stronger. We are challenged but we endure.

Now when I hear the increasing din of the cicadas in the distance, I am reminded that nature is in charge of what surrounds us, but we are in charge of what’s inside.

May 21, 2013

Two Thirds of the Way There!

Maggie and Jan looking surprisingly calm during the prep talk!

With September’s “Big Event” a little over three months away, we all gathered in Richmond this weekend to discuss details. And, since Maggie and Jan’s wedding will be held at the Lewis Ginter Botantical Gardens, it seemed only fitting that we get together at the Robins Tea House for some lunch to scope out the room where the reception will be held and then leisurely tour the gardens.

I’m don’t know why I stress so while packing, but I seem to carefully choose my outfits as if I’m selecting costuming for a play. Perhaps it’s the fault of my recurring dream of running for the school bus in my pajamas, but I feel a tremendous weight on wearing “the right thing”. This weekend called for things appropriate to my role as “mother-of-the-bride”; stylish and perky, yet at the same time, wise and thoughtful.

As luck would have it, Saturday morning dawned damp and dreary with forecasted downpours throughout much of the day. My white crops and strappy sandles were cast aside for long pants, Sketchers and a waterproof jacket with a hood. There would be no fashion statements for me other than, “I’m comfortable and dry!”

Despite my wardrobe change and the persistent threat of rain we’ve become accustomed to this spring, our lunch together was very productive. We are blessed by a mutual enjoyment of each other’s company and our times together are full of laughter and love. Given the choice between a sunny day and pleasant in-laws, I’d go for the pleasant in-laws any day. At lunch, we were able to get some perspective on the size of the room, the tables and general decor which will come in handy as we finalize our plans for floral arrangements, etc.

Who's gonna stand where? — Who’s gonna stand where?

After lunch we took a brisk walk under our umbrellas to the Flagler Perennial Gardens, where the ceremony will be held. Even in the rain it is a beautifully peaceful place. The beds were full of spring bloomers but most impressive were the many varieties of peonies bursting with color at every turn.

On the lawn, sixty white chairs with puddles on their seats sat in two neat rows. I felt a moment’s twinge of sympathy for that day’s bride and groom and made a mental note that we really need to set up a back up plan in case of rain!

The rain stopped for just a few moments as we explored the pavilion and nearby walks, Teresa and I imagining what it will be like as our children enter from opposite sides and then leave together as man and wife. Then, all to suddenly, our dreams were interrupted by another downpour.

September seemed so far away when Maggie and Jan announced their engagement in November. Now we are two-thirds the way there and so many of the details we put off for later are in need of attention because it is later.

Dreaming will have to wait for another day. Teresa and I have important decisions to make; most importantly, what we will wear! More costuming. We spent a couple of hours scanning the web looking for “the dress” with no luck. (Heavy sigh.) So, that hunt will continue.

On the bright side, we have chosen a menu, booked rooms for out-of-town guests and have some working ideas for flowers, favors and decorations. Martha Stewart is doing a superb job of keeping us on track. (www.MarthaStewartweddings.com) I would be lost without her help.

Maggie and Jan’s wedding will indeed be a special day. Even if the skies open up and we’re sitting under umbrellas with ziplock bags pulled over our shoes, the celebration of their committment to each other will shine enough for us and more importantly, them.

It would be nice if the sun does manage an appearance though.

May 14, 2013

Grace From a Fall

I love it when everyday life experiences provide surprise and insight to the big picture. Last week was chock full of those kinds of days.

BathroomCleanerWithColorPower

It all started last Monday when I decided I would organize my life by choosing one room a day and give it a thorough cleaning. Fully energized by my re-commitment to a clean home, I decided to tackle the master bathroom first. Although I do clean it regularly, I admit the shower stall and garden tub are often left for the “next time” since they don’t seem to pose as horrible a heath concern from going a couple extra weeks as the sink and toilet. Anyway, last Monday, after I got home from the gym, I pulled out the mat and tossed it into the washer with the throw rugs, sprayed the shower with Scrubbing Bubbles and climbed in (naked of course) with my cloth to finally tackle that soap scum.

My project was going well at first. I was happy to finally be cleaning the shower, because I do love it when it’s shiny, and I was proud of myself for making the adult choice to clean instead of plopping on the couch to knit and catch up on this week’s episode of Game of Thrones. Then, I felt my feet slip and with no mat to secure my footing or anything to grab on to, I went from vertical to horizontal in a nanosecond, landing out onto the tile floor, like a baby calf being delivered and dumped onto the ground, wet and naked. My head hit the floor pretty hard and my glasses were laying next to me, bent in an awkward contortion.

I lay there for a few moments, taking in the whole scenario. I couldn’t believe I’d been so stupid. Slowly I got back onto my feet, taking inventory of my aches and pains. My head was my main concern, my brow ridge bore the brunt of impact, but remarkably there were no cuts or even visible bruise. I leaned forward over the vanity to get a better look in the mirror, checking my pupils. I did receive an impressive bruise on my thigh where it landed on the shower door track but all in all, I escaped with minimal damage. Reassuring myself I wasn’t critically wounded I got dressed and decided that sitting on the couch was a good idea after all.

As I relived my mishap and routinely checked my pupils, still worried about a potential slow bleed in my brain (had to worry about something), I realized that I had received a powerful reminder from God; that life can change in the blink of an eye. I don’t think I’ll ever clean the shower naked again.

My next revelation came on Thursday when I went in for my annual physical. I am always just a tad nervous about these exams, similar to how I feel when I take my 2000 CRV in for its annual safety inspection. We are both “used” vehicles and despite how good care we are given, you never know what will be found when the hood is popped open! My blood work was excellent as was my muscle tone, etc. The one noteworthy change in my status was that my height was measured a full inch and a half TALLER than ever before in my life! How that happens, I couldn’t tell you, the doctor theorized that perhaps my time in the gym has paid off with improved posture. Maybe I stretched myself when I was flung out of the shower. It’s a mystery. But, for whatever reason, I am taller and feeling ever so lithe at my alleged five foot three!

My last day of revelations was Sunday, Mother’s Day. Dave and I had no plans for the day until we got to church and a friend mentioned that a local artist, Fred Nichols, was holding an open house in his studio in Barboursville that afternoon. It was a glorious day, sunny and bright, but still cool and spring-like and taking a short drive to look at art seemed like the perfect ticket.

The studio tour was fascinating. Mrs. Nichols took us on a tour of the silk-screening workshop and described all the steps in creating the beautiful prints hanging in the gallery. Some go through the printing process over forty times and can take as long as a year before they are complete. I would have liked to have taken one home with us, but the prices were out of our league. After the tour, she invited us to head up the street to their gallery to view works by other artists and enjoy a cup of coffee. So we did.

It was our first time to actually drive into Barboursville. You can’t really see it from the highway because they moved the highway a few hundred yards north sometime back to bypass the railroad crossing. It’s really a shame because what remains of the original town is charming. Located at the intersection of old US Routes 33 and 20, Barboursville lies between James Madison’s Montpelier and Thomas Jefferson’s Monticello. On the grounds of the nearby Barboursville Winery are the ruins of Governor James Barbour’s mansion, which burned on Christmas Day, 1884, seventy years after its construction. All three of these homes were designed by Thomas Jefferson. With the aroma of boxwoods heavy in the air, it just plain smells historic!

The gallery was in an old building that was originally a hotel. And, although the walls were hung with the works of very talented artists, which drew Dave’s attention, my eyes were drawn to the architecture of the building, checking the woodwork, moldings and floors for continuity and looking for changes in the plaster indicating a previous window or doorway. I checked the view from the windows, to get an idea what could have been seen from them a hundred years ago or more. Buildings like that seem to have their own stories to tell and no matter what you hang on the walls, the story will speak over them, to me at least.

This is all that remains of Governor James Barbour's beautiful home following the fire in 1884 — This is all that remains of Governor James Barbour’s beautiful home following the fire in 1884

After our gallery tour we took a quick drive over to the ruins. At first I wondered why someone would leave the walls of a burned out home left standing. It just seemed odd and hazardous. Then I saw them. Thomas Jefferson’s hand in the design was obvious from the octagonal front hall reminiscent of Monticello as were the two-story wings at either end allowing for a grand ceiling and staircase in that room. Even though it is only a skeleton of its past grandeur, the Barbour home still had its story to tell.

We walked the full circumference of the house and took advantage of the spectacular view across the vineyards and off to the mountains. It was all so quiet and peaceful.

Then, a bird song followed by a flash of color caught my attention. And there, atop an ancient Thuja, stood a Baltimore Oriole and from the racket he was creating, there must have been a nest nearby. What a treat! I can’t even begin to remember the last time I saw an oriole.

After our tour of the ruins, Dave took me on a proper Sunday drive through the country, taking the byways to see what else we could discover along the way. It was just another adventure in our lifelong journey together and it was (and is) marvelous.

Okay, so I’ve taken a long trip through last week and you’ve got to be wondering just what my great epiphany was from these three completely different experience. To be honest, I didn’t really know myself until a few moments ago, I just knew there had to be something.

The way I see it, it all boils down to this. Life can change in the blink of an eye (or fall to the floor), and even if you don’t find yourself flat on your face, something else you discover about yourself, no matter how insignificant, can change how you see yourself. Lastly, it’s important to have a companion to share adventures with. Even if you don’t enjoy the same things, enjoying different things in the same place can be just as good.

It was a good week and I’m actually sort of happy to catch sight of my bruise now and then because it reminds me of just how good a week it was, despite its awkward beginning.

May 1, 2013

Adventures in Babysitting

I was raised in the belief that God will never give you more to handle than you are able with God’s help. There have been many instances in my life when I’ve leaned on that belief to get me through. Yesterday was one of those days.

It all started the night before. Dave and I were crashed on the couch catching up on last Sunday’s episode of the Mentalist. I was playing WordWelder on my I Pad and mentally looking forward to the next day. Tuesday is one of my “free” days; meaning I’m not committed to any one activity. My plans included a haircut and then a dash to Kroger to take advantage of “senior” citizen discounts. (Kroger deems you a senior at 55.) It was going to be a good day.

Then the doorbell rang.

Dave and I looked at each other. It was 9:30 and we weren’t expecting anyone. In the knowledge that nothing good can come of opening your door after dark, I think Dave was waiting for me to get up. I decided as a member the “weaker sex” I would sit back and let him suck it up and go to the door.

On the other side of the front door, in the dark was our neighbor from across the street. She’d had a family emergency come up that would require all the adult members of her household to be away for a couple of hours the following morning and was in need of someone to babysit for her two youngest sons. Since I had no other pressing business the next day other than my long-awaited hair appointment, I agreed to help her out.

It was the right thing to do, but it was also frightening. I didn’t know her children other than to wave to them, and the youngest two were 10 months and 2 years old; or should I say young!

It’s been a very long time since I’ve had charge to wee ones. It’s been almost thirty years since I brought me last baby home and even my grandchildren’s ages are in double digits! What was I going to do with two unknown very little boys?

I said some prayers and hit the deck running first thing in the morning. I picked up the assortment of cat toys strewn on the family room floor as well as any potential choking hazards or heaving things that could be pulled down on a baby. Then I grabbed some on my “Nana” toys I thought might interest the boys. As I was taking one last look around, I noticed the entourage of adults and children heading across the street so I ducked into the powder room for one last time. Moments later, the doorbell rang again.

In just a couple of minutes, my entryway held a pile of baby paraphernalia and I had one wee one by the hand and another tucked upon my hip. It was just like old times!

For the next four hours, my little charges and I got along just fine. As kids go, Chase and Ethan were fairly easy-going. The baby had a runny nose that required a lot of wiping and made it difficult for him to take his bottle. His appetite was good though and I enjoyed sitting him on my lap and feeding him his toddler dinner with my little baby spoon.

It all came back to me; cooking with a baby on my hip, the nose wiping, the formula mixing. I was able to figure out how to assemble the pac’n’play which turned out to be a life saver. Ethan was a fast mover and after chasing him for a couple of hours, I needed a break.

After lunch I there was a definite change in the atmosphere in the family room. I asked Chase if he’d pooped his pants. No, he said. I asked again, reassuring him that I wouldn’t yell at him if he had. He admitted that he had. Then I asked if he’d be more comfortable in clean pants. Yes, he agreed. So we went into the kitchen to clean him up. I thought he’d just lie on the rug, but he assumed a position very similar to a Yoga “downward dog”. It proved to be efficient, but nonetheless, a stinky, gag-filled experience, I am embarrassed to admit.

In many ways, spending the morning with Chase and Ethan was the perfect storm; a way to reconnect with my baby tending skills so I will be ready for my next wave of grandchildren in the next few years or so. By the time they were picked up, they were clean, happy and luckily ready to leave!

Sadly, I don’t have the stamina I had thirty years ago. I still made me trip to Kroger but felt like I was dragging the whole way through the store even though I stopped by the Starbucks counter first!

Once I was home and plopped in my chair for a rest, I was content. Spending the morning with little ones was an adventure, but it was also full of cuddles, giggles and warmth. I don’t know how I did it so many years ago when Dave was busy cruising with the Navy, the memories are so foggy. I do know that I wasn’t alone.

April 25, 2013

Riding the Current

For the most part of these past few weeks since I returned home from my Georgia trip with Barb, my life has been one where I’ve been swept away with the current. And, like any experienced ocean swimmer, I know the best way to get out of a rip current is to just swim along with it, parallel to the shore until it carries you back in to the beach. I suppose that’s where the expression, “to go with the flow” comes from.

There hasn’t been any one dramatic event directing my course, merely a series of events that have diverted my course as I had it planned resulting in an ever growing list of things I “need” to do. Let’s take yesterday for example.

My plan for the day was to head out to the gym first thing, meet with Lorenzo and then, fully energized, I would come home and tackle my household chores and maybe even surprise Dave with a batch of home-baked snickerdoodles. I would also take a look at the paperwork for the Virginia DCR Dam Grant and begin to put together an application for our HOA. Also topping my list is to contact a couple of the hotels in the Richmond area to check on possible group rates for Maggie’s wedding in September. It’s a pretty hefty chunk of work, but with enough energy and organization, completing it wouldn’t be that difficult.

The first sign that the day wouldn’t be as I’d hoped happened when Dave let Izzie, our calico, in the backdoor not long after she’d demanded to be let out. Dave asked her what she’d been up to and then called me to come take a look at her. Although it wasn’t raining, Izzie’s back was wet and mussed and along with a noticeable limp, she also had tufts of some other cat’s fur on her. Having been through this drill before, we were certain Izzie had been in a fight and if we found a wound, would have to go to the vet. Since she stopped for a bite at her bowl, I deemed the situation not an emergency and headed off to the gym.

My workout on Monday had been great but for some reason yesterday morning I felt really sluggish. Lorenzo pushed me hard, which is what I pay him for, but for the first time in a very long time I was physically unable to complete the workout he’d planned for me. That, along with a gain of almost two pounds had me leaving the gym significantly less peppy than I’d arrived. I hate it when that happens!

Once home I checked on Izzie. I found a bite on her back leg and made the call. A couple of hours later we were in the vet’s office where Izzie received a steroid shot and antibiotics and I received the bill. Dr. Godine and I had a nice chat about therapeutic laser treatments on soft tissue injuries. I learned that he was the Board Director of the North American Association of Laser Therapists. What an amazing little town I live in!

Anyway, back at the ranch, Dave was home when I arrived back with Izzie. He’d had is annual physical and was delighted that his cholesterol was below the medication necessary level but he was also in pain because he’d had to have a gnarly hemorrhoid excised for the second time this week. He announced he was under doctor’s orders to not sit or stand for prolonged periods of time and was to soak in the tub at least three times a day. Great. Also, the doctor had called a couple of prescriptions into the pharmacy at Walmart that I would need to pick up. So much for a clean house and wedding plans; at that point, I surrendered and began swimming parallel to the shore.

Today I have modified my plans. Dave is working from home nursing his “condition” and I am sort of working around him. While he was having a morning soak, I stripped the bed and vacuumed our bedroom. Clean sheets and carpet go a long way to make life more bearable, no matter how much clutter lurks downstairs.

Next I began to glance over the damn Dam Grant Application and was about to sit down with it until I looked outside and saw what a beautiful morning it is. Izzie was asking to be let out, so I grabbed my jacket and coffee and went with her. She likes to walk beside me as I review the progress of each new sprout and bud in the garden. She also likes to lead me up to the wooded area in the back where she hunts moles. That is how I ended up at my chat area. It was so inviting with the new gray table I added to the group of red chairs last week so I sat. The sun felt so good that I trotted back to the house for my laptop and IPad and decided to write for a while. For me, it has been the mental equivalent of floating on my back over the waves with my face upturned to the sun.

I know I won’t get my pile of stuff done before more gets piled on top, the grass keeps growing and the dust keeps falling. I also know that it’ll all get done; just not all in the same day.

So, in the meantime, I’m going to do my best to remember to stop and smell the flowers, watch and listen to the birds and feel the warmth of the sun on my face whenever I can. It may not remove the dust from my table tops, but it certainly removes it from my brain and that is most important!

April 2, 2013

Unpacking the Triduum

The Triduum is the holiest of celebrations in the Roman Catholic Church; a three-day liturgy consisting of Holy Thursday, Good Friday and the Easter Vigil on Holy Saturday. Observances are lengthy, solemn and packed full of traditional and spiritual meaning as the passion of Christ is remembered and celebrated.

For many years, as a part of our parish RCIA team (Rite of Christian Initiation of Adults) at St. Mark’s, the Triduum marked the completion of the journey of our Candidates and catechumens into full initiation and reception into the Catholic Church. The connection I had with these folks as they made their journey was one full of love and grace and even though they usually thanked me for my help and support, it was I who owed them more for sharing their stories with me and patiently listening to my story as well.

At our group meeting following the Easter Vigil, usually sometime the next week, we would “unpack” the Triduum, mentally taking slow steps through the three evenings of prayer, sharing impressions and thoughts that struck a chord in each of us. These meetings were full of tears, cheers and laughs, as memories of moments of awe, grace and even comedy (after all, we are human attempting to enter the divine) were recalled.

For the past two years my experience has been very different. Shepherd of the Hills is a tiny parish in comparison to St. Mark’s. Tasks that are handled by committees or deacons in a larger parish, are usually handled by one or two women here. Consequently, our liturgies are simpler and more relaxed than in a larger place.

I don’t remember too many details about last year, maybe because of the newness, or perhaps I was making comparisons in my head between what I had and what I thought I’d lost. Whatever the reason, it wasn’t until this year that I was able to begin to unpack what I experienced during the Triduum. I’d like to share two of with you.

The one thing most people will remember about Holy Thursday is the washing of the feet. In remembrance of Christ’s washing the Apostles’ feet at the Last Supper, Catholic communities offer a variety of ways to celebrate this rite ranging from the pastor washing the feet of parish leaders to the entire congregation coming forward to either have their feet washed or wash someone else’s feet. So, when I received an email looking for helpers at the Holy Thursday service, I assumed they were looking for water carriers, etc. When I arrived, I realized I’d volunteered to represent the parish by having my feet washed. So, when the time came, I was called forward with a handful of others. We sat in chairs facing the parish and Father Dan asked us to remove one shoe. Okay, so the ceremony had been reduced to five feet and my liturgical training bristled at the diminishing of the sign value. Then I glanced down at the bare feet on the floor in front of me and realized that of the women there, I was the only one with a painted toe nails. Instead of feeling like a paragon of good grooming, I was humbled. Next, I saw Fr. Dan bend slowly to his knees and begin to walk on them down the line, washing feet. He is not a young man and his joints pain him. As he gently washed my foot and then moved on, I noticed that the hems on his trousers were frayed. Remembering how I fussed about chosing the right outfit to wear, I was humbled again.

My second memorable experience happened at the vigil Mass on Holy Saturday. The Easter Vigil is one of the Church’s oldest celebrations were traditionally adults are fully initiated into the community. During the many Old Testament readings, the history of God’s covenant with his people is traced from the creation story forward. I was chosen to do one of the readings, a favorite of mine; Isaiah 55: 1-11 – “All you who are thirsty,come to the water!” I truly cherish God’s open invitation to come and drink of the water of new life and wanted to proclaim it in a way that would allow others to feel it as well. I practiced reading the passage several times, sat with it, and prayed about it until I was as ready as I could be.

My time came. I rose and slowly approached the ambo. Adjusting the microphone just so, I began by saying, ” A reading from the prophet Isaiah.” and then took a pause and deep breath. Then, just as I began to proclaim the passage, I heard what I was certain was someone breaking wind in a pew to my left. A few seconds later, snickering confirmed my suspicions.

I was struck by the fantastic whimsy of the moment. For a few moments, I struggled to maintain my composure. I have a mean funny bone and when it is tickled, I find it hard to ignore and let’s face it, farts are funny. More importantly, they are basely human. From all reports, my dilemma was not reflected in my reading. For that I am thankful. I’m sure my preparation aided in my carrying on.

I am also thankful for that moment that God “broke into” my reading, reminding me that Easter is all about Jesus entering a very human world, where I’d bet even in his time, a fart would warrant a chuckle.

So this year, I gathered two important lessons about humility to unpack. Both of these moments, different, but very human, have led me to a better understanding of Christ’s passion and Resurrection.

Alleluia! Alleluia!

March 24, 2013

Just A Spoon Full of Sugar …..

Where is Mary Poppins when you need her? Saturday morning, after two weeks of using my home as a “flop house”, I was determined to bring order to the many small piles of unrelated items covering surface tops throughout the house. I really could have used a cheery helper who, instead of pulling things out of a carpet bag, crammed them in and made them disappear. I know tidying up shouldn’t be such a tough job, but when your mind is wired like mine, it is a major cardio event.

I started in our bathroom and worked my way out. The bathroom was pretty straight-forward not much to write home about. My ADD kicked in when I started clearing off the top of my dresser. It had become a clearing house for things that had entered our room but needed to go somewhere else. There was a folded dish cloth and towel left over from a load of wash I did for the church, a leaflet on exercises for positional vertigo I need to return to Angela, some loose change, a recipe a friend gave me that needed to make its way to the kitchen, a bottle of shoe stretcher, a pen and more stuff I can’t remember.

An example of a collections of unrelated items to be disbursed: Calling cards, dish holders Dave brought home, a cloth bag containing photos I took to show a friend, a baby sock I knit years ago (only one) an origami box Seth made at Christmas, a pair of Dave's reading glasses (he has several, in many piles.), a dead IPod (charging- just in case), a "D" ring, and some seed pods we picked up at Monticello last fall. Where does it all come from and where does it all belong? — An example of a collections of unrelated items to be disbursed: Calling cards, dish holders Dave brought home, a cloth bag containing photos I took to show a friend, a baby sock I knit years ago (only one) an origami box Seth made at Christmas, a pair of Dave’s reading glasses (he has several, in many piles.), a dead IPod (charging- just in case), a “D” ring, and some seed pods we picked up at Monticello last fall. Where does it all come from and where does it all belong?

The cardio kicked in as I took each one of these things in hand and returned them to their proper place, which was usually downstairs. Once I got down the stairs, I usually discovered something that distracted me and me in another direction. Each item I touched sparked a memory of where it came from, what I was doing the day I dropped in its current location. Many times I entered into a decision process to discern where the proper resting place for the thing would be. These actions compounded into so many trips up and down the stairs that if my travels were mapped with dotted lines it would look like one of the cartoons in the “Family Circus”. The end result could have been healthy work-out except each time I walked by the coffee table in the living room, I took some of Mary’s advice and grabbed a couple of jelly beans from the candy bowl. She was right, “a spoon full of sugar” helps a lot!

Unfortunately, my oomph ran out before all the piles were gone. While the majority of the house had been cleaned, vacuumed and dusted, and some of the piles tidied into neater piles, there was still what seemed like a long way to go. In the end, I decided to call it a day and have some lunch and take a rest. As much as I would love to have a house that looked like the magazines; where the surfaces are devoid of anything except coordinated décor, my life just doesn’t work that way.

I guess my neat piles of unrelated stuff are a metaphor for my view on life. I really have little control over what enters it. My house is bombarded daily by junk mail, newspapers and magazines, church bulletins, leaflets from local venues, coupons, ticket stubs, sale ads etc., etc., etc. Yet I attempt to bring order to the chaos, sort out and stash the important stuff while trashing the junk. Most importantly, I try not to let it overwhelm me. So, when I’ve given it my all, and the majority of the stuff is made orderly, a couple of jelly beans and a nice long sit on the couch with my feet propped on the coffee table is just plain Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious !

March 21, 2013

March Madness

SAMSUNG Usually when you hear about “March Madness” it refers to the NCAA College Basketball season coming to a climax and end. This year my attentions have been so diverted that I find myself today, the first day of the championship, not really knowing who’s playing who. Unbelievable!

Since the beginning of the month here in Greene County we have had three major weather events resulting in school closings. The latest was this past Sunday night which coincided with our parish St. Patty’s Day Dinner where we fed almost 125 folks all the corned beef, cabbage, ham, potatoes, carrots, salad and desserts they could eat. Our youth group waited tables while the grown-ups cooked and plated the food, supervised and after the last diner left, began the clean-up.

I have to admit that everything pretty much ran like clockwork up until the clean-up. After Mass, several of us met up in the hall and with our church clothes protected by aprons and armed with vegetable peelers, we peeled fifty pounds of potatoes and a huge pile of carrots while other quartered massive quantities of cabbage and onions. Enormous pots were set to boil on the big black commercial range and the first of the seventeen briskets began to simmer. Given the size of the kitchen, it was a herculean accomplishment to prepare this meal on such a scale.

By eleven-thirty, the food was prepped, tables in the dining room were arranged and set with bright Kelly green table clothes and festive St. Patty’s Day placemats and napkins. Irish pub music filled the room. We were ready except for the finishing touches.

The chief chef was an older woman who is a professional caterer. She single-handedly supervised the crew of volunteers and brought order to our piles of peeled vegetables. After a couple of hours, she sent everyone home, insisting she was perfectly capable and willing to sit with the pots for a few hours. Having been trained since my youth to always be ready to help out in the kitchen, I found it difficult to tear myself away. I did go home for a few hours, to change and grab a snack but was soon back in the kitchen, helping where I could.

At four-thirty our guests began to arrive. By five-thirty, over sixty dinners had been served. If you haven’t been to our tiny church, that might not seem impressive, but believe me, considering our hall only seats comfortably about eighty folks, and the fact that the weather was already showing signs of ugliness, it was a pretty big deal. By seven, the dinner was over, except for the clean-up.

The tables were cleared and the dinning room was swept and returned to normal in a few moments by the remaining youth and their parents. Left overs were wrapped and divided and stowed in the refrigerator. All that remained was a stack of large pots, chafing dishes, serving dishes and flatware. Under usual circumstances, we would have run most of the small things through a couple of cycles in the dishwasher. Unfortunately our dishwasher had been removed a couple of weeks ago in preparation for a new super fast commercial grade dishwasher that hadn’t arrived in time for the dinner. Having to wash all those dinners by hand wouldn’t have even been so bad had we had a good supply of hot water and enough dish washing liquid and Brillo pads to tackle the job. Necessity being the mother of invention, we collectively soon discovered we could make as much hot water as needed a quart at a time by running it through our Bunn coffee maker. Someone ran home for a bottle of Dawn and we were back on track. We even created a make-shift dish drainer by putting the top rack from the old dishwasher over a large baking sheet.

Two hours later, the flatware and most of the smaller serving dishes were clean, dried and put away leaving only the biggest, greasiest, burnt on dirtiest of pots and the floor to finish. Outside, the snow continued to fall. It’s not hard to imagine just how tired we all were. Most of us had been on our feet for four to five hours. We were pooped and our feet hurt; at least mine did. So, we did what sensible people do. We loaded the remaining pots into our cars to wash at home, agreeing to return on Tuesday (since Monday was going to be a snow day).

By the time I got home, all I wanted to do was throw myself on the couch and put my feet up and that’s exactly what I did. Across the room I heard Dave begin to fill me in about the bracket alignment for “The Dance”. In past years I’d fuss about who got in and who got snubbed and why one team rated a one or two seed and another a five or six. This year, I was too tired to care.

It's important to stop and smell the daffodils, or at least look at them! — It’s important to stop and smell the daffodils, or at least look at them!

Monday was indeed another snow day. Tuesday we brought back our cleaned pots and finished cleaning the kitchen at church. Wednesday I got a call telling me that one of our parishioners had passed away and asking could I help out at the reception on Friday afternoon. Ahhhh. (Heavy sigh.) March madness takes many forms. But this morning, I discovered my daffodils were blooming for the first time. Beauty exists even in the whirlwind.

If the sprouts in the garden are any indication, I will have many opportunities to “vacation” from the pace of the days and months to come as the seasons turn from Spring and then to Summer and “The Wedding” approaches. I do appreciate my mini visits with creation and am forever grateful that I don’t have to look much further than my own back door.