It's been a little while since I wrote something on this blog. The last several days have been consumed with traveling and settling in to this new community I find myself a part of while I am waiting for a call out West. But, here are just a few random observations and musings on what I've seen since being here.
1. Florida is an odd place. I think, several years ago, I made the same comment about Texas, so I'm not sure if this is just because it's a subtropical climate, or if the culture here is truly different. But this is just odd. You have gated retirement communities, of which my parents' house is a part (more on that in a little bit), "playground" areas where amusement parks and other tourist attractions reside, desolate swampland, part of which we drove through yesterday on our way back and forth to Fort Lauderdale, the horse country of Ocala, which looks like something you might see in Kentucky, and then the "hillbilly/redneck" part of Florida. And you might be driving in the desolate swampland and then *bing* with no warning, you're in civilization/touristy playground area.
2. Gated communities, retirement and otherwise. I'm really not sure how I feel about this, as this is my first experience living in one. Where my parents live is one of the communities run by Del Webb, and it is a 55 and over only community. As someone under the age limit, I have a certain time limit as to how long I can live here with my parents; my father doesn't know what the time limit is, except that there is one. (Let's hope for a call process that will enable me to move out by the end of the summer!) I have a visitors' pass for my car, which I will have to get renewed periodically. And I'm on the "permanent list" meaning I always have permission to enter and exit the community as long as my folks are here, even when I'm no longer living here. This is a very orderly, well-kept up community. But, I feel like an unwelcome guest; an oddity. If I want to go swimming, I must be accompanied by one of my parents. So I think there is something inherently classist about this--no "undesirables" are wanted here, and I'm here only by permission. I'm taking this experience with me into ministry--I do not want my future congregation to be any kind of "gated community" and I will work hard to see that we are truly welcoming to all. (And I hope that someone will call me on it if I start to fall into the trap of not wanting "undesirables", whoever they may be, in my congregation.)
3. The climate, and the birds. There's a reason that people come to Florida in the winter and not in the summer. It's hot. I mean, really hot. And humid. I'm hibernating inside the air conditioning and swimming with my folks when I'm able to. There's a reason that Florida is also nicknamed "The Sunshine State". Lots of sunshine, especially first thing in the morning, and then the clouds roll in in the afternoon/evening. Sometimes there are also thunderstorms in the evening, which break the heat and humidity for a little while. And, I've gotten to know a whole new variety of birds that frequent the canal that runs in the back of my parents' yard: ahingas, ibises (white and glossy), whistling ducks, herons, egrets, and many others, including old standbys: mockingbirds and boat-tailed grackles. Bird watching may become my new hobby while I'm here.
Those are initial observations. This week on Saturday my brother gets married. Tomorrow my grandmother flies in to Florida, and the chaos will begin. I will try to post more observations this week as I'm able.
Monday, May 28, 2012
Monday, May 21, 2012
A Meditation on Birds
My father loves birds. When he and my mother were first married, they had a parakeet named Zeus. After a couple of incidents where my father deliberately let the bird out of the cage when my mother was doing dishes so it could divebomb her, and her threats to drown it, I think they decided that they would admire birds only in nature from then on. And so, in most of the places we've lived, we've fed the birds and had birdhouses. In fact, the angriest I have ever seen my father get was when I was a teenager, and a crow swooped in and stole a baby robin out of its nest in one of our pine trees. The next year, as if God knew we needed a policeman in the yard, a mockingbird family took up residence. We never had a problem with the crows after that.
One of the neat things about the place that we've lived here in Virginia is the variety of birds that come to our feeder. We could sit at the kitchen table or out on the back porch and watch the birds while we were eating: we almost didn't need the TV or the newspaper. And I now can identify a number of birds by their markings and even, sometimes, by their song, thanks to this incredible gift of birds. Some of the birds we've seen include: towhees, titmice, cardinals, blue jays, bluebirds, sparrows, mourning doves, brown-headed cowbirds, Carolina wrens, indigo buntings, chickadees, goldfinches, purple finches, woodpeckers of various kinds, crows, and mockingbirds, catbirds, and brown thrashers, as well as hummingbirds. (That's not an exhaustive list by any means.) There was one chickadee who liked to splash around in the water that we put out for the birds to drink (not a bird bath, but a bird waterer) and we called him/her "clean chick".
I remember one day when I drove home from somewhere or other, there was a black racer snake in the driveway. Now, I have a phobia of snakes. I'm just scared to death of them. But even so, I'm not going to kill it just because I don't like it. God made snakes, too, even if I shudder at them, and the snake had a right to be there, too. So I managed to drive around it and park the car in my spot in the driveway. But now, I was in a dilemma, because the snake lay directly in the path from the car to the front door of the house. As I sat in the car and pondered what to do, out of nowhere, a mockingbird swooped down and chased the snake off into the bushes. Thanking God and the mockingbird, I got out of the car and rushed into the house before the snake could reappear.
As we are preparing to leave the house, my parents decided to let the bird seed in the feeder run out and not to refill it, even though we have plenty of bird seed left in the garage. But last night, we happened to look out the window and see that a bird, trying to get at seed that was pushed way back out of reach in the feeder, had gotten its head stuck in one of the holes of the feeder. So, we all went out there and Dad basically destroyed the feeder in order to get the bird unstuck. Miraculously, the bird seemed unhurt, and hopped off into the bushes to recover, chirping the whole way. Hopefully it was chirping in gratitude for Dad's help rather than chirping in anger at us for letting the seed run out and causing it to get stuck.
Today my parents' real estate agent came over to the house to talk to my parents about stuff, and mentioned how he had become a fan of the birds by watching the birds at our feeder out of the kitchen window. He said that after we leave this week, he would continue feeding the birds until the seed that we have left in the garage runs out. Who knows--after that he may buy some more and continue feeding them, if he hasn't gotten the house sold by then, that is.
Where my parents live in Florida offers new kinds of birds for viewing--mainly water birds like egrets, cormorants, and herons, although in the winter they had a bald eagle couple nesting on a nearby cell phone tower. While those birds are neat to watch, too, I will miss the steady friends of the Eastern woodlands, whose antics I have laughed at over the years, whose colors I have admired, and even whose songs I have learned to identify. Hopefully whoever moves in to this house will continue to feed these beautiful birds.
One of the neat things about the place that we've lived here in Virginia is the variety of birds that come to our feeder. We could sit at the kitchen table or out on the back porch and watch the birds while we were eating: we almost didn't need the TV or the newspaper. And I now can identify a number of birds by their markings and even, sometimes, by their song, thanks to this incredible gift of birds. Some of the birds we've seen include: towhees, titmice, cardinals, blue jays, bluebirds, sparrows, mourning doves, brown-headed cowbirds, Carolina wrens, indigo buntings, chickadees, goldfinches, purple finches, woodpeckers of various kinds, crows, and mockingbirds, catbirds, and brown thrashers, as well as hummingbirds. (That's not an exhaustive list by any means.) There was one chickadee who liked to splash around in the water that we put out for the birds to drink (not a bird bath, but a bird waterer) and we called him/her "clean chick".
I remember one day when I drove home from somewhere or other, there was a black racer snake in the driveway. Now, I have a phobia of snakes. I'm just scared to death of them. But even so, I'm not going to kill it just because I don't like it. God made snakes, too, even if I shudder at them, and the snake had a right to be there, too. So I managed to drive around it and park the car in my spot in the driveway. But now, I was in a dilemma, because the snake lay directly in the path from the car to the front door of the house. As I sat in the car and pondered what to do, out of nowhere, a mockingbird swooped down and chased the snake off into the bushes. Thanking God and the mockingbird, I got out of the car and rushed into the house before the snake could reappear.
As we are preparing to leave the house, my parents decided to let the bird seed in the feeder run out and not to refill it, even though we have plenty of bird seed left in the garage. But last night, we happened to look out the window and see that a bird, trying to get at seed that was pushed way back out of reach in the feeder, had gotten its head stuck in one of the holes of the feeder. So, we all went out there and Dad basically destroyed the feeder in order to get the bird unstuck. Miraculously, the bird seemed unhurt, and hopped off into the bushes to recover, chirping the whole way. Hopefully it was chirping in gratitude for Dad's help rather than chirping in anger at us for letting the seed run out and causing it to get stuck.
Today my parents' real estate agent came over to the house to talk to my parents about stuff, and mentioned how he had become a fan of the birds by watching the birds at our feeder out of the kitchen window. He said that after we leave this week, he would continue feeding the birds until the seed that we have left in the garage runs out. Who knows--after that he may buy some more and continue feeding them, if he hasn't gotten the house sold by then, that is.
Where my parents live in Florida offers new kinds of birds for viewing--mainly water birds like egrets, cormorants, and herons, although in the winter they had a bald eagle couple nesting on a nearby cell phone tower. While those birds are neat to watch, too, I will miss the steady friends of the Eastern woodlands, whose antics I have laughed at over the years, whose colors I have admired, and even whose songs I have learned to identify. Hopefully whoever moves in to this house will continue to feed these beautiful birds.
Saturday, May 19, 2012
The American Shakespeare Center
In one of my previous posts, I wrote that on occasion I would also head over to Staunton, which is further west of Waynesboro. Staunton is pronounced by dropping the "u" in the name and pronouncing a short "a", thus "Stan-ton". In downtown Staunton is located a fabulous place called the American Shakespeare Center, housed in the Blackfriars Theater. The American Shakespeare Center "does it with the lights on"--their slogan, not mine--staging their plays as close to the way Shakespeare himself would have done it in the 16th century as is possible. This means having lights--although candles and natural sunlight are today replaced with electric lights--and involving the audience in the play. You can read more about them at www.americanshakespearecenter.com. And if my recommendation is not enough incentive to get you to check them out, here's another one: Dame Judi Dench sits on the advisory board. No kidding.
I discovered this wonderful place first, because I saw signs for it on Interstate 81, and second, because one day when visiting my Thrivent representative in Staunton, I again saw signs for it. I decided I just had to check this place out. I believe the first performance I went to see there was "Twelfth Night." It was staged so well that I just fell in love with it, and got my parents to come along with me for the next performance. To my great surprise, I discovered that my mother was not a big fan of Shakespeare and begged off going after one outing, but my father was the one who really enjoyed it and would come with me when he could. The performances that I've seen include: The Tempest, Much Ado About Nothing, All's Well That Ends Well, and finally, last night, The Winter's Tale.
The Winter's Tale holds a special place in my heart. It was one of the plays that I studied when taking a Shakespeare class at Middlebury. There's more to it than that, but that part of the story is best told verbally rather than trying to attempt to capture it on a blog. What I will say is that I got to read the part of Paulina in that class, and had a blast doing it. Last night was the first time that I had seen The Winter's Tale performed in full, and ASC, as usual, did an excellent job with it. And as they approached Paulina's speech, my anticipation grew, until, when she got to the speech I had read in class, I began to mouth the words along with the actor, who did a superb job portraying this character. But I was amazed--over 20 years ago that I took this class and I still remember the words of that speech. And as I viewed the play last night, I identified quite a bit with Paulina. Read the play if you haven't and tell me if you agree. I think that Shakespeare must have known some very strong women in his day.
After the play was over and I drove back home, I started crying again. I don't know when I will be able to see a play at the Blackfriars Theater again. When it comes time for me to be ordained, if the bishops involved will allow it to happen in Waynesboro, I may have to insist upon allowing enough time in the area so I can catch one more performance. And who would have ever thought that a gem like the American Shakespeare Center would have been found in little Staunton, Virginia? Just one more reason I'm sad to be leaving this area.
I discovered this wonderful place first, because I saw signs for it on Interstate 81, and second, because one day when visiting my Thrivent representative in Staunton, I again saw signs for it. I decided I just had to check this place out. I believe the first performance I went to see there was "Twelfth Night." It was staged so well that I just fell in love with it, and got my parents to come along with me for the next performance. To my great surprise, I discovered that my mother was not a big fan of Shakespeare and begged off going after one outing, but my father was the one who really enjoyed it and would come with me when he could. The performances that I've seen include: The Tempest, Much Ado About Nothing, All's Well That Ends Well, and finally, last night, The Winter's Tale.
The Winter's Tale holds a special place in my heart. It was one of the plays that I studied when taking a Shakespeare class at Middlebury. There's more to it than that, but that part of the story is best told verbally rather than trying to attempt to capture it on a blog. What I will say is that I got to read the part of Paulina in that class, and had a blast doing it. Last night was the first time that I had seen The Winter's Tale performed in full, and ASC, as usual, did an excellent job with it. And as they approached Paulina's speech, my anticipation grew, until, when she got to the speech I had read in class, I began to mouth the words along with the actor, who did a superb job portraying this character. But I was amazed--over 20 years ago that I took this class and I still remember the words of that speech. And as I viewed the play last night, I identified quite a bit with Paulina. Read the play if you haven't and tell me if you agree. I think that Shakespeare must have known some very strong women in his day.
After the play was over and I drove back home, I started crying again. I don't know when I will be able to see a play at the Blackfriars Theater again. When it comes time for me to be ordained, if the bishops involved will allow it to happen in Waynesboro, I may have to insist upon allowing enough time in the area so I can catch one more performance. And who would have ever thought that a gem like the American Shakespeare Center would have been found in little Staunton, Virginia? Just one more reason I'm sad to be leaving this area.
Thursday, May 17, 2012
The "End" of the Civil War
Virginia is a snooty state. When my folks lived in Richmond, they made that statement about the city of Richmond, because if your family didn't have roots going all the way back to the Revolutionary War in that city, you were no one in Richmond society. But when my parents moved to this area, we encountered a different kind of "snootiness" about Charlottesville, which is one of the "urban centers" close to where my folks live. In the vicinity of Charlottesville, you can find the homes of three different presidents of the United States: Thomas Jefferson, James Monroe, and James Madison. Of course, Jefferson is the most famous, and after doing a unit of CPE (Clinical Pastoral Education) at the University of Virginia Medical Center, I discovered exactly how large Jefferson's shadow looms at UVa: as the founder of this university, Jefferson's wishes that no plants that are not native to Virginia should be planted on university grounds are respected even to this day, which has caused some embarrassment when visiting dignitaries have presented non-native plants as gifts to the institution. In short, Virginia has produced many significant historical figures as well as having many significant historical battles take place within its boundaries, so perhaps it has a right to be a bit snooty.
The town of Nellysford, which encompasses the Wintergreen resort, lies in a sort of center of three bigger "urban centers": Charlottesville, which is a 45-minute drive to the northeast, Waynesboro, which is a 30-minute drive to the northwest, and Lynchburg, which is a 45-minute drive to the south. During my time here, my father has worked in Lynchburg, my mother (and I, when I was doing temp work) have commuted to Charlottesville for work, and general grocery shopping and attending worship services was done in Waynesboro. Most of the time when we have gone anywhere for leisure activities, it has been to Waynesboro or Charlottesville, with occasional excursions on my part to Staunton, which is further west of Waynesboro (more on that later). The few times that we did go in the direction of Lynchburg, we would always see signs for Appomattox, and say, "Hey, isn't that where the Civil War ended? We should go check that out sometime." But we never did. Today I made it a point to drive over there.
What struck me as I drove there was how rural a state Virginia really is. (Northern Virginia should just be its own state, but I guess they don't break off because most of Virginia's tax revenue comes from them.) From here to Appomattox was very rural, though, with cute little churches dotted along the way (no Lutherans that I saw, though, with apologies to all of my friends and colleagues interested in rural ministry--but maybe you could learn how the Baptists handle rural ministry!). As I entered Appomattox, though, I was greeted with a Walmart, a Dairy Queen, and a McDonald's, and I followed the signs that said "historic downtown" thinking that's where I needed to be headed.
But after driving around and finding nothing resembling the place where the Civil War was supposed to have ended, I finally pulled in at the Visitors' Center, located in the old train station. The woman there very kindly directed me to where I was supposed to be, which was out of the downtown a ways. And once I drove out there and began walking around, these are some of the things I discovered:
Where General Lee surrendered to General Grant was the original village of Appomattox, which was nothing more than a stagecoach stop on the road between Richmond and Lynchburg. The downtown that I had found did not grow up until 1893 around the train that came through there, rendering the original village obsolete. And, the original village fell into disrepair--after all, the state of Virginia, home to the capital of the Confederacy, did not want to remember its humiliating defeat and surrender. So, unlike Gettysburg, no monuments or markers were put up. It wasn't until around post-World War II that interest arose in reconstructing the village and memorializing the surrender, and so they used blueprints and what the park ranger termed SWAG--scientific wild-ass guess--to reconstruct how everything looked. In fact, there were no photographs of the actual surrender, because Lincoln's assassination happened around the same time and all the reporters were up in D.C. So, they just have paintings based on people's descriptions of the event.
Regardless of all of this, there is a sense of history about the place. In fact, after looking down my nose at the Civil War re-enactors that go around Gettysburg, I was treated (with other tourists) to a description of the events and the daily life of the soldiers during that time by a man dressed in Union garb and so deep into his character that the park ranger warned us ahead of time to pretend along with him that it was 1865 and make no mention of vehicles like cars or airplanes. "If he asks you how you got here, say by coach or by horse." I also learned that California and Oregon were states in 1865, so if you were from there, you were allowed to tell the man that's where you were from, but in 1865 the only way you got from the West Coast to Virginia was by boat around South America--stagecoaches at that time only went from East to West, not in the reverse. And if you were from someplace like Oklahoma, you had to say that you were from Indian country. It all seemed rather silly, but I remember it, so perhaps this is an effective way to teach history.
Another thing I learned is that, contrary to the history books, the surrender did not happen in the courthouse, but rather in the house owned by a man with the last name of McLean. And that this marked only the surrender of the army of Northern Virginia--there were still other Confederate armies running around out there, so this really wasn't the definitive end of the Civil War. But because of that, the surrender terms were very easy--the Union was trying to make it easy for the other Confederate armies to want to surrender.
This forgotten site of Civil War history was thus very fascinating. As I drove into Appomattox County, there was a sign which said, "Welcome to Appomattox County--home of the reunification of America." I wish I could have gotten a picture of it, but there was really no safe place to pull over and do that. The sign is a rhetorical sign, I think--America wasn't really reunified at Appomattox, and the Civil War wasn't really over. And I don't know that America really has been unified. The old saying about the Holy Roman Empire was that it was not holy, it was not Roman, and it wasn't much of an empire--just a loose confederation of individual countries. Perhaps the same thing can be said about the United States--we haven't really been united, we're just a loose confederation of states and each person has his/her own opinion, expressed in various ways. Is there any way for us to be united? Thoughts to ponder on this cool evening in Virginia.
The town of Nellysford, which encompasses the Wintergreen resort, lies in a sort of center of three bigger "urban centers": Charlottesville, which is a 45-minute drive to the northeast, Waynesboro, which is a 30-minute drive to the northwest, and Lynchburg, which is a 45-minute drive to the south. During my time here, my father has worked in Lynchburg, my mother (and I, when I was doing temp work) have commuted to Charlottesville for work, and general grocery shopping and attending worship services was done in Waynesboro. Most of the time when we have gone anywhere for leisure activities, it has been to Waynesboro or Charlottesville, with occasional excursions on my part to Staunton, which is further west of Waynesboro (more on that later). The few times that we did go in the direction of Lynchburg, we would always see signs for Appomattox, and say, "Hey, isn't that where the Civil War ended? We should go check that out sometime." But we never did. Today I made it a point to drive over there.
What struck me as I drove there was how rural a state Virginia really is. (Northern Virginia should just be its own state, but I guess they don't break off because most of Virginia's tax revenue comes from them.) From here to Appomattox was very rural, though, with cute little churches dotted along the way (no Lutherans that I saw, though, with apologies to all of my friends and colleagues interested in rural ministry--but maybe you could learn how the Baptists handle rural ministry!). As I entered Appomattox, though, I was greeted with a Walmart, a Dairy Queen, and a McDonald's, and I followed the signs that said "historic downtown" thinking that's where I needed to be headed.
But after driving around and finding nothing resembling the place where the Civil War was supposed to have ended, I finally pulled in at the Visitors' Center, located in the old train station. The woman there very kindly directed me to where I was supposed to be, which was out of the downtown a ways. And once I drove out there and began walking around, these are some of the things I discovered:
Where General Lee surrendered to General Grant was the original village of Appomattox, which was nothing more than a stagecoach stop on the road between Richmond and Lynchburg. The downtown that I had found did not grow up until 1893 around the train that came through there, rendering the original village obsolete. And, the original village fell into disrepair--after all, the state of Virginia, home to the capital of the Confederacy, did not want to remember its humiliating defeat and surrender. So, unlike Gettysburg, no monuments or markers were put up. It wasn't until around post-World War II that interest arose in reconstructing the village and memorializing the surrender, and so they used blueprints and what the park ranger termed SWAG--scientific wild-ass guess--to reconstruct how everything looked. In fact, there were no photographs of the actual surrender, because Lincoln's assassination happened around the same time and all the reporters were up in D.C. So, they just have paintings based on people's descriptions of the event.
Regardless of all of this, there is a sense of history about the place. In fact, after looking down my nose at the Civil War re-enactors that go around Gettysburg, I was treated (with other tourists) to a description of the events and the daily life of the soldiers during that time by a man dressed in Union garb and so deep into his character that the park ranger warned us ahead of time to pretend along with him that it was 1865 and make no mention of vehicles like cars or airplanes. "If he asks you how you got here, say by coach or by horse." I also learned that California and Oregon were states in 1865, so if you were from there, you were allowed to tell the man that's where you were from, but in 1865 the only way you got from the West Coast to Virginia was by boat around South America--stagecoaches at that time only went from East to West, not in the reverse. And if you were from someplace like Oklahoma, you had to say that you were from Indian country. It all seemed rather silly, but I remember it, so perhaps this is an effective way to teach history.
Another thing I learned is that, contrary to the history books, the surrender did not happen in the courthouse, but rather in the house owned by a man with the last name of McLean. And that this marked only the surrender of the army of Northern Virginia--there were still other Confederate armies running around out there, so this really wasn't the definitive end of the Civil War. But because of that, the surrender terms were very easy--the Union was trying to make it easy for the other Confederate armies to want to surrender.
This forgotten site of Civil War history was thus very fascinating. As I drove into Appomattox County, there was a sign which said, "Welcome to Appomattox County--home of the reunification of America." I wish I could have gotten a picture of it, but there was really no safe place to pull over and do that. The sign is a rhetorical sign, I think--America wasn't really reunified at Appomattox, and the Civil War wasn't really over. And I don't know that America really has been unified. The old saying about the Holy Roman Empire was that it was not holy, it was not Roman, and it wasn't much of an empire--just a loose confederation of individual countries. Perhaps the same thing can be said about the United States--we haven't really been united, we're just a loose confederation of states and each person has his/her own opinion, expressed in various ways. Is there any way for us to be united? Thoughts to ponder on this cool evening in Virginia.
Wednesday, May 16, 2012
Saying Goodbye to Virginia
After a doctor's appointment and a day of rest yesterday, today I began the process of saying goodbye to Virginia. In a conversation with my brother not too long ago, he suggested that I would be glad to say goodbye to Virginia. On the contrary, I replied, I have really enjoyed my time here and will be sad to leave it. He said it was because our parents have been living in a rural area, and that this feeds my "antisocial tendencies" (not his exact words, but you get the idea). I maintain that there is a difference between being antisocial and being an introvert: if I were truly antisocial, after all, I wouldn't be planning to become a pastor. But that's a discussion for another post.
So today I went up to Harrisonburg to have lunch with a friend of mine from seminary who is in the final months of her internship in rural West Virginia. Harrisonburg is the closest urban center to where she lives, and this was her day off to run errands in the "big city". We had a good time visiting and chatting about seminary days and gossip from Gettysburg, and catching up. As we hugged good-bye, I realized that I didn't know when I might see her again, but since we are Facebook friends, it didn't seem like we were really saying good-bye.
Then I made a surprise visit to another friend who lives in the area, and we talked on his front patio while watching his 80-something landlady mow the lawn. This particular friend hadn't realized until that conversation that I most likely would not be returning to Virginia for a while, as my parents will now permanently be in Florida. While I am planning on returning here for my eventual ordination (whenever that may be--the bishop of the Montana Synod has said that when the time comes, she is okay with me having the ordination in Virginia), the time surrounding that event will be rather hectic and I don't know that I will have a quiet moment to sit down and chat face-to-face with this particular friend. But again, we're friends on Facebook, so it doesn't really feel like I'm saying goodbye.
And yet, there's something to be said for the physical, face-to-face conversations and the touch of two people, one to another, in friendship. This is what I began to say goodbye to today, not knowing when I will be able to meet these two good friends again in the near future. While I'm thankful for Facebook, since it is a good medium to keep up with my friends, I will miss their facial expressions, the sound of their laughter, and yes, their touch, as I hug them in greeting and in farewell. And this is what caused the tears to start streaming down my face as I drove back to little Nellysford this afternoon. To my two friends whom I saw today: I may not have cried when I said goodbye to you this afternoon, but trust me when I tell you I did cry later.
So today I went up to Harrisonburg to have lunch with a friend of mine from seminary who is in the final months of her internship in rural West Virginia. Harrisonburg is the closest urban center to where she lives, and this was her day off to run errands in the "big city". We had a good time visiting and chatting about seminary days and gossip from Gettysburg, and catching up. As we hugged good-bye, I realized that I didn't know when I might see her again, but since we are Facebook friends, it didn't seem like we were really saying good-bye.
Then I made a surprise visit to another friend who lives in the area, and we talked on his front patio while watching his 80-something landlady mow the lawn. This particular friend hadn't realized until that conversation that I most likely would not be returning to Virginia for a while, as my parents will now permanently be in Florida. While I am planning on returning here for my eventual ordination (whenever that may be--the bishop of the Montana Synod has said that when the time comes, she is okay with me having the ordination in Virginia), the time surrounding that event will be rather hectic and I don't know that I will have a quiet moment to sit down and chat face-to-face with this particular friend. But again, we're friends on Facebook, so it doesn't really feel like I'm saying goodbye.
And yet, there's something to be said for the physical, face-to-face conversations and the touch of two people, one to another, in friendship. This is what I began to say goodbye to today, not knowing when I will be able to meet these two good friends again in the near future. While I'm thankful for Facebook, since it is a good medium to keep up with my friends, I will miss their facial expressions, the sound of their laughter, and yes, their touch, as I hug them in greeting and in farewell. And this is what caused the tears to start streaming down my face as I drove back to little Nellysford this afternoon. To my two friends whom I saw today: I may not have cried when I said goodbye to you this afternoon, but trust me when I tell you I did cry later.
Monday, May 14, 2012
The Middlebury Cane, or, Thoughts on Moving
Have you ever had one of those items that you didn't really want, but it was given to you at some special occasion in your past, and you can't give it away because it would have no meaning to anyone else and they wouldn't want it? I have one of those items. It is a replica of Gamaliel Painter's cane.
Gamaliel Painter was one of the founders of my undergraduate alma mater, Middlebury College, in Middlebury, Vermont. Upon my graduation from this venerable Ivy League-wannabe institution in 1996 (yes, I really AM that old), the college gifted each of us with a replica of the walking cane that Gamaliel Painter used to walk around campus. My parents grumbled about how they spent lots of money (we won't define how much--they just finished paying off the loans a few years ago) for my college education, and what did I get? Not a job, but a cane.
This cane is not something that means a whole lot to me, but I really don't know what else to do with it. So, it has come along with me on all of my most recent moves. It is of such awkward size that it doesn't fit well in any spot. I seem to remember it coming crashing down from various spots in my jam-packed Subaru as I was going from hither to yon. I don't think it hit my dog in one of those falls as I drove up to Alaska, but it may have. When I get to various places and run across it as I'm unpacking, the cane gets stuck in a corner and quickly forgotten about.
This morning after I had packed up most of my apartment, I was using the Swiffer to sweep up all of the dust monsters (no, not dust bunnies--these things were too big to be bunnies) out of the empty apartment. As I went into the closet, I found, stuck in the back corner, the cane. I grumbled about this stupid cane that always turns up in the oddest places, that I had never wanted in the first place, and now I had to make one more trip down to the storage cage to stick it in there, because it was going to have to wait until I end up someplace permanently before I throw it in the car again.
But just now, as I'm writing this post, I'm thinking that maybe I can look at this silly cane as a symbol of an education that will always be with me, through whatever moves I make. Middlebury gave me a good education, including good writing skills that have helped me through graduate school, both at Concordia Seminary and at the Lutheran Theological Seminary at Gettysburg. I made friends at Middlebury that I hope to keep with me through the rest of my life, both in person and via social media. Likewise, I've made friends at both seminaries that I hope to keep up with even as I continue the wandering that I and my family have become known for. And so, this silly cane replica will remind me of the constancy of education and of friends throughout my constantly changing life. Maybe I don't want to get rid of it after all.
Gamaliel Painter was one of the founders of my undergraduate alma mater, Middlebury College, in Middlebury, Vermont. Upon my graduation from this venerable Ivy League-wannabe institution in 1996 (yes, I really AM that old), the college gifted each of us with a replica of the walking cane that Gamaliel Painter used to walk around campus. My parents grumbled about how they spent lots of money (we won't define how much--they just finished paying off the loans a few years ago) for my college education, and what did I get? Not a job, but a cane.
This cane is not something that means a whole lot to me, but I really don't know what else to do with it. So, it has come along with me on all of my most recent moves. It is of such awkward size that it doesn't fit well in any spot. I seem to remember it coming crashing down from various spots in my jam-packed Subaru as I was going from hither to yon. I don't think it hit my dog in one of those falls as I drove up to Alaska, but it may have. When I get to various places and run across it as I'm unpacking, the cane gets stuck in a corner and quickly forgotten about.
This morning after I had packed up most of my apartment, I was using the Swiffer to sweep up all of the dust monsters (no, not dust bunnies--these things were too big to be bunnies) out of the empty apartment. As I went into the closet, I found, stuck in the back corner, the cane. I grumbled about this stupid cane that always turns up in the oddest places, that I had never wanted in the first place, and now I had to make one more trip down to the storage cage to stick it in there, because it was going to have to wait until I end up someplace permanently before I throw it in the car again.
But just now, as I'm writing this post, I'm thinking that maybe I can look at this silly cane as a symbol of an education that will always be with me, through whatever moves I make. Middlebury gave me a good education, including good writing skills that have helped me through graduate school, both at Concordia Seminary and at the Lutheran Theological Seminary at Gettysburg. I made friends at Middlebury that I hope to keep with me through the rest of my life, both in person and via social media. Likewise, I've made friends at both seminaries that I hope to keep up with even as I continue the wandering that I and my family have become known for. And so, this silly cane replica will remind me of the constancy of education and of friends throughout my constantly changing life. Maybe I don't want to get rid of it after all.
Wednesday, May 9, 2012
Introduction
Here I am, a former deaconess of the Lutheran Church--Missouri Synod, getting ready to graduate in two days from the Lutheran Theological Seminary of Gettysburg with my Master's of Divinity. To say that it's been a wild ride is a bit of an understatement, and it will continue to be a wild ride over the next few months. I have been assigned to the Montana Synod, and the call process is--well, in process, and that's about all I can say at the moment. In the meantime, after graduation, I will be returning to my home in Virginia for a couple of weeks, even as my parents are in the process of moving to Florida. I will be hanging out in Florida with them until I receive a call out West. But don't think I won't be busy. My beloved younger brother, a lawyer, is getting married to a beautiful--in all senses of the word--woman who is going to be a doctor. The wedding is happening in Orlando, which is her home base, and then she and my brother will be moving to Jacksonville, where she will be doing internship and residency. Oh, and did I mention that she's Greek Orthodox? Yes, I will get to experience a real-life version of "My Big Fat Greek Wedding"--up close and personal, since I am going to be one of the bridesmaids! How cool is that! :)
My intent for this blog is: 1. To keep everyone up to date with where I am and when, 2. To record any pertinent observations/thoughts of what I am experiencing, and 3. Anything else that evolves from this.
A note on the title for my blog. Dr. Oldenburg, who is dean of the chapel here, composed a series of choir anthems with Dr. Folkemer, our cantor, to go along with the Old Testament readings during Lent, Year B. The title of his anthem for the Second Sunday in Lent is called, "After Wandering Years," and goes along with the Genesis 17 reading about Abraham. I've recently begun to feel an affinity with Abraham as I go from place to place, not knowing what the Lord has in store for me. But yes, I did change the preposition to "through" because I am still in the midst of these "wandering years", trying to trust that the Lord knows where he wants me and when.
Looking forward to seeing what's next!
My intent for this blog is: 1. To keep everyone up to date with where I am and when, 2. To record any pertinent observations/thoughts of what I am experiencing, and 3. Anything else that evolves from this.
A note on the title for my blog. Dr. Oldenburg, who is dean of the chapel here, composed a series of choir anthems with Dr. Folkemer, our cantor, to go along with the Old Testament readings during Lent, Year B. The title of his anthem for the Second Sunday in Lent is called, "After Wandering Years," and goes along with the Genesis 17 reading about Abraham. I've recently begun to feel an affinity with Abraham as I go from place to place, not knowing what the Lord has in store for me. But yes, I did change the preposition to "through" because I am still in the midst of these "wandering years", trying to trust that the Lord knows where he wants me and when.
Looking forward to seeing what's next!
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