Sounds of Hope

People say we travel a lot.  I guess that's true.  Today I am in Fairfax Virginia.  On Wednesday I'll be in Connecticut.  Thursday I'll be in New Jersey.  Back home in Tennessee on Sunday.  This fall I've been to both coasts seeing the Empire state and the Golden Gate bridge in the span of one week. I've been to Florida and Atlanta twice.  Are you tired?  I'm not. I love it. I think it is the Viking in me.  I love to meet people. I got to know the wife of one of my husband's colleagues.  We talked and shopped til we dropped in San Francisco.  It was a wonderful day.  I hope I see her again.  I think we'd be good friends. Last night, as we exhaustedly checked into our hotel, I met someone new. I guess a five minute conversation doesn't really qualify as meeting someone but he will stay in my thoughts for a long time.  No I haven't become star struck rather the mother instinct took hold.  Tall, thin, blonde,with an infectious smile, dressed in

In 800 yards, turn right. At the end of the road, turn left on to garbled street. Go 300 feet and turn around. A GPS is a wonderful thing and it is persistent.  It never relents.  It never listens to our rationale that we think this is a better route.  This weekend, we were on a quest to find a cul-de-sac on the outskirts of the small town of Thomasville NC.  We missed the GPS instructions to take the exit.  Without missing a beat, the GPS rerouted.  At first it tried to get us to turn around, then it planned another route. Sometimes when following a GPS you see a “sign” – the sign seems to contradict the GPS.  Such was the case on Saturday.  We saw the sign for Thomasville – we looked at each other.  I said, “It’s your choice, you are the one who is driving.”  He followed the sign. The GPS persisted.  We kept going ignoring what the GPS was telling us. Soon we realized that we were far off course. We had not listened to the GPS and yet the GPS never relented.  It kept rerouting

You ever hear the expression, "Well, I'm just going to take my marbles and go home ."  I feel a lot like that a lot of the time.  While people usually think that person who wants to "pick up their marbles and go" is a bit of a spoiled brat.  You know, the one who always wants their way-doesn't like to share, always wants the power and to be in charge.  It's easy to think that.  We all know those type of people. I don't need to have my way all the time.  In fact, I rarely get my way.  I tend to be the one who is most willing to give in - to say okay, that's fine.  Most of the passion has been sucked out of me in life so it's become easy to acquiesce.  I like being in charge but I don't have to be.  That assessment of why I want to "pick up my marbles and go" has nothing to do with having power. But I do want to pick them up and go.  I want to retreat from conflict.  I want an end to frustration.  I want to be able to contrib

As we drove up the muddy driveway, guided by the neon OPEN sign, we knew this was going to be an experience.  The day had already been more like the script of a movie with the familiar theme of city folk go to the country.  The country folk always seem to be the better in these movies.  This time, we were the city folk I suppose.   My beautiful Granddaughter on her wedding day. Disguised from my modest roots, I was in a dress from Macy’s with a flashy bracelet from Stein Mart – both were from the clearance rack.  Most everyone else, except the beautiful bride (more on that in a later blog) were in jeans and t-shirts or a variation thereof.  The groom did have a suit on and looked extremely miserable.  Even the preacher who would pronounce them husband and wife was casually dressed in khaki and polo.  It could have been a scene out of My Cousin Vinny , or New in Town .  And I was the butt of the comedy. That was behind us, a night at Vaught’s Restaurant and Motel awaited us.  Still

I don't know if this is the longest I have gone without writing.  I don't like to go this long.  Many things have grabbed my attention over the last few weeks.  I've been to both coasts of the United States, seeing the Atlantic and the Pacific, seeing the Hudson River and the San Francisco Bay.  I've ridden a subway, but didn't take a cable car.  Something I'll probably regret but the taste of sour dough is still on my tongue.  I brought some home. The bumpy air ride over the Rockies was something I'd never experienced.  However, very small in comparison to days on a wagon train as people pressed past their known world to the glories of the west, or in search of gold.  For me the gold of this trip was not panned in San Francisco but on the east coast.  I saw one of my beautiful daughters try on her gorgeous wedding gown.  I wanted to cry.  Not because the dress was beautiful, or even that she is - and they both were stunning - but it was the smile on her f

I’ve been thinking a lot about getting old.  I guess I think about it too much.  But, a milestone birthday usually sparks such thoughts.  I came across a piece in the Huffington Post by Billy Graham .  He’s getting ready to celebrate 93 years.  Yikes, that’s old.  I always thought it interesting that Oral Roberts, Billy Graham, and my mother were all born in 1918.  He’s the last one remaining of this odd trio.  Waiting for the bus to take Norwegians to Madison Square Garden in 1957 to hear Billy Graham. As usually, Graham was inspiring.  I remember going to Madison Square Garden on a bus with lots of Norwegians from my neighborhood in Brooklyn.  I remember wanting to “ get up out of my seat ” and go to the front.  I was six years old and the power of his preaching convicted me.  Of what?  I don't know...  Instead, holding my mother’s hand I walked the opposite direction so as not to miss the bus back to Brooklyn.  I remember the crowds of people and feelings so small.  Later,

Last week I had the glorious experience of reconnecting with a childhood friend. She sat with me in Miss O'Shea's class. She stood in line as Miss O'Shea put lipstick on our lips for the May Day Celebration.  The one that led to the consternation of my mother at my being unchristian because I had make-up on... Peering through the black bars of the school fence, she glared as I danced around the May Pole with lipstick.  I loved Miss O'Shea and yet it was the year of such horror . I imagine she was one that I would hope would accompany me to the girls bathroom in the basement of the school.  Always sent in pairs, one would raise their hand and be excused; the other would volunteer to go with you.  That meant a time to chat and giggle.  Later, she and I would walk together to PS 220 John J. Pershing Junior High School.  Of all my childhood school memories, Pershing was the best. It's odd the things you think about when you reconnect. Little tiny snippets of your li

I am continuing to learn what it means to be a Methodist.  I have become at home with the Methodist. It is the group that I have chosen to fellowship in community with – it is where my spiritual journey has taken me.  Last night, I went to my first “Charge Conference.” For those of you, like me, who have no idea what that is, it is sort of like their “annual business meeting.”  I’ve been to a whole lot of business meetings. I’ve served as a trustee.  I’ve served in some unofficial capacity of reminding the pastor to get ready for the annual business meeting.  I’ve typed the reports and compiled them.  I’ve taken minutes and participated in more business meetings than I care to remember. I’ve seen a lot of dispute at business meetings in church basements.  Questions, concerns, legitimate or not… on and on they went for hours.  Pontificating members with grandiose ideas in conflict with pompous members who had better ideas marred the meetings.  Negative members would lament and decry

I had my emotional armor on all day yesterday.   Once I finally went to sleep last night, I fell into the deep sleep of exhaustion.   Emotional exhaustion drains you in ways that physical labor never could.   I could sense my attitude.   It was BAD… I was BA Lighari yesterday.   My emotional armor protected me as well as kept a lid on any eruptions. Class always starts with a devotional.   He picked a passage I’d memorized as a child.   I was zoning out until he asked what scornful meant – what does it mean to sit in the seat of the scornful – who are those people you don’t want to be around… hmm, not sure I agree with his interpretation but I perked up when someone said – you don’t want to be around “crybabies.” It rankled me.   I guess because I have shed so many tears and know that God collects my tears in His bottle.   I guess because I know the value of tears.   I was annoyed at the minimization of people whose pain causes them to cry.   I have learned that sometimes you just ca

It was the first year I walked the three short blocks and one and a half long blocks to PS 94 alone.  My BFF was taking several buses to a new school for smart children.  I missed her.  I wondered why she had to be so smart and leave me.   Everything at PS94 was big.  As I would crouch in the hallway with my head tucked under my arms for the air raid drills, I couldn’t imagine those massive doors collapsing.  In the fourth grade, I had the seat in front of one of those doors.  Mrs. Cedar presided over a corner room, near the staircase.  Rather than opposite the windows, the massive wooden closet that housed our coats and galoshes was in a narrow hallway that led to our room.  I had the first seat in the first row.  Since the door was always open, I had a view of those coming up and down the stairs as well as the slop sink.  Now for those of you who do not know what a slop sink is, it was a deep sink on every floor where you could go to wash your paint brushes.  Usually we were sent i

Many religious traditions have set times for prayer.  The discipline of bowing one’s heart to God at a set time is something I’ve tried to cultivate with limited success.  Following the ancient Christians in the Daily Office is a desire of mine.  Yet, it’s discipline does not come easy for me. The entrance to our subdivision - picture taken from our driveway Our dog is walked twice a day.  Today it is very fall like.  There has been rain and the sky is grey.  The brilliant colors on the trees are muting.  But the birds… oh the birds… sometimes the cacophony of their sound is near deafening.  We have a chorus of birds that sing in the morning and sing in the evening.  Having a Franciscan bent, I thought, yes, little bird, praise God!  It seems that nature responds to the call to worship at sunrise and dusk.  Today as I walked our large yard I marveled at all I saw.  I can’t imagine those who walk but don’t see.  I remarked to someone yesterday about the beautiful little pines i

You know the old saying "Nothing Ventured, Nothing Gained?"  Well, a lot of times I venture - no one can accuse me of not venturing... however, I get very frustrated because I thought if I ventured, I'd gain... that hasn't been the case much of the time.  Now before you say - Oh there she goes again... this is not yet another lament of mine. Many of you have seen the pictures of the pies and cakes, etc., that I post on Facebook.  I even have one endorsement on Facebook "Branch Out" - it says,  “She makes great pastries!”   It's true.   I do...  She was a customer in my coffee shop.  I used to make amazing food - breakfasts, including huge omelets with spinach, feta, and mushrooms - and then there was those Pumpkin Spice Waffles with Cinnamon Butter - OMG, my mouth is watering... My chicken salad was known as the best and so popular I had to start selling it by the pound.  Once I was asked if I could ship it out of state - I think they wanted to have

I like to think I’m not terrible thin skinned.  It’s a myth.  I rather think the reality is that it’s a myth for most people. We are human.  We get hurt.  We hear something, read something, and all those mines in our emotional field go off.  Sometimes they all go off at once.  Other times, it’s one or two.  The booby-traps are everywhere.  Sometimes some unwitting (or sometimes dimwitted) person in a store triggers a life-time of feelings. That happened a lot in South Dakota.  A trip to Hy-Vee or Wal-Mart in Brookings SD usually resulted in my swearing to myself the whole way home. Other times it is a remark that you know isn’t personal but somehow, it gets under your skin.  It just sort of sits there – like an unattended wound, it festers. Last night two mines exploded in my heart.  My mood went from good to bad very quickly.  You try to remove yourself from the trigger but once it has been pulled, it is impossible to stop.  Boom – you never expected it – you didn’t see it coming

Maybe you've seen this scene from Madmen as the Kodak Carousel is introduced.   If not, go here and watch it and then come back to the blog. In Greek, nostalgia literally means, a pain from an old wound .  In someways, this blog has been about nostalgia.  Even those topics of current inspiration draw life from the past.  You never escape where you came from or who you were.  We change, we grow but somehow the past is always with us beckoning us to remember. I think the pain we feel as we recall the past is cause not by the wound by knowing we can't go back.  We see visions of the past and we want to go back. We want to go back not because we made some horrible mistake and need a do-over.  Rather we want to go back to experience the joy, the wonderment, the excitement, or any of the myriad of human emotions that can explode at anytime.  While a small substitute for time travel back to that moment, a memory can cause us to relive such joy and sometimes such pain. I've s

One of the last things I do at night is take melatonin.   I’ve been doing this for years.   Did you know it is a good antioxidant ?   But that’s not why I take it.   Coupled with watching TV in bed, it helps me turn off my brain.   I think too much.   Sometime between 3 a.m. and 5 a.m. I usually have to go to the bathroom.   It’s a by-product of age I suppose.   I walk to the bathroom with my eyes closed.   I never turn on the light.   It would wake me up too much and I want to go back to sleep.   Unfortunately, my brain has other plans.   I start thinking again. Last night I was thinking about blogging.   I was thinking I should write a happy cheerful blog.   I should write something so inspiring it even makes me feel better.   Of late, I seem to be in a place of sorrowful self-reflection.   The echoes of no follow my every movement. A friend of mine posted on Facebook some sappy words about keeping positive – it wasn’t directed to me.   It just was her new goals.   It was all full

It was a full day yesterday; first I met our youngest daughter for lunch at a deli that serves great pastrami.   Then I came home and made myself a NY Egg Cream – yum.   Last night we had a late supper with our son.   While the food was not as good as the deli, it was a great time of chatting.   He was coming down off an adrenaline high from a major test at Med School.   He was debriefing all the information crammed into his brain about cardiology and pathology.   He amazes me sometimes at what he retains in his brain and yet, he is never quite sure how old he is… I think it’s that way with genius sometimes. He had on a nice shirt.   It was a “modified” western shirt.   It had snaps and pockets but no yoke.   It caused me to reminisce about some shirts I made for my older sons when they were little.   One year for Easter, I had made my oldest daughter Bethany and I matching pinafore jumpers.   Both went to the floor as “granny” dresses were in style.   We both had a white shirt undern