The Annual Desire For Fall Weather To Arrive

 Every year as September rolls around, I start really wanting crisp, cool days, chilly nights, and golden light through changing leaves.  I start craving spiced hot cider, and hot chocolate, and I start baking bread.

Never mind that the weather is still in the 90s and sunny, never mind that the trees are all still green, I want it to be Fall.  I want my Autumn, and I want it NOW.  

I have changed the wallpapers on my phone and my tablet to Autumn scenes, I baked bread yesterday for no other reason than that the recipe looked so good, and I really wanted the house to smell like bread baking.  (Extra bonus, we had friends coming over, so we had a chance to SHARE good bread, still warm from the oven.  This is not a small thing!)

Bread is such an essential part of human culture.  Every culture has their own sort of bread.  It is always comfort food.  Christians everywhere gather around a table, some every Sunday, some less often, and share bread to commemorate the Last Supper, and Christ's sacrifice.  For Jews, unleavened bread is central to the Passover celebration.  The sharing of bread with others is central to many cultures and religions. 

Flat breads are used in many Asian cultures as utensils as well as sustenance.  Naan and pita both can be used to scoop up food, or contain it for easy eating.  Bread is served as part of a meal at most restaurants in the U.S., and some places are famous for their bread, prompting many online recipe blogs to post versions of the recipes.  One of those restaurant breads is the one I baked this weekend.  I found the recipe on Pinterest.  (Dear old Pinterest, the place where we browse and get ourselves into trouble with the recipes and ideas we find.  I am especially guilty of running out to buy some exotic liqueur because of a cocktail recipe I found on Pinterest.)

 This is a photo of the Kindred's Milk Bread that I made this weekend.  It is every bit as delectable and addictive as the author of the blog where I found it states.  There is something very satisfying about this crunchy crusted, soft-centered bread.  It makes you feel good to eat it. I have found that the leftovers do well reheated o a sheet pan in a 375 degree oven for about 8 minutes or so, gets them crusty and hot again, just like when they were fresh out of the oven.

I have also found recipes for other breads on Pinterest, and I have also made Naan Bread this week.   See photo just below of a piece of home made Naan bread.  It is soft and delicious, and if you size your little loaves with care, you can fit them in the toaster for reheating when you're ready to eat them. 

I make my own hummus these days, too, using garbanzo beans, or cannellini beans, or Great Northern beans, whatever I happen to have a can of.  I also add whatever sounds good out of the pantry or refrigerator.  Today I used cannellini beans and olive oil, of course, with Mediterranean Spiced Sea Salt, a few green olives, some of the tomato jam we made with some of this year's tomato harvest, a couple of hot cherry pepper rings, and some banana pepper rings.  It came out slightly spicy and slightly sweet.  It isn't very pretty, so no photo of the hummus.

The cocktails I make these days seem to be golden colored, too, as though my obsession with Autumn is permeating my entire life.

Cocktail Maison

Aperol and Elderflower Margarita

The French Blonde

Chambord Manhattan

These are photos of the most recent cocktail recipes I have tried, all of them recipes I found on Pinterest.  See below for another effect of my Pinterest adventures:

The Current Liquor collection, not including beer and a bottle of Asti Spumante

I even bought a bunch of candy with Autumn themed wrappers.  Yes, I wanted some candy (and put it out to share with our friends who came over), but the wrappers are just what my Autumn craving soul wanted.

So many people dread the Fall, the dying off of Summer's abundance, but to me, Fall is an abundant season.  It is the season when Summer's bounty is safely gathered in, and stored up to be shared in the lean, hard, cold days of Winter to come.  It is the time to recognize all the love that surrounds us, in the people we break bread with, both at home and at church, and in the abundance we have of warm, soft sweaters, and throws, and our soft beds.  We in this land are truly, for the most part, abundantly blessed.  This is also a good time to think about how we can share a little of that abundance, so those who may not have enough can make it through the lean times, and feel the joy of the warm sun on a crisp day.  Any small, kind act can cause huge ripples out in the world.  Autumn is a good season to resolve to share more warmth and kindness.  Share as you would share warm, freshly baked bread with someone.  It makes the bread taste even better.  Share a drink, if you know the person has no issues with alcohol.  A person will often tell their bartender things they won't even tell their therapist.  Everyone needs to unload a burden now and then.  Just be sure, if you agree to share that burden, you don't speak of it to anyone else.  Trust is important, too. It is a blessing in and of itself.

So, Fall is on its way, whether you love it as I do, or loathe it as a couple of my friends do.  The cicadas are winding down, the days are getting shorter, The sun is moving ever so slowly to a different slant on the land, and I have put all the gold, red, yellow, orange, and brown things out around the house to be enjoyed.  I have also started writing again.  That's a Fall thing with me, too.

Whatever you feel about Autumn or Fall,  I wish you a warm and abundant season, aware of your blessings, and blessed to be able to share a bit of those with others. 

 A New Perspective On Rebirth

Just as our poor, over-frozen crepe myrtle tree out back is struggling to get its new growth going this year, we are struggling to get back to a life that feels more like "normal."

Masks are now optional at my workplace, though most staff still wear them, especially on the public floor.

Another oddball item, apropos of absolutely nothing, is that evidently ABLE is cracking down on the grocery stores that sell beer and wine, and now, instead of telling the cashier your (Obviously over- 21) birthdate, you do , in fact, have to produce your ID to prove your age.  Good grief, Charlie Brown, I've been over 21 for 40 years now, and believe me, I look it.  I didn't even get carded when I WAS barely 21.  All this is on my mind because I got my brunch ingredients together at the local market, and then had to leave my sparkling wine behind because I had only just grabbed my debit card on my way out the door, since I was walking.  Left the wine with the cashier, and walked home and got my whole wallet, so I  could show my ID.  Oh well, lots of extra steps!  Honestly, people, if I have to have wrinkles and grey hair, at least I should get some benefit from them - like not having to haul my ID out just to pick up a bottle of Asti Spumanti! *End Rant*

So this is the first Sunday back in the choir loft for me.  After more than a year.  It is familiar, but very different.  So many things these days are familiar but different.  This is what the pandemic has done to us, it has taken away all our comfortable, familiar things, and upended us into a strange, new world.

I was up at 6 am this morning.  That almost NEVER happens for me.  I am a night owl who stays up reading well after midnight most nights.  But last night, I set my alarm, and I went to sleep, and I made it safely out of bed by 6.  I got myself together, adequately caffeinated, and on the road in time to get situated before choir warm up.

It's not the same liturgy I've been used to for years, but I know it well enough.  It's different people for the most part, that I'm singing with. One absence would be the same even if everything else were as it used to be.  My friend Gail is not here.  She died just as all the pandemic shutdowns were starting, of an unrelated illness.  Choir isn't the same without her, and I miss her a lot.  

My voice isn't used to being awake and functioning so early in the day.  I am struggling with just what balance I need between allergy remedies.  Things are either too mucky, or too dry.  Neither is good for singing.  It'll work out, though, and I'll be better as I get more used to the schedule, and maybe even train myself (and the reluctant spouse) to go to bed earlier and get up earlier all the time.

In so many ways we are finding our way through unfamiliar territory that feels like it ought to be familiar.  It's almost like a waking dream, where you know where you are, but you don't recognize anyone, or know what you're supposed to be doing.  The library is feeling a bit this way, too, as more people realize they can come in and browse for their books instead of just ordering online for pickup.  

Not all the unfamiliarity is bad.  It is good to find new friends, to learn different responses in liturgy, to pay more attention and therefore appreciate the service more.

It is good to be awake before the neighborhood wakes up, to hear the birds just beginning to sing, to see the first rays of the sun on the flowers.  

Another benefit to singing the earlier service is that I get home earlier in the day, and have more of my Sunday available for leisure pursuits, or catching up on things.

Today, I made us a nice brunch of little croissant sandwiches with ham, turkey, and Swiss cheese.  I also made a mimosa (or two). There were fresh strawberries, and I splurged and had a slice of the Peppermint Patty Cake left from yesterday's dinner with friends.  

I took a long walk, I had time and energy to work on this blog post, and I suppose I'll get that last load of laundry folded and put away, too.

I do miss the folks I always sang with before who aren't in the choir I'm in now, but I'm getting to know some people I didn't have the chance to get to know before, and some new people, too.  It will be all right.  

This strange, new post-lockdown world is going to feel awkward for awhile, I'm sure. This will be true in many areas of our lives as we get used to doing the "same old things" in a bit of a new way.  There are benefits to all the hand washing, and even the mask wearing in large crowds.  Did you, or anyone you know, have the flu or a bad cold in the last year?  Well... that could be because of hand washing and mask wearing.  If the germs can't get at you, you can't catch the bug! Still, I only wear my mask at work, or when I know I'm going to be in a crowded indoor space for more than a couple of minutes.  I have been fully vaccinated, but better safe than sorry.

Doing things differently is always an opportunity to grow.  It's a chance to stretch beyond our comfort zone and reach out to others that maybe we didn't notice before, being buried in our accustomed routine.  God speaks in all those stretchy places, in all those not quite comfortable moments, and prods us to remember love, and grace, and the joy of just being in this place at this time.  Here's hoping that as things get to feel more normal and comfortable, we still hear that voice calling us to remember love, joy, and grace.  We all need as much of those as we can get.

Memories of A Difficult Time That Taught Us Many Things

The time of the anniversary of the Murrah Building Bombing is coming around again soon.  There are newcomers in our church and in our community who don't know about what happened here during that time.  I decided it was worthwhile to share the essays and poems I wrote during that time and a bit after, in order to let new residents know how it felt.

 

A Place Of Perfect Peace

By

Carolyn Kay Armistead -- 1996

 

     As we drive into the downtown area, I can still see damaged buildings - scars from the bombing. As we leave the car in the south parking lot, and walk toward the golden limestone of the Cathedral, I am jarred once again by the still-boarded up windows in the front of the Cathedral itself. By the time we are all the way across Seventh Street, and entering the wrought-iron gates of the cloister, my mind has already recovered. Instead of dwelling on the damage, I am already thinking of the service ahead, what we will be singing, whether it will be too warm to leave my blouse on under the cassock of my choir vestment.

 

     Across the bricked surface of the cloister, dark and cool with trees even in the summer, we pass the Lenten cross, the same cross that was propped against that tree when the bomb hit last year. Now we head up the steps to the door of the Parish House. This old, varnished wood door has never been the easiest to open, but since the bombing it is even more reluctant to move, and creaks its protest in loud metallic groans. Now up the old, creaking and popping stairs to the choir room, and into the safe territory of music folders and hymnals and vaguely mothball scented choir vestments. Here we don our robes and find our service bulletins and wait for the rest of the choir to assemble.

 

     When we gather to rehearse our anthem one last time before the service, we share many warm greetings, and small jokes. We are family, and we are making the best of things. Our service is not to be held in the beautiful old Cathedral, with its jewel-like Tiffany windows, glowing white marble high altar, and wonderful old- church smell compounded of beeswax, incense, leather, and distilled prayer. No, our service must be held in the dun brown school cafeteria /auditorium atmosphere of Dean Willey Hall, in the education building next to the Parish House.

 

     Our Cathedral, you see, is only two blocks north of where the Murrah Federal Building used to be. When that blast hit, it tore at Oklahoma's heart in many ways, not the least of which were the many downtown churches damaged by that blast. Our Cathedral is one of them. The roof was lifted and then unceremoniously dumped back on walls unprepared for such strain. It still stands, but faces extensive reinforcement and repair. For now, our solemn, beautiful, peaceful place of prayer is full of scaffolding. A big thick plastic sheet covers the whole chancel-sanctuary area from floor to ceiling. The great marble altar still seems to glow at you through the gloom of dust and plastic. The two Tiffany windows still shine out through the gloom with defiant brightness.

 

     For all the scaffolding, and the plastic, I can still close my eyes, and smelling that wonderful essence of old church, I can feel the same peace and love surround me there that I felt the very first time I prayed in that Cathedral three years ago. My husband and I were newly transferred here to Oklahoma City, after a four year tour in Germany. We were homesick for old friends, and heartsick because my mother was ill. St. Paul's Cathedral was the second Episcopal church we "sampled" in our search for a "home church." St. Paul's welcomed us with open, loving arms. Not just the people of St. Paul's, but that old Cathedral itself seemed to reach out to enclose me in its comforting embrace.

 

     As time went on, we got more comfortable in Oklahoma City, and other interests interfered with our regular attendance at church. We drifted away from that peaceful place. Then, on April 19, 1995, a bomb blast changed our lives, and the lives of all Oklahomans, forever. As I worked my way through anger and shock and disbelief at what had happened to those people, and especially the children, I began to remember that the Cathedral was near there. As soon as I realized how close the blast was to St. Paul's, I began scanning the news pictures for a sight of the church. There it was! Still standing! The old golden limestone was still glowing in the mid-morning sun, but things were wrong. The Celtic cross on the south peak of the Cathedral roof was missing an arm, and the stained glass windows in the Narthex were gone. I began to worry and to pray for the secretaries, the bookstore ladies, and the clergy that I knew might have been there working when the bomb hit. I was very angry that the one place I most wanted to go to seek peace and reassurance might be lost to me forever.

 

     My husband was one of the military volunteers who worked at the bomb site. He told me that many times, after coming out of that building disgusted and depressed, he would hear the clock chimes from one of the nearby churches and think of St. Paul's. He would look up, and gather strength from the sight of that brave, one-armed cross on the peak of the Cathedral roof. He, too, wanted to go back and try to repay the love that St. Paul's had shown us from the very beginning. We needed the Cathedral, and they needed us.

 

     The very first day that we could, we went to the Cathedral to offer our help. We were welcomed back with great affection, as though we had never been away at all. This time, we stayed, and found work for ourselves to do in the gardens, on the host committee, and in the choir. Matt also used his computer knowledge to help publicize the Capital Funds Drive to raise money needed for restoration expenses not covered by insurance. We are home to stay.

 

     The Cathedral lost no staff to the bombing, nor did we lose any parishioners, but a couple of parishioners were injured, as they worked in the Journal Record Building across from the bombing site. It has been almost a year since the bombing, and here we are, just beginning to rebuild our buildings. Our congregation however, is strong and close-knit. We have been rebuilding each other with love and caring all this past year. This choir that I rejoice in singing with has helped me feel that I am making a contribution toward that healing. It has also helped to heal me. I was in the choir at the church I grew up in, and I had missed that unique family feeling that comes when one is part of a choir. Music does more than soothe us; it unites us in worship. As we sing throughout the service, I feel that sense of love and peace from the Cathedral itself has followed us here. We are family. We have love: each other's and God's. Nothing will ever change that.

 

     Suffused with this love of God and each other, and with hope for the future, we leave our worship, and the fellowship of our Cathedral family, and head back out into the city again. This time I see all the new windows and other improvements that have come about since the bombing, and I know soon enough our old Cathedral's buildings will be whole again as well.

Looking to Reclaim Peace

By Carolyn Kay Armistead

April 16, 1997

 

     As we get closer to the day we will worship again in our restored Cathedral, I find a sense of restless expectation building, mixed with some nervous fear. It is wonderful to look forward to having our worship space back, but the reason we lost use of it in the first place is still painful.

 

     Yet, in spite of this I feel the excitement is building, more than at Christmas or Easter. The anticipation is nearly unbearable. We will see the inside of our refurbished Cathedral on Saturday for a rehearsal, but it seems a lifetime away still.

 

     That old Cathedral, so welcoming, familiar, and safe is made new, unfamiliar, perhaps a little bit treacherous. My mind doesn't have all the details of the layout, the sounds, smells, feeling of this place in storage like it did for the old space. Things will surprise me, perhaps some smells from varnish or new carpet may offend my nose, the acoustics may produce an unfamiliar resonance.

 

     We will go in on Sunday to worship, to sanctify this space anew with the perfume of our prayers and songs, to add incense and candle wax back to the aura of the place. We will also go to rejoice in a reunion with an old and dearly loved friend, and as with a human friend, we will look for the familiar features among the changes wrought by time and separation. We hope to see that same warm and comforting countenance among the new finery.

 

     Will that refurbished space still resonate with nearly a century's worth of prayer and worship? Will the newly cleaned and restored stained glass windows still give a mellow and diffuse light? Will our new contributions of incense and candle wax overcome the smell of varnish to bring out the old "odor of sanctity?" Will I know my place? Will I do the right thing at the right time and so not distract myself or others from the reason we are there? Will I be able to sing through my tears?

 

     For I will cry, I know that. I cry when I think on it, the lovely place of comfort I longed for two years ago, so abruptly taken from me. I will cry again because of the children, all the little ones lost, and their parents, that I wanted to go and pray for on that day.

 

     Though I do feel some trepidation, I know in my heart that the same comfort, the same peace will be available there that were there in the past. The same Lord is worshipped and adored in that place, and as the peace given by that Cathedral is His peace, it will be the same. For all the changes we must endure, this truth we do hold fast; Christ is steadfast, His love never changes.

 

     And so, in my mixture of emotions about coming back into the Cathedral itself, I find joy working its way to the surface. Which is as it should be. Out of our great sorrow, God has heard our cries and prayers, and our songs of praise sung in spite of our loss. Now is the time to celebrate answered prayer, to enter into His gates with thanksgiving and into His courts with praise. With songs of thankful rejoicing, let us go.

A Place of Peace and Joy

By

Carolyn Kay Armistead -- April 20, 1997

 

      As we drive into the downtown area again, I can see new glass in most windows, few buildings are boarded up anymore. There are signs of new life everywhere. The sky is a brilliant blue, and the sun warms us as we leave our car in the parking lot. We stop at the curb to look up at the Cathedral again, and our weary, longing eyes are met with a joyful sight.

 

      No more boarded up windows in the narthex, no more construction fence, no more "hazardous area" tape across the doors. Instead, the beautiful new doors to our Cathedral stand open, welcoming everyone back inside. We cross the street, but head into the cloister and from there to the education building and up to musty old Dean Willey Hall for a choir rehearsal, and to put on our vestments.

 

      There is a real sense of anticipation here today as we prepare for our first service in the renewed Cathedral. Oh, the nine o'clock service has already taken place, but for those of us who come to the 11 o'clock service, this is the first time. We are all lamenting how warm it is going to be in the loft because the air conditioning has yet to be installed. Everyone is dressed for summer weather and some delay putting their vestments on until after rehearsal.

 

      I am still afraid that I will trip, or go the wrong way, or do something else foolish during the processional or at Communion. No, I tell myself, it will be all right. After all, we've spent the last two years dodging all kinds of obstacles in Dean Willey Hall with dignity, if not grace. I'll manage.

 

      Yesterday we sang in the Cathedral for the first time, and it is glorious! The acoustics are wonderful. We don't have to strive so hard to be heard. Our loft is beautiful, and we can see the whole of the chancel and sanctuary area, and most of the nave from up there.

 

      That lovely Cathedral is definitely still a place of beauty, but yesterday there were too many things going on at once to be very peaceful. We were rehearsing, the acolytes were practicing, people were coming in to see the new space, it was quite an uproar. Yet, that old Cathedral seemed to be laughing with delight, both at its new finery, and at seeing all of us again. If buildings can smile, St. Paul's Cathedral was grinning from ear to ear yesterday during that rehearsal time.

 

      Today, on Sunday, despite some confusion before the processional, we will have a wondrous and inspiring service. As we enter the Cathedral in procession, I am struck again by the majesty of this restored space. The sanctuary walls, which used to be a coral color, are now a rich, textured red, against which the white marble of the high altar really shines. The two Tiffany windows on either side of the high altar are sparkling like jewels in the morning sunlight. As I turn to go up the side aisle on my way back to our choir stairs, I notice all the beautiful stained glass windows down the side of the Cathedral. They are all newly cleaned and restored. They too seem to glimmer in the light. I also note, as I go out the door to the narthex, that the smell of varnish is very faint, and that candle wax and incense, and some of that old "odor of sanctity" are indeed making inroads in the restored Cathedral's atmosphere.

 

      I scramble through the narthex, still unfinished, and up the as yet uncarpeted stairs to our loft. I stop, breathless, in front of my seat on the west side- front row, right next to the organ console. I struggle to catch my breath and find my place in my music. (I find that I cannot sing and climb stairs at the same time.)

 

      As we get into the sermon portion of the service, I find myself awestruck again at the glorious appearance of our Cathedral. The vaulted ceiling of the chancel is now flanked by the vaults above the two small side chapels. Then I look around at the loft I am sitting in, and realize that one set of dormers, with their stained glass windows, are there where we are now level with them.

 

      Also, I see many comfortingly familiar things. I look down on the congregation, and there is Mrs. Long in her usual place, with Mary Kathryn sitting next to her, where we used to always sit in the row behind them before we joined the choir. It is so good to see them back in their usual place. To be able to see the Dean when he preaches a very moving sermon, to be able once again to kneel at the high altar to receive Communion, to hear so many familiar voices around about me lifted in praise to God, all of that brings my spirit home. Home to that same peaceful and comforting space the Cathedral has always been for me. All through the service my spirits soared, this is my beloved, longed for Cathedral, and it is better than it was.

 

      I have my chance to say a prayer for those who were lost two years ago, but for a wonder, I do not cry. So comforting and familiar is that place, my longed for place, that I do not need to cry. Once again, that old Cathedral seems to reach out to me in my place of sorrow, and gather me in its arms and give me the peace I have been searching for. It also fills my heart with joy. Joy in finding a dear old friend alive and well after a long separation.

 

      I have found my place, and not only did I know my place, but my place knew me, and it seemed glad that I was there. Yes, our place of love and solace is restored to us, and our congregation has breathed a well - deserved sigh of relief.

 

      There are many things to delight in about our restored Cathedral, but the best thing is something we've had all along: each other. If not for the love and strength in this congregation, we would have no church at all. If not for the strength and leadership of our Dean, this restoration would never have been possible.

 

      This day's celebrations were not just to delight in being in our beloved Cathedral again, but also to thank God for the love He gave to us. Love for God, and love for one another. The joy which we have shared this day will be with us through many difficult times ahead, as we finish restoring the whole Cathedral campus. It will sustain us, and so will that love that God has put into our hearts.

Christmas Eve

By Carolyn Kay Armistead, 1996

 

The scent of pine needles, incense, and candlewax fill the air.

There is much confusion about the processional, and just who goes where.

But the night is full of magic, wonder and joy

As our Christian family prepares once again to welcome the baby boy.

 

The baby boy who came into a world of uncertainty and pain,

Who understands how we feel, being in Dean Willey Hall again,

And not in our beautiful Cathedral, with its comfort and sacredness.

He knows how it feels to deal with hatred's harmful effects.

 

Well He knows our sorrow, our impatience and our pain

And yet He makes us glad to be together, even if in the Hall again.

For He was not born in a fancy palace, or a hospital clean and grand;

But in a lowly stable, with cows, sheep and shepherds close to hand.

 

If He could be content with a birthplace so quiet and humble;

Who are we to be unhappy with our lot and to grumble?

After all, we are safe and still together, and together we still can sing

The same joyful song of angels, and isn't that the most important thing?

Good Friday

By Carolyn Kay Armistead

April, 2000

 

You taught us when we mourn

Not to wear ashes on our heads,

Not walk around filled with

Sorrow and with dread

But Lord, that was before;

Before they dragged you off

To die

Before the clouds

Stole the sunlight from the sky.

How can I not wear ashes on my head?

How can I not be filled with sorrow and with dread?

When it is my fault you are dead.

It was for me that they nailed you to that tree

It was my sin that took you away from me.

Further Notes From Limbo

It has been a year now since we went into lockdown.  That is when our lives entered Limbo.  The land where nothing is certain, things are "in between", and we don't know when, or IF, we'll ever see "normal" again.

In this Limbo time, I have lost friends, neighbors, acquaintances, library customers, to the economic realities of this time as well as to the virus.  My husband lost his job, and even though he now qualifies for disability assistance, we are still in Limbo as far as our finances are concerned.  

Even  Church has changed; we worship online and cannot sing in church in these contagious times.  More and more people are getting vaccinated, so we are hoping that things will change soon, but still, the frustration and the isolation continue.

The staying home hasn't been as hard for me as for some of my more extroverted friends.  I do, however, still get to go to work, I am no longer "trapped" here 24/7.  I get to see and interact with other live humans in person; if spaced six feet apart most of the time, and always, always masked.

We have at last the opportunity to participate in the Wednesday evening forums during Lent at the Cathedral.  Usually, we are in choir rehearsal, and unable to attend the discussions.  This one is based around Kate Bowler's book Everything Happens For A Reason And Other Lies I've Loved . It is an appropriate book for Lent, dealing as it does with her experiences being diagnosed with and treated for colon cancer.  It further focuses on how we deal with loss, with the chaos wrought in our lives by the bad things that inevitably happen, and how those affect our faith.  

I keep thinking some great, transformative event is on the horizon, and most of me thinks it will be a good one.  It won't be further cataclysm, it will be a resolution, a welcome return to working together and getting things done that need doing.  There will be more loss, and some will have to give up their "high horses" in order to participate in the doing of needful things, but coming together and doing these things will save us all.  We will care for the sick and wounded of spirit, we will fill the hungry with good things, we will visit the prisoners, and free those unjustly confined.  We will provide for the common good, for all people to have decent recompense for honest labor, to have dignity and safety in their persons and in their homes, there will be shelter for all in need of it.  We CAN do these things, if we realize that we have to do it together, all of us, remembering that there is more than enough to go around, and Christian, if you really ARE a Christian, in your heart you KNOW this is what Jesus wants you to do.  You have to stop being so afraid someone is going to take something away from you, and work to see that everyone gets what they need.  Everyone includes you and yours, after all.  You are not excluded from the benefits, far from it.  You are included, and important, and part of the solution. You are also entitled to have what you need, and perhaps a bit more, because God is not stingy, and has given us enough to share and still have abundance.  Greedy humans are the problem, and we all get scared and start getting greedy with our things at some point.  It's just the way we are, and God knows this, too.  I think He wants us to at least TRY to do what Jesus told us to do.  Look in our hearts and remember that we are loved without limit, and there will  always be enough love for all of us, and even more when we start spreading that love out to others.  Love is one thing that multiplies the more you give it away.

So, there's our challenge; same as it's always been, really.  Love one another. Take care of one another.  Do your best.  Cut your neighbor a little slack.  Do what you can to make something difficult easier for someone.  Be present.  You don't have to have fancy profound words to say, just be there.  Just listen if they need to talk, or just be there, close by, ready if needed.  Just knowing you aren't alone in the Limbo and the pain makes it easier.  We aren't alone, folks.  We've got each other.  We've got God.  We need to remember that, and start acting on it.

Just my musings on a Saturday afternoon in March after dealing with a year that has felt a bit like a preview of hell.  Your mileage may vary, but you will always find me here, doing my best.  Not always succeeding, mind you, but doing my best.  That's all we can do, really.

From The Slough Of Despond

I haven't written a blessed thing in MONTHS.  Not a line of poetry, no more of the story I'm working on, not even a journal entry.  My mind has been dragged into the national stupor known as Corona Virus.  We were locked down, now we've started 'reopening', and much too soon, obviously, as infection rates are spiking.  We are back in the branch at the library now, waiting on word of when or if we reopen fully to the public, with social distancing enforced and masks strongly recommended.  (We will give you a mask if you need one.)

I am still afraid, because so many idiots refuse to wear a mask, saying it infringes on their "rights."  Your rights end where another person's well being begins, folks, and ALL rights come with RESPONSIBILITIES.  You aren't two anymore, you have to Adult now, and wear your mask, and STAY HOME UNLESS YOU ABSOLUTELY HAVE TO GO OUT.  (And no, seeing your friends at the bar for a drink or twelve is not something you HAVE to do, no matter HOW you feel about it.)

During this time I have made a LOT of masks, and have just ordered filters and nose pieces for them, and some more of the "good" elastic that makes better ear loops.  Matt and I each have several masks we can wear if we must leave the house.  I wear mine to work, to walk, and certainly if I have to go to a store.  Matt wears his on his rare trips to pick up his prescriptions and get takeout food.  We both have doctor's appointments coming up, and you can bet we'll be masked for those.  We also carry hand sanitizer with us. (I was recently able to restock my supply of "pocket bacs" from Bath and Body Works.  I like those because they are small, and have pleasant scents.)  I also have the generic type in a small squeeze bottle that I refill from our large bottle at home and take for use at work.  Every time I do venture out to a store, I pick up as many packages of paper towels and facial tissues as I am allowed to buy.  I also try to get disinfecting wipes.  Toilet paper isn't as big a deal here lately, I have a 20 pack of Scott Tissue in the closet, and a couple of generic brand backups just in case.  Each of our "crates" we store tissue in is almost full right now.  (One in each bathroom, each holds 12 rolls.) I was pretty well stocked with Scott Tissue before this whole mess started, and there's only the two of us, so it lasts awhile.

I get very tired of the Trump Circus.  I wish it would leave town already.  It's old, it's sad, it's being run by shady characters, and it really isn't doing anyone any good.  The fact that he is not the least bit averse to cheating scares me.  He and his minions are going to do everything possible to mess up the election.  Biden needs to win by a really, really, big landslide, one that CANNOT be ignored or 'Electoral College -ed' away.  It needs to be OBVIOUS that the people want Trump OUT.  His idiot base has so thoroughly swallowed the Kool-Aid though, that they will support him no matter that he's actively trying to kill them.  (By giving them all the Corona Virus at his "rallies".)  What really worries me is what is happening behind the scenes while the media is paying attention to his circus.  All those judges appointed for life, who do the bidding of big corporations and care nothing really about the Constitution or the spirit of the law, all the money disappearing into Trump associated accounts, there are so many things going on that we never see.

Joe Biden will be such a breath of fresh air.  He LISTENS, he learns, he tries to do better.  He is an honorable man, no matter how much the Trump projection machine tries to claim he has all the same foibles as their boy. 

All this is to say my mind has been far too much taken up with all this outside noise to listen to my insides.  I haven't been able to write, I don't get to sing much, since choir and voice lessons are out because of this virus.  I have been reading, but a lot of it has been non-fiction, and work related.  Good, thought provoking and interesting, but I need some escapism.  I've read White Fragility, and have been mentally chewing on that for awhile.  So many, many things we never even think about, and they are founded in the fact that in this country, white is the default setting for everything.  I hope to God I haven't hurt, frustrated, or exasperated any of my friends by my sometimes clueless white person behavior.  I want to do better, I want to know when I screw up, and own it, and try to learn from it and not do it anymore.

So much rattling around in my brain, and nothing good coming of it so far, at least nothing tangible.  So, that's my self- centered navel gazing for this blog post. 

May this find all of you in a better place than I currently am, may you be able to deal with all the noise productively, and may you stay healthy!

A Whole New World

Well, since I've last actually written a blog post, SO MANY THINGS have happened.
The most noticeable of which is that Corona Virus has caused us all to flee indoors, away from each other.  Most of America is now holed up in our houses, trying to learn how to work from home.
It isn't so bad for introverts like me, but it does get hard to stay on task sometimes.
I will be doing online trainings and helping clear some housekeeping tasks on our database during this time.

The Desk

View From the exercise bike

I do my database work on my tablet, as that is the only route I can use for access.


Some further observations on life during all this :

Proper use of the apostrophe is still a really tough thing for a lot of people.

Spring is determined to show up, no matter how crabby we feel being cooped up at home.  Evidence from my walk today:

 The trees, the bulbs, even the weeds are blooming.  Of course, this makes everyone's allergies act up, and that makes people nervous with this virus going around.

I don't know what kind of tree the one with the pale pink blooms is, but it sure is pretty.



The darker pink ones are redbuds, of course.

 I don't know the name of these weeds, but they are blooming everywhere in the neighborhood just now, including the parking strip at our house.

The photo is a bit distant, but those tulips are beautiful.










Another thing I have noticed since all this started, I don't sleep well.  I wake up when Matt's alarm goes off, and can't really get back to sleep.  I can't GET to sleep  before midnight, either, no matter what I try.  My brain is like a hamster in a wheel, running and running.  I try all sorts of things to stop it, but the only thing that eventually works is that my body is so tired, it just ignores my brain.

I had some wine this evening.  That may help.  I had it more than three hours before I plan to go to bed, so maybe Fitbit is right, and it won't interfere with my REM sleep.

I have been acquiring equipment to make me more productive at home.  Most of it is fairly inexpensive, and will also make other endeavors easier, not just working from home.  One thing is the cube timer.  It's really neat looking, and really easy to use.  Just turn the time you want to the top, and the timer starts.  

April 13, 2020

The dreaded Monday, the 13th.  Not so dreaded this year, because it's my buddy Ron's birthday, and all of us friends got our heads together online and made him a little birthday surprise.  I think he liked it.
The fact that I can't seem to finish a blog post, or to finish the story I'm working on is ample illustration of the fact that though I am working from home, I am still short of time and attention span.
I am writing this during my "processing" time for work because there is no email in my inboxes, and well, trying to sort out my wayward brain before  trying to work is probably a good idea.  I have watched a LOT of training videos over the last three weeks.  I have become much better acquainted with the Mango Languages program the library gives patrons access to.  (Though the weird thing is, even though I have the Spanish and German courses saved, I am currently spending the most time with Scottish Gaelic.  )  My only complaint about Mango is that there is very little phoneme-grapheme correspondence training.  It would be grand if I could also learn to READ the language.  I can already read quite a lot of Spanish and German, having spent several years acquainted with both languages, and basically being immersed in German for four years.

I am currently re-reading a mystery series that I started several years ago.  The next book should be out soon, so I am catching myself back up on all the previous plots, and they do intertwine a bit. You can read just one book and it will be fine, but it's more fun if you've read all the others, too.

I still find sleeping difficult, and waking up is becoming my least favorite thing.  I would love to just go to sleep and let all of the worry and fear pass me by completely.  Wake me up when it's over.

Trying to maintain the physical activity is difficult when I am not hauling books around and walking folks back to the stacks like I do for at least 10 of my 20 weekly hours at work normally.  I have started walking twice most days, and I'm going to have to start making more use of the exercise bike, too.
So far, Matt and I have not bothered each other when both working from home.  I stay in my office for my 4 hours, except for breaks, and he stays in his for his 8 hours, except for breaks.
I find myself doing things like taking the trash out and checking the mail on my breaks. Anything to get up and move!
So many worries pressing in on me.  For NOW, Matt has a job, but the Postal Service is under distress, and Congress is not really inclined to help, and of course Mr. Trump says he'll veto anything that tries to rescue a service he'd really rather dump, because he doesn't get any income from it, and can't figure out how to get income from it. (I don't know his real reason, but this is my suspicion.  I have never trusted the man.  I had hoped he would prove me wrong, but so far, his behavior has been even WORSE than I expected.)

So, on to another four hours of training videos, brainstorming ideas, trying to cheer my coworkers long distance, and doing some database maintenance. 
Here's hoping we get a vaccine for this stuff in record time, and that we can put the world back into an order that maybe works a little better for all of us.  For certain we have seen that our healthcare system needs some overhauling.

May we all emerge healthier and stronger rather than heavier and fattier! (Not looking good for me, so far!)

Words, Words, Words

I collect books.  It's something of an occupational hazard, even though I collected books long before I started working in a library.
My books are on many subjects, and many genres.  There is a special place in my heart, however, for books about books and reading, and books about language.  I have MANY books about grammar, and many about words and their meanings and origins.  The many thesauri (thesauruses?) I own are a constant source of secret glee for me.

Today I will use them in an attempt to describe my feelings on these in-between days as the old year dies, and  the new one waits to be born.
The first word that came to mind: ennui. My Oxford minireference dictionary defines it simply as boredom.  I don't find it in my New International Webster's pocket thesaurus, but under boredom I get:  apathy, doldrums, listlessness, monotony, tedium, indiffference
In Roget's most excellent Thesaurus, I get:  unpleasure, weariness, languor.

In any event, whomever you ask, ennui is not a pleasant state of affairs.  To me it is a personal inertia, an inability to get moving, the desire to stay at rest because nothing much seems worth bothering to do.
These last days of December often bring about that feeling.

I have been feeling lethargic and weary of spirit for awhile.  I'm pretty sure a large part of the country feels the same way. The daily battle for sanity in a patently insane state of affairs is most definitely a "thing" among many Americans.  Mostly, I am baffled as to how we have allowed ourselves, whatever our beliefs politically, to be so torn asunder from one another as human beings.  This country has ALWAYS been about the desire of people from different backgrounds, beliefs, abilities, faiths, ethnic extractions to come together for THE COMMON GOOD.  We always recognized each other as human beings, even if we disagreed.  (Or at least, we TRIED.  Some things in the past have proven that we were and are FAR from perfect on this score.  The Civil War was about one of those disconnects between our stated ideals and our corporate  behavior.) It is to be hoped that we can repair our rifts and make our corporate behavior more in line with the thought that "all are created equal", and that we should all be allowed the opportunity to pursue "life, Liberty, and happiness". When did such a pursuit become dependent upon one's political alignment and/or one's race or faith?  It seems, if one reads the news these days, that it has come to be that only white, protestant, Evangelical people, particularly the males, have those rights our forefathers assigned to "all".
I acknowledge that many are fearful because of the pace of change, and that the fear they have is that all they know and treasure as "theirs" and "ours" as a country is being worn away.  Not so, really, if you look at it.  No one wants to take away your right to say Merry Christmas, or to worship as you choose, they just want you to realize that some other people don't happen to celebrate Christmas.  That's all.  There is room at this table for all of us, and there is plenty for all to share.  It will not cause you to have less.  If you are a Christian, you should know that whatever you share with others ends up coming back to you ten times over.  Lay up your treasures in Heaven, where none can steal.  (But that's another lecture.)

The other thing, though, that pops up as the new year approaches is Hope.  Can't squash it, no matter how hard you try, Hope keeps on popping up, and lighting that candle in the dark for us to follow.
In Roget's, under Hope, I get:  desire, wish, aspiration, sanguine expectation, belief, possibility, recourse.
In the Oxford, I find:  feeling of expectation and desire, person or thing giving cause for this, anticipation,expectancy, expectation, ambition, dream, wish.
In Webster, I find: expect,desire, await, suppose, believe, anticipate, trust.

Many of those definitions  and synonyms speak of a faithful outlook, a desire for better things on the horizon, the trust that good things are coming.
Even in the days when so much in our media feeds gives us much cause for despair and ennui, Hope still jumps up and stirs in our hearts.  We still drink a toast to the New Year, and wish each other a happy one, because deep down, we hope it will be so.  We have hope that things will get better, we anticipate changes and improvements, we dream of unity and peace, we wish for civil discourse and rational discussion of the issues facing us.  We have to hang on to hope, it's about all we have.

So, as the old year turns away, and the new one trundles in, I wish you hope for the future, and peace, and goodwill, and all the things the angels sang about to those shepherds we've just been hearing so much about in church.  That's what this season is supposed to be about.  The realization that joy can be ours, that hope is real, that we can, indeed, love one another in spite of our differences.
May the joy of hope be yours in the coming year, and may you be given the gift to see others as human, even when you disagree with them violently, and may you learn that they are just as worthy of love as you are.

Only Change Is Constant

Once again, the season has changed, and I have not posted here in quite a while.
The library system I work for has a very large new building just opened in Norman, and our community is gearing up to scope out the possibility of a new building for our branch.

Things keep changing.  Old things pass away, new ones wait to be born.

From the journal:

Again golden Autumn reminds us that it is a season of change.
A season of old things passing, and new things waiting to be.
The days grow shorter,
The nights grow longer,
The air cooler
The light golden,
But growing thinner, and colder as time passes.
The leaves change color and drop,
Or they just drop
Household things need to be done in order for winter to be borne
Cracks caulked, and other damages repaired.


This week, I am on vacation from work because I need to use hours or lose them.  They get unhappy with my supervisor when I lose too many hours, so I took some time.

I have spent the first two days of the week doing tedious things to keep the house more pest and weather proof.  Filling too-large weep holes in the exterior walls with screen wire, so air may pass, but nothing else.  Caulking around windows and door frames, so the heat and cold will stay on their appointed sides of the boundaries.

Today, I have declared a strike.  I am sitting around, reading, doing small household things like running the self-cleaning cycle on the oven, and unloading the dishwasher, and hoping for the best for my voice at choir rehearsal tonight.
We have had an ongoing battle with a small furry invader for the last few weeks.  I think, (knocking on wood), we have finally won.  We caught what we believe to be the malefactor in a snap trap.  He went to his reward quickly, and I hope without pain.  I hate having to kill mice, but there is no other way in this suburban environment to deal with them.  If you live trap, you have to drive them MILES away to release them, and more will always be waiting to invite themselves in, no matter how careful you are.  I do not like to use poison for two reasons.  1:  a neighbor's pet, or a valuable predator such as an owl or hawk may be poisoned by affected mice, and 2: They may well die somewhere in the house, and cause a whole new health (and stink) problem.

The weather today is sullen and oppressive.  Mist, clouds, and heavy, turgid air.  The breeze is out of the south, and warm for this time of year.  It is now not quite three thirty in the afternoon, and yet, it  is so dark out that a neighbor's "dawn to dusk" outdoor light has come on. (Our patio light, also light controlled, has also come on, but I couldn't see it from where I am sitting, so I got up to look.)

I have done some other small household jobs over the last two weeks, installing new blinds in the dining room and in my office.  I also got some real drapes for my office, instead of the tablecloths I was using.  The blinds in my office also have wider slats, and the whole thing looks so much nicer and cleaner.

This was one of my goals for the week, to get a blog post done.  I also need to get a story finished, but that is going to be rather an epic battle, I fear. I know where I want it to go, but so far, it hasn't shown me how we get there.  Guess I'll just have to sit here and try things until something works out.

That's all for now.  May this season of change find your life changing for the better.

Blowing Off The Dust

It's been so long since I've posted anything in this blog, I have to dust off my old journal to figure out what to write.
Almost the entire year has passed since I posted here.
  I have written; indeed, one story is finished at last, and a second is well on its way, but no real poems, no observations worth sharing here.
Life has become an endless cycle of things to do: yard work, house work, work, reading, trying to sleep, worrying about everything, trying NOT to worry about everything, trying to keep up with friends, trying to write daily in my journal, and not always being able to do that.
This year's "inspirational reading" has been A Year With Rumi Translation by Coleman Barks..
(I kid you not, the man's last name is Barks. Go figure.)
Some of the readings have inspired me to make observations, others not so much.
On January 3, I copied this one into my journal:
               "I used to be shy,
                 You made me sing.
                 I  used to refuse things at table,
                  Now I shout for more wine.
                 In somber dignity, I used to sit on my mat and pray,
                Now children run through and make faces at me."

Could be a human love that inspired the changes, but could also be the playful Spirit of God who calls us all to dance, and play, and sing.
I do know that I an bolder both because of the love and support of my husband, and because I am older now, and more sure of who I am.  The one wonderful thing age gives you is the feeling of nothing left to lose.  You might as well go for it, not much time left, and who knows? You might just grab that brass ring at last.
That's why I share more of what I write.  It's also why I have been brave enough to write fan fiction stories about a show I love, and share them with others who feel the same way.
I probably spend too much time on social media still, and too little time actually writing.  Sometimes I post little thoughts on Twitter and see if anyone notices.  Sometimes, people do.
From my January 4th entry:
Today's Rumi:  "The keys that open all gates are strapped to love's chest."
That one tiny part of the passage - the part that immediately stuck out in my mind.
Love is the answer, the enabler, the source, the motive to so many, many things.
It is the answer, even when we aren't entirely sure of the question...

It surprises me sometimes how profound my off the cuff observations can seem.  Sure, maybe a little hackneyed, but true nonetheless.  Love can repair many damages, right many wrongs, but if allowed to go wrong, it can cause incredible amounts of damage.  When love sours, it gets twisted and turned into something that it is not.  The Love that we consider the Love of God is the only pure love.  Humans can attain true love, but the Love we ascribe to God, loves in spite of all the odds, in spite of all the wrongs done to it, and washes us clean with its forgiveness.  That is what is hardest for us humans, that forgiveness that truly obliterates the things that needed forgiving.  Because part of us always remembers, and hurts, just a little.

So many, many pages of journal scribbles to read through, and no patience this night to do it.  I am tired, still recovering from a dog bite.  Yes, Angel got me.  She broke her tie out cable, and ran up and grabbed right above my knee, because the little dogs were out and had her all riled up.  She usually just stops, even when loose, and barks at me, because she's seen me daily for her entire life.  When she realized what she'd done, after Donna got hold of her, she whined a little, and tried to lick my knee.  She was sorry.  Then she'd bark again.  We think she's got a doggy version of Alzheimer's.  She forgets and she's cranky.  She is 13 years old, and for a dog her size, that's OLD.  She didn't try to rip at me, or mess me up, she just held on, so all I really have is a hematoma  and a bruise.  Only one puncture worth worrying about, and it's small.  Had a tetanus shot, and took antibiotics, but at least I know Angel's had all her shots. People say I'm being too nice about it, but Donna's brother was the one that got that German Shepherd off Bear all those years ago, when that dog just grabbed Bear, and all I could do was hold on so he couldn't shake him.  Donna's brother smacked the Shepherd a good one and got him to let go.  I cannot forget someone who helped save my Bear's life.   Also, I knew Angel was cranky, and I should have been on the other side of the street.  Would have given Donna more time to grab her, though she didn't know the tie out had broken.

Further reading in the journal reminds me that the weather is NEVER what we want.  I was complaining in May about too  much rain, and it being too cold, but now that September is almost gone, I find that it is too hot, and there isn't ENOUGH rain.

Trouble sleeping is a constant in the journal, then and now.  I either can't get comfortable, or I can't shut off my brain.  Usually, if I can't get comfortable, it's because the weather is in the process of changing, and my achy joints tell me all about it.

As for my mind not shutting up, well, the news is, as Pogo observed MANY years ago, still full of "Gloom, Doom, and Rumors of Boom!"  I guess I shall just have to give it cursory attention, vote accordingly when the time comes, and go on about my business.  It's just that the politicians are making it very difficult to really go about normal business these days.  So much hatred spewed from the highest levels of our government, so little oversight, so little done about things that 30 years ago would have gotten these men sent to prison!  The law has not changed, the people in power to DO something have all become cowards. The rest of us are afraid that even if we can GET a united front of the people together, those in power will still ignore us, because they are, in fact, in power.

I am ready for it to be Fall.  Cool but golden days, crisp nights, with the scurry of dry leaves blowing by.  I want to wear my sweaters and be comfortable, I want to drink coffee and not sweat.  I want to be able to curl up cozy with a book.  I want the spooky nights, the scratch of bare branches in the wind, the rattle of dead leaves on the walk, smoke in the air, candles flickering in windows or on porches, spiced cider and hot chocolate, and pot pies for dinner.  I want the cozy season.  I want it to be Fall.

Now that I have added up a few favorite rants, I guess it is time to end this.  I hope my regular readers will be glad I'm back, and I hope I keep this up better than I have.

Musings On A Winter Storm

Midwinter
By C. K. Armistead
1/2/19
Little icy needles
Stinging in the air
Slick,frozen danger
Hiding everywhere
Cold, ravaging beauty,
Blue,silver, and white
Makes me glad of a warm bed
On such a winter's night.

Sound carries farther
On the icy air
Aircraft and traffic
Sound more sinister
Rumbling and growling
Upon the freezing air.

All the Christmas lights
That are still aglow
Fight that frozen darkness
From eaves, and trees, and windows.
Brave reminders of the love
This season calls upon us to share.

For how else to thaw a winter night
Than to share the warmth of love?
How else to bring about the dawn
But by sharing our light?
How else bring here some of Heaven above,
But by using loving hearts to call it down?

Snow is forecast, but sleet and a little freezing rain first.  Work may close early tomorrow,  It's already opening late.  We tend toward better safe than sorry around here, knowing that even if roads are cleared, sidewalks and parking lots may still be treacherous.  Be safe, my friends, and cozy and well, wherever you are.

A Toast

A Toast
By C. K. Armistead
Dec 31, 2018

And so, with a raise o' the glass,
And a verse o' Auld Lang Syne,
We bid another year adieu
And consider how many have passed.

For now our time is growing short,
Our years add up to many
We are not exempt from Time's court,
No, nor are any.

But in those years
Our lives have been
With laughter filled, and tears
That always dry when we meet again
My friends.

So here's the Cup O' Kindness,
Raised to hail a new year
And may the love still bind us
As it has lo, these many years!

Happy New Year my friends!

Out Of The Long, Deep Silence

I have been finding myself unwilling, uninspired, unmotivated, tired, weary, bereft of the words.
Today, for some reason, that changed.
I was looking out the kitchen window as I sipped my fresh, very hot coffee, and realized I did have things that I should write before the images got away.
So, apropos of absolutely nothing, here are my observations that have been a long time coming.

The neighborhood wakes up in stages.  Matt is one of the first group to leave for work, when it is still dark out, and all is quiet.  By the time I make it staggeringly out to the coffeemaker (thank God for programmable coffee makers) there are more folks out and about, getting ready to leave for work.
I am sure we all get up and stumble around inside where no one can see us FAR earlier than the outward signs of life would suggest.  This neighborhood is well designed for such privacy.  Ours is one of the few houses with a kitchen window on the front wall.
So, we wake up, we sustain ourselves with caffeine and food, and we make our way out into the world.  Later, about the time I finally get around to my walk, there are those out doing things around the yard, or running errands.  These are the retirees, or the ones like me that work different hours, or the stay at homes, who are rare.

I think perhaps I have been battling off depression.  I have had no desire to do the things I know I should do, or even the things I used to enjoy.  My reading even has degenerated into escaping into stories I've already read several times.  Perhaps there is comfort there that part of me needs, I don't know.

Christmas time is usually a season I enjoy, in fact, used to get quite emotionally mushy about.  Not so much now.  I don't know why, except that it is harder and harder to see the magic in a season that seems to start with ads as close to Halloween as possible.  It isn't about gifts and buying, not really.  The season is really about a gift given to us, and how we need to respond from our hearts, not from our wallets.  All the touchiness about whether people say Merry Christmas or Happy Holidays.  Totally missing the point.  If you count yourself a Christian, stop being so incensed about Happy Holidays.  You are not really celebrating the time Christ was born, you know.  He was likely born in Spring.  You are celebrating the occurrence during the time when the ancient Romans used to celebrate the Feast of the Saturnalia, because the first century Church couldn't openly celebrate at the appropriate time.  During December, the Romans were too drunk, hung-over, or stuffed with food to care what the Christians might be doing, so they celebrated the gift of Christ's birth then, when nobody would notice and feed them to the lions.  Also, just how do you think Jesus feels about this?  What was His first rule?  LOVE.  That's right, Love God, love your NEIGHBOR.  (Even your Jewish, Atheist, Muslim, or Pagan neighbor.)  Griping at them about "Happy Holidays" is NOT love.
No soul ever found its way truly into God's love by being bullied, chided, or openly persecuted.  You can't change people's minds by being hateful.  You only drive them further away. 

There are no elegant solutions for anything in this world, far as I know.  Problem solving is hard, dirty work.  Compromise is NOT a dirty word, it is a necessary tool. 

Pain that does not go away, physical pain, is something that seeps into every part of your existence and strangles it.  We need to do more for those who suffer chronic pain than throw opioids at them.  That's the last thing they need.  I have recently had a battle with chronic back pain, and I find stretching and strengthening exercises helpful.  Not everyone will.  I have steadfastly refused any pain reliever stronger than a single Ibuprofen, simply because I do NOT want to deal with the undesirable side effects.  I'd rather hurt, frankly.

Gardens are wonderful things, but they require far too much work for me anymore.  I am slowly transforming what we have into things that can suffer benign neglect.  It still looks awful out there in winter, but at least Spring still has promise.

I think I've about run out of gas for this post.
Thank you for tolerating my navel gazing.  

Of Aging, Innui, And Daydreams

I wish I knew why gloomy weather suddenly seems to sap my energy.  I used to love rainy days, perhaps because in Southern California they were so rare.  Now, I see them as another impediment to things I need or want to do.  Ground is going to be too wet to mow tomorrow, and the yard really needs mowing.  Walking outdoors is so much more restorative than using the elliptical trainer, but wet pavement is not something I feel like slipping and sliding on at my age.

This brings up another topic.  Age.  I do not feel in my soul that I am an old lady, but the image in the mirror begs to differ.  My body also gets in on the conversation with knees and hips and lower back all telling me the weather was changing last night.  The knobby knuckles from arthritis aren't painful, but they make simple tasks less simple.  Buttons, hooks, zippers, handling small objects, all are more difficult than they used to be.  I really despise the faucets in the bathtub.  The are fluted knobs, and I cannot be certain I've turned them all the way off, ever.  They hurt my hands.  We have levers to replace them with, but that is one of those jobs that has never gotten done. 
The lack of energy or enthusiasm for doing that sort of job is a function of aging and having a less cooperative body, too.  Matt has far more flexibility and dexterity issues than I do, and I lack the knowledge he possesses.  If there were room to work in there together, perhaps we could do it ourselves, but we are loath to try, possibly fearing irreparable damage to both the plumbing and our marriage. 

I should have been up with plenty of energy to do my workouts this morning, but instead, I have been a slug, lingering over coffee, finally finishing reading a library book I need to return, avoiding any chores but simple domestic things like the dishes, starting dinner in the crock pot, and starting a load of towels in the laundry.  I blame the weather, and the fact that because of my arthritis and that changing weather, getting to sleep last night was no picnic, and one can only take so much ibuprofen and drink so much gin before the dangers outweigh the possible benefits.

There are numerous photos on my phone from our trip.  I keep meaning to download and organize those in order to post them here, but again, attention span not long enough.  I have three books going at any one time, and I have been working on reading the same three for the last several months.  Just can't stick with one long enough to get through it.  Also, have to keep backtracking to make sure I know what I'm looking at, so slow going all around.  They are all topics I am interested in, I just can't seem to hang in there and finish at least one of the books. 

A Long Journey, A Trip, And A Search For Perspective -or- Yet More Bits And Pieces

I haven't written in this blog for what feels like forever.  Mostly because I haven't had anything I felt was worthwhile or ready to share.

Also, I was preparing for our two week vacation in Manhattan.

Leading up to the trip, instead of being really excited about going, I was fighting off a feeling of depression, of not wanting to bother on the one hand, and knowing we needed the break on the other.  Of course, being the obsessive fussbudget that I am, I was worrying about all sorts of things that would never happen, and over-packing, and making endless lists right up until the last minute.

We got out of here with two suitcases apiece, and each with a very small carry-on.  (No overhead bin battles for us. If it won't fit under the seat in front of us, we check it.)

Started March off with a few nice quotes.  I didn't really write in my journal in March.  Only tried to do some activity planning for New York, and complained about the weather and how busy the library was.

Then, before I knew it, April had arrived.

I may have to edit this again, because I could swear I typed in a couple of journal entries earlier, but they aren't showing up here.

From the Journal:

April 3, 2018

I know, I know.  It's a studio in Midtown East, not a luxury apartment on Central Park West, But it's got a huge rooftop terrace, not a tiny balcony.  A PRIVATE rooftop terrace, with a fence around it.  

I can hope, can't I?

It isn't far from the park, according to the maps.

We'll be there in about 2 weeks...

Could he come visit me?  

I know I 'm not Catherine, not even close, but I'm a friend.

Maybe he'll be able to come, and enjoy the view from our temporary terrace.  Maybe.

In my dreams, perhaps, for that is where Vincent and his world exist, in dreams.

April 5, 2018

My brain keeps wanting it to be next week.  I keep putting the wrong dates on things.

Maybe I really am looking forward to vacation?  I don't know.

Screaming tantrum child in the library! 

(Oh, thank God, they left.  Blessed quiet has returned.)

Poor Kid.  Just wanted to stay and play in the library!

Time plays tricks on me, sleep eludes me, my blood pressure is up - I have aches and pains in odd places.

Hoping to spend at least a little time with our friend - not sure he will have the time to spare,  Want to see him, just to make sure he is well.  I need one of his hugs, too.  His heart is huge, like the characters he played that I love so much. He treasures his friends, and we treasure him.  He's the real deal, kind and good, and dedicated to his ideals.

We have other friends we need to check on, and hope to see, too.  Pretty certain we'll see Linda, and our friend Chris from St. Paul's wants to meet us for dinner or something.

April 14, 2018

About to leave on vacation 

Flying out so early is going to make me be overtired and dehydrated.

I just hope everything goes smoothly with our travel and check in.  Then some nice weather would be helpful.  The wind here today has been strong and COLD.

Hope I'm warm enough tomorrow.

April 15, 2018

After a very long day, we are in a very small studio apartment in Midtown East Manhattan!

We are actually watching TV in bed because even though we are TIRED, we are afraid of waking up at 3am wide awake.

Made a few plans for tomorrow...

April 16, 2018

Went on a short trip to Target that turned into an epic adventure in how wrong navigation apps can be.

Matt's app had us all turned around.  Mine seemed to work better.

Went to Niall's pub last night- excellent fish and chips, Jameson's today.  Good soup for lunch.

Met a wee Scottie Dog named Angus, after the books

Rode the E train to W 34th Street to Target, home the same way - off to the  same train, same stop for the showing of Sergio and Sergei tonight!

Souvenir Collage.  I don't know why it posted portrait, when it shows in downloads as landscape...

April 17, 2018

So far, this trip hasn't been a whole lot of fun.  Our flights were crowded and uncomfortable.  Matt got us turned the wrong way monday, and I did yesterday.  Last night, he had a sugar crash on the way home from Sergio and Sergei.  Had to get a soda for him as soon as we got off the subway, and then we made it around the corner to the pub, and got him some real food.  

Sergio and Sergei was really good, and we also met Angus the dog yesterday, so not as bad as all that.

April 19, 2018  

Made it safely to and from Hello, Dolly!  yesterday.

The musical was wonderful, it ended up that we were front row center!  We saw the show  a bit more up close and personal than we were expecting!

Today's journey to the NYPL worked well.  We wandered around the building and Bryant Park.  We tried a little Italian place around the corner form the apartment for late lunch/early supper, then went to Niall's again for a light supper - late for us, after 6pm.

April 20, 2018

Finally made it to Central Park, and found "the" bench.

We also stopped for lunch at Fogo de Chao, went to MOMA's Design Shop - only got turned around wrong once on the way home - only about 2 blocks out of our way.

I got a few souvenirs, and we had quite a walk.

We went to the pub again for a light late supper, and I had an Irish coffee.  Delicious!

April 23, 2018

We had a successful, if taxing, outing yesterday.  Went to the Tribeca film festival and saw To Dust.  Met Linda first, had lunch, went to sit in  little park before the screening.  Got to say hello to Ron and get a quick hug and a thanks for coming!  He knew we were on vacation and made time for this - we also told him we went to see Sergio and Sergei, and he was very happy that we had, and glad we enjoyed it.  

To Dust is a wonderful film, by the way.  A good story, funny, moving, sad, just good.  You should see it.

This morning I did some laundry, and now we are going to attempt another adventure...

Made it to the 9/11 memorial.  A very moving place, even full of tourists.
  I want to go back to our memorial in the evening when the chairs are lighted.  

The order of magnitude at the World Trade Center is just so much more vast, so many, many more people lost.  So many lives gone.  I could feel something there, as though those lost know that they are grieved and remembered by an entire nation.  There is an energy there - I felt it.  Made me want to cry.  Especially when I thought of all the first responders lost, among them many who came to help us in Oklahoma City after our bombing.  

The outdoor memorial is extremely well done, and their Survivor Tree is a pear tree, and was in bloom when we were there.  Not a stinky Bradford pear, but a Callery Pear, so the  blossoms smell sweet.

April 24, 2018

We made it to the Met!

So many beautiful things!

The whole building is a work of art - even the staircases are often saved from significant buildings, and incorporated in the Met.  There is one from the Chicago Stock Exchange.  You find out these things both from the intrinsic beauty of the staircase, or ceiling, or doorway, and from the tasteful little plaque with information on it posted nearby.  

We became members of the Met because it gives us a discount at the shops, and online, too.  So affecting, the art works we saw today.  One painting of a castle, or gate with towers haunts me because the scene "feels" familiar.  Why, I have no idea.  The painting is of a structure somewhere in France.  Mom's side of the family had a bunch of Norman French - the Roach family.

Most of the rest  are Scots and Welsh, Pop's side has some Irish and a tiny bit of German.

Time to sleep.  I feel as though I zone out just sitting here.

April 25, 2018

Feeling bummed today.  Raining again, couldn't get into the Natural History Museum - 9 billion student tour groups in attendance-

so- walked a bit in the park went "home" and then went tp Grand Central Terminal.  Very pretty building.  Had lunch at the Oyster Bar - no oysters though, because neither of us likes them.  

Fried fish was delicious, though.

April 26, 2018

One thing I learned yesterday

- The Oyster Bar has great fried fish, but their french fries suck.

What else I've learned on this trip:

- A Guinness every evening helps me sleep through the NYC street noise.

- I buy too many magnets as souvenirs.

- Coins are going in a plastic bag so I can pull them out where security can see them easily.

- I tire of novelty quickly and would rather stay close to a familiar place than go traipsing all over town.

- My digestion hates me, and wishes me to suffer,

_ Chinese food comes in VERY generous portions, so order what you can face for the next few days -

_ It is good to meet old friends always.

April 30, 2018

Home, and trying to write a blog post.

Listening to Captain Fantastic and the Brown Dirt Cowboy, and  was struck again by these lines from We All Fall In Love Sometimes

"Beneath these branches, I once wrote such childish words for you..."

Brain not wanting to settle and let me write.

And again, the Blogger editor is turning my photos when I do not want it to...

May 1, 2018

Oh city with so many faces;

Crowded little swath of land between rivers and sea

When I'm away,

I miss you

Your abundant art,

 Your multitude of worlds

All in such a small space, really.

But when I'm there;

You intimidate me

Make me feel confined

And like there's too much input

For me to process,

I can't find my way around

And I feel both

Emotionally and physically crowded.

And so now, you haunt my dreams

Subway squeals and the wind from an incoming train,

The sound of traffic going over the temporary road repairs,

 I hear them still, still feel the motion of trains or elevators

Whenever I close my eyes.

I am not safe around this pen today.

I've gotten ink all over my hands.  I only hope it's not on my face or my new scarf!

May 4, 2018

Truly know we are home- spent a long night the night before last watching the weather.
On the patio now enjoying the light breeze, but regretting the glare that hurts my eyes.

Looking through old notebooks, I found a poem I really like, that I wrote a few years back, but I don't recall sharing it anywhere.
Here it is:

Silence
By C.K. Armistead  2015

And silence
Is the loudest
Thing there is.
Blocking out hope
Enforcing barriers
Covering all
And  nothing.

But sometimes
It is necessary
So we can hear
The quiet voice
And learn more
Before we make
A choice.

Rather than say
A word that may harm,
Silence is at least
More warm
It leaves a comfort
That a cruel word
Removes
Like a scab torn off
A healing wound.

Yet silence can also
Fester
Letting miscommunication
Linger
Breeding sadness, anger,
Misunderstanding.

So,  To let Silence grow,
Or to break it?
Much depends
Upon the reason
It is there.

Listen to the Silence.
It will tell you, perhaps
What sort it is.
Or, your heart will.


I find myself carting my journal writing stuff around the house with me like some kind of security blanket.

May 16, 218

Adventures In Getting Older: Part VIII

Had a ganglion cyst on my left middle finger that showed up before our trip to New York.
Yesterday afternoon, it decided it was infected.  Got really sore, really red, and finger got swollen.

So, called the clinic this AM, and they sent me to the local urgent care.
Cyst has been drained and a culture taken.
I get to soak it in Epsom Salts twice a day, and take antibiotics 3 x a day for 10 days.
BIG bandage on it right now.  I get to take it off for soaking later and replace it with a smaller one.

Still working on the blog post about our trip,.  We left a MONTH ago yesterday.

That's about all I can glean for right now.  I have a lot percolating around in my head.  Whether any of it produces a decent brew and gets itself onto the page is another story...