Today is my birthday. As birthdays go, and compared to some of the 64 other birthdays I've had, this one has not been the greatest. It hasn't been the worst either.
Having a birthday one week before Christmas always elicits groans from others when they find out; then the stories about people who have birthdays on Christmas Day, or anytime the week after Christmas are trotted out to reassure me that I could be worse off. I know that. I have the utmost sympathy for my great-nephew Cory, who was born on December 29 and for my grandson, Colin, who was born on January 2. But they are still kids with parents who creatively figure ways to celebrate and make the birthday special.
My mother did that for me when I was growing up. My birthday usually fell during the last week of school or right after school ended, but people didn't travel so much during the holidays back then, so she could usually find a decent number of kids to attend a birthday party. I always had a birthday cake and presents that were wrapped in birthday-themed paper. I was allowed to feel special on my special day. After the birthday celebration was over, we started decorating for Christmas. We usually put up the tree on my birthday, which made it part birthday, part Christmas and made the day even more special. I never felt at a disadvantage because I had a December birthday.
Alas, I grew up and lived too far away from my mother to have the birthday pampering continued. My birthday celebrations were spotty during my thirties and forties. In fact, my fortieth passed without a single black balloon or over-the-hill card. When my 50th approached, I laid down the law to hubby: I want a party. I want cards that joke about how old I am, and I want friends and champagne, and I want a birthday cake!!! He dutifully delegated the planning to my children, who were in college nearby, and assigned the task of inviting people to a church friend. So, I had a party. The problem that year was that, on the actual birthday -- a Friday -- I came down with the flu while at work. I had the fever, chills, aching, the whole nine yards. Adding insult to injury, my car battery was dead and I couldn't find anybody at work with jumper cables so that I could take myself home and to bed. When hubby finally got home from work, I called him (no cellphones then) and he came to my job, jumped my car, and got me home. My son was in the kitchen baking a cake; he warned me not to look, but I was heading for the couch as fast as my fever-ridden, aching body could move.
They had planned to take me to Olive Garden for dinner. Olive Garden is my favorite Italian restaurant but I tried to suggest that we postpone anyway. Nope -- I wanted a birthday celebration and a birthday celebration I was going to get, even if it killed me. I could barely taste the food and wanted nothing more than to go home and crawl into bed. On Sunday, I was feeling only slightly better, when hubby mysteriously disappeared and returned with a deli tray. Then the doorbell started ringing and various church friends and in-laws began arriving. I soldiered on and enjoyed the get-together and appreciated the effort that hubby, children, and friends had put into it. I got my party; it wasn't anybody's fault that I was too sick to enjoy it.
When one becomes an adult, there are certain milestone birthdays -- the 21st (which, in my day, meant I could vote as well as drink); the 40th, which as I said, went by unheralded; the 50th -- for reasons I don't completely understand; the 65th, which used to mean retirement and now means Medicare -- not a particularly great present. My 65th was, however, a truly outstanding one. My sweet daughter and her children took me to Walt Disney World and I had breakfast with the princesses on my birthday WDW also makes a big fuss over birthday people, giving you a badge to wear. All day long Disney staff and visitors alike told me "Happy Birthday."
After that, if you live to be 100, you get your picture in the paper, the nursing home staff throws a great party, Willard Scott puts you on television, and the President sends you a birthday card. Since it's highly unlikely that I will make it to 100, I treasure each birthday and want it acknowledged. Unfortunately, the December birthdays get short-shrift by co-workers. Today, on my 66th birthday, I started the day with a dentist appointment, then went to my first part-time job at the church. Later I will go to my second part-time job tutoring students for the SAT. (Why is someone of my age working 2 jobs, you ask? That is a shame on the state of Texas for the way it treats its retired teachers, and I will save that tirade for another day.)
At my other jobs, birthdays were celebrated in various ways. At one workplace, staff drew names and planned a party for the birthday boy or girl. At another, a pile of cards mysteriously appeared throughout the day on the b-day person's desk. At another, department members surreptitiously signed a card while the birthday person pretended not to see, and then a box of donuts would appear for all to share. At the church, birthdays are usually acknowledged during staff meeting, but no special celebration happens. The choir usually sings to the birthday person during rehearsal in the birthday week. So what about this birthday girl? Staff meeting was replaced this week by the staff Christmas party, which I didn't get to attend because my roads were iced over. Choir practice didn't happen, because the Christmas music was sung last Sunday and we had the family Christmas party the day before my birthday. I took dessert and chose what was supposed to be my birthday cake, hoping somebody would get the hint and they would take 30 seconds to sing Happy Birthday to me. Of course, Kroger didn't have any birthday cakes, so no one, except the one or two that I told, knew the purpose of the green and red decorated bakery cake. Those that I told apparently saw no reason to share the information.
So, I should get over it. Birthdays are just another day and when you're as old as I am, you shouldn't even still be celebrating them. No -- that's just wrong. One's birthday is the only day that is completely one's own and every one of them deserves recognition, even if a catered banquet is not in order. And people who have birthdays during the Christmas season should get every bit of the attention that birthday folks get the other 11 months of the year. Think about that next time you are invited to a birthday party in December, assuming the poor birthday person has anyone who cares enough to have a party for them.
Thursday, December 18, 2008
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
The Wisdom of Our Elders
Every now and then, I will say something that I didn't even realize was true until I hear the words coming out of my mouth. Yesterday was one of those occasions. My son had picked me up at the airport after I returned from visiting my daughter, and we were chatting in the car on the way home. I can't remember how we got on the subject, but it is a frequent topic of conversation anyway -- that of career decisions and changes. I have made several career changes in my life and am currently looking for a part-time job that will supplement my inflation-eroded teacher's pension. But first, some background:
I came of age in the 1950s when the only career paths open to women were teaching, nursing, or secretarial work. Although I didn't really expect to need a career--I would be a wife and mother--I needed something to do until I found a husband and had a family. I chose nursing, knowing little about it, but it seemed exciting and a bit romantic to my teenaged mind, fueled by fluffy fiction about student nurses who always fell in love with handsome interns, and who occasionally solved crimes while they were learning to change beds and give injections. Nursing education at that time was almost exclusively the domain of hospitals, where a few basic science courses might be taught in local colleges, but the rest of the learning took place in the hospital, giving care to real patients. There were a handful of university-based nursing programs, of which three were in Texas. During the 1960s and 1970s nursing education would move into the domain of the universities and by the mid-1970s very few of the "diploma" programs, or hospital-based programs still existed.
But I didn't know all that. I wanted to go to nursing school and assumed I would go to one of the diploma programs in Memphis, 80 miles away. Enter my uncle and aunt. My dad's brother, Fritz and his wife Mary lived in Fort Worth and Aunt Mary happened to be secretary (or in today's parlance, Administrative Assistant) to the Dean of Texas Christian University's Harris College of Nursing. They persuaded my parents that I should attend nursing school at TCU, and my parents agreed, to my good fortune. At that time I was much more excited about going to school in Texas than I was about the fact that I would have a BS degree in Nursing when I finished my education.
Many times over the past 40+ years I have regretted my choice of nursing as a profession. I stayed with it for more than 10 years, even earning a MSN along the way, but I never really found the satisfaction in it that I had hoped for. And I didn't find any handsome interns or solve any crimes either. Eventually I went back to school and earned a teaching certificate in English and then another Masters in English. After that it was a MS in Library Science.
But the realization that came out of my mouth in the car on the way home from the airport was this: because my aunt and uncle influenced my parents and me to get my nursing education in a university, I had the necessary educational foundation to make the later changes that would prove more satisfying to me than nursing did. I had the two years of core education which ALL college students need, no matter what their major. My parents, who had not attended college, and I did not understand all of this, but my aunt and uncle did. For their wisdom and guidance, I am most grateful.
Thanks, Uncle Fritz and Aunt Mary.
I came of age in the 1950s when the only career paths open to women were teaching, nursing, or secretarial work. Although I didn't really expect to need a career--I would be a wife and mother--I needed something to do until I found a husband and had a family. I chose nursing, knowing little about it, but it seemed exciting and a bit romantic to my teenaged mind, fueled by fluffy fiction about student nurses who always fell in love with handsome interns, and who occasionally solved crimes while they were learning to change beds and give injections. Nursing education at that time was almost exclusively the domain of hospitals, where a few basic science courses might be taught in local colleges, but the rest of the learning took place in the hospital, giving care to real patients. There were a handful of university-based nursing programs, of which three were in Texas. During the 1960s and 1970s nursing education would move into the domain of the universities and by the mid-1970s very few of the "diploma" programs, or hospital-based programs still existed.
But I didn't know all that. I wanted to go to nursing school and assumed I would go to one of the diploma programs in Memphis, 80 miles away. Enter my uncle and aunt. My dad's brother, Fritz and his wife Mary lived in Fort Worth and Aunt Mary happened to be secretary (or in today's parlance, Administrative Assistant) to the Dean of Texas Christian University's Harris College of Nursing. They persuaded my parents that I should attend nursing school at TCU, and my parents agreed, to my good fortune. At that time I was much more excited about going to school in Texas than I was about the fact that I would have a BS degree in Nursing when I finished my education.
Many times over the past 40+ years I have regretted my choice of nursing as a profession. I stayed with it for more than 10 years, even earning a MSN along the way, but I never really found the satisfaction in it that I had hoped for. And I didn't find any handsome interns or solve any crimes either. Eventually I went back to school and earned a teaching certificate in English and then another Masters in English. After that it was a MS in Library Science.
But the realization that came out of my mouth in the car on the way home from the airport was this: because my aunt and uncle influenced my parents and me to get my nursing education in a university, I had the necessary educational foundation to make the later changes that would prove more satisfying to me than nursing did. I had the two years of core education which ALL college students need, no matter what their major. My parents, who had not attended college, and I did not understand all of this, but my aunt and uncle did. For their wisdom and guidance, I am most grateful.
Thanks, Uncle Fritz and Aunt Mary.
Monday, September 29, 2008
Pets, Allergies, Ax Murderers and a Hurricane Called Ike
Pets:
The family in which I was raised never had indoor pets. My parents, having both grown up on Missouri farms, had always thought of animals as utilitarian. The cats hung out in the corn crib and barn and earned their keep by keeping the rodent population down; the dogs helped with herding animals and earned their table scraps providing an alarm system for visitors. They never came inside -- with 14 children in one household and 8 in the other, there was barely enough room for people.
While the animals of my childhood were not expected to perform any service except to be cute and playful, they were still expected to stay outdoors. It was not until I was already retired that I ever had an animal in the house. My son's dog stayed with me for a few months while he finished up school and he and his wife moved to a house. He was used to being indoors, therefore, I had to get used to having an animal share my space. And when Raleigh got to stay inside, it became a problem to explain to Aussie, the lab-mix adopted from a shelter by my daughter, why she had to stay outside. That's how I acquired not one, but two indoor pets. After Raleigh had gone to live with his rightful owners, I adopted a cat, whom I dubbed Minnie Paws. Minnie was the first pet in my entire life that I had chosen for myself. All other animals had been adopted because I thought the children needed a pet. Minnie was mine. For nine years we lived as two old spinsters alone in the house -- Aussie succumbed to old age a few years ago.
Allergies
I felt like I had been punched in the gut when my son informed me a week before I was to move to Texas to live near him and to spend time with my grandson that allergy tests had shown said grandson to be allergic to cats. After the shock wore off, I started looking for a home for Minnie. I hoped to place her before I moved so that I wouldn't have to put her through the trauma of a move and then have to give her up in a strange city where I didn't have as large a network of friends. It was not to be. Minnie and I drove down and settled in to our new Texas house. The first few times grandson came over, it seemed not to be a problem, but eventually we saw that he was miserable with itchy nose, watery eyes, and he began to stay at home rather than come to Grammy's house. The allergist was opposed to using medication to control the allergies. Decision time once again.
Ax-Murderers
Several years ago when I was in direct sales for a nationally known crafting company, I found an online forum of other consultants and began to get ideas for promotions, organization, and other business-related information. Even though many of the board members have since moved on to other or no direct-sales opportunities, we have formed a community of women worldwide who come together in cyberspace to share hopes, joys, sorrows, humor, dilemmas, and assorted other issues. When members of the group get together in real life (IRL) we sometimes get raised eyebrows from friends and family who are just sure that we are going out to meet ax-murderers. So, we have begun to refer to each other as our fellow ax-murderers.
It was only logical to me that I would go to this group with my sadness over having to give up my cat. I had already tried a local no-kill shelter, but they were full and didn't think they would be able to find a home for a 9-year old cat anyway. I posted all of this to the forum. The ideas started coming back: visit grandson at his house, have them give him medication when he was coming over, sympathy for having to take this step, admiration that I would do this for my grandson. Finally, a member who had lost her cat to an accident posted that she "might" be interested in adopting Minnie. She wanted more information, so I posted a picture and gave a full profile of the cat's personality. She wanted to think about it overnight, and the next day she had decided that she would adopt my cat. She lives in Texas, but Texas covers a lot of territory and her house is about 450 miles away.
Hurricane Ike
The day we had set for me to drive down to South Texas, Hurricane Ike was threatening the Texas coast and people were evacuating from Houston and Galveston to the very area I would have to drive through. Minnie's prospective new owners were not directly hit by the hurricane but lived in an area that had been evacuated. Since I was going to visit my daughter the next week, I had to postpone the cat transfer two weeks. As it turned out, that was providential, since another ax-murderer who lives in my area was available and willing to ride down with me. She had not been available on the original date.
So, two ax-murderers and a cat set off, after a visit to the vet for a sleeping pill to keep kitty happy, and drove for 7 hours to get to the meetup point. We exchanged greetings with Minnie's new owner, I gave her a bit of information along with the supplies I had brought, and she went back home with her kids and their new cat. After a quick supper at McDonalds, I pointed my car north and headed home. It was after midnight when I fell into bed.
I've heard from the new owner via our online board that Minnie is adjusting to her new surroundings and I feel satisfied that I did the right thing. I am grateful to her for giving my kitty a new home. And I am grateful to my local friend for going down with me -- her company made a long and painful trip pleasant and much quicker than it would have been with me alone.
The family in which I was raised never had indoor pets. My parents, having both grown up on Missouri farms, had always thought of animals as utilitarian. The cats hung out in the corn crib and barn and earned their keep by keeping the rodent population down; the dogs helped with herding animals and earned their table scraps providing an alarm system for visitors. They never came inside -- with 14 children in one household and 8 in the other, there was barely enough room for people.
While the animals of my childhood were not expected to perform any service except to be cute and playful, they were still expected to stay outdoors. It was not until I was already retired that I ever had an animal in the house. My son's dog stayed with me for a few months while he finished up school and he and his wife moved to a house. He was used to being indoors, therefore, I had to get used to having an animal share my space. And when Raleigh got to stay inside, it became a problem to explain to Aussie, the lab-mix adopted from a shelter by my daughter, why she had to stay outside. That's how I acquired not one, but two indoor pets. After Raleigh had gone to live with his rightful owners, I adopted a cat, whom I dubbed Minnie Paws. Minnie was the first pet in my entire life that I had chosen for myself. All other animals had been adopted because I thought the children needed a pet. Minnie was mine. For nine years we lived as two old spinsters alone in the house -- Aussie succumbed to old age a few years ago.
Allergies
I felt like I had been punched in the gut when my son informed me a week before I was to move to Texas to live near him and to spend time with my grandson that allergy tests had shown said grandson to be allergic to cats. After the shock wore off, I started looking for a home for Minnie. I hoped to place her before I moved so that I wouldn't have to put her through the trauma of a move and then have to give her up in a strange city where I didn't have as large a network of friends. It was not to be. Minnie and I drove down and settled in to our new Texas house. The first few times grandson came over, it seemed not to be a problem, but eventually we saw that he was miserable with itchy nose, watery eyes, and he began to stay at home rather than come to Grammy's house. The allergist was opposed to using medication to control the allergies. Decision time once again.
Ax-Murderers
Several years ago when I was in direct sales for a nationally known crafting company, I found an online forum of other consultants and began to get ideas for promotions, organization, and other business-related information. Even though many of the board members have since moved on to other or no direct-sales opportunities, we have formed a community of women worldwide who come together in cyberspace to share hopes, joys, sorrows, humor, dilemmas, and assorted other issues. When members of the group get together in real life (IRL) we sometimes get raised eyebrows from friends and family who are just sure that we are going out to meet ax-murderers. So, we have begun to refer to each other as our fellow ax-murderers.
It was only logical to me that I would go to this group with my sadness over having to give up my cat. I had already tried a local no-kill shelter, but they were full and didn't think they would be able to find a home for a 9-year old cat anyway. I posted all of this to the forum. The ideas started coming back: visit grandson at his house, have them give him medication when he was coming over, sympathy for having to take this step, admiration that I would do this for my grandson. Finally, a member who had lost her cat to an accident posted that she "might" be interested in adopting Minnie. She wanted more information, so I posted a picture and gave a full profile of the cat's personality. She wanted to think about it overnight, and the next day she had decided that she would adopt my cat. She lives in Texas, but Texas covers a lot of territory and her house is about 450 miles away.
Hurricane Ike
The day we had set for me to drive down to South Texas, Hurricane Ike was threatening the Texas coast and people were evacuating from Houston and Galveston to the very area I would have to drive through. Minnie's prospective new owners were not directly hit by the hurricane but lived in an area that had been evacuated. Since I was going to visit my daughter the next week, I had to postpone the cat transfer two weeks. As it turned out, that was providential, since another ax-murderer who lives in my area was available and willing to ride down with me. She had not been available on the original date.
So, two ax-murderers and a cat set off, after a visit to the vet for a sleeping pill to keep kitty happy, and drove for 7 hours to get to the meetup point. We exchanged greetings with Minnie's new owner, I gave her a bit of information along with the supplies I had brought, and she went back home with her kids and their new cat. After a quick supper at McDonalds, I pointed my car north and headed home. It was after midnight when I fell into bed.
I've heard from the new owner via our online board that Minnie is adjusting to her new surroundings and I feel satisfied that I did the right thing. I am grateful to her for giving my kitty a new home. And I am grateful to my local friend for going down with me -- her company made a long and painful trip pleasant and much quicker than it would have been with me alone.
Thursday, August 28, 2008
ChurchSearch: The Decision
I suppose it will come as no surprise to those of you following this search that Custer Road is my choice of church with which to affiliate. Over the past few weeks I have met numerous people and have been warmly welcomed. Last night I joined the Chancel Choir. I expect to actually join the church after I return from a visit to my daughter in late September.
A few reflections on the choir: This is by far the largest choir in which I have sung since college. There are about 200 members and the Chancel Choir sings at two services -- a number of people sing at both, and members are allowed to choose whether they will sing at 9:45 or 11:00 or both. For now, I will be attending a 9:45 SS class and singing at 11:00. Old habits die hard. I have to confess to feeling guilty last night when the 1st sopranos sang the descant and there were at least a dozen, perhaps as many as twenty, singing that part. I am not and never have been a first soprano, but my previous choir was so thin on first sopranos that I was wishing I could share the wealth. There were times when this 1st alto had to be a faux soprano when there weren't enough real ones. But guilt aside, I really enjoyed the experience.
I had wondered how such a large choir would even notice the addition of a newbie, but I needn't have worried. I was met outside the choir room by a couple of ladies who had me fill out an information form. I was introduced to another alto and escorted into the choir room, shown where the folders and hymn books were kept, and then shown where to sit. Shortly afterward, amid enthusiastic greetings from others in the section, the greeters brought me a name tag and a folder with my name on it. Several times during the rehearsal Tim called for us to shuffle, turn around and greet the front row, back row, or whatever. This group, large as it is, does not permit anonymity. I was pleased to be joined by a fellow visitor from the information class.
My thoughts strayed several times to FUMC Jackson, who I knew would be rehearsing at the same time, in sadness over the loss of a beloved and valued member, Greg Tillman, who lost his battle with cancer yesterday. My love and sympathy flows to my friends and former choir-fellows in that loss.
On another note, I have had some varied church experiences over the past couple of weeks. On August 13, a Texas cousin and I were in Philadelphia visiting another cousin -- our fathers were brothers -- and we experienced a "high church" evening prayer with a sung liturgy. I'm afraid I was concentrating so hard on getting the melody right that the words of the Psalm did not register, but it was interesting to experience another type of worship. Of course, as cousins with evangelical and musical roots, we had to sing a few old favorite hymns as well. People with the same DNA harmonize especially well, and I think we did. At any rate, we enjoyed ourselves. It is a hallmark of my dad's family that where two or more are gathered together, there will be singing.
Upon deplaning, Melba turned on her cellphone and found a message from her sister that another one of our dads' brothers was hospitalized with congestive heart failure. That was on Thursday, and the following Tuesday that uncle passed away. The two of us drove to Missouri for the funeral and, along with about 25 other assorted cousins, we sang at the funeral. Again,the harmony created by DNA was at work, as well as the passion with which we sang our youngest uncle's favorite songs. So from high church liturgy to gospel in one week -- what a ride.
A few reflections on the choir: This is by far the largest choir in which I have sung since college. There are about 200 members and the Chancel Choir sings at two services -- a number of people sing at both, and members are allowed to choose whether they will sing at 9:45 or 11:00 or both. For now, I will be attending a 9:45 SS class and singing at 11:00. Old habits die hard. I have to confess to feeling guilty last night when the 1st sopranos sang the descant and there were at least a dozen, perhaps as many as twenty, singing that part. I am not and never have been a first soprano, but my previous choir was so thin on first sopranos that I was wishing I could share the wealth. There were times when this 1st alto had to be a faux soprano when there weren't enough real ones. But guilt aside, I really enjoyed the experience.
I had wondered how such a large choir would even notice the addition of a newbie, but I needn't have worried. I was met outside the choir room by a couple of ladies who had me fill out an information form. I was introduced to another alto and escorted into the choir room, shown where the folders and hymn books were kept, and then shown where to sit. Shortly afterward, amid enthusiastic greetings from others in the section, the greeters brought me a name tag and a folder with my name on it. Several times during the rehearsal Tim called for us to shuffle, turn around and greet the front row, back row, or whatever. This group, large as it is, does not permit anonymity. I was pleased to be joined by a fellow visitor from the information class.
My thoughts strayed several times to FUMC Jackson, who I knew would be rehearsing at the same time, in sadness over the loss of a beloved and valued member, Greg Tillman, who lost his battle with cancer yesterday. My love and sympathy flows to my friends and former choir-fellows in that loss.
On another note, I have had some varied church experiences over the past couple of weeks. On August 13, a Texas cousin and I were in Philadelphia visiting another cousin -- our fathers were brothers -- and we experienced a "high church" evening prayer with a sung liturgy. I'm afraid I was concentrating so hard on getting the melody right that the words of the Psalm did not register, but it was interesting to experience another type of worship. Of course, as cousins with evangelical and musical roots, we had to sing a few old favorite hymns as well. People with the same DNA harmonize especially well, and I think we did. At any rate, we enjoyed ourselves. It is a hallmark of my dad's family that where two or more are gathered together, there will be singing.
Upon deplaning, Melba turned on her cellphone and found a message from her sister that another one of our dads' brothers was hospitalized with congestive heart failure. That was on Thursday, and the following Tuesday that uncle passed away. The two of us drove to Missouri for the funeral and, along with about 25 other assorted cousins, we sang at the funeral. Again,the harmony created by DNA was at work, as well as the passion with which we sang our youngest uncle's favorite songs. So from high church liturgy to gospel in one week -- what a ride.
Sunday, August 10, 2008
ChurchSearch: Round 2, Weeks 1-2
So I didn't get around to posting last week, but I have gone back to Custer Road for the last 2 Sundays. They had a Visitor Information class starting last Sunday (Aug. 3), which I decided would be a good place to learn about the church. I was right -- it was, so I went back there today. I am meeting more people each week, and have met several choir members. The choir is on summer hiatus this month, so I will plan to start when they resume rehearsals in a couple of weeks. I also registered for the Disciple Bible Study, Christian Believer course which starts in September.
At first the idea of attending such a large church (7,000 members) was intimidating. But then I realized that, regardless of the size of the church, my "home" is going to be the small groups of which I am a part. The advantage of a large church is the range and number of small group opportunities it offers. Of all the churches I visited in Round 1, I liked the worship service at CRUMC the best, so that will probably be the deciding point.
At first the idea of attending such a large church (7,000 members) was intimidating. But then I realized that, regardless of the size of the church, my "home" is going to be the small groups of which I am a part. The advantage of a large church is the range and number of small group opportunities it offers. Of all the churches I visited in Round 1, I liked the worship service at CRUMC the best, so that will probably be the deciding point.
Sunday, July 27, 2008
ChurchSearch: Round 1, Week 4
Today I visited Custer Road UMC in Plano, TX. It is the largest of the churches I have attended. Size has its benefits and its drawbacks.
Distance 9.7 miles
Travel time: less than 20 minutes; easy to get to on major roads.
The narthex was bustling with people and I did not see any designated greeters. After a few minutes I went in and sat down on a row near the back where another single woman was sitting. Another unaccompanied woman came in a joined me as the service was beginning, so I did not get into conversation with her until later.
The music was glorious. CRUMC has a magnificent pipe organ and an organist who knows how to play it. The choir sang a Mozart piece which was nicely balanced with no voices standing out. The offertory was a solo by a very accomplished young woman singer. I especially enjoyed the hymns, "Let All Things Their Creator Bless," " Great is Thy Faithfulness" (my all-time favorite) , and in closing, "Here I Am Lord," which fit the sermon text in Isaiah.
Although large screens are present at the sides of the choir loft and altar area, they were not used as cheat sheets for hymns and liturgy. They were instead used to provide a better view of the speakers and choir, for those who might not be able to see. I can live with this use of media. The other compromise I will obviously have to make is that of accepting that congregations are going to applaud the musical selections. I don't care for it, but it seems to be the norm here. FUMC Jackson may have been one of the last hold-outs in this area.
The sermon was engaging and the children's sermon was tailored to deliver the same message.
I felt very ambivalent about the church until after the service. I was thinking that I wished I could have the music of CRUMC, the preaching at First McKinney, and the friendliness of the people at Frisco. But I also realize that for me, a single woman, the key to feeling at home in a church is going to be the small groups I affiliate with. I have learned to be assertive about introducing myself and not just expecting that someone will somehow figure out that I am a visitor and approach me. With that resolve, I introduced myself to one of the Associate Pastors, Leslie Herrscher, and as we chatted, I found that she was in seminary with Charlie Overton. When she found out I was interested in choir, she took me to meet the Minister of Music and gave me a brief tour of the facility as we searched for him. Turns out Tim (Morrison) was one of Charlie's profs at Perkins, so he was also very welcoming and encouraging me to come to choir.
On the way home I had much of the same feeling I had the first time I visited FUMC Jackson, that I had found my church home. Now I have a decision to make: I had planned to start Round 2 next week by visiting SS classes in the churches I had already visited. Now I am not sure I want to. I think I might just go to the visitor's class at CRUMC next week and begin to make friends there. Of the 4 churches I have visited, I think CR has most of what I am looking for.
Distance 9.7 miles
Travel time: less than 20 minutes; easy to get to on major roads.
The narthex was bustling with people and I did not see any designated greeters. After a few minutes I went in and sat down on a row near the back where another single woman was sitting. Another unaccompanied woman came in a joined me as the service was beginning, so I did not get into conversation with her until later.
The music was glorious. CRUMC has a magnificent pipe organ and an organist who knows how to play it. The choir sang a Mozart piece which was nicely balanced with no voices standing out. The offertory was a solo by a very accomplished young woman singer. I especially enjoyed the hymns, "Let All Things Their Creator Bless," " Great is Thy Faithfulness" (my all-time favorite) , and in closing, "Here I Am Lord," which fit the sermon text in Isaiah.
Although large screens are present at the sides of the choir loft and altar area, they were not used as cheat sheets for hymns and liturgy. They were instead used to provide a better view of the speakers and choir, for those who might not be able to see. I can live with this use of media. The other compromise I will obviously have to make is that of accepting that congregations are going to applaud the musical selections. I don't care for it, but it seems to be the norm here. FUMC Jackson may have been one of the last hold-outs in this area.
The sermon was engaging and the children's sermon was tailored to deliver the same message.
I felt very ambivalent about the church until after the service. I was thinking that I wished I could have the music of CRUMC, the preaching at First McKinney, and the friendliness of the people at Frisco. But I also realize that for me, a single woman, the key to feeling at home in a church is going to be the small groups I affiliate with. I have learned to be assertive about introducing myself and not just expecting that someone will somehow figure out that I am a visitor and approach me. With that resolve, I introduced myself to one of the Associate Pastors, Leslie Herrscher, and as we chatted, I found that she was in seminary with Charlie Overton. When she found out I was interested in choir, she took me to meet the Minister of Music and gave me a brief tour of the facility as we searched for him. Turns out Tim (Morrison) was one of Charlie's profs at Perkins, so he was also very welcoming and encouraging me to come to choir.
On the way home I had much of the same feeling I had the first time I visited FUMC Jackson, that I had found my church home. Now I have a decision to make: I had planned to start Round 2 next week by visiting SS classes in the churches I had already visited. Now I am not sure I want to. I think I might just go to the visitor's class at CRUMC next week and begin to make friends there. Of the 4 churches I have visited, I think CR has most of what I am looking for.
Sunday, July 13, 2008
ChurchSearch: Round 1, Week 3
I took last week off after doing a face-plant on the sidewalk during my walk Saturday morning. I decided my swollen and bruised visage needed privacy. Today, with the swelling subsiding and the bruise concealed, somewhat, under an inch or so of DermaBlend, I resumed my search by visiting FUMC Allen, TX.
Distance: 10 miles
Driving time: 17 minutes
Allen FUMC has 3 services, which seems to be the norm here in Texas. The 8:30 service is Contemporary, the 9:45 Blended, and the 11:00 is normally the Traditional service. With the combination of summer informality and the message, today was not exactly Traditional. There was no choir; an ensemble sang the Offertory. The message on the relevance, or lack of, the church in society was preceded by a PowerPoint slide show of 1960's scenes accompanied by the music of the time. The minister was dynamic, the message interesting and thought-provoking, although I sensed a bit of "we need to change with the times and do the new music, etc." which is not my favorite theme.
I engaged in conversation with one of the greeters, a woman about my age who, when she found out I was new in town, was very eager to introduce me to others and even walked me to the room where a recommended Sunday School class meets. As the service was about to begin, another woman asked to sit with me, the first time that has happened. The sanctuary was sparsely populated, possibly because of mid-summer vacationing and several church groups off doing projects elsewhere. I will be interested to see how the attendance is during the fall, after school has started back.
My one real disappointment was with the organist. I realize my expectations are quite high after being treated to the organ and piano skills of Dr. Terry McRoberts, to whom anyone is unlikely to measure up, but this lady (I don't know if she is the regular organist or a substitute) played the congregational hymns so fast it was impossible to keep up. I don't like draggy hymns, but I do like to observe punctuation and to catch a breath now and then. She seemed oblivious to everyone and just plowed through the hymns as if she wanted to get them over with. If she is the regular organist, I don't think I'll be joining FUMC Allen.
I did take a moment after the service to meet the Minister of Music, who was a seminary classmate of my Charlie Overton at FUMC Jackson. He is an affable young man, and I am really happy to see seminary-educated Ministers of Music. From my association with Charlie I know that they have a perspective on worship music that a secularly trained musician may not have.
So, I will return to FUMC Allen at least once more and will attend a Sunday School class. Next Sunday's ChurchSearch will take me to Custer Road UMC in Plano.
Distance: 10 miles
Driving time: 17 minutes
Allen FUMC has 3 services, which seems to be the norm here in Texas. The 8:30 service is Contemporary, the 9:45 Blended, and the 11:00 is normally the Traditional service. With the combination of summer informality and the message, today was not exactly Traditional. There was no choir; an ensemble sang the Offertory. The message on the relevance, or lack of, the church in society was preceded by a PowerPoint slide show of 1960's scenes accompanied by the music of the time. The minister was dynamic, the message interesting and thought-provoking, although I sensed a bit of "we need to change with the times and do the new music, etc." which is not my favorite theme.
I engaged in conversation with one of the greeters, a woman about my age who, when she found out I was new in town, was very eager to introduce me to others and even walked me to the room where a recommended Sunday School class meets. As the service was about to begin, another woman asked to sit with me, the first time that has happened. The sanctuary was sparsely populated, possibly because of mid-summer vacationing and several church groups off doing projects elsewhere. I will be interested to see how the attendance is during the fall, after school has started back.
My one real disappointment was with the organist. I realize my expectations are quite high after being treated to the organ and piano skills of Dr. Terry McRoberts, to whom anyone is unlikely to measure up, but this lady (I don't know if she is the regular organist or a substitute) played the congregational hymns so fast it was impossible to keep up. I don't like draggy hymns, but I do like to observe punctuation and to catch a breath now and then. She seemed oblivious to everyone and just plowed through the hymns as if she wanted to get them over with. If she is the regular organist, I don't think I'll be joining FUMC Allen.
I did take a moment after the service to meet the Minister of Music, who was a seminary classmate of my Charlie Overton at FUMC Jackson. He is an affable young man, and I am really happy to see seminary-educated Ministers of Music. From my association with Charlie I know that they have a perspective on worship music that a secularly trained musician may not have.
So, I will return to FUMC Allen at least once more and will attend a Sunday School class. Next Sunday's ChurchSearch will take me to Custer Road UMC in Plano.
Sunday, June 29, 2008
ChurchSearch: Round 1, Week 2
First United Methodist Church, Frisco, TX was my worship destination today.
Distance: 7 miles
Time: 15-20 minutes
Although farther in distance than FUMC McKinney, FUMC Frisco is a straight shot through undeveloped land and actually takes less time to navigate than the city streets and freeways of McKinney.
Frisco FUMC is building a new 600 seat sanctuary and is currently meeting in the Family Life Building. During the summer the service is casual -- at least I am assuming it is because it is summer. The choir was in civvies, the ministers in shirtsleeves. Hymnals were scarce and songs were projected onto a screen at the front. I gathered from announcements that were made that technology will be a big part of the service in the new sanctuary as well. At least the hymns chosen were from the hymnbook and were not repetitive praise songs. One can praise in song without being repetitive! The doxology, Lord's Prayer, and Apostles Creed, as well as the Gloria Patri were part of the service. The choir sang "On Holy Ground," an anthem I like and they did it justice. Applause followed, along with a number of enthusiastic "Amens."
The people were very welcoming and friendly. That could well offset any worship differences from my standard. I engaged in conversation with one of the greeters who then introduced me to her husband and invited me to their Sunday School class. The husband, P. provided me with visitor information packets. I sat alone, but met the ladies behind me during the greeting time, and the lady at the other end of my row made a point of welcoming me, finding out that I am a singer, and introducing me to the Minister of Music. She also invited me to come to the Frisco Senior center and participate in their musical activities. About that time P. came over with the pastor and introduced me. Pastor M. has a Jackson connection, a nephew that is youth minister at a Methodist church that reminds me very much of Frisco FUMC.
The sermon was about the Mission that we all have in the world, and about knowing what we need to do and trusting God for a way to do it. The delivery was informal, chatty, and at times interactive. FFUMC is definitely on my Round 2 list.
Distance: 7 miles
Time: 15-20 minutes
Although farther in distance than FUMC McKinney, FUMC Frisco is a straight shot through undeveloped land and actually takes less time to navigate than the city streets and freeways of McKinney.
Frisco FUMC is building a new 600 seat sanctuary and is currently meeting in the Family Life Building. During the summer the service is casual -- at least I am assuming it is because it is summer. The choir was in civvies, the ministers in shirtsleeves. Hymnals were scarce and songs were projected onto a screen at the front. I gathered from announcements that were made that technology will be a big part of the service in the new sanctuary as well. At least the hymns chosen were from the hymnbook and were not repetitive praise songs. One can praise in song without being repetitive! The doxology, Lord's Prayer, and Apostles Creed, as well as the Gloria Patri were part of the service. The choir sang "On Holy Ground," an anthem I like and they did it justice. Applause followed, along with a number of enthusiastic "Amens."
The people were very welcoming and friendly. That could well offset any worship differences from my standard. I engaged in conversation with one of the greeters who then introduced me to her husband and invited me to their Sunday School class. The husband, P. provided me with visitor information packets. I sat alone, but met the ladies behind me during the greeting time, and the lady at the other end of my row made a point of welcoming me, finding out that I am a singer, and introducing me to the Minister of Music. She also invited me to come to the Frisco Senior center and participate in their musical activities. About that time P. came over with the pastor and introduced me. Pastor M. has a Jackson connection, a nephew that is youth minister at a Methodist church that reminds me very much of Frisco FUMC.
The sermon was about the Mission that we all have in the world, and about knowing what we need to do and trusting God for a way to do it. The delivery was informal, chatty, and at times interactive. FFUMC is definitely on my Round 2 list.
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
Warm Welcome to North Texas -- Not!
The previous owners moved out of my house in May. The day they had the utilities cut off, I called and established accounts to get the electricity and water on and in my name -- no problem. I tried to call the gas company and got a busy signal. After several unsuccessful tries, I went back to my packing and figured that the gas didn't really need to be on until I got there. Only the water heater, fireplace, and furnace are gas. Then a couple of days before I was due to leave TN, I suddenly realized that I had not ever gotten back to the gas company. This time I persevered and finally got to talk to a human, and set it up to have the gas turned on June 19, my driving down day.
I was looking forward to a hot shower after the drive, part of which was with car air conditioning on the blink. What a rude shock to find out that the gas company would not turn the gas on because of some problem with the pressure, that a plumber would have to come out and it wouldn't be until Monday, and then the city had to inspect, all before the gas company would turn my gas on. As if the aggravation were not enough, I would have to pay between $400 and $5oo for the comfort of a hot shower.
My first plumber, sent by the home warranty folks, came out yesterday, found no problem, but advised me that he was not licensed to do the pressure test and that I would have to get someone licensed by the city. Okey Dokey, so I call the city inspection department and get a somewhat snippy woman on the phone. She is long on attitude and short on information until I ask her, "Work with me, will you? I am brand new in town and know nothing about how the system works." The attitude calmed a bit, but I was still left to find my own plumber from the phone book.
After a couple of calls, I finally reach a plumber who is licensed to do the pressure test. That plumber is on the premises now, and I am nervously awaiting his verdict. If he finds that everything tests out fine, then I have to wait for the city to send out an inspector, then the city tells the gas company and the gas company comes out to turn on the gas. Would you like to take bets on how many more days I will be without hot water?
So much for having a "warm" welcome to McKinney -- the only warm thing so far is the weather.
I was looking forward to a hot shower after the drive, part of which was with car air conditioning on the blink. What a rude shock to find out that the gas company would not turn the gas on because of some problem with the pressure, that a plumber would have to come out and it wouldn't be until Monday, and then the city had to inspect, all before the gas company would turn my gas on. As if the aggravation were not enough, I would have to pay between $400 and $5oo for the comfort of a hot shower.
My first plumber, sent by the home warranty folks, came out yesterday, found no problem, but advised me that he was not licensed to do the pressure test and that I would have to get someone licensed by the city. Okey Dokey, so I call the city inspection department and get a somewhat snippy woman on the phone. She is long on attitude and short on information until I ask her, "Work with me, will you? I am brand new in town and know nothing about how the system works." The attitude calmed a bit, but I was still left to find my own plumber from the phone book.
After a couple of calls, I finally reach a plumber who is licensed to do the pressure test. That plumber is on the premises now, and I am nervously awaiting his verdict. If he finds that everything tests out fine, then I have to wait for the city to send out an inspector, then the city tells the gas company and the gas company comes out to turn on the gas. Would you like to take bets on how many more days I will be without hot water?
So much for having a "warm" welcome to McKinney -- the only warm thing so far is the weather.
Sunday, June 22, 2008
ChurchSearch: Round 1, Week 1
Today I attended the closest church on my list, FUMC McKinney.
Distance: about 4.5 miles
Time to drive: 20 minutes
First impression: FUMC McKinney is like FUMC Jackson in that they made a decision to stay downtown when others were moving out, and to have a ministry in the area. The VBS children sang a couple of songs and I noticed several Hispanic and African-American children among the group, so that tells me the church is reaching out. The sanctuary has been enlarged, with the boundaries of the original sanctuary still evident.
I attended the 11:00 service, which is one of the traditional services. The choir was small, but that may be due to summer vacations, or it may be that the choir covers more than one worship service.
I felt pretty much ignored, but at the end of the service the couple sitting on the pew near me did introduce themselves and we chatted a bit. I learned that the church has added 150 new members in the last 5 months, when their new pastor began serving. With that many new people, it is hard to recognize someone who is there for the first time, so I am not offended. I will attend SS on Round 2, and then I expect to meet more people.
The pastor is enthusiastic, entertaining, and quite inspirational. His text was the Sermon on the Mount, which he used to challenge the people of the church to solve problems, rather than just asking God to take care of it. He was moving about through most of the sermon, addressing himself to the choir, and to all portions of the wide sanctuary.
Applause was appropriate, I thought, when the children sang, but there was none when the Sanctuary choir completed their anthem. The doxology followed immediately after the anthem, so it will be interesting to see what happens when/if the choir sings an anthem earlier in the service.
Next week: FUMC Frisco
Distance: about 4.5 miles
Time to drive: 20 minutes
First impression: FUMC McKinney is like FUMC Jackson in that they made a decision to stay downtown when others were moving out, and to have a ministry in the area. The VBS children sang a couple of songs and I noticed several Hispanic and African-American children among the group, so that tells me the church is reaching out. The sanctuary has been enlarged, with the boundaries of the original sanctuary still evident.
I attended the 11:00 service, which is one of the traditional services. The choir was small, but that may be due to summer vacations, or it may be that the choir covers more than one worship service.
I felt pretty much ignored, but at the end of the service the couple sitting on the pew near me did introduce themselves and we chatted a bit. I learned that the church has added 150 new members in the last 5 months, when their new pastor began serving. With that many new people, it is hard to recognize someone who is there for the first time, so I am not offended. I will attend SS on Round 2, and then I expect to meet more people.
The pastor is enthusiastic, entertaining, and quite inspirational. His text was the Sermon on the Mount, which he used to challenge the people of the church to solve problems, rather than just asking God to take care of it. He was moving about through most of the sermon, addressing himself to the choir, and to all portions of the wide sanctuary.
Applause was appropriate, I thought, when the children sang, but there was none when the Sanctuary choir completed their anthem. The doxology followed immediately after the anthem, so it will be interesting to see what happens when/if the choir sings an anthem earlier in the service.
Next week: FUMC Frisco
Monday, June 16, 2008
The Church Search Gets Underway
I attended my last service as a choir member at FUMC Jackson yesterday. I was blown away by the farewell sevice the choir offered and the announcement from the pulpit by our Minister of Music. Charlie had whispered to me before the service that he would like to do that after the final hymn, as the congregation had grown used to seeing me and would wonder where I was. I guess I thought I would just quietly leave and at some point in the future, someone would ask my whereabouts. That was not to be, and I am gratified by the love and sorrow at my leaving, along with the good wishes and expressions of understanding that I will be near one of my grandchildren. My church is an important part of my life and it will be hard to replace First United Methodist in Jackson, TN, where I have had my membership for the last 10 years. I remember the first Sunday I attended and I felt as though I had truly “come home,” although I had never attended there before.
In preparation for my move to McKinney, TX, I have been scoping out churches on the internet, something I could never do before. I have narrowed my Round 1 list to seven churches in McKinney and nearby towns. Each week I will visit a different church and blog about my experience and impressions of that church. I invite my readers to comment and make suggestions for other churches I might want to add to my list.
Here are my criteria:
· An age-diverse membership. A church with young families is a church with a future. But I also need a peer group of retirees and grandparents, and single women like myself. I want someone to go to lunch with after church on Sunday
· A Traditional worship service. I am all for having other services to suit the tastes of others, but my preference is for a robed choir, robed pastors, an organ, no PowerPoint sermons, the Doxology and the Creed, and, this may be asking too much, but judicious use of applause. I don’t mind a spontaneous exuberant applause when the anthem is, as one of my former choir friends used to say, a “barn-burner.” I am totally turned off by polite, obligatory applause when the anthem does not warrant it – a quiet, prayerful, meditative anthem just should not inspire hand-clapping. That happened at a church I visited, and I never went back.
· Availability of Disciple Bible study and other studies at a time that does not conflict with choir practice
· Senior Adult activities that include some local opportunities for cash-strapped retirees
· Use of the hymn book for songs; Have I mentioned that I do not care for what one retired pastor calls 7-11 songs – those that have 7 words sung 11 times, (or 11 words sung 7 times.) In brief, I am not a fan of “praise and worship” music, although I can tolerate it in small doses
Am I too picky? I guess I will find out as I start to visit the churches of North Texas. Next Sunday I will go to the first one on my list: First UMC, McKinney. After that I plan to attend the First UMCs in Frisco, Allen, and Plano, as well as Custer Road in Plano, and, at the urging of Charlie Overton, Suncrest in Allen. The ChurchSearch is on!
Saturday, June 14, 2008
I did it!
My new avatar shows the new me: 50 pounds lighter and 18" thinner. I have done this over the last 8 months with the help of my friend Jenny Craig. I won't be showing off the new me in a bikini like Valerie Bertinelli, but I am feeling better, more energetic, and am enjoying being able to get on the floor with my grandchildren and then being able to get back up again. My aging, creaking knees still get the best of me at times, but they have 50 pounds less to support. If an article in AARP magazine several months ago was correct, each 10 pounds of weight loss means 40 less pounds on the knees. I'm not a mathematician so I don't know how that works, but if true, it means my knees are bearing 200 pounds less stress.
Now the hard part comes: keeping it off. I chose Jenny Craig because I have not enjoyed cooking in the years that I've been single again -- actually quit enjoying it for a few years before I became single again -- but had found myself eating more fast food and making meals of fritos and bean dip with a hot fudge sundae. All of those bad habits finally got the best of me and last September, I made the decision to get healthy again. Jenny's meals have been easy and tasty; not having to keep leftovers, having portions controlled, and being able to have a slice of cheesecake without having to purchase a whole one and then having it call my name has been a major part of my success.
Along the way, I have become more conscious of portion size, although what I ate at meals has never been the biggest part of my weight problem; it's all the "grazing" that I have done out of boredom, stress and, at times, depression. I'm still not exercising as faithfully as I should be. Getting ready for an out of state move has been my major source of activity the past few weeks, and will constitute a major portion of my activity after I get to my new home next week and start the unpacking process. I will also be living a few blocks from my 6 year old, very active, grandson, and I'm sure he will help to keep me active as well.
I will miss seeing my counselor, Eve, at Jenny Craig each week. She has been so positive, full of praise and encouragement, and has made my weekly visits something to look forward to, not to dread. Thanks, Eve, and thank you Jenny.
Now the hard part comes: keeping it off. I chose Jenny Craig because I have not enjoyed cooking in the years that I've been single again -- actually quit enjoying it for a few years before I became single again -- but had found myself eating more fast food and making meals of fritos and bean dip with a hot fudge sundae. All of those bad habits finally got the best of me and last September, I made the decision to get healthy again. Jenny's meals have been easy and tasty; not having to keep leftovers, having portions controlled, and being able to have a slice of cheesecake without having to purchase a whole one and then having it call my name has been a major part of my success.
Along the way, I have become more conscious of portion size, although what I ate at meals has never been the biggest part of my weight problem; it's all the "grazing" that I have done out of boredom, stress and, at times, depression. I'm still not exercising as faithfully as I should be. Getting ready for an out of state move has been my major source of activity the past few weeks, and will constitute a major portion of my activity after I get to my new home next week and start the unpacking process. I will also be living a few blocks from my 6 year old, very active, grandson, and I'm sure he will help to keep me active as well.
I will miss seeing my counselor, Eve, at Jenny Craig each week. She has been so positive, full of praise and encouragement, and has made my weekly visits something to look forward to, not to dread. Thanks, Eve, and thank you Jenny.
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
Making a new ending
I was recently given a blog challenge to write about the age or period of my life I would most like to relive. I’ve given it a lot of thought: would I go back to high school, when I was young and energetic and had my whole life ahead of me? Would I relive my college years, when the excitement of each new date raised the question, would this be the person I would spend the rest of my life with. Would I make a different career choice? Would I prefer to relive life as a mother of young children – oops, no, I enjoy sleeping at night. I definitely would not wish to relive my children’s teenage years – I enjoy sleeping at night.
It would be tempting to go back to some of the stages of life where, if I had made different decisions, my life might have been happier and freer of recrimination. With my adulthood marked by two failed marriages and perpetual financial difficulties, there are certainly forks in the road where I would have chosen the other path, if I could have known where the one I did choose would lead. As a single mother and a working mother, I could wish for a life that would have allowed me to do more with my children without the stress of trying to make a living and keep them housed, fed, and clothed. As a divorcee, (hate that word) I could wish for the love of a faithful man and companionship in my senior years. I could wish for financial independence that would allow me to travel and enjoy activities not available to one living on a single retirement pension
After mulling it over, I finally came to the conclusion that, while I would like to go back and make decisions with the wisdom that I’ve gained by living through my experiences, that is not possible; moreover, had I made a different decision at any point along the path, I would have encountered a new set of unknowns that I would be dealing with today. Would I really want to trade the problems I have for another set?
While I was musing about this challenge, I happened to read a saying, and I cannot now recall to whom it was attributed, but it went like this: It may not be possible to go back and make a new beginning, but I can start from today and make a new ending.
That’s what I will do with the days I am given. Recriminations are negative energy; my decisions, even the bad ones, were made with the information I had at the time. None of us can see into the future and know what is ahead. So I am using my todays to create a new ending.
Sunday, April 13, 2008
Lessons from a Mama Bird
The cat jumped off the kitchen counter as soon as I walked in. She knows she isn’t supposed to be on the counter, but a flutter at the window over the sink revealed the irresistible temptation to break my rule. A bird was building a nest in the window sill outside. I thought it odd, and when the nest sat empty for several days, I decided that Mama Bird must have been scared off by Minnie the cat. But a few days ago, I noticed that Mama Bird was back sitting on the nest, and neither my working at the sink, nor my cat’s repeated violations of the counter rule seemed to ruffle her feathers. So now each morning while I make my coffee, I say good morning to her and ask how she passed the night. I am looking forward to the day when little heads will be raising up and cheeping at me.
I worried about her the other night when thunderstorms moved through the area, preceded by strong winds and dumping more than two inches of rain in the space of an hour. But the next morning she was still on the nest and I was relieved. I’m curious about why she chose the window sill and not one of the dozens of seemingly more hospitable trees and shrubs in the neighborhood. After pondering it, I realize she probably has the safest nest on the block, thunderstorms notwithstanding. Instead of fighting a turf war with the gangs of squirrels that rule the trees, or risking her babes to one of the neighborhood’s marauding cats – my declawed, indoor cat not among them – she has chosen a spot where nothing without wings can reach her. Apparently her building skills could be the envy of New Orleans architects, as gale force winds did not disarrange a single straw from the nest.
I think she is a mockingbird, although my bird-watching skills are rudimentary, and my bird books are packed already for an anticipated move to Texas where, like Tennessee, the mockingbird is the state bird. I Googled mockingbird, and she certainly fits the physical description and coloring of a mockingbird, although Wikipedia declares that they build their nests in shrubs and trees. I may have to interact with Wikipedia (you can do that you know) and tell about my little mother who chose an unlikely, seemingly exposed location, which has proven to be a safe haven for her and her eggs.
Thursday, April 10, 2008
Blog challenge #12: About me
Blog challenge #12
OK, I haven’t been doing all of the blog challenges as they come up, but I resolve to turn over a new leaf. Better late than never.
1) Right now I want: my house to be clean, my papers graded, and a chance to sit in my scraproom and be creative. At times like this I wish I could be Samantha (“Bewitched”) and just twitch my nose and have it done.
2) I wish I knew how to: quilt. I am so in awe of those I see others produce, and I am completely in love with the Elm Creek Quilt series by Jennifer Chiaverini. I find myself drawn to getting out the sewing machine that hasn’t been used in eight years. My problem is that any hobby I pursue requires me to buy a whole new bunch of supplies and I’m running out of space to put them and time to do them.
3) When I want to indulge myself, I: have a chocolate covered cherry. Not those cheap boxed ones, although when I get a real chocolate cherry craving, they will do because they are readily available. I’m talking about a giant cherry, wrapped in brandied fondant and dipped in premium dark chocolate. When you bite into it – you don’t pop these in your mouth whole – it oozes delicious goo. M-m-m-m-m!
4) You’ll never see me: naked. Other than that, you’ll not see me climbing anything.
5) A childhood memory that I love: When I was a kid, I used to climb trees. We had a big wild cherry tree on our property, and I would sit on a big branch and pick off the wild cherries and eat them until my mouth and fingers were stained black. That was my sanctuary, when I needed time to hide out from mom or escape the demands of pesky little brothers.
6) 2 things I do every single day: 1. I check in and read Scrapshare. If I have time, I will post replies and even, rarely, start a new thread. I consider these women friends and I have become bound up in their lives, their sorrows, their joys, and their longings. I hope they feel that way about me. 2. I read before I go to sleep. I always have a book, whether from the library or from my own collection, and I read for 20 to 45 minutes in bed. If I wake up in the wee hours of the morning and can’t get back to sleep, I will turn on the light and read until I go back to sleep, sometimes with the book on my chest and the light still on.
7) Happiest moment of 2008, so far: Friday, April 6, when I flew to Milwaukee to see my daughter’s family for the weekend. We picked up the six-year-old at school, who had momentarily forgotten that I was coming, and was telling her mom about her day, handing over her folder, and saying goodbye to her teacher. I turned to the back seat, and said, “Hi, Isabel.” and she squealed, “Grammy!” My grandchildren are the joy of my life.
8) Describe yourself in 3 words: enthusiastic, creative, disorganized
9) 2 scrap related goals for this year: I want to get my scrapping stuff organized and compacted so that it doesn’t take up a whole room My goal is to create a scrapping closet in my new house. Goal 2 is to get caught up, but that will probably still be on my list of goals for next year. Does one ever really get caught up??
10) You have $40 that you MUST spend on yourself – what do you do with it? Easy! It would go for scrapbook paper and embellishments.
Monday, April 7, 2008
It's a Jungle Out There
No teacher in touch with reality can long harbor the illusion that she (or he) will be universally loved. While we all remember teachers that we liked immensely and whose classes we enjoyed, it is human nature that different teaching styles and personalities are going to affect students in varying ways. In nearly 40 years of teaching in one capacity or another, I have encountered students that I connected with and students that I knew were just enduring my class until they could escape. But never, in all that time, have I been abused or threatened overtly until this past week.
It started with a poetry analysis that just sounded a bit too pompous—it wasn’t really even a perfect paper and I had already marked a couple of sentences as “wordy,” – but teacher instinct honed over the decades made me turn to Google and type in a few of the student’s phrases. Sure enough, they led me to an online site where essays, both free and available for purchase, contained paragraphs of the student’s paper. Accordingly, I printed them out, highlighting the plagiarized portions. My next step was to present them to my department chair. Blatant plagiarism, also called “academic dishonesty” in the student handbook, can be grounds for expulsion, but as this was my first incident with this student, I decided to give her a zero on the assignment and caution her that her future work would be under scrutiny. I felt I was being generous and prepared myself for tears, apologies, and “thanks for giving me another chance.”
I was certainly NOT prepared for a denial that the student had produced the work, that the computer had somehow sent it to me under her name, and, when that didn’t work, that there were students that were “out to get [the student] and some of them must have turned that paper in. At that, I decided to involve the Dean and promptly e-mailed both the academic dean and the dean of students, and gave a copy of the paper to the academic dean. Then I went to class.
When my class was over I came back to the office and checked my e-mail. My inbox contained a venomous, insulting attack telling me how much all of my students hated me and how bored they were in my class, and including childish personal attacks regarding my age, my wrinkles, and my ugliness. The e-mail sender was unknown to me, but the letter had a couple of phrases that suggested the identity of the sender. I forwarded the e-mail to the department chair and deans. The dean sent an e-mail to the sender’s address outlining all of the violations of university policy and the possible consequences, and cautioning the sender to have no further contact with Professor C, either by e-mail or any other means.
The next morning an even more obscene, venomous, and threatening e-mail appeared in my inbox. It included the phrase “we know where you live. You better watch your back.” This was perceived by the University officials as an overt threat and the local police were called in to make a report.
I do not know how this situation will be resolved. I do know that I am sad to close out a 40 year career of working with students and trying to help them to realize their potential with a fear that someone is reckless enough to really believe that violence (even in words) is the way to achieve one’s goals. I am disappointed that a student in a Christian university sees nothing wrong in stealing (or buying) words and ideas and passing them off as her own. I am alarmed that an adult, in chronology if not character, refuses to accept responsibility for her behavior and to learn from the experience.
Friday, March 21, 2008
The Year of the Mouton Coat
Mouton fur is sheepskin which has been processed to resemble beaver or seal fur. Mouton is French for "sheep". Mouton fur refers to lamb hair which has been straightened, chemically treated, and thermally set to produce a moisture repellent finish. Mouton is often dyed brown to resemble Beaver, but it is also found in many other colors. (from Wikipedia)
Back in the 1950s, mouton coats were the "in" thing. I hadn't thought about mine for several years, but it came up in a group I was scrapbooking with last week, and some of the younger ladies had never heard or it. So I had to tell them the story of the year I got my very own mouton. Here it is.
I was a junior in high school and our family was not well off, certainly not well enough off to afford all of the fads that went along with having a teenage daughter. Mother, a skilled seamstress, managed to keep me in current fashion with dresses (pants and jeans were not part of the dress code for girls in those days) by perusing the ready-to-wear and then copying their features. But a mouton coat was beyond even her considerable talents. I begged for a coat, and persuaded Mother that it could be my birthday (Dec. 18) as well as Christmas present, if I could just have my own mouton like all my friends did. After mulling it over, she agreed, and took me to shop for it in September so that I could be wearing it to the football games in the fall.
I cherished that coat--actually it was a jacket, but we used the term "coat" broadly. It was so warm, and the fur was so soft where it would brush against my face. And it was a beautiful charcoal grey color which went well with my blue eyes and strawberry blonde hair. It did have a tendency to trap the cigarette smoke at the skating rink--no Febreze in those days either, so it just had to air out--but I wore that coat everywhere I went.
Christmas Eve came, and Mom was wrapping presents. She came and got my coat out of my closet to wrap, since I had agreed it was to be my Christmas. I protested that it wasn't necessary for her to wrap it up, but she insisted and took the coat to her bedroom. Christmas morning I watched my brothers open their presents and ignored the coat box under the tree. Finally, Cecil and Milton had opened all of theirs and insisted that I open mine. I reluctantly tore the paper off, knowing that the coat was inside, and finding all of this rather anti-climactic, but when I lifted the lid, the coat was not inside. Mother had been getting little odds and ends -- clothing, a new Bible--and saving them until Christmas. The surprise for me as well as my brothers made everybody's day. They even confessed that they had been feeling a little sorry for me not having anything except my coat to open.
So this story becomes more about my mother than about a mouton coat, for I would have long ago forgotten about the coat had it not been for an inventive mom who was able to do so much with so little. Not only was my mouton the warmest coat I've ever had, it was infused with a mother's love and sacrifice.
Back in the 1950s, mouton coats were the "in" thing. I hadn't thought about mine for several years, but it came up in a group I was scrapbooking with last week, and some of the younger ladies had never heard or it. So I had to tell them the story of the year I got my very own mouton. Here it is.
I was a junior in high school and our family was not well off, certainly not well enough off to afford all of the fads that went along with having a teenage daughter. Mother, a skilled seamstress, managed to keep me in current fashion with dresses (pants and jeans were not part of the dress code for girls in those days) by perusing the ready-to-wear and then copying their features. But a mouton coat was beyond even her considerable talents. I begged for a coat, and persuaded Mother that it could be my birthday (Dec. 18) as well as Christmas present, if I could just have my own mouton like all my friends did. After mulling it over, she agreed, and took me to shop for it in September so that I could be wearing it to the football games in the fall.
I cherished that coat--actually it was a jacket, but we used the term "coat" broadly. It was so warm, and the fur was so soft where it would brush against my face. And it was a beautiful charcoal grey color which went well with my blue eyes and strawberry blonde hair. It did have a tendency to trap the cigarette smoke at the skating rink--no Febreze in those days either, so it just had to air out--but I wore that coat everywhere I went.
Christmas Eve came, and Mom was wrapping presents. She came and got my coat out of my closet to wrap, since I had agreed it was to be my Christmas. I protested that it wasn't necessary for her to wrap it up, but she insisted and took the coat to her bedroom. Christmas morning I watched my brothers open their presents and ignored the coat box under the tree. Finally, Cecil and Milton had opened all of theirs and insisted that I open mine. I reluctantly tore the paper off, knowing that the coat was inside, and finding all of this rather anti-climactic, but when I lifted the lid, the coat was not inside. Mother had been getting little odds and ends -- clothing, a new Bible--and saving them until Christmas. The surprise for me as well as my brothers made everybody's day. They even confessed that they had been feeling a little sorry for me not having anything except my coat to open.
So this story becomes more about my mother than about a mouton coat, for I would have long ago forgotten about the coat had it not been for an inventive mom who was able to do so much with so little. Not only was my mouton the warmest coat I've ever had, it was infused with a mother's love and sacrifice.
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
Green Bean Casserole
Since the left hand side of the recipe got chopped off, here it is again:
2-3 cans French cut green beans (drained)
1/2 stick butter or margarine
1/4 cup chopped onion
1 can cream of mushroom soup
1/2 roll Kraft garlic cheese
1 can Durkees french fried onion rings
Melt butter and saute onion until translucent. Add soup and garlic cheese, and heat until cheese is melted and blended. Pour over green beans and bake at 350 for about 25 minutes or until hot and bubbly.
2-3 cans French cut green beans (drained)
1/2 stick butter or margarine
1/4 cup chopped onion
1 can cream of mushroom soup
1/2 roll Kraft garlic cheese
1 can Durkees french fried onion rings
Melt butter and saute onion until translucent. Add soup and garlic cheese, and heat until cheese is melted and blended. Pour over green beans and bake at 350 for about 25 minutes or until hot and bubbly.
Comfort Food
Comfort Food
I don’t recall seeing my mother use very many recipes. Most of the foods she cooked (read: fried) were those she had learned to cook in her mother’s kitchen. She cooked to please my dad and, since both of them had been raised on Missouri farms, food was simple and hearty. When I became a wife and mistress of my own kitchen, I began to experiment and collect recipes. My Better Homes and Gardens cookbook, a wedding present from co-workers, was my go-to for everyday things, and as I used it, I learned how to time meat cooking and vegetable cooking so that one thing wasn’t sitting and getting cold while others were still tough or raw.
Over the years I gleaned recipes from magazines, newspapers, and, most of all, from friends. A holiday staple in the family I formed was my friend Pettey’s Green Bean Casserole. Casseroles made with green beans and mushroom soup and canned fried onion rings are ubiquitous, but I happened to get mine from Pettey and it became our classic holiday dish. Here is the recipe:
· 2-3 cans French cut green beans, drained
· ½ stick butter or margarine
· ¼ cup finely chopped onion
· 1 can mushroom soup
· 1/2 roll Kraft garlic cheese
· 1 can Durkees French Fried Onion Rings
Melt butter and sauté onion until translucent; add soup and cheese and stir until cheese is melted and blended. Pour soup mixture over green beans and sprinkle liberally with onion rings. Bake in 350 oven for about 25 minutes or until mixture is bubbly.
When my daughter moved to Alaska in 1994, she and a group of friends started having Thanksgiving together. Her contribution was Green Bean Casserole. For several years I could expect a call on Wednesday before turkey day with a request for the recipe. I suggested that she might try writing it down and saving it, but secretly I enjoyed sharing that time with her and was glad that she had that memory of holidays at home and wanted to keep the tradition. She couldn’t find Kraft Garlic Cheese Roll in Alaska, so she learned to substitute Cheez Whiz with a dash of garlic powder and achieved the same result. After she met and married, and her other friends were married and all of them were having children, she was still counted on for the Green Bean Casserole. She rarely ever had any to take home, so she would make a second casserole for them to enjoy over the days following Thanksgiving.
When granddaughter #2 was born a week before Thanksgiving in 2004, I was there and was drafted to make the casserole for the neighborhood potluck. It had been several years since I had made it, so she had to remind ME how to do it. And it was just as good as I remembered.
I wonder what recipe her daughters will be calling her to get in years to come.
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
What am I thinking??
How can I imagine that anybody cares about what I have to say? Perhaps they don't and I will be the only one to ever read Piece of Mind. However, this seems to be the thing to do lately, and I like to stay up-to-date, so here goes.....
We had a tornado last week. It wiped out most of the dormitory space at the college where I teach, and narrowly missed my neighborhood. It did not leave us totally unscathed, but at least my neighbors and I are all in our own houses, albeit with some roof damage, a lot of tree damage, and loss of some outbuildings. I know I'm tempting fate, but I can't help but think that if just enough of my 35 year old handyman's delight had been damaged, I might not have to worry about selling out before I move to Texas this summer. But my house was spared, and I am really thanking God that my cat and I still have a home and that I don't have to deal with sorting through my things to see what can be salvaged and grieving over my albums and other things that might have been lost.
I saw what the storm did to the student residences when I worked on campus Sunday afternoon to bag up and label the salvageable belongings of students. I found myself wondering how the students felt about this or that belonging, and bagging things with an eye to how relieved the girl would be when she opened the bag to find her personal things saved. More importantly, I found myself marveling that no lives were lost in the destruction I witnessed. Whole walls were blown out, and bedding and furniture were lying on the ground outside the dorm. I saw futon mattresses and comforters and furniture turned over in an effort to provide shelter for the girls huddled in the room during the storm. I empathized with the parents whose terrified children were texting and calling from the rubble.
Selling my house doesn't seem quite so daunting when I put it all into perspective.
We had a tornado last week. It wiped out most of the dormitory space at the college where I teach, and narrowly missed my neighborhood. It did not leave us totally unscathed, but at least my neighbors and I are all in our own houses, albeit with some roof damage, a lot of tree damage, and loss of some outbuildings. I know I'm tempting fate, but I can't help but think that if just enough of my 35 year old handyman's delight had been damaged, I might not have to worry about selling out before I move to Texas this summer. But my house was spared, and I am really thanking God that my cat and I still have a home and that I don't have to deal with sorting through my things to see what can be salvaged and grieving over my albums and other things that might have been lost.
I saw what the storm did to the student residences when I worked on campus Sunday afternoon to bag up and label the salvageable belongings of students. I found myself wondering how the students felt about this or that belonging, and bagging things with an eye to how relieved the girl would be when she opened the bag to find her personal things saved. More importantly, I found myself marveling that no lives were lost in the destruction I witnessed. Whole walls were blown out, and bedding and furniture were lying on the ground outside the dorm. I saw futon mattresses and comforters and furniture turned over in an effort to provide shelter for the girls huddled in the room during the storm. I empathized with the parents whose terrified children were texting and calling from the rubble.
Selling my house doesn't seem quite so daunting when I put it all into perspective.
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