Two of my close friends from high school have grandsons returning home from Iraq. Today the community had a welcoming parade for them through Belle Fourche, Spearfish, and Sturgis of the Northern Black Hills. These young men and women have been deployed for 474 days. I know my two friends and their families were somewhere along the parade route. One young man spent his time at the Baghdad airport as a mechanic and the other was at Fallujah finding and exploding land mines. We are all thankful they are coming home in one piece. They have returned just in time to hear the politicians and movie makers castigate their Commander in Chief.
Wednesday, July 28, 2004
Home Alone
We are home alone. It could get as dangerous as it was for the kid left behind in the movie.
He Who Must Be Obeyed has been up on the roof with a compressor driven tar gun squirting tar under the cedar shakes. He found the leak after running a hose on the roof for an entire day. My job is to adjust the air pressure as the gun empties. A few years ago he came down from a ladder and was in a wheel chair for four months after hitting the concrete driveway. Old men should stay off of ladders. Old women should mind their own business. But life isn't perfect and neither are we.
I heard a former high school student of mine on the noon news. He is now the Director of the Strategic Air and Space Museum between Omaha and Lincoln, NE. The Tuskegee Airmen are having a reunion there this weekend. I always love to hear this young man speak about the events at the SASM as he is very articulate and very handsome as well. Teachers love it when former students go on to make this world a better place. This fellow is also the current President of the School Board. It would be a good place to start a political career, in my estimation.
His younger brother took my courses also and a few years after he graduated, their mother asked me if I would mind if she took TV Production I and II. I certainly didn't mind so she joined one of my production crews for a year. It was great for me to have an adult in my classes. I enjoyed it. The high school students seemed agreeable to it but they grumped a little when she didnt' join them for the quizzes and tests. She did complete all the assignments. The younger brother went on to Princeton Divinity School and thier mother is teaching at the University of Nebraska at Omaha. An honorable family. I am blessed to have been a small part of their lives.
He Who Must Be Obeyed has been up on the roof with a compressor driven tar gun squirting tar under the cedar shakes. He found the leak after running a hose on the roof for an entire day. My job is to adjust the air pressure as the gun empties. A few years ago he came down from a ladder and was in a wheel chair for four months after hitting the concrete driveway. Old men should stay off of ladders. Old women should mind their own business. But life isn't perfect and neither are we.
I heard a former high school student of mine on the noon news. He is now the Director of the Strategic Air and Space Museum between Omaha and Lincoln, NE. The Tuskegee Airmen are having a reunion there this weekend. I always love to hear this young man speak about the events at the SASM as he is very articulate and very handsome as well. Teachers love it when former students go on to make this world a better place. This fellow is also the current President of the School Board. It would be a good place to start a political career, in my estimation.
His younger brother took my courses also and a few years after he graduated, their mother asked me if I would mind if she took TV Production I and II. I certainly didn't mind so she joined one of my production crews for a year. It was great for me to have an adult in my classes. I enjoyed it. The high school students seemed agreeable to it but they grumped a little when she didnt' join them for the quizzes and tests. She did complete all the assignments. The younger brother went on to Princeton Divinity School and thier mother is teaching at the University of Nebraska at Omaha. An honorable family. I am blessed to have been a small part of their lives.
Wednesday, July 21, 2004
Amazing Hands
I have always been aware of, and intrigued by hands. So much so, that I have been accused of being a witch. First by my mother's beautiful, capable hands with the tapered fingers and perfect nails which were a startling contrast to the down to earth, edge of poverty, life she lived starting in 1912. She never let her hands lie idle. I think about home made bread when I think of her hands.
My dad's hands were the hands of the blacksmith. It was amazing how deftly he used them to paint his western scenes, detailing the smallest thing in the foreground. I am pleased that I inherited his no nonsense, square hand. The hands that contribute well to society, the hand of philosophers, artists, painters, men of letters. The hand of the person more keen on fame and recognition than wealth. The last sentence sounds like a negative thing to me; I never thought my dad was keen on anything but blacksmithing and painting.
I love my husband's hands. He was an engineering student, finishing concrete when I met him. I thought it was his soft mouth kissing that attracted me to him but it was his hands. They were those square hands that matched my own. His roughened by hard work in contrast to mine. I still love his hands though they are softer now after 27 years in an office and 10 years of retirement. They are still as capable as ever and very strong which is an added benefit to life.
I once made a live action short film on hands. The first hands in the movie were those of a five day old baby and progressed to the hands of an old man playing the yellowed keys of an old piano. The people whose hands I filmed were loveable people. That was over 30 years ago and I recall each one with tenderness. My husband's hands were in the film filling out income tax forms. Hands do a multitude of things. Even in America, then and now.
Today I got an email from a young friend in the Peace Corps in Thylla, "a typical thatched hut village" in Senagal, Africa. She writes of hands. It is a beautiful, poignant letter. "My hands and feet are ...callousing, darkening. My feet cracking at the heel..." "Hands and feet are survival tools, modes of transportation, complex machines." "Laundry is tediously scrubbed, article by article with the hands, the peanuts we plant were shelled by hand, knock by knock. Soil is tilled and prepared by hand and beast. Loose fingers strain and separate food, cluthch hot pans as though somehow magically insulated. Protection is a curious notion. No cutting borads, no rubber gloves, not much soap. The women cook by feel, by the handful. Salt and spices are thrown into the mix. palms are licked clean. Hands are exposed, vulnerable to the rough environment. That is life here."
I thank and love her for reminding me.
My dad's hands were the hands of the blacksmith. It was amazing how deftly he used them to paint his western scenes, detailing the smallest thing in the foreground. I am pleased that I inherited his no nonsense, square hand. The hands that contribute well to society, the hand of philosophers, artists, painters, men of letters. The hand of the person more keen on fame and recognition than wealth. The last sentence sounds like a negative thing to me; I never thought my dad was keen on anything but blacksmithing and painting.
I love my husband's hands. He was an engineering student, finishing concrete when I met him. I thought it was his soft mouth kissing that attracted me to him but it was his hands. They were those square hands that matched my own. His roughened by hard work in contrast to mine. I still love his hands though they are softer now after 27 years in an office and 10 years of retirement. They are still as capable as ever and very strong which is an added benefit to life.
I once made a live action short film on hands. The first hands in the movie were those of a five day old baby and progressed to the hands of an old man playing the yellowed keys of an old piano. The people whose hands I filmed were loveable people. That was over 30 years ago and I recall each one with tenderness. My husband's hands were in the film filling out income tax forms. Hands do a multitude of things. Even in America, then and now.
Today I got an email from a young friend in the Peace Corps in Thylla, "a typical thatched hut village" in Senagal, Africa. She writes of hands. It is a beautiful, poignant letter. "My hands and feet are ...callousing, darkening. My feet cracking at the heel..." "Hands and feet are survival tools, modes of transportation, complex machines." "Laundry is tediously scrubbed, article by article with the hands, the peanuts we plant were shelled by hand, knock by knock. Soil is tilled and prepared by hand and beast. Loose fingers strain and separate food, cluthch hot pans as though somehow magically insulated. Protection is a curious notion. No cutting borads, no rubber gloves, not much soap. The women cook by feel, by the handful. Salt and spices are thrown into the mix. palms are licked clean. Hands are exposed, vulnerable to the rough environment. That is life here."
I thank and love her for reminding me.
Tuesday, July 20, 2004
Mind Filler
The call came from my church office. It appears some folks haven't paid for their donated altar flowers, bless their souls. Shall we go to the senior pastor? Not yet, we decided. I am on the Altar Guild and as such agreed to be the telephone liason between the people signing the flower chart for the year, the florist we contract with, and the church secretary who writes up the little note of the giver and the occasion of the gift or "for the glory of God." Now how glorious can unpaid flowers be when the church gets the bill?
I can't think of that right yet. In two weeks we will be giving flowers with thanks to God for 50 years of marriage without either murdering one another, running off with the first better thing, or divorce. But I won't have all that in the bulliten or flashed on the big screen on either side of the altar. The screens overpower the altar and the entire chancel. I don't know if that is symbolic or not.
My mind at the moment is all filled up with the sexuality study and after being married for so long it is much easier to say those words in it than it would have been when I was younger and thought sex was a private affair. I guess affair isn't quite the correct word. It was private. Everything about it was private.
My mind isn't completely filled up with that. I have been to a granddaughter's wedding reception and met a lot of folks I never knew, saw some I did know, and enjoyed the whole thing a lot. I have some photos to prove I was there and how young everyone looked, or not.
More mind filler is the fact that I have a lot of books piling up and not getting finished. If I didn't ever turn on a television set at night, I would be better off in more ways than I care to list.
At the moment we have five of my favorite houseguests with us. I swam with my 10 year old grandson this morning right after I looked in the mirror and discovered my face was red and swollen from the steroids I am taking. They are pills this time and not the epidural. But I think they are going to work and I am pretty much pain free. We had three races across the pool and tied two of them and I beat him the third time. You can believe that made me feel good. I probably shouldn't have tried so hard to beat him. I told him to brush up on his breast stroke and we would try it another day.
Our oldest son, his wife and three of their five are here from north of Seattle. We share them with the other grandparents. It is the best time of the year for us. We look forward to their time with us and remark to one another after they leave what fun we had with them. One turns 13 tomorrow and one turns 16 on Friday. I think we should have two birthday parties.
The heat index was 110 today. I love hot weather when the AC runs and the pool is warm. Grilled rib eye and corn on the cob make for a wonderful Nebraska summer meal. Swimming this evening in an 88 degree pool in 90 degree weather is an unbeatable combination for this old woman on steroids. I wonder if that had anything to do with my beating the swimming races this morning? Hmmmm.
I can't think of that right yet. In two weeks we will be giving flowers with thanks to God for 50 years of marriage without either murdering one another, running off with the first better thing, or divorce. But I won't have all that in the bulliten or flashed on the big screen on either side of the altar. The screens overpower the altar and the entire chancel. I don't know if that is symbolic or not.
My mind at the moment is all filled up with the sexuality study and after being married for so long it is much easier to say those words in it than it would have been when I was younger and thought sex was a private affair. I guess affair isn't quite the correct word. It was private. Everything about it was private.
My mind isn't completely filled up with that. I have been to a granddaughter's wedding reception and met a lot of folks I never knew, saw some I did know, and enjoyed the whole thing a lot. I have some photos to prove I was there and how young everyone looked, or not.
More mind filler is the fact that I have a lot of books piling up and not getting finished. If I didn't ever turn on a television set at night, I would be better off in more ways than I care to list.
At the moment we have five of my favorite houseguests with us. I swam with my 10 year old grandson this morning right after I looked in the mirror and discovered my face was red and swollen from the steroids I am taking. They are pills this time and not the epidural. But I think they are going to work and I am pretty much pain free. We had three races across the pool and tied two of them and I beat him the third time. You can believe that made me feel good. I probably shouldn't have tried so hard to beat him. I told him to brush up on his breast stroke and we would try it another day.
Our oldest son, his wife and three of their five are here from north of Seattle. We share them with the other grandparents. It is the best time of the year for us. We look forward to their time with us and remark to one another after they leave what fun we had with them. One turns 13 tomorrow and one turns 16 on Friday. I think we should have two birthday parties.
The heat index was 110 today. I love hot weather when the AC runs and the pool is warm. Grilled rib eye and corn on the cob make for a wonderful Nebraska summer meal. Swimming this evening in an 88 degree pool in 90 degree weather is an unbeatable combination for this old woman on steroids. I wonder if that had anything to do with my beating the swimming races this morning? Hmmmm.
Tuesday, July 13, 2004
Uuuggghhh.
I am certainly hoping Blogspot doesn't murder its blogs. I am just getting the hang of this while other bloggers have run out of something to say. I can't imagine that. If one took the number of words in an English dictionary and started combining varous sentences using the infinite variy of ways one could do that, a person could go on till Kingdom Come.
Which reminds me of the Borg book. For lots of folks the Kingdom has come and for lots of others it will happen at death, or maybe not.
The sexuality study discussion was a little less heated last night than in the past. Maybe it was the heat and humidity having its affect on everyone there. Maybe there are too many "either/or" issues or "never could be" situations. Some congregations are already getting ready to bail out if anything changes from the status quo. The Synodical Guide is helpful in some instances, as is the Bible, and in other instances both are as clear as mud. I say that, lacking the gift of discernment.
Which reminds me of the Borg book. For lots of folks the Kingdom has come and for lots of others it will happen at death, or maybe not.
The sexuality study discussion was a little less heated last night than in the past. Maybe it was the heat and humidity having its affect on everyone there. Maybe there are too many "either/or" issues or "never could be" situations. Some congregations are already getting ready to bail out if anything changes from the status quo. The Synodical Guide is helpful in some instances, as is the Bible, and in other instances both are as clear as mud. I say that, lacking the gift of discernment.
Sunday, July 11, 2004
Oh, how I want to blog but this stool is so uncomfortable!
Sundays have a way of turning on me. This morning I had good intentions of going to church which fizzled out in a matter of minutes. He Who Must Be Obeyed was off renting a Rug Doctor and was going to fix the spots from the last flood "no matter what."
During the course of the morning the entire house got a going over by Mr. Rug Doctor. He did a great job. I tried to vacume ahead of him and move small things, but I could see that was getting out of hand. I went outside for a Sabbath Swim, thanking God I didn't have what it took to help.
It is muggy as a sauna outside and icy cold inside, with the AC running full blast. I think the best thing for me to do is get under a blanket and read.
Yes, I still want to talk about reunions. But I need to read about sex for the ELCA study tomorrow night and I want to finish the Borg book and a person can only do so many things perched on a stool.
During the course of the morning the entire house got a going over by Mr. Rug Doctor. He did a great job. I tried to vacume ahead of him and move small things, but I could see that was getting out of hand. I went outside for a Sabbath Swim, thanking God I didn't have what it took to help.
It is muggy as a sauna outside and icy cold inside, with the AC running full blast. I think the best thing for me to do is get under a blanket and read.
Yes, I still want to talk about reunions. But I need to read about sex for the ELCA study tomorrow night and I want to finish the Borg book and a person can only do so many things perched on a stool.
Thursday, July 08, 2004
Reunions
Reunions of the family sort and the school kind are as close to heaven as it gets, I think. Being of Finnish decent on all sides, my parents were a little dismayed when I married a Norwegian. But coming from such a scarcely populated area in the High Plains of northwestern South Dakota, the only Finnish boys I knew were cousins. I had to seek a mate farther south, in the Black Hills. His school was our competition in sports and I met him at a basketball tournament dance. He was a good dancer and a soft mouthed kisser. I was impressed and still am, but I digress.
Things are always better than I expect them to be. Before we left for the Black Hills, we spent a little time at the Omaha Downtown Art Fair. I enjoyed a little visit with a blacksmith from Grand Island, NE. He probably thought I was lying when I told him my dad spent some time teaching me to weld. I never got to the smithing part using the old bellows forge and the anvil but I was interested. Smithing is an art being revived today. I have found classes for women that sound interesting. Maybe I should start lifting weights. This is not exactly a craft for wimpy women. When my dad was teaching me, I suppose I was at 5'2" and about 110.
I digress more...there on the street at the art fair was my favorite music group, BRULE', from Worthington, Minnesota and the Lower Brule Indian Reservation of South Dakota. This family group, Paul LaRoche, his son and daughter, and a Cherokee drummer are incredible. He was chosen as musical ambassador and speaker for the 2000 UN Peace Conference held in the Hague Center for Peace, has won awards including 2003 "Best Instrumental Recording" at the Native American Music Academy for "Night Tree," with his daughter Nicole on flute with BRULE'. If you like soft spoken people, music that stirs your soul and transports you to the stars, go to a concert and buy a CD from either his wife or his sister. The experience is one of those thin places, that Marcus Borg talks about. Thin enough to allow the Spirit of God to move you. It is a bit startling to hear a soft spoken Lakota with a Norwegian Minnesota accent, startling but good. It is another thin place.
I have digressed so much I can't recover. Reunions will come another day. Google distracts me and my neighbor came to visit. I like her so much even if she goads me over politics. John-John, my eye. Then there is Jazz on the Green at Joslyn Art Museum and I 'can' go if I can make potato salad before then. I just hate "if so then there" bargains. A quick bottle of wine would suffice for me.
Things are always better than I expect them to be. Before we left for the Black Hills, we spent a little time at the Omaha Downtown Art Fair. I enjoyed a little visit with a blacksmith from Grand Island, NE. He probably thought I was lying when I told him my dad spent some time teaching me to weld. I never got to the smithing part using the old bellows forge and the anvil but I was interested. Smithing is an art being revived today. I have found classes for women that sound interesting. Maybe I should start lifting weights. This is not exactly a craft for wimpy women. When my dad was teaching me, I suppose I was at 5'2" and about 110.
I digress more...there on the street at the art fair was my favorite music group, BRULE', from Worthington, Minnesota and the Lower Brule Indian Reservation of South Dakota. This family group, Paul LaRoche, his son and daughter, and a Cherokee drummer are incredible. He was chosen as musical ambassador and speaker for the 2000 UN Peace Conference held in the Hague Center for Peace, has won awards including 2003 "Best Instrumental Recording" at the Native American Music Academy for "Night Tree," with his daughter Nicole on flute with BRULE'. If you like soft spoken people, music that stirs your soul and transports you to the stars, go to a concert and buy a CD from either his wife or his sister. The experience is one of those thin places, that Marcus Borg talks about. Thin enough to allow the Spirit of God to move you. It is a bit startling to hear a soft spoken Lakota with a Norwegian Minnesota accent, startling but good. It is another thin place.
I have digressed so much I can't recover. Reunions will come another day. Google distracts me and my neighbor came to visit. I like her so much even if she goads me over politics. John-John, my eye. Then there is Jazz on the Green at Joslyn Art Museum and I 'can' go if I can make potato salad before then. I just hate "if so then there" bargains. A quick bottle of wine would suffice for me.
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