When I experience things that matter, I am wanting to share it with the world. Like yesterday when our pastor baptized an infant, took it out of its father's arms, called it "Sweetheart" and faced the congregation to show her to her new family; the saints who would love her and pray for her and watch her grow into adulthood. She fell asleep in her father's arms and with the oil and water was anointed a child of God with a family so numerous it was impossible to count.
It was all a miracle, a rebirth, and one that will stay with me forever; as will the sermon. Our pastor is a gift from God.
The past week or more I have had a huge and somber responsibility. A loved one has come to me for a listener and advice and encouragement. Every word must be prayed over and weighed before spoken. One cannot dash hope, one cannot discourage second thoughts, one cannot be anything other than supportive. Then pray like crazy that one has said the right word of encouragement, with the correct amount of faith in, and expecting of the best of all decisions made. An example here or there, acknowledgement of life's difficulties; and always the faith in people's motivation.
This beloved person is amazing. I believe the Holy Spirit moves in people's hearts and minds in mysterious and wonderful ways if we are inclined to listen and recognize when God works in our lives in sacramental ways so mysterious to us.
Everyone deserves that chance to reorder life in a way to be able to move forward with love and hope.
Sunday, October 29, 2006
Saturday, October 21, 2006
Black Hills Ghost Stories
I don't particularly like Halloween. Even when I was an enthusiastic teen, tipping toilets throughout the ranch country around my home town wasn't to my liking. I was more the bobbing for apples in a dimly lit basement sort of girl.
The toilet thing always bothered me as my dad had such a terrible time keeping ours upright. He finally got so sick of the yearly ordeal that he dug four deep post holes on each corner of it, put in sturdy wooden posts and wired the structure to each of them. I was in highschool and it was the talk of the town to my chagrin. He put an end to the November 1st ordeal. A cousin bought the property and not very many years ago, I noticed that the outhouse was still standing.
In this morning's Rapid City Journal Online, Heidi Bell Grease writes about Black Hills Hauntings. I took a class called Ghost Towns and Gold Mines of the Northern Hills and our instructor told us the story of Red Water Hill. Bell Grease writes "...Another story goes that on the second floor of the Bodega, also a former brothel, a prostitute was killed by a customer. Some say they’ve heard her decapitated head rolling down the stairs from the second floor."
He Who Must Be Obeyed and I had an interesting occurrence in the mid '60's while we were living in Nemo, which is about halfway between Rapid City and Deadwood.
We had gone into Deadwood to pick up groceries one evening and stopped in to the Bodega on our way home. We were the only people there. It was beginning to snow and we weren't going to be there very long. The barmaid, an elderly woman, was talkative and friendly. She felt very sorry for the old pimp who lived upstairs as he was old, ill and lonely. I didn't know at the time that prostitution was still going strong until 1982 when the city fathers finally shut the trade down.
After she reminisced about old times for a little while, she asked us if we would like to look at the tunnel in the basement. She locked the door, led us down the brick stairway into the basement. Apparently all the businesses on that side of the street were connected by a brick tunnel with an arched roof from building to building. She said some businesses had cemented the thoroughfare to prevent theft as the access to one another's buildings were so free. Actually the reason for the tunnel was to provide access to the Chinese opium dens in days of old.
The toilet thing always bothered me as my dad had such a terrible time keeping ours upright. He finally got so sick of the yearly ordeal that he dug four deep post holes on each corner of it, put in sturdy wooden posts and wired the structure to each of them. I was in highschool and it was the talk of the town to my chagrin. He put an end to the November 1st ordeal. A cousin bought the property and not very many years ago, I noticed that the outhouse was still standing.
In this morning's Rapid City Journal Online, Heidi Bell Grease writes about Black Hills Hauntings. I took a class called Ghost Towns and Gold Mines of the Northern Hills and our instructor told us the story of Red Water Hill. Bell Grease writes "...Another story goes that on the second floor of the Bodega, also a former brothel, a prostitute was killed by a customer. Some say they’ve heard her decapitated head rolling down the stairs from the second floor."
He Who Must Be Obeyed and I had an interesting occurrence in the mid '60's while we were living in Nemo, which is about halfway between Rapid City and Deadwood.
We had gone into Deadwood to pick up groceries one evening and stopped in to the Bodega on our way home. We were the only people there. It was beginning to snow and we weren't going to be there very long. The barmaid, an elderly woman, was talkative and friendly. She felt very sorry for the old pimp who lived upstairs as he was old, ill and lonely. I didn't know at the time that prostitution was still going strong until 1982 when the city fathers finally shut the trade down.
After she reminisced about old times for a little while, she asked us if we would like to look at the tunnel in the basement. She locked the door, led us down the brick stairway into the basement. Apparently all the businesses on that side of the street were connected by a brick tunnel with an arched roof from building to building. She said some businesses had cemented the thoroughfare to prevent theft as the access to one another's buildings were so free. Actually the reason for the tunnel was to provide access to the Chinese opium dens in days of old.
Thursday, October 19, 2006
Sitting by Men on Planes
It feels like years since I have been here. C died and went to heaven. He Who Must Be Obeyed had a cobalt-chromium ball put into a shoulder joint right at the time of the funeral. When he was in the hospital I became so sick I didn't go see him until I picked him up at the door, he in a wheel chair me in my Wrangler. The specific gravity of cobalt is 8.9 and chromium is 7.19. I thought his left shoulder might feel a little heavier but he says not.
I was pleased to be in charge for a week or so. Now, I will be glad for the help, especially because the ice maker is leaking water again, another case of built in uselessness. We have had it fixed once or twice already and the frig isn't that old.
Yesterday I took him to his talented surgeon to take the stitches out. My sore throat has turned into a pain between my shoulder blades. We were both ready to throw in the towel until I made meatloaf and baked potatoes for lunch. Life is like lunch, sometimes it is leftovers and sometimes it is meatloaf.
I have coughed into my pillow night and day and wondered what I should write about. I thought about the nasty situation with the FCC and the communication giants wanting to hog up all of the air in the country. That is dangerous and makes me mad. My only hope is that our Omaha World Herald, still employee owned, will retain its integrity. I once taught with a journalism teacher who felt the OWH was very biased and leaned to the right. The Powell kid really dropped the ball and disappointed me with letting the FCC get so out of control. I think it is about fairness to the citizens not capitalism when it comes to information. Obscenity is a whole other matter.
My nightly local radio station, KFAB, is in hot water and owned by Clear Channel; but still has enough local programming to get its nose in a wringer by one outspoken afternoon personality. He aired a parody about our northside violence, angered some outspoken people, was asked by the city council to apologize; and then wrote a parody about the council. So it goes.
I do care about what is happening to the information highway. I like being able to email, google, blog, and snoop into everything that is and is not my business. I don't want it to change. I don't want a gatekeeper shutting me out of the traffic.
I was going to write about sitting by men on planes. Next time, I will.
I was pleased to be in charge for a week or so. Now, I will be glad for the help, especially because the ice maker is leaking water again, another case of built in uselessness. We have had it fixed once or twice already and the frig isn't that old.
Yesterday I took him to his talented surgeon to take the stitches out. My sore throat has turned into a pain between my shoulder blades. We were both ready to throw in the towel until I made meatloaf and baked potatoes for lunch. Life is like lunch, sometimes it is leftovers and sometimes it is meatloaf.
I have coughed into my pillow night and day and wondered what I should write about. I thought about the nasty situation with the FCC and the communication giants wanting to hog up all of the air in the country. That is dangerous and makes me mad. My only hope is that our Omaha World Herald, still employee owned, will retain its integrity. I once taught with a journalism teacher who felt the OWH was very biased and leaned to the right. The Powell kid really dropped the ball and disappointed me with letting the FCC get so out of control. I think it is about fairness to the citizens not capitalism when it comes to information. Obscenity is a whole other matter.
My nightly local radio station, KFAB, is in hot water and owned by Clear Channel; but still has enough local programming to get its nose in a wringer by one outspoken afternoon personality. He aired a parody about our northside violence, angered some outspoken people, was asked by the city council to apologize; and then wrote a parody about the council. So it goes.
I do care about what is happening to the information highway. I like being able to email, google, blog, and snoop into everything that is and is not my business. I don't want it to change. I don't want a gatekeeper shutting me out of the traffic.
I was going to write about sitting by men on planes. Next time, I will.
Thursday, October 05, 2006
When a Friend Dies
The following is from the Henri Nouwen Daily Meditation of August 29th, 2006.
As I read his series on death, I thought of my long time friend, schoolmate, cousin by marriage, and later traveling companion. She was ill and we spoke of her coming death over the phone and in person many times. I am grateful for the opportunity we took to say our mortal goodbyes when we were together the last time over the Labor Day weekend.
She explained to me how she no longer felt "at home" in her beautiful Black Hills condo. She said that over the last days she was less and less attached to the beautiful things around her. The Norwegian things that she loved and books she loved. She was in the process of giving them away to friends, relatives, the church, charity.
I was given items she had treasured over the years. Pillowcases my own mother had embroidered for her wedding to my cousin, a wooden spoon from Finland my mother had given her 25 years ago, books about growing up Lutheran, Finnish and Norwegian books.
Another friend was there when she was stripping the walls. She sent a framed Norwegian print, "The Boy With the Silver Flute," to be given to me. After we spent a month in Norway together, I ordered the print for her from a remote art gallery in Norway.
It was the stripping of Good Friday. She died, and we are celebrating Easter Sunday once more. My friend lives and is re-membered and loved.
The Companionship of the Dead from Henri Nouwen
As we grow older we have more and more people to remember, people who have died before us. It is very important to remember those who have loved us and those we have loved. Remembering them means letting their spirits inspire us in our daily lives. They can become part of our spiritual communities and gently help us as we make decisions on our journeys. Parents, spouses, children, and friends can become true spiritual companions after they have died. Sometimes they can become even more intimate to us after death than when they were with us in life.
Remembering the dead is choosing their ongoing companionship.
As I read his series on death, I thought of my long time friend, schoolmate, cousin by marriage, and later traveling companion. She was ill and we spoke of her coming death over the phone and in person many times. I am grateful for the opportunity we took to say our mortal goodbyes when we were together the last time over the Labor Day weekend.
She explained to me how she no longer felt "at home" in her beautiful Black Hills condo. She said that over the last days she was less and less attached to the beautiful things around her. The Norwegian things that she loved and books she loved. She was in the process of giving them away to friends, relatives, the church, charity.
I was given items she had treasured over the years. Pillowcases my own mother had embroidered for her wedding to my cousin, a wooden spoon from Finland my mother had given her 25 years ago, books about growing up Lutheran, Finnish and Norwegian books.
Another friend was there when she was stripping the walls. She sent a framed Norwegian print, "The Boy With the Silver Flute," to be given to me. After we spent a month in Norway together, I ordered the print for her from a remote art gallery in Norway.
It was the stripping of Good Friday. She died, and we are celebrating Easter Sunday once more. My friend lives and is re-membered and loved.
The Companionship of the Dead from Henri Nouwen
As we grow older we have more and more people to remember, people who have died before us. It is very important to remember those who have loved us and those we have loved. Remembering them means letting their spirits inspire us in our daily lives. They can become part of our spiritual communities and gently help us as we make decisions on our journeys. Parents, spouses, children, and friends can become true spiritual companions after they have died. Sometimes they can become even more intimate to us after death than when they were with us in life.
Remembering the dead is choosing their ongoing companionship.
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