Passionate Spirituality

The term 'passionate spirituality' intrigues me. I am on a new committee at church dealing with this aspect of our personal and congregational lives. Googling the term in quotes brings up 965 hits, a great many in reference to blogs. We are using Natural Church Development as our guide: Effective ministry flows out of a passionate spirituality. "Spiritual intimacy leads to a strong conviction that God will act in powerful ways..."

We could use a little of that intimacy around here. I am glad I am on the committee. I know, I know, that probably sounds self-serving. I don't mean to be; it is just that I am so, so needy at the moment.

No, not needy as in needing stuff. I mean needy in wisdom to deal with our mentally ill daughter, needy in knowing how to talk to He Who Must Be Obeyed, needy in my compassion for those around me; I am so clueless about what I should be about, the meaning of life. Even at seventy, (oh, Lord, really seventy!) I am not ready to chuck it all. I could have 15 years to amount to something after all.

This lack of optimism at the moment is so senseless. Life is rich. My world is stunningly beautiful. I have hope for good tomorrows. I probably suffer from a lack of control. We do love control, don't we! Maybe it is simply meaning that we seek.

We both had appointments with our health provider a couple of days ago. Both of us have had a spike in our blood pressure, to the point that our medications need adjusting. Stress does that to a person, my nurse practioner told me. I thought difficult circumstances toughened a person instead of killing them. Four phone calls in two days; another 600 mile drive soon: the blood pressure isn't going down yet.

Deep breathing and a lot of prayer, some cursing between clenched teeth; I must not cave into this challenge. I feel a little histrionic myself at the moment. My epitaph looks different today than it would have in 1995 when I retired, or in 1975 when I started teaching, or in 1954 when I first got married, but then so do I. Everything changes, everything.

Remembering Names

My altar guild tasks were at the 11:00 service this morning, giving me some time to watch CBS Sunday Morning. During the commercials I drop down one channel to CSpan II's Book TV. First I get the good and bad according to CBS and then in little commercial length snippets I get the harangue from Colorado, the wishful phony Oglala called Churchill. I was going to remember his name with a little image of Winston peeking out of a cell still orating. His name is Ward Churchill, as in mental ward.

He equated the scene at Wounded Knee with the one at the Nazi concentration camps. He was quick to say that the numbers were not the same but the photos were similar. If you haven't seen the Sioux photos at Wall Drug or photographs at the Jim Gatchell Museum in Buffalo, Wyoming, you have an awesome display awaiting you. The Wounded Knee photographs taken by the Cavalry were horrific and I agree with him about that.

It would be nice if Churchill liked our country just a little. I realize I am like Pollyanna, wanting everything to be for good. Something in me does not like to listen to people rail on our nation's past and current errors. He does not look, nor sound, to me like a person that has a good handle on morality. Maybe he should be researching what is happening with Colorado's football recruiting and harp on that a while. I really find him irritating.

He had a litany of U.S. Cavalry slaughtering Indians in the West. He even mentioned the Battle of the Slim Buttes. My mind latched on to the Battle of the Crow Buttes which was between two Indian tribes. I could probably sharpen my listening skills.

Nonetheless my mental image to recall his name works.

http://www.top-blogs.com/cgi-bin/rankem.cgi?id=Willo

Still A Beginning Blogger

I can't figure out the things I want to do with this blog. I am not reading the instructions with any understanding. It is a foreign language. I want to run a list of my favorite bloggers on the side. I have only added one photo and that was just dumb luck, I still have no idea how it happened. It is probably good not to give up, but after nearly a year I get a little discouraged. The only thing I have learned for sure is how to string mindless sentences together and how to include a hyperlink.

Some of my favorite bloggers remain in my top ten list, even though they do not appear on my blog. Always at the top is the Salty Vicar, now on vacation. Real Live Preacher is perhaps next; there are an endless group of thoughtful and interesting people blogging with knowledge of life, philosophy, and the mechanics of making blogs do what they want them to.

People are writing books based on their blogs. A dead friend's grandson has a book out there called "Group Hug." It started as sort of a confessional blog. Real Live Preacher has published a book. Judging from his blog, it is undoubtedly worthwhile and well written. He has an article in The Christian Century called "Personal Space." The Salty Vicar has been queried about writing a book from a publishing company. Good blogs, like cream rise to the top.

Today a generous check came in the mail from a former Congregational pastor in my SD home town. He wants one of the "Axel Sacrison: Artist and Blacksmith" books. In the envelope was a photograph of another of the paintings that I did not know about. The amazing little connections to my parents and Buffalo, SD make life rewarding and good.

One of the three women named Willo from the area where I was born and schooled has died. She married a rancher. On that ranch a few years ago a dinosaur was found and named Willo, the dinosaur with a heart. Later, I think the heart turned out to be a rock, at any rate it was as hard as a rock. It was found in the Hell Creek formation.

Willo from Hell Creek, with a heard heart. Kind of like a song, don't you think? Now there is one less Willo. The name Willow is gaining popularity, probably from that odd movie a few years ago, and also from that pretty news anchor on that cable news network, Willow Bay.

If you are wondering what the below is all about, you are not alone. I can't get it where it belongs. I don't know whether to leave it alone or delete it.

Voices from the Heartland

Cordelia, who commented on my cold coffee, has a few links under what she calls "Voices From the Heartland." That is enticing for this displaced person from the short grass prairie. I found another high plains web site a few years ago. I was first enticed to the URL by the aurora borealis he photographed. If you are longing to look at some wonderful prairie flowers or pintail grouse photography, "Prairie Journal: Where the Prairie Comes Alive" is the place for you.

Sadly, on one blog search I found only 22 South Dakota bloggers. Wyoming, only nine, North Dakota, 19. Do you suppose those folks are so busy living life they don't have the time, nor inclination, to write about it. I wish my immigrant grandparents had blogged, or someone would have had the sense to save all of their letters. I know they wrote letters. When one arrived at our house we would circle up with relatives and someone would read them aloud. My mother was always the reader as she had a good strong voice.

I will always seek more voices from the heartland. Thank you Cordelia.

Pondering My Own Faith

Lutheran that I am, I too have lost a Pope in John Paul II. The inordinate beauty of the last days of the Pontiff, with the devotion of the pilgrims arriving in Rome, the holy sights at the Vatican, the Cistine Ceiling, the pageantry of the days leading up to the funeral, the liturgical reading and singing from Rome were a blessing after the hell of that ghastly political death in Florida.

I remember when he was selected, but not as keenly as a dear friend's son who trained for the Priesthood in the Vatican and was there during the very short Papacy prior to John Paul II. He was there for Karol Wojtyla's selection as well. Reading history is good, living it is the best of all.
What memories Father D. must have. I have my own vivid memories of Father D's ordination and found it a Holy occasion, with Cardinals from Rome, I believe.

My Catholic friends are in my thoughts this past week. Especially a dear friend, whose cousin was Bishop of the Wichita Diocese until he was moved to Arizona to take on a great challenge there. This dear man also trained for the priesthood at the Vatican and then went on to work there for a number of years in Canon Law. Such Holy work, and a Holy Calling.

So today, I go to beliefnet and take a couple of tests. The one called "Belief-O-Matic" says I am 100% Church of Latter Day Saints. I cannot imagine it. The other one is called "What's Your Spiritual Type?" Three more points and I might have been an introverted candidate for the clergy, strange as it may seem.
The results are as follows:

What's Your Spiritual Type?
You scored 87, on a scale of 25 to 100. Here's how to interpret your score:
25 - 29
Hardcore Skeptic -- but interested or you wouldn't be here!
30 - 39
Spiritual Dabbler -- Open to spiritual matters but far from impressed
40 - 49
Active Spiritual Seeker – Spiritual but turned off by organized religion
50 - 59
Spiritual Straddler – One foot in traditional religion, one foot in free-form spirituality
60 - 69
Old-fashioned Seeker -- Happy with my religion but searching for the right expression of it
70 - 79
Questioning Believer – You have doubts about the particulars but not the Big Stuff
80 - 89
Confident Believer – You have little doubt you’ve found the right path
90 - 100
Candidate for Clergy

Too Close to a Monkey

This morning Kevin Costner was going to be interviewed on Good Morning America. I was about to shower and get ready to go do some altar guild tasks. Not wanting to miss one minute of that interview, I probably took the fastest shower of my life, except for the time the snake was sliding around on the top of the shower doors.

It was a nice interview. His latest movie hits the theaters soon. He has gained 20 pounds either for the film or because of his recent marriage. Diane Sawyer interviewed him just prior to the wedding in Aspen. Some of that footage was replayed. Lucky for Sawyer, lucky for me. Looking at Kevin Costner is worth a quick shower.

Reflecting on my quick shower and the Duke University study of the 12 thirsty rhesus monkeys giving up cherry juice to look at pictures of the top monkey in the group and the males giving up a drink to look at the back ends of female monkeys, I thought I am not too far from that. I would give up cherry juice any time to watch a few minutes of a television interview with Costner.

What is the matter with us, or me, or those thirsty monkeys? It looks like we are hardwired this way. I suppose it is a good thing or both man and monkeys would have died out shortly after the first murder. The study went on to state that none of them gave up that nice cherry juice to look at the bottom of their social group. Please notice I did not say "bottoms." Kurt Anderson, Studio 360, probably got it from Nature magazine.

My coffee is Getting Cold...

If I had to write a title for my life, that would be it: My Coffee is Getting Cold.
If I wanted to write it as a short poem, it could start and end:

Take care!
Your coffee could get cold
While life goes on and you get old.

My mother had coffee and cinnamon toast on the table for my 14 year old girlfriends and me right after school. She thought it was high time we learned to drink coffee, boiled and black. The grounds went in when the water came to a boil and allowed on the burner just until the grounds turned over. It was immediately poured through a strainer and into the glass mugs beside the plates of cinnamon toast. We were all good to go another six hours and felt a little like we were getting by with something.

He Who Must Be Obeyed was dressed, packed, his coffee in a thermos, when I woke up on Easter Sunday morning. He drove out in a dark dawn at 5:45 and I stepped into the shower, getting ready for early church. I find myself alone again for the better part of a week. I boiled coffee this morning. It sits beside me now, steaming a little, while I chart out the days ahead of me, six of them at least.

With a spring warmth that will surely bring out the ferns, I will rake the remainder of the pear and grape leaves off of them before they emerge and green. We could use a rain. I will make fiddle head salad again when I can pick enough to make a difference in a salad. Eating them grounds me to my back yard. I feel the same way about the grapes and the pears. It is easy for me to understand the Mother Earth concept.

Today this conflicted mother prays, while she rakes, for a husband dealing with a bi-polar adult daughter, apparently in full blown mania; her out of control life needs a father to pick up the pieces, aright devastated finances, counsel her personal life of self-destruction, and meet with another group of State Social Service people. He will take her unwashed laundry of the past three weeks to the laundromat. His eight hour drive is purposeful, stressful, and hopefully will be consequential. I am in awe of the way he uncomplainingly does what needs to be done, knowing it all happens with predictable regularity.

The closing of the hospitals for the mentally ill has caused untold horror which results in the homeless, the hopeless, the destitute, and the despair of families trying to hold themselves together in spite of impossible odds of finding help. institutionalizing would be a place of safety, warmth, and care, compared to the mean streets of America. Was it the ACLU that closed all these hospitals? If so they should spend a month or two caring for just one of these people.

An Ungodly Holy Weeek

Say what?
What in heaven's name is going on?
What ever is the matter with people?
Do I hear small murmers in crowds that call
"Crucify Him! Crucify Him!"

I surf around hunting for some wise words.
The Salty Vicar is still "Getting Wax out of the Carpet.
The Real Live Preacher speaks of Middle School as Lord of the Flies
in yesterday's "Daughters, Daddies, and Broken Hearts.

I logged into ITAR TASS hoping for some better news. Fat chance of that.
"Most Imported Toys In Russia Dangerous for Children-specialists..."
Why would China export toys with high levels of formaldehyde, phenol, mercury and noise?

Headlines on Drudge are dreary.
"Sick Rehnquist to Shun Schiavo?"
"Silent Pope Appears at Window After Health Scare."
"Human Corpses used as Crash Test Dummies"
"Life is crashing down on the Res at Red Lake High, Home of the Ogichidaakwag"

It is enough to make a person swear off the news.

Norway takes off for Easter holidays
Record numbers of Norwegians have taken off on Easter holidays this week, a clear sign of the country's strong economy. Never before have so many flocked to the mountains for traditional skiing vacations, while the promise of spring was also luring Norwegians to the coast and southern climes.

Finally, a little good news if you want to kick going to church in the pants.

Buffalo Commons

Ted Turner has purchased more land in the Nebraska Sandhills. He is now the largest private landowner in Nebraska, with a reported 380,000 acres of bison ranches. He is also the largest private owner of bison in the country with about 37,000 head. What a deal. I wonder if he makes a good rancher neighbor?

In 1987 the Drs. Frank and Deborah Popper of Rutgers University proposed their controversial concept of Buffalo Commons. I was proud and amazed at a cousin for taking them on in person, in the newspapers and in a book he wrote called "Buffalo Commons Memoirs." As adamant as he was against their idea of turning a huge part of the midwest back into native land for Buffalo, he had a friendly relationship with them. Lawrence Brown, in his book says "While the Poppers may have played fast and loose with their original philosophy, it took a dedicated city media to convert it to a premeditated insult....we often refer to the neighbors down the road as 'regular folks' even though we are not always in complete agreement. I regard Frank and Deborah Popper as regular folks and number them among my friends."

Correspondence between Lawrence and the Poppers is included in his first chapter. Their letter of reply is in part: "Deborah and I appreciate the extensive attention you give our work, and we have no real problem with your treatment of it. We are glad that you realize that we now see the Buffalo Commons as forming naturally as a result of ongoing local and private activity rather than some federal 'condemnation' (a word I believe you use) of land or some other peremptory declaration." The letter goes on to say they only envision a quarter of the land area of the Plains.

Given help by Ted Turner this seems to be happening although, I do not read of the Poppers and Turner collaboration on the mission to move the local ranchers out of the picture in order to put the romanticized Buffalo on the range, it looks a little like Buffalo Commons is happening. Maybe it is a good thing Lawrence didn't live long enough to see the encroachment of Ted Turner on the plains ranch land.

Happy, But Realistic

At the moment, life is good. I am optimistic that it will be good tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow.

Why so? After two months, I finally got got a haircut. He Who Must Be Obeyed and I have followed our hair stylist all over Omaha these last six years. She has moved from one shop to another and we have gotten to know her quite well; well enough to know that Friday she will be 40 and is apprehensive over it; we know her well enough to have been invited to her Italian wedding reception for a marriage that unraveled a year later. When my roommate of over 50 years broke his heel coming off a ladder the wrong way and was in a wheel chair for four months, she came to the house and cut both of our hairs. That sounds like each of us had one hair and it isn't terribly far from the truth. We do know her better than usual.

The reality of many Americans is, that even at 40, working steadily, and trying and striving and working, some people are staring middle age in the face and are making $6.70 an hour for six months while establishing themselves in a new place. No, not a new skill, nor a new profession, just a new place, a new chair, in America.

Our dear, dear Kelly has a son who is a junior in highschool and yes, summers he works with her dad in a lawn service. He is a retired Omaha policeman with a work ethic that survives his 70 something age. I can't imagine anything nicer than a grandson working with a grandfather out of doors. In spite of a lot of noise from the mowers they use, I can happily imagine that there are hours of conversation in the truck between jobs. His beat was North Omaha which was a tough assignment then and is more so today. Mowing lawns is probably a piece of cake in comparison.

Omaha is an early day Itialian immigrant town. For this Finn, I could easily get into romanticizing the ethnicity as quickly as I want to with the Sioux Indian. Forget the mafia, forget the pasta, just think of a hardworking handsome group that have tight family connections and a work ethic that could shame some German Americans I know.

In six weeks Kelly will get her hourly wage and then split her earnings with the house. He Who Must Be Obeyed suggested we have her come to our house to cut our hair, so she can keep everything she makes. Is there a law against that? It kills me to think she only will gets half! People cannot live on less than $7 an hour but for six weeks that is life for her.

Last Saturday we studied the parable of the rich man and Lazarus. It make me feel like I am going right to Hades because we are comfortable. The 'camel and the needle's eye' stuff needles my conscience. My heart goes out to workers who work and still can't make a living. It simply is not right. Minimum wage needs to be reworked; tough luck McDonald's, it has to happen for the benefit of people trying to put kids through school, to start retirement funds at 40, to simply live a small bit of the American Dream.

Maybe I shouldn't be so happy. I am, however, and thankful for my own comfy little life. I wish I could make it better for others.

Dirty Underwear

Don't you think the feel of nice cotton underwear, preferrably white, is right up there with the image of the Marlboro cowboy? I am getting my mind off of issues I can't do anything about and getting them on others that I can't do anything about.

So it is off with one and on with another. I am annoyed with the Omaha Oracle and his investment philosophy which borders on unAmericanism. Maybe I listen to too much night radio rant. Last week the Omaha World Herald had pages dedicated to the Berkshire Hathaway stockholder's meeting, which is the right up there with the College World Series, in local importance.

It seems Charley Munger is Warren's underwear genius. I looked up Fruit of the Loom this morning on the Net and found out that the manufacturing for Europe which had been in Ireland has all been sent to Morroco. Sweet isn't it, for a financial genius who thinks the lack of jobs is one of the main problem in the US, profits from sending jobs out of Ireland.

The Fruit of the Loom web site for North America is not quite so up-front about where these white softies are made for our market. It scared me to read the Legal Disclaimer at the bottom of their web page. It looked like I might be have to face what Martha Stewart is going through for just reading it.

It isn't really white cotton underwear that I am annoyed about. It is the fact that our local liberal billionaire has done everything in his power to discredit the dollar and bet on its continued demise for his own profit. Will John Kerry benefit as well, or the Oracle's sweetie, Senator Clinton? We can be pretty sure of that.

When it happens, perhaps even my puny mutual fund will benefit and I will be singing different words to the same old tune, "Money, Money, Money."

In Times of Uncertainty

" If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or, being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise;..."

Sometimes when life knocks one for a loop, you can look within yourself for solace and come up sorely wanting. If one just looks, God is even on the Internet, blessing each of us through the kindness of others.

Recently, I reached out to my family with a gut wrenching event over a bi-polar adult child and the outpouring of kind and consoling words was my source of not only comfort, but acceptance. I am, indeed blessed with a circle of the kindest people imaginable. How grateful I am for each of you in a time when the stigma of mental illness is still, unfortunately, with us.

A cousin undergoing a very serious health issue of her own wrote these words:

"Our prayers are with you. Thanks for sharing. Remember the moving story of how Christ, as He walked among us, He healed all those with infirmities, including those with mental illness. He is the same yesterday, today, and forever and we know He has already paid the price for our healing. We'll trust and pray with you. "Have faith in God, Jesus answered... I tell you the truth, whatever you ask for in prayer, believe that you have received it and it will be yours." Mark 11: 22,24 Love and prayers, Your Cousin."

God's grace certainly shines through the eyes and beautiful words of compassionate people, and I have been comforted in this time of uncertainty. We cannot be reminded of the grace of God too often.

Alpha Males

Bad news first: I had to uninstall the sweet NASA program, World Wind, this morning. You know the dreaded blue screen. The color is not bad, but the warning that came with it gave me a start. Maybe it is Windows XP or the combination of the two. I am going to try to download and install again later. Why is it we always want what we cannot have? I wonder how many blue screen incidents I need before I learn my lesson?

Now the good news: I got my dog-wish fixed. I spent two and a half hours at the Humane Society this afternoon. They had a six month old tri-color Collie that could be a great dog in about six months. I spent some time with him, first with a volunteer, and then alone. The dog was picked up off the streets and had never been trained in any way, but he sat and stayed down for treats quickly and eagerly. When the treats ran out he chewed my shoes, my hands, and acted like he'd enjoy a wrestling match. Obviously, he knew who the Alpha male was and it wasn't me.

Maybe if my Alpha Male had been with me it would have been a different picture. The Collie would have found out he was close to the bottom of the pack pronto. Raising and training a German Shepherd 35 years ago seemed so easy; this is a sad realization for me, but will definitely be a big relief for He Who Must Be Obeyed. I'm not keen on even telling him.

World Wind

My friend, this Internet is. It is a friend when the world is going crazy in front of my eyes, when distraction is the only way I can forget the thorns in my side, both the figurative and the actual, it is my friend when my inquiring mind flails about for the new and the extrordinary.

This morning Lockergnomie, Chris Pirillo, has found it for me and it is truly amazing. I subscribe to Lockergnome Tech News Watch and Lockergnome's Windows Fanatics. He has other topics, but being pragmatic about myself, they might pile up in my inbox, unread.

World Wind is served up by the folks at NASA. I down loaded it and the first thing I did was to control the world by spinning it around to get my bearings and yes, Finland is northeast of us. Here is what he Pirillo says about World Wind:

Topographical
11:13PM (PST) on February 25, 2005
As Robert so eloquently put it, this thing is amazing. We heard about NASA's free World Wind application tonight on .NET Rocks. The sucker weighs in at ~180MB, but it's worth every byte (and then some) - completely putting Google's Keyhole to shame. Imagine having the ultimate 3D mapping system sitting on your desktop... and then see it." World Wind allows any user to zoom from satellite altitude into any place on Earth, leveraging high resolution LandSat imagery and SRTM elevation data to experience Earth in visually rich 3D, just as if they were really there." I know that Ponzi will appreciate the topographical features, as that's what she's been wanting in a consumer-oriented mapping system for some time. I use Google Maps because it's quick, Microsoft Streets & Trips when I want to explore local resources, and... World Wind for a bird's eye view of the globe. You don't need to be into GIS or anything - this digital mapping system is quite accessible. Topo maps, satellite photos, free download - what's not to like?

Indeed, what is not to like? This can undoubtedly distract me for hours, days, weeks. Thanks.

Don Cammack

Don Cammack was the editor for The Buffalo Times-Herald when I grew up in Buffalo, SD. The print shop was up the street from my dad's blacksmith shop and they served together on the Buffalo Town Council. I read in the paper, now called the Nations Center News, that he had celebrated his 85th birthday a while back. More lately he had written about getting the paper put to bed during the blizzard of '48 and 49. It occurred to me he might like a copy of the book on my dad.

Today I got his letter and what a letter it was. It was so heartwarming to read of his friendship with my dad and of the things they accomplished together when the town was being organized as a city with "not a dollar to operate with." They served on the Buffalo Town Council from 1949 to 1952 and started with "three pieces of 16 ft. bridge plank spiked together in a triangle shape to be pulled behind a tractor. During those years we had a modern sewer system installed, a used grader working on the streets and tax money coming in to pay for it.

In the Arco (Idaho) Advertiser this week, the Old Inkslinger writes of recieving the book and a couple of others this winter. He closes his letter to me in part, Thanks a million, Willo, you'll never know how much you've added to an old newspaper man's life.

Thank you, Mr. Cammack, for the memories.

Hypertext Linking Does Not Violate Copyright

If you think your life is sailing along just fine and dandy, read a few blogs. It appears that the Tulsa World is getting huffy about blogger BatesLine using links to the newspaper.

Blogs are one way to counter the 'big bad media,' or another voice among thousands and thousands of blogmouths. It is hard to know what is the truth and what is the spin or what is the truth spun. All of it boggles the mind.

Anyway, I am happy to know I can link to hypertext so you, my reader, can plink or clink on these pink links. Just always, always consider the source of anything you read. The Midwest Conservative Journal contains many links to news and blogs.

Here I am on a Google blog. Google donates a lot of money to the party that is not my choice. Will this blog be nudged one way or the other politically? Who knows?

I don't know another web search engine that does the job so well. I used to use Alltheweb, and Dogpile. They are a little different, and I am down the road from my prior research librarianship, haven't done the comparison, and I hate to bail out on Google because of a political difference. Isn't it too bad it even matters. I know, though, everything 'matters.'

Last night I listened to ABCs, Peter Jennings, interview Bill Gates, another of my heroes. Gates has a heart that I don't see in our own Oracle of Omaha, Warren Buffett.

This is certainly off the topic. Maybe I just wanted to see how many hypertext links I could use in one writing.

Mother-In-Law from Hell

This is what happens when Carnival and Valentine's Day very nearly coincide. I could name these three, I am the melancholy one on the left. Just click the link, you will see what I have as wallpaper today.

A family fight on the internet is akin to a food fight at a holiday table. It takes a day or two to get the mess cleaned up. I have been there, I have caused it, I have tried to clean it up. Neither one are a pretty sight.

One thing the mother of the groom should keep in mind is that not only do you keep your mouth shut and wear beige at the wedding, but I would do well to keep that in mind the rest of my life. I don't think I have but two beige things in my closet, mostly black and blue, which seems appropriate, as I feel a little bruised.

Being a mother-in-law is serious business. I never had one, so have no have no first hand knowledge of how to go about it. Over the years I have watched my own mother and husband spar at the table, right up to the month she died. Both Libras, each had the scale in their hand. I lived my entire life in that balance; the Libras of my life directing my coming and going. Each playing the part against each other. Survival was not always easy.

It was on a 12 hour drive to Omaha from my home town that my mother told me she felt it was her duty to tell people of their errors, to correct them. I can still recall the impact that made on me. God got pulled into it because it was her "God Given Duty" to do this. She was good at it, let me tell you, and she had been on that mission all her life, I think. I was easy, as she told my daughter one time, "Willo was a compliant child." I have a good idea my quiet father was one of those Myers-Briggs INFP's as well as me. But that is all history. Not quite all, I still live with a Libra.

Once I took an assertiveness class. It didn't help a whole lot. Menopause was more helpful to me; I cut my hair, knew my own mind, became semi-assertive. But I still can't say much out loud, nor do I care to dial a telephone. On the Internet, I am a loose cannon. It would be hell broken loose if I ever took the time to write a novel, not using real names of course; I have a lot of material. I am now the mother-in-law from hell. I have to put on that beige shawl again and SHUT UP.

Outsider Art

Outsider Art is a term I had never heard until the Library of Congress used it as a subject heading in for book I wrote posthumously about my father; and in which I included over a hundred of his 'outsider art' works. In the link above is a sentence describing an outsider artist: "Outsider artists are the fringe-dwellers of the world, the outcasts of society. They are the ones left over and left behind. These people are in the gray area of art, quite literally outsiders to the modern gallery / agent system which seems to be required for one to be recognized as a legitimate artist. " That was pretty much my dad except for the outcast of society remark.

I tape CBS Sunday Morning, programming it to automatically turn on and tape the hour and a half program for watching later. This afternoon I rewound and watched the program aired January 30. One of the features was Outsider Art. It appears it is a big deal right now. " OUTSIDER ART CBS News correspondent Serena Altschul learns about the colorful characters behind Outsider Art, a creative movement whose artists are untrained and often mentally unstable but who nonetheless remain unceasingly imaginative."

This 'creative movement' does not describe my dad at all. He was the shy guy painting day and night in a ranch community and if that made him odd, and I suppose it did, but was he mentally unstable? Not at all. Just about as solid a citizen as one could possibly be. But he was very introverted. He and George W and I have one thing in common. Sentences don't come out of our mouths quite like we had imagined. But we know what we meant.

I am wondering if all this 'outsider art' I have hanging on my walls might be of interest to EBay or Amazon customers. Perhaps I should write one of those disgusting little query letters. I haven't figured out how to do anything but order books, old and new.

Ash Wednesday

This highway phenomenon was no apparition.
It was there in my morning to and my evening fro,
Forty miles from nowhere in the prairie grass.
It lie there like some fallen space craft
Downed by cultural progress, and shamed by the
Worthless weathered outhouse.

Dakota winds blew the golden grass
Arcing its improper placement like a frame,
Guilded, and further emphasizing the awkward
Accomodation of this once nobel pinnacle.
This proud attribute, like its builders, has fallen,
And as they, become the epitome of Lent.

"Memento homo, wuia pulvis es, et in pulverem reverteris"
Willo Boe

BookTV

Can anything be said for a person who can listen to a three hour interview on BookTV and enjoy it? Sometimes I wonder just what kind of goofy person would DO that. When I went back to college at 37, I was so glad to be there that I sometimes slipped into lectures in classes I didn't take.

One I recall vividly. It was by a pediatrition who was lecturing to a group of nurses on how to identify babies with problems, at the time of birth. The thing I remember most is his proposing that palmestry might have some scientific bearing; no he didn't say it was absolute, he just said MAYBE. He went on to say that at the time the brain synapses are developing in a fetus, the lines in the hands are forming simultaneously. Of course his point was the simian fold.

That is when I went into a research project on Gypsies and was so darned mad that one of the two books in the University card catalog on palmestry had dissappeared. Book theft still infuriates me. But to be truthful, I have copped a book, maybe two, in my life as a librarian.

But back to BookTV. He Who Must Be Obeyed doesn't give one snap for it, but he listened a while yesterday when a panel of fairly distinguished people read poetry to a group of adults and children. There was William Krystal and others enchanting us. Poetry is certainly meant to be heard, instead of read. He Who Must Be Obeyed used to read poetry to me off and on over the past 50 years. When we had the Harvard Classics in the house it happened more often. I remember a lot of Confucious tossed in.

My wish for the year is to go to a local poetry slam. We have a active poet, Matt Mason, in Omaha who has organized them. It is the word 'slam' that has kept me away. But then it probably isn't a dance.

The three hour interview on BookTV was with Charles Murray; the writer from Iowa, Harvard, MIT, who had the country in an uproar over his book "The Bell Curve." He doesn't blog because he is the kind of writer who has to do a lot of editing. He has a point there. He uses the Web for a great deal of his research. His latest book is "Human Accomplishment." He had his list of high achievers. Wouldn't it be grand to have Lexus-Nexus!

Auschwitz: 60 Years Later

The past few weeks I have thought a lot about the Nazi extermination of the Jews in Europe. It was prompted by a book sent to me, on my request, from a former pastor of my childhood church in the Cave Hills of South Dakota. I had previously read Pastor Wayne's book of his childhood and life, and one he translated into English from Finnish written by his father. Now I have the one written by his wife. All are great treasures and I appreciate reading and re-reading them.

"In the Shadow of the Swastika" tells of young Erika, and opens this way: "Located on both sides of the Elbe River, Dresden is the capitol of the Free-State of Saxony, a province of Germany. It was a city of rare beauty whose buildings in rococo and baroque style had won world renown. Nightly performances were the rule both at the large playhouse and at the opera with its exquisite building. There were parks and fountains, a zoo, and a circus as well as many very beautiful castles. The collections in the museums were breath-taking. Truly, Dresden was a city of art and culture. this is where I was born on June 1, 1927,...."

Erika's father was Jewish. The reading of it gripped me with dread and fear. How beautifully this tragic event was written. "Hitler's ascendancy to the chancellorship affected people I cared about, and I mourned theloss of these friends for years. However, I could never tell anyone how I felt." Her memory for events, places and individuals is remarkable.

Simultaneously, PBS ran a six hour series on Auschwitz. It was doubly horrifying. Sometimes it was so difficult to absorb, I had to tape the second hour of the presentation to watch a different day.

February 4th was the birthday of one of my heroes, Diedrich Bonhoeffer, a Lutheran pastor and theologian in Germany who took part in the plots being planned to assassinate Hitler. He was arrested, imprisioned, and eventually hanged following the failure of the assissination attempt. Prior to his imprisonment he was involved, with others, in setting up the Confessing Church, an underground group opposing the Nazis. Many of these leaders were sent to internment camps.

Life's Passages

Years ago a brother-in-law recommended I read "Passages: Predictable Crises of Adult Life"" by Gail Sheehy. I read it. I have gone through the whole book, literally, and find myself in Part Seven: Renewal, or at least a No-Panic Approach to Physical Aging, and a Redefined Attitude Toward Money, Religion and Death.

It is strange how a person can progress from "Setting Off on the Midlife Passage" to decline and decay so fast you don't know what happened. I have gotten to the point that I can even talk about the worst time in my life and not get a knot in my stomach and a clutch in my throat over it. At one time I was quite desperate over it. I hied myself off to a psychiatrist who asked me why I was sitting across the desk from him. "I am here for suicide prevention." I can recall how calmly I told him that, and how quickly he found me a counselor who helped me climb that mountain. Prevention is good in any one of life's critical passages. I know that some are not preventable. Some are, thank God.

I wonder why it is that when a person finds life so delicious, so comforting, so blessed with relationships, time, and home; why, I wonder doesn't that come sooner in life. Perhaps it does with some people. I am thankful for it right now. Instead of being fleeting, here today, gone tomorrow; it goes on for me daily...weekly...monthly. I certainly enjoy being seventy.

Washington National Cathedral

The Prayer Service at the Washington National Cathedral this morning was meaningful and beautiful. C-SPAN does us a service by broadcasting what it does. I am grateful that I was able to experience it.

Ronan Tynan, the soloist, could bring one to tears with "How Great Thou Art" and "Ave Maria." Whoever was responsible for arranging this service is to be commended. It was everything this Liturgical Lutheran could ever wish for to enhance worship.

Rev. Mark Graig from Dallas was chosen to deliver the sermon. It is nice to know that we each have 86,400 seconds each day to use as we wish. Internalizing that I am humbled to think how I have squandered this gift, day after day.

The offering could have been used in any number of ways. It was proper that it be used for our service people and their families.

If I am not mistaken, the circular stained glass window is the same as that in Nedros Cathedral in Norway. Perhaps it is only similar. Our National Cathedral is the 6th largest in the world.

The inauguration ceremonies were inspiring in spite of what the British press says. So they mock and make fun of Bush's speech. Personally I thought it was filled with hope. What, I say, is wrong with hope?

Talk Radio

Upon reading newspapers from 'home,' the one thing that always amazes me is just how today's technology equalizes knowledge. The Black Hills Pioneer had an article about Sam Kephart broadcasting the World Talk Radio from Spearfish. He has a Wednesday segment on "Science and Society." Science is as difficult to listen to as it is to read. But good for us, right?

My other talk radio events are not so noteworthy. Art Bell started it for me when I couldn't sleep a few years ago. I think I have lost some hearing in one ear because I plug myself into my night stand radio and fell asleep with all the paranormal blab going on for hours and hours. Now Art Bell has been replaced on weeknights with George Noory. Both are a little spacey.

You know Sturgis, of the Motorcyle Rally; one of my girlfriend's nephews, Jim Thompson has a radio program I sometimes listen to when I get terribly lonesome for home. He gets on a political rant sometimes; and you know those South Dakotans are! Western music, feedstore advertisements, gentle banter with cowboy callers-in. It is very folksy.

Lutheran Gay Policy: Same But Different?

In the Omaha World Herald this morning, the staffwriter, Angie Brunkow, quotes our Nebraska ELCA Bishop, David deFreese, "What we need to say as clearly and strongly as we can is that we have a wonderful tradition of putting issues up on the door, nailing issues up on the door and inviting discussion."

As it was in Germany for Martin Luther, this IS an explosive matter. In our own little St. Timothy's Lutheran church, the discussion across the table last summer was sometimes heated and people differed. It was no different in my own kitchen across that table over ice-cream.

The Evangelical Lutheran Church in America task force on policies of homosexual clergy and same-sex unions is essentially requiring clergy to remain celibate outside marriage. It also recommends that the church maintain its stance against same-sex blessings. At the same time it gives local church leaders more flexibility in deciding whether to discipline congregations that ordain gays and lesbians in committed relationships.

The 'plink' (pink link) above takes you right to the horses mouth, so to speak. When I googled ELCA this came up in an article in The Christian Post: " Reformed leaders within the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America (ELCA) called the denomination’s January 13 report on homosexuality “duplicitous” and “disingenuous,” and criticized it as nothing more than an “attempt to avoid an outright schism” in a theologically split denomination."

A theologically split denomination! Is it really that bad? Maybe I just choose not to notice.

The Sioux City Journal quotes the Iowa Bishop, the South Dakota Bishop and also deFreese from Nebraska. Quoting The Rev. Delwyn L. Oliver, chaplain of the Western Iowa Synod's Sioux City Conference: "I know there are those who are upset that the recommendations did not go far enough, either to the right or to the left," Oliver continued. "Some people will find my opinion to be blasphemous. Is it not time that we recognize that we are all sinners in need of God's grace and that by casting stones at others for their 'sins,' we foolishly attempt to divert God's attention away from our own sins."

I am realizing that with each article I read, I read it through my own myopic lens. I focus on those statements that I agree with and am horrified by the ones I don't. Is this how churches blow up?

I found a great deal of comfort in the Salty Vicar's list of "What I love about the Episcopal Church." We Lutherans would do well to think about what it is we love about our heritage, while growing into a communion that lovingly accepts those different from us. Yes, even those that love the contemporary service.

Why Do Bad Things Happen to Good People?

The impact of the horror that started 6.2 miles below the surface of the Indian Ocean just off the coast of Sumatra, displaced a section of the ocean floor over 700 miles long and 10 miles wide, nearly 100 feet upward. An equal amount of ocean water on the order of 135 cubic miles was moved violently upward and outward. The huge tsunami waves brought devastation to coastlines 4,000 miles away.

Night radio talkers ponder Armageddon. Cal Thomas ponders "God and Suffering" on op-ed pages around the world. He says, "Human tragedy is bad enough, but listening to some theologians trying to explain it is doubly irritating. He goes on to relate that the archbishop of Canterbury, Rowan Williams, wrote a Jan. 2 column for the Sunday Telegraph in which the front-page headline about the column proclaimed, "Archbishop of Canterbury admits: "This makes me doubt the existance of God." Thomas goes on to say that "the headline writer misrepresented the archbishop's view, but so convoluted was Mr. Williams' statement about the disaster ...it is understandable how the writer of the headline reached his conclusion. Theologians should offer hope and truth. The pagans serve up enough doubt."

Cal Thomas sends his readers to Job, Chapter one, in the Old Testament. Job responds to his skeptical and nagging wife, "Shall we accept good from God and not trouble."

Still quoting Thomas, "...consider Abraham Lincoln's second inaugural address. Seeking to understand the Civil War catastrophe, Lincoln concluded, 'The Almighty has His own purposes."

This conflicted Lutheran does not believe God did it to those people. Unfortunately it is the result of plate tectonics. I think He is there to help the victims get through it, with the help of the rest of the world; people, one on one, doing the work of God in this horrendous time.

Deaf With Bad Knees

Heidi might come for a trial visit, a long stay, or live with us until she dies. She is totally deaf and has had a knee surgery. Needless to say she might fit in, or might have, or maybe will. Perhaps we will give it a try. He Who Must Be Obeyed is strongly against it. What do they think we are, a nursing home? Do we know sign language? No. What if she or pees in her bed? What then?

Yesterday I contacted the poodle rescue folks in Omaha and a nice volunteer came out this afternoon, in spite of the ice on the roads and the predicted 15 inch snowfall. She seemed a little anxious to get Heidi placed in the "Seniors for Seniors" program. We would have plenty of support, get boarding if we went on a vacation, and receive all sorts of advice on the care and feeding of this old deaf dog with a bad knee. It sounds like a great way to get a dog well out of the puppy stage. But there are a lot of "buts."

How does one communicate with a deaf dog? I had kind of hoped for one I could boss around. That would be out, forget the baby talk. That would fall on deaf ears, so to speak. How does a mini poodle get about in 15 inches of snow with a bad knee? The hearing problem is one thing, but I am not much for a snapper who gets alarmed when approached from the back. That must happen quite a lot unless she stands around with her back to the wall. Even I am a bit skeptical.

Shoot.

Shapeshifting

This morning as I was in the shower, listening to public radio's Studio 360 where I caught little half paragraphs of an interview about Solomon Rushdi. Somewhere in the stream of water and words I heard Curt Anderson, I believe, say the word "shapeshifter." Sometimes a word just slams up against my forehead and hangs on for a half a day..more maybe. I hunted around on Google for a definition, typed it into GuruNet, and went into Alltheweb and came up with a few citations but no definition. I finally found what I was looking for on Yahoo.

It seems like Tony Hillerman wrote of Shapeshifters, maybe in "The Skinwalkers."

I feel a little like a Shapeshifter today, but I can't figure out why as my corporal self has an opportunity to go help with a church mailing in 15 minutes.

Having One Wonderful Day After Another!

When a person is having such a good time there is no time for blogging.

He Who Must Be Obeyed and I have cooked since Christmas Eve Afternoon and because 'having company' is my very favorite thing, it has been good. Good food, good company, good experiences all around.

I have spent a good deal of time at church between company meals, even on Christmas Day, my altar guild partner and I spent a quiet, holy hour and a half preparing the sacristy for Sunday services.

This morning I read 'the salty vicar's' Christmas sermon. Having read his SALT over the years, I have learned a lot and respect his priestly experiences. I call them priestly because sometimes he appears to be a wild child. I hope he never quits blogging.

My own pastor started his Christmas Eve service with stopping the craziness of the holidays by breathing..in...and out...a couple of times. If you have read me very long you know how that got to me. Taking time to breathe is a good thing. And when he opened a ladder, I knew exactly where he was going. No, not up the ladder to God. God came down to us at Christmas.

And the good stuff goes on. I am cooking for a beloved son today who is helping his dad with the war wagon. I should take a pictue of it as I hope never, ever to have to see it again as it is being sold. If it doesn't sell the Salvation Army gets it. Do I have to show you how a war wagon and an an army of any type go together?

Winter Solstice

One day to the shortest day of the year in our northern hemisphere. Tomorrow is truly the dark day of winter. Isn't it a little strange that on the second day of winter the days actually start getting longer? I have enjoyed the darkness this year. Why hurry the days away?

How cozy it is to snuggle under the down comforter while listening to the litany of the morning news people. I find IMUS rude and insulting, but the rest of them are like old friends, some sappy, some tolerable, some enjoyable. Do you find the Network people standing outside in the cold a little crazy. The shouting crowd annoys me so much I switch channels. The CSPAN Washington people are my favorites, no commercials, no opinion except for the guests, and reading the various morning paper headlines is the best. I miss Brian Lamb already. If Tom Brokow from my home state weren't such a blazing liberal I would have liked him better. I used to think I was a conflicted Lutheran, maybe I am a conflicted Republican. He Who Must Be Obeyed would bristle at that statement. He actually emailed our Nebraska Mr. Hagel over his comments on Rumsfield yesterday morning. But I am not going there.

Christmas. This year I love it more than ever. I like all the lights except my neighbors gaudy flashing display. Last night we talked about renting some snow thower to come and make snow for our Christmas. How fun would it be to just fill up our yard with snow, front and back so high that the driveway would have to be plowed out. I think that would be the best thing. We laughed ourselves to sleep over that idea last night. We won't have snow this year.

I am missing fruit cake. I think I would enjoy a slice of mince meat pie. Bourbon balls would be good, I haven't had them since I retired. One of my co-workers made them every year. Maybe just a little bourbon would do the trick. No, no eggnog. Irish Creme would be good. A Chia Pet would be nice. Nope, never had one.

Everyday the Christmas greetings from old friends and family come pouring in. Getting the mail is great. Our mailman took about a hundred with him this morning for every where including Canada. If I hadn't gotten some help with them, I would be doing them night and day alone. The in-law reunion is next summer so He Who Must Be Obeyed mailed about a hundred and fifty yesterday to his relatives everywhere including Norway. Thanks to the good old US Postal System. It makes life happy and handy.

Honor Your Nose

Last night I was lulled to sleep with a lecture on the nose. One of our local cable channels is dedicated to SCOLA; most hours it is a direct feed to live international television in the language of each country; the other hours are dedicated to health and wellness. Often this includes medical lectures to the Nebraska University Medical Center students.

Breathing is meant to be done through the nose. It gives our brains a different experience than mouth or tracheotomy breathing does. It gives us a feeling of being right. My mother was big on breathing. Often we stopped mid-conversation to, as she put it, "breathe." I still enjoy a moment or two of breathing.

I appreciate my sense of smell and those little sensors are a treasure. Smell is all tied up with memory, as many of you know. The smell of a mother's cooking, the smell of baby chicks and little kittens, the smell of horses and tack, the smell of an old boyfriend's aftershave and the familiar scent of a husband. I once lived in a small town with no central air. In summers windows were opened and during the dark night, I could smell the after-lovemaking cigarettes of my next door neighbors. Perfume lingers in my living room days after company has gone, reminding me of that pleasant visit.

Sometimes the sense of smell goes haywire and some unfortunate people smell very bad odors continually. Sometimes they have to have the nerves that connect their noses to the brain severed. Occasionally this gets wired with schizophrenic tendencies. The learned doctor stated last night that those unfortunate folks never continually smell a pleasant odor, it is always very disgusting ones.

I never knew that the ingredient that oils our digestive system is the quart of snot that we swallow each day, not exactly the trivia one might relate at a Christmas party.

Saturday Morning Miracle

There are only five of us in Miriam Circle. I think of us as unencumbered by convention. When we started meeting to do the Lutheran Woman Today Bible Study, we agreed that we are not messing with food, we meet at church so we do not have to clean house, we try to be finished in an hour. I thank God for each one of these women and our second Saturday of the month meeting.

This morning we observed Advent with prayers, candles, and singing by the light of one candle. I have come to love our study together and the intimacy we have. Our study centered on the Five Wise and Five Foolish Virgins. Advent is my favorite month of the church year. It has gone beyond my childish waiting, my hurried mother preparations, to this, my more purposeful expectation of Peace on Earth.

When we concluded, my altar guild partner and I prepared communion for two services tomorrow. It was a quiet, reverent way to prepare for the Third Advent Sunday. I am so blessed to have had parents, friends, and congregations keeping me grounded over the years. I could never have done it alone.

A Cheap Goose

A while back I listed the things that make Finns happy. A clean upstairs could do it. He Who Must Be Obeyed told me I had to go upstairs and look at it. I haven't been up there for two or three years,but with some coersion, hints at compromise, and half promises, I was pursuaded to give it a look. it was worse than I had envisioned.

I could keep busy for weeks up there, but maybe with his muscles and my brilliance for organizing we could do it in two days. I am not kidding about my organizing. I think I am an organizing genius, but I don't have the muscles to go with it. Next to being organized my second quality surely is stubbornness. Without that hint of compromise, I wouldn't have got two steps in that direction in this lifetime.

No, I am not going to chip away at anyone's faults. I recognize my own and probably have enough Lutheran guilt to cover them. I am not going to have everything my own way here. It doesn't matter. I actually said out loud, "I will get rid of all the old Christmas decorations, if we can work together on the rest of it." He grabbed that bait and I am not letting him off the hook. Cleanliness is happiness.

The Master of the Garage, He Who Must Be Obeyed, has a little compulsive/obsessive problem with garage sales. Did I call it a fault? He had a cloth, stuffed goose up there, some of the cotton coming out of a seam. I picked it up and looked it over; he told me he told the lady at the garage sale "that $2 goose is the cheapest goose I ever got."

When The Cat's Away the Mouse...well you know

The slippery slope to Christmas has become a bit steeper. One would think I would increase my sliding speed. It doesn't happen. I have known for years that I need a 'to do' list. Without one, I think there is nothing to do. That isn't all that bad either.

I did go to Hobby Lobby last Friday and bought a pre-lit, flocked, fake tree. When I saw the trouble the help guy had loading it in my Wrangler, I knew I was in for more than I had bargained. It was heavier and bulkier than I thought it might be, but I got it into the house and actually got it together. It was my 2004 Christmas adventure; not one to rival cutting a tree in the Black Hills and getting it upright in a pail of water with rocks to keep it straight. But it was o.k. given that I did it alone. Enjoying the satisfaction of completing a challenging task is one of life's pleasures. I am surprised at how much I like my fake tree. It is... well, it is simply beautiful.

He Who Must Be Obeyed is still gone building the greenhouse with a brother. I have come to think of this time as practice for widow-hood. I can do it. I might even be able to clean the garage, given a dumpster and a minimum wage person of height and muscle. But that won't happen while the master of the garage is around. I spent three hours in one corner of it and found some amazing things, three huge trash bags full of junk, and a lot of good stuff. That was a good experience in a way.

I think a lot about my mortality. I suppose most everyone does. I am preparing for a good death; not that I think it is particularly immediate. But I am not going to waste time in meaningless endeavor. I don't think that listening to classical Christmas carols, or reading, or simply thinking are meaningless. The Lectio Divina practice is a gift, and I have learned it. That is something a disciplined mind can manage, but it takes practice. It would be a good goal for me, a good New Years resolution. It is offered and open to anyone at an Mt. Michael abbey not very far from here on Friday mornings, but I can certainly do it on my own.

Do you ask why, my dear reader, why I think on my coming death? Because it is Advent and Lutherans take Advent very much to heart. We are in the dark of December, the days are short, the mentally ill get worse, melancholy Finns get more and more melancholic; and the Henri Nouwen Devotion hitting my inbox every morning have been on that very matter. We must prepare for our death, like our parents prepared for our birth, he states. So I am preparing...for my death, and for the Christ Mass to come. Do I sound a little Catholic? I am, reformed, however, as in Martin Luther.

Life, however, is good and I suspect that will continue for a time. "There is no "after" after death. Words like after and before belong to our mortal life, our life in time and space. Death frees us from the boundaries of chronology and brings us into God's "time," which is timeless." Henri Nouwen

On Wanting a Dog

How dumb is it to want a dog? I can't find a Standard Poodle in Omaha. That is exactly what I want. The Nebraska Agricultural Department placed a whole bunch of Chihuahuas into our local Humane Society a couple days ago. They had closed down a puppy mill somewhere in the state and were placing dogs and cats with ringworm where ever there was room. Maybe I should go to see if there might be a poodle in the bunch.

I need a beating heart in the house that I can boss around. A cat would be nice, but I have a son that is alergic to them. It would be rude to get one.

He Who Must Be Obeyed helped me prepare the church worship center this morning. I didn't quite know what to make of that. I will be on my own Sunday, communion at 8:00 and in the afternoon when we have the ordination service of our Music Director who has gone on to become more. I will set up the intinction for that and clear after. It will be nice to hear the Bishop. I am glad for Jennifer.

I will be alone again. This is why I am getting serious about a dog.

A Slow Slide to Christmas

We had a little pre-Christmas trip that turned out to be unexpected in a couple of ways. Maybe more than a couple. We had planned to spend a night in Lindsborg, Kansas on our way to Wichita; but I hadn't considered the fact that the small Swedish town was going to be decorated for Christmas nor that it had snowed four inches the night before we got there. It was splendid with shocks of wheat tied to the lamp posts, Christmas elves on the shop facades, and the Swedish Dala horses everywhere.

He Who Must Be Obeyed surprised me with purchasing Swedish clogs for me. No, not one pair to wear home, but two more to be hand painted and shipped when completed. The Swedish immigrant shopkeeper was going to paint them, daisies on the blue, rosemallen on the red, the Friday after Thanksgiving. She is going home to Sweden for Christmas. I don't know who was happier over the purchase, she or I, and isn't it fun when that happens!

We enjoyed Thanksgiving with our son and family in Wichita. Good food, good company, Christmas decorations every where one looked, it was a Thanksgiving to remember, good in every way.

The adventures never ended, either. We spent a night in Atchison, KS and had dinner at Paolucci's, an Italian Restaurant founded in the mid 1800's. Our server was Joe, a first generation descendant, who gave us a history lesson with every course. Lewis and Clark's expedition spent July 4th, 1804 in the area and celebrated the first Independance Day in the American West there. It would be fun to go back on Amelia Earhart Day.

Now that we are past the First Sunday in Advent, it is time to get serious about Christmas. No, I am not going to let the secular commercial world tarnish it for me. But I do have to make a decision about the card/letter thing. Yes or no? At this point, I don't know.

Lorem Ipsum

Lorem Ipsum. Lotte, from Australia, shared the website with my Elders list. She has been a wonderful source of information to all of us. She is a newly retired University Reference Librarian and knows everything in the world, I think.

Here is an example of it: Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetuer adipiscing elit. Integer nec odio nec risus scelerisque dignissim. Nam pulvinar est et nisl. Duis in tellus. Aenean cursus fermentum est. Sed leo nisl, elementum vel, scelerisque non, porta vitae, tellus. Nullam faucibus, lectus ac feugiat mollis, nisl magna ultrices wisi, sit amet gravida odio sapien nec erat. Etiam.Generated 1 paragraph, 55 words, 360 bytes of Lorem Ipsum

Lorem Ipsum is simply dummy text of the printing and typesetting industry. Lorem Ipsum has been the industry's standard dummy text ever since the 1500s, when an unknown printer took a galley of type and scrambled it to make a type specimen book. It has survived not only five centuries, but also the leap into electronic typesetting, remaining essentially unchanged. It was popularised in the 1960s with the release of Letraset sheets containing Lorem Ipsum passages, and more recently with desktop publishing software like Aldus PageMaker including versions of Lorem Ipsum.

I knew I had seen it before. It is my MSOffice templates. I had always wondered why it was used and how dumb was I anyway? Now you have a nice little tidbit to share over pumpkin pie when the in-laws are getting too testy.

If you mouse click the Elders link, you will find a "Meet the Elders" section. There I am, with He Who Must Be Obeyed. We have been emailing as a group for eleven years.

The Pointing Finger

The saying is familiar. If you point your finger at someone, there are three pointing back at you. Three is a number that suits this situation.

I am in deep paska with half of our adult children and maybe four of the six. I can never tell exactly. When this happens I play the scene over and over in my mind looking for clues to explain to myself just what happened and why. I think with the number getting so high, I have to figure out if I am unreasonable, crazy, or both. Sometimes I think I am an easy target, being so cursed with introvertism, combined with the feeling that I am right. Of course the fact remains that it takes at least two to disagree. One never yells at a tree alone in a forest.

Last night during dinner all hell broken loose, or maybe more of that hell to pay now, and the rest will come later. It is something that drives me to my knees. I hate a scene. When it happens during a meal, I cannot swallow. Food and fighting do not mix except in a high school lunch room.

The 18 years I lived under my parent's roof, I never experienced scenes like those I have observed, or been a part of, over the years with the new name I was given 50 years ago. Getting used to listening to yelling and observing anger is nothing I am apparently going to get used to either.

It ends by my lying awake in the night with the replay, which never has an ending, trying to sort it out with my roommate of 50 years, and replaying it again in broad daylight. Nothing is working. I should go right to the source of the problem, but simply cannot take a chance on the incident taking off again where it stopped originally by people walking out in a huff.

The incident was with a daughter and her husband over a turkey. He Who Must Be Obeyed was simply stubbornly silent and unbending. I made everything worse when I used the word 'negligent.' I should have just kept my mouth shut. That is perhaps the answer to it all. Maybe I should have walked out with my last bite in my throat.

I am getting very depressed and exhausted at being so, like my mother called me, compliant. From the very beginning of my life I would rather comply than get pulled into a controversy. So now in my age, when I do not comply, it infurates people and they question my motives. I saw a son-in-law boil with anger and flash a look at his wife with the very mention of instant mashed potatoes. At that they left. Now how bad is that!

Things One Can Learn From Staying in Bed Watching TV

I did not go out to walk this morning, instead I crawled back under the covers and turned on C-Span II. I was hoping to catch the last of Book TV from the weekend and what I got was an eye-opening and brain snapping view of one Tammy Bruce. I had never heard of her, as my flirting with NOW ended almost as fast as it began with a women's lunch group on the campus of the University of Nebraska at Omaha in 1975. Believe me that was a mind bender for this Stepford Wife of the '50's.

Back to Tammy Bruce. She really irritated the group at Florida State University. They were anxious to get to the mike and tell her so, too, after her presentation. The main thrust of her speech "Contrary to Public Belief: How Conservative Ideas Empower Women, Gays and Other Minorities," was that group think and labeling are divisive and dangerous.

When I googled her name she came up on, of all things, NewsMax. I should have expected it. A Democrat voting for Bush is as celebrated as an athiest becoming born again. She has many traits that I had no idea NewsMax would listen to. But then what do I know by reading Itar Tass and the BBC.

Jeff Kooperman has some very strong things to say about her. Just to show you my ignorance, who is He?

I guess I am wondering why we didn't hear about her prior to the election? Are people like her shut up by the mainstream media? If I had been reading NewsMax, I would have probably been aware of her stridant politics.

Annoying WalMart and Funny Dreams

We just got home from WalMart. Every time I go, which is as seldom as possible, I swear I will never set foot in one of those places again. The front door looked like the back alley back door of an inner city warehouse. It is Omaha's newest WalMart. How crazy is that?

I observed the young guy checking people out and he nailed a couple who were trying to get off with a $17.00 CD lying flat in the bottom of the cart they were wheeling off. He was good, authoritive, and sent them back in to pay for it. He was one assertive guy in a wheel chair. I was waiting for He Who Must Be Obeyed to check out and mentioned to the other woman at the door what a good job he did. "He has been with us four years," she said. At the rate he was going he was more than making up for his wages. It was the best thing of the day.

We blabbed at our circle meeting this morning at church instead of really getting into the parable of forgiving. I needed to talk about that, because my daughter cannot forgive me for my past transgressions. The more she cannot forgive me the more annoyed I get at her. We are on a vicious circle with this maddening unforgiveness. A few months ago I got a four page letter in the mail from her detailing all my failings as a mother and as a person since she was very small. Now she is very large and my transgressions have increased with her size and age. I should not have read the letter, and I should have burned it after I did. Maybe I won't read it again. Or maybe I should when I get to thinking I am too perfect. There they are, God and my daughter keeping track of me for the reckoning. From her it came before my death. The deadly list...now it is hell to pay. I hope it isn't going to be pay now and pay later.

I had a good thing happen. I woke myself up laughing out loud last night. I laughed so hard I got into that snorting sort of laughing. I had the funniest dream and thought I would remember it forever I can't recall it at all. All I can remember is the laughs. Really funny dreams. How good is that!

Sunday Afternoons

Sunday afternoons are the strangest times of the week. I often look forward to the newspaper, so alluringly large and heavy, the advertisements more formidable than the news. I have started tossing the whole lot into the recycle bin unopened as they are such a waste of time, paper and energy. I am feeling cynical about advertising; I have become a demographic, used for my lack of ethnicity, age, and zip code. How annoying to be used like that.

Instead of sitting down with the paper, I made a couple of bannana breads. They smell good cooling on the counter.

He Who Must Be Obeyed arrived home from helping his brother since Wednesday. No, he isn't even able to chat. He is fast asleep in his chair. He looks a little worn out, actually. I am not waking him up.

I could go out and mulch the leaves in the front yard, but really haven't the heart to do it. Instead, I will put a chicken in the oven to roast, read Hosea for next week's study, maybe get to that newspaper.

Sunday afternoons can be a Holy Sabbath, or just plain ungodly long with random thoughts accompanied by the rise and fall of an old man's snoring.

College Student's Financial Lament

He Who Must Be Obeyed called. We haven't seen one another since Wednesday morning. My neighbor across the street asked me if I was getting lonely. I don't think I am capable of it. So then why do I groan over being cosmically lonely periodically? It makes no sense. I was glad he called, glad he hasn't hurt himself, and glad he is coming home sometime on Sunday.

My mundane life revolves around a clean house, a perfectly clean back yard, a sparkling clean, cold swimming pool, even my trash cans are clean. I am one happy Finn.

In the morning I shall put the Altar Flowers in urns beside the Altar and arrange the six white roses and filler in a crystal vase on the Altar. It is All Saints Sunday, six members have died during the year. I will be preparing the items for an infant baptism for the 9:15 service. The question is shall I go to early church (uugghh) or go after it is over and sprint with the set up in the 15 minutes between services and then go to Loud Church. I need Liturgy so I had better go to 8:00. This is called plinking or plogging as I plan and blog.

My college student grandchildren are lamenting college costs and their financial burdens. My folks borrowed my first year's college costs. They could not afford to borrow more, so I took the harder road of marriage, five kids, one foster niece; and 17 years from that first year of college we all ate bologna sandwiches and mixed powdered skim milk, as I paid as I went, to get my degree at 40. We all suffered. If I hadn't been such a bumpkin, I surely could have gotten an academic scholarship as I graduated Cum Laude. I didn't know about that sort of thing and had no one to guide me into the logical route of graduation at 22. I did get 36 credit hours that first year and that gave me a good jump at the new start when I was 37.

Do you hear the violins in the background? Of course I walked to school forever as we didn't even own a car until I was 17. In the snow, now here come the brasses, coming home for lunch as there was no hot lunch at school, the basses and drums rise to a crechendo. A tiny little flute sounds, I walk home from college, three miles, as we only have one car. The violins rise and fall and the flute fades away. I graduated without one college loan, the knowledge that I could do anything, signed a teaching contract and my 40th year was indeed the beginning of my life as a person.

It rained and the old man's pipe went out.

What Makes a Finn Happy?

There is nothing an introverted melancholy Finn likes better than trying to figure out the meaning of life. I have even looked up "the meaning of life" on google. Today I found what makes me happy in a list on Virtual Finland. Lists make me happy.

Finnish feel-good factors
1. Home sweet home, a home of one's own
2. Sunny weather
3. An honest relationship
4. A trusting relationship
5. The freedom to be oneself
6. A freshly cleaned home
7. Friendship, gestures/words in a relationship
8. Friendship, actions in a relationship
9. Fidelity in a relationship
10. Security in a relationship

The explaination of each of those was right. I feel just like the author says, " It never takes long in a country where people on the whole lack a small-talk culture, but are ever ready to open a seminar on "Why are we here, where are we going?"

So why are we here, I ask? Where ARE we going? I need to find another Finn to discuss this with. He Who Must Be Obeyed is Norwegian and they know why they are here and where they are going and they do not like to waste time talking about it.

"Instead of materialism we're in for more relationships, but not before number six, which is a freshly cleaned home." Deep meaningful relationships and a clean house are everything.

We Finns "are obviously content with simple, honest pleasures such as the smell of newly washed laundry, falling in love or walking in the countryside.

The first direct reference to money appears at number nineteen and it is that great feeling: "there's more money in my account than I remembered". It is true. I taught school for twenty years and never really cared how much money I made. My paycheck was direct deposited and I never knew what I was earning.

Joe Brady who wrote for Virtual Finland got it right. Maybe now we should have that discussion on The Meaning of Life.

Perfect Parent Pretense

He Who Must Be Obeyed is still in denial about the roof. I know it is about the $350 stainless steel tarring gun he bought. He probably doesn't even know that is what drives his denial.

The new roof was expensive, but worth it in every way imaginable. Financially, our home insurance went down 17% and that is no small matter. Emotionally, I have quit thinking about black mold creeping through the ceiling in our bedroom and I no longer think I am going to start a fire when I turn on the light switch. I found brown water streaming though the ceiling fixture almost as unnerving as the little blackness I see where crown molding should have been put up 25 years ago.

He still mentions that if only he had retarred the spot that leaked... I really find that annoying.

Fifty years of marriage can get a person down sometimes. We have a married son and family visiting in the city this weekend. Every time we expect grown children, we have a little discussion about not argueing or disrespecting one another while they are with us. One of them told me, I can't recall which one, he hated to hear us argue. Every person wants perfect parents. It simply cannot happen.

Carrying on this facade sometimes works and sometimes it doesn't. One thing leads to another and the perfect parent-farce collapses into an unfortunate scene. I suppose in the grand scheme of things the practice is good for us.

"Crazy Woman Creek"

Fifteen women contributors gathered to read and sign "Crazy Woman Creek" books Wednesday at the Center for Great Plains Studies in Lincoln, NE. I was one of them and it was a good first experience to both read and to meet the other writers. In fact it was very enjoyable.

The place was called the Great Plains Art Collection but the term on the brochure says it is the Center for Great Plains Studies and was called one of the Paul Olson Seminars. The room was walled with artwork from the region. At the corner entrance were bronze sculptures of the Lewis and Clark, a magnificant Indian, the little Sacajawea, and the Newfoundland dog. To the north of the door was a beautiful young homestead woman in a bed of natural prairie grasses and flowers that haven't been wasted by a frost yet. They both were beautiful scenes in our American prairies.

There seemed to be almost 200 that attended the event. I tried to have good eye contact with my audience, but I couldn't bring myself to look directly at WILLIAM KLOEFKORN who is such a distinguished poet in Nebraska. If he is even a little bit as personable as his pretty wife, both of us could have dealt with it. Instead I gazed at some of the harmless looking students who were taking notes. I, too, have had that kind of class assignment. It would be nice to get a look at their notes. There would be an honest critique for a wanna-be writer. A person would know right there whether to go back to the cello or spend more time with a camera.


He Who Must Be Obeyed drove me there, with 20 minutes to spare.. I wonder what he really thought when he saw me in this setting instead of flailing on my back, in the back yard pulling weeds, or chasing dirt with a wool duster on a stick.

Does Putin Really Know?

Reading Itar Tass this morning I find a quote from Russian President Vladimir Putin at a new conference. He said, "The attacks of international terrorists in Iraq are aimed against George Bush personally. International terrorists set the goal to inflict maximal damage to Bush, to prevent his election to the second term.”

After a month in Norway a few years ago, and enjoying Aftenposten advertisements in the rail stations, I read it fairly regularly. Today, the Norwegians are much more concerned about the King's bloodline than the American election.


If you are interested about midwifing a pig click on Life Of Onni in the Helsingin Sanomat. There you have a little movie complete with subtitles and ambient sound. The little boy asks, "What was he doing in there?"

Some Kurds have lived in Finland for 'many years' according to one of them. That and the fact that Nokia is important to Finnish economy is more important than our presidential election.

Of the few foreign newspapers I read, only The New Zealand Herald mentions that tomorrow is a "Black Anniversary for the Stock Market." Of course today is tomorrow there, so that makes sense. We had a son call home that day to see if anyone was jumping out of the upstairs window.

Closer to home, the folks at The Wichita Eagle seem calm in this Monday edition. I have an inlaw who is employed there. His responsibilities at The Eagle include leading editorial board meetings, writing and editing editorials, and editing opinion columns. He also writes a personal column and is a regular guest on "Kansas Week" on KPTS, Channel 8.

Finally, our own Omaha newspaper has the poorest online edition in the world in my estimation. I did a double take as I was getting ready for church Sunday, I was certain that NPR said they had come out for Kerry along with a list of other papers around the nation. Reading the paper, they didn't. I still wonder if I was half asleep or somebody at NPR was not quite awake. Maybe they really meant The Des Moines Register, which looks as credible online as it is on newsprint.

I once team taught Intro to Journalism with an up-and-comer who touted the wonders of that paper. Both liberal, both excellent at what they do. He has gone on to teach Journalism at Lawrence, KS at the University.

Those were the good old stressful days. I love newspapers.

Nation's Center News, Buffalo, SD

My hometown newspaper, Nation's Center News, is one thing I look forward to on weekends. The local columnists write with a knowledge of their neighbors activities. Reading them makes me lonely for home. I would include a link for the paper, but unfortunately there is none.

Four writers are my favorites. One has a short column of pure cowboy humor and I never know if it is true or not. He has written of the Miles City Bucking Horse Sale that was started by an ancestor of my husband; and he writes of the days and nights of ranching with cowboy humor.

Another writes of women cattle ranchers doing what all ranch people do. It is inspirational to read of women who are competant on a horse, working cattle, or in an investment group. They are people with a work ethic, individualism, and a depth of intelligance and good sense. Women widowed or divorced, with children to raise, and ranches to manage. She is one of them and writes from experience and close friendships.

One woman writes of the battles of the ranchers and the State Game and Fish folks. She writes of politics without political correctness. She takes on the State over a Branding Inspector despute. She writes of mountain lions, wolves, and coyotes killing livestock and a cousin of mine that she calls "Chicken Man" who is contracted by ranchers to hunt coyotes by small plane. She spats out her feeling of what she calls "do-gooder environmentalists."

A home town son taught English in Saudi Arabia for 20 years and retired to our home town, Buffalo, SD. He now writes a column of Mid-East history with the inside information of personal anecdotes. Last week he wrote of his father, who was one of the original county cowboys and bronc busters. This week we read of his kidney stone and gout. He concludes his column "that the difference between a doctor and God is that God doesn't go around believing he is a doctor".

It is a darned shame that small town papers are not read by more people. It only goes to 1,800 subscribers.

The Presidential Debate Tonight

He Who Must Be Obeyed has gone to encourage a brother. The brother is about to take on 40 radiation treatments for cancer. They are together in Wyoming tonight in an elegant RV. I miss being there in spite of my reasons for not going.

I was glad to stay home for several reasons. The only time I can throw useless things away is when he is gone. Even my own useless things find their way back out of the trash cans to be stashed here or there. Tonight a lot of stuff is on its way to the land fill.

Quite a while ago I learned not to clean his closet. He came close to not talking to me. That lasted a couple of hours, I suppose, and every time he did talk it was to wonder how I would feel if he threw away my yard shoes, or my painting shirts. To tell the truth, it wouldn't matter much to me.

Before he drove out a couple of days ago in the morning darkness, he kissed me like he meant it and said he might call a couple of times while he was gone. He called twice before the first day was over. I asked him when he called today if my phone calls were over. No answer. So who knows?

This morning I heard a presentation on "Healing Touch." It was interesting and I know first hand that it works. There was a time before and after a back surgery, before the Pain Clinic, that if it weren't for the warm, healing hands of my husband, I might have committed hara-kiri. (I looked it up, it is right.)I told him how healing and soothing it was to me then. At my age a person better tell people how they appreciate them.

In a half an hour we have a nephew that is on the camera crew for the Presidential Debate in Arizona. Having taught television production, I am going to be watching those camera shots. I prefer the split screen in the debate situation if the correct camera is on the candidates, otherwise it looks like they are looking away from one another. Maybe they are! The shots looking down on people are demeaning in my mind; and the ones looking up at them are a little grandiose, don't you think?

I had a camera crew on the "...and you are not John Kennedy" remark. The spin room went absolutely still for what seemed a long time and when it was over I thought the place would explode. Actually my students were in the spin room to do interviews when it was over. It was a memorable experience for this teacher and her high school students.

Work was and is good. I have great memories; and cleaner cabinets today.

Petrichor

Once I wrote about favorite words. I recieved an warm response to it. Today I write about the word for an indescribable occurance. I mentioned it in an email to cousins, but couldn't for the life of me recall the word for it later on. The word is petrichor.

Petrichor is the pleasant smell that often accompanies the first rain after a long period of warm, dry weather in certain regions. According to Australian researchers who coined the word in an isssue of Nature magazine in 1964, Petrichor is from oils given off by vegetation, absorbed into neighboring surfaces, and released into the air after a first rain. The word is derived from the Greek words petros, a stone, and ichor, the Greek term for the fluid that flows like blood in the veins of the gods.

I wasn't there after a rain, but I suspect that the rain on Uluru, Ayer's Rock, in the Australian Outback smells the same as the rain on Sweet Pea hill behind my childhood home, and in the Cave Hills of northwestern South Dakota.

It is hard to describe the sweet pungent smell of home after a long awaited rain. That, and the song of a Meadow Lark, are two of the sweetest things in the world.

Mount Michael Benedictine Abby

Yesterday we had lunch at Mount Michael Abby. Actually it was at the St. Benedict Guest House. Reservations were made two months ago. I understand the backlog. The food was served in elegant warmth. One does not order from the menu. One is not presented a bill. No, we eat what is being served that day, with wine and dessert, and donate whatever we are moved to.

My own experience there was enhanced by the aesthetics, the early elegant Nebraska farmhouse, the period table setting, the music, paintings, the food of course, and by our host, a servant in the truest meaning of the word, Brother Jerome.

As I visited with Bro. Jerome, over purchasing some greeting cards, I discovered that of the ten I had chosen, he had painted five. They are perhaps the most beautiful cards I have ever seen. I asked him if one could come to purchase cards at any time. "Yes," he said, "these are the envelopes for the money." He motioned to a few legal sized envelopes beside the cash register. The door is never locked. People are not always there. I was amazed at the unconventional wisdom of that.

He intoduced me to robed Novice, Cori, who was behind us during that little visit, who was washing our dishes by hand. He told me he was from Oklahoma, but not that he was a 1999 Creighton University graduate. Bro. Jerome had been there for 40 years, arriving when he was 21.

On Friday mornings 10 to 12 people gather in a cozy conversation center to pray and meditate in the lectio divina discipline. Being guided through that Benedictine way of prayer several years ago, I found it life changing.

I am truly a conflicted Lutheran.