Mrs. Bridge

Mrs. Bridge came into my life one April afternoon in 1975, when I - a cheeky and determined (but far from grown-up) 24-year old decided I wanted to work at Rockford Public Library. There were no openings at the time; undaunted, I sent my resume and a cover letter, boldly requesting an informational interview - not knowing that that was rather brazen and certainly not customary. To my relief, within a week I received a phone call from Alma Bridge, who graciously set up the appointment with me. From the beginning I sat up a little straighter when I heard her stately, elegant, but very warm voice on the telephone. I thanked her for agreeing to meet with me, and a time was arranged.

I’d been told that she was very formal and that even though most library people were on a first-name basis, she should be addressed in the old-fashioned way. So it was with trepidation that I was escorted into her office; however, any intimidation I might have felt initially was calmed when she smiled at me and I recognized in her the Scandinavian features and mannerisms that so reminded me of my own mother and my own family. I felt instantly as if she and I were “tribe.”

I stated earnestly that, if hired, I planned to make Rockford my permanent residence - I confess now that I'm not sure I meant it, but I knew that prospective employers wanted dedicated workers. She asked me the routine questions, and assured me that she would keep my resume on file. After our meeting, I drove back to DeKalb and immediately wrote her a thank-you note for meeting with me.

The following month, Mrs. Bridge phoned me to announce, "I have a job for you!" My degree in art from Northern, along with my credentials from my position at the NIU library, had earned me the position of Library Technical Assistant, in charge of the art reproduction collection at RPL's Main Library. I accepted immediately.

 I believe I showed up on my first day with three inches cut off my waist-length hair; wearing a double-knit, understated melon-colored polyester shirtwaist dress and penny loafers. Soon I learned that Mrs. Bridge (always MRS. Bridge) was highly respected, strict with rules firm but gentle with discipline, and that she expected professionalism and the highest standards of public service from her staff.  In addition, people were known to shake in their boots (or penny loafers) should they show up for work improperly dressed; I will never forget the day that she discreetly approached me when I had a scarf tied around my head and chided me: “We don’t wear turbans here.” I hastily removed it, soon to discover (I smile now) that Mrs. Bridge also had a very dry sense of humor that surfaced at the most unusual times - and that she was not the terrifying library matriarch; rather, a very kind and motherly lady. A joyous newlywed to her beloved George. A rather independent-minded individual. An open-minded and very "hip" woman, who advised me to take L-Tryptophan (health-food store supplements!) when I was in her office once, lamenting that I was having trouble sleeping. (You have to understand that back in those days, RPL operated under the philosophy of participatory management, and admin accepted our memos (even my outspoken ones) as well as our impromptu drop-in visits to their offices). Yes, Mrs. Bridge dried my tears more than once as I struggled to adapt to public library culture and change from a naïve ingénue to an adult. It wasn't too long before I thought of her as a second mother, and that feeling remains with me to this day.

 When she hired me, she apologized that she couldn't offer me a Librarian Assistant position, but it saved my job; six months after I began at RPL, there were layoffs and the LA's lost their jobs while I, an LTA, kept mine. In a year or so, I was promoted to Librarian Assistant, and by then I was committed to my promise to Mrs. Bridge: that I would be staying in Rockford. And stay I did, over the years, enjoying working in Audiovisual and then in Arts, always with the mentorship of Mrs. Bridge upstairs. She shepherded me through more than one emotional crisis, unheard of in today’s corporate workplace. She accepted my dramas and celebrated my skills and let me use my talents. She was a guiding light for me, and it was only when she transferred to what was then called Technical Services to be a cataloger that I had the nerve to begin calling her "Alma." And what a fitting name! Alma means “soul, spirit, kind, loving, and seeker of peace and harmony.” That she was, and more.

As we worked through the many changes at RPL, Alma and I had many serious as well as hilarious conversations. She saw me through orthodontic braces when I was in my 30s, and together we tackled the new cataloging system for records (yes, LPs!) with clear communication and shared frustration. Alma always treated me with respect, collegial camaraderie and kindness. I can truly say that after she retired, although I was happy for her, I missed her glowing light every day when I came to work. I thank her for laying the groundwork for her successor, who continued her tradition of grace, high expectations, participatory leadership and deep appreciation of staff.

Now, as I am sadly seeing the old guard leave us, it is with heartbreak that I hear this news of Alma's passing. I did not know she was 90 years old. We were with her when she lost her beloved daughter Ellie, and I was honored when she gave me a collection of her dear George's eloquent poetry. Having joined the ranks of retirees in 2010, I had the joy of attending the retirees' lunches once a month and catching up with Alma. Later on, when she was unable to get around easily, my friend Marie Phillips and I picked her up for a gathering at the Stone Eagle, where we enjoyed her wit - still intact, although she had borne the loss of her daughter followed by the progressive changes in her once-vibrant health.

The example Alma Bridge set for all who knew her is evident in the people I know who remember working under her and learning from her. We have lost yet another of our great elders, and it is now our turn to carry her torch and treat others as she treated us. I believe Alma had a great faith in God, and my prayers are with her family during this transition. I pray that the love and respect we will continue to carry for Alma, as well as the memories we cherish and the kindnesses we do for others as we remember her mentorship, will be a source of strength for her family. May your soul rest in peace, Alma, and may your spirit live in in all whose lives you touched. Godspeed, Mrs. Bridge.

Condolence:

It is with heartbreak that I hear this news of Alma's passing. I did not know she was 90 years old. The example Alma Bridge set for all who knew her is evident in the people I know who remember working under her and learning from her. We have lost yet another of our great elders, and it is now our turn to carry her torch and treat others as she treated us. I believe Alma (whose name means “soul, spirit, kind, loving, and seeker of peace and harmony), had a great faith in God. I pray that the love and respect we will continue to carry for Alma, as well as the memories we cherish of her grace and wit - and the kindnesses we shall do for others in honor of her, will be a source of strength for her family and loved ones. May your soul rest in peace, Alma, and may your spirit live in in all whose lives you touched. Godspeed, Mrs. Bridge.

                                         

                                                            Alma Nielsen Bridge

                                               April 13, 1924 - December 29, 2014

Re-connection

Yet more joy has resurfaced in my life, as I reconnect with my friend Cyntia Smith and discover the treasure that is her new recording. Here is a link:

Soul Tending

From CDBaby: This latest release by Cyntia Smith is a heart-centered masterpiece. Her clear and honest song writing coupled with a voice that takes you tenderly into its embrace is evident in each and every track. Cyntia explores archetypal imagery in a way that departs from the realm of mythology and becomes an integral part of all our lives. This timeless music lovingly tends the individual and collective soul of the world.

Here is my review, posted on Amazon tonight and, I hope, on CDBaby tomorrow.

With quiet joy, I sit in enchantment as Cyntia's gorgeous dulcimer playing, her original, plaintive melodies & lyrics, and her low, gentle voice wrap themselves around my heart once more. It has been too long since I have heard her solo singing and fretted dulcimer artistry. Most of the cuts are original; Cyntia has the rare gift of being able to create melody seemingly without effort, and her lyrics are pure poetry. There is one traditional piece; her version of "Red is the Rose" is exquisite; I accompanied Rhiannon Stanuch on my Aeolus fretted dulcimer (built by Dale E. Foye and Cyntia Smith) at the Bookworm Cafe in 2011 as she sang that song, and now as I hear Cyntia's intimate performance, I feel as if I am in the same room - but radiantly in the audience this night. Cyntia has such a true, earnest and healing timbre in her voice; she sings as if she might be sitting across from you personally, singing just to you; perhaps healing your soul or your body. Kindness emanates from this recording--I do not believe I have ever heard anything as sublime as "A New World." It is almost hymnlike. As a former church organist and college music minor, I can say that this melody stands up to every composition I have ever heard orchestrated, arranged for solo voice or performed in chorus. Cyntia's talent for songwriting reaches far beyond that of any artist to whom I listen. The precision and musicality of her fretted dulcimer playing as she accompanies herself is celestial. There is a haunting Eastern, almost Arabic influence that shines through the mysticism of many of the pieces; especially the instrumental "Will To Love."

While Cyntia Smith performed with Ruth Barrett for many years, this long-awaited jewel shows me that much of the magic lies in Cyntia and always has. I don't have enough praise for this, Cyntia's first solo recording - it shows depth, maturity, musicality, sensitivity, and absolute grace. It is my honor to write this review, and I shall make certain that everyone I know not only hears about it, but hears it and buys it. Blessings, Cyntia. I thank you.

Advent

Meditations on Week I of Wednesday night Advent Class, which I missed due to illness

Expectant.

Expectancy.

I expect you to do _________________

This met/did not meet my expectations.

What a powerful word.

Expectancy, during this past year? Certainly there are things I do regularly, such as attending AA meetings and spending Tuesdays and Fridays with Paul, and – as of a month ago – going to church on Sunday morning. The key here is that while I have expectations (who doesn’t?), I must be mindful of the fact that things may not turn out as anticipated. If I’m looking toward an event with a feeling of wonder and joy, there is still doubt in the mix; for that, I must remember to rely on faith. If it’s something I dread, I have tried to learn not to fall into “magical thinking;” if I worry myself sick about this, it won’t happen, but if I’m not the least bit nervous, I’ll get shocking news.

We are powerless over people, places and things. I always know when I’ve crossed the line and begun to push my own agenda on people, oblivious to their needs. I expect my Internet service to work. I expect that there will be hot water when I turn on the shower. I expect my sense of humor to be appreciated and am always shocked when my comments land, like a wet bag of newspapers thudding on the floor, in between myself and the person I thought I could amuse. How do we learn to be sensitive to the reactions of others? Not everyone wants to hear graphic detail, or rhapsodic meanderings about inspiring choral music, or vivid descriptions of someone else’s day. Why am I so often like a freight train, barreling into someone’s life, forgetting to take the emotional temperature of the moment before I speak?

So. How to pause, how to breathe in, how to be present with others, how to listen? Why are we often so blind to what should be so obvious to us? The promptings of the Spirit, if we are open to them, teach us every single day how to slow down and be in the moment; how to think of others before ourselves. Why do we fail to be open to these things? They aren’t hunches. If I am truly attentive, they are astoundingly clear.

Specifically, in my case – who is really interested in my quest for religion? Who cares whether I want to be a United Methodist, a Rastafarian, or a heathen?  How do we learn to keep what is sacred to us close to our hearts, and not be so quick to spill out every detail of our process? Others have their own journeys. The Catholic who is listening to my effusive reactions to Christ United Methodist Church may very well be struggling with the fear of Mass having become a chore.

I think of the word behold. Having spent so many hours in the music department in college, I have sung more than enough choral pieces containing that word. In reading Pastor Pamela C. Hawkins’ book, I have stopped to think about what it really means to behold. To me, it is to look upon something with wonder. To find one’s self startled with joy and amazement. It brings back memories of my childhood, when my mother – upon hearing a bird sing or a far-off sound-- would say “Hearken!” to us. Hearken. Not Listen.

How I love those archaic words.

In prayer, I find I rarely focus on imagery. I am auditory. I tend to hear a choir singing. I choose pieces of music to meditate on in prayer, such as Randall Thompson’s Alleluia, or Pitoni’s Cantate Domino, or the numinous Bless the Lord, O My Soul by Mikhail Mikhailovich Ippolitov-Ivanov.  Holiness, for me, lies in music and in language.

So today, in singing the beloved O Come, O Come Emmanuel, I feel compelled to read about what it actually means when the words say “and ransom captive Israel.” When I experience the signs of the season surrounding me, juxtaposed with the sudden death of a beloved pastor and friend, my heart is troubled. What are we to make of this?

It is especially important, during this cold and often stressful season, to stop and hearken, and to behold. To pause when agitated, as we say in AA. To try, as I am trying right now, not to feel resentment when I am writing and someone is talking to me – demanding my attention.

In this Advent season, I pray for quiet. I pray for hope. I pray for trust and acceptance. I pray that as I open my own imaginary cardboard box of treasures, I turn each one around in my hand and behold, in wonder, the birth of new beginnings once more.

                            

On to the United Methodists

As promised, I'm back here to write about my visit last Sunday to Spring Creek United Church of Christ. I was drawn to them because they are all-inclusive, progressive, and close to my neighborhood. I was also glad that their Sunday morning service is at 10:30 AM, because I hate getting up early.

I was given a very nice "welcome bag" - a book bag with a pen (a good one, to boot) and a package of microwaveable popcorn (Thank you for "popping in") and literature about the church. The people were very, very friendly and warm. I loved the sermon; the text was taken from the Book of Joshua. I was reminded of the powerful "Baal, we cry to thee: hear and answer us! Heed the sacrifice we offer! Hear us, Baal! Hear, mighty god! Baal, oh answer us! Baal, let thy flames fall and extirpate the foe!" from Mendelssohn's Elijah, which got me to briefly join the Rockford Lutheran Choral Union in the 70's so I could sing in it. Then, the minister started talking about "foreign gods," and I remembered the chorus For He, the Lord our God, He is a jealous God; and He visiteth all the fathers' sins on the children to the third and the fourth generations of them that hate Him. His mercies on thousands fall - on all them that love Him and keep His commandments. And I knew, sadly, that I was a long ways from the tradition that's always been a part of me.

And I realized that I am never going to find a church that uses that beautiful old language. I left the Episcopal Church in 1978 when they quit using the 1928 Book of Common Prayer and the Hymnal 1940, and stopped singing the Healey Willan setting of the Mass. I also realized that I don't think I can go back to the Episcopal Church. I'm still not sure why, except for the fact that the one on Spring Creek Road doesn't have a pipe organ, and I can't imagine an Episcopal church with an electronic one.

Back to the United Church of Christ. They have a beautiful prayer and anointing for others and ourselves. As I said, the people are welcoming and I knew a few of them. I also learned how to pronounce Asherah (AH'-shera) - which means "Moongoddess." There was a well-known Rockford acoustic guitarist who played intricate, flawless melodies and accompaniments.  What was there not to like?

I'm going to start out by sounding defensive - I'm sorry. I refuse to call myself a snob. That is a mean, unfair word. I don't think I'm any better than anyone else. But, as a musician who cut my teeth in churches and minored in music with emphasis on church organ, I reserve the right to worship where the music is traditional and yes - even formal. I get that most churches these days are going to use piano and guitar along with the pipe organ unless you go to the Church of England - I take that back: Elton John played and sang Candle In the Wind at Princess Di's funeral, and I'm quite sure he used an electronic keyboard. But I need a church that at least uses the organ as part of the Sunday service - and I have to concede that nothing beats a good pipe organ.

At Spring Creek UCC, the music was jazzy and peppy. There was electronic keyboard and guitar. The choir was good - they sang on key. The congregation passed the peace. The coffee was great afterwards, and I got to see old friends. I left with a feeling of grace, and with a decision: I won't be joining this church. I sat down with my journal and made a list, at random, of the reasons:

• They say "Forgive Us Our Debts" instead of "Forgive Us Our Trespasses" in the Lord's Prayer. I mean it literally when I say that I am not ashamed of my debts - I pay off my credit card every month and I have a clear title to my car, but I am notorious for oversharing and being nosy. I need to pray the Lord's Prayer asking for the ability to discern when I am violating boundaries. Theologians will say that I'm misinterpreting the debts/trespasses debate, but I call it as I hear it. My TMI disturbs people - which begs the question: Who reads this blog?
• The minister does not wear vestments. I want the pastor/priest/minister/reverend to look like one. (unless it's summer and the air conditioning isn't working)
• There are chairs, not pews. I thought this wouldn't bother me, but to me, chairs in a big room are too much like the library auditorium. 
• Speaking of the library, where I worked for 35 years, I must have some big issues with that place. One of my dear friends, retired (as I am) from the from the library, is very active in that congregation. I like her, but she served in as a lay worship leader for the service I attended. I couldn't help it - I know her so well, and she spoke at so many Staff Institute Days when we were both working at the library, I felt like I was back at an all-employees meeting at my former workplace. Also, she was a supervisor there, and I'm not sure I could ever feel like I'm her peer. I sigh when I write this - she always has something interesting to say - but I am so OVER Rockford Public Library. I have severed the cord and there's no turning back. Or - at least I thought so.
• The textbook for their adult education classes is The Bible For Dummies. Really?
• They do not sing the Doxology. When I attended the United Methodist Church of Geneva, Illinois with my mother and the organ heralded the intro to "Praise God From Whom All Blessings Flow," I felt the spirit. It is part of my religious experience. For you digital types, it's part of my database.
• They reminded me very much of the Unitarian Church. which I tried to join when I was 29. I attended their "Firesides" for new members; at the end of the series of meetings, the minister and the assistant minister (who were husband and wife) told me point-blank not to bother to pursue it; it was clear to them that I wouldn't be happy there. I must have asked too many questions about traditional music and liturgy. I can't resist my favorite anecdote about the Unitarian Church in Rockford: I don't know what they do now, but in the 70's they just plain didn't have church at all in the summer, because they thought people should have a vacation from Sunday services. (I guess.) On the first Sunday in September, when church resumed, the first service consisted of a "raise your hand and tell us what you did this summer" activity. The following Sunday, the male minister spent what I thought was going to be a sermon justifying why he had chosen to cut off his ponytail. What were they like before the Unitarians and the Universalists merged? 
• Which leads into the obvious: what was the Congregational Church like before it became the United Church of Christ? My father was raised in that faith and my grandmother attended Plymouth Congregational in Minneapolis until she moved in with my parents in Illinois. It was a very formal, society-type church. She would be spinning in her grave if she knew what the services are like now. 
• A minister wrote an article in Christian Century stating that the UCC believes in "seeing the world through clear windows." Metaphor, right. But, come to think of it, I'm not sure I've ever seen a Congregational or UCC church with stained glass windows. I need the stained glass. I want the mysteries. There is a bit of "Through a Glass, Darkly" in me.  The "speculum" notwithstanding (see Wikipedia article below), this ancient passage resonates in me. It probably reflects a Platonic Greek philosophy that this world isn't real; it's just a distorted image of things to come. I prefer to interpret it as a poetic expression of the ambiguity of God and the meaning of life. I decided to go to church because I am aware of my mortality and choose to have faith, and I want a community of people who are on a similar path. Since I can only speculate about what happens after we die, I at least want to do so through numinous colors and eloquent poetry.

• I looked through the United Church of Christ hymnal. They have neutralized the lyrics to many hymns I have sung all my life: e.g. Glorious Things of You are Spoken instead of Glorious Things of Thee are Spoken, Lead On, Eternal Sovereign instead of Lead On, O King Eternal, Faith of the Martyrs instead of Faith of  our Fathers, and Crown With Your Richest Crowns instead of Crown Him with Many Crowns. Marie just asked me to look up Jesus Christ, our Sovereign King and I thought she'd said "Jesus Christ has gone insane." (I don't have my hearing aids in). I don't know that hymn - it must be Catholic. It's not in there. The alterations in the UCC hymnal are very random; I'm flipping through it right now for more examples, and all I'm finding are the good old traditional lyrics. Go figure. (They even have Now Thank We All Our God in German). 
• Another point with regard to hymns: While I get it that they want to ditch gender-based language, kingly references and thees and thous, I just can't sing Be Now My Vision instead of Be Thou My vision. It hurts my ears. But what really hurt my ears is that gender or neuter, I didn't hear nor sing a single hymn I knew last Sunday. Most of the music was contemporary. I felt like I was at Girl Scout camp.
• During the offertory, we were treated to When Johnny Comes Marching Home, presumable because it was the day before the observance of Veterans' Day.
• It was Stewardship Sunday, and the closing "hymn" was Help! I Need Somebody--yup, the Beatles version.

Help! I need a different church. Christ United Methodist Church on Alpine is near our neighborhood as well. My mother goes to the United Methodist Church in Geneva, IL; one of my sisters was married there in 1983; my father was beautifully eulogized there in 1997, the people are absolutely wonderful, the pastor is a great speaker, the organist went to NIU and knows all my old cronies, and they have a Schantz pipe organ.  I've gone to church twice with Mom this fall and I do believe that if I lived in St. Charles or Geneva, I'd join that church in a heartbeat. So why not join the one here in my own city?

This week, I checked it out. I dropped in and took a tour by myself while a meeting was going on. I even took some pictures - and I was able to walk into the sanctuary. Christ United Methodist Church has a pipe organ built by the H.A. Howell Company of Dixon, IL. I have sweat equity in it; I worked with Hugh E. Burdick, the builder, when it was installed in the 70s. (I sat patiently at the console and held keys as he tapped on each pipe, in each rank, to tune the instrument). The Howell organ is still there. It was thrilling to see it and sit on the bench. It was obvious to me that they use it.

I've read a lot about the United Methodist Church. They are more socially progressive than other Protestant churches. In my mother's church, earlier this month, the congregation met to vote on a welcome statement adopted and endorsed by the Church Council. It states:  

We strive to be a Great Commandment church working intentionally to love God and love neighbor. Our faith community is enriched by our differences. We welcome diversity of sexual orientation, gender identity, race, ethnicity, age, economic condition, marital status, physical or mental ability, faith history or other distinctions which may have previously separated individuals from Christian community. Our welcome knows no boundaries. We seek to live into Christ’s loving embrace of all.

It lost by a very narrow margin - it's my opinion that those who voted against it feel that we are past the point where we need to spell out all the types of people accepted. Someone is going to feel left out. All-inclusive means exactly that, and their current statement reflects it. Christ United Methodist Church hasn't had that statement presented to them, but I'm sure they will. A glance on the Internet shows that many United Methodist churches in northern Illinois have approved it for their individual congregations.

I called the assistant pastor of Christ UMC. He could tell right away how important church music is to me. He was honest; he told me that the organ is never used at the 11 AM contemporary service, and not necessarily for every bit of music at the 8 and 9:30 AM traditional services. But it is played. I've met the organist. I've also met the choir director. Sadly, I doubt I'll join their choir, as they sing at the 8 AM service as well as the 9:30 one. If I have to be somewhere before 8 AM, there's no point in my going to bed the night before. Today I set an alarm for 8:30 so I could practice getting up early. Tomorrow, it will be set for 8:15 and I know what I'm wearing.

The United Methodist Church is often referred to as "the church of the warm heart." The heart of the faith is a ministry of love; they are a church of love and not a church of LAW.  They are big on social justice, and they take a lead in matters of concern, such as fighting racism. They accept thoughtful debate. They do not assign a gender to God; God is "spirit." They have members who differ on their perspectives about LGBTQ people; the point is that all persons have sacred worth. They ask us trust in the good intentions of others; they care about holy living. The church doesn't label itself as either "liberal" or "conservative." At present they do not ordain gay people; this raises my eyebrows. Personally, I don't think a person's sexual preference is anyone else's business, and I wish it didn't have to be forced to become an issue. In any case, no matter what church you join, you aren't going to agree with everything they do. The perfect church doesn't exist.

I love the opportunities to serve at Christ United Methodist Church. They have Stephen ministers. My mother took the 50 hours of training to become one after Dad died, and I want to be one, too. (UCC doesn't have that program). Christ United Methodist Church sings the Doxology. They don't make you join; you can attend without being a member and they'll even visit you in the hospital if you're sick; you just can't vote nor hold office. I'm not even at that point. I haven't even gone to church there yet.

The director of Rockford Urban Ministries belongs to that church. So does a well-known Rockford poet. Our electrician is a member. The guy who own the body shop where I need to take my car, since I scraped the fender against the side of the garage again, goes there.  They say "Thanks Be To God" after the pastor says "This is the Word of the Lord." They use "Trespasses" in the Lord's Prayer.
When I met with the Coordinator of Welcoming Ministries on Thursday, she gifted me with her personal copy of United Methodist Questions-United Methodist Answers. She gave me last Sunday's bulletin. She gave me a copy of the church directory. She let me borrow books from their library. I still wish I could have met with the pastor to talk theology, but I can make another appointment. There are no new membership classes until Spring. And no one said a peep to me about tithing, although I know it is necessary.

They have pews. They have stained glass. The ministers wear vestments. They use the New Revised Standard Version of the Bible. They have a bookstore. They have wi-fi. They have, as I mentioned earlier, a pipe organ--and not just any old pipe organ. That in itself makes me feel that I have found tribe.

They believe in the Trinity. That is a non-issue for me except for the fact that I tend to like things that come in threes. They believe in free will, as I do.  They share their faith by acts of compassion, justice, devotion and worship. The book I was given has a passage where the author, F. Belton Joyner, Jr., says,"Remember that Adam is the Hebrew word for human being;  Eve is Hebrew for 'life giver.'  "  He even acknowledges what I have always thought since studying languages: recent research has shown that the word virgin in Isaiah 7:14 is actually a word that means "young woman of marriageable age,"

I hope this works out. I'm willing to try. I wish I recognized more of the people in the church directory. I can't get a spin on the congregation yet. So, the logical first step is to get up and go to the 9:30 AM service tomorrow. I'll be back with a review.

On joining a church

I, the confirmed Episcopalian snob/pagan wannabee who was baptized Lutheran, raised Presbyterian, attended the Unitarian Universalist church in the 70's,  and decided outright by the time I was 38 that I was not only pagan, but Dianic Wiccan -- I, who have longed for spirituality but have failed to find salience in organized religion throughout my adult life, have decided that I want to join a church. That's right - me - belonging to a church - a Christian church. Why?

Although nothing will ever change the fact that I believe in the Threefold Law, karma and reincarnation, I have received only hurt, rejection and lack of connection from the pagan communities here in Rockford and in Madison, Wisconsin for the last couple of decades, and the pain in my heart from these experiences have led me to seek another community with which to express my spirituality. I am on my way back to my Protestant roots, to explore what has become of organized religion since I left it, and if there is anything there for me today. I feel connected to the traditional religions because they are part of my history, my childhood, my upbringing, my database. So, I begin.
                                                                                                                                                 
On the corner of Spring Brook and Spring Creek Road, very close to where I live, sits Spring Creek United Church of Christ. I drive by it every day. It used to be our polling place. It is a simple, unpretentious building; there are no magnificent stained-glass windows and there is no pipe organ. No pipe organ! That's right. They have a Rodgers classical electronic organ. It is what my friends and I, back at NIU in the 70s, used to call an "electronic appliance." 

Me, the organ minor, wants to join a church with a Rodgers non-pipe organ. 

And yes, although they sing hymns, they also have non-traditional music. They might even have contemporary praise music, which I have said I can't stomach. But what is the point of going to church if all you want is theater?  Isn't that rather shallow? And times have changed. Here is a blurb from their website about their music program:

I could play my dulcimer and guitar there.

I could join their choir.

                                                       This is a picture of their organ:

]

Guest Organist Brian Voss

I left the pastor a voice mail this morning, and he phoned me back within 20 minutes. He is welcoming and he answered my questions. He told me that just from listening to what I had to say, I sounded like someone who would fit in and feel right at home there. And it is near my home, as I said - I could walk there if necessary.

                                                    This is their statement of belief:

This is what they do NOT believe:

Here are a few more snips from their website:

This is how to join, per their site:

Their Sunday service is not at the crack of dawn.

Back to my musical concerns--and as I sit here ruminating about my lifelong insistence that any church I might attend would HAVE to have a pipe organ and sing only traditional hymns;  in fact, one reason I left the Episcopal Church is that they stopped using the 1940 Hymnal, the Healey Willan Mass and the 1928 Book of Common Prayer--this is where I am right now. Musical snob me - I came across this link on youtube:

The Ruppe Sisters singing "It Is Well" in the rotunda of the 

American Music Theater in Lancaster, PA

and I immediately found a recording of it on an CD they made entitled A Cappella. Again, as I have never been a fan of contemporary praise music,  I don't like most of the other cuts. But It Is Well is a standard hymn, probably more known to Methodists than to Episcopalians or Presbyterians. I downloaded the MP3 and uploaded it to my phone and set my alarm to it, so now I hear it every morning when I wake up. And it makes me feel wonderful.

I also discovered a song called Oceans, which I think is beautiful.  I found it on youtube - and guess what? It is contemporary praise music.

And I love it.

Oceans (Where Feet May Fail) - Lyric Video HD

So - I'm not turning into a holy roller. And yes, I still have strong pagan leanings. But my upbringing was Christian, and that is the default of my spiritual database. 

I also believe that the right-wing hate groups have ruined the term "Christian" in a reprehensible manner. Unfortunately, to me, the word "Christian" is almost too damaged to use now.

As for my beliefs right now:

• I don't know, and I don't care, whether Jesus was divine.
• With regard to Christianity: I believe in a church of LOVE, not a church of LAW. Gay, Episcopalian Bruce Bawer writes about this in his book Stealing Jesus, and I agree with him, wholeheartedly.
• I don't have any strong feelings about the Trinity, although I know it is part of UCC doctrine. I can take it or leave it.
• I believe in a higher power - and for lack of a better word, I use the word God.
• I do not assign a gender to God.
• I know that no matter what church you join, there will be things with which you'll disagree. That is the nature of life. To quote from AA: the point is that I am trying to live my life along spiritual lines. 

So there you have it. I'll post again after I've visited the church. The non-traditional aspect of their music notwithstanding, I don't expect a lot of swinging and swaying. I think I'm going to find people who are intelligent, open-minded and thoughtful. And that is the kind of community I want. I hope it will resonate with me.

Brittany Maynard, and why I have to write about her

Unless you have been living under a rock for the last few weeks, you've heard about Brittany Maynard, the 29-year old newlywed who relocated to Oregon so she could legally obtain a prescription to end her own life. In January of this year, she was diagnosed with glioblastoma multiforme: an aggressive, malignant brain tumor that is actually more common in males. (I think that was what ER gave Dr. Mark Greene when they killed off his character). Surgery is the first-line treatment; if they can remove most of the tumor, people can survive longer; in fact, I read that after Brittany Maynard had a partial craniotomy and a partial resection of her temporal lobe, they were hoping for a ten-year survival. Sadly,according to Wikipedia, the cancer returned in April and was elevated to a grade 4 glioblastoma, giving her a prognosis of six months to live with horrific suffering at the end.

In Oregon, Washington, Vermont, Montana and New Mexico, eligible patients are legally allowed to seek help to die. Brittany Maynard moved to Portland, Oregon in order to obtain prescriptions for lethal doses of barbiturates to end her life when the time came that her suffering would be unbearable. I read that many of these prescriptions have been issued; many people do not use them. I didn't think Brittany would. She was quoted as saying that she hoped that her mother would not "break down" nor "deal with any kind of depression."

Really.

I am sorry. People don't get to do this. In my book, Brittany Maynard's act was more than a desire to die with dignity; I believe she wanted the media attention and the fame for being the poster child for her video campaign supporting physician-assisted suicide. She succeeded: her story went viral and her pictures have been everywhere, and her live interviews are all over Google, along with photos of her smiling radiantly with her husband during their recent trip to the Grand Canyon - the last item on her bucket list. I find this more than just disturbing. I find it vulgar. I felt it unnecessary to exploit this sad story for the benefit of a cause, even though I respect those who stand behind it. It is another example of mass media sensationalism. I believe that Brittany Maynard, young and pretty and educated, used this as an opportunity to push her activism. The cold reality of her act infuriates me.

My reaction to this has been intense. I guess my first feeling was one of horror, to think that I could even read such a thing and not be immediately devastated. What is the matter with me, that I would have gone insane if I'd read that someone had decided to euthanize a beloved cat in the presence of family and friends? This was a human being. A human being who essentially put herself to sleep in the presence of her loving family.

I don't know what I would do if someone I loved decided to do something like this. I couldn't sit and watch someone commit suicide by drinking an overdose of Secobarbitol. I actually read that it's recommended that one mix it with fruit juice, as it tastes terrible. I read she diluted it with water.

What if you don't get the right dose?

What if you foam at the mouth, or vomit, or have violent seizures or go through a series of grotesque contortions? What if you don't die right away? And what if you do? Is the coroner's station wagon parked in the driveway? Is the coroner waiting in the hallway, with a gurney and a body bag?

Did she take her euthanasia beverage in a wineglass? Was music played? What were her last words? Did she just go to sleep? Did she struggle? Was it really peaceful and serene? And were the loved ones surrounding her really in acceptance of this? Were they peaceful and serene? Didn't at least one of them want to grab the glass away from her and throw it across the room?

Cancer is horrible. I saw my father die of cancer - at home, with dignity and hospice - but not by unnatural means. A friend of mine here in Rockford just died of ALS. Should she had moved somewhere so she could have taken her life? Now that the formula for the drug dosage is known, it goes without saying that it could easily get into the wrong hands. Who's to stop someone from giving it to a relative with Alzheimer's? Or a child with a birth defect? Or a 70-year old person who has been deemed as "old" by society and therefore useless, and should become Soylent Green? What door does this open for anyone who wants to do away with someone for any reason? And if it's such a peaceful, humane way to go, why don't they use it in states that allow the death penalty instead of watching people writhe for 45 minutes after a botched lethal injection?

Of course, suicide has been around forever. I read a novel set in the late 1800s where a woman, suffering from sciatica, was no longer able to get her laudanum (tincture of opium) via prescription, so she suffocated herself in her closet. Overdoses are legendary. But she did it in her closet. Not with an audience, and not with newspaper reporters at large.

I'm not saying that Brittany Maynard should have just sucked up her death sentence and suffered. There are medications and there is hospice. She still had life left in her. Surely her family must have wanted more time with her. Why do I get the feeling that she was thinking to herself, "I'm going to die anyway - why not make a media statement about it while I'm at it - and become famous?" Then again, perhaps I'm being rigid and narrow-minded. Why not respect a person's right to choose to commit suicide?

My cousin Tim committed suicide a few years ago. Suicide is absolute destruction to a family. I lived with someone who was a survivor of her mother's suicide. Suicide is the ultimate selfish act, in my opinion. It is an act of desperation, an act of drama, an act of insanity. I wonder -- was Brittany Maynard thinking, "What about my family, who will (presumably) be surrounding me to watch me die?" Didn't it affect her, knowing that they'd agreed to witness the act and view her as she expired in front of them? Did she even think about their immediate - not to mention delayed - reactions?

I couldn't even stay in the room when I had to have my elderly cats euthanized. I couldn't watch. I certainly couldn't observe that process, whether carried out deliberately or not, in a case of one of my loved human family members or friends. Actually, I couldn't even watch an execution, although I was unfortunately subjected to it as I strolled by the Internet computers that library patrons were using to view beheadings. I think I did see Saddam drop. But that's about it. Just thinking about it makes my stomach turn.

That mother of hers will have nightmares for the rest of her life. And if I had been in that room, I would have felt like an accomplice.

If I had written the prescription, I would have felt like an accomplice.
Let's not talk about if I had been the physician.

If this is affecting me - a person who never knew Brittany, what is going on right now in the psyches of her immediate family? I understand that she had already done her Christmas shopping and that the gifts are wrapped. That seems very macabre. They will have some sort of meaningful funeral. Someone famous will speak and the media will be there. A book will follow; it's probably already on its way to press - and then, of course, a movie. Poor Jodi Picoult, my favorite author - unless I've forgotten about one of her books - she missed her chance to use this as a subject for a novel. People are addicted to this sort of thing - so, at least for the next few days, it will be big tabloid news.

Marie says that in this country, people will do things if they're legal - even if they aren't ethical. Was Brittany ethical? I can't speak for her. Maybe her family was on board with this. Maybe there is a lot about the situation that I don't know. Certainly I have no degrees in theology, or philosophy, or medicine, or ethics. I consider myself an above-average thinker, but when I talk about Brittany Maynard, I hear myself screaming. I'm screaming basically what I said at the beginning of this: I'm sorry. She does not get to do this. But she did.

My prayers go with her grieving family. The family of Brittany Maynard is surrounded by loving support right now. Just wait a month. Or a year, or ten years. Actually, in this society, the world will have moved on by next week.

Brittany Maynard's cancer was a tragedy she did not deserve. Whether she had the right to take her own life or not is not my call. I just know that I haven't been able to stop thinking about it. And it isn't settling well with me. I can't get the images out of my mind. I'm furious for myself for morbidly digging through Google, trying to find the minute details about the moment of her death. I am horrified by my own obsession with horror. It's like a bad accident. You can't look at it, but you can't look away. Anyone reading this will conclude that I am some sort of sickie voyeur myself. Maybe I am.

Rest in peace, Brittany Maynard. And I hope I can get some rest tonight as well.

Notes from the Chore Girl

I spent the entire afternoon cleaning out my nests. There are so many of them! One in my kitchen office, two in the living room (one on either side of my chair), one in my bedroom, and that is just one level of this house. I am my mother's daughter; she makes nests too, but hers are small, organized, neat and they make sense. Mine are chaotic and disgusting.Today's dig was downright nasty: I found pieces of cat treats mixed in with crumbs of candy and other snacks I've enjoyed in each of these locations, and almost popped some Fancy Feast into my mouth at one point. I know, gag. My Waterloo is baskets: I have many and have recently acquired more. They are just dandy for carrying things around - at night (or so I planned when I got my last batch) I'd take a basket to my bedroom, like Dorothy with Toto, all tricked out with my glasses, my journal, a good pen, my Kindle, a glue stick, my inhaler, a small flashlight, a bookmark, a pick comb and my cell phone. What do you suppose I encountered today in said basket? Newspaper clippings, backings from strips of Velcro, candy wrappers, innards of pens, a Chinese takeout menu, capless markers, a pencil with gum stuck to it, expired coupons for LubePros (which no longer exists), RegisterStar rubber bands, random pieces of My Twinn white ribbon (you collectors know what I'm talking about), Beauregard's rabies shot certificate, a floppy disc (we have NO computers in this house that use floppy discs) and a tape cassette. A TAPE CASSETTE! This is recent, too. And we won't even talk about all the AARP magazines and catalogs that accumulate to be read "one of these days."

Take heart, Paul Dale Anderson - at least I found my TGI Fridays November and December Deals coupons. I think. Right now, I only see one.

Gone Girl, Part 2

I finished rereading Gone Girl and reviewed it for Goodreads. It gave me a lot to think about. I'm sure I missed the point, but what I got out of it was the fact that the quest for self-identity is still painful for me, and it became corrupt for Amy. Again - a superb read by a talented author.

Elizabeth Flygare's review

Oct 17, 14  ·  edit

5 of 5 stars

Read from September 30 to October 17, 2014

Warning: Spoilers.
So glad I reread it. I saw the movie and absolutely had to revisit the book. I found myself having much more sympathy for Amy in the book - in the movie she is depicted as so evil and twisted that there is nothing redeemable about her. In the book, I thought about what it would be like to be the only child of academics who created a book series starring their idealized version of me, and what it might do to my self-identity. Amy was able to assume different personas, and I know that I'm able to do that as well - certainly not to the extent that Amy did, and certainly not with her motives. But even as a "senior citizen," I find myself pausing to wonder who the real Elizabeth is. I will add here that I realize how tiresome it is to listen to someone go on and on about "who am I." But if Jean Valjean did it, so can I.

Currently I've branded myself as a 64-year-old selective extrovert who writes incessantly, is in love with a horror writer whose career is taking off big time, collects lifelike dolls, seeks serenity and does not drink alcohol. I go places and am told that I present as a "party girl;" other times, I seem unapproachable and even snobbish. Some people find me elitist; some see me as down to earth. I see myself as rather vain and self-centered, obsessed with having long hair that hasn't yet turned gray, and intellectual. I've added "artist" recently to my profile. I can remember in the recent past when I thought of myself as melancholy, angry, and frightened.

I walked through that book with Amy - it was very interesting how the loss of her money was her turning point with regard to returning home. I liked the way the pregnancy twist was done in the movie better than the book's version. No, I didn't hate Amy. Was I supposed to? The movie certainly said we were supposed to, but I think the book lets you make up your own mind. Jury is still out, but the last thing Nick says to Amy, at the end, will always haunt me. He says, "I feel sorry for you..because you every morning you have to wake up and be you." That is powerful stuff. Five stars.

Gone Girl: Not Amazed by Amy

Warning: Spoilers!

Last Tuesday, Paul and I saw the much-anticipated movie Gone Girl, starring Ben Affleck and Rosamund Pike. It was essentially a disturbing yet brilliant neo-noir portrayal of the very dysfunctional marriage of Amy and Nick Dunne, opening with Amy’s disappearance on their fifth wedding anniversary. We learn the backstories of both characters - Amy’s angst is revealed via journal entries; Nick’s tale seems to introduce a somewhat well-meaning guy. We get into Amy’s head; alternately, we learn that Nick is admittedly clueless about Amy; he doesn’t know her blood type; in fact he had no idea who her friends are. It’s obvious that he’s going to be framed for her abduction and murder, although the state of Nick’s house when he returns to find Amy gone is obviously staged. If you’ve read the book, you know that Amy has faked her own disappearance; the movie doesn’t spell out her motives as clearly as the book does.

The book gets the reader to side with Amy at first, which I think makes the plot twists much more interesting and the tension more effective. We feel sorry for her as we learn that her academic parents have created a children’s book series entitled Amazing Amy, starring an idealized version of their less-than perfect daughter. We feel her pain as she laments that she is unloved. In the movie, it’s Amy we hate from the get-go; she’s depicted as an arrogant New Yorker who considers it slumming to have to move to Missouri with her husband because of his elderly parents’ illnesses. In the movie, I would have liked to have seen more detail spelled out about Amy’s anger at being transplanted, as well as her ongoing distress, spilled into her diary, over how convinced she is that Nick no longer loves her. I also wish there had been more than just a quick cut to show the audience that Nick had an affair. Yes, these elements are there in the movie, but subtleties are easy to miss when you’re just starting to sort out the characters and pick up the rhythm of the cinematic style. Maybe I’m getting spacy and literal-minded in my old age, but if something major is happening, I want to have a clear sense of the hows and the whys.

The book is better. You don’t want to miss Gillian Flynn’s brilliant prose; it’s written in first person and even Paul, who loathes this POV, pronounces the writing spectacular. Flynn also wrote the screenplay for the movie, which is why I’m so confused by my mixed reactions. As I stated earlier, the film version emphasizes Amy’s vileness from the get go, with subtler references to Nick’s defects of character. The book lets us see what jerks they both are early on. With the exception of the female detective and Nick’s twin sister, Margo (nicknamed “Go”), the characters have no redeeming qualities. I liked the cat, of course, but at the end, I had a feeling that he, too, was in on the whole thing all along. I wonder why Gillian Flynn made this subtle alteration?

I've read articles online stating the percentage of women who, after seeing this film, turn completely against the whole idea of marriage. That just makes me shake my head – there is nothing of love in the marriage between Nick and Amy. I have no problem with the much-criticized ending; in my mind, they deserve each other. I want to see it again, because the opening credits scroll over a backdrop of stills that have relevance to the story.

Dad always used to tell us kids, “I get enough messages that work every day – when I go to a movie, I want to be entertained.” I’ve felt that way at times; however, unlike Dad, I do enjoy a good horror movie or psychological thriller and I don’t mind being shocked. Paul and I both concluded that Gone Girl definitely falls under the category of psychological horror. But this movie is insidious. It crawled inside my head and inside my body. I usually love the genre, but after seeing this twisted, dialogue-ridden film, we both felt almost hypnotized into darkness; it was a hard feeling to shake. We chose to indulge in cheesecake at TGI Friday’s - the perfect antidote to 149 minutes of ugly people doing ugly things.

Final note: Amy’s hair, in the beginning, is obviously a wig – and a bad one. She looks much better after her haircut; I’m sure that the new “do” was Rosamund Pike’s real hair.

.

Let's Talk about Books with Lizza

Book talk time! I am reading Ann Tatlock’s Promises to Keep, and I can't say enough about the eloquence of her writing, the plot, and the flawless flow of the story. Paul Anderson, my "significant other," got it as a free download and raved about the beautiful writing; I trust his opinions as he is a published author. We both got free downloads of the book.

Tatlock might be marketing her books as Christian fiction, a genre I normally avoid, but this book doesn't fit the stereotype. In my mind, it is true Christian fiction, unlike the current genre, which seems to be a juxtaposition of 19th century sentimental romance and born-again fundamentalist undertones.  The emphasis here is on racial equality. Langston Hughes, whose work was receiving awards at the time, is mentioned in this book, and there are conversations laced throughout that show the author's strong belief in social justice. The religious references reflect my own Protestant upbringing.  It certainly evokes my old stomping grounds; the book is set in a fictitious town in DuPage County called Mills River, which I sense is based on Wheaton, Illinois, where my family lived from 1964-1970. In addition, author Ann Tatlock is a graduate of Wheaton College.  The story has salience for me because there are so many references to familiar places. 

Here's Amazon's summary of the book and a link to the page: Promises to Keep

Eleven-year-old Roz (Rosalind) Anthony and her family have just moved to Mills River, Illinois, to escape an abusive situation. Only days after settling into their new home, they are surprised to find the previous owner, Tillie Monroe, on their front porch reading the newspaper. Though her sons have sold the house and sent her to a facility for the aged, she is determined to die in the place she lived her life, and somehow manages to find her way "home" day after day. Feeling sympathy for the elderly woman, Roz's mother allows Tillie to move back in. 

Mara Nightingale becomes Roz's first friend in Mills River. In spite of their many differences, the girls discover they have something in common that binds them together--both are hiding secrets. So they make a promise--"cross my heart and hope to die"--never to tell anyone else. 

When danger stalks the Anthonys, Tillie exhibits unimaginable courage and selfless love in her determination to protect the family she has adopted as her own.

And here are more of my comments:

The book is obviously set in the mid-1950s, as it mentions air raid drills. How I remember those from grade school! Roz and her family have moved to Illinois from Minnesota, a state I consider my "home" even though I've never lived there. My parents were born and raised in Minnesota and met at the U, and I have relatives still living in the area. The only thing in Promises to Keep so far that doesn't ring true is that sadly, ethnic prejudice is still rampant in Minnesota -- especially in the Twin Cities. A personal note: In the early 60s, African Americans were starting to move into Minneapolis near the 2800 block of Park Avenue, where my Grandma Arabelle Flygare lived. Grandma, who was born in 1897, had a bit of a time adjusting to the changes.  So it surprises me that eleven-year-old Roz is unfazed by Mara's being "colored." Perhaps, even then, little kids were innocent when it came to "differences."  

I love Tillie! With regard to faith, two of my favorite scenes in the book so far are (1) where 11-year old Roz asks Tillie how you know you're going to heaven, and she replies, "Well, now, that all depends on who your father is;" and (2) where Tillie teaches The Lord's Prayer to Roz's two-year-old sister Valerie, who hears the first line as "Our Father, it's hot in heaven."  I also feel a sense of kinship with Tillie as she uses the expression "Merciful heavens!" frequently. That phrase has floated around in my family for decades, usually uttered with a Swedish accent.

I'm at the part right now where Mara has disclosed to Roz the secret about her real father, and that Mara's first name is actually "Beatrice." Mara reveals to Roz that her older sister Celia is actually her mother, and that Roz is the offspring of an affair between Celia and William Remmick, a white man. Remmick is an English professor and a book-lover who has a late-night Chicago radio talk show. (I suspect the Remmick character is loosely based on Milt Rosenberg) Mara's family story is that that Celia is her sister--of course, her "parents" are actually her grandparents. Mara wants desperately to meet her real father, and her grandparents agree to take her to Chicago on the train to meet him. I'll leave the aftermath of that visit for anyone who decides to read the book.

I enjoy Roz's siblings: the older Wally and little Valerie. As the story advances, Wally, at age eighteen, decides to enlist in the Army. This doesn't go over too well for the family; at this point, we're into the Vietnam era. It is also heartening to see that Tillie's two older sons, Johnny and Paul, who put her in the nursing home, are ending to up to be decent guys. Tillie's third son, Lyle, is doing some type of missionary work in another country. He has yet to appear. (Note: Lyle is also a name from my family.)

Roz's mother, Janis, is dating a man named Tom Barrows. Roz and Mara can't stand him, and conjure up devious, hilarious means to stop the relationship.  Then - as I knew would happen, Roz's father resurfaces. Roz finds Sugar Daddy candy in her school desk--this creeps me out. He tries to entice Roz back in his good graces, and he's appearing more and more sinister to me. Tom Barrows is soon out of the picture, and not because of Roz and Mara's antics. "Daddy" has obviously made threats because he wants Janis and his family back.

So I think that Daddy Dearest is going to either threaten Roz or actually try to harm her. My guess is that Tillie will come to the rescue. I think Lyle will return to Mills River and Janis will marry him, making Tillie Roz's grandma, and that Tillie will live out her days in her beloved home.

I wish I had written it.

I want to meet the author, and I'm going to read her other books.  Knowing my mother would like Promises to Keep, I checked Amazon and it was back to $6.99. I called Mom and told her about it, and she sounded intrigued. I immediately bought it for her and had it sent to her Kindle.

Back to the concept of Christian fiction: Christy by Catherine Marshall was the book that inspired me to want to write a novel! So, from this former Presbyterian/current Episcopagan rebel, I have three remaining words about Promises to Keep: BUY THIS BOOK!

Google Chrome and Windows 8.1

Well, I took the plunge. Always "old-school," I fought viciously to avoid Google Chrome, but I can't upload photos on Blogger using Internet Explorer. I tried Firefox and loathed it - deleted it immediately - that sucker took over my whole computer. SO.....now, Google Chrome is my default browser - and I admit that I love it! Even my mother likes it, and she's 88 - I will say it works better for people who aren't using Comcast as their E-Mail service provider. If I were willing to change to their default, I'd have a seamless browsing experience, but everyone knows my e-mail address as elizabethaisling@comcast.net, and I don't want to change it.

 In other news, I have tamed Windows 8.1 and am beginning to like it quite a bit. I've discovered some great photo-editing apps, which I've downloaded free from the "Store." A caveat - DO NOT BUY "Windows Essentials." It is free. Go to the Microsoft website and download it - I did - and the editing component of their Photo Gallery is great. It also gives me Microsoft Movie Maker, which I use constantly. Here are links to some of my recent projects:

30 Days of Lists - September 2014
Bristol Renaissance Faire: August 3, 2014
Bristol Renaissance Faire: August 17, 2014
Roadside Shrine

I really ought to devote a blog entry to each one of these! I have another blog on Blogspot that talks about 30 Days of Lists. LizzaLand: 30 Days of Lists for September 2014

Now I'm going to play with DragonLady again.

Voice Recognition Software

I've just installed some new software: Nuance Dragon Naturally Speaking 13 Premium, an early Christmas present from wonderful Paul. I am psyched! Dragon is speech recognition software that turns your spoken words into text which appears before your eyes in seconds. In other words, you can think out loud.It comes with headphones and a microphone, but you can also use the microphone built into your laptop. You teach it your voice, accent, vocal cadences, words and phrases.....I hope it enjoys meeting Chatty Elizabeth!

Later: We have met. This is my first post. I had the audacity to put it on Facebook!

Good morning to everybody out there in Facebook land. Today’s entry is brought to you by the Dragon Lady- proud owner of nuance Dragon voice recognition software. This post is being dictated into the microphone of my Toshiba, and I’m sitting here drinking my coffee and enjoying the thrill of watching text appear on my screen. I don’t suppose that this software will be Facebook friendly enough to highlight Paul Dale Anderson’s name, but here’s a shout out to him anyway – because he gave the software to me is an early Christmas present. He knows what a chatterbox I am and how much I love to talk, and so this is right up my alley. I wonder what would happen if I tried to talk in a British accent. What’s how we jolly swags? Well, that didn’t work. I was trying to say the phrase what HO, YE jolly swags? Obviously, I have to go back through the instructions and learn how to make corrections. Because I’m lazy, I only read the directions when all else fails. One thing I absolutely have to learn is how to put things in quotation marks. Anyhow, it is 20 minutes after 12 noon which means it’s Sunday afternoon. Marie wants to go to the waffle house for breakfast. Waffle house should be capitalized. Paul, I promise you that next time I use this I will have learned how to capitalize words within a sentence. I’m having my coffee, and I am so excited about having this software! It’s like magic. How I wish I’d had it 40 years ago when I used to sit in my apartment in jabber my innermost thoughts into a cassette player. I still have those tapes, and I suppose I ought to have them digitized for posterity. Now, I will go ahead and paste this into my Facebook status from the word document I’m using; I do have a sneaking suspicion that this wonderful nuance Dragon voice recognition software will probably interface with Facebook. I must have a pretty normal voice, because I’m not making any effort to sound articulate – and Dragon Lady still understands me. Have a deep need to be understood, so I am sure that nuance Dragon, henceforth known as Dragon Lady, will become my partner in crime as well as my friend and soulmate. One moment look up the word henceforth. Yay, I was right – it means in the future. A note: since I’ve joined the ranks of Ville… Boy that sure didn’t make sense… trying to was that not only do I forget what words mean to spell them. I wonder what will next. The software is very patient. I’m not used to that in humans. It actually waits for to take a sip of coffee; it sits there, politely, ready for my jabbering to resume. I hope all of you a scintillating day, and for stars to any of you who actually read this entire post. Signing off now – Elizabeth Aisling lidar, oh dear it thinks fly Gar… LYG a… Oh no what am I going to do? It doesn’t know Swedish. My last name is not DAR, nor is it FLY GA are. Help! I will try one more time. My last name is spelled FLYGARE. Tomorrow, I will train Dragon Lady to spell my last name the capital letter and the rest of the letters in lower case. One more thing. I often go by Liz the. That is not Liz the. The spelling is: LIZ Z a. Trying again – I am frustrated. Lizza! I did it! I taught Dragon Lady my name! I’m certainly glad that it is not Henrietta Margaretta Prudencia Deborah Mundy Biggs Cox. How nice – it did not write cocks.

LikeLOL!

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