Garbage options in Wisconsin

Vacationing in Door County, Wisconsin for a week, and having my first experience with Wisconsin Garbage Options.Before all my friends get in my face about having a "bad attitude" with regard to having respect for Mother Earth, let me make two things clear:

   1. I do recycle, even though it's a long trip down our driveway with the bin

   2. (unrelated to this post) I hate the phrase "Living Green," especially when used in hotels and motels who don't want to wash your sheets. They urge us to save the planet even if we went to bed, as I often do, with Argan oil all over my toes.

Presently, Marie and I are staying in a rental cottage in in Egg Harbor, Wisconsin, with all four cats. It's an older cabin with a charming juxtaposition of rustic and state of the art amenities (jacuzzi, skylights, wi-fi, Sirius), and best of all, it allows pets. It has taken Marie and me years to find a place in Door county where we could bring our cats after the Shallows changed ownership. This place is cat heaven.

But this place is Garbage Hell.

This is too much for my head. 

1. Plastic/Cans/Glass--Do I have to rinse out the cat food cans first? I don't. In they go. I get the plastic and glass. But why isn't there a place designated for paper recyclables?

2. Garbage Only- what does that mean? What do you do with dead batteries? Paper products? Milk cartons? Discarded Jamberry nail wraps?

3. Under The Sink---is this where you put the little bags (tied shut, of course) after cleaning clumping cat litter? The litter is organic, but the bags aren't. What are we going to do on the last day before we leave? I suppose we could take both bags to the woods, turn them upside down and give the contents the heave-ho, and bring the bags back inside for Can #1.

4. Can I put banana peels in the "compost" one? I haven't done so. And can I put the wet coffee grounds in there along with the filter, or do I have to dump them out of the filter and throw the filter elsewhere? This sign was not made for you and me.

5. Last, but not least, what do we do when we want to take ALL the trash out? Or do we? When all else fails, I'd better reread the instructions.

Having a wonderful time, though!

Hymnody Part II, and Ruth Duck

Yup, I'm still on this jag, and I find I have more to say.

You've already been warned. Go to any mainstream Protestant church these days, and if you love traditional hymns as I do, be very afraid. The United Methodist Church is due for a hymnal update; their most recent hymnal was published in 1989. They have a supplementary hymnal which includes Eternal Father, Strong to Save, because many members/churchgoers got their panties in a twist at the 1989 omission of of the Navy Hymn--myself included. And I do love their inclusion of My Song Is Love Unknown, sung to the wonderful tune Rhosymedre. Although I applaud that along with Navy Hymn, with words intact, we are also treated with such gems as Lead On, O Cloud of Presence instead of Lead on, O King Eternal. How does a cloud lead? The only clouds in my life these days, other than the ones in the sky, are Amazon Music, where I store my music, and Dropbox, where I send the photos I take with my phone--and maybe Joni Mitchell's album from the 70s.  

Then we have The Fragrance of Christ. I'm not even going there. Here's another hymn to ponder: Someone Asked the Question' (Why We Sing.) Why indeed?

And then, when I'm about to give up, I discover the wonderful Let All Things Now Living, which I radiantly sang in my childhood to the tune of The Ash Grove. Thank God I play by ear, because they chose not to include the harmony on that one. But it's there!

So why must we go from the sublime to the Pampers ode: A Mother Lined Her Basket, To Keep Her Baby Dry?" 

Caveat for people like me: There will be a supplementary hymnal in the pew rack of most churches you visit.

The United Church of Christ has Renew! Songs and Hymns for Blended Worship. I shamelessly admit I don't mind this one, because they didn't do as much damage to the lyrics as others have. My favorite hymn tune, Hyfrydol, has been rewritten as Praise the Lord! O heavens adore him. I guess they don't mind the gender-specific pronouns, but they don't like the ye and thee and thou language. But that isn't terrible. They also have the fabulous Let All Things Now Living, also sung to The Ash Grove, with the harmony included. Actually, there is nothing in the UCC supplementary hymnal to offend me, except for the fact that our UCC (at least the one in my neighborhood) has an electronic appliance instead of a pipe organ, and they never use it - the drum kits are all set up with the electric guitars at the ready for services. As I wrote in an earlier entry, the congregational hymn for Stewardship Sunday was the Beatles' Help! I Need Somebody! That ain't not in no hymnal nohow. I admit that after that, I never went back.

HELP!

I took this up with my best friend, Marie, who is Catholic and familiar with contemporary hymns. (For the record, I love many of them; the ones John Michael Talbot wrote in the sixties are wonderful). Marie's father was Methodist, and she gaily scanned the index of my red 1989 UMC hymnal for Out of the Ivory Palaces, Into a World of Woe. I can report, with a gladsome mind, that it is not there. She pulled it up on YouTube for my delectation, and it sounded like someone breaking into song in a corny 1950's musical. She reminded me that the Methodists used to sing it. Yikes. What goes around might come around.

Ruth Duck
Finally, Marie introduced me to the wonders of Ruth Duck. (You wondered when I'd get to her, didn't you?)  A professor of worship at Garrett-Evangelical Theological Seminary in Evanston, Illinois, which happens to be a institution that I highly respect, she is one of the top leaders in the movement to make hymn lyrics gender-neutral and "relevant." This terrifies me, because that seminary has turned out some fine United Methodist clergy. The alarm bell has gone off: how I dread the next UMC hymnal revision. Here is an example of Ruth Duck's many hymn texts for contemporary worship; this one made me spew my coffee. You all know this traditional tune if you listen to Enya; she sings it with grace on her Shepherd Moons album. I give you Ms. Duck's first two verses: I can't bear to go on. Lord help us, this is what she did to How Can I Keep from Singing?

Source: http://www.umcdiscipleship.org/resources/september-11-hymns-by-ruth-duck

We Humans Build to Frame a Life, by Ruth Duck
Recommended Tune: How Can I Keep from Singing -The Faith We Sing, UMH 2212

We humans build to frame a life
with meaning, love, and feeling,
but time or hate can bring collapse
and loss can leave us reeling.
Let faithful souls from rubble rise
to find new ways from sorrow
and slowly, slowly form a shape
to welcome God's tomorrow. 

For everything our hands construct
will one day fall and crumble'
The God who is a carpenter
creates from scrap and jumble.
And we can join the work of God
to raise a new creation
that what we do will long endure
upon a firm foundation.

_________________________________

I used to write stuff like that when I was still drinking. The shapes that formed in my twisted head would have welcomed no one. Indeed, all that I touched crumbled into scrap and jumble. It wasn't until Aug, 24, 2013, after my final collapse that left me reeling, that I rose from the rubble and decided to get sober. From the sound of this ditty, I guess I'd better go buy a Wonderbra to provide a firm foundation should I find myself having to actually sing this. 

There is only one means of relief: my sick sense of humor. I went to my favorite parody site, where some of my own song parodies are actually published, and looked up hymn parodies. i found this delight and sent it to Paul, my boyfriend, who is a good Swede like me and is willing to commiserate about the indignities of aging. I leave you with this amazing piece of work.

http://www.amiright.com/parody/misc/traditionalhymn15.shtml

I’m aging great; young Swedes, I’ve found, go ape for-a lech like me
I once was soft, but lost the pounds, was wide, but now I’m lean

The ‘grays’ I thought I’d have to shear alas did not recede
Not plenteous are the grays I’d feared, and I am so relieved!

Some men are vain, and spoiled and scared of what they might become;
Our grays and guts we guys bemoan -- our parts define the sum.

I still can make the wood to please the babes my looks secure;
When it goes soft, my Porsche will be my only needed cure

Yes, once my rod has lost its kick, and babes no more can please;
I’ll still have skill to drive my ‘stick’, for I’ll still have the keys

That’s all for now, I have to go – the Por-sche needs a shine;
So when my good looks fin’lly go, the babes can still be mine.
________________________________________________________

See y'all on Sunday. As I said, the Methodist church has a pipe organ. I will survive.

Hymnody--and decisions

Here we go again. 

They're going away. The hymns we grew up singing - those of us who were Presbyterian, Methodist, Episcopalian. The PC Police have invaded. On March 29, I go to the new members' class to decide if I want to sign up to become a United Methodist. And I am having the jitters. 

Should I join, or should I continue as a visitor? Should I do one final round of research? Do I need to visit some more churches and look at some more hymnals?

The Episcopal Church:
I was confirmed by Bishop Montgomery in Chicago as an Episcopalian in the 70s, and I left when they stopped using the 1928 Book of Common Prayer and the Hymnal 1940. I haven't revisited an Episcopalian service because I fear that even the smell of the communion wine could threaten my sobriety. However, I went to a funeral earlier this year at an Episcopal Church and was lured their way due to the processional cross and wonderful hymns. Is this where I belong? Do I want to drive all the way downtown on Sunday mornings, or should I see what else is around? Location, location, location.

OK. There's an Episcopal Church in my neighborhood, I googled them to see what they were like, and discovered that their "traditional" service is at the godforsaken hour of 8:30 AM, and it features their "praise team." So my choice is clear: go Episcopal only if I'm willing to get up early for a bit of a drive.

The Presbyterian Church:
I was raised Presbyterian. I adored the hymns. Now I learn that the Presbyterian Church just approved gay marriage, which makes me cheer. (The United Methodists won't even ordain gays and lesbians, but there are plenty of rebels working to get that changed).  Should I pay the Presbyterians a visit as well? My mother has a copy of their current hymnal, and it seems unscathed. One of my sisters is an elder in that denomination. But I sense something sinister coming their way too - I've already heard Spirit Song, and it sounds like a Petula Clark pop song from 1965. Pass.

The Lutheran Church:
God help the Lutherans - their music is the mightiest of all, and I don't dare venture there for fear of what I might find. The one I like in Rockford has a gorgeous pipe organ and they use it. I think they do, anyway. At least I would get to sing Children of the Heavenly Father. Unless they've changed it to the Heavenly Mother.

The American Baptists:  Just - no.

The United Church of Christ:  Been there and blogged about it.

The United Methodists, again:
Theology is of the utmost importance to me, but the music program is the dealbreaker when I choose a church. I picked Christ United Methodist because I have no quarrel with their beliefs, they're in my neighborhood, and they have that terrific H.A. Howell pipe organ. But I'm not liking what I'm seeing. Their bulletin used to say "Traditional worship: 9:30 AM; Contemporary Worship, 11:00 AM." Now, it's calling the 9:30 service Mixed Worship. It's happening. And I don't like having to get up early enough to get to a 9:30 service if there's going to be swinging and swaying.

So - I'll attend their New Members class on Palm Sunday. I'll listen to the pastors. I'll ask my questions, if I can. And I'll eventually make up my mind. Stay tuned.

Facebook Fun

January 23, 2015 at 10:02am

Rules:

                                                              

Once you've been tagged, you are supposed to write a note with 25 random things, facts, habits, or goals about you. At the end, choose 25 people to be tagged. You have to tag the person who tagged you. If I tagged you, it's because I want to know more about you.

(To do this, go to "notes" under tabs on your profile page, paste these instructions in the body of the note, type your 25 random things, tag 25 people (in the top right hand corner of the app)then click publish.) 

To find the "Notes" section, click on"More." If you don't see it, click on "manage sections" and select it. Then, it will show up on the drop-down menu under notes.

                                                                     Elizabeth's 25 Random Facts

1. I have a strong aversion to cilantro. To me, it tastes like soap. I researched it and found out that it's wired into our genes; 10% of individuals tested thought it tasted like soap. I am part of the 10%. The other 90% thinks it's sweet.

2. I flunked Driver's Ed in high school. (Big surprise!) :)  But I learned to drive on a stick-shift and I can still drive one.

3. I can't stand to be in a room with just the overhead light on. There have to be lamps lit. Ambience is important to me.

4. Up until I turned 60, I was an excellent speller. Now, I have difficulty. (When I typed "Ambience," it showed up underlined in red. (I looked it up. The "ance" and "ence" endings are both accurate; the "ence" spelling actually more common, so in this case, I was right). But I often have to look up words or, if I'm lazy, ask Marie how to spell them. It is very unsettling to have trouble with spelling.

5. I know all the words to "Frank Mills" from "Hair" and love to drive people crazy by singing it.

6. I learned how to read when I was four. My Helen Keller moment: In 1954, we had a fan made by a company called "Belco." Mom recalls that I looked at the brand name on the fan, said "B-E-L-C-O---Belco!" and shrugged my shoulders. Mom called Dad at work and said, "Bob. She's reading!"

7. I went to high school with John Belushi. We graduated from Wheaton Central High School, Wheaton, IL - John in 1967, me in 1968. He was homecoming king, captain of the football team, and a killer guitarist.

8. I am a friend of Bill W.

9. I have a near-photographic memory for conversations and events that occurred in the past, but I can't remember the name of the next town when we're on vacation. (Right now, it's Englewood, Florida and I keep saying "Edgerton")

10. I have no sense of direction.

11. Once I have a piece of music memorized in my mind, I can sit down at the piano and replicate it, by ear, including all the inner harmonies. I used to think everyone could do that. Dad had to sit me down when I was in grade school and gently inform me that most people cannot, and that I had inherited it, and it was rude for me to get impatient with other people who don't play by ear. It is a gift and I wish everyone had it! I can't teach music lessons because of my difficulty with print music.

12. I invented pantyhose. When I was about 13,and old enough for "nylons," I remember thinking: "Why don't they make these like tights?" A few years later, pantyhose appeared on the market. Too bad I didn't get credit!

13. I am an absolute klutz- not graceful -terrible at all sports - I trip and fall and bump into things all the time.  I have never been able to touch my toes without bending my knees.

14. I'm left-handed, but I play the guitar right-handed (It's easier, actually, for lefties - our dominant hand makes the chords)

15. I can swear in Swedish, French, German,Spanish, and Lithuanian. (I'm not Lithuanian - I'm 75% Swedish and 25%Scotch-Irish WASP)

16. I am a psychology junkie.  I'm well-read in the field, but never pursued a career in any aspect of psychology because I couldn't have passed statistics. Secret vice: I love personality tests.I test as ENFJ sometimes and INFJ other times on the Myers-Briggs, D on the DISC test, I'm an Enneagram Four, and in Neurolinguistic Programming (NLP) I'm auditory-kinesthetic.

17. I still don't understand football.

18. I consider myself to be very well-read; I love to read -- I retired from a 35-year paraprofessional reference librarian career in 2010. I can quote passages at length from books across most disciplines. I have a special affinity for medicine and know quite a bit about the field.  My father was quite a scholar; as is Paul, the man I've been seeing for almost 3 years, and Marie my best friend and housemate. I love nothing more than long, intellectual discussions about cosmology, psychology ,philosophy, social trends, family dynamics, human behavior - you name it. The two people closest to me, Paul and Marie, are smarter than I am and I learn a lot from them.

19. On the other hand --- they can learn something from me! I am almost an authority on music. I had almost a double major in college - my major was art and my minor was music; I had more than the required courses for a minor. I love to talk about music with people of all ages. My first love is "classical" music, (I can still explain sonata-allegro form in symphonies from the classical period, tritones, Picardy thirds, parallel octaves and fifths in part-writing {a big no-no}, Neapolitan sixths, shape-note singing, the evolution of the Appalachian dulcimer, the idiosyncrasies of pianos {I prefer Asian pianos}, the difference between tracker and electro-pneumatic action in pipe organs, modes {pitch relationships in a scale i.e. C Ionian, D Dorian, E Phrygian and so on},Bach fugues,polyphonic texture - the list goes on). However, I never learned to identify   all the instruments in an orchestra.

20. I am in the process of converting to United Methodism.

21. I am a published author - my novel, The Five Notebooks, is available on amazon in trade PB & Kindle. 

22. I am cooking-illiterate. Put me in a kitchen and I will probably burn down the house. I still don't know how to boil an egg.

23. I was in a rock band in high school. We called ourselves "The Children of Stone," and I was the only girl. I played rhythm guitar. During boring classes, I used to sketch Fender guitars in my notebooks. The lead guitarist threw his electric guitar down the basement stairs because I wouldn't go out with him (I was in love with the bass player)

24. I have kept a journal since age 12. Since 1990, I have filled over 300 blank books. I have huge storage containers all over the house full of notebooks and binders with all the poetry and trunk novels I've written.

25. I am fascinated by names and collect books on the subject. I also collect antique etiquette books. Everyone knows I collect dolls. They all have first and middle names and some have surnames; I can remember them all. I am a crazy doll lady, and - of course - a crazy cat lady as well. We have Cassandra Cecilia, Cory Jax, Beauregard Blue Boy and Willow Angel.

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.