Test

Hmm, let's see if this will paragraph.

Fingers, after typing, crossed.

If it does, perhaps I'll smile or laugh.

And if it won't--well, nothing lost.

This is for Judy

Enjoy your visit to the country!

Mind Like Water

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(Prologue: Aaaaackkkkkk!!! It's not making paragraphs! This just makes my whole post even more apropos! Who needs this kind of change? I did not realize this until after writing the whole thing and posting it. Ha! Is Google now reading what I write and trying to get me back for not liking what they did?) I was reading a friend's blog yesterday about the importance of learning to go with the flow, to adapt to change, to reduce reactivity. How do I practice flowing rather than blocking? How do I encounter and then move around obstacles with the least resistance? I was amen-ing what he had written in my mind so much that I even left a comment on the blog, not something I do a lot. The past few years have brought a lot of change for me. Recently I wrote to a friend in France that since visiting her in 2008, I've had four different work situations since we visited (which has meant working out of a total of ten different offices), and we've moved to a new house. And that doesn't begin to tell the story of all the major changes that came into my life because of situations involving family and friends and my own personal journey physically, emotionally, and spiritually. I know I haven't dealt with all of these changes with a "mind like water." I've done some blocking and put up some resistance, even with my intention of doing my best to learn and grow through them. Blocking and resisting notwithstanding, I've made it through. Four years after that trip to France, I'm basically sane and sound and enjoying life--and even hoping to start finally learning French. I just realized tonight, though, that Blogger made the changes they've been warning us of. I doubt they think of it as "warning." They probably thought we'd all be excited by the new streamlined look, the cleaner page, the whatever else they've done that I'm not thinking of or haven't yet discovered. But I don't care for it. It looks very impersonal. Blank, empty, machine-like, ugly in some way I'm not sure I can describe. They've done it, and there's no going back. When it hit me that this was it, and there was no saying goodbye to the old format, I had a moment of panic and anger. Then a moment of wondering why it bothered me so much. And then realized that one reason these little changes bother me so much, is that life is so full of big changes. It takes a lot of energy to change jobs, move to a new house, start a new business, deal with accidents and illnesses and other major stressors. Who wants to have to spend all their "mind like water" energy and effort on little things like adjusting to a new blogging format? I think I like the little things to stay the same because there are so often big things that cannot stay the same, and I want my energy and effort available for those. Oh, well, that's my thinking about it tonight, at any rate. I've encountered one more obstacle to move around. And right now I'm feeling pretty resistant to it! Because I'm still tired from encounters with much bigger obstacles. I think it makes sense. Or I suppose it could just be that I've been an old fuddy-duddy all my life.

Spring Green

I'm just fascinated by light. These days it's the light coming onto, and through, the new green that has exploded since the beginning of spring.

I remember, in elementary school, having a crayon with the name "spring green." Back then, I thought each name on a crayon was an official name; if I'd known about oil paints, I would have assumed there would be one on every artist's palette called "spring green," different from plain old green or "pine green."

I think of those "spring green" crayons every time winter comes to an end. The green of spring is so alive, so amazing.

I think also of Robert Frost's "Nature's first green is gold, her hardest hue to hold..." I can't help it; it comes to mind each year, and the beauty and newness of "spring green" have that sober note in the background, certainly. But even Robert Frost's poetry with its reflection on Eden's sinking to grief cannot dampen my spirits when green is coming alive all around.

That's partly just because it is so absolutely gorgeous and soul-awakening, and also because I don't believe that Eden sinking to grief is the final story. No, one day there will be no sinking to grief, no leaf subsiding to leaf. Someday all that is gold will stay, whether the gold of the proverbial streets of gold, or the gold of a person being "good as gold."

In the meantime, I'm thankful for glimpses of gold and green that pierce this earthly life with moments of sublime beauty. And while the photos don't do it justice, that's what happens on days when I get home in time to see the sun at just the right point to shine on our front yard. I leave the wooden door open and stand there and marvel at the sheer "spring green" of it all. Something is resurrected in me as that light shines onto the grass and into the darkened doorway.

Fascinating what light can do.

(For those not familiar with the poem....)

Nature's first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf's a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.

Tenebrae

Circa thirty ears ago, in high school. We worked on a piece called "Tenebrae Factae Sunt."

There was darkness over the earth when the Jews crucified Jesus:
and about the ninth hour Jesus cried with a loud voice:
My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?
And he bowed his head and gave up the ghost.
Jesus cried with a loud voice and said,
Father, into thy hands I commend my spirit.
And he bowed his head and gave up the ghost.

We sang it in English and never learned it well enough to perform it. But the word "tenebrae" stayed in my mind.

Circa twenty-five years ago, in college. While studying in Italy, I took a weekend trip to England and discovered Westminster Abbey and liturgical worship (an evensong service) and could hardly believe that such beauty, such focus on God, through readings, prayer, and music, was possible. I wondered if I would ever experience it again.



Circa four hours ago, in my current life. The Tenebrae service at St. John's, down the street from where I live. A service of readings from the psalms, Lamentations, Hebrews, Augustine, all focusing on the darkness of Christ's betrayal, loneliness, suffering, and death, and the love motivating it all. Song after song was sung, including the one above.

[He was] crucified also for us under Pontius Pilate, he suffered and was buried.

Candle after candle was extinguished, leaving the church in darkness, kneeling, wondering, waiting, thinking, feeling. Some, like me, weeping.

But then the Song of Zechariah, from Luke 1:

In the tender compassion of our God the dawn from on high shall break upon us, to shine on those who dwell in darkness and the shadow of death, and to guide our feet into the way of peace.

And from the Revelation of John:

And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes,
and there shall be no more death,
neither sorrow, nor crying.
Neither shall there be anymore pain, for the former things are passed away.
And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes.

And in a dark and silent church, a single candle returns. And darkness does not have the final say.

Cross and Yarn

Disappeared from my blog again. An awful lot going on that I won't write about. Stressful time.

But the week some call Holy Week is ahead, and I wanted to put something here to reflect on that.

I came across this photo from a few years ago, when a friend (Joyce, the one speaking) and I planned this evening for the women at church. I don't even remember exactly what we did, but we borrowed this cross from a friend's church, and we used yarn, and we had people move around in some kind of symbolic way that showed how the various generations were connected by the cross and that we were all interwoven with each other.

As I recall, it was a pretty powerful evening.

And these days I'm thinking often of how grateful I am for friends, sisters, from various generations and various paths of life. Some are my actual blood relatives, some are not. Some of them know each other, some do not, but they are all important in my life, and the cross of Christ is what connects us all.

Like strands of yarn, we are woven together, and they help hold me together.

And except for my blood relatives, all the women I'm thinking of would not even be in my life except that our shared faith in Christ and his cross--the suffering, death, burial, and resurrection that we will remember and celebrate in special ways this week--brought us together.

And I am thankful.

Eyes to See

I love it when I just happen into a room at the right time to catch something like this. And it lasts only a moment, which makes catching it that much more special.

....Okay, this is almost twilight zone-y. I wanted to say something profound about how we so often don't see beauty, or meaning, or just something special, because we aren't looking for it. Because we are in a hurry, or because we are so focused on other things.

Not feeling terribly inspired, I turned to Google, hoping to find some appropriate quote to help me out. I was thinking of Jesus' occasional comments about having ears to hear, and I knew he had spoken about seeing, as well. I entered "eyes to see," wondering what I might find.

The seventh entry (skipping images) that came up was from my own spiritual director's blog, and it was an entry that I had not "caught" back when he posted it. But it says so well what I was thinking about.

I share most of it here:

The tragedy is how often we fail to "see" what we see. Our eyes and hearts cannot penetrate the mystery. we are weary and distracted. Our senses dulled and our spirits diminished. There is a glorious reality which our sight does not penetrate. O for the eyes to see, the ears to hear, the heart to know and worship and obey. Reading Chapter 4 of the Revelation (literally, "the unveiling") was a reminder that we live in a world much richer than we can imagine. In praying and opening ourselves to God the heavenly worship going on all around us can be discerned.

We modern people live in an age of radio and tv. We know, even if we do not think about it, that programs are swirling all about us at every moment of each day. Right now the room in which you sit has songs which cannot be heard, games which cannot be watched, programs which cannot be enjoyed, because you are not tuned in. With a radio or tv you can suddenly enjoy these and more. Our faith and spirituality work the same way. we can hear the unheard angel choirs with faith, we can understand the voice of God by listening, we can know the truth, that God is in His heaven and all is (will be) right with the world.

Today I am more aware. As my son said in class, "Church is boring when we aren't paying attention." Wisdom! When we are attentive and giving ourselves, we might catch a peak into the glory that surrounds us. I pray that all of you had that sort of experience today in your place of worship. Now we begin a new week, a chance to pray, to study Scripture, to serve in His Name---a chance to prepare again for the Sunday gathering!

(And it even happens to be Sunday as I write.)

You can find the rest of it, and other great things to read, here

Images for Lent, Inspired by Light

Ah, the beauty of hardwood floors. And of light coming in through the window.

And to me there is beauty in the simple lines, the clear delineations. This is this area; that is that area. All combining to form a whole, but each separate from the other. It looks so nice and neat. So orderly.

My life is not that way, and neither are the lives of many people I talk with. And anyone who checks my blog, or gets updates, can pretty well count on the fact that if it has been a while since I last wrote, it means life has not been neat and orderly in the meantime. Sometimes it's hard to even remember what has been going on that has kept me from writing. Since last time, I can look at my calendar and see a speaking engagement, a retreat planned and led, dinner guests or overnight guests many weekends, three concerts attended, a professional conference out of town, my birthday, and a day trip out of town. An audition. Oh, and physical therapy sessions were added to my schedule in the past week.

All that in addition to regularly scheduled work.

When I write it all out, I feel a bit gentler toward myself for not taking the time to sit and write. And I'm thankful for all the wonderful people and music and encounters. Especially the physical therapy, which even makes it possible to use the computer without the continual pain I'd felt for months.

But today has been a day of staying home, with no guests other than welcoming the presence of rest and peace. Ahhhhh.

And this seems now like a good time to share this prayer, which is engraved on the candle holder above and sits on the desk across the room from me:

O God of peace,
who hast taught us that in returning and rest we shall be saved,
in quietness and confidence shall be our strength:
By the might of thy Spirit lift us, we pray, to thy presence,
where we may be still and know that thou art God;
through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

It is the prayer that we prayed at the beginning of the centering prayer group I used to meet with, until our schedules no longer allowed. But we will be meeting during Lent, and I do so look forward to that.

And of course it isn't just scheduled activities that keep us from peace. It's the activity of our minds and hearts, perhaps, that does so as much as, or sometimes more than, the outward activities. Which is one reason prayer is so important to me. It helps order my mind, orient my heart. It makes it possible to go into a maelstrom of activity, or into the maelstrom of other people's struggles (a big part of my work), and even into the maelstrom of my own heart and mind, and to have a center of peace and quiet in the midst of it all.

I'm thankful for Lent. A time to remember we are dust. A time to focus on prayer and fasting. A time to at least try to see ourselves in a clearer light, and to be thankful for the Spirit that animates our dust and loves us even in our messiness and disorder, bringing peace and order if we will accept them.

Paolo Sotto Voce

"Sotto Voce" just came to me...I suppose he is beneath the voice of the piano, if anyone were to be playing it. And to get the picture I had to be very quiet, because he does not like cameras. If he hears the turning-on sound, he generally makes himself scarce.

In this case maybe he would not have, because he was working hard on his rawhide treat, and it's pretty hard to get his attention away from that! Which made it a good time to take the picture.

And I just think it's funny. I didn't grow up with dogs in the house, so to have one chewing his rawhide under the piano and bench is just funny to me.

Maybe one day I'll get a completely silent camera with no flash and get some decent closer-up pictures of him.

Eleventh Day: Pandoro instead of Pipers

For whatever reason, panettone (a cake with little pieces of dried fruit scattered throughout the batter) shows up in displays all over the place in this city at Christmastime. Well, maybe not all over the place. That would be overstatement. I haven't seen it in Superlo or Kroger or in lots of other places. But in the stores that are likely to carry an imported cake from Italy, panettone is what appears on the shelves.

And you'd think I'd be excited about a cake imported from Italy. But, no. Panettone does not appeal to me in the least. I can't stand the little dried fruit pieces, and they ruin the whole thing, at least for my taste. Obviously, others have a different subjective experience. Or else a whole lot of panettone is being bought and given and not eaten. I don't know.

Another cake was always on the shelves in Italy, though. Pandoro, literally "bread of gold" (pane di oro.) I liked it so much, I tied one to my backpack and carried it all the way home the first time I went home for Christmas. The customs officers looked at me funny, but it was worth it.

A shop called Mantia's used to carry pandoro, though they never had as many of them as they had panettone. Still, if I got there early enough in the season, I could usually find one. But Mantia's closed two or three years ago (written sadly, with a sigh), and we haven't had pandoro since then.

This year, as a shot in the dark, I asked the chef at Fratelli's if she might have any idea what pandoro was and where I could find it. I say it was a shot in the dark because, despite the Italian name of the restaurant, the owner is not Italian but from northern Europe, and I didn't know until I just now looked her up that she studied in Italy.

Anyway, my intuition must have been in good form that day, because it turned out she knew exactly where to look for pandoro. I never would have thought to try TJMaxx, but that's what she suggested. I had never even been to a TJMaxx before, but I made the drive down Summer Avenue to the closest one, and sure enough, amidst about 50 miniature boxes of panettone, they actually had four boxes of pandoro. The real size, which is enough for about ten servings.

I bought three and left one, in case someone else like me came there just in search of this golden treasure.

And so, we finally had pandoro for Christmas once again, and opened it for the first time with friends from Italy who just happened to be in town for the holidays, along with espresso from Italy.

It's another of those things that are not official Christmas presents, but something I will treasure about this particular Christmas season.

And if you want to read a funny post about panettone from someone who dislikes it perhaps even more than I do, go here. You have to read the comments for full effect.