Tuesday, May 12, 2020
Wednesday, April 08, 2020
Rituals, Prayers, and Coping
Here we are, in Holy week. Our regular annual
routine of Holy Week, Palm Sunday, Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, and
Easter are not happening as we annually plan.
And I think that's OK.
Tradition in church and family is so powerful and wonderful. But, too, I think that sometimes when a routine is set and becomes tradition, complacency treads in, like Carl Sandberg's Fog, on little cat feet. We know the routine. We know the ritual, the words, the songs. We know our Easter food menus and times and dates with family. And now THIS year, we've all been upended in our daily routines, and in our Christian church practices. Christians all around the world are experiencing this. We can cope. We can adapt. We can embrace scripture and our own prayers. We can sing the songs that are in our hearts.
Jews around the world will celebrate Passover this week. Theirs will be much the same as our week of celebration: Different.
Muslims, soon, will begin their month of Ramadan. Too, their holy month will certainly be upended.
And so all we people, all around the world, will adapt and cope as our religious celebrations are altered for the time being. And again, I think that's OK. What is important is our faith systems, our prayers, and our loving one another.
The term “Maundy” comes from the Latin “mandatum”; it is from the verb that means “to order” or command. After Jesus and the disciples finished the Last Supper and walked toward Gethsemane, Jesus taught them a new commandment:
“I give you a new commandment, that you love one another. Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another” (John 13:34).
Many, many years ago, I taught my young children to meditate themselves to sleep. Recently, I embraced an additional, new edit for Spring, 2020:
When our kids were little, if they said they could not sleep, I taught them my personal coping skill. We are a large family. I start at the tippy-top of the familial ladder .
So: I start with my oldest brother, his wife, their two children and their daughter-in-law. I can't just say, "God bless Jerry." I have to explain to God why I love Jerry, what I appreciate about him, what his concerns might be. And then, I move on to his wife, Stephanie. Then their kids. Then, my three other brothers, their wives, their kids, their grandkids, and each and everyone's gifts and concerns. I guarantee, one does not make it through the whole list of 48 before falling asleep. And so: the next night, I must begin where I left off, so that no one misses a turn.
I took this a step further a few weeks ago, one sleepless morning at 3:00am,("omigoodness! PANDEMIC?!!") with our tiny little (I call it a village) place out here in the middle of nowhere, Wabaunsee. I prayed for everyone I know, starting from 7 miles away, to our neighbors a football field away. (This sounds like an awful lot of people, but, really: it's rural Kansas: not that many people.) And I soon went back to bed and fast asleep.
So there are some thoughts from my vantage point, Holy Week, 2020.
And I think that's OK.
Tradition in church and family is so powerful and wonderful. But, too, I think that sometimes when a routine is set and becomes tradition, complacency treads in, like Carl Sandberg's Fog, on little cat feet. We know the routine. We know the ritual, the words, the songs. We know our Easter food menus and times and dates with family. And now THIS year, we've all been upended in our daily routines, and in our Christian church practices. Christians all around the world are experiencing this. We can cope. We can adapt. We can embrace scripture and our own prayers. We can sing the songs that are in our hearts.
Jews around the world will celebrate Passover this week. Theirs will be much the same as our week of celebration: Different.
Muslims, soon, will begin their month of Ramadan. Too, their holy month will certainly be upended.
And so all we people, all around the world, will adapt and cope as our religious celebrations are altered for the time being. And again, I think that's OK. What is important is our faith systems, our prayers, and our loving one another.
The term “Maundy” comes from the Latin “mandatum”; it is from the verb that means “to order” or command. After Jesus and the disciples finished the Last Supper and walked toward Gethsemane, Jesus taught them a new commandment:
“I give you a new commandment, that you love one another. Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another” (John 13:34).
Many, many years ago, I taught my young children to meditate themselves to sleep. Recently, I embraced an additional, new edit for Spring, 2020:
When our kids were little, if they said they could not sleep, I taught them my personal coping skill. We are a large family. I start at the tippy-top of the familial ladder .
So: I start with my oldest brother, his wife, their two children and their daughter-in-law. I can't just say, "God bless Jerry." I have to explain to God why I love Jerry, what I appreciate about him, what his concerns might be. And then, I move on to his wife, Stephanie. Then their kids. Then, my three other brothers, their wives, their kids, their grandkids, and each and everyone's gifts and concerns. I guarantee, one does not make it through the whole list of 48 before falling asleep. And so: the next night, I must begin where I left off, so that no one misses a turn.
I took this a step further a few weeks ago, one sleepless morning at 3:00am,("omigoodness! PANDEMIC?!!") with our tiny little (I call it a village) place out here in the middle of nowhere, Wabaunsee. I prayed for everyone I know, starting from 7 miles away, to our neighbors a football field away. (This sounds like an awful lot of people, but, really: it's rural Kansas: not that many people.) And I soon went back to bed and fast asleep.
So there are some thoughts from my vantage point, Holy Week, 2020.
Tuesday, June 18, 2019
A Fun New Chapter!
A few years ago, our son came home - I think at Christmas, and he told me about a girl he met through his collegiate track team. Graham and I have talked about many a thing along the years, about life, politics, philosophy, laundry, and yes, even girls and dates and whatnot. But this time, my ears perked up. I sensed there was something more in that voice of his.
We love Austen. She dovetailed right into our family from the get-go. She is positive, always up for adventure, she is kind and thoughtful. She sings. She runs. She has no qualms about camping solo. The first time she arrived in rural Kansas for a visit, Graham took her out on the lake in our sailboat. Something happened! The sail fell! They had to be towed in by a random jetski guy. Austen never lost her composure. A few days later, Graham & Austen ventured out in the kayaks for what was to be a 3-hour venture. (Segue the Gilligan's Island music...""a three-hour tour..." ) Well. It was so much longer, and probably more awful than Austen will ever admit (until she regales the tale to her great grandkids). At some point, Graham suggested that exhausted Austen tie her kayak to his, and he would pull them for a ways. Austen fell asleep. When she awakened, she saw that her kayak was on a sandbar, and Graham was far down the Kansas River, unaware that her kayak had come untied, and she was quite alone!
Let's fast-forward to Spring, 2019. Graham called us out of the blue on Saturday morning. He & I talked about Saturday mornings, Saturday coffee, Saturday snow, and then all of a sudden, he said, "Mom, Austen and I went out on a run this morning and I proposed to her."
Let's fast-forward to Spring, 2019. Graham called us out of the blue on Saturday morning. He & I talked about Saturday mornings, Saturday coffee, Saturday snow, and then all of a sudden, he said, "Mom, Austen and I went out on a run this morning and I proposed to her."
So, we'll just fast-forward again and move on to this month's Engagement Party here in Wabaunsee, rural Kansas. We moved in all the garden tables and chairs around the yard. We hauled out three meaningful quilts onto the lawn, from passed grandmothers and elderly aunties. We invited folks who were significant in Graham's life to join us. Here are some photos of the Engagement Party:
Austen Reiter and Graham Armstrong
Garden Party at Dusk.
Our local Cowboy Poet Tim Keane did the honors before our toast. Wonderful!
Bocce Ball for all!
Sunday, April 28, 2019
So Many Things
Where should I start? Where should I go?
The President is an idiot and our city's Farmer's Market was selling bananas this weekend. I ogled a Tesla in Denver this week, only to find out that a Tesla had been parked in our yard this week, as well. (What?! Parking a car in my green space?!!)
I did a Southwest road trip last week and the week before: Denver, Santa Fe, Breckenridge, Denver, and home again. Jigger-jig. Such relaxing fun. Just me, a car radio, and many memories.
I drove to Santa Fe to pick up some of my Dad's sculptures from an art gallery which was closing (retiring owner). The morning I arrived to fetch said sculptures was also very emotional to me: the morning two years ago when Dad passed. I certainly had not planned this morning. I spent quite some time packing sculptures and placing them in my station wagon. All was said and done. I said my farewells to the gallery owners, who are so kind, and who knew my parents for decades. I embraced the gallery manager, and I her that it was two years ago in the morning, that Dad had passed. She broke into tears.
How crystal clear things are, even when one does not want it that way. Dad lapsed into a coma just around 5:30 pm on Wednesday, and twelve hours later, 5:30 am Thursday, he passed. I was by his side, as was my sweet, sweet nephew Steve. I could not have spent that night in the peace that I felt, without sweet and kind Steve looking out for me every hour of that night.
And here I am, two years out of that sad tunnel. Dad is gone, and Mom followed him soon after. My Mother-in-law, in Australia, passed just weeks after my Dad. My father-in-law, in Australia, followed his love of life too soon as well.
Four parents. They taught us so well. It's one of the "Thanks be to God" prayers But such a tough experience.
As for the bananas? Seriously? Manhattan, Kansas will not even enjoy home-grown tomatoes until really late June - July. Shame on the Farmer's Market for allowing bananas, early tomatoes, and other produce. Seriously?! Those "farmers" are going to Wal Mart and getting produce which has been grown in Mexico. Pooh.
So many things.
The President is an idiot and our city's Farmer's Market was selling bananas this weekend. I ogled a Tesla in Denver this week, only to find out that a Tesla had been parked in our yard this week, as well. (What?! Parking a car in my green space?!!)
I did a Southwest road trip last week and the week before: Denver, Santa Fe, Breckenridge, Denver, and home again. Jigger-jig. Such relaxing fun. Just me, a car radio, and many memories.
I drove to Santa Fe to pick up some of my Dad's sculptures from an art gallery which was closing (retiring owner). The morning I arrived to fetch said sculptures was also very emotional to me: the morning two years ago when Dad passed. I certainly had not planned this morning. I spent quite some time packing sculptures and placing them in my station wagon. All was said and done. I said my farewells to the gallery owners, who are so kind, and who knew my parents for decades. I embraced the gallery manager, and I her that it was two years ago in the morning, that Dad had passed. She broke into tears.
How crystal clear things are, even when one does not want it that way. Dad lapsed into a coma just around 5:30 pm on Wednesday, and twelve hours later, 5:30 am Thursday, he passed. I was by his side, as was my sweet, sweet nephew Steve. I could not have spent that night in the peace that I felt, without sweet and kind Steve looking out for me every hour of that night.
And here I am, two years out of that sad tunnel. Dad is gone, and Mom followed him soon after. My Mother-in-law, in Australia, passed just weeks after my Dad. My father-in-law, in Australia, followed his love of life too soon as well.
Four parents. They taught us so well. It's one of the "Thanks be to God" prayers But such a tough experience.
As for the bananas? Seriously? Manhattan, Kansas will not even enjoy home-grown tomatoes until really late June - July. Shame on the Farmer's Market for allowing bananas, early tomatoes, and other produce. Seriously?! Those "farmers" are going to Wal Mart and getting produce which has been grown in Mexico. Pooh.
So many things.
Thursday, April 04, 2019
Get a Grip and Brace Up!
This afternoon I pulled up the year 1966 on Wikipedia. I was six that year, and I have memories of swimming lessons, Brittany Spaniel puppies in the back yard, the boat house on weekends, catching crawdads in the ditch, ...you know: kid things.
Whoa! 1966 was not a happy year. There was Vietnam (our next door neighbor Gene was in Viet Nam, but his parents waved their patriotic Marine flag, and my parents shielded me from atrocities (as well they should have, in my opinion), and so I was not made aware of overseas confrontations and horrors.
There were the race riots. Again, I was living in a Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm life. Most, if not all, folks living in Pryor Creek were either Caucasian (white) or Indian (Native American). There were few instances for me or my family to rub elbows with anyone not "of their color".
I was not privy, at age six, to race riots or war demonstrations.
And then, 1966 was in the midst of hallucinogenic drugs, particularly LSD. WHOA!
So, there were race riots, war demonstrations, and LSD was soon to be made illegal.
Today, this year, the past two years, have been sort of bleak, from my vantage point on the American horizon. I don't like the horizon one bit. I try to be upbeat, I try to see beyond what's bothering a lot of us. Sometimes, though, I just throw my arms up in despair.
But I have to say, looking back at 1966, when I was just a silly kitten, things must have felt pretty bleak then, too. I am glad my parents shielded me from the pain and negativity of the world at that moment.
And in my soul-searching this afternoon, I began thinking about America life in the 50s, the 40s. the 30s...and so on. I think I need to re-visit all the decades of our American history. I am thinking each decade, and certainly each generation, had its hardships and despairs. Too, we need to learn from our mistakes. What a young country we are.
And so, I tell myself, "Buck up. Brace up".
Whoa! 1966 was not a happy year. There was Vietnam (our next door neighbor Gene was in Viet Nam, but his parents waved their patriotic Marine flag, and my parents shielded me from atrocities (as well they should have, in my opinion), and so I was not made aware of overseas confrontations and horrors.
There were the race riots. Again, I was living in a Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm life. Most, if not all, folks living in Pryor Creek were either Caucasian (white) or Indian (Native American). There were few instances for me or my family to rub elbows with anyone not "of their color".
I was not privy, at age six, to race riots or war demonstrations.
And then, 1966 was in the midst of hallucinogenic drugs, particularly LSD. WHOA!
So, there were race riots, war demonstrations, and LSD was soon to be made illegal.
Today, this year, the past two years, have been sort of bleak, from my vantage point on the American horizon. I don't like the horizon one bit. I try to be upbeat, I try to see beyond what's bothering a lot of us. Sometimes, though, I just throw my arms up in despair.
But I have to say, looking back at 1966, when I was just a silly kitten, things must have felt pretty bleak then, too. I am glad my parents shielded me from the pain and negativity of the world at that moment.
And in my soul-searching this afternoon, I began thinking about America life in the 50s, the 40s. the 30s...and so on. I think I need to re-visit all the decades of our American history. I am thinking each decade, and certainly each generation, had its hardships and despairs. Too, we need to learn from our mistakes. What a young country we are.
And so, I tell myself, "Buck up. Brace up".
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