Hearing Differently

Yesterday I went to the audiologist.  It was a good appointment.  In a way, I didn't find out anything that I didn't already know:  I have fairly significant hearing loss in my left ear, along with ear wax even though my primary care doctor and a nurse dug a lot of wax out of my ear, and I have some hearing loss in my right ear.  We experimented with hearing aids, and if they cost less, I would have ordered a pair right away.

However they cost $6,190 for the pair, and my health insurance doesn't cover any of it.  That does include 3 years of follow-up care, maintenance, and repairs, and if the hearing aid is lost, a replacement for a reduced price.  I know that there are cheaper models out there, but I don't know how cheap.  I know that Apple does something with iPhones and earpods--but I have had trouble with earpods in the past, with getting them to stay in my ear.  When I think about it as a daily cost, they may seem more affordable; my spouse did a quick calculation and came up with $3.00 a day.  And it's not like they stop working in 3 years.  I can keep them, probably for another 4-7 years, maybe more.  But they are sophisticated technology, so maybe they wouldn't keep working.  They are manufactured by North European companies not Chinese companies, so the upcoming tariffs don't affect the decision.

Clearly, I am not ready to make the decision on something that costs that much money yet.

I found out that my left ear has an ear canal so narrow that the audiologist couldn't get the instrument into it to measure how the ear drum vibrates.  That may do a lot to explain why I have had so much trouble with earbuds and earpods staying in my left ear.

It was a good appointment, good to have confirmed that the hearing loss is not my imagination.  And then it was off to school.

My nonfiction writing class was engaged in a writing day, which didn't require much from me.  My Survey of American Lit class requested some time to write, as their Test 2 is due today.  I was happy to oblige, once we watched a bit of Death of a Salesman.

I read that play in high school, as did most people my age.  My students did not have it assigned.  We talked for a brief moment about the play and the characters, and then we watched a bit of it.  

I found it hit me much harder than I did when I read it in high school.  How could it not?  Willy Loman is 60, which in high school seemed ancient to me.  Now I am aghast at how broken a man he is--and of course, I am meant to be aghast.  But what's worse, it doesn't seem out of the range of possibility, the way it did when I was younger.  I am scared to spend too much time thinking about how many people my age are broken in similar ways.

In the evening, my seminary class on Christmas and Easter discussed the non-canonical texts that tell about Mary and Joseph and the birth/childhood of Jesus.  They are bizarre texts, the Proto-Gospel of James and the Infancy Gospel of Thomas.  One thing that I wondered was whether or not the canonical Gospel stories would seem just as bizarre, had we not spent our lifetimes hearing them and watching them and acting them out in childhood pageants.  I think they would.

My professor finished by saying that we can see how the non-canonical texts are trying to fill in the gaps, that they are harmonizing with the canonical texts not competing with them.

She reminded us that it's good to have gaps in the texts.  The gaps remind us, as do the texts (both canonical and non), that having the answers is not the same as living well and living faithfully.  Her closing thoughts seem so essential to me in this time of deep division.

Today I zip down to Spartanburg to check in at work, and then I head up to Williamsburg.  My sister is meeting me there, where my parents live, and we'll have a nuclear family reunion.  We do this occasionally, just the four of us together, the original family unit.  It's easier to coordinate our schedules with just the four of us, so we take the opportunities where we can.  It's a way of celebrating birthdays, too, a way to celebrate without having to figure out a gift.

Let me finish packing.

Reweaving My Frazzled Threads

This morning is one of those mornings when I feel a bit frazzled and overextended.  Let me collect some threads and see what I can weave together.

--I have turned in midterm grades for Spartanburg Methodist College.  Hurrah!  I am trying something new this term, frontloading the more intensive assignments, the research assignments, to the front half of the class.  I think it's better for students, but it has meant a tiring few weeks for me.

--I go to an audiologist this morning.  I have had my hearing checked before, but it was around 2009 or so.  I have already found out that my health insurance doesn't cover hearing aids, but that wasn't a surprise to me.  I may make the investment.  After all, we've invested in vision aids and teeth--why not hearing?  These are the decisions that might mean we have a healthier old age.

--My audiologist appointment was for next week, when SMC is on spring break, but they called to offer me this morning's spot because someone had cancelled.  I am glad I was able to say yes--perhaps next Friday will now feel more spacious.

--For one of my seminary classes, we have to choose five weeks where we'll do a more intense thinking about the week's texts.  Tonight we study the non-canonical birth narratives.  I decided not to do the more intense engagement.  I am not likely to ever preach or teach on those texts, so I'll save my intense thinking for later.

--I was sad to hear of the death of Martin E. Marty, a prominent theologian and a Lutheran.  In recent years, I haven't read as much of his work, but there were times when I read his short articles on a regular basis and found his voice one of sanity and compassion. 

--I was sad, and yet the man was 97 years old, so I'm also happy that he lived a long and fruitful life.

--I was happy to read this article in The Washington Post about an unexpected benefit of drinking tea.  When I clicked on the link, I expected that the benefit would have something to do with vitamin absorption or hydration.  Lo and behold, steeping tea can lead to reducing toxins like lead that might be in the water.  The tea leaves attract the toxins and hold them, while releasing their own benefits.  Hurrah!

--I think about the years when I worried about my tea consumption, worried that the tannins might be doing something to my stomach, the way that they discolored tea pitchers.  But through the decades, we've found more and more benefits to tea drinking.

--I am also thinking of past years and my fabric buying.  This week, Joann Fabric announced it will close all stores.  That store used to be one I went to much more regularly, back in the days when they had cheaper alternatives to the fancier cloth/quilt shops, back when I was making more baby quilts.

--And then my brain went to the going out of business sales that they might have.  I probably have more fabric than I can use in the lifetime that I have left--but I do have some quilts that will need some backing fabric.  I wonder how much time is left for those stores and when the sales will start.

Well, let me shift gears and think about a sunrise walk.  Yesterday I even did a bit of jogging.  I am relieved to be getting out of my chair this week.  Last week was tough, with cold and ice and wind.

Redbud Blossoms, Winter Sunset Songs, and Government Takeovers

Yesterday I made a Facebook post about redwoods being in bloom; now I do not live in California.  Indeed, I have never seen a redwood tree, and I have no idea what their blooms look like or if they bloom at all.

What I meant was that the redbud trees are in bloom.  I had been seeing a sheen of red on a tree here and there, the kind of hazy rust color that made me wonder if I was really seeing it at all.  But yesterday there was no doubt.  I saw a tree with pink blooms in one yard, and the cluster of trees near the interstate was in bloom too, seemingly overnight.

Redbuds are among the first to bloom, and they look like cherry trees from a distance.  But we don't have as many cherry trees here.  Redbuds are all over the place.

I corrected my Facebook post, and it made me remember another oopsie of the week.  On Monday I was listing on the board the characters from Flannery O'Connor's "A Good Man Is Hard to Find." Instead of The Misfit I wrote The Misfoot.  I didn't even realize it until 10 minutes later when I returned to the list to add another character and saw it.  I laughed as I thought about what a misfoot would look like; some students laughed with me, and others looked confused.  

Last night the light at sunset was beautiful, but it was a holdover from Winter.  We might be near meteorological spring (March 1, I think), but the light was cold and crystalline.

I've been trying to put all these elements into a poem:  redbud trees, the slant of cold light as the sun sets, the struggle between the governed and the inept. the fact that we've never been far from the fascists we fear.  I thought that by bringing in a political element, maybe I could avoid the cliches that come with poems about the first blooms of spring.

So far what I have is a collection of images and lines that don't seem to go together:

The sunset sings a winter song

The redbud trees have blossomed

The government takeover continues,

The struggle between the governed and the inept.

Slant of light, cold revealer.

Feathered light, 

the fact that we've never been far from the fascists we fear.

I'll put it aside and see what might bubble up in the next day or two.  Or maybe nothing will--but I'm always happy to be putting images on paper, putting lines together to see where they lead.

Tuesday Tiredness

I am tired, although I slept a bit better last night than most of the nights in the past week.  In one of my seminary classes, we had to facilitate one of the classes, which included preparing a 2 page handout, a powerpoint for the class, and leading class discussion.  It wasn't anything that made me too nervous, and it was a topic I'm familiar with:  how big tech has set up our devices so that we are trained to return to them again and again, even as they are not great for our mental health most days.

Still, even though the thought of facilitating didn't make me nervous, I am glad to be done with that requirement.  I am briefly caught up with grading.  I am ready-ish to teach today.  I have classwork to do for Thursday's seminary class, and I have an application for the summer CPE program.  It's the kind of application which is very extensive and I'm not really sure I can use the material I've written for other parts of this seminary journey. 

Long ago, when I planned my weekly outline for my Survey of American Lit class, I decided to do a drama module for the week before and after Spring Break, which is next week.  I still think it's a good idea, but this morning, I'm struggling with how to divide the various works.  

It's interesting to me that this term, I have fairly good class discussion across classes (although in the American Lit class, I do tend to talk more than the students do)--but it's never the same classes from week to week.  One week, it's my 2:00 class that has a lot to say, and then the next week, they're quiet but my 10:00 class or my noon class is talkative.  I never know what to expect.  But it's fine:  I always go to class prepared to be the only one talking, and if others want to join in, I'm pleasantly surprised.

Those of Us Who Wait

Today is the traditional feast day of St. Matthias. In the 1960's, the Roman Catholic church moved his feast day to May 14, so that we're celebrating his life in a month that makes more chronological sense--Matthias was the apostle chosen to replace Judas Iscariot, who committed suicide after he realized what his betrayal had wrought, so it makes sense to celebrate his life after Easter. Of course, traditionalists will celebrate today. And Eastern Orthodox believers will observe his feast day on August 9.

I've recently become a bit fascinated with this saint. I've done a smidge of research, and I can't tell what, exactly, he's the patron saint of.

If I was in charge, I'd make him the patron saint of people who must wait for recognition. Would I make him the patron saint of people who must wait for recognition in the workplace only, or in any situation? Is that process of waiting so different?

I have this on the brain because I have worked in places where the local job ladder is very short with lots of folks who have been working for the organization for ten years or more--when there's a job opening, they couldn't all be promoted. And if they wanted further promotions, again, long wait times.

I imagine that the circle of Jesus was similar. There's the inner circle, the twelve, chosen early. Then there's a massive outer circle. Who would have dreamed of the incidents that led to a job opening in the inner circle?

Of course, as a woman, I will always wonder at what Gospel revisions went on in the early church. Was the inner circle really that tight? Was it really only twelve? Was it really only men? We know that Jesus had a sympathy towards women that was uncommon for his time period. Would he really have excluded them from the inner circle?

Then I think of the logistics of being one of the twelve--all that travel, all those difficult circumstances. Maybe it was kinder of Jesus not to call women to be part of the inner circle. If you go back to the sayings of Jesus, it's clear that he doesn't see hierarchy in the same way that humans do--he clearly mocked the idea that some disciples are more chosen than other.

So, would Matthias have even seen his appointment as a promotion? Maybe it's just our later proclivity to make lists that sees this development as a promotion. Of course, there is that passage in Acts that seems to show that the disciples shared our proclivities toward hierarchy and list making.

I think of Matthias, patiently waiting, following Christ, never knowing the outcome. In that way, he's the patron saint of us all. We follow Christ, not knowing whether we'll be chosen for some superhuman greatness, or whether we'll be called to stay put, quietly ministering the people around us. Some of us believe that God has a plan for us, while others believe that God will use us where we are, like a master weaver. Some of us believe that the universe is essentially chaotic, but we are not excused from God's mission of Kingdom building. Some of us know that we cannot possibly comprehend any of this, and we know that we are lucky that God does not depend on our puny imaginations.

Resisting the Evil of Empire

Today is a good day to remember that resisting the evil of empire does work, and that we can resist without losing our essential selves.   Here's my sermon for today's lectionary text--and if you're in Bristol, TN at 10 a.m., feel free to join us at Faith Evangelical Lutheran Church, where all are welcome.

February 23, 2025

By Kristin Berkey-Abbott

Luke 6:  27-38

You have probably heard the words in today’s Gospel used to justify a pacifist approach to the question of violence.  Perhaps worse, you might have heard people use this text to tell us that we must endure violence on earth so that we can get our reward in the afterlife.

But you might not have thought of these texts as resistance texts, texts that show us how to resist the world we live in, a culture which has never been a turn the other cheek kind of place.

In his book Engaging the Powers:  Discernment and Resistance in a World of Domination, Walter Wink explains this text in the context of the honor culture of the time of Jesus.  There would have been strikes to the cheek in a particular way, with a particular hand, the hand used when hitting an inferior, and the purpose would be to put a person in his or her place.  If I offer the other cheek, then my attacker would have to hit me with the other hand, which would be the hand used when one is an equal.  It is a way of asserting one’s dignity.

Similarly, if ordered to give a coat, and I strip naked by giving my tunic as well, that would be an act of dishonor, and not only would I bring dishonor on myself, as I stripped naked, but I’d also bring greater dishonor on the one who set these events into motion.  In Matthew’s version, we get the sentence about being forced to go a mile and going an additional mile.  People who heard Jesus say this would know that he was referring to Roman soldiers, who could force people to walk a mile, carrying a pack.  A Roman soldier who ordered someone to go more than a mile would be in trouble, so walking an additional mile while carrying a pack is a way of sending a message to that soldier.

Of course, resisting in this way carries a risk.  It’s not as passive as it seems, and it risks enraging the one who seeks to remind us of our place in the social caste.  In the time of Jesus, in many cases, the enraged person could have one flogged or put to death for impudence.  It’s important to remember that the culture of Jesus was a vastly different culture in many ways than our own.  Very few people had the kind of human rights that we say are important, that we can go to court to protect.  In the time of Jesus, there was very little in the way of recourse if one was wronged.  It was a culture based on social hierarchy, with very little movement between class and caste. It was also a culture ruled by Romans who were not going to tolerate social unrest, Romans who would not hesitate to slaughter dissenters.  The Romans liked to remind those whom they conquered of the inferiority of the conquered.

But in some ways, the culture of the empire was not so different than ours:  people pitted against each other in a quest for scarce resources, a few people lifted up while masses of others faced a variety of oppression.

The rest of today’s Gospel gives us additional instruction in how to resist a culture that seeks to distract us by turning us on each other.  Some of the instructions make sense.  We can give to those who beg—that seems like an easy task, one that many of us do already.  If our goods are taken or repossessed, we can let them go—that’s not far from other instruction we’ve gotten from Jesus.

We can love our enemies, but what does that mean exactly?  Jesus gives us one concrete command:  we can pray for those who abuse us, whether the abuse is physical or emotional or monetary or any other form.  As we pray for those who oppress us, we keep our hearts soft.  We remind ourselves of the humanity of us all.  We pray not just for the transformation of the abuser, but we also pray to keep ourselves from being transformed.

At the very least, we can pray. We can pray for those people who are doing the heavy lifting of resistance. We can pray for those who are transforming their societies for good, whether they live in our country or on the other side of the planet. We can pray for the softening of the hearts of the hard ones. We can pray that we have the wisdom to recognize evil when we see it. We can pray that we have the courage to resist evil in whatever forms it comes to us.

These are texts that show us how to resist evil in such a way that evil elements will not turn around and destroy us. Likewise, these are texts that show us how to resist evil in such a way that we don’t become the evil that we are resisting.

Jesus shows us how to live in this world, how to resist evil without being destroyed by evil, and our world certainly has plenty of evil that needs resisting.  So how do we do it?  Love is the answer, and it has continued to be the answer.  We’ve had great religious and moral thinkers through the ages return to this principle of loving our enemies as a tool of transformation.

And it’s not just transformation on a personal level.  Let us not forget that nonviolent resistance can change governments and countries.  Think of the changes that we’ve seen in our lifetime.  I would call our attention to 1989, when the wall between the two Germanys came down.  Did you know that this moment in time was sparked by weeks of prayer services and candlelit marches?  Did you know that a Lutheran church played a key role?

In October of 1989, a Lutheran pastor in Leipzig, East Germany started holding Monday night prayer meetings.  At the same time, there were evening protest marches, with tens of thousands of people coming into the village square, holding candles.   One Communist official in Leipzig said, “we were prepared for everything except the prayers and candles.”  There were rumors that people would be allowed across the border, so people went to the border crossing.  The guards there hadn’t gotten any official notice.  They were outnumbered, and they knew that they had a choice:  they could start shooting and commit mass murder or they could lift the gates and allow reconciliation.  They lifted the gates, and the world was changed.

It could have gone differently, and for every example I give, there are others which have not ended well, like Tiananmen Square.  And yet, just because liberation hasn’t come yet, it doesn’t mean that it won’t come.

Walter Wink, writing in 1993, notes, “In 1989 alone, there were thirteen nations that underwent non-violent revolutions. All of them successful except one, China. That year 1.7 billion people were engaged in national non-violent revolutions. That is a third of humanity. If you throw in all of the other non-violent revolutions in all the other nations in this century [the 20th], you get the astonishing figure of 3.34 billion people involved in non-violent revolutions. That is two-thirds of the human race. No one can ever again say that non-violence doesn't work.”

You might be tempted to say that we’re talking about events from 1989, which is getting to be a long time ago.  You might look across the globe in despair at how little evidence of nonviolence or nonviolent resistance you see.  But rest assured that resisting despair, resisting violence, and praying for our enemies is much wider spread than we might think.  This process is like the flower bulbs that many of us planted months ago.  Even though the larger world seems frozen and dark, those bulbs have started their work, and soon they will burst forth in glorious colors to brighten the drab world.  Likewise, our prayers for peace, our prayers for justice will do their work—and 40 years from now, we won’t recognize the landscape we live in, a landscape we changed through our resistance to the culture that offers violence as the only solution.

Saturday Snippets from a Week with Snow and Robert Frost

It has been a long-feeling week, even with a snow day on Wednesday.  I'm in that phase of the semester when I worry about deadlines I'm missing, about all the work that never seems to diminish--in short, I'm tired.  Let me record some snippets.

--Yesterday it became clear to me that my students hadn't done the reading for my English 102 class--and half of them weren't even in class.  We had talked about the main characters in "A Good Man Is Hard to Find," and gotten the plot into motion.  I decided to do a daily writing and have the students write a paragraph about how they think the story will end or how they would end the story if they were writing it.  It was an interesting experiment.

--I have wondered about having a version of this exercise as an option for Essay 2.  Write an alternate ending to one of the stories we've read, compare it to the ending that the author gives us, and write a comparison and analysis of your work and the author's work and what was learned by writing an alternate ending.

--I have also thought about doing this as a poem writing exercise:  here's the first stanza--let's see what you create.

--We did a poetry-heavy week in my American Lit class this week.  I feel like I didn't do a great job with Robert Frost.  I also don't really care.  But I also feel strange about not caring.  I read the poems and found it hard to explain why so many people thought of his as one of the most skilled poets of his time.  I do feel I should be able to do that at least--a note for next time.

--My own poetry writing has slowed a bit, but that's not surprising to me.  I did write a poem this week about a pastor in a parish in the mountains, a pastor thinking about Oscar Romero as she prepares the communion elements.

Catching February Past and Present

It is bitterly cold with a howling wind, which has been howling all night.  Happily, we might have warmer weather next week.  I think of a long ago essay in my Runner's World Running Log, the kind of spiral bound weekly planner which had space to log miles and do calendar type things, along with an essay at the beginning of every month.  I remember the one for February one year entitled "Catching February"--as in, "I haven't run this month because I caught February."

I have caught February this week; it's been very hard to make myself get out and walk in this cold weather and brisk wind.  I have no trouble walking in cold weather, but the wind that cuts through me is a deal breaker.

I am thinking of past months of February.   Two years ago, I wrote a letter to Spartanburg Methodist College which had advertised nationally in Inside Higher Ed for a variety of adjuncts.  At that point, I was fairly sure I'd be moving back to our Lutheridge house since my seminary housing was slated to be demolished for new construction.

That housing still stands, but I am so happy to be back in the mountains and to be teaching at Spartanburg Methodist College.  It's a small, liberal arts college which remains true to its principles, a school with affordable tuition and lots of scholarships and lots of support for students.  I'm happy that a substantial number of students are the first in the families to go to college and/or receiving Pell Grants.

I'm also remembering 5 years ago, in the waning days of February of 2020, when spin class was canceled, and I stopped in the WalMart Marketplace on my way home.  My favorite brand of toilet paper was on sale, and I stocked up.  I didn't know I wouldn't be able to find that toilet paper again until May.

By then, I had a sense that something bad was coming; I had been paying attention to the new disease we would call Covid 19.  When I look back, I am still shocked by how bad it was and continues to be.  And of course, I am paying attention to the bird flu outbreak which continues to spread, and might be worse than Covid 19.  I am thinking of a past outbreak that was able to stay contained to a few Asian countries, where the fatality rate was 50%.  I realize that might be artificially high, because minor cases probably weren't caught.  

But if this disease spreads, it won't be a case of the infected only catching pink eye and sniffles.

I am trying to stay informed and keep moving forward.  This week, it's hard.  I am gobsmacked by the recent developments with Ukraine and the apparent intention of the U.S. administration to side with Russia.  I am thinking of past moments of history and wondering why we are doing this to ourselves.  I am worried about all the federal employees are being fired, all the expertise just dismissed.

I was about to say that I am having trouble making sense of it all, but there may be no sense to be made.  I often spend a lot of time trying to figure out the reasoning that brought various people to their opinions, and this time, I'm reminding myself that there has likely been no reasoning process in the way that I understand the fundamentals of policy making.

Well it is time to get myself together and go down the mountain to teach Flannery O'Connor's "A Good Man Is Hard to Find" to students who have never read it.  There is good in this life.

Report on a Snow Day

Well my snow day turned out to be the best kind of snow day.  There was plenty of snow throughout the day, but none of it stuck.  So it was pretty to look at, lovely to walk through, but I was able to get some errands done.  As the winter weather failed to materialize in a substantial way, I felt a bit guilty.  After all, I moved classes online and stayed home because I thought the road conditions would be dangerous.

I do realize that many of my students can use a day to catch up, and hopefully they did that.  I had planned to do some catching up myself, but as always, I didn't get as much done as I thought/hoped I would.

Of course, I got other things done.  Because I was here, I was on hand to answer the phone when various doctors called to make appointments.  On Tuesday, I went to my primary care doc for my annual appointment, which means follow up appointments (with an audiologist, with the colonoscopy doctor, with the mammogram folks).  Often it takes forever to make the follow up appointments because I'm not here when they call, and I call and leave a message, and this goes on for months.

I got to the library, the bank, and the grocery store; I filled up the car's gas tank before the frigid temperatures roll in later today/tonight.  I got a walk in, and it was a walk with my spouse, to explore a park where he can go for walks where it's flatter.  I was glad to see that Fletcher Park (as I call it) is O.K.  It's by the banks of Cane Creek, which overflowed its banks during Hurricane Helene and left lots of damage.

Did I do the grading that needs to be done?  No, but I'm hoping to do it this morning.  Did I do the homework for my seminary class tonight?  No, but I will do that homework before I do the grading.  Did I write my sermon for Sunday?  No, but I have time. Did I bake bread yesterday?  No, but it's in process this morning, and yesterday we made two delicious soups that are full of vegetables.

I am going to work, probably for the rest of my days, on the guilt I feel in a variety of circumstances where guilt is not warranted.  I made good decisions based on the weather information that I had; I'm still surprised that we had so little snow and ice.  I'm happily surprised, but it makes me feel guilt.  I'm grateful for some down time yesterday, even if I wasn't industrious in the ways that I get paid to be.

A Literary Evening, A Snow Flurry Morning

There's a bit of snow drifting by the window, and I am not heading down to Spartanburg Methodist College.  I've found the weather reports baffling:  one says that Arden will get 3-6 inches, one says less than an inch, while others predict a mix.  Similarly, the Spartanburg forecasts call for nothing to an ice storm that will move in this afternoon.  I decided on a better safe than sorry approach.  My students needs to get caught up; a day without formal classroom instruction will be fine.

And it will give me time to catch up too.

We were supposed to go to Bristol to help Faith Lutheran with the fish fry on Friday, but that's been cancelled.  Their forecast calls for even more snow, with temperatures getting very cold, so the snow won't be gone by Friday.  It's hard to imagine that people will want to come out through snowy streets for a fish fry.

Last night I stayed late after class for a literary event.  One of my colleagues had a chat with the author Signe Pike, who has written a series of books about little known parts of Arthurian legend, and a group of us decided to go.  I feel so lucky that I have interesting colleagues who are willing to grab a bite before a literary event.  I didn't get pictures, but our food was abundant and delicious, and it was good to get to know people better.

The talk was scheduled for 6-7 at the Hub City Bookshop, so I could stay and not get home too late.  What a beautiful bookstore!  It even has a friendly cat.

It was a fascinating conversation, and at some point when I have more time to read for pleasure, I plan to read the books.  

Author Signe Pike interviewed by Dr. Dalicia Raymond

I hadn't been to downtown Spartanburg before--what a delight!  The bookstore is beside the Little River Coffee Bar, where we had a coffee after our early dinner at Cribbs Kitchen.  

I love the shelf of mugs; the person tending the coffee bar told me that those mugs are ones that regular customers leave there.

Downtown Spartanburg has an early 80's Asheville vibe, and I mean that in the best possible way.  There are interesting shops and restaurants, with plenty of free parking.  Last night there were lots of folks out and about, including a running club that seemed to be in training for something.  It was cool, but not uncomfortable in just a sweater.

I look forward to exploring downtown Spartanburg further--I'm sure there are more treats to discover.

Worksheets and the Modern Imagination

Yesterday I wrote this blog post about creating a worksheet about creating your own gothic story (or a spooky story or a haunted story).  We're about to read Flannery O'Connor and "A Very Old Man with Enormous Wings"  and Edgar Allen Poe and "A Rose for Emily."  I thought it would be fun for students to think about what they would write, if they wrote this kind of story.

I like the worksheet idea because it required them to start with characters, not with something gory, a mistake that so many haunted movies seems to make.  I say, "seem," because I don't go to see scary movies anymore--they're just too gory.

Here are the questions about character.

1. Create the strange character.  What mannerisms make the character strange?  How does the character look?  What clothes does the character wear? Does the character have an obsession?

2. Create a character to contrast with the strange character.  Describe it in the same terms as the strange character.  What makes the contrast character seem normal?  Is the contrast character normal?

3. Which character will be the main character?  Which character (one of the above or someone else) will tell the story, meaning the readers will see the world through the eyes of that character?

The other questions, about setting and plot and symbols, weren't terribly unusual.  Regardless of the type of story you're writing, I'll always ask you about the conflict, and I'll always try to help a writer see the different types of conflict that are/could be at work.

Yesterday I created the worksheet before going to work, and then off I went to teach my 102 classes.  We read the sections of O'Connor's essays and letters that are part of the textbook.  We talked about what O'Connor sees herself doing.  Later we will look at her stories and see if we think she was successful.

I then had them fill in the worksheets.  Later they might develop the ideas into a story, but even if they don't, I think they'll learn something by thinking through a planning process.

I gave them a good chunk of time to do it, in part because there wasn't as much to discuss with O'Connor's essays and letters as I thought.  They settled into it, and for most of them, the task absorbed them.  It was great to watch them hard at work, not looking at their phones, not looking longingly at the door, not shuffling off to go to the bathroom.

I read "A Good Man Is Hard to Find" while they wrote.  Memory washed over me, the memory of discovering this story for the first time, the memory of wanting to do something similar myself.  I remember the first time I wrote a story that I thought worked; in fact I wrote it on this very desk, when this desk was at my grandmother's house.

I feel a bit envious of these students, all so young, most about to discover Flannery O'Connor for the first time.  I am happy that I can give them a worksheet, and they'll settle in to work.  And I imagine that some of them will actually write a short story and feel thrilled about it--ah, the joys of a liberal arts education!

Build Your Own Gothic Story

Last week, in my English 102 class, one of my students had a handout from a past class on the desk.  As I was passing out my handouts, I said, "What's this?  It looks interesting."  He said, "Maybe we should do this instead."  He said it in a good natured way, not a whiney way.

When I looked at the other teacher's handout, I was intrigued.  It was a Build Your Own Classical Detective Story.  Since we are about to do a unit full of spooky, weird, gothic stories (Edgar Allen Poe, Flannery O'Connor, "A Rose for Emily"), I created a handout for today.  It looks at different story elements (characters, plot, setting, and symbols) and asks questions to get creative juices flowing.

Will it result in a story?  Maybe.  But even the thinking through of it will be valuable.  And I can use it with my American Lit class in a few weeks.

It is hard to know how to plan for this week.  We are likely looking at a mid-week storm, but it's hard to know exactly where it will go.  Will we have a fish fry at my church in Bristol on Friday?  That depends on whether or not it snows on Wednesday and Tuesday.  The weather reports I'm seeing say that they will get 3-6 inches of snow, and it's a cold week, so even if it's not snowing, the roads might be icy in the evening and the parking lot won't be clear of snow unless someone shovels it--and we are not a young congregation.

Will that snow affect my teaching schedule?  It is hard to know how far south the precipitation will dip and when it will start.  So in my head, I'm creating snow day assignments for both Wednesday and Thursday, just in case. 

I could use a snow day, and I'd love it to happen the way it has in the past, where we knew in advance.  I don't want to get stranded in Spartanburg.

I will have to live in this limbo for another day or two, but that's O.K.  In fact, in the last few years, living in limbo seems more the norm than the exception:  lots of plans, lots of pivoting.  But I feel lucky in that these days, my pivots are not the wrenching kind of pivots that others are making, the job loss kind of pivot, the sickness or death kind of pivot.

Sunday Snippets: Confirmation, Grading, and Old Houses

It is rainy with rumbles of thunder, 54 degrees before sunrise, and this temp will be our high for the day, although temperatures will not really tumble until overnight.  I don't have tons of time to write, so let me just collect a few thoughts.

--Last week, I started Confirmation class with the three youth who are in middle school at Faith Lutheran in Bristol, TN.  But because we made Valentines to talk about God's love, we opened it to everyone.  I made some salient points about love and how God loves us no matter what.  The youth enjoyed making Valentines.  I do realize that they may remember the Valentines making more than the message.  But since it's a message I return to often in the youth sermon, hopefully they will remember.

--It is strange thinking of Confirmation, what I hope to teach, what really feels important.  I worry about the next person coming in as we are midway through the process and deciding that I've done a bad job.  I don't care what that person thinks of me, but I don't want the youth to be punished in any way.

--Yesterday I went out for a walk, but the very light mist turned into drenching rain, so I came home.  We relaxed and made clam chowder, and I spent the afternoon working on my sermon, which you can read in this blog post.  It will be a few weeks of going back and forth across the mountain, with a fish fry on Friday, and Ash Wednesday in 10 days, plus a trip to Williamsburg.  

--I got all my grading done this week, and for one brief day I was caught up.  I am feeling that "I will never get everything done that I need to do" feeling.  I need to get my application together for summer CPE.  It is the kind of thing where I wonder if I already have some of that kind of "tell your life story" kind of writing in my files or if it would just be easier to write it new.  The prompts are just different enough to make me think I'll just buckle down and write it new.

--I am still capturing poem ideas and getting them started, although in the past week, I have been less likely to them completed.

--Every so often I go to the realtor.com site to see what's for sale in my old neighborhood in south Florida.  The house across the street from ours was for sale, and I didn't really recognize my house in the picture of the street.  I went to Google Maps, and I discovered that all the beautiful gumbo limbo trees were taken out of the front yard.  It's now a very sterile front yard with just 2 bushes.  Sadness!  

--I need to start two lists.  One will tell all the things we did in confirmation and keep a record of attendance.  The other will tell all the things I've done at Spartanburg Methodist College for next year's performance review.

Well, let me bring this to a close, so that we can get on the rainy road to Faith Lutheran in Bristol.  At least it's not icy!

Valentine Dawn

Ah, Valentine's Day.  I have made some Valentines, but I have yet to put them in the mail.  I was waiting to get the stamps, and by the time I found a post office that had Love stamps, it was yesterday.  Since my Valentines will not get there by today, I've moved this to a week-end project, where I will have some time to write a note in them.

After we read a few more love poems, my students in today's classes will write a love poem for their Daily Writing grade.  It can be about love or a poem to a beloved or a poem about something that they love.  It must have 6 lines.  I gave them stipulations about what 4 of the lines must contain:  a color that can be described two ways, an element of nature, a food, and an animal.  I took a quick glance at the poems my Mon/Wed students wrote, and I was impressed.

I would love to bring all of my students heart shaped cookies, but alas, this week was not the week for that.  Plus, I end up eating more than I intend when I bake enough cookies for all of my students--or whenever I bake cookies.

Today's writing must be brief.  It's time to get ready to go down the mountain and teach.  Fridays feel like a zip of a day--hurrah!  

Valentines Poetry Project

Readers of this blog know that I have been making good use of the variety of paper that I bought back after Christmas.  I used the glittery cardstock to make Epiphany stars, and I used all the variety of papers for my Valentine's making event for my neighborhood and for my Confirmation class last week.  I still had a lot of paper left.

I had thought about requiring all of my English 102 students to make Valentines this week, but I decided to make it an optional extra credit daily writing grade.  They could use as much paper as they wanted, and they had to include 4 lines of poetry.  The poetry could be theirs or someone else's.

Some of my students responded with delight and took so much paper that I worried I might run out.  I needn't have worried--not everyone had the same level of enthusiasm.   So far, I've seen a variety of approaches.  One student took some red construction paper, drew some hearts, and wrote a few lines of poetry composed in class.  One student made an elaborate folded envelope for the Valentine inside that contained an original poem.  It was not this envelope, but more like an origami envelope.

I only had the presence of mind to take photos of one of the responses.

I made this Facebook post:  "Because I have extra paper, and because my students are often asking for extra credit, I gave them the opportunity to make a Valentine that has at least four lines of poetry in it. It doesn't have to be their poem. I am blown away by the work of the first student to take me up on this challenge."

I got to my afternoon class to discover that the English teacher before me had also brought art supplies.  The students were making posterboard infographic kinds of projects.  I thought about past places I've worked, places with people who would have sneered at these approaches, who wouldn't understand how these creative approaches can lead to richer writing.  I am so glad to be at a place where people react with delight when we develop creative approaches.

Stockpiling Tea for the Coming Unpleasantness

This is the week where I need to grade papers for every single class.  Happily, most of the papers are decently to well written, but even so, working my way through them is taking time.  Most weeks won't be like this.

Let me record a few snippets and then get my walk done before the wet weather arrives.

--I was surprised to hear of the news of the death of Tom Robbins:  surprised because he was still alive and surprised that he was 92.  In my head, he's always a hippy writer, out there on the roadways, coming up with provocative ideas.  In a used bookstore in the early 80's, I picked up a paperback of Another Roadside Attraction, and although I wasn't sure what to make of it, I was intrigued.  It's an interesting question, but it interests me in different ways than it did Robbins:  if the body of Christ was discovered, would the nature of our faith and practice change?  I imagine that some of the sexual ideas have not held up well; in Skinny Legs and All, if I'm remembering correctly, there's a female hitchhiker with huge thumbs who tolerates sexual predation as the cost of a ride.

--My Monday night seminary class on Worship and Digital Technology did a deep dive into AI last night, and how people are teaching machines.  We will probably not explore the deeper theological issues in a way I want.  I can imagine a time 300 years from now when people are appalled at the way we treat our machines that have consciousness--much the way we are appalled at the way that slave holders and slave traders treated enslaved people.  

--This morning, this line came to me: I stockpile tea for the coming unpleasantness.  I've had fun thinking about tea in the history of the country, although I don't have a developed poem--yet.

Well, let me get ready for my walk.  

A Sermon on Call Stories and Chaos for Our Contentious Time

Yesterday was one of those up and down days.  When we left to drive to Bristol, I thought I had a strong sermon.  As I was delivering it, I felt like I was stumbling and that nothing was clear.

My spouse thought it went well.  He thought it was bleaker than usual (I didn't) and struggled to end on a hopeful note.  His commentary made me feel even worse.  Yet I was interested to see how the sermon came across in the recording.  There was one notable time when my spouse was not at all impressed with my sermon, but when he watched it several more times, he changed his mind and declared it one of my best sermons ever.

Often the recording of the sermon is posted to the church's Facebook page by the time we get home, but yesterday, it wasn't.  We had been having problems with the sound equipment, so I thought it might not get posted this week.  But this morning, there it was.

One of my parishioners had posted it onto her timeline saying, "I needed this today. More than even I knew."  I realize she might have been talking about the whole worship service, not my sermon.  But I needed to hear a comment like that.  I felt like I stumbled more than usual yesterday, and my internal mean voice kicked in to tell me that I was stupid and worthless.

Even though I have learned to hear that mean voice for what it is, even though I am fortunate not to hear it often, it's still exhausting when I'm in that downward spiral.  I came home yesterday absolutely wiped out.

I watched and listened to the sermon this morning (go here to view it).  I am relieved to be able to say that it is a stronger sermon and a stronger delivery than I was remembering.  I am happy to be able to vanquish that inner mean voice.

Politics: Writing Letters, Making Phone Calls

In the past, I haven't spent much time contacting my U.S. senators or my representative in the U.S. House.  I've written the occasional letter about a bill coming up for a vote, and during the first Trump administration, I felt compelled to make phone calls here or there.  This past week has been different.

I began with making phone calls on Monday; I called my two senators to give my opinion on the cabinet nominees that might come up for a vote sooner rather than later.  That was Monday when I thought the votes might happen momentarily.

As the week continued, we heard about DOGE getting control of various databases that include sensitive information--so I made calls about that because it felt urgent.  In both instances, no one answered the phone, but I expected that.  I left a message, as I have been trained to do:  focused message, my name, address, and phone number.  This morning, The Washington Post is reporting that I am not the only one concerned; the story has this headline:  "Lawmakers flooded with calls about Elon Musk: ‘It is a deluge on DOGE.’"

I've also written letters.  I am odd in that writing letters feels easier, and I do believe that a handwritten letter gets similar attention to a phone call.  I am certain that online polls and online generated letters/communication don't get much attention at all, especially in times when offices are getting lots of communication.

I like writing letters, which I keep brief, because I can do them in my spare time, which is not abundant.  Phone calls mean that I have to do a bit of talking myself into the process; I am not a talk on the phone person.  

I wrote letters in support of the federal workers who are being treated shabbily.  I wrote letters in support of USAID.  I do realize that there is waste and abuse across various government agencies, and I know that's true of most institutions.  But there are good ways to do reform, and there are bad ways.  Taking a sledgehammer to programs is one of the bad ways, particularly when it involves ordinary people's lives and livelihoods. 

One of the reasons I haven't communicated with my legislators is that reform has usually been more moderate and measured.  I haven't always agreed with the directions taken, but I have felt that various points were considered as people with more information than I have had made decisions.  I have not felt that way in the past two weeks.

In this time, when so much is under attack without much communication or consideration, sending messages to the people who are supposed to be representing voters feels very important.

Genocidal Despots and Poems

I am taking 2 wonderful seminary classes, and I'm so happy that I get to end my MDiv on this note, with two wonderful classes in my last term, no drudgery work.  Last night's class is a New Testament class called "Birth, Death, and Back Again:  Christmas and Easter."  It looks at Christmas and Easter texts without the in between, and I am loving it.  In my first year, it was offered, but it was onground, so I couldn't take it.  This semester, it's virtual.  It's not offered every semester, so I'm glad that I had a chance to take it--an advantage to taking a slightly slower route to graduation.

Last night we discussed Matthew 2:  1-23, the visit of the magi, the flight to Egypt, the massacre of Bethlehem boys, and the return.  It was the kind of class meeting where I took extensive notes and thought, I need to remember these details for next year's Christmas season sermons.

Of course, the most powerful part of last night's class is one that I'll probably use more in funeral sermons than in Christmas sermons.  We talked about Herod's slaughter of the Bethlehem boys under the age of 2 and asked the question of why Joseph gets a dream that saves Jesus, but the other parents in Bethlehem don't.  Does God allow genocide?

My professor, Dr. Laura Holmes, finished our discussion of the death of the innocents by reminding us that salvation/redemption/liberation comes with a high price, and not just for Jesus; there's lots and lots of damage to those around him. 

In other words, Jesus came into our world that is ruled by empires, by genocidal despots, by the people in charge who are scared and thus make terrible decisions.  I realize that that on some level, my professor's response doesn't answer the question.  My own answer, as people who read every blog entry of mine will know, is that God isn't all powerful and that evil forces do have a lot of power, and that those two facts often lead to bloodshed, which is not what God wants, but God can't always prevent it.

I admire my professor's ability to give us insight and encourage class discussion.  I hate the classes that are too focused on student presentations.  I am paying for the professor's expertise--if I wanted to be taught by peers, who may or may not have extensive experience, I can do that much more cheaply than a seminary class.  Last night we had both expertise and really insightful class discussion.

When class started, I thought about one of my all-time favorite poems I've ever written, a poem that imagines what might have happened had the magi showed up at the Southern border.   The final poem had multiple strands: Epiphany, the perpetual crisis on the border, the crisis between east and west that ultimately led to the taking down of the wall between East and West Germany, a bit of the underground railroad.  As the class went on, lines of new poetry kept bubbling up in my brain.  Happily, I had a blank legal pad nearby, so I wrote them down.  It was wonderful to feel inspired.

I am not sure I can transform those lines into anything that I like as much as the poem that I'll post below, the poem that was published in Sojourners in 2020.  

 

Border Lands

I am the border agent who looks
the other way. I am the one
who leaves bottled water in caches
in the harsh border lands I patrol.

I am the one who doesn’t shoot.
I let the people assemble,
with their flickering candles a shimmering
river in the dark. “Let them pray,”
I tell my comrades. “What harm
can come of that?” We holster
our guns, and open a bottle to share.

I am the superior
officer who loses the paperwork
or makes up the statistics.
I am the one who ignores
your e-mails, who cannot be reached
by text or phone, the one
with a full inbox.

When the wise ones
come, as they do, full of dreams,
babbling about the stars
that lead them or messages
from gods or angels,
I open the gates. I don’t alert
the authorities up the road.
Let the kings and emperors
pay for their own intelligence.

I should scan the horizons,
but I tend the garden
I have planted by the shed
where we keep the extra
barbed wires. I grow a variety
of holy trinities: tomatoes, onions,
peppers, beans, squashes of all sorts.
I plant a hedge of sunflowers,
each bright head a north star.

Great Teaching Days in the Midst of Political Chaos

It is the kind of morning when I wonder if I should move money out of my savings account where my tax returns came for the past several years.  Now that Elon Musk's team appears to have access to all sorts of government computer systems, a team that has not been vetted or given security clearances, I'm not sure that my bank account is safe.  I'm glad that we put much of our money into our home repairs--it's much harder for hackers to steal my appliances, my furnace, my kitchen cabinets and counters.

Do I really think that Musk's team of college kids is interested in my meager savings account (meager compared to that of rich people, but not meager to me)?  Probably not, but I am fairly sure they are leaving holes by which shadowy actors might be able to get to my money.  Will FDIC still be around to protect my funds or refund my bank account in the case of fraud?  Who knows.

This morning's headlines about Israel, Gaza, and the West Bank made me wonder if I was looking at a satire, with the basic takeaway being that Trump wants the US to be in control of Gaza and the West Bank, which he seems to see as a huge redevelopment potential project.  A reporter asked if the US would send troops? Sure!  

It's the kind of morning where I look away because it's all too dystopian/absurdist.  And then I look up and it's 5 a.m., and I wonder where the time went.  Did I get papers graded?  No.  Did I write a poem?  No.

I did download the reading for Thursday's class.  Did I read it?  No.  I did order my cap and gown for my May graduation, but that doesn't explain where my morning time went.

But let me end on a positive note:  yesterday's classes went REALLY well.  It's a bit surreal to be talking about the gilded age and President McKinley in my American Lit class at the same time that a U.S. president is claiming that McKinley was one of the greatest presidents--and odd to remember a time when I lived on McKinley street when we first moved to Hollywood, FL, and I remember thinking how little I knew about that president.  We had a great class, talking about the history from the 1880's to the 1920's, and the impact of the history on the literature.

Before that, I had a great Nonfiction writing class.  We did a lot of generative writing in the first part of class.  I was trying to generate ideas to write about a favorite tree poetically.  I've done something similar before, which I wrote about in this blog post.  I have a word list generated by my 101 students in the fall.  I called out a word, and had them write for 40 seconds; we did this for 10 words.  I then had them write a sentence or a line of 5-10 words.  Then I gave them the complete word list and had them choose the three most evocative.  We did a free writing for 5 minutes (keep writing, no stopping, no correcting).   Again, I had them write a sentence or a line of 5-10 words.  Then we put the lines/sentences on the three whiteboards around the room.  It was intriguing.

And then I gave them the worksheet below.  They filled in the blanks and then chose one and wrote for 10 minutes--writing a short story or a poem or a view from the tree.  On Thursday, we'll start to figure out how to turn all the prewriting into an essay.

The tree sings __________________  at night. 

The tree yearns for ________________________. 

The tree misses __________________________. 

_________________________ misses the tree. 

 The tree contains a secret which is __________________. 

The tree’s favorite color is ___________________________. 

 The tree’s best friend is _________________________. 

The tree resembles this human made object. 

The tree wraps itself in a quilt made of ___________________. 

The tree goes _______________________ for vacation. 

The tree wishes you knew ____________________________. 

Tuesday Fragments: Administration, Teaching, and Governing

I am not sure I have a single thought or collection of thoughts that would make a unified blog post.  So, let me collect some fragments and see what kind of collage emerges:

--Last night I had a virtual seminary class:  2 hours, with a 15 minute break, in my desk chair.  This morning, I was deeply sore.  I've noticed this phenomena before, and this morning I thought about articles I've read that say the biggest killer of health is too many hours sitting.  I spent my first 45 years not sitting; the way I teach has me up and about, and I was a runner/jogger for many of those years.  Then I moved into administration.  Hopefully that 12 years in administration didn't take too many years off my life.

--Yesterday was my 3 year anniversary of being severed from my last administrator job from a school that would shut down completely in 2024, the job I went to after leaving the school that would shut down completely in 2018.  This year, the anniversary slipped by unnoticed.

--I am interested in what happens to the Department of Education.  I am irked by what is happening at USAID.  I am convinced it's not about saving money, no matter what these DOGE folks say.  These are the most underfunded parts of government.  If you want to save money consequences be damned, set your sights on the Department of Defense.

--This is the strangest time in U.S. history that I have ever seen, and I am not thinking I will see normal times again in my lifetime.

--But let me remind myself of past times of poor prospects that suddenly brightened.  Let me remember the fall of the wall that separated East and West Germany.  Let me remember Nelson Mandela being released from prison.

--Today I'm going to write an essay about Laura Ingalls Wilder for my English 102 classes.  I'll take it in tomorrow, we'll look at it, and we'll talk about how to turn it into a research paper.  In some ways, it seems like a waste of time.  In some ways, it delights me.

--I taught 3 sections of English 102 yesterday.  The 10:00 class, my first class, was the lowest energy; my last class, the 2:00 section, had the most engagement.  In the past, a mid-morning class was always the best, and by afternoon, everyone was snoozing at their desks.  My afternoon class has missed the most class meetings because of snow days and the MLK holiday, so maybe that's it.

--Today is American Lit survey day.  It is interesting to be teaching the literature of the late 1800s and early 1900s in this time when our current president is praising President McKinley.  On Thursday we talked about Upton Sinclair's The Jungle; I suppose it shouldn't be a surprise to discover how very relevant it still is.  

--I was surprised that none of my students in the class is a vegetarian or a vegan.

The sky is lightening--let me get ready for a morning walk.  We have a week of springlike temperatures, and I want to take full advantage!

Sketching While the World Burns

Today is the feast day that celebrates the prophetess Anna and Simeon, the two people in the Temple who were first to declare Jesus as Messiah when Mary and Joseph bring Jesus to the Temple for the presentation to the priest, a purification ritual.  They had been waiting to see the Messiah for many decades; Simeon was told that he would see the Messiah before he died.

I think of all that they must have seen in the decades while they waited, all the times they must have wondered if they were delusional.  There are many mornings where I wonder if I am delusional, trusting in the different world that God promises is possible.

I got home from preaching about the Feast Day of the Presentation to find people across social media in a state of disbelief and outrage about remarks made about Lutheran Social Services, with Mike Flynn accusing them of laundering money.  Good grief.  It would be laughable if I didn't know so many people would take this seriously.

I've worked for LSS in my youth, and I have continued to be part of groups that partner with them.  I have seen the good work that they do.  I am also old enough to remember that many of these social service agencies grew bigger as past presidents like Reagan cut government services saying that religious groups should be taking care of the needs of impoverished citizens.  And now, after decades of doing that, there's criticism and blow back/up.

Yesterday I wanted to watch something that might make me feel a bit more brave, so while we have another 2 weeks of Disney+ subscription, we watched A Wrinkle in Time.  Again, I was disappointed in this movie.  On the small screen, it's even more disappointing.  I feel a bit guilty for feeling that way, since the movie involved so many important women in its making.  Sigh.

I did some sketching and reading before deciding it was bedtime.  I was inspired to try flower doodles, and here's what I did last night:

I was inspired by my friend's flower doodles.  I like hers better:

If I continue to doodle flowers, maybe I'll add color to the paper first.

I do wonder about doodling flowers while the world burns.  But I also know of the importance of down time.

I think of a sketch I made years ago, after writing a poem about Anna.

And now it's time to turn my attention to teaching, or more accurately to get ready for my teaching day.  Onward!

Valentines and Green Sauce

Yesterday was a day of all kinds of creativity.  I wrote a poem, or perhaps just the beginning of a poem.  I wrote my sermon.  I baked homemade bread and made cookies.  All of that happened before 2:00.

Close to 2:00, I went up the hill to set up a Valentines making event at one of the buildings at camp.  My neighborhood has a fair number of creative folks, so I thought it would be fun to make Valentines together after we all said we wished we could have made Christmas cards together.

I have spent the last 6 weeks buying supplies on sale, paper and stickers and such.  Some of my neighbors brought their own supplies to share.  

The cookies that I made in the morning were also part of the event.   It was great to have room to spread out the way we wouldn't have if we went to someone's house.

It was even better to have time to catch up with neighbors and friends.  We are all extremely busy.

I came home to finish one last cooking project.  A few weeks ago, I wanted enchiladas, but the canned green sauce I got from the store was tasteless.  That same week-end, we watched a cooking show that gave us a different idea for a green sauce.  On Friday I picked up the ingredients.

It was an amazing sauce.  I want to record what we did, so that I can repeat it.

Tomatillo-Cilantro Sauce

4 tomatillos

1/2 onion

3-4 poblano peppers

1 bunch of cilantro

We cut up the tomatillos and onion and put them in a pan.  We drizzled the pan with oil and let it roast for 30 minutes.  We grilled and charred the peppers and took the charred parts of the skin off.  We put all of this in the food processor and ground it all up.  Yum.

The recipe that we saw also included half a lime, which we didn't have, and a bit of cream to finish, but we didn't do that.

It would be a great sauce for all sorts of dishes, including enchiladas.  

An Unfinished Blog Post on the Feast Day of Saint Brigid

Today is the feast day of Saint Brigid; for more historical information, see this blog post.  I've written about her before, and one of my poems about her was published in Adanna (you can read it in this blog post).  This morning, I thought I'd write a new poem about her, but it isn't turning out as expected.

Actually, I didn't have much in the way of expectations, so maybe it is turning out that way.  It doesn't mention Saint Brigid yet, but maybe it will.  I am trying to create a poem that weaves together cold winter nights, monks arising early to pray, a woman getting up in the middle of the night to check on dripping water to keep the pipes from freezing, and distant stars.

Hours later:  I started writing this morning, and then I zipped here and there to other writing, other activities, like bread baking and cookie making.  It's been a good morning, and I don't regret this incomplete blog post.

And now I must get ready to go make Valentines.  It's a community activity, and I have no idea how many people will come to join me.  But I know that there will be a few, and that's good enough.