Pots and Pans and Intimations of Immortality

Yesterday was a rare Sunday.  We didn't go to Bristol because I had to be here to see what hospital chaplains do for Sunday worship.  It was a cool experience:  Bible texts, songs (delivered by way of YouTube), prayers, and a meditation.

Because we knew I'd be free earlier on a Sunday than usual, and because my spouse's brother didn't have to work, we decided to head down to Spartanburg to see their new house.  They have spent the last few months moving from Homestead, Florida to Spartanburg, with all the headaches and paperwork involved.  It was good to see them in a less-stressed space.

We got home in the early evening and unpacked our new cookware set:  3 saucepans, two skillets, a dutch oven, and a small stock pot.  I tried to remember when we bought the last set.  We were in the Fillmore Street house in Hollywood, FL, so it would have been before 2013.  We bought that set because the pans we had were starting to look a bit beat up, with the nonstick parts scratched, which made me worry about ingesting it.

Of course, by now I've ingested so many forms of plastic that I don't know why I worry.  

Our new set has a "ceramic non-stick coating"; I'll be interested to see how it performs.  The set is supposed to be oven safe and dishwasher safe.  Here's hoping.

As we unpacked the set, I thought about how old we are, about how we buy cookware sets every 15 years.  Will this set be our last cookware set?  In 15 years, I'll be 75 years old, and I am unlikely to buy a new set so much as replace the pans I use most.  Will I be a widow?  Will we be in a care home so that we don't need to think about pots and pans?  It's hard to imagine how we could afford that outcome.

I thought of Wordsworth and other poets who found inspiration to think about the meaning of life (its shortness, what is important, how quickly what is important goes away even before we realize its importance).  Wordsworth looked at meadows and groves and streams in "Ode:  Intimations of Immortality" and thought of the difference between childhood and adulthood, and I look at pots and pans and think of how quickly we might become incapacitated in adulthood, the grief that comes from the loss of ability.  Wordsworth worked his way backward (because he wrote the poem when he was in his early 30's), and I went forward.

After we got the new pots and pans put away, I went to bed.  I pretended that I was going to read, and then I could only read a few pages.  So why not go to sleep?

I did not go for a walk this morning--because of our travel yesterday, I didn't get my lunches ready for the week.  Plus, I've walked every morning for the last 5 days, so why not take it easy and write about pots and pans?

But now I must get ready--the 4th week of chaplaincy training awaits!

Lifting Up My Eyes

If I had to choose a text that sums up this week, the text that has surfaced in my brain more than any other, it would be this one:

As part of my self-care each day, I try to leave the hospital at least once to go look at the mountains.  And I continue to be struck by how many patient rooms have a window with a view of the mountains.  The other day, when I was with a non-verbal patient, I commented on the wonderful view, and he sat up to look out the window.  It was the first moment that I felt sure that he understood what I had just said, and this verse came to my brain, in all its King James version glory.

Yesterday my monthly Bible study met by way of Zoom.  It's become a way for members of my Florida church to stay in touch, even as some of us have moved very far away.  Yesterday, we didn't have a definitive plan for the meeting, and I happened to have the Psalm open in a website.  So we did a lectio divina on the Psalm, and I did a bit of sketching while we discussed.

The sketch is done with fine tip pens, and then I took a watercolor brush and brushed water over it.  The color for the sky comes from the color in the brush when I went over the mountains with the wet brush.  

It's not exactly what I had in mind when I started, but that's part of what makes it wonderful.  Between the uncertainty of the ink and the water, and my non-professional skill, it makes art an adventurous process, which can reveal much more than if I had skills to reproduce the same image, time after time.

I am planning to take supplies with me to work and to spend some time each week sketching--another self-care practice I hope to implement.  Exploring self-care practices is one of my learning goals, so I'm allowed to explore them--what a joy to be in such a place!

Sunrise Walks and Texts and Teaching Ideas

I changed my morning schedule a bit.  I'm not going to the farmer's market because I've got a lemon blueberry yogurt loaf in the oven.

I've really been enjoying getting a walk in before the sun gets very high in the sky.  Even here in the mountains, it gets warm/hot and muggy once the sun rises.   I've been capturing some really cool pictures.  Below is the sun coming through clear glass onto a wall of gray cinderblock, even though it looks like I'm capturing stained glass.

Here's the longer perspective:

And I'm the first to get whatever black raspberries have ripened since the last time I walked.

This morning, I was walking and texting a friend who has been mostly homebound recovering from hip replacement surgery.  We talked about 19th century writers who wrote in bed and wondered how they could do that.  We talked about 19th century approaches to dental care.

But most important, we talked about the best ways to remain human in an age of AI and how to create projects for students that keep them embodied--and to create assignments that are more cheating resistant.  I talked about Dorothy Wordsworth's journals and got the idea of having students compare them to Thoreau's Walden Pond journal.  I want them also to keep a journal to see what it's like and then write about it all.

It was a good text exchange.  Of course, we're looking forward to a time when we can meet face to face, but that's not this summer.  I think it's funny that we were texting about 19th century writers who kept painstaking journals.  There might be a seed of a poem there.

I've sketched out the rough outline of my Composition class for Fall, and I'm excited.  I've got a huge chunk of time in October with the notation "creative stuff."  I'm looking forward to trying out these ideas.  And my friend is putting together a research project that would have her come to my campus to see what we are doing.  

Even if it doesn't all come to pass, it's fun to dream on a summer morning at the end of June.

Artifacts from a Different Media Age

I was sad to hear about the death of Bill Moyers, although the fact that he lived into his 90's mitigates the sadness somewhat.  He had an amazing life (read more in this gift article from The Washington Post, if you want to know more too); I had forgotten about the LBJ years.  I will always think of the in-depth interviews with poets when I think about his work.

I read The Language of Life shortly after it was published, and it was a book that shaped what I thought of when I contemplated a career in poetry, back in the days when it still seemed possible to have a career in poetry.  But it was so much more than that kind of book.  It was a book about how to live a good life, and that definition included poetry and creativity in a way that was seldom featured in the mid-1990's.

It's even more unlikely these days.  I've spent a lot of time this week thinking about media projects of the past.  Last night, I wanted to watch old episodes of M*A*S*H, but alas, a preliminary scan seemed to say that they've been snatched up by streaming services we don't want to afford.

We did find a documentary that explored both the making of the show and how groundbreaking the show could be.  In a way, it was fluffy--lots of quick comments from the actors and directors plus clips from the show.  But it was just what I wanted.  And it was wonderful to remember that there was a time where lots of people watched this kind of quality show, which was available for free on network TV.  I have no doubt that quality serial shows are still being made, but most of them end up on streaming services where one must pay.

Earlier this week, I was part of a discussion about morning and afternoon talk shows, in the days of Phil Donahue and Oprah.  I talked about how those shows were groundbreaking in terms of talking about social problems and the kinds of everyday trauma that people might be experiencing.  We compared them to social influencers of today.  I said that the difference was that these shows would include several experts, along with one or two people who could talk about their personal experiences, say with sexual harassment or domestic violence or cross dressing or any number of other issues--plus the show would publicize additional resources along the way and at the end of the show. 

We're in a very different media age now, with so much information and so little help in figuring out what is true, what is valid.  That's the real sadness that undergirds my sadness about the loss of Bill Moyers.

Late June Weather Report, 2025

--If the old adage about red skies at night is true, our sailors should have a very delightful day.  I came out to say goodnight to my spouse shortly after 9, after an hour of reading in bed.  The sky just after sunset was blazing red.

--We slept with the bedroom window wide open last night--completely comfortable.  I realize that we were one of the few spots in the continental U.S. who could make that claim.  I feel lucky to be here in the mountains near Asheville.

--It reminded me, as it so often does, of summers at my grandmother's house in the 1970's, in Greenwood, SC, where the AC didn't rule the inside yet.

--Last night I dreamed it was the first day of classes that I teach onground and I went in and just launched into the lesson about why and how to write--no introductions, no syllabi.  It was not an anxiety dream, just a funny, getting ahead of myself dream.

--I am trying to remember if I heard crickets and other night creatures all summer long last year, or if that chorus starts later.  I remember waking up around 2 or 3, when some of them were still singing, but most of them had gone to bed.  I am not hearing any crickets at all this year.

Toddler Sleep Schedules

My sleep schedule is completely wrecked.

Actually, it's the sleep schedule that I fall into periodically.  I can  barely keep my eyes open in the early evening, I finally give up and go to bed between 6:00 and 7:45, I wake up very early between 2 and 3 a.m.  I'm most aware of this alternate sleep schedule, which I call my toddler sleep schedule, in the autumn, when we end daylight savings time.  This time, I've fallen into this sleep schedule because of my cold combined with my work schedule.

I lay in bed wondering if it was time to get up, and for a brief moment, I thought I saw a person with a flashlight moving in the trees beyond my bedroom window.  The back yard area that I can see from my bedroom window is fairly impassible with downed trees, so I was pretty sure it wasn't a flashlight.  Distant headlights?  The first summer fireflies?  Mystical creatures, with flashlights or the light of their own inner goodness?

I also had a memory of a poem that I wrote years ago, which sent me on a hunt for it.  First I went to the folder where I keep all the poems that I once thought were publishable, but have yet to find a home for them, outside of my folders.  I didn't find the folder, but I did find a poem that I barely remembered writing.  I changed all the contact information and moved into the folder of poems in active circulation.

I went to the file of published poems and found the poem there.  I did a bit more digging and found this blog post from over 10 years ago (10 years ago!!!) that announced the poem's 2014 publication in Slant.

Here is the poem, in all its quirky strangeness:

Insomnia



No one sleeps at our house.
In the attic, the monks keep
their vigil; Psalms chanted
undergird the night.

The younger brother catalogs
the fish tanks and the ant farm.
The older brother conducts
experiments and charts the sky’s
passage through the hours.

The poet lights a single candle
and composes sonnets until dawn.
We can hear her counting
iambic pentameter as she paces.

One grandmother arranges flowers
and then resorts them.
One grandmother continues
her life’s project: to attempt
every pie recipe that ever existed.

The choir performs concerts
complete with a string quartet.
We think the grass grows faster
with a musical accompaniment.

All the mothers and fathers are invited
to dance in the basement ballroom.
The bright chandeliers trick
the senses into believing time’s illusion.

And I pull the comforter close.
I read stories from my youth:
of spunky girl detectives
with absent parents
or families on prairies
who build houses of sod
in just three days.

Aware of All My Sinuses

I have one of those sinus situations where I am very aware of all the sinus cavities in my body, where I marvel that I can be congested while my nose runs at an alarming rate.  I have had some coughing, but I'm not sure if that's because I've been taking so many decongestants that I am dried out, and then I try to talk, and my breath gets caught in my throat.  Do I have a cold?  I am guessing that it is not something more serious, like flu, because I don't have aches and chills.

My mind did go to Covid, though.  The one time that I tested positive, I felt a bit like this.

I took a Covid test on Saturday night, just to be sure, and it came back negative.  My symptoms respond to over the counter meds, so I am not too worried.  I think back to all the pre-pandemic colds, severe and minor, that I just powered through.  I'm no longer fully sure of when I should power through and when I should stay home.  Much of yesterday, I tried to avoid most people.

I got home last night, took my after-work shower, and ate a bowl of soup.  I was drowsing in the chair by 5:30, and my spouse gently led me to bed.  I mostly slept through the night, and I'm hopeful that I'm on the mend.

At the very least, I hope I am done with the coughing phase.  It's much easier to protect people from my runny nose than from my cough.

A Brief Look Ahead at the Last Week of June

A brief look at the week ahead:

--Chaplain training continues this week--week 3.  We expect to begin the week by shadowing chaplains and end the week by making our own pastoral visits.

--It is going to be a scorcher of a week, both here and across the nation--happy first week of summer.  It will be good to be inside.

--I have my grades turned in for one of my online classes--hurrah!  The next one starts on Thursday, and I updated that course shell. 

--I got Sunday's sermon done early, so I don't have to think about that.  This Sunday, I'll do more orientation at the hospital.

--It occurs to me that this week is essentially the last week of June--wow, the month has zoomed by!

If the World Ends Tomorrow: Planting a Tree, Baking a Cobbler

I was not expecting this morning's top news story:  the U.S. bombing a nuclear site in Iran.

Martin Luther said that if the world was ending tomorrow, he would plant a tree (did he really say that?  does it matter? the sentiment is still interesting).  I would bake something yummy.

Of course, the planting of a tree implies a faith in the future that a baked good may not symbolize.

If you are in need of a yummy baked good, I highly recommend this recipe for peach cobbler from the Smitten Kitchen website.  You don't have to peel the peaches, and the topping is easy and forgiving.  In the baking, it forms a crispy outside which doesn't get soggy.  It can probably work with a wide range of fruit; I combined peaches and blueberries, and in the autumn, I plan to prepare it with apples.

So maybe a baked good does imply a faith in the future:  summer stone fruits for a cobbler today, apples in a cobbler in 6 months.

And if you wanted a piece of weightier theology, go to this post on my theology blog.  Today's healing of the man possessed by a Legion of demons led me to think about all the demons that scream at us.

Here is how that sermon ends:

In these uncertain times, our mission is more important than ever. Drown out the shouting of the demons and their demands. Listen for the voice of Jesus. Tell the good news of what God has done—and what God will continue to do, the making of all things new. Remember what the Psalmist declares: “For dominion belongs to the Lord, who rules over the nations.” (Psalm 22: 28).

Saturday Snippets with Apocalyptic Reading

Some part of me thinks it's now mid-July; Thursday's Juneteenth holiday has fast forwarded that part of my brain.  Let me capture a few moments from the past week that I haven't already captured.  

--I've made it through two weeks of chaplain training.  I am still exhausted by the end of the work day, but happily, my spouse foresaw this development, and he's patient.  I am glad that I don't have little children.

--Last night was one of those nights where I couldn't even focus enough to sew or sketch.  Happily, I was still able to read.  Usually I choose something light, but last night, I turned back to Mark Lynas' Six Minutes to Winter:  Nuclear War and How to Avoid It.   I bought it a month ago, read the part that I read as the LitHub excerpt, and then put it aside, where it got buried under a stack of papers.   It is one of the grimmest description of nuclear aftermath as I have ever read, even grimmer than the movie Threads.  It was so grim that it was almost not scary.  It's not exactly new information--after all, we've known about the possibility of nuclear winter for decades now.  But the book spells out in detail what that would mean in a way that I haven't seen before.

--I was happy to turn my attention to Paul Murray's The Bee Sting, nominated for the Booker Prize in the same year as Paul Lynch's "Prophet Song."  Maybe I'll spend the summer reading 2023 Booker Prize nominees.

--I spent part of Thursday stocking up on groceries:  nuts, flours, beans, some canned goods like tomatoes.  I have plenty on hand for lunches and dinners.  My breakfast remains the same:  oatmeal with nuts and dried cranberries, and I'm well stocked for breakfast too.

--I have bought a few more clothes and an extra pair of Saucony running shoes.  Most of my shoes are several years old, and I need more cushioning.

--I am trying to get two sermons ready for tomorrow, since I will be at the hospital on the last Sunday in June.  Yesterday I wrote a draft of next week's sermon by hand as I ate my lunch.  I'll be interested to see how it stands up as I type and revise today.

--On Wednesday, I wrote most of my Noah's wife (as in Noah and the Flood in Genesis) as hospital chaplain poem, again by hand during lunch.  I am pleased with the draft, and here, too, I look forward to seeing how it holds together when I type and revise.

--Here's one stanza of that poem:

She has already witnessed

the end of the world,

the disaster that destroys everything.

She can be a non-anxious 

presence to everyone in the hospital.

She has seen worse.

--It is time to get ready to go to the Mills River Farmer's Market.  The Saturday before Hurricane Helene, I bought a basket of tomatoes from my favorite farmer, and he said, "Just bring the basket back when you can."  After Helene, I couldn't get back to that market, and it might not have even been open.  But I'd like to return the basket if I can, and I'm not sure what my Saturdays will look like for the rest of the summer.

Juneteenth and All that Holds Us in Shackles

Today we celebrate our newest federal holiday:  Juneteenth.  Of course, many populations have been celebrating Juneteenth since the news of freedom first came to the last enslaved people in Texas in 1865.  This is the first year that I've been in a workplace that recognized the holiday.  In 2021, I was working for a small school that was very stingy with holidays, so we didn't have that holiday or MLK day or Presidents Day.

In 2022, I was no longer working for that school.  I was driving back across several states, coming back to Florida from the onground intensive at Southern Seminary.  I was already a certified spiritual director through their program, but I went back to take advantage of the education, to have a reunion with my small group, and to see a friend graduate from the program.  Two weeks later I would turn around to drive back up to Arden to buy the house that I'm writing in this morning.  So far, I have never regretted that purchase, which is not usual for me when it comes to housing or moves or jobs.

Or maybe it is becoming usual.  I don't have regrets about the spiritual direction certificate or my MDiv.  My main regret about my job at SMC is that I didn't have it sooner.  I love this house in a way that I haven't loved any other house.  Maybe my lack of regret is a pleasant part of being in late midlife.

I am tempted to tie these ideas back to Juneteenth, but I don't want to trivialize the holiday or the history.  While regret can enslave us, it's a very different enslavement than other forces and humans that enslave.

What are the forces enslaving so many of us? We think of iron shackles, but there are other societal constructs that hold so many back: debt, geopolitical forces, violence, educational systems. If we compare these issues to slave times and the Jim Crow era, perhaps we'll create a generation of thinkers that are set free.

And once free, perhaps they will figure out ways not only to free others, but to make sure that others aren't enslaved, either metaphorically or literally.

So on this Juneteenth, let us think about the captives who need our help to be set free. Let us also think about all the captivity narratives that hold us enslaved. Let us embrace liberation narratives. Let us envision what life would look like if all were truly free.

Books as Old Friends

Some quick notes before it is time to get ready for work.  Today is a day where I'm likely to spend more time sitting--a contrast to yesterday where I managed to walk over 17,000 steps in a day.

--Let me remember what a good idea a scavenger hunt is in terms of Orientation.  I wonder if I could do something similar with my college students.  Would I send them to various departments?  Would I send them to find things (poems or books or other objects) that I had pre-hidden?  Have them find different kinds of trees?  Have them work in groups to find items of interest and have them provide a tour?  I like this idea best.  And then we could talk about the different kinds of writing that might flow from the experience.

--Yesterday I looked through the classic Stages of Faith by James Fowler.  I remember reading it in college, trying to determine which stage I was in.  Now I look at the charts in the back, and none of it seems to fit my faith journey.  Those ideas, rooted in Piaget and Kohlberg, make even less sense to me now than they did when I was in college and read Carol Gilligan's In a Different Voice, a response to the work of Piaget and Kohlberg, a contrast.

--Those books were both published in the early 80's just before I went to college.  Now they are classics, and once they were cutting edge.  

--In yesterday's library rummaging, I also found a copy of Sarah Ban Breathnach's Simple Abundance, another book that changed my life in so many ways.  Here, too, the book doesn't seem so revolutionary, and some of the suggestions almost reactionary (handkerchiefs scented with lilac water?  really?).  But there's no denying the power of a gratitude journal, that daily noticing that helps reorient one's outlook.

--Juneteenth has only been a holiday for a few years, and I have it off tomorrow.  I am looking forward to it, while also dreading the dentist appointment that I rescheduled.  

Rereading "Prophet Song" and Thinking about Writing a New Story

I first read Paul Lynch's Prophet Song about a year ago, and I wondered if it would be a different reading experience this year, with all the geopolitical changes across the world that have happened in the past year.  So I decided to find out.

Even though I know how the novel ends, it was still a gripping read--another reason I returned to the book because I am in need of books that are compelling.  It is a book centered on a question that has intrigued me since my earliest years as a reader:  how do we know when it's time to go?

This time as I read, I noticed other elements:  the father's slow slide into dementia, for example.  It was such a skilled depiction.

And now I am listening to this interview between Paul Lynch and Ron Charles, whose reviews in The Washington Post I always admire.  Wow!

It's the kind of interview that makes me want to write a novel.  My first reaction to that thought:  this is not the summer for writing a novel.  But what if I carried a legal pad with purple pages with me throughout my summer?  What if I returned to the writing process of my pre-computer days?

I don't want to write an apocalyptic novel like Lynch's.  I return to my thoughts of a few weeks ago (captured in this blog post), the idea of capturing a woman at late-midlife.  My younger feminist self declares that this phase must be captured, that so few writers have captured it.  Lots of writers look at younger women:  women leaving adolescence, women with children, and recently, women in perimenopause.

Another thought that I want to capture:  lately, I've been experiencing this feeling of time folding in on itself in strange ways.  Often my brain returns to the idea of the tesseract in A Wrinkle in Time.  I'm at the campus of the liberal arts college where I currently teach, in 2025, but it feels like I'm much more in touch with memories from my own days as a college student at a liberal arts college in the 1980's.  I'm driving on the Blue Ridge Parkway now, but I'm remembering mountain vistas from decades ago, the same mountains.  I can't quite explain it in factual words--perhaps fiction is the medium.

A woman in the audience of the interview just asked about diaspora communities.  Diaspora Community--an intriguing idea for a title, for a unifying concept, for inspirations.  

Another question prompted Lynch to talk about failed novels and the ones who come together.  He talked about not finishing what you start, about knowing when to quit, about knowing when you've got a book worth writing:   "A really great story . . . is going to be thsvehicle.  It's going to be a vessel that you can launch into the sea.    . . .   It will move like a story, but it will carry all your obsessions in that vessel.   . . .   What you're chasing and what you're telling--when the alignment comes, it takes on its own momentum."

I hope that I've found a vessel!

Second Week of CPE

Here we are, Monday morning of the second week of CPE.  Although I'm not sure exactly what to expect, I have some broad ideas.  We have more shadowing of chaplains scheduled, and we will probably begin seeing patients under the supervision of the other chaplains. We will have to start learning how to enter information in charts. We will get our desks, each one of which has a computer. The conference room is actually also office space with 5 people who have desks around the edges of the room, and 2 of us will be in there. Two of us will be in the office where the Admin Ass't was before she retired. In some ways, it doesn't really matter--we are only at our desks to eat and to enter info into charts (I think).  We begin our book study about trauma informed pastoral care.

This week will be unusual in that we get a day off--we celebrate Juneteenth!  So on Thursday, I have a day to catch up.  I was able to reschedule my dentist appointment that was supposed to happen today.  I wasn't able to reschedule my dermatologist appointment, also scheduled for today (I'd have been doublebooked).  I was also able to get a hair appointment scheduled.

Once again, I don't have much time to write.  But that's O.K.  I had more time yesterday than I have had on many a Sunday.  

Slowed Down Saturday with Ceramic Baker and Mint Simple Syrup

My spouse is sick with a cold, the kind of cold that leaves him both congested and runny-nosed, with a head that feels stuffy, and occasionally explosive coughs and/or sneezes.  Over the counter meds help a bit, but he spent much of yesterday in bed.

I spent much of yesterday cooking.  I made a pot of chicken and dumplings from a whole (uncooked) chicken that I stashed in the freezer weeks ago and took out to thaw on Friday night when I could tell he was coming down with a cold and not just allergies.  I baked the communion bread and got to try out my new ceramic baker that my home congregation in Florida sent me in celebration of my graduation in May.

I worked on my sermon and ended up with a better revision.  I did the work for my online classes that needed to be done:  the weekly e-mail reminding us all of this week's tasks and some grading.  I took a brief walk through the neighborhood to take a sewing kit to a neighbor who needed black thread and a needle and to take an empty egg carton to a neighbor who collects them for the food pantry.  

I picked some mint from a neighbor's front yard herb patch, which we are welcome to harvest at any time.  When I got home, I made a mint simple syrup and had the best iced tea! 

It was the kind of day that ended with three loads of dishes going through the dishwasher.  I probably should have done a load of laundry too.  It was a slow motion day that I needed after the intense week of CPE training.

I will be making the drive across the mountains by myself today.  It will be a small crowd at church today, but there's still no sense in exposing them to my spouse's cold.  Let me take a quick walk while there is still time.

Whirlwind Week

What a whirlwind of a week!  On Tuesday, I felt a bit draggy, with that, "It's only Tuesday" despair.  It's been exhausting and wonderful and overwhelming with some relief thrown in.  Let me capture a few overarching themes and capture some items I want to remember.

CPE Training

Of course, the big news of the week has been the beginning of CPE (Clinical Pastoral Education), the process that trains chaplains to work in a variety of settings.  My setting for this summer is the Asheville VA Hospital, and so far, it's a great place to work.  I've written several blog posts already, so I won't write much more. 

Yesterday we shadowed various people from the chaplain department.  We went on rounds, we visited individuals, and some of us went to groups.  It was great to leave the conference room and to have a day where we did a variety of activities.  By the end of the day, I had gotten all my keys and gotten my Chaplain badge that tells people more about who I am.

Poem Ideas

My work this week gave me inspiration for possible poems.  Let me record them here so that I remember.  The most promising idea is Noah's Wife working as a chaplain in the VA hospital.  Hospital, ark, are they really so different?  I also see some potential in putting Cassandra in CPE training--Cassandra who has spent so much of her life with people not listening to her.  And now, she is training herself to keep silent, which she discovers is not a gift she has.

Wildlife Sightings

Yesterday on my way to work, a commuting route that takes me down the Blue Ridge Parkway, I saw two big turkeys crossing the road, along with at least 12 baby chicks.  Are baby turkeys called chicks?  Anyhow, I was able to come to a stop to let them get safely across.  On Thursday, I had a less dramatic turkey sighting, just one turkey standing by the side of the Blue Ridge Parkway.

My spouse had a much more dramatic wildlife sighting.  In broad daylight, a smallish bear came up on the deck, raised up on two legs, and licked all of the birdseed out of the feeder affixed to the sliding glass door.  The bear then ambled around the deck and then left.  My spouse was inside.

Success in Advocating for a Student

One of my online students from several semesters ago wrote to me asking me for help:  a letter to his current school to help him get the class that I taught to be counted as a writing class.  I was happy to do it.  I had to go back to review the class, since it's not one I taught often.  I wrote a solid letter showing how the class met the writing intensive goals of the student's current school.  Yesterday I heard from the student who wrote to thank me and to let me know that the class had been counted as a writing class--my letter convinced them!  I am always happy for this kind of good news. 

What I'm Not Writing About    

In future years, will I wonder why I didn't write more about the protests in L.A. or the military parade and protests happening today?  Will I wonder why I didn't write more about the Israel-Iraq escalation?  In future years will I see CPE as a life changing experience?  What am I not seeing?

Friday Retrospective

So, here it is, Friday finally.  When I went to bed last night, the news was full of developments from L.A.  When I woke up this morning, news of Israel bombing Iran.  It's the kind of news that might mark a true hinge point in history--or it might be a blip, bombings today, nothing tomorrow.

It's been a week of musical greats leaving us.  I drove home on Monday hearing that Sly Stone had died.  Yesterday morning I drove to the Asheville VA Hospital listening to analysis of Brian Wilson's genius.  In the pantheon of musical geniuses that provided the soundtrack to my youth, neither one of those was on replay at my house.  But they were on the radio and there waiting for me to discover them later.  I still haven't given Brian Wilson all the attention that he deserves.  Maybe some later summer I will.

It won't be this summer because my CPE training is going to leave room for very little else.  It's been an intense week, but a good one.   We have done much of our training by sitting around a conference table, day after day, talking about the best way to be a chaplain. Much of this is not new information to me, but it's useful to have a reminder. We are not there to preach but to ask meaningful questions and to practice active listening.

So, for example, if a veteran who is a patient says, "God hates me and I'm going to Hell because I killed so many people in combat," we wouldn't tell the veteran how wrong he/she is. We would say, "Tell me more about this idea that God hates me." Or perhaps, "Tell me more about why you think you're going to Hell." Or simply, "Say a bit more about that." It could lead to more meaningful conversation. Or it might not. It might lead the patient to have insights that will be more meaningful because of the process. Or it might not.

In our training, we've been talking about the best ways to do active listening.  We've talked about Bowenian family systems theory that will help us understand often unacknowledged ways that our families of origin and the families after those can impact the ways that humans interact.  We've sat in on verbatims, the way that CPE trains us to analyze our interactions with patients, to see what went well and how we can improve as chaplains.

--unfinished post--

Thoughts on the Hospital Itself

I have spent over 8 hours each day this week at the Asheville VA Hospital as I get hospital chaplain training through the CPE program.  As I have walked the halls, I've reflected on what I expected to find and what is actually here.

I have spent much of my life hearing about the VA medical system as one big huge mess.  I have seen NO evidence of that here on the ground.  Granted, I am not receiving care, and I am not dealing with bills.  But the hospital itself is clean and bright with lots and lots of staff.  Most of the staff smile at people as they walk down the halls.

I've had a chance to go beyond the public areas to people's rooms, and I see the same thing:  clean rooms, windows with a view, staff monitoring patient health, everyone calm and professional.  I do realize I have yet to see the wards where I be more likely to see disturbing sights, like operating rooms or the wards where people having a mental health crisis are served.

I'm happy to see art on the walls:  art that celebrates veterans, art that tries to capture the beauty of the outdoor world, art that seeks to inspire and comfort.  I'm happy to see small garden spaces as I walk outside, and these spaces are visible inside too.

I'm happy to know about the wide variety of services.  I think of the Asheville VA Hospital as being one of the smaller ones in the system, and if that's true, I can't imagine how large the larger hospitals must be.  During orientation, we found out that our hospital routinely is ranked in the top 3 of the VA hospitals in terms of patient satisfaction.

I am satisfied too.  My colleagues in the chaplains unit are wonderful, as are the others with whom we interact.  I feel very fortunate.

A Brief Look at the Second Day of CPE

I am now official:  I have a VA ID badge that will allow me to access the IT system.  I have taken a vow to uphold the Constitution against all threats, foreign and domestic, a vow I took as protests have spread across the nation.  I do not feel that these protests really have much of an implication for the vows I took.  On the contrary, I feel the Constitution protects the rights of the people to assemble and to protest.  Still, it's not an easy time in the country, as we are all waiting for various shoes to drop.

Yesterday's education time was much the same as Monday's:  meeting people, thinking about how to minister to patients, doing some thinking about how a hospital setting is different from other settings.  Again, it's not completely new to me, but neither is it something I've spent decades considering.

Today's writing time is short, as I knew it would be.  I have had to get a spiritual journey essay ready for today's orientation, along with some writing for my sermon on Sunday.  My back felt better last night and this morning, so let me get a quick walk done before I need to leave.

Yesterday I was struck by how the mountains changed through the day.  At certain places on the campus, the view is stunning.  I want to remember to look at that view at least once a day in addition to the time I am walking to and from my car.  It fills me with gratitude, and that's a feeling I need to make sure to cultivate in this summer of CPE.

The First Day of CPE

I am happy to report that the first day of CPE went well.  I had no trouble getting to the hospital--no rush hour traffic when I left at 7:10 yesterday morning.  As I drove down the Blue Ridge Parkway, I reflected on the beauty of all of my commutes across the mountains in all directions.

I met all the folks who will be a major part of my life this summer:  the chaplains, the chaplain residents, the educators, my cohort.  They all seem friendly.  We are a diverse group in terms of Christian belief and backgrounds and education.

After a day of training, I am so impressed with how the spiritual life of patients is protected/provided for within the VA hospital system.  I look forward to seeing how the theories we discussed yesterday play out in the wards we will serve.

My summer cohort, the interns of the group, will only serve the Med/Surg ward, since we are only here for the summer.  Residents who sign on for a year rotate through all the wards of the hospital, which sounds more grueling but also intriguing.

We spent time yesterday talking about the theories that undergird the spiritual care we'll be offering.  They are all familiar to me:  liberation theology and family systems theory and the liberatory education ideas of Paulo Friere.  We talked about ways to talk to patients that will encourage them to process what they're experiencing in the hospital, ways that are familiar from my spiritual direction certificate program.

It will be a different summer, to be sure.  It's been a long time since I spent 40+ hours a week in the same place doing the same type of work day after day.  When I woke up with an aching back and torso in general, I thought about how long it's been since I spent 8 hours sitting at a desk like I did yesterday.  Happily the whole summer will not be sitting at a desk, but it will be more sitting than I've been used to in the past few years.

Let me resolve to do micro-walks and stretching whenever I have a break, no matter how short.  Let me remember that small efforts are as important as large ones.

I got home last night, had a great conversation with my spouse about the day, and then not much later, went to bed.  It was only 7:30, to be sure, but it was rainy, and I was exhausted and happy that I'm able to go right to bed. 

Now to get ready for what today brings, by getting a walk in, by having my sturdy breakfast of porridge, by thinking about my clothes.  And then, onward, across the mountain, back to the hospital for the second day of CPE.

The Hour Before CPE Begins

Today I begin Clinical Pastoral Education (CPE), a part of the training of everyone who hopes to be a ordained into ELCA Word and Sacrament ministry.  Think of it as an internship program for chaplains; some people do their training in prisons, but the vast majority of CPE training is done in hospitals.  I will do my training at the Asheville VA hospital, which is much less of a commute than other parts of my life.

I don't have much information about what we'll be doing or what our schedule will be.  I hope to get more details today when orientation begins.  I don't know who will be doing the training.  I don't have any information on fellow CPE students, although I assume there are some, because there were three other e-mail addresses on the e-mail that came last night giving us first day instructions.

I've packed a bag with notetaking supplies and paper for possible downtimes.  I wanted to take a book, something that didn't weigh much, so I chose a book of poems.  I decided to go with one I've already read and loved, Jeannine Hall Gailey's Field Guide to the End of the World, which weighs less and takes up less space in the bag than her more recent Flare, Corona.  I have some colored pens and a few pieces of better paper for sketching.

I packed a lunch, my usual garbanzo beans and barley with feta cheese, but I'll keep it in the car.  I'll take some cash, in case everyone eats lunch in a cafeteria.  I packed carrots to eat on the way home.

I will wear a skirt with my favorite top.  I wish I knew whether or not the buildings will be cold or stuffy.  I'll wear my closed toe sandals that are meant to evoke the shoes of Mediterranean fishermen; they are comfortable, if I need to be on my feet, and I could run in them if I had to.

I've eaten a good breakfast:  oatmeal with ground flax seed, walnuts, and dried cranberries.  It will hold me all day if it has to.

Now let me shower and finish getting ready.  Orientation starts at 8, and I'm giving myself extra time for traffic, but hoping that I'll get there early (hence the need for a book).  Let me remember that even though I don't have much information about what to expect, I have a lifetime of experience that will serve me well.  Let me strive for an open heart so that I can learn even more about myself and the world around me.  Let me be of use to these veterans who have given so much.

Notes on an Ordination

My friend's ordination yesterday was beautiful, smart, affirming, inclusive, joyful--all the things a worship service of any kind should be.

I didn't take any pictures, so all pictures came from Facebook posts, and I'm unsure of the photographers.  We sat in the back because more people came than expected, which was fine, but it did mean that I didn't have a good vantage point for photos.  Happily, that also meant that I was fully present, not thinking about taking photos.

I was impressed with the way that all the pieces fit together:  song, liturgy, communion, the worship space itself.  It was a treat to hear Bishop Strickland's homily on Mary and Martha (pictured above), the reminder that we don't have to choose between the two responses to Jesus (listening and hospitality), that a faithful life includes each.  My friend who was being ordained received two Mary and Martha icons as gifts, one traditional:

and one more modern:

There was the laying on of hands and the laying on of a stole.

There were blessings upon blessings, which of course, can lead to dancing.

At the end, there were refreshments and bubbly drinks and presents and cleaning up.  Afterward, those of us who were in town got dinner at a very crowded restaurant and then relaxed back at camp, where a bear ambled down from the chapel to give us a final blessing for the day.

As I said yesterday, I am so glad I was able to be present to witness this incredibly powerful day.  Throughout the day, I thought about how many changes these past few years have brought, and I am so profoundly grateful.

A Friend's Ordination

Today one of my closest retreat friends will be ordained.  The ceremony will happen right here at Lutheridge.  As I have helped her get set up for the service, I've tried to remember if I've ever gone to an ordination service.

I've seen so many pictures of ordinations that I feel like I must have been to one, but as I've reflected, I have realized that I haven't.  I've known lots and lots of seminarians who graduated to become pastors, but I never went to their graduations or their ordinations.  Hmm.

My friend has been planning this ordination worship service for months, which has been interesting to hear about.  She went from thinking about mostly camp songs, but she's shifted to more traditional songs that can be played on the piano.  One reason is practical:  a lack of a guitarist, which would be necessary for camp songs.  But also, she's realized how much the other music has impacted her, perhaps more than camp songs.

She created a special quilt which will be part of the kneeling bench.  She's having the service at the Faith Center, not the chapel, because more of her own faith formation has happened there, and she doesn't have a personal connection to the chapel.  The banners hung for the Create in Me retreat still hang there, although they'll be taken down after this ordination.

I am looking forward to a well-designed worship service.  I am also looking forward to seeing friends who will gather for this celebration, even as I know I will wake up tomorrow wishing that we had had more time to reconnect.

Most of all, I am feeling fortunate that I can be a witness to this ordination.  In past years, I wouldn't have had enough vacation time to get up here for an ordination service on a June Saturday.  I'm glad that my life is different now.

Prophetic Imaginations, Past and Present

Yesterday afternoon, in the midst of news of the separation between Trump and Musk, I heard that the theologian Walter Brueggemann had died.  It wasn't exactly unexpected; he was 92 years old.  From what I've read, his death was peaceful.  And then I went to a picnic with the camp counselors for this summer--they're an inspiring group.

This morning, my thoughts turned to Brueggemann again, as I revised my Pentecost sermon.  I went back through some seminary papers; it's the rare theologian that I turned to again and again, the way I did Brueggemann's work, especially The Prophetic Imagination.  It has been especially interesting this morning, thinking about ancient prophets, thinking about Pentecost, thinking about our own time which is so full of nonsense and babble.  I tweeted this morning:  "Here for #5amwritersclub, here to work on my Pentecost sermon about God speaking in languages we each understand, while all around me, men spew nonsense and artificial intelligence hallucinates, and perhaps I'll also write a blog post about these juxtapositions."

I'm not sure I'm doing that, but I did think about the Brueggemann idea that I used most often across seminary papers:  the prophet shows us a world in which God can act and that God has a plan and a purpose (The Prophetic Imagination, p. 218).  And here's another Brueggemann quote that shows up periodically in my seminary papers:    “Clearly Jesus cannot be understood simply as prophet, for that designation, like every other, is inadequate for the historical reality of Jesus. Nonetheless, among his other functions it is clear that Jesus functioned as a prophet. In both his teaching and his very presence, Jesus of Nazareth presented the ultimate criticism of the royal consciousness. He has, in fact, dismantled the dominant culture and nullified its claims” (The Prophetic Imagination, 81-82).

Here's how I used these ideas in my Pentecost sermon:  We have the promise of the ancient prophets like Joel that if we can use our power to align ourselves and our societies to right relationship with God and with each other, we can turn ourselves and our societies in a new direction, one where we can discover a true path to flourishing.

Brueggemann's theology has inspired so many of us in so many ways.  I hope we can continue to inspire others with these ideas, whether they be with sermons or poems or simply in the way we live our lives.

Visions and Revisions

Today my left eye is a lot better--not completely back to normal, but not getting worse or staying the same.  I am thinking it might have been a scratch compounded by sinus issues--on Saturday, I had to take the contact lens out of my eye because of sudden irritation.  I didn't think too much more about it.

I also thought about all those dairy workers who contracted bird flu which presented as pink eye.  We've been moving our bird feeder in for the night, as bears are on the prowl, and while we've been careful to wash our hands, I have wondered about my eye in that light.

Have I done something that a sensible person might do, like go to the doctor?  No.  I feel like the body can take care of most of my ailments, and yes, that belief has gotten me in trouble before, like with my broken wrist.  But I'm also remembering our South Florida eye doctor who told me that there wasn't really a cure for pink eye, except for time.  He could give me a cream to help with symptoms if I wanted, and he reassured me that I wasn't damaging my vision or my eye.

So, I have tried to be patient, even as I feel a bit of despair.  I had had such a good run of eye comfort.  What had brought it to a close?  The light sensitivity in the eye has meant I couldn't do much--not much reading, not much writing, not much sewing.  It's not exactly how I meant to be spending my last days of summer break.  Monday I begin my Clinical Pastoral Education at the Asheville VA Hospital.

Today I go over to the hospital to get fingerprinted and to have an ID made.  I am hopeful that I have all the pre-CPE tasks finished, but I don't have a master check list to be sure.  I am trying to trust that it will be O.K.

I did have a great conversation with my advisor at United Lutheran Seminary, the next seminary in my ordination path. That conversation left me feeling reassured that although the path forward may be slow, I am on track.  She will enroll me in a class that won't have cost to me so that I will have this CPE on my transcript.  The seminary does do part-time internships, so I won't have to choose between an internship with low pay and no health insurance and no internship which means a crashing halt to my ordination plans.  My advisor says that she has better luck finding part-time internships than traditional internships for students.  I can do an internship across 2 years, which would allow me to keep  my full-time teaching job.  Here's hoping that my lectureship continues to be renewed. 

Another amazing thing happened yesterday:  my church made me a video card to congratulate me on my graduation with my MDiv degree.  Hurrah!  You can view it here.  It was heartwarming to see all these old friends who took the time to make individual videos, which my pastor stitched together.  What a great use of technology!

Today, in addition to other tasks, I'll be using up some sour milk to make cupcakes for tonight's picnic with Lutheridge camp counselors.  Our residential neighborhood does this every year--it's good for the counselors to meet us and good for us to meet them.  It's one of the aspects of being part of a neighborhood that's part of a church camp that I love, the ways we can interact and help make summer successful.

I won't have as much free time to volunteer at camp this year.  Between CPE and my part-time preaching in Bristol, Tennessee, I won't have much time.  But hopefully, by doing CPE this summer, I'll have future summers with more flexible time so that I can volunteer more.

Dwindling Days of Summer with Sore Eye

My eye saga continues, but is getting better.  Yesterday I realized it was only my left eye that is light sensitive, red, and sore.  Is it pink eye?  Something sinus related, but only on one side of my face (which has happened before)?  Am I fighting off some sort of cold or flu?  Yesterday I tried to take it easy:  no contact lenses, less screen time, more sleeping.  This morning is better than yesterday morning, but still not back to normal.

Despite my eye situation, I managed to get through the onboarding tasks and training for the Asheville VA Hospital.  It looks like I've done everything that needs to be done before I start CPE training on Monday.

I was also able to go out with a friend.  We went to Mela, an Indian restaurant in downtown Asheville. We went for the lunch buffet, the biggest buffet I've seen in an Indian restaurant.  I tried a few bites of each of the vegetarian dishes, which took two plates to do.  Left untouched:  several chicken dishes, the soup, and the special donuts.  We had a cup of chai, which was good, but not as good as my Indian friend in South Florida used to make for us.

Here's my one sentence review of the food:  "it was flavorful and full of vegetables and spices, but it didn't punish me for eating it."  So much of the Indian food in South Florida was so harshly spiced, the first bite making it impossible to taste anything else.

After our Indian lunch, we went to Raven and Crone.  Both of us used to shop at the Joyful Alternative in the 5 Points area of Columbia, SC, and we both agreed that Raven and Crone has that same vibe.  What a treat!

Today I'll get back on track with tasks I want to complete before CPE starts.  Can I create several weeks of sermons in advance?  Should I think about Fall syllabi?

Stay tuned!

Tired Eyes

I woke up this morning with tired eyes.  It was a combination of light sensitivity and the scratchiness that comes when I wear my contact lenses too long.  I got plenty of sleep last night, but it's not surprising that my eyes are tired.  I'm still doing lots of staring into a computer screen, still doing stitching by hand, all the things which can leave me tired.

I also spent time this morning looking at real estate listings in the Columbia (SC) area.  Why would I do that?  We have no plans to move, and we will not sell this mountain house, even if one of us found a job elsewhere.  But my eyes were tired before getting sucked down that rabbit hole.

Here's the thing--it's rare to wake up with tired eyes after getting plenty of sleep.  So of course, I wonder if maybe this is the start of something new.  How would my life change if I needed to give myself more time to wake up, the way much of the rest of the world needs to have more time?

I realize my tired eyes are just a blip, that a month from now I won't even remember that I woke up on a June day with eyes that didn't want to focus.

June Begins

This Sunday morning feels downright leisurely:  time to blog, time to read, no need to go racing across the mountain at 7 a.m. to be to Faith Lutheran in time for Confirmation class at 9.  We've only gained an hour; we still need to leave at 8 a.m. to be in Bristol, Tennessee for worship at 10 a.m.

Yesterday felt leisurely too, with no seminary class work to do.  I got my sermon done earlier than I sometimes can manage when I'm teaching during the SMC school year.

I'm trying not to think about how I could get used to this leisurely schedule.  On June 9, I begin CPE training, and my schedule shifts again.  I'm not sure what to expect yet.

It is June 1, which means different things to different people.  For many of us, June is Pride month, which may feel very different this year.  For some of us, we're looking forward to celebrating Juneteenth, while it is still a national holiday.  Many students see June as the beginning of summer.  For me, it will always be the start of hurricane season.

I heard from a friend in our old neighborhood in Florida that they had damage in the flooding rains of last June, non-hurricane rains, and that they had to rip up and replace floors and sub-floors.  They had $65,000 worth of damage, and insurance has refused to pay.  If their house flooded, our old house likely did too.  I am glad to be out of that neighborhood.

And now, in this neighborhood where much of the storm damage is repaired or in the process of being repaired, let me get ready for this day.