Christmas Week at Camp: July 2024

In future years, when I wonder why I wasn't writing as much, let me remember that I was doing a lot of baking, from yesterday's lemon blueberry tea cake

to today's Christmas cookies for camp counselors:

I made a lot of cookies, which means lots of rolling out, lots of decorating.  It was both fun and exhausting.

It's Christmas week at camp, and it's one of our weeks to deliver camper mail.  This week, we have a lot more mail, so it's another task that is fun while we're doing it, but it leaves me worn out at the end of the day (and at the end of this week).

But I'm happy to be able to be of use in this way.  When we moved here, I hoped I would have these kinds of opportunities.

Rainy Day Baking

It is a rainy Thursday here in the mountains, and I'm not complaining.  I've always said that if it's going to be extremely humid, I'd rather the humidity fall out of the air as rain than stay in the air and make life miserable.

The rain makes me want to bake, and I might.  After all, I need to deliver a batch of Christmas cookies for counselors tomorrow.  But I'm really wanting to bake a batch of lemon yogurt muffins.  Since I no longer have a muffin pan, I might make it in a loaf pan.  And since I have blueberries, I might add those too.

In two weeks, I report for the pre-Fall semester meetings at Spartanburg Methodist College, so part of me thinks, let me bake while I have time, while it's rainy, while I have the ingredients.  Any time I'm commuting to work, and it's raining, I find myself yearning to be at home baking and drinking hot tea.

Insert a baking interlude here.

I took my own  advice and now there is a lemon blueberry loaf in the oven.  Lovely!

As always, part of my brain says that I should be out walking.  If I don't get my walk in the morning, I'm much less likely to go.  But another part of my brain knows that starting in 2 weeks, I will have so  few mornings like this one.   I will put more water on to boil for more tea, while I wait for the lemon blueberry loaf to be done.

Seasons Colliding

It's been one of those strange weeks where all the seasons collide.  I went to a farmers' market on Saturday and returned with summer seasonal treats: peaches, tomatoes, and corn on the cob from the Mills River farm.  They all turned out to be winners.  Monday I made a peach cobbler (actually more like a pie really, lattice crust and all).

Yesterday I saw candy corn and autumn mix in the stores for the first time--I bought those because I felt such a surge of longing.  Fall is surely on the way, and I see a yellow or red leaf here and there.  I'm trying to stay present in this summer season.

This week has been rainy, an interseason of sorts.  The nights are cool-ish, moist, but we've slept with the window opened anyway.  Some nights, it's been perfect.  Other nights, I've woken up, damp-haired, wishing for dehumidified air.

This week is Christmas in July week at Lutheridge, the camp that contains the residential section where I live.  This week and next, I'm delivering camper mail.  Yesterday my friend brought us fun headbands--at the 1982 World's Fair in Knoxville, we called these "deelyboppers."  

One of my favorite memories of this summer will be driving through camp in the golf cart of a neighbor with Christmas music blaring.

Yesterday I returned the golf cart and walked the short distance back to my house.  Thundered rumbled, and a bit of rain fell, and I breathed in deeply of the smell of hot asphalt and steaming rain.  Delightful!

This morning, I made this tweet, which delighted me in a different way:  "Here for #5amwritersclub, here to write about the joys of peach cobbler for breakfast, the peach cobbler that was in the icebox, but no one was saving it for breakfast but me. (I am no William Carlos Williams, nor was meant to be, but I do love literary allusions!)."

Disciplines: Hoping, Walking, Writing

If you came here hoping for a meditation on Mary Magdalene on her feast day, this post on my theology blog is for you.

If you came hoping I could make sense of the political situation for you, there are plenty of other professional types who are making that attempt.  

I am sure that future me will look back and wonder why I didn't write more about the fast changing political situation.  I will say that I was both shocked/surprised and not shocked/surprised.  I felt this strange wave of sadness, perhaps because there's something about Biden that reminds me of my dad; they're both older, slim men, both slowing down, both having given a lifetime of service to country and community.

I do think that if Biden had continued to run, he would have lost.  I know that the future is uncertain, but Democrats have a better chance of winning now.  I like all of the Democratic options for President and VP, but I know that over half of the nation won't share my feelings.  What I don't know is who will show up to vote and what they will be valuing in the Fall.

When we returned from church and the two hour drive across the mountains, I had thought I might not go for my daily walk.  But then the announcement came about Biden dropping out of the race, and I wanted to visit the sacred places at camp.  Off I went to the chapel and the lake, and I returned feeling better.

Yesterday afternoon, I thought, well, here's my next poem:  Cassandra Stops Predicting Politics.  I'm not sure where the poem would go, but I wanted to record the inspiration here.  If I write these ideas down, I'm more likely to return to them.

Rabbi Rachel Barenblat posted this picture, an important reminder:

It so inspired me that I went to the website to order some reminders of my own and to support a social justice group.

Let me shift gears.  I need to get back to my practice of a daily walk, and I'm much more likely to get that done if I go out first thing in the morning (and by first thing, I really mean between 6 a.m. and 8 a.m.).  Let me go again to the sacred places at camp.  Let me enjoy the decorations along the way; it is Christmas in July week here at Lutheridge.  Let me pray and let me hope.

Late Summer and Cassandra Poems

I look at the calendar in a bit of shock this morning; I only have two full weeks of summer left.  Where has the time gone?

In some ways, it's been a wonderful summer.  We've gotten to see family and friends.  I've done a variety of creative activities.  I took a seminary class that left me wishing we could have some additional meeting time.  We went to a state park in Arkansas that was beautiful--the perfect amount of travel (and I am so grateful we've managed to stay out of airports).  I've met regularly with my quilt group that makes quilts for Lutheran World Relief and volunteered at Lutheridge, the church camp.

We're at the point of the summer where I think, wait, why didn't I do more?  I could have written a novel.  I should have written more poems.  I could have gotten poetry packets ready to submit when those elusive submission windows open in a month or two.  The one writing practice that I keep faithfully is blogging, and yet I rarely say, "I continued my blogging practice all summer!"

I love going back in my blog to see what I was doing last year, or the years before.  Occasionally, I discover an idea for a poem that I forgot I had.  And even more occasionally, I discover a rough draft that doesn't need much work to become a finished draft.

I have been writing a lot of Cassandra poems--what happens when a modern Cassandra sees her prophecies coming true?  Last summer, I was working on a poem about Cassandra volunteering at summer camp during a time of climate change; singing about Noah building an "Arky, arky" takes on a different tone.  

This week, I finished a poem about Cassandra coloring her hair.  Once I might have worried that I was writing too many Cassandra poems--what would it mean for a longer volume of poems?  Now I'm happy to be writing at all.

I'm in the mood to write a brand new poem.  Let me see if Cassandra speaks to me this week.

A Week in Sticks and Snippets

It has been quite a week, and I don't mean just the assassination attempt and a Republican National Convention.  My week has been consumed by my volunteer work at Lutheridge, the church camp, where I was the C3ARE leader who does Bible study for the week. I had a co-leader, but it was still exhausting trying to engage 55 middle schoolers.  The campers were doing the Night Owls program, which lets them stay up very late at night, so it's been an adjustment for them.  Wednesday they were lethargic, but there was more energy yesterday.

Let me make a quick list of memorable moments from the past 4 days:

--Yesterday was a good day with the middle school campers.  We reviewed the stories we read, both the Bible stories and the illustrated books.  We went outside and had them create a response that represented their favorite story out of things they found outside (stressing that no destroying of nature could happen, no ripping of plants).  Two groups used sidewalk chalk that they found outside.  Several groups used a combination of sticks and rocks.  One group used the logs in the firewood storage bin.  Two groups did a skit.  It was great.  It built on what we did on Tuesday, and it reminded me that they are paying attention, even when they seem surly and/or lethargic.

--I've enjoyed the meals with other C3ARE leaders; it's been great, getting to know how others are living out their call.

--I've been thinking about camp and about the huge Lutheran youth gathering in New Orleans that is also happening this week.  I've been thinking about how we educate, train, and inspire the next generation, a topic that is so different when we talk about the theory and when we try out those theories with real humans.

--A lot of us work in schools during the school year, so we've had lots of discussions about classrooms too, which is both interesting, but after awhile, tiring.

--It's also been a week of reuniting with people I already knew but don't get to see often.  It's been wonderful, having something else to think about beside the political news and the folks I know with troubling health news, reminders that I am not getting younger.

--I'm also thinking of Biden contracting Covid-19 again.  Will this moment be a turning point when we look back?  Will he bounce back from this infection as he has the others?

--It's also been a week of deaths of famous people, some of whom were very important to me in my younger years, like Bernice Johnson Reagon and Bob Newhart, and some of whom were not as much, like Shelley Duval and Shannon Doherty.  There were very public people, like Dr. Ruth and Richard Simmons, who died this week.

--Yesterday was also the day of confirmation of a rumor that I heard earlier in the week:  my former school, City College (the Florida version, not the famous one in NYC) will close.  There's an announcement on the website about staying open for fall and winter quarter to help students finish, but they're also looking at other options.  I predict that students will be switched to online versions of programs, and that will be that.  I've been feeling a lot of emotions:  happiness that I'm no longer part of that school, sadness that yet another once-solid school has been run into the ground, wondering what the real story is (who buys a school to run it into the ground?  was there another scenario happening?  was it all a land grab?).

Today is likely to be another long day, so let me shift gears and get a walk in before the pace quickens.

Camp at Midweek

It has been a whirlwind week, in some ways.  Working with middle schoolers at camp leaves me more exhausted than any other experience so far this summer, and in fact, it may be the single most exhausting thing I ever do.  It has its peak moments, like Vespers on Monday, and its low points, like leading the group through Bible Study yesterday.

We are in Bischoff Lodge, which is the unairconditioned large gathering building that is part of the Wilderness cabin area.  We have 55 middle schoolers, 9 counselors, one area director, and the two of us leading the group.  That's A LOT of people for a space that's not designed for that many people.  And did I mention that it's not air conditioned?

On Tuesday, we had them go outside and see who could build the tallest, most secure structure out of materials that they could find (think sticks, branches, stones).  They seemed to have the most fun doing that, and it was the time when most of them were most engaged.

It was quite a contrast to yesterday, when they were listless and sullen.  I looked at the group as my co-leader was reading the story book, and I could not point to one who was engaged.  Maybe they were, and I just couldn't tell.  But I doubt it.

The curriculum involves a different story book each day, the kind of book that would be popular with first or second graders.  I'm not sure it's the best choice for middle schoolers, but mine is a minority opinion.

This morning, we'll try something different.  We'll send them outside to create something out of materials that they find--a sculpture, a 2 D picture--that represents one of the stories we've read together, either the Bible stories or the story books.

Tomorrow morning they assemble the final art project, a paper lantern, made of frames made of popsicle sticks, to make 4 square sides, and paper that's like parchment paper that one uses to line baking sheets.

I feel a bit of despair that we haven't done a good job.  I think we've done our best with what we've been given, but it's hard to believe that any campers are leaving enriched by our experience together.

Or maybe I'm being too hard on myself.  Our Vespers service felt like it was more meaningful, and we've had a few moments in our morning teaching that seemed to break through the lethargy.

I always tell myself that it's hard to know what really takes root, and we won't know.  But I'm pretty sure that nothing took root yesterday.  I hope today will be different.

Vespers in the Dark

Yesterday was the most full day as a C3ARE leader at Lutheridge.  The C3ARE leaders are the ones who do the Bible study, along with one Vespers service.  We are also invited to go along with any other activities, from swimming to crafts to various outings.

Unlike last year, when we only had 8 middle schoolers, we have a huge group of middle schoolers, 55 of them, 55!  Our meeting space is barely large enough.  We're indoors, at least, but it's not air conditioned, and with all those bodies in the room, it gets muggy by the end.  Our C3ARE sessions will be slightly later each morning, so I'm not looking forward to the warmer weather at the end of the week.

Yesterday morning left me a bit frustrated--it's hard to get everyone to focus.  And then we went to lunch, where everyone sang "Happy Birthday" to me, which was cool.  But the best part of the camp day for me was the Vespers service, which we planned.

We thought about the fact that Vespers for our set of campers, the Night Owls, is much later than for others.  It would be dark, so we talked about light and dark.  First we talked about how we tend to talk about God in terms of light blazing forth in terms of angel choirs and such.  I asked how else God's message comes to us in our Christmas stories.  I was so happy that the kids talked about the wise men and the star and Mary--God coming to us in the dark.

We're doing an experiment with seeds.  I wrapped some basil seeds in a wet paper towel, which I put in a plastic bag and put into a dark box.  We'll unwrap them in a few days when we talk more about how God works in the dark.

I had in mind Barbara Brown Taylor's Learning to Walk in the Dark, and I wondered if it would have a good meditation to read, but it was too late to get that book.  So instead, I created a guided meditation of sorts, doing some focused breathing and paying attention as we had less and less lights on in the Lake Pavilion.  We ended up with everyone at the railings, while I guided them to look up at the night sky, look out at the lake, look down at the ground, to remember that God is all around us and messages from God are all around us.

Then we sang "This Little Light of Mine."  One guy really wanted to sing "Kumbaya," so we did that too.  And then it was time to turn on the lights and have a closing prayer.  

Afterward, the area director counselor told me how much she appreciated the Vespers service and how it was so meditative, an exercise in mindfulness, which she really needed.  So, at least it worked for someone.  But I also felt that the middle school campers were much more engaged in the evening than they were in the morning, which was cool.  

Maybe that momentum will follow through today.  But even if it doesn't, I'll hope that something meaningful breaks through, even as I understand that I am unlikely to ever know for sure.

Birthday Report

In some ways, yesterday was like any other Sunday.  I got up and did the final revisions to my sermon, printed it--and then we did the normal activities of getting ready for church and making the 2 hour drive across the mountains to Faith Lutheran at Bristol, Tennessee.

It was not normal, in that we had just had an assassination attempt.  I decided not to change my sermon, but I did talk about prayer in my children's sermon and said that we live in scary times, and prayer can help us cope.

It also was not normal in a more joyous way:  my parents were in the area, doing the country music trail with friends, and they all came to church.  After the service, we had a wonderful brunch at Vivian's Table at the Bristol Hotel.  Because it was my birthday, I got a free dessert.  I chose the creme brulee which was fabulous. 

And then we headed home, I got a phone call from my quilt group leader.  She had been watching footage on Saturday night, and she woke up resolved to bring a cheerful note to Sunday.  So she took my most recent quilt that has seahorses and fish and bright colors to church, put it over a straight back chair, and as she greeted people in her official greeter capacity, she reminded people of the work that we do with their donated fabric.  I was touched that she called me to let me know that people appreciated a spot of joy in a grim news cycle.

Once home, I got ready for this week's focus, which is being a C3ARE leader for 55 middle school campers at Lutheridge.  The primary duty of the C3ARE leader is to do the Bible study for the campers with curriculum that is provided.  I am lucky; one of my Create in Me friends is a co-leader with me, the same way we did last year.  The curriculum this year is much better, and I have hopes we won't have too many gaps to fill in.

I ate dinner at the dining hall, and then we went over to the supply closet to see what we had.  It took us a bit of time to figure out the main craft project, the luminaria, and that was because the paper was running low.  We strategized getting more paper, only to find out that someone else was arriving with supplies.  Happily we made that discovery before we went out and got supplies.

I ended the evening at the Lakeside Lodge at the opening event, which was mostly singing and introductions.  It was spirited and welcoming and a great way to end the day, especially a day that began with news of an assassination attempt.

Milestones

Yesterday, I decided not to write a blog post.  It feels strange to type, with my pinky finger, swollen and bruised, missing as many keys as it hits.  I knew I would need to write a sermon later, and I wanted not to push my luck.

Today, my finger is slightly better, but I'm not going to write much.  I know that I may look back and wonder why I didn't write more about the assassination attempt on Trump yesterday or maybe I'll wonder why I didn't write about the deaths of Richard Simmons and/or Dr. Ruth.

And it's my birthday.  I could write about how strange it is to be entering my 59th year.  In 6 months, I can access my retirement accounts without penalty.  I will try hard to resist that temptation.

My parents went to Bristol after Music Week--they are having fun exploring a different type of music with their friends who met them there.  Later this morning, they'll come for worship at Faith Lutheran, and then we'll go to brunch.

It will be a good day.  Let me get ready for it.

Sprained Fingers, Baptismal Fonts

Another day of light posting, this time because I tripped over a tree root, fell, and hurt the pinkie finger of my right hand.  I had a key ring looped around that finger, which is what did the damage, I think.  It's not broken or torn, just badly bruised.  Last week, I sprained the middle finger of my left hand trying to catch a bag that was falling out of the closet.  I didn't catch the bag, but I did catch the finger against the wall.

In short, typing is difficult this morning, although doable.  I can move my pinkie finger in all directions, so I think it doesn't need medical attention, just time.

In the meantime, here's a picture from St. James Episcopal Church, in Hendersonville, NC, where we had the hymn festival last night.  It's from a Facebook post made by Tim Smith, the NC bishop, and it's much better than my picture.

It doesn't quite capture the lovely quality of the green sides of the baptismal font, but I didn't even think to try to take a picture, so I'm happy to have it.

Music Week Snippets, with Quilting

My week is catching up with me.  I realize that my idea of a late night would make most people laugh--"We made it to 10:00!"  Still, I'm not feeling like I have a coherent blog post about a single topic in me right now.  Let me record some snippets from the week:

--It has worked well, having house guests who are participating in Music Week.  One is participating, and the other going on day trip hikes.  We've done a combination of eating meals in and eating meals out.  We've had time to catch up and time to do new stuff together.  At times, the house has seemed a little small for us all, but that's O.K.  Most important:  the plumbing can handle extra people.  I had no doubts about the HVAC system, but plumbing can be so problematic.

--I went to quilt group yesterday and assembled two back for Lutheran World Relief quilts.  One was for the fish top I assembled earlier this summer.  

I am loving the fancy sewing machine that allows me to zip work together.  I am loving all the fabric that we have.

--For the past few days, I've found myself singing my song, or more accurately, my lyrics to "Poor Wayfaring Stranger"--more accurately, I've been mixing my lyrics with the more traditional lyrics, which also works well.

--Because of bear season, we had taken down the birdfeeder with suction cups that we usually have on one of the back sliding glass doors.  We put it back up to get it out of the way.  I've been loving watching the birds come to the feeder.  Bear season or no, maybe we'll keep it up year round.

--I've been loving having numerous worship opportunities, all of them high quality.  It's what I imagined would happen year round, when I imagined living here.

--Speaking of which, it's time to get ready for the day--worship is at the lake this morning.

Writing and Recording a Protest Song

Yesterday was the last day of my seminary class that studied protest music, which meant my song was due.  On Monday, I finished writing it.  I had lots of ideas and lines and verses, but on Monday, I made final decisions.  I'll post the lyrics below.

I did change the song through several revisions. I decided to keep the focus on one person's experience, instead of trying to cover people working in heat, people losing their possessions to fires, and all the other ways climate change wreaks havoc. I decided that one of the verses I created made a better refrain. It was fun, looking at all the possibilities, choosing what made the song stronger.

We had to present them in class.  We could perform live or have a recorded version to play.  I have some musician friends in town for Music Week, so I had a vision of having them accompany with my song that uses the tune of "Poor Wayfaring Stranger."  I didn't think it would work for them to be with me live for class--that would have meant that they would have to miss worship, so I decided to record.

We did a few practice rounds and came up with a plan. One of our houseguests, my Florida pastor, was the videographer.  We did one recording outside, but decided there was too much traffic background noise.  We came inside and got settled into a new location, with the musicians seated in chairs.  That recording ended in laughter when my spouse knocked his violin bow to the floor.

The next take was the one that I posted to my YouTube account.  You can view it here.

I was surprisingly pleased with my voice.  Sure, there are a few notes I flubbed, but I am sure that we could have recorded 20 attempts and that would still be the case, although the note would vary each time.    It's hard to know when to keep trying for a better version, when to say, "Well, this is probably as good as it's going to get." I suppose as with writing, there comes a moment when one says, "Well, if I had 2 more weeks, it might improve, but this is the final draft right now."

I expected to feel insecure about my voice, but my voice was better than I expected.  I was distressed about how heavy I looked (because I am in a heavy phase of my life right now), but I knew I couldn't lose 50 pounds in time for the recording.  I don't really have clothes that disguise my weight, if such clothes exist.  I may say more about weight in a later post, but for now, let me focus on the fact that I sang well, that my support network pitched in and made this project a joy.

And let me also remember how cool it was to present our projects to class.  We're a class of seminarians, and most of us aren't musicians, so there wasn't that kind of pressure.  Our teacher had already told us that we'd be graded on our effort, not on achieving a standard of perfection, so we were able to take risks--singing this way was risky-feeling for most of us, based on what we said in our first night introductions.

Last night, we presented our work and supported each other.  We had a variety of approaches.  One woman used a hymn as her base, and one woman used "Grand Old Flag."  Some of our protest music was mournful, some angry, and some tried to invoke hope--all of them were inspiring.  Some of us sang, while others chanted or did more of a spoken word approach (which was consistent with the songs we studied).

It was a great way to learn about what it takes to write a protest song, and I'm glad I went with that approach (we did have an option to write a short, analytical essay).  I have enjoyed the class, and I'm happy that I took it; it's hard to believe it's over, but such is the nature of summer classes.

The lyrics:

Higher Ground

Sung to the tune of “Poor Wayfaring Stranger”

Verse 1:

I am a poor, wayfaring stranger

Sleeping in each national park

And yet I am no forest ranger

I have no home, I need an ark.

Refrain:

Clouds of doom / are hanging o’er us

We know that time is running out

There is no longer a safe shelter

Of this hard truth, there is no doubt.

Verse 2:

I have no home, because it flooded.

I have no car, because it drowned

I am now headed out for safety

I need to go to higher ground.

Refrain:

Clouds of doom / are hanging o’er us

We know that time is running out

There is no longer a safe shelter

Of this hard truth, there is no doubt.

Verse 3:

I’m hoping for a mountain cabin,

A place that’s far away from sea.

The mountains are so much colder

But it’s a safer place to be.

Refrain:

Clouds of doom / are hanging o’er us

We know that time is running out

There is no longer a safe shelter

Of this hard truth, there is no doubt.

Singing in Groups Large and Small

Like Sunday, yesterday was book-ended with worship, although unlike Sunday, both worship experiences were at camp.  The morning service had sparser attendance, which I understand.  Not everyone is a morning person.

We sang "Soon and Very Soon," which is one of my favorites these days.  We had a very accomplished organist playing, which meant we got all the extra Alleluias that the song offers.  Wow.

Last night's hymns were mostly unfamiliar to me, and I wondered if it was just me--everyone else sang with such gusto.  Of course, I'm here for Music Week, which means that most of the folks here could pick up a piece of unfamiliar music and sing or play.  I have attended tiny churches all of my life, and it's been wonderful to be in a big group of people with musical talent.  We're also in smaller spaces so these voices sound even better.

I had forgotten what it's like to sing in a group that's so big that I can't hear my own voice.  My voice is serviceable, but I don't like the sound of it; I'm not that unusual from most people, I don't think.  I also know that I can sing better when I'm in a larger group of others who can sing, and that's unusual for me. I'm easily led off-key if others are singing the wrong notes.

Tonight is the last evening worship, and I will miss it.  I have my last seminary class meeting tonight.  Because it's a class in protest music, tonight will involve song.  I have my song written, and later today, I'll sing it, record it, and submit it.  Tomorrow I'll post a link.

During a bit of free time yesterday, I listened to various versions of "Poor, Wayfaring Stranger," and I was struck by how many versions exist.  I'm happy that I chose such a flexible song as the base for my own composition for the class.  "Masters of War" might have been even easier, but I don't like it as much.

It's been a treat working in other mediums, but soon, I must get back to poetry.  Because I couldn't find all of my purple legal pads, I just bought 12 more.  Maybe I'll return to poetry writing by hand.  This morning, I had a glimmer of a plan.  In the fall, when my schedule gets more packed, I'll take one of those with me each day to school.  I'll plan to write something each day, and hopefully by the end of each week, I'll have generated/captured some inspirations, and maybe even a poem or two.

A Day Bookended with Worship

Yesterday, we all got in the car and went over the mountain to Faith Lutheran:  my spouse, my Florida pastor, my good friend who is married to my Florida pastor.  Then we came back, had lunch at Rocky's Hot Chicken, and then did the initial Music Week events of orientation and worship.

I didn't get pictures of every event, but I did think to take a picture of my spouse and friend getting ready to sing "Dona Nobis Pacem" for the offertory:

As they rehearsed, I thought about my sermon and hoped it would be O.K.  I reminded myself that these people have heard me preach before, but this sermon would introduce the idea that God needs us and our radical hope, the way a battery needs a charger.  Too radical, this idea that we are the ones that give God juice?  I went with it, and no one has brought me up on charges of heresy yet.  In fact, I got a soft amen at the end, which is enough affirmation for me.  I posted the sermon in this blog post, if you want to see for yourself.

Here we are just before worship:

And here I am, outside of Faith Lutheran, the small church in Bristol, Tennessee, where I serve as Synod Appointed Minister:

It was lovely to end the day with Holden Evening Prayer, which everyone around me at Music Week seems to know by heart.  I've only heard bits and pieces of it, and I'm still not sure I've ever done the whole liturgy as it was intended to be sung.

We left the chapel and headed down the hill to home, as the mist rolled in and the final light drained from the sky.  Some of us were asleep not too many minutes later.

Music Week Begins

It has been a week:  a week of getting ready for our first overnight house guests in this house, a week of attending to tasks we've been waiting to get to for too long, a week of moving furniture, a week of buying furniture, a week of sore muscles and a sprained finger, a week of moving tools back to the shed, a week of cleaning, a week of going back and forth to Lowe's.  Music Week at Lutheridge begins today, and I think we're ready.

Our house guests arrived last night, South Florida friends that we haven't seen since we moved two years ago.  We sat outside and chatted while the sun set.  One of them will be at Music Week, the reason for the trip, and one of them will explore area waterfalls and take pictures.  My spouse, too, will be at Music Week, as will my parents who are staying in camp lodging.  I will be the support and logistics team:  buying food, driving the car/golf cart, keeping an eye on the weather.

We've been planning this week for a long time, and I'm hoping it all works out.  Our Music Week participants will have a very full schedule, so it should be fine.  I've been thinking about how long it's been since we had house guests.  We used to have people come and stay with us for a week, but that was pre-Covid.  I feel like I've forgotten how to use these hosting muscles, but happily, it's coming back.  It helps not to have to plan activities.

And of course, my regular life activities will still be happening:  the seminary class that I'm taking, the online classes that I'm teaching, and the quilt group at the local Lutheran church.  But it will be a good week, full of friends old and new, family, and music.  It's just what I yearned for when I used to live much further away.

Viewing the Apocalypse

Last night, after a long day of trying to pull the house together for our Music Week guests that arrive today, we settled in to watch The Last of Us.  I got the whole first season on DVD from the public library.  I hesitated to start watching the series because I was worried that we would stay up all night watching all the episodes.

I needn't have worried.  It was good, I guess.  But when the first episode ended, I decided not to watch the next one.  I want to keep watching, I think.  But as with so many TV series, I had heard such good reviews and felt a bit underwhelmed when I finally watched it.

I felt the same way about Station Eleven, where I didn't even finish the first episode.  This morning I wondered if perhaps my tastes are changing--am I no longer in the mood for a good apocalypse?  No, I still like the idea of apocalyptic story lines.  Do I no longer have the attention span for a series as opposed to a movie?  I don't think so.  Hmm.

As I watched the first episode yesterday, I thought about the quick beginning of most apocalyptic scenarios.  The world is normal, and then suddenly everyone is attacking everyone and burning up the city and there are soldiers trying to keep order.  

I suspect the end of the world will be a much slower event.  I remember some electrifying emotions at the beginning of the pandemic, as I kept track of rising numbers, at first writing them down on an envelope that I still have somewhere.  I remember thinking about how I've been waiting for this moment, that moment when the new disease, the new weapon, the new war comes.  And it has all unspooled in a much slower way than I expected.  We've had a disease that inspired a quick response in terms of vaccine development.  It's still unspooling, but even with no vaccine, the mortality rate is not nearly as high as the diseases that are often imagined for apocalyptic scenarios.

Similarly, the war in Ukraine has been less apocalyptic than I was expecting, although I'm sure that Ukrainians would disagree.  And I do realize we may not have gotten to the end of the world part of the war yet.

I'm also thinking of watching Cold Mountain a few weeks ago, an apocalypse of a different sort, the war begins rather suddenly, but then the end of the world just grinds on and on.  I remember the scene where the Civil War soldier shows up at the home of an older woman along the way.  She has herbs drying in her cozy cottage, and she rubs a salve into his wounds which seems to heal him much more quickly than he had been healing.  I thought, I need that recipe!

On Independence Day, my neighborhood friend and I briefly talked about politics before moving on to more pleasant topics.  I said that I dreaded the bad times that I thought might be coming, but that I had advantages that others wouldn't have (like a house that is paid for and money in the bank and my skin color and my older age), that I thought we would be safe in our corner of the mountains.  My friend said, "If anything happens to Social Security, I'm not sure what will happen."  I am not eligible to collect those benefits yet, but at this point in the life of our nation, I'm inclined to start collecting at the first minute I am eligible.

All of my reading and viewing should remind me that it's almost impossible to plan for an apocalypse.  It will almost always unspool in ways we don't expect.  Still, it's impossible for my brain to stop planning--which may explain my love of the genre.

Clay and Creativity on Independence Day

Yesterday was a very strange Independence Day, a day where we went to Lowe's late in the afternoon looking for the ever elusive pieces of the plumbing that my spouse is trying to construct.  Were we successful?  I have no idea, because our afternoon was going that badly.

When I look back on this year's Independence Day, I want to remember my morning.  I went over to the house of my dearest neighborhood friend to play with clay.  She had clay that needed to be used up, and I had ideas.  She also has glazes and a kiln--and an outdoor picnic table.  

We sat in the cool morning air, along with another friend of hers, and made all sorts of creations.  We all made pieces for a windchime (or 2 or 3).  We cut all sorts of shapes out of the clay and added all sorts of embellishments.  I have a vision for some small pieces that I can add to the yard, pieces with indentations that will also serve as mini bird baths.

I loved having my hands in cool clay, talking about art and process with friends, not talking about the state of the nation (we all know it's bad, and we all know the work that lies ahead--AND we know the need for creativity and self-care). I loved having an idea for what I wanted to create, but heading in new directions as the clay suggested.  I love that I am making one of a kind pieces.

I also delivered the mail to campers yesterday, also a treat.  Each area is decorated for the 4th, some with more handmade verve than others.  I love that the campers have friends and family who are sending them all kinds of mail and e-mail messages for me to deliver.  I love riding the golf cart in the summer sun.

We did not go to see the fireworks, although I did hear them later.  A bigger treat for me:  waking up close to midnight and NOT hearing any fireworks going off.  In South Florida, regardless of which neighborhood we lived in, there would be booms and bangs all night.

I like these reminders, in clay, in pine cones, in ribbons, and rocks, in found objects and manufactured ones, that the country has always been a cobbled together creation, in all its glorious messiness.  It gives me a strange hope for the future.

Independence Day on a Tilting Planet

It's a strange year to be celebrating Independence Day, to be thinking about the founding of the country and what it means for the future.  And it's not just citizens of the U.S. doing that.  The world seems to have tilted in the past two years, and I think we're all still in a tilting world, and it's unclear where we'll end up.  More liberty or less?  It's not just the U.S. voting on these ideas.  The Supreme Court has weighed in, and I think that the founders would be aghast at giving a President so much power.  The founders had seen the problems with having a king, and they wanted to avoid that.

I have spent time thinking about humans during past times of hardship:  life in communist Russia/Europe, people trying to survive the U.S. Civil War, all the ways that life unraveled during the long, slow collapse of the Roman empire, among others.

When my brain spirals that direction, I try to remind myself of the times when humans have rallied, worked hard, left the planet a better place than they found it, or at least left their little part of the planet a better place.  I'm thinking of the Civil Rights movement and all the movement for human rights that it birthed.  I'm thinking of those founders of the U.S. who signed their names to a document that was treason, in the eyes of their government.  They pledged their lives, their fortunes, and their sacred honor.  Each July 4, I think about my own life, my own beliefs.  To what would I pledge my life, my fortune, and my sacred honor?

Most days I'm just trying to fly under the radar of all the powers and principalities that would keep me in bondage, in fear, in slavery of all sorts.  I'm trying to take care of friends and loved ones and my immediate community.

I can't resist posting this picture of me and my dad, dressed up as colonist and British soldier, standing in front of a painting of British soldiers:

I have always been amazed that the rowdy colonists could pull off this defeat of the greatest empire in the world at the time. I don't think it's only that they were fighting on their home territory that helped them win. Plenty of people fight to defend their homes and don't win.

Each day I try to prepare for whatever the future may require of me.  My apocalyptic brain thinks it might be a grim scenario, but perhaps it will be wonderful.  The other night, my spouse and I spent a delightful hour imagining what we would do if we bought the lottery and convinced Lenoir-Rhyne University to sell the campus of the Columbia seminary to us.

In this time of political elections, let me close this way:  I've always told my students that they should plan what they would do in leadership positions, because they may very well find themselves there some day, and it might be sooner than they think. I tell them about Nelson Mandela, and that the reason that he was prepared to be president of South Africa was that he spent all that time in jail (more years than most of my students have been alive) planning for what he would do if he took over the country. He didn't nurse anger or bitterness. No, he planned, along with his compatriots, who were jailed with them.

Then I give them a copy of an interview (in the fabulous book We Owe You Nothing: Punk Planet: The Collected Interviews) with Jello Biafra which has this challenge: "It's time to start thinking, 'What do I do if I suddenly find myself in charge?'" (page 46 of the first edition). Many of my students find this idea to be a wonderful writing prompt, even as they're doubtful that they would ever be allowed to be in charge of a national government.

Maybe today, as so much conversation swirls about the future of the U.S. and who should lead it, maybe today would be a good day to think about that question:  if you found yourself in charge, what would you do?  And how can you do it now, even if you're not in charge?

Furniture Moving

Here we are, close to the midpoint of summer, which for me is Music Week--although as I think about it, for me, the midpoint was really a few weeks ago.  Music Week starts on Sunday, and my summer shifts a bit.  I'll be more involved at Lutheridge, after my seminary class ends Tuesday.

My mom and dad are coming for Lutheridge, but they'll have lodging at camp; we'll do happy hour down here at our house.  My former pastor and his wife will be staying with us; she'll be part of Music Week, and he'll be taking all sorts of pictures.  We've been trying to get the house into better shape for next week's festivities, and this yesterday, we made great progress.

When we first moved to this house, we bought a sleep sofa (the one in the picture above).  We had a hazy plan that we'd have a sleep sofa in the main living area and a futon/daybed option in the second main floor bedroom, which we primarily use as a study.  But as we've lived in the house, we've seen better possibilities for the layout:  move the sleep sofa into the study and get some smaller furniture to go with the two larger chairs in the living area.

We have since replaced the sliding glass doors with more energy efficient models, which meant that it was no longer easy to move the sofa through the doors, which is one way to get from the main living area to the study, outside across the deck.  Happily, my spouse figured out how to take the feet off the sofa, which meant we could move it through the house.  We also had to remove the door to the study and then put it back, but happily, that was easy.

The filing cabinet has been in the middle of our main living space, along with a teak table and two bar stools that used to be on our beautiful front porch in S. Florida.  We moved the filing cabinet to the study, and we moved the teak table and chairs to the deck, under the tented portion of the deck that means we can use the deck when it rains.  

I went to pick up the table and chairs that we bought on Monday, a much smaller table and chairs than the teak table and bar stools.  Yesterday we assembled them and put them in place:

The sides of the table can be extended to turn it into a round table, which means four people could eat dinner comfortably, and more, if we seated them creatively.  But most important, we can move around the kitchen without bumping into furniture.

There's still a lot of work left to do before the house is "finished."  I'm not showing pictures of unpainted drywall, or of the loft which is much further away from being "finished" than the lower level.  I've got some sorting to do of the piles that are on the desk in the study:

It's a much less Instagram-ready photo, isn't it?  But I like that it gives an idea of how we're more likely to live, a more honest look.

We Love Jesus, Yes We Do! We Love Jesus, How 'Bout You?

Yesterday I went for my morning walk and went by the dining hall in the minutes before breakfast, when all the campers wait outside.  I heard this chant/shout:  "We love Jesus, yes we do.  We love Jesus, how 'bout you?"  Then another group chanted/shouted the same thing back, only louder.  It was both a challenge between cabins/groups and a way of keeping kids occupied until the dining hall was ready for them.

Some might say, "Yes, and it was also indoctrination!"  Perhaps.  We might be kinder and say it was theological training.  But it seems less a way of mind control than a way of keeping kids focused and out of trouble while waiting to go into the dining hall.

Yesterday was the kind of day where there was lots of shouting in the news cycle.  Lately, it seems like every day is a day of lots of shouting in the news cycle.  I reflected on the purposes of shouting:  drowning out competing voices, keeping people focused, raising people's emotions for good or evil purposes.

When the news cycle shouts at me, I often turn off the TV/radio/internet site.  Yesterday, listening to children chanting/shouting outside the camp dining hall, I was charmed and wanted to linger.

But it's not my week of volunteering, not my week to enjoy breakfast at camp.  And so I rambled onward, picking a few berries out of the brambles on the downslope of the hill that took me away from the dining hall.

My First Publication

I don't submit to as many literary journals as I once did, and I have a variety of reasons for that state of affairs.  The main one is that it costs so much more than it once did to submit.  I know that journals will tell us that they aren't charging much more than the cost of postage, printer ink, and paper, but I can do math, and that's just not true.  They charge 3-5 times more than the cost of postage.  

And yes, I could afford a year's worth of fees, but do I want to spend my money that way?  Just on the slim chance that a poem will appear in a journal?  If my goal is to have readers, I'd have more people see my poem if I published it on Facebook or on this blog.  If my goal is to have my poems in a form where future generations might see it, I might be better off taking all those fees and self-publishing in book form, and then sending that book to as many libraries as possible. 

The odds of publishing have never been great, but before social media, I didn't have the same sense of how many people were submitting to journals.  And most of us are writing work of high caliber; I know, because I often see some of those poems on social media.  Mine are no better, no worse.  How does one catch an editor's eye for inclusion?  I know it's a matter of luck, of timing, of connection.  I might have something to do with that (knowing an editor, having a specific poem that fits a specific topic/form), but it's rare.

One thing that's strange about me is that I like the process of submitting.  I like going through my poems and putting together a packet of poems that speak to each other.  I like remembering the poems I've written and thinking about them as a larger way.

Still, I submit occasionally, especially when it's free, and I've gotten encouragement in the past.  This morning, I submitted a packet of poems to Beloit Poetry Journal.  Long ago, when I was first submitting poems printed on paper and mailed in envelopes, I sent a packet to them, and they published it.  That was in 1997 or so, and I've been submitting regularly since with no luck.  But I submit because it makes me happy to remember that long ago acceptance.

For a lark, I went to the BPJ website to see if my poem is in the archive.  It isn't, but my name is there.  Happily, I could go to my own records to help myself remember the name of the poem, and astonishingly, I still have a copy of the poem, and not just the journal itself (which I do have, but which is in a box packed away and hard to retrieve on a whim).

I do tend to keep everything--it's the grad school training in me, the knowledge of how important manuscripts can be, long after they find "final" form in publication.  So, to close this blog post, here's a copy of one of my first publications, which appeared in Beloit Poetry Journal, in 1997 or 1998 (along with a gentle reminder that the speaker in the poem is not autobiographical--real life Kristin did not feel this way):

Land Mine Treaty


I’d like to have a baby,
but there is no
Cambodian farmer
so desperate for cash and vegetables
that he is willing
to dig up any field
as he hunts for old land mines
or just more land to farm.
No one to plow my acreage,
no one who will risk that
explosion.

Harbingers of Hard Times and Vaccines

Yesterday afternoon I got a pneumonia vaccine at Ingles, our local grocery store.  On the face of it, that's not such a strange statement, not a statement that is a comment on modern life.  But let me make a few comments.

And yes, writing about a vaccine might seem like a topic too mundane for a blog post.  But my arm has been aching all night, so it's on my mind.

Getting a pneumonia vaccine wasn't in my plans until recently.  I'm turning 59 in 2 weeks, so I'm not in the group recommended to get a vaccine.  My spouse got one, after his doctor (also my GP) recommended it.  He's a heavy smoker, so he's in a vulnerable population.

Because my spouse is a heavy smoker, the Ingles pharmacist determined that I was eligible for the vaccine.  Lo and behold, my insurance covered it.  I am always surprised when my insurance covers anything, although these days, my insurance covers a lot.  I think of all the years I spent at crummy jobs because at least I had health insurance.  I am grateful that my health insurance is no longer tied to my job (thank you President Obama!).

I decided that it was time for me to get a pneumonia vaccine when a friend got very sick with pneumonia; she's only a few years older than I am.  She had a friend who had Covid and then developed pneumonia--and died!  I feel like I did a decade ago when suddenly I knew many people who were being diagnosed with shingles, and I decided to get the vaccine the minute I was eligible.  

Do I really know that many people who are coming down with pneumonia?  No.  But I feel surrounded by harbingers of hard times ahead, and whatever protection we can get is worth it.  A vaccine is such an easy dose of protection.

I returned home from the grocery store feeling very lucky.  I can go to the grocery store and get a vaccine along with my groceries!  I thought about a time that I wanted to get a tetanus shot ahead of hurricane season, and it was impossible to find.  The South Florida grocery stores didn't offer it, and my doctor didn't have it.  They just didn't think it was important.  I ended up going to the health department where everyone was puzzled ("Did you step on a nail?"), but they did have it, and I did get it.

Back to hurricane watching--speaking of feeling like hard times are just ahead.  We are likely to see Hurricane Beryl become a major hurricane; it's already the furthest east developing storm in June since 1933 (that humdinger of a hurricane season, worst ever).  A major hurricane in June hasn't happened since the 1960's.

Saturday Scraps: June Winds Down

It's been a whirlwind week, in some ways, a slow week in others.  Let me collect some scraps from the past week:

--I've completed some of the chores that come along with modern life.  I'm primarily thinking of the car registration, which requires a safety inspection.  I was able to get both cars inspected on Thursday afternoon, after I got annoyed with myself for wasting so much time during the day.

--I tell myself I've wasted time, but that's not true.  In any given day, there's a certain amount of mindless scrolling through social media and online newspapers.  But I don't waste as much time watching TV as I once did.

--This week, as we've watched TV of the mindless variety and TV of the well-written variety, I've gotten lots of sewing on my quilt done.

--I also went to quilt group on Wednesday.  I helped assemble two quilt tops; the Janome machine is a wonder.

--On Tuesday, I went to both our neighborhood happy hour at Sierra Nevada Brewing Company and my seminary class.  I'm looking forward to Mondays in August, where my neighborhood group will be exploring breweries in Mills River, and for most of the Mondays, I won't have a seminary class to attend.  On Tuesday, my time was tight, so I didn't drink, but it was good to see people and spend time together.

--Today is the two year anniversary of our purchase of this house.  I have no regrets.  It's been good to have a place to live that is paid for, even if it needs a lot of work.  It's a solid house, more solid than we knew when we bought it--a happy turn of events.  It's been a good investment.

--It's been interesting, living in a house in a residential community that's part of a church camp.  During 9 months of the year, it's fairly quiet, downright deserted.  During the summer, we don't hear noise from the camp at our house; the traffic noise from a major road nearby drowns out all other noise.  But my daily walk takes me through the camp, and it's a different experience during the summer, seeing groups of people doing camp things (swimming, walking to the dining hall, playing games in grassy areas).

--Despite the joys of summer, I'm yearning for autumn, even though autumn will be very busy with more teaching and more seminary classes to complete.  Let me continue to work on appreciating the present, even as I'm looking forward to seasons to come. 

The Morning after the First Presidential Debate of 2024

In later years/decades, perhaps I'll wonder why I didn't write more about that first debate of the 2024 campaign.  To be truthful, I only watched a few minutes as I was getting ready for bed, within the first 15 minutes of the start of the campaign.  I only saw Biden speak.  It was painful.  We switched to the peaceful music that we sometimes let play while we drift off to sleep.

This morning, much more well-informed people are offering much more developed opinions than I am able to do.  I am aghast and depressed.  Thomas L. Friedman offered this opinion in his New York Times essay to explain how important this race is, an opinion I share with no hesitation:  "Because this is no ordinary hinge of history we are at. We are at the start of the biggest technological disruptions and the biggest climate disruption in human history."

The campaign season is long, and much can happen between now and the election, and many of the possibilities are horrifying.  Like much of the U.S. citizenry (and probably much of the world), I cannot believe we are having these same two candidates again.  Both have huge flaws.  I think Biden has been a good president, but I worry about the toll that four more years will take.  In many of his policies, Trump seems to think it's still 1982.  I will refrain from commenting on other problems that both men have as candidates and as humans.

I vacillate.  I am most often thinking that none of it matters, that climate change is accelerating, and our situation is changing in ways we can't even perceive right now.  But then I think about the hinge points of history, and how various humans have made a clear difference.  I don't know that either man will be capable of that.

I did not intend to write so much about politics this morning, particularly since I didn't watch the debate.  I didn't watch the debate in part because I didn't want to fill my head with negativity right before sleep.  I should have followed the same advice this morning.  Ugh.

Singing Together, Singing By Ourselves

I am happy to report that the second class meeting of my seminary class in protest music lived up to the promise of the first week.  Our professor does have a PowerPoint, but unlike some other professors, he does not read from the PowerPoint.  We cover the material that's in the book, but so far, it hasn't left me saying, "I could just read the book."  We listen to the music and discuss it, but not in the depth that a music appreciation class would offer.  The book offers a more in-depth dive into the history that prompted the creation of the music.

One thing that's different from other classes:  we sing together.  It's an online class meeting by way of a Zoom session, so it's not what you might imagine, a group of seminarians with a guitar and folk songs in a physical room.  The professor, who is also a professional musician, has a keyboard as part of his set up, so he sings the song and plays it.  We students keep ourselves muted and sing.  Well, some of us do.  I realize that not everyone knows these songs.  

Last night we sang "This Land Is Your Land," "We Shall Overcome," and "If I Had a Hammer."  We also talked about why some of us grew up singing these songs in elementary school, while others didn't.  My professor's theory is that there was once was a core group of songs that many of us knew, from singing them around campfires and such.  I thought about what a wide range of songs I knew and how I came to know them:  church choir, camp, parents who had music playing in the background throughout much of the day, radio stations that played a wide range of music.

I didn't offer my theory:  those of us who went to elementary school in the 70's had teachers who thought those songs were important and taught them to us.  I had music classes in school, taught by people who were once hippies, radicals, and organizers (or people who knew these types).

We talked about what children sing now, perhaps Disney songs, but it was late in the evening, and we didn't spend much time on the topic.  I did spend some time thinking about my childhood and music, thinking about elementary schools that once had music as a class period.

I've also been thinking about my classmates, some of whom are so much younger, who have never heard of this music, and perhaps this history.  I feel lucky to have been educated when I was, with such a wide variety of educational experiences.

Low Energy Monday

I am off schedule this morning.  It would be interesting to go back through this blog and see how often I am off schedule on Mondays.  It often takes awhile for my Sunday to catch up with me, and I am surprised to find myself tired on Mondays.

We are also having summerish temperatures, which disrupts my sleep, regardless of air conditioning.  Air conditioning helps, don't get me wrong.  But I much prefer a lovely winter bedroom, when the outside temp is cool, and I am snuggled in flannel (flannel pjs, flannel sheets).  The overnight temps are much cooler here than they are other places, but it's still humid.

Yesterday left me more wiped out than usual.  I decided that with the early sunrise in summer, I would get my walk in before we left for Bristol at 7:30 a.m.  That was successful:  a lovely walk.  Yesterday was a longer day at church, with sandwiches and ice cream sundaes after worship.  It was delightful, but it put us home several hours later than usual.

I did some reading on the deck in the late afternoon, which was both delightful and left me too warm.  I feel like I never cooled down enough for a good sleep.  It's strange that I often have disrupted sleep both on the night before Sunday worship and the night after Sunday worship.

Happily, these days I can adjust my schedule on Mondays.  I'm not sure what happens when my schedule picks up mid-August.  Perhaps Mondays will be low-key days in my classroom.  Or maybe teaching will give me energy.

Morning Rambles and Brambles, Evening Concerts

When I was walking around camp early this morning, I heard a deep voice say, "Good morning."  But I didn't see anyone.  I called out, "Good morning--but I don't see you."

The person who owns the voice waved, and then I could see him walking down a path through the forest, the path that runs from the upper craft lodge to the lower lodging spaces for campers.  I recognized him as a counselor, and he didn't seem alarmed to see me.  I was surprised.  This year, campers leave on Fridays, and I have assumed that the counselors would be sleeping a bit later on Saturdays.

As I continued on towards the lake, I thought about hearing a deep voice booming out of nowhere and how my thoughts went to all those Biblical accounts of God speaking out of an non-embodied space.  I thought of hymns about people answering God's call.  I thought about how few call stories there are that involve women late in midlife.

Elsewhere in my walk, I ate the first black raspberry of the season.  I thought they were blackberries last year, but my plant identifying app tells me otherwise.  I am not hopeful about this berry season here at camp.  The few berries that are ripening are very small.  I keep wondering if that fact tells me something about the upcoming winter, but it probably just reflects erratic rainfall.

To get to this morning's berries, I had to scrabble up a small embankment and then try to hop back down without falling.  I did have the thought that I don't really like berries enough to risk a fall.  But it also made me happy that I could do it.

So far, it has been a lovely week-end.  Last night, we sat on our deck and listened to the radio, by way of streaming the station on a computer.  It was the opening night concert of the Brevard Music Festival.  Sure, we could have driven over to Brevard; it's only 30-40 minutes away. There were still tickets, but the cheapest ones were $35 each. 

But in a way, it was lovely to be on our deck, with wine and some nibbles, and the pot of petunias I bought earlier in the day.  It was wonderful to watch the light shift and to have candles.

Of course, the sound would have been better at the actual festival.  We have a fair amount of traffic noise from the main road beyond the trees, and I usually forget that we do, until I'm trying to hear something.

I suppose I should get to the main work of today, creating a sermon for tomorrow and creating the communion bread for tomorrow.  But there will also be treats, like the watermelon that I bought yesterday.  Here's hoping it's a good one!

When RevGalBlogPals Meet in Person

One of the joys of last week's intensive that I haven't written much about was the chance to meet a blogging friend in real life.  In a time that feels very long ago now, there was a group called RevGalsBlogPals, a group for clergywomen and people who support clergywomen.  We blogged about all sorts of things, some of them church related, some not.  There were all sorts of support groups and there were conferences and fun outings.  I was sad to see it end, and like so many things in my life that end, part of me understood and part of me was baffled.

I've continued to see various RevGals in the online realm, but last week, one of them came to the intensive.  I knew that Diane Roth had started the program, but I lost track of her progress; in retrospect, I should have sent her a message in advance so that it was less awkward on that first day.  I saw her nametag before she got there, but I wasn't sure how to say, "I know you online, but I'm not sure if you know me."  Sure, in retrospect, I should have just said that, but I was worried I might sound like a weird stalker.

Happily, Diane took the first step, and she did it during the pre-dinner meet and greet, which meant that we could spend the rest of the intensive as friends, not as people wondering how they knew each other.  On Friday at lunch, she asked what I was planning to do during our free time.  I talked about going to the library, and she wanted to go to an independent bookstore.  She tries to go to independent bookstores as she travels, and I'm happy to support bookstores too.  I had a car, which she didn't, and I'm familiar with Columbia.  It was a recipe for a successful outing to All Good Books in Five Points.

And we did have a successful outing.  The bookstore had a great selection of books, and we both found one to buy.  I was happy to find Susan Rich's latest book; I love supporting poets and independent books by buying books from bookstores.  

Alas, we didn't have time to buy a coffee or to explore Five Points.  We had to get back for more instructional sessions, which after all, was the reason we had come to the seminary campus.   I was happy to post this picture to Facebook, happy to be part of my favorite subgenre of FB posts, when online friends meet in real life and realize that they are just as delightful in person as online:

Making Marks on Paper: A Prelude to Collage

Earlier this week, I went over to a friend's house to catch up.  She's got a studio in her basement, so we sat and played with color while we chatted.  Through the years, we've done all kinds of creative activities together, so it's always a pleasure to catch up this way.  She set out markers for us, a bowl of water, and some paint brushes.  I had brought paper and an old hymn book that I'm using as an art journal of sorts, when I remember that I have it.

I ended up with an assortment of colors on paper:

This one may be my favorite:

But I loved the ways the colors blended when I added water to this picture:

Now for the eternal question:  what to do with these papers?  I had been planning to paint paper that I'd later use in collages for card making.  I'm inspired by my friend's Christmas card that she gave me this past year:

Take a closer look at the art--painted hymnbook pages!

So, I've stashed the papers back in my hymnbook where they will wait for their next incarnation.  I feel lucky to feel inspired!