Stockpiling Tea for the Coming Unpleasantness

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

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

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

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

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

Well, let me get ready for my walk.  

A Sermon on Call Stories and Chaos for Our Contentious Time

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

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

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

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

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

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

Politics: Writing Letters, Making Phone Calls

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Genocidal Despots and Poems

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

Border Lands

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

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

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

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

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

Great Teaching Days in the Midst of Political Chaos

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The tree sings __________________  at night. 

The tree yearns for ________________________. 

The tree misses __________________________. 

_________________________ misses the tree. 

 The tree contains a secret which is __________________. 

The tree’s favorite color is ___________________________. 

 The tree’s best friend is _________________________. 

The tree resembles this human made object. 

The tree wraps itself in a quilt made of ___________________. 

The tree goes _______________________ for vacation. 

The tree wishes you knew ____________________________. 

Tuesday Fragments: Administration, Teaching, and Governing

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sketching While the World Burns

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Valentines and Green Sauce

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tomatillo-Cilantro Sauce

4 tomatillos

1/2 onion

3-4 poblano peppers

1 bunch of cilantro

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

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

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

An Unfinished Blog Post on the Feast Day of Saint Brigid

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

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

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

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

Odds and Ends at the End of January

I have been grading for hours, but happily, I got the first essays from my online classes graded.  I feel a bit brain dead, so let me just capture some snippets from the past day or two that I want to remember.

--This is the kind of week that makes me wonder what I might accomplish if I wasn't trying to accomplish so much.  I've got a full-time teaching job, a part-time teaching job, a part-time pastor job, and my MDiv program.

--That said, I am coming up with interesting ideas.  My English 102 classes are looking at works by Susan Glaspell that have plots that rely on a knowledge of quilting, which no one has these days.  I woke up Tuesday morning thinking about a quilting bee that could be open to the whole school.  Yesterday, I sent out this e-mail:  

Dear English Colleagues,

My MWF 102 class meets in the same room for my 10:00 class and noon class.  I am planning a quilting bee as we begin discussing "A Jury of Her Peers" and "Trifles."  I'll set up quilts in 206 and since there's not an 11:00 class, I'll leave it set up.  The quilting bee will go from 10:00 until 1:00. 

My plan is to open this up to the whole campus as a drop in quilting bee.  There will be quilts to knot and quilts to quilt and small items that students can hand sew and take with them.  Students can experience quilting first hand and learn about the history of quilting—and my students will then be able to tie the experience to the literature in a way that might feel more real.

I'm thinking that I'll do this on Monday, March 24, but before I plan too much, I thought I'd run the idea by all of you to see if you know of anything else big happening on campus that day.  I like the idea of doing it in March, too, as a great Women's History Month project.

The quilts we'll knot will then go back to my local church quilt group that sends them to Lutheran World Relief, so we'll be quilting for fun, quilting for literature, and quilting for charity.  I'll also have information on Lutheran World Relief.

Does anyone see any huge issues that I've overlooked in my enthusiasm for fabric arts?

Thanks!

Kristin (B-A)

--I've been enjoying hot tea with a bit of warm milk and sometimes sugar.  I still drink coffee in the morning, but I often switch to milky tea. 

--I went to a bricks and mortar office supply store to buy paper and printer ink.  Not special paper--basic paper for printing out the occasional document and my weekly sermons.  Wow--paper has really increased in price since the last time I bought it.  I got a special deal:  2 reams for $16.  Wow.

--Here we are at the last day of the month.  Let me check in on my 2025 goals:

     --I have done a bit of strength training for 20 days this month.  It may not have always been 10               minutes each time, but I came close.

     --I did a lot more poetry writing.  I finished 7 poems, along with a lot of shorter pieces in my                   sketchbook which I'm not sure how to count (5 of them).

    --I've worked on sketching hands and faces.  I'm impressed with what I can do if I pay attention.            Hands are still harder for me than faces.

First Funeral of a Parishioner

Yesterday, after I finished banana bread baking and sermon writing, we got in the car and headed across the mountain to Faith Evangelical Lutheran in Bristol, Tennessee.  One of Faith's parishioners died last week, and his funeral was yesterday at 1:00.  I was happy that the family wanted me to preside and relieved that the funeral was at a time that was easy for me.

Let me stress that even if it had been at a time that wasn't easy for me, I would have done it.  The parishioner had been such an important part of the faith community, and his brother and sister-in-law are part of the congregation.  It felt important to be there.

The service was relatively short; we didn't have communion.  My sermon seemed well received.  The eulogy after my sermon was the perfect counterpoint.  I've only been part of the community for 18 months, so I didn't have the personal stories that were shared during the eulogy.  I did the theological stuff that needs to be done, the assertion that we are resurrection people and death doesn't have the final word (to read the sermon, go here).  But I wouldn't be surprised or hurt if the eulogy gave people more comfort.

As we got in the cars to go to the cemetary, I thought, this is what the Church does well:  comforting the grieving.  I know that many people would say that it's not enough, that the Church needs to be on the front lines confronting the federal government, and that may be true.  But there are plenty of activists of all types who do that job better than the Church.

I was struck by how many motorists stopped or pulled to the side of the road as the procession went by.  I was touched by that measure of respect and happy that it still exists in the world.  We live in a world that seems increasingly angry and cruel.  None of that world was on display yesterday.

We returned to the church where church members had prepared an amazing meal:  roast beef at a carving station, salad, potatoes au gratin, and several desserts--all delicious.  We are lucky to have a member who had a past life as a chef, and he took charge of the meal.  We ate around 3, which seems a perfect way to minister to the family.  They could eat a lot or a little, and it meant that they didn't need to think about preparing a meal later.

We headed back across the mountains to our home in Arden.  I had a few bites of cheese and a glass of wine while doing my reading for seminary class tonight.  I went to bed early.  Of course, most nights I go to bed early, but last night I felt a level of tiredness that's unusual for me, a depletion of my reserves.  It was good to be able to crash.

I am feeling a bit discombobulated this morning, even as I am more rested.  I have the "What day is it?" feeling.  Happily, today is an easy teaching day, and my seminary class tonight is wonderful (as is my Monday class--I am so lucky!).  And tomorrow, it's Friday again.  It's a week-end with a lot to get done, but it will be good to have a bit of extra time.

Banana Bread Baking

This week is another unusual one, with unexpected schedule changes.  So far, every week this semester has had unexpected schedule changes, so by now, I just expect changes, even though I'm not sure what will trigger the changes.

Today's change is a funeral at Faith Lutheran in Bristol, TN.  A beloved parishioner died, so we will go up for the 1:00 funeral.  Happily, before I realized we would have this disruption, I had scheduled library orientations and research in the library days for my English 102 classes.  I don't really need to be there, although I realize my students might take it more seriously if I'm there.  

Last night I looked at the bananas on the counter.  On Saturday, I bought a paper bag of bananas that were on sale; periodically, the produce dep't of the grocery store bags up bananas that are past their prime, and it's a heck of a deal.  On Saturday, I got over 20 bananas for $1.99, and I bought the bag because the bananas in the bag looked better than the ones that were at regular price.

Of course, that left me with a lot of bananas.   So last night, I decided to bake banana bread and take some loaves with me today.  Instead of flowers, I'll bring banana bread!  This recipe from the King Arthur baking site is remarkably easy.

I really enjoyed the process--I knew that I would make the recipe numerous times, so I had stations:  banana blending, wet ingredients, dry ingredients, loading the pans.  It worked really well.  I still can't imagine doing it on a larger scale, a bakery scale.

I had a lot of bananas, so now I have a lot of banana bread.  So I'm glad that I could taste the bread.  It's tasty, not overwhelmingly banana-y.  I didn't put any of the add-ins, like walnuts, that would make it even better.  Since I'm making it for other people, I wanted to make it appealing to as many people as possible.  I realize that people with gluten sensitivity will need to avoid my bread, but people with nut allergies can enjoy it if I don't put nuts in it.

Let me turn my attention to my homily for today's sermon.  It's a different kind of sermon, but I have an idea which I think will work.  Let me get it into manageable shape.

Watching "Little House on the Prairie" at 3 a.m.

It's been a long several days in our household.  My spouse goes in for a colonoscopy this morning, and instead of just having a 24 hour getting ready process, it has stretched over 3 days, with increasing food restrictions and increasingly effective laxatives.  He got up at 2 for the last dose of prep liquid, and I had trouble falling back asleep, so I got up too.

He was watching an episode of Little House on the Prairie, so I made some tea and joined him.  For over a year, I've been noticing that if that show is on, it sucks me right in.  One time I was at a car repair place, the only one in the waiting room, and the show was on.  It was an episode about a blizzard and people who needed to be rescued out there on that prairie and fear of dwindling resources.  The car passed its safety inspection, and I was tempted to stay, just to see how it ended.

Of course, I knew how it ended.  One of the appeals of the show is that there is always a happy ending.  It was made back in the 70's, made to be a family show, and the people who made it took their task seriously.  At the time, I remember being miffed (as a child viewer, mind you) that the TV show created new plot lines that weren't in the book.  As an adult, I am in awe of how they stayed true to the spirit of the books--and in fact, elevated the themes and spirit.

Little House on the Prairie is one of the rare TV shows that came into being because of the reading habits of girls.   I did some "researching" to see if I was remembering correctly.  Sure enough, various entertainment executives noticed their daughters reading the books over and over again, moms reading the books too, and they took note.  The fact that family members read the books may have helped the creators stay true to the books.

I say creators, but in my reading this morning, I discovered how deeply Michael Landon was involved in the creation of the series, down to researching every day life during the time period for pioneers.  There's a reason why the show looks so authentic.

I suspect the interpersonal relationships are not realistic depictions of life on the frontier.  The care and compassion, particularly for children, are much more 1970's than 1870's.  For that matter, the level of care and compassion for all the characters is much more 1970's than 2020's.

I feel this aching sadness for the society I thought we were building in the 1970's based on this TV show.  I also laugh at myself, since other TV shows of the same time period, shows not made for the whole family, show we were headed towards something different.  And here we are, in the 2020's, in a society that's different yet again.

Weaning Myself Away from Amazon

I just bought three poetry books from the University of Pittsburgh Press instead of Amazon.  I expected the shipping cost to make me change my mind, but it didn't.  I want to read more poetry and support poets and presses of all sizes, and it seems that buying from the press directly makes sense.

In the interest of transparency, I decided not to buy a book from Norton when the shipping cost was more than the book.  And I always check my local library--I know that checking out books might keep them from being culled from library holdings.

In further interest of transparency, if Amazon had offered deeply discounted books, I might have bought from Amazon.  But more and more, Amazon irritates me, especially in their delivery times.  Almost always in the past 6 months, when I place an order, having been told it would be here the next day, it's not.  I wouldn't mind a longer delivery time if I was told up front.

Since the great dish soap debacle (go to this blog post to read more), I have been much more careful about what I order from Amazon.  I thought I was ordering dish soap made by Proctor and Gamble, only to have an imperfect copy made by Joysoap.com arrive--and then it arrived damaged.  I have yet to find a good dish soap to wash dishes by hand.

So, I'm suspicious and on the lookout for deceptive trade practices, which means I won't order anything that goes on or in our bodies from Amazon.  I'm not happy about the cheap junk from China that often arrives.  I would like cheaper prices, but I know what those cheap prices are doing to the planet.  I worry about the types of merchants I'm supporting when I buy products on Amazon.  I try to make sure I'm buying from known companies, only to have weird substitutions.

Of course, with our current president, all protections are likely going out the window.  Sigh.  Perhaps more than ever, it's good to support smaller venues of manufacturing.

Poem Made of Abandoned Lines

This morning, I decided to play with lines from rough drafts that I abandoned, never turning them into finished drafts.  I opened documents going back to May, and assembled these lines (feel free to play too):

I leave the key
To unlock the code in my sewing

Basket.

A monastery in the desert, too far
For the maniacal


We all comment on the coldness
Of this winter.

I am tired of tethers,


We saw the signs early


a summer
Of sorbet and lemonade.


Walking by flashlight, startled
By my bear shaped shadow.


the wolf
At the door in the form of a hurricane


In a time of trouble, she knits
Socks of all sizes.

--------------

After an hour or two of tinkering and internet meandering, here's what I came up with.  I have no idea how I feel about the poem itself, but the process of creating it was immensely satisfying.   It is not autobiographical--I've had no biopsy, I can't scramble up rock faces, I prefer crocheting to knitting while my grandmother preferred embroidery, I don't think I should have been making plans to move.  The bit about being startled by my shadow, thinking it might be a bear as I walked in the dark with a flashlight--that part is true.

After a summer of sorbet and lemonade,

I tire of my own frivolity. I am the grasshopper,

not the ant.  I have made ice cream

when I should have been earning 

money and making plans to move.

The wolf at the door

in the form of a hurricane 

or a biopsy or election results.

I dream of a monastery in the desert, far

from the maniacal.

I saw the sign early,

walking by flashlight, startled 

by my bear shaped shadow.

In the summer, I scrambled up the rock face

to gather berries.  In the fall,

I fight the urge to hibernate.

We will comment on the coldness 

of this winter.  I struggle

to stay awake.  In my sewing

basket, a small ball of yarn.

I think of my grandmother 

who knitted socks of all sizes,

her form of resistance.

I prefer scarves.  I have always chosen

long lines: poetry or code or check out line,

a chain to connect us all.

Report on a Week that Had an Inauguration, a Snow Day, and a Return to Seminary Classes

I had planned to go to the grocery store yesterday.  But when I left the house, I didn't realize that Trump had planned a trip to Asheville yesterday.  I decided to avoid Airport Road, since his plane would be landing at the Asheville Airport, just a few miles from my house.  I was surprised to find that traffic was so backed up on the other major road, Highway 25, that takes me to my house.  Happily, it was backed up in the way opposite to mine.  I decided not to try to get to the grocery store.  I knew we had plenty of provisions.

Once I got to the house, I changed clothes and went for a walk.  It wasn't too cold, almost 40 degrees, which seems balmy this winter.  More importantly, the winds were calm.  I had a great walk, with a stop in the weight room.

It was a quiet evening:  some reading, some television watching, an early bedtime.  This morning I was up very early, working on poems, sending out some submissions, writing in my offline journal.

It's been such a strange week.  It seems like weeks or months ago that the inauguration happened, but it was only on Monday.  Such a flurry of activity.  I am glad that I don't work for a government agency or a group that reports to a government agency or a larger school.  I have heard from various sources about the confusion that comes in the wake of all of the declarations and orders of the new administration.  Ugh.

We had our second snow day of the semester--for a school in South Carolina!  Two snow days in three weeks.  Amazing.

I continue to be very happy in my teaching.  This week I finished my self-evaluation that each faculty member is required to submit, and I feel good about what I've accomplished.  The publishing part of my evaluation is fairly empty, so in the coming year, I'll work on that.

I am finishing an MDiv, so I'm hoping that fact will counteract my lack of publications.  This semester will be my last semester, and my Thursday night class that I'm taking is fantastic so far.  We're looking at Christmas and Easter together, taking out the middle to see how the beginning and the end of the Christ story inform each other. 

Let me get to the grocery store this morning and get stocked up for the week-end.  It feels like the calm before any number of storms--but we're not expecting snow this week, so that's something.

A Sermon to Emulate

All yesterday, I heard much talk about Bishop Budde's sermon at the worship Service of Prayer for the Nation, which was held at the National Cathedral. This morning, I decided to watch the whole sermon, not just the last few minutes which have gotten such attention, when she spoke directly to the incoming president, urging compassion to persecuted groups, like people here illegally and gay, lesbian, and trans children.

Bishop Budde is the Episcopal Bishop of the Archdiocese of Washington D.C., so it is no surprise that she knows how to craft a sermon.  I watched parts of the service that came before it:  an hour of gathering music (diverse selections), a wide variety of worship leaders and readers, that beautiful cathedral.  The whole service, 2 hours and 18 minutes, is here; the sermon itself is here; you can read the transcript here.

I then watched Bishop Budde's conversation with Rachel Maddow which was a different kind of conversation than I was expecting; you can watch it here.  They were both very thoughtful about what it means to give a sermon, that it's a different kind of speech than the kinds of speeches that usually flood our airwaves.  Bishop Budde talked about the need for compassion, and the tone of the ending of the sermon, about how compassion needs to be manifest in a given time.  I didn't think the tone was particularly angry or confrontational, particularly not in the context of the whole sermon.  

There was discussion of her courage, which she shrugged off.  Bishop Budde pointed out that the worship service that happens with each inauguration usually includes a direct address to the president, so what she did was not so unusual.  And those of us paying attention have seen her bravery before, in June of 2020, when she spoke out in the wake of the murder of George Floyd when President Trump talked about sending the U.S. military out to quell protests.

I remembered that Diane Rehm had an interview with Bishop Budde, so I sought it out.  They discussed Bishop Budde's book, How We Learn to Be Brave.  This interview gave me such happiness and left me feeling nourished in all sorts of ways.  You can listen/watch here.

This week's Gospel, Luke 4:14-21, has Jesus giving a sermon of sorts, and I need to start writing my own sermon for Sunday.  It's been a week of sermons and prayers, not just Bishop Budde's.  It's interesting to consider those, in light of all of the readings for Sunday.  I look forward to seeing how all of these streams converge.

Snow Day in Reverse

When I've thought about weather and commuting, I've always thought that the winter weather would be at my house in the mountains and that people in South Carolina would find it hard to believe that I couldn't drive through the snow.  But today, there is enough snow in Spartanburg that my teaching day has moved to remote, while at my house, we've had no real snow.

Of course, I had been watching the winter storm approach.  It wasn't supposed to affect the upstate of South Carolina.  It was supposed to be the kind of odd storm that snowed on the coast but left the higher elevations of the state untouched.  The day was overcast but dry.

I was distracted by my dilated eyes, which made it hard for me to read anything.  But the good news is that my eyes are in fine shape--in fact, I think my eyes are healthier now than they have been in just about any other part of my life.  I am so impressed with the equipment at my eye doctor's office, and my gratitude about finding good medical care spills out to the rest of my life.

I had a great day teaching:  what a joy to talk about Louisa May Alcott and Little Women in my American Lit class.  I stayed on campus afterward for a Strategic Visioning meeting.  It was dry when the meeting started at 3, and when we left at 4:15, it was snowing.

In fact, it was snowing so much that I thought I might have miscalculated.  But the snow was the blowing, showery kind, not the icy, sticking-to-the-road kind, so I decided to see how far I could get.  There were moments driving north when I wondered if I was driving into a blizzard, and then I drove through it into moments of no snow at all.  By the time I got home, there were no more snowflakes that had been falling at 3:30 when my spouse texted me.  

By 6:45, Spartanburg Methodist College had decided to move to remote learning/work today.  I am fine with that; in fact, today's classes are easy to move to remote.  And because I don't have to commute, I can hop over to my local Lutheran church to do some quilting for Lutheran World Relief--hurrah!

Middle of the Night Vision

This morning I feel a bit scattered, with the knowledge that I soon need to get ready to go to the eye doctor for my yearly appointment.  Let me capture a few ideas here before they flitter away.

--Last night I woke up with the kind of middle of the night terror/anxiety that I associate with pandemics growing ever closer.  I did the thing I knew would not help:  I got out of bed and read some articles about the inauguration and the presidential activities around it, the presidential declarations.  

--I decided that I wasn't going to settle back to sleep with this reading, so I read about the fashion statements that people may or may not have been making.  I felt a vast sympathy for most everyone.  I like Melania Trump's severe looks, and I wish I could find a boater hat like that one; keeping one's eyes hidden seems like a good idea.  I saw the picture of Senator John Fetterman in his shorts and hoodie, in temperatures below zero, and I wondered if he has trouble finding pants that fit (a reason why you will often find me wearing shorts inside in the winter).  I have always assumed that men have no trouble finding pants that fit, but that may not be true.

--I saw a picture of an inaugural ball and wondered what happens if the couple doesn't dance well together?  Do they take dancing lessons for a few months before the inauguration?  I am not casting aspersions on any presidential or vice presidential couple, just thinking about my own inability to dance that way.

--I decided to try to go back to sleep.  I faced the window with its view of big trees and in the winter, the road beyond, with its lit signs.  As I laid down and stared out, all the lights went out.  I knew it was just a power outage, and sure enough, it was a momentary blip of darkness.  But still, for one brief moment, I thought, well, this is it then.

--I noticed that our bedroom clock was an hour and a half behind, and I wondered when that had happened.  Then I wondered if I had somehow reset the time on my watch, and it was actually the timepiece with the wrong time.  My poet brain tried to make metaphors, while the part of my brain that holds the various parts of my schedule in my head felt exhausted at the thought of getting up and getting to an eye appointment.

--And of course, my poet brain wants me to make a closing comment about vision and seeing clearly in times such as these.  My poet brain is also working on a poem about life lessons from medieval abbesses--stay tuned!

A Sermon and Poems for a Cold Inauguration Day and MLK Day

Here we are on a strange juxtaposition of a day:  the federal holiday to celebrate Martin Luther King and the inauguration of Trump to be president for 4 more years. Before I wrote yesterday's sermon, I thought about that juxtaposition, about those men and men like John the Baptist and Jesus, about what God promises and what politicians promise.  I particularly like the way I maintained a message of hope, especially at the end.

Through the wonders of modern technology, you can watch the sermon here on my YouTube channel.

It is a cold, cold morning, but so far, it's been a cold, cold winter.  Most nights, we have left a faucet  dripping, with a pot underneath to catch the water, because I am not wasting water.  I am so grateful that this winter, we have interior walls that are insulated, so that I don't have to hear the water dripping in the kitchen.

Well, I still hear it, but it's faint.  Last night I woke up and couldn't hear it, so I went to check.  I do not want to wake up to frozen pipes.

Last year, I remember walking in the chilliness of temps in the lower 40's and thinking, this isn't so bad.  This year, I'm telling myself that this may be one of the last cold winters we have.  Or, given the realities of life on a warming planet, we just don't know.

This morning I am thinking of life on a warming planet and the poem of mine, "Cassandra Volunteers at Summer Camp," up at "The Nature of Our Times: Poems on America’s Lands, Waters, Wildlife, and Other Natural Wonders" website. I wrote the poem in the last months of 2023, before Hurricane Helene, but it still holds up.   You can read it here.

I submitted the poem not knowing if all work was going to be posted in the online gallery, and I'm still not sure.  There will be a print volume later, and I am almost sure that not all of the poems in the gallery will be in the print version.  I'd be delighted if mine was chosen, of course, but I suspect that more people will read it in the online gallery than in the print version.

The project is put together by the same people who put together Dear Human on the Edge of Time:  Poems on Climate Change in the United States (go to this blog post for more information and to read the poem that was included).  That publication made me very happy, so I'm glad to be included again.

Cycles of Chores, Cycles of Writing

It has felt like both a long week and a short week.  I thought I would have more time yesterday afternoon, the only week day afternoon where classes are done by 1:00, not 3:00 or 3:15.  But I came home and did grocery shopping on the way home after I filled up the car with gas.  Then I went back to the grocery store to get the things I forgot, taking the other car to fill it up with gas.

Did I get a special discount on gas?  Was that my motivation?  No--I wanted to fill up the cars while it was warm for a winter afternoon.  Bitterly cold weather is on the way, and I don't want to be holding a cold metal gas pump handle in my hand in a few days.

It's continued to be a satisfying week teaching literature classes and my nonfiction writing class.  I'm so glad to be able to do this.  I've done a bit of sketching in the evening, but it's still been a week of very early bedtimes.

Soon the cycle of endless grading will begin.  Perhaps that's why I've done more poetry writing, or maybe it's my 2025 goal inspiring me.  I've also made a few submission--that process, too, will get dropped as my schedule fills up with grading and work for seminary classes.

Occasionally I think about my book-length manuscripts.  I am not submitting those--that process is just too exhausting (and likely too expensive) to contemplate.  But I do think about new poems and old manuscripts, and the process of publication.  If a slew of new poems got published, how would they fit with the older poems if ever I wanted to put together a manuscript?

I think about how I once believed that an individual poem could change the world--I still do, but I think many other objects and activities have a better chance of changing the world.  I once believed that if a poem found its way into a published book, it had a better chance of surviving for future generations to see.  I no longer believe that.

It's interesting to think how the publishing world has changed, not only in my lifetime, but in the past 10 years.  That knowledge, too, shapes how I use my time, as I realize how little we know about publishing and the future.

But I do know that I never regret having written a poem, in the way that I have some regrets about money and time spent on pursuing publication.  Having said that, let me strategize about ways to get some poetry writing into this holiday week-end, since, happily, I no longer have grocery shopping to consider.

Writing Like Whitman, Writing Like Dickinson, Facing the Future

Yesterday I tried something very different in my survey of American Lit class.  Usually my approach is a mix of lecture (animated lecture, but me doing most/all of the talking) and class discussion.  In a writing class, I include more writing and a bit of small group work, but not in the 200 level survey classes.  I had already decided on an exam question which would require them to write 4 lines in the style of either Walt Whitman or Emily Dickinson, so after discussing them, I decided to seize the opportunity for a bit of small group work.

First, I had them do some pre-writing.  I gave them the following prompts:  Describe your favorite place on campus.  Describe your favorite relative's house.  Describe your least favorite place on campus (what is the worst bathroom?  What is the building most in need of a makeover?).  What are the three most interesting things you've learned since January 1?  Describe the weather since January 1.  Look outside these huge classroom windows and describe these trees in winter.  What does sadness smell like?  What is the sound of joy?

Then I asked them to decide if they would rather write like Whitman or like Dickinson--I divided them into small groups of 3-5 based on those answers.  The Whitman groups had to write 4 lines of poetry with 30-40 words per line.  The Dickinson groups had to write 4 lines of poetry using only 5-7 words per line.  The assignment:  write lines for a poem that would be called "Song of Spartanburg Methodist College." 

I gave them about 7 minutes, and then I went from group to group to read their efforts out loud.  I made minimal comments, one comment per group, complimentary--it's not a creative writing class after all.  I tried to make the tie back to the original poet:  "You've captured some of Dickinson's mysticism here."

They seemed to have fun doing it, and I think it was a unique way of talking about poem construction which might give them some insight into why each poet is different, yet important.

We spent the remaining class time talking about Booker T. Washington and W. E. B. Du Bois--a perfect segue to the Martin Luther King holiday on Monday.  I talked about how the thoughts of each led us to the ways we talk about race today, and about our U.S. history.  When we hear people talk about how slavery wasn't that bad, we can trace that back to Booker T. Washington.  When we hear activists talk about how the time for waiting is over and new action is needed, we see that call early on in the work of Du Bois.  As we talked about the men, I made connections to MLK and Malcolm X.  It felt like an important conversation (a conversation that was more lecture, but I am OK with that).

I don't know how many of them feel worried about the future, but I felt like I gave them reason to have hope as they face the future.  I talked about my favorite metaphor, the medieval cathedral builders, who are working on a project that won't be finished in their lifetimes, but they understood the importance of the work.  The nation moves towards a future where more people can flourish, and then we backslide, and then we try again.  

A Week after the Snow

A week ago, I'd be eagerly awaiting snow scheduled for Friday.  A week later, I am eager for the remains of snow to go away.  I live in a neighborhood with lots of big trees and shade, which is usually a plus.  It does mean that we still have lots of snowy areas, which get slushy during the day, and then re-freeze at night.

I assume they are re-freezing.  Two days ago I went out for a morning walk, walked down the street for 2 houses, and then came right back.  I couldn't tell whether I was seeing black ice or pavement on the edges of the slick parts.  I've been doing my daily walking down in Spartanburg, on campus, around my teaching.  It's a good temporary solution, better than my other option which is walking on a treadmill.

I am assuming the snow will be mostly gone by the week-end.  Today and tomorrow, our highs climb into the 50's, and then there will be some rain to wash much of it away.  I'm most concerned with the roads being cleared so that I can walk.  Trail walking isn't part of my daily plan, so if the trails stay snow covered, that won't impact me.

Next time it snows, I should remember to pull out my snow boots earlier.  I missed at least one day of walking the day after the snow, when my boots would have made it possible.  Of course, I also did a longer walk on Friday, thinking I might be stuck inside for a day or two.

I made good use of the downtime of a snow day/week-end, with some hand sewing and hand quilting:

The placemats are reversible!

I bought the fabric during an excursion with some Quilt Camp friends to Beginnings Quilt Shop in Hendersonville.  I fell in love with the fabric, and thought about how well it would go with our design scheme as we've been re-making our Lutheridge house (right now, our only house).  At that point, we didn't have the kitchen table and weren't even sure we would have a kitchen table.  But once we got it, I floated the idea of placemats and table runners.

Two Factor Tech Jangles

I am trying to calm my jangled nervous system.  I am jangled because I got up early and was having a lovely morning, working on poems, making a submission, and then I made the mistake of trying to set up 2 factor identification for a school where I teach online classes.

I don't understand why it had to be so annoyingly difficult.  If you want to send a number to my cell phone, go ahead.  Why must I download apps and scan QR codes and try to figure out if I have the app or don't have the app.

I'm still not sure.  They seem to be on my phone, and they seem to be linked to my account.  Now I wait for IT to finish the set up, and then I can see if it's all working properly--and more important, that these apps aren't influencing any of my other accounts.

I'm jangled because the training video that showed us how to get this set up didn't coordinate to what I saw on my phone and computer--and I have a fairly recent phone and computer.  So I'm not sure what I've done exactly.  If I find myself locked out, I have a few days before papers are due in my online classes, but I really don't want to spend any more time on this.

I understand the reason for extra security.  I resent it, but I understand it.

I'm also jangled because I feel this shiver of the little old lady that I am becoming, the one who decides that all this technology means I just don't want to participate.  Am I approaching the end of my ability to be in the workforce because I don't want to be bothered with setting up all this stuff on my phone?

I know that people who live on their phones will find this unfathomable.  They download apps and conduct business and banking on that tiny screen.  I am always touching something that sends me somewhere else, and my fingers aren't that huge.  Sigh.

I'm willing to use technology, but I don't want it to be on my phone.  I have resigned myself to the fact that I need to carry my phone with me, but I don't like it.  I am tired of tethers.

Well, there's a first line of a poem--I am tired of tethers.  So maybe today's technology irritation was not a total waste.

The Energy of In Person Classes

I had a great teaching day yesterday:  three sections of English 102, three discussions of Antigone, the play by Sophocles.  Perhaps it was less discussion than me lecturing.  But lecturing sounds dry, and our time together was not dry.  For one thing, we had the opportunity to talk about Antigone's family, her father Oedipus, the psychological idea of an Oedipal complex, a concept that was very new (and shocking) to most of them.

There was an energy in the classroom, and I had forgotten how wonderful that energy can be.  When I taught English 102 at the same institution in Fall 2023, I never managed to manufacture that energy.  Of course, we didn't discuss Antigone.  

I mention that I taught three sections yesterday, because I had the same kind of energy in each of the classes, which is almost never possible, as I remember on-ground teaching.  There's usually 1 class that's a dud or one class that's much more high energy than the others.

I didn't have as many people talking/discussing, but they stayed alert and focused, and occasionally, offered an answer--and it wasn't the same person all the time.  In all three classes, this happened.

On Thursday, I had a similar experience in my American Lit survey class as we talked about The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn.  But I only taught one section, so I thought that the high energy of Thursday might be limited to that class or just a one day phenomena,

I realize that it's early; the energy might be because we're in the first days of the term.  But frankly, as the years have gone on, I see less of that kind of energy, and last spring, none of that first week positive energy at all.

As I was walking to my car yesterday, marveling at the way the day unfolded, I laughed a bit at how surprised I am that the literature classes went so well.  After all, my first teaching love is literature; it's what I've been trained to do, and what I believe in passionately.  I teach English Composition in a way that allows me to be enthusiastic, but I'm not teaching English Composition because of my passionate devotion to the first year essay or research paper.

I feel so lucky to have a chance to do this again.  I don't know how long I'll be able to do it, which puts me in a feeling of even deeper gratitude.  And I've been teaching long enough to know that my classes may not always have this energy--another source of gratitude.

Snowy Paths, Poem Completions

A year ago, at the beginning of the semester, I thought I might need some snow boots, and when I saw a Land's End pair on sale for a deeply reduced price ($40), I went ahead and ordered them.  And then we had a fairly mild winter.  We only left our faucet dripping three or four nights which tells you that the nights were mostly above freezing.

Not so this year.  Yesterday, I pulled out those boots to go on a walk with a friend; it was the first time I wore them since trying them on when they arrived.  They feel more like running shoes on my feet, but they are much more waterproof, and they come up just above my ankles.

I wanted to get out for a walk, but I also wanted to gauge how the roads are doing--not the major roads, but my neighborhood roads that get me to the main roads.  I was able to walk fairly easily, although they are still snow covered.  I'm a bit worried about how they might have frozen overnight, but I will drive slowly and hope for the best, as I make my way to the main roads that will take me to Spartanburg Methodist College.  I will stay alert on bridges.

I have a 10:00 class, so I can leave at 8:30, which means I'll be able to see.  I realize that won't help me with black ice, but it will help me with other snowy/icy patches.  I hope that the interstate will be O.K.  My walking friend said the interstate was clear and dry when she made her way home from South Carolina on Saturday.

I will wear my boots to get to the car that's parked in our neighbor's paved driveway.  I'll take a pair of shoes to change into when I get to school.  I am taking the Rogue, in part because it's parked in a paved driveway, but also because it's got 4 new tires that were chosen for mountain travel in all sorts of weather.

I have been up for hours, with a lot of different kinds of anxiety, like traveling on roads that might be icy and generalized worry about the health of loved ones.  So I went ahead and got up.  I decided to work on a poem, instead of my usual pattern of doom scrolling.  

My 2025 goal of creating 52 finished poems is working really well as a motivator right now.  As I look back through my poetry files, I can see that I've done a good job of writing down fragments, and that even when it's been a month or two of lesser fragment generating, I do make my way back.  But actually getting a fragment to the finish line?  I have not been doing that.

My pattern for the last few years has been to write the fragment down, be unsure of where to go next, put it aside, and forget to return to it.  So far, my 2025 goal has kept me focused (I know, I know, it's only been 2 weeks, but I'm taking success where I find it).  I write a fragment and force myself to try to finish it on the same day or the next day.  

So far, I've finished 4 poems.  Are they publishable?  I have no idea--ask me in July when I've gotten some distance.

I've been able to stay focused because I made my goal 52 poems in a year, not one poem a week.  I can get ahead now, knowing that there will likely be times in the upcoming year when I won't be able to do as much poetry writing.

Even as I type that last sentence, I think of people who manage to write a poem a day regardless of what else might be happening.  My goal suddenly seems much wimpier. 

Canceling Worship Service

If this was a normal Sunday, we'd be heading to Bristol, Tennessee by now, where I am the Synod Appointed Minister for Faith Lutheran.  But this morning, we've cancelled service.  Since we had bulletins and music prepared, I recommended that we do tomorrow's service a week later, on January 19.  The Baptism of Our Lord seems more important than the Wedding at Cana, the lectionary reading for Jan. 19. 

I spent part of yesterday morning looking at weather reports and special weather statements, and I was certain that canceling worship and Sunday School was wise--and I am still certain.  We've had a lot of snow and ice, and while many roads are passable, some would have frozen again overnight.  My spouse and I had decided that we would not make the trip across the mountains, regardless of whether or not the church decided to go ahead with worship.

But I also thought we should cancel so that everyone could stay home in good conscience.  I know that there are some folks in every church group who will be there if the doors are open, no matter how ill advised it is to travel.  We can help people stay safe by canceling activities.

And there's the issue of the parking lot and how to get it cleared in time for worship.  The forecast was for snow all of yesterday afternoon.  Most of our members are older and should not be out shoveling the parking lot on a Sunday morning, with temperatures under 20 degrees (it was forecast to be 7 degrees).

When the sun came out late Saturday, I felt a brief pang of guilt.  Even though I was sure that canceling worship and Sunday school was the right thing to do, I still wondered if we had made the right call.  Happily, I only let myself think that for a minute.  The facts were still the same, no matter how long we had sun yesterday afternoon when the temperature was still below freezing.   The roads would be bad, the parking lot would be covered in snow, and we needed to keep people safe.

I felt a bit better throughout the evening as I saw other churches at a variety of elevations make similar decisions, to cancel.  In the South, even in the mountains, we don't get many winter storms these days.  Last winter, Faith Lutheran only canceled worship once because of a winter storm, and they canceled for the same reasons we canceled today:  too much risk of slipping on ice.

And yet, there's still a part of me that feels a twinge of guilt, which I find interesting.  It's not like the roads cleared overnight.  It's the same twinge of guilt that makes me want to lace up my shoes and take a walk--the roads aren't clear yet, but I still need exercise.

Happily, I have gotten better at ignoring that voice that wants me to feel guilt.  And so I shall stay indoors a bit longer, give the roads a chance to get clear, and go for a walk this afternoon--and look forward to next week, when it will be safe to assemble as a congregation again.

A Delightful Snow Day

We had a delightful snow day yesterday.  I will say from the beginning that one reason why it was delightful is that we didn't have to go anywhere.  I'm grateful that Spartanburg Methodist College moved to remote learning yesterday.

I thought it might start snowing earlier than it did.  I went to the grocery store early, even though we didn't need much.  We brought in some dry wood in for the fireplace, and the small heater that is approved for indoor use with butane, just in case the power went out.  I decided to take my walk earlyish, and I hoped that it would start snowing as I was walking.  But that didn't happen either.  I did a bit of remote work with students and course shells, and finally, the snow started falling.

It was the best kind of snow, the kind that falls gently, with no ice, the kind that doesn't take down electric lines or freeze the plumbing.  There were moments throughout the afternoon where I couldn't take my eyes away from the beautiful scenes outside.

Every so often, I walked outside to take a picture.  But I didn't want to linger too much.  I didn't want to spend the snow day in an emergency room because I slipped and broke my wrist.  Happily, it never seemed very slick.

As I was walking back to the house, I was struck by the color of the door and the evergreens growing just off our porch; the picture looks more vivid on my phone:

We made a pot of chili and a cast iron skillet of corn bread and watched a bit of TV.  It was a delightful day.  

This morning, I walked to the street to take another picture. 

We also measured the snow; we only got just over an inch.  I don't know what to expect at this point.  We won't have temperatures above freezing until Monday.  I am not planning to drive anywhere today.  Happily, I don't need to go anywhere.

I did decide that we won't try to make it over the mountain tomorrow for church at Faith Lutheran in Bristol, Tennessee.  I wrote to church leadership suggesting that we cancel activities, but it's up to them.  If they have worship, I'll send the sermon, but I'm recommending that we save everything for next Sunday.