Inkspire and Other Events of the Week

I am tired this morning--it's a good tired because of a more intense week of good stuff, but a good tired is still tired.  Let me collect some fragments before they float away:

--One of my colleagues at Spartanburg Methodist College has been bringing in watermelon from her garden, which seems miraculous to me.  I've never been able to grow the larger, slower produce:  winter gourds/squash or melons.  I've been feasting on melons that someone else has cut up for me--a real treat.

--I was asked to be part of the search committee to find a new, full-time Speech hire.  I said yes, and I have no regrets:  as our provost said, it's one of the more important tasks that a college does.  But it will take a lot of time, and just thinking about it makes me tired (in a good way, but still tired).

--I am part of a student's Capstone project, and yesterday was her first event with me as a guest speaker.

It went really well.  It was a small group, but they were attentive.  I decided to talk about blocks and distractions that might keep us from writing and some techniques for dealing with those.  It was nothing earthshattering:  write in smaller increments--10 minutes a day can lead to having 150 to 300 pages in the course of a year.

--I love this broader view picture, the Inkspire event among many other events:

I love being part of a college that has so many events happening.

--Yesterday was a pizza party for Humanities majors, and we got good turnout.  Delightful!  But also tiring.

--In the midst of all of these events yesterday, I was sad to hear about the death of Annie Dillard.  She was not one of my writing/reading touchstones.  I remember a college summer of commuting when I read Pilgrim at Tinker Creek, which I had heard so much about--but I was underwhelmed.  I felt the same way about all of her work, and I feel weird about that, with so many people whom I respect having a different experience.

--It's the time of the school year when I feel like it's getting harder to stay ahead, especially with copying.  In part, it's because I have a lot of competing ideas for my creative writing classes, and all of them seem worthwhile.

When I want to remember why I tend to do the same thing semester after semester in English 101, it's so that I can devote creative energy to other classes.

--The work on the fixer-upper house has felt more intense.  Last Thursday we rented a floor sander, and now the big spaces are done.  Now we need to get the insides of the closets and the edges near the baseboards.  We're renting a different kind of sander today--here's hoping it makes it easier.

Tech Woes, Famous Death Woes

Yesterday was a frustrating day.  On Thursday, I had trouble with the authenticator app that I have to use to get access to my online classes.  On Friday, I had the same trouble, so I thought I'd call the help desk early in the morning before everyone else tried to call.  So, at 4 a.m., I called, and at 5:20, I was able to explain my issue, and a ticket was created.  It left me frazzled all day, and feeling annoyed that I was letting tech troubles get to me.

I thought the problem was solved, but no, this morning, the app is not working again.  Later I will go up the hill to use Lutheridge's wi-fi, to see if the problem is my home wi-fi.  But other than that, I am not going to waste another day on this.

Yesterday afternoon the Crafts for Christmas retreat started.  I haven't had time to make a sample, so I made a small string of bunting.  We ate dinner, and then we did more crafting.  I was feeling tired and still a bit frazzled from the day, so I headed home at 8.  I am sure there were retreat friends that crafted all night.

Yesterday I put together a draft of a sermon.  I was sure it was terrible.  This morning, I read it and thought it wasn't nearly as awful as I worried it was.

Yesterday I had planned to write an appreciation of Gloria Steinhem, who died on Wednesday.  Like others who have died recently, she had a long life; she was 92 when she died.  For many years, I was a subscriber to Ms., the magazine she founded.  In pre-internet years, it was an amazing resource, with more global news than I was getting otherwise, with a wide diversity of alternate visions of what life could be.

This morning, I found out that Cassandra Wilson also died this week. There were several years in the mid to late 90's when I was in love with her voice and her music.  Her version of "Last Train to Clarksville" was revelatory--or so it seemed at the time.

I'm listening to it again as I finish this blog post, and while it may not seem groundbreaking now, it's because so many people have done similar work (taking an old pop standard and making it anew) in the decades since she did it.

I am ready to stop writing tributes--I am hoping for a few weeks with no notable deaths.

Now, let me get ready for another day--creating with friends, one of the best kinds of days!

Farewell, Wendell Berry

I was sad to hear of the death of Wendell Berry on Monday.  But why should I be sad?  He was 92 and had lived a good life, mostly on his own terms, from what I could see.  But the death felt like "one of the greats has left us" moments.  I remember reading him in college, so his writing has been with me a long time.

Back in my undergraduate days,  I felt somewhat embarrassed for liking someone whose work was so accessible.  Now, of course, I think it's one of his more important traits.  Berry's work has seemed vital for decades now.

What I value most these days is his ability to never sink into gloom for too long. He manages to sound prophetic (one of the prophet's duties being to call people back to right living, as well as to warn), without setting up a house in the land of the apocalypse. He always comes back to one of his main themes: ". . . hope is one of our duties. A part of our obligation to our own being and to our descendants is to study our life and our condition, searching always for the authentic underpinnings of hope. And if we look, these underpinnings can still be found. For one thing, though we have caused the earth to be seriously diseased, it is not yet without health. The earth we have before us now is still abounding and beautiful" ("Conservation and Local Economy" from Sex, Economy, Freedom, and Community, page 11).

He wrote those words almost 20 years ago, and yet, they still have relevance.  Some days, when the news seems unrelentingly bad, it's hard to continue to hope.  But it's one of the more important activities we can undertake.

Here's a passage that reminds us of the miracles which surround us each day:  "Whoever really has considered the lilies of the field or the birds of the air and pondered the improbability of their existence in this warm world within the cold and empty stellar distances will hardly balk at the turning of water into wine--which was, after all, a very small miracle. We forget the greater and still continuing miracle by which water (with soil and sunlight) is turned into grapes" ("Christianity and the Survival of Creation" from Sex, Economy, Freedom, and Community, page 103).

That passage made me gasp when I first read it, and it still does.

As I was looking over old blog posts about him, I came across this one that I wrote after reading  Distant Neighbors: The Selected Letters of Wendell Berry & Gary Snyder.  It made me want to read the book again.  It seems a fitting read for this tim of so much loss of greatness.

Farewell, Tim Curry

And now, a day after Dolly Parton's death, comes news of the death of Tim Curry.  Like so many, my earliest memories of Tim Curry are as Dr. Frank-N-Furter in The Rocky Horror Picture Show.  I didn't see that movie until my sophomore year of college, but I was aware of it in high school.

I was a drama club kid, so of course I was aware of the show.  But I was also a teenager with a strict curfew of 11 p.m., so I was not going to midnight movies in high school.  My parents wanted to protect me, and with the wisdom that comes with age, I'm grateful that they were paying attention.

When I finally saw the movie, I was baffled.  And every time I've seen it, I've been baffled.  I've loved the first part of the movie, but then it all falls apart once the butchery begins.  In later years, the "seduction" scenes leave me feeling a bit ill--no means no, even if you're needing shelter on a stormy night.

Despite the problems with the movie, Curry's talent shines through.  My favorite role of his was his stint on Roseanne.  Roseanne Barr is now a problematic figure, but that show was boundary breaking in all sorts of ways that don't have much in common with the boundaries that Barr breaks now.

I've seen various articles about the career of Tim Curry, and I'm amazed at what wide range he had.  But really, I shouldn't be amazed.  The two roles that I remember him for show that range:  an outrageous cross-dressing alien and a working class guy dating a mouthy woman (Nancy on Roseanne, played by Sandra Bernhard).

Time is short, and soon I need to open the Faith Center at Lutheridge for the first full day of Quilt Camp, so let me conclude with one of the most quotable lines from The Rocky Horror Picture Show:  "Don't dream it, be it."

Farewell, Dolly Parton

I'm as sad as everyone about the death of Dolly Parton.  Let me record a few thoughts:

--I'm glad that I was a child in the 70's, that my mom listened to A.M. radio, which meant I heard all kinds of music, including Dolly Parton's songs, both old and new.  The radio stations of my childhood played anything, so you could hear a Dolly Parton song, then a Beatles song, then an old Elvis song, sprinkled with modern pop by groups like Bread, the Carpenters, and so on.

Modern algorithms would not have sent Dolly Parton music my way.  But I must confess that it has taken me many decades to appreciate her music, and I still wouldn't choose her music for a long drive or an evening at home.

--I didn't see her acting during my childhood.  I didn't see 9 to 5 until a few years ago.  I did love Steel Magnolias.

--I've never been to Dollywood.  I would go, if I won tickets.

--I'm not an expert on business, but from my outsider view, she seemed to have business smarts that most of us will never possess.  She know how to capitalize on success while always seeming/being sincere in her enthusiasm.  That skill probably can't be taught in Business school.

--In terms of gender and presentation, she always intrigued me.  There have been years when I was frustrated and annoyed by her over the top femaleness.  Let me just be blunt:  the attention to her breasts was so offputting to me.  As I got older, her costumes intrigued me--the woman liked what she liked, and she loved sparkles.  

As I've gotten older, I've been in awe of all the ways she worked the system without losing her soul.  But I've also been sad about how hard it must have been for her, and about how many others did not survive, which wasn't her fault.

And I've been happy about how she blazed a trail for others--and then kept making sure the trail stayed clear (and to stretch the metaphor, she went back and made roads).

--Her songwriting skills -- wow.  I was amazed at how many songs she wrote.  I loved when she was interviewed and would talk about her creative process, about grabbing inspiration when it came and writing it down on scraps of paper, even the barf bag on an airplane.  

--Her musician skills -- wow.  She played with so many people through the years, and the fact that she could do so speaks to her singing skills, her skills on so many instruments, her expansive vision of what music could and should do.

--She didn't always talk openly about her faith.  Sure, she talked about the faith of her childhood.  I'd have liked to have known more about her grown up faith.

--Of course, she showed us that faith by all the people she helped, by the life she lived.

--Her philanthropy has always been what impressed me most about her.  She gave back, above and beyond, in so many ways, and much of what she did, we will never know about.

--And she continued to do good until the very end, in all the ways she was doing good:  music, support of other artists, business, philanthropy.  Her continued vibrance is why so many of us are feeling sad.  

Of Lab Results and Lectures

I didn't write yesterday because I got good lab results and wanted to process a bit in my offline journal--and then it was time for Lutheran Confessions class.  Let me record some thoughts here:

--My lab results show that almost all of my numbers are in a good range.  It's my vitamin D that is a bit low, which is an easy fix.  The results that make me most happy are my liver numbers, which had been drifting up.  I have been very focused in the last year on reducing alcohol intake, and for the last 8 weeks, since Jan. 2, I have had no alcohol.  And this blood work has my liver numbers back down, back in the healthy range.  I am entering the time of life where it seems that no one is getting good medical news, so let me be happy while I can be.

--My Lutheran Confessions class continues to be great.  I am so impressed with how my professor can talk about the Reformation for hours, making it interesting, apparently without much in the way of notes.  There's a PowerPoint, but he's amazing at using the PowerPoint as it should be, as a scaffolding, not as a document to be read out loud in class.

--As I was talking about my professor's skills with my spouse, we reminded ourselves that we have specialties too.  I could talk at great length about any number of poems or short stories, about several periods of literature, particularly British Literature of the Romantic and early Victorian period, and the Modernist time between the two world wars.

--I was sad about the passing of Jeff Galloway, who was a fierce advocate for less fierce running.  He's most famous for advising runners to take walking breaks.  He was also part of the group of runners in the 70's and 80's who went for Long, Slow Distance.  These are ideas that shaped me, that I return to again and again, the idea of meeting your body where you are right now, and that less hard exercise can actually be better.

--I had an idea for my 102 class, which I'll post below.  It took much less class time than I thought, but I decided I was O.K. with that.  I'll also use the assignment as one of the possibilities for Revised Writing 3--the in-class experience can be useful in several ways, so I'm happy about that.

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Making a Modern Case: The Characters from “Antigone”


In our current day, we have a variety of ways of getting information/viewpoints out to larger groups: a State of the Union address or other speeches, a news program interview, a Tik Tok video or other types of social media, a talk show, a podcast, a trial, a creative work (a song, a book, a television show).


In your small group, think about the characters in the play “Antigone” who have a point of view. If the play happened today, what would be the best way of making a case that each character was right and others were wrong.


Choose one character from the list below and choose one way of making a case for that character’s view. Create something that you will present to the class. We don’t have a lot of time, so it won’t be fully formed. You might decide to tell us what you would have created if you had time.


Antigone

Ismene (her sister)

King Creon

Haemon (Creon’s son and Antigone’s fiancé)

The people ruled by Creon

Tuesday Scraps: Texting Mix-ups and Passings and Other Goblins

Yesterday, I was surprised to discover that I hadn't written a morning post for this blog.  On Sunday, I also didn't write a morning post, but that's normal for a Sunday where we leave for Bristol at 7 a.m.  So let me collect some bits and pieces here:

--If you came here looking for a Shrove Tuesday/Mardi Gras post, head over to this post on my theology blog.

--I have been looking at rough drafts, as I've been doing when I don't have a new poem bubbling up.  I am surprised by how many poems came from the bushel of apples I bought in October.  In the future, when I deliberate the wisdom of buying apples in bulk, let me remember how many ways those apples fed me.

--When I heard about the death of Robert Duvall yesterday, I was surprised.  I thought he had already died.  As I've read about his career, again, I was surprised.  I didn't realize he got his start by playing Boo Radley in Too Kill a Mockingbird; I didn't realize he was in the film.  My favorite role of his will always be Gus in Lonesome Dove, but I admire so many others too.  In the past year, we watched Tender Mercies, and wow, what an amazing performance.  The variety of what he was able to do/create/convey across his career is what impresses me most. 

--This morning comes the news of Jesse Jackson's death.  I voted for him in the South Carolina primary in 1988.  It felt like we were on the cusp of something amazing, and that feeling has come and gone several times since.  I would love to feel that feeling again, like we're on the cusp of something amazing which is good, not that dread that we're on the cusp of something amazing that is a threat to our existence.

--I noticed that the daffodil which was about to bloom in the early January warmth did not die in the ice and snow of later weeks--and now, it's in full bloom with a few friends.  It seems like a metaphor, and  it is, but I don't know that I can do anything new with it.

--I have been having SUCH a GREAT time teaching Christina Rossetti's "Goblin Market"--what a perfect poem for teaching (and reading).

--I've been having trouble finding a space in my schedule for a daily walk--it's part scheduling, part the weather which makes me want to stay inside.  Yesterday I took a pair of socks and sneakers to the office, and at 11:00, I set out for a walk around campus.  This solution won't work every MWF, but for the next few weeks, I'll keep the shoes and socks in my office and try to get more walking in during the day.

--Yesterday, my spouse and I had a texting mix-up.  I asked if he had made it to the grocery store to pick up the wine we were bringing to a neighborhood gathering.  He texted back "No but u can."  He meant to text "No but I can."  I texted back, and fumed all the way home.  Happily, the mix up was resolved, but it was easy to see how it could have blown up in all sorts of ways.  Easy and scary.

South Florida Friend, Gone Too Soon

I had the kind of Tuesday afternoon where I did not have a scrap of extra time, between teaching my two classes, getting handouts ready for Wednesday classes, and commuting back to my house in the mountains.  I'm glad that I didn't have time to do internet wandering, so that the bad news could come later in the day, when I could sit and digest it.

I got home to discover that a good friend in South Florida, Stacy Wolfe, had died unexpectedly on Thursday.  She was only 58, and I don't have details about the cause of death.  Her spouse posted on Facebook that she "passed away unexpectedly" which could mean so many things.  I realize that the cause of death really doesn't matter--that's just me, wanting to tell myself that it was a freak occurrence, when the reality is that death is coming for us all and often much too soon.

I met Stacy when I joined the faculty of The Art Institute of Ft. Lauderdale back in 2002.  All of the non-technical faculty shared an office space of cubicles, which was not as grim as it sounds.  She taught a variety of science classes, and I was impressed with how she made the subject come alive for students.  She always organized at least one snorkeling trip per quarter for students, and I was in awe of her ability to coordinate these field trips.

We were also neighborhood friends, eventually moving to the same square mile in the historic district of Hollywood, FL.  It would not have occurred to me that we could afford the house we bought if it hadn't been for other people with similar incomes in our friend group who were doing it.  

We often went for a morning walk, although it could be hard to coordinate walking with our two schedules.  During the pandemic, when our lives changed radically, she and I went for a pre-dawn walk several times a week.  We shared our knowledge about what was happening and what was likely to happen.

We socialized in a variety of settings with a variety of people:  neighbors, scientists, and colleagues from work (and former colleagues, as we started to find other jobs as the robber barons who bought the school started to strip the school and lay off everyone in orchestrated waves).  She was a great dive buddy, always calm and can-do and unfailingly kind.

Those qualities also made her a great friend, one who will be missed by many people, including me.

 

Broken Wiper Motor, Broken Newspaper

Yesterday was a very strange day.  I headed down the mountain to Spartanburg Methodist College, reflecting on the fact that we have yet to have a full week of class meetings this semester.  The gas station a mile from campus had gas for $2.39 a gallon, far cheaper than gas in North Carolina; I amuse myself by keeping track of these differences as I drive between North Carolina and South Carolina and Tennessee each week.

As I drove away from the gas station and waited at the traffic light, I decided to try using the windshield wipers.  They swiped up and stayed there.  Hmm.  I had hopes that it might be an easy fix, turning the car off and on, so I tried it once I got parked at campus.  Nope.  My spouse had hopes that it was a matter of waiting for possibly frozen stuff to thaw, so I a few hours later, I trooped back to the car and tried the wipers again.  Nope.

I decided to hope that the rain in the forecast wouldn't be falling when I drove home, and happily, I caught a break there.  I drove back to Arden, straight to my mechanic, with a windshield that was grimy (lots of snow melt droplets from the road) but navigable.

It was no surprise to learn that I do need a new motor for the windshield wipers.  What was a surprise is that it's hard to find.  My mechanic said, "That's one of the problems with these older cars."  I would have thought a windshield wiper motor was fairly standard, and my car is only 12 years old, a 2014 Prius C.

Earlier in the day, I said that I hoped the motor wouldn't cost thousands of dollars, as recent car repairs have cost me.  But I didn't anticipate that I wouldn't be able to find a motor at all.  And it's possible that the Toyota dealership will be able to supply what the car needs, that the mechanic was just explaining why it took hours for him to call me with a progress report, and perhaps preparing me for the cost to come.

It was also a day where news broke about the layoffs at The Washington Post.  I've been a subscriber for a long time, and before that, The Washington Post was one of the first newspapers, and really, the only newspaper that shaped me, as a writer, as a citizen, as a reader/thinker.  This batch of layoffs is not the first.  The paper is a shadow of its former glory.  But I'm no longer sure it's worth what I pay for it, and I think I'm still getting an educator discount rate.  

When my credit card was compromised, I had to update various automated bills, and The Washington Post was one of them.  I was surprised by how much I'm paying a month, and now I'll be getting even less.  No Books section?  Really?

I'll wait and see; some of the writers I like are still there.  But still, it's like the difference between seeing through a grimy windshield and a clean one.  For my whole lifetime, The Washington Post helped me see more clearly; I'm not convinced that will still be the case going forward.

Cold Weather, Cozy Evenings, and the Relentless Drip of Bad News

For the past several weeks, I've gotten up on Sunday mornings and studied weather reports.  I've enlarged screens to better study the radar and try to figure out where precipitation is falling.  Last week the forecast was for freezing fog, but we didn't see any impact on road conditions.  

Yesterday I knew we would encounter some precipitation between Arden, NC and Bristol, TN, but I was surprised by how much was falling.  The roads were mostly wet, but at the highest point, there was more snow sticking to the pavement than I expected.  I felt a bit of panic and wondered if we should turn around.  But I also knew that road conditions on the way back were likely to be just fine, and once we headed down the mountain, the road conditions went back to being wet, not white.

To view the recording of yesterday's sermon, head here to my YouTube site.  To read the manuscript, head over to yesterday's blog post.

I'm glad I had a chance to be with the congregation of Faith Lutheran yesterday.  My sermon went well, as did the rest of the service and Confirmation class.  The trip back was fairly easy, and we had a restful end of our Sunday.

We spent the majority of our time watching YouTube videos of Josh Johnson, a comedian whom my spouse first noticed on The Daily Show.  We didn't see any news reports about the death of Rob and Michele Singer Reiner.  I woke up yesterday morning to the news of the shootings at Brown University and Bondi Beach, Australia, but by the end of the day, those shootings were not foremost in my mind.   I can't decide whether or not to be worried about my ability to synthesize the news of shootings and just move on.  I'm not numb, exactly.  I'm certainly not jaded and blasé.   But I am aware that the issue of guns and mass violence is vaster and harder to solve than most people want to think about, and I don't have much in the way of solutions.  I remember a time when there was less regulation of guns and less gun violence at the same time.  I think of my high school in Knoxville, TN, where kids drove to school in trucks that had gun racks with guns in them, and we didn't shoot each other.  So I'm one of those strange people who doesn't think that guns are the problem, but there is some sort of other problem that's rooted in alienation and isolation and lack of rootedness in institutions that keep us from killing each other.

Happily, last night I didn't spend time on those thoughts about gun violence.  

I sorted Christmas fabrics and made another log cabin patch and read a bit of Adam Haslett's Mother and Sons--what a wonderful book!  The 3 books I've read over Christmas break so far (this one, Ian McEwan's What We Can Know, and Joe Mungo Reed's Terrestrial History) bear re-reading, a reading where I'm not racing through the book anxious to know how the plot turns out.

Today I will leave my spouse at home, tending to the pipes for a night, while I go to South Carolina to catch up with some grad school friends.  I'm leaving the computer behind--it's that rare moment when I don't need to monitor classes, plus I'm not going to be gone long.  It will be good to be away from the relentless drips and drumbeat of bad news.

First Week of December Thoughts on Year End Lists and More

I had every intention of writing yesterday; after all, I had a largely unstructured day, since my ear doctor appointment got moved from Tuesday to Monday.   I had every intention of walking too.  

And how did my day get away from me?  I should be more specific--my mornings are the times when I have plans for getting things done.  Yesterday I started baking because we had the idea of sending a care package to a nephew who is studying for final exams.  I kept baking, and when my spouse was at the dentist, I wanted to enjoy having the house to myself, so I didn't go for a walk.  I was making progress on the endless grading that is constant at the end of the term, so I kept going.

By later in the day, after I got back from the post office and the library, it was windy, so I decided to hunker down, watch T.V., and sew some quilt squares.

Let me record some thoughts from the past few days:

--I was sad to hear about the death of Tom Stoppard and astonished to realize that he was 88 years old.  I had forgotten that he wrote the screenplay to Shakespeare in Love.  If I ever get to teach the Brit Lit survey class again, I'll end by having us watch that movie in its entirety.  It's an interesting counterpoint to Waiting for Godot--in some sense, it's in the absurdist line of theatre, but it's also different in ways that make sense as a way to close the course.  It looks both forward and backward, and it's a work from 1999, which gets me closer to the 21st century than I got this year, when I ended with Waiting for Godot.  I feel vaguely guilty for ending the course in the 1950's, and showing a film that features a Stoppard screenplay would alleviate my guilt.

--I went to the post office yesterday expecting a big crowd--it is early December, after all.  Happily there was only one person already at the counter and then me in line.  I bought some holiday stamps, even though I already have plenty of stamps.  I thought of my grandfather, my mom's dad, who collected stamps and taught me how to do it.  I wondered if anyone still collects stamps.

--We've been binge watching NYPD Blue.  I am using the term binge watching perhaps differently than some do, especially when talking about a series that lasted from 1993 until 2005.  It's a show we return to, but it's easy to dip in and out.  There are enough story lines that go across episodes that make me want to return to it.  It's well written and well acted, and it seems as worthy of attention as any of the "prestige TV" shows that aired on HBO in the past decades.  I watched it for a few years when it first aired, but I don't remember much of it.  Because it was a weekly show that was on the air for so long, there's a lot to watch, and we are watching it on a channel that just runs the show, episode after episode, so we can't pause the series.

--I am looking at a variety of year-end Best of _____ lists.  I'm no longer surprised when I haven't heard of most of the movies on the list.  But this year I'm surprised how few of the books crossed my radar screen until landing on the year end list.  And many of the ones that are on the list that I've heard of are ones I didn't like.  Hmm.

--Yesterday I took our Thanksgiving hambone and turned it into a pot of bean soup--what alchemy!  For decades when I cooked vegetarian beans, there would always be someone who asked what gave them flavor without the pork.  I never understood the question until a few years ago when I got to take the hambone home.

Autumn Passings, Autumn Sketching, Autumn Cooking

We have had a stretch of gorgeous days, the perfect autumnal kind of perfect day:  sunny and warm, but not hot, not humid, no hint of rain.  Some days, the breeziness has made it almost uncomfortable, and I do worry about the lack of rain.  We have so much combustible material in the mountains, even before the remnants of Hurricane Helene came through, that I'm much more comfortable if we have rain every few days.  

Let me capture some of the past week in the form of snippets and scraps:

--I made some pumpkin butter, an experimental kind.  I opened a can of pumpkin and put about 1/3 of it into a greased ceramic apple baker.  I stirred in some of my homemade pumpkin spice mix and tasted it--oh, right, I remember, pumpkin butter requires some sugar.  I stirred that in and let the mixture bake as I was toasting some of the rugged bread that I got as a day old special from a local bakery.  Delicious!

--That left me with part of a can of pumpkin, so last night, I made the pumpkin bread dough that this morning I made into pumpkin cinnamon rolls--delicious!

--I have been sad about how many female greats have died in the past few weeks:  ecofeminist writer Susan Griffin, actress Diane Keaton, NPR great Susan Stamberg, and perhaps feminist theologian Phyllis Trible.  I am grateful for their lives and work.  I am glad that they lived long lives.  I wish we could have had them with us for a bit longer.

--I have been doing more sketching in the evening.  

A few years ago, I was happy with the pumpkins I was sketching.  This year, I've been feeling like I lost that skill.  So I've been focused the last few nights, and I've actually used my phone to watch a short tutorial or two to remind me how to do it.

What this blog post doesn't capture is the page after page of sketches that didn't come together.

But this morning, as I saw last night's sketch, I felt happy.

--This week-end is Chili Fest at the church I serve in Bristol, TN.  Last year we went; we had non-refundable hotel reservations, so we made the 5 hour trip.  The trip usually takes just under 2 hours, but a year ago, every road that went directly across the mountains had a closed portion.  The only way to go was west across I 40, north up I 77, and east on I 81.

--I'm so glad that we have survived to see a different autumn.  It's not as blazingly gorgeous as the autumn of 2022, but it has its own beauty nonetheless.

Churchwide Assemblies and Random Lines/Snippets

In later years, when I try to remember why I wasn't blogging quite as regularly in the summer of 2025, let me remember several things:  I had to be at the hospital, ready for morning huddle, at 8 a.m. each week day.  There were mornings I just ran out of time.  I was doing more writing in my offline journal.  There were more parts of my life that needed to be offline.

Let me capture a few bits this morning:

--Last week seemed one of those weeks of significant deaths:  Malcolm-Jamal Warner, Ozzy Ozbourne, Chuck Mangione, Hulk Hogan, and Tom Lehrer.  I'm not sure that I would have written a whole blog post about any one of them, even if I had more blogging time, but each one seemed significant as I heard it on the news on the way to and from work.

--This week I have been thinking about pneumonia.  Happily not my own case.  I always think of pneumonia as the disease that happens as something minor, like a cold, worsens.  Is that always the case?  Can pneumonia develop quickly?

--I am thinking back to high school when a student would get "walking pneumonia" and have to be on bed rest.  I remember being envious of being ordered home to rest.

--I have been paying attention to the Churchwide Assembly happening in Phoenix this week, with the election of presiding bishop, which is a bishop for the national church.  I think of myself as having several bishops.  I am a candidate for ordination through the Florida-Bahamas synod, I live in the North Carolina synod, and the church where I am a Synod Appointed Minister is in the Southeastern Synod.  Kevin Strickland, bishop of the Southeastern Synod, has made it through 2 rounds of elections for bishop.  Today, the top seven (which includes Bishop Strickland) make speeches and go through more voting.  I have known Bishop Strickland since the days when he was a pastor:  we are Create-in-Me retreat friends, and we went to the same undergraduate school, Newberry College, although we weren't there at the same time.

--Churchwide Assembly has been talking about the Nicene Creed and about the "filioque" which is a term obscure to non-church history folks.  I love church history and can scarcely understand why we're still talking about this.  But I do understand that it matters in terms of repairing schism.

--In a week of Churchwide Assembly considering the "filioque" and voting for bishop of the ELCA means there's lots of discussion of the Holy Spirit.  I have been thinking of a poem or perhaps a work of theology that talks about the Holy Spirit as the one who wreaks havoc--it might be good havoc, but it's the kind of thing that can leave ruins in its wake, Holy Spirit as disruptor.  We often think we would like that, but we often fail to consider how changed the landscape would be.

--In terms of the Holy Trinity, I've often thought of the Son/Redeemer in the role of disruptor, the one who goes his own way, the one the angels shake their heads over.

--Another theological idea I want to capture:  last week I talked about seeing the world through God-shaped glasses, which is a way of talking about training ourselves to see the world as God does, to be drenched in love for the world, the way that God is.

--As I've been moving through the summer, I've been noticing interesting tattoos.  One man had bear paw prints (or was it a big cat of some sort?) across the back of one calf.  Another man has a very realistic depiction of a tomato plant on his upper arm.  I saw a woman with all sorts of anemone shells on her forearm.  Is there a poem in all these images?

--I have never gotten a tattoo for many reasons, mainly because of pain avoidance.  But also, I can't think of an image that I want to have on my body forever.

--I am thinking of my sketches, how a random collection of lines drawn one day can become trees or women dancing or mountains or test tubes bubbling the next day.  I'm wondering if that idea could become something for the classroom.  One collection of lines, drawn by me, and everyone gets the same sheet.  What do they create?  And how can we write about it?

Well, my morning writing time comes to an end, the way it always does.  Let me go for my walk.  A month ago, when I left the house at 6 a.m., it was already light enough to see.  Now it is not.  The season is shifting, for those awake to see.

Artifacts from a Different Media Age

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

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

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

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

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

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

Friday Retrospective

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

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

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

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

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

--unfinished post--

Prophetic Imaginations, Past and Present

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

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

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

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

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

Sorting Sadness, Sorting Happiness

I have a few weeks here as late May turns into early June, an in-between time, in the space between heavier schedules.  I've been trying to do some sorting:  clothes, books, paperwork.  I've been trying not to feel sadness or despair.

For example, as I've sorted through the books, I'm sad at the money spent, at the books that weren't very useful.  Most of the books were for seminary classes, and I always made the decision just to buy the books required for each class, to buy them in advance so that I would have them.  I've been in school (taking classes and/or teaching) for many decades, so I know that often required books will not really be required.  I'm a good student, so I know that I could probably find the books in the library.  But it seemed easier to buy them so that I could be sure I would have them--even though I knew when I bought them that I might not need them.

I'm glad to have been able to support the authors and the publishers.  But most of the books that I'm taking to donate to the public library will not be books I'll ever look at again, no matter how well they were written.

Of course, the same might be true of many of the books I've kept through the years.  Some books I keep because they remind me of an important time in my life.  Some books I keep because I worry that they may vanish otherwise--that I'll need the book and won't be able to find it in the library once they aren't available to purchase.

I've been rereading some of the novels I've loved most in the evening just before I go to bed.  I'm usually tired, so I usually don't read more than a few pages.  Gone are the days of my youth when I would stay up long after bedtime, reading with a flashlight.  I love reading a beloved novel from my younger years because I can hold the narrative thread in my head for weeks at a time; I can read a few pages a day and not get lost.  Currently, I'm working my way through Gail Godwin:  Father Melancholy's Daughter, which I intended to read during the liturgical season of Lent, but it stretched on, and now, The Good Husband.

As I was sorting yesterday, I took some online reading breaks, and I was saddened to hear about the death of Susan Brownmiller, author of Against Our Will:  Men, Women, and Rape.  She was 90 years old, a sobering realization.  In my mind, all the classic authors of that feminist era are still in their 30's and 40's.  I am old enough to remember a time when people didn't take the issue of rape seriously and when we didn't think about issues of consent.  I'm glad those times have gone, even though I do realize we're still very far away from a yet-to-be-created world when people are safe from sexual violence.

Sorting often sends me down other memory lanes.  Yesterday I came across an envelope of work-related phone numbers from the last college in South Florida where I worked as an administrator.  I used to write important numbers on a sticky note, and then I'd stick the note in an envelope so I would know where it was.  Yes, most people would outsource this task to a phone, but I didn't have that kind of smart phone until we moved to North Carolina.  When I left that job, I took the envelope of phone numbers with me.  Even then, I didn't really think I would ever need them again, but still, one never knows.  

And now the school has closed; many of the phone numbers in the envelope no longer exist.  I took a moment to feel a bit of sadness before tossing the envelope into the recycling bin.  I thought of all the names connected to the phone numbers in the envelope.  I hope those people have gone on to something that soothes their souls, as I have.

As I sort, I feel a wistful happiness.  I think of all the moves that have brought me here.  I think of the fact that I am happy to be here, right where I am, which is a situation/feeling which has not been common for me (and which may explain all the books).

Reweaving My Frazzled Threads

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.  

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.