"Next time you are tempted to be away for ten days, then preach, then come back in the office for four days, then go away again, then come back to preach: don't. Something will fall through the crack. Probably you."
Thus endeth the lesson.
As you were.
Showing posts with label Midlife Madness. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Midlife Madness. Show all posts
Thursday, August 21, 2008
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
Needs v Wants
I was confiding to someone recently that I wasn't sure that St Stoic really needs a full time pastor. Yes, they are of the demographic and size and economic status of churches in the area with full time professional clergy, but is that in itself a good reason to have one? Could they do just as well with a half-time pulpit supply who would do the visiting and moderate session?
Let me be up front with you: I generally believe that my purpose here is to work myself out of a job, by helping the membership and the community to be equipped for ministry themselves, and then to move out of the way so that the next pastor can do whatever God has in store for them next.
I wonder sometimes if we self perpetuate the co-dependent model (as I'm pretty sure my predecessor did) because it feels so darn good to be needed by so many people. I've seen the dreamy-eyed puppy love faces they still make when they talk about him. I think that is pretty common when a much beloved pastor with a 40 year tenure retires and then stays in close contact with the congregation, through movie dates and standing Friday night fish fry plans, and house sitting for months at a time for vacationing (former) parishioners.
But I really don't think this is envy or jealousy on my part. It was at the first, perhaps, but not any more. This is me considering how I am or should be .
I do know that they want a full-time person around here, partly because the churches all around (even the smaller ones) have one, and partly because they are tired enough from the four years without a pastor that they want me to do pretty much everything. They want me to be the cheerleader, the billboard, the evangelizer, the organizer, the missionary, the visionary. (But only if I really want to. And am willing to do all the work necessary. Staying exactly as they are would be okay too.) That would be what they would consider getting their money's worth. To be sure, a portion of what they want is definitely within my expertise and is my responsibility. But I'm not sure that coasting along, doing what I'm doing is fulfilling anymore. Do they deserve someone who can bring more excitement to the table about VBS, parking lot expansions, food-service fund-raisers, and fish fries than I can?
So when I rather wistfully confided in my friend recently, I guess I was asking "permission" to dream about the kind of place, the kind of call, where I felt I would fulfill what Buechner said about the world's deep need and my passion colliding. My friend's reaction took me by surprise.
Essentially, my friend told me that the church I dream about doesn't exist. Even though I hadn't really described it. In so many words, my friend encouraged me to stick it out where I am and find other ways to fill the needs for being spiritually fed and feeling worthwhile. I was encouraged to take advantage of the fact that I have some flexibility here as far as how I use my time, and to stay connected in the work in the larger church that brings me profound joy.
There. I said it. Joy.
Recently another person mentioned to me how my face lights up like a Christmas tree when I talk about some of the things outside the local church--and in the wider church-- that I am involved in. But not so much when I talk about the church I serve, even if things are fairly even keel here. When I told this to my friend, the message back was very clearly "Feel lucky you have a job in a community where you actually want to live with your family, and 'buck up' about the rest." The whole thing left me rather frustrated and sad.
I'm distracted by that today.
Let me be up front with you: I generally believe that my purpose here is to work myself out of a job, by helping the membership and the community to be equipped for ministry themselves, and then to move out of the way so that the next pastor can do whatever God has in store for them next.
I wonder sometimes if we self perpetuate the co-dependent model (as I'm pretty sure my predecessor did) because it feels so darn good to be needed by so many people. I've seen the dreamy-eyed puppy love faces they still make when they talk about him. I think that is pretty common when a much beloved pastor with a 40 year tenure retires and then stays in close contact with the congregation, through movie dates and standing Friday night fish fry plans, and house sitting for months at a time for vacationing (former) parishioners.
But I really don't think this is envy or jealousy on my part. It was at the first, perhaps, but not any more. This is me considering how I am or should be .
I do know that they want a full-time person around here, partly because the churches all around (even the smaller ones) have one, and partly because they are tired enough from the four years without a pastor that they want me to do pretty much everything. They want me to be the cheerleader, the billboard, the evangelizer, the organizer, the missionary, the visionary. (But only if I really want to. And am willing to do all the work necessary. Staying exactly as they are would be okay too.) That would be what they would consider getting their money's worth. To be sure, a portion of what they want is definitely within my expertise and is my responsibility. But I'm not sure that coasting along, doing what I'm doing is fulfilling anymore. Do they deserve someone who can bring more excitement to the table about VBS, parking lot expansions, food-service fund-raisers, and fish fries than I can?
So when I rather wistfully confided in my friend recently, I guess I was asking "permission" to dream about the kind of place, the kind of call, where I felt I would fulfill what Buechner said about the world's deep need and my passion colliding. My friend's reaction took me by surprise.
Essentially, my friend told me that the church I dream about doesn't exist. Even though I hadn't really described it. In so many words, my friend encouraged me to stick it out where I am and find other ways to fill the needs for being spiritually fed and feeling worthwhile. I was encouraged to take advantage of the fact that I have some flexibility here as far as how I use my time, and to stay connected in the work in the larger church that brings me profound joy.
There. I said it. Joy.
Recently another person mentioned to me how my face lights up like a Christmas tree when I talk about some of the things outside the local church--and in the wider church-- that I am involved in. But not so much when I talk about the church I serve, even if things are fairly even keel here. When I told this to my friend, the message back was very clearly "Feel lucky you have a job in a community where you actually want to live with your family, and 'buck up' about the rest." The whole thing left me rather frustrated and sad.
I'm distracted by that today.
Saturday, August 16, 2008
Just call him Cap'n Blue Eyes
Spouse (Blue Eyes) got his private pilot's license today. It looks rather like a receipt from the dog groomer or some such sundry print-out.
But he's legal in all 50 states.
That's one off his bucket list.
But he's legal in all 50 states.
That's one off his bucket list.
Thursday, August 14, 2008
This is gonna hurt.
I saw a dentist today. He is the dentist my spouse saw religiously during Snow Belt Adventure, Part the First. (The 13 years we lived here before Californication.)
I explained my previous adventure in dentistry, trying hard not to slam the other dentist too badly, and taking responsibility for my serious lapse in judgment in not taking care of this problem tooth the first fifteen times it bothered me. He listened intently, asked a few clarifying questions, then like a mind reader told me what was probably wrong with my tooth and my jaw, and all the other parts of my my mouth, all before he had even had me say "Ah."
He then outlined the treatment options that would be available to me, using words like "extraction", "bone graft", and "implant" (not of the silicone variety). Basically, in so many words, my stubbornness and overall general chicken-sh*tedness is going to cost me hours in the chair, six months of treatment, and two-and-a-half months of mortgage payments, until insurance kicks in.
I started to cry, right there in his fancy octagonal, feng shui conference room. I was upset at my own stupidity and short sightedness. And...he didn't try to make me feel worse. He adopted a "it is what it is" attitude about the whole thing, reminding me how lucky we were to have modern techniques at our disposal. And he gave me some tools to help me through the anxiety I am going to experience over the next six months.
It's gonna hurt. And then its going to be better.
I explained my previous adventure in dentistry, trying hard not to slam the other dentist too badly, and taking responsibility for my serious lapse in judgment in not taking care of this problem tooth the first fifteen times it bothered me. He listened intently, asked a few clarifying questions, then like a mind reader told me what was probably wrong with my tooth and my jaw, and all the other parts of my my mouth, all before he had even had me say "Ah."
He then outlined the treatment options that would be available to me, using words like "extraction", "bone graft", and "implant" (not of the silicone variety). Basically, in so many words, my stubbornness and overall general chicken-sh*tedness is going to cost me hours in the chair, six months of treatment, and two-and-a-half months of mortgage payments, until insurance kicks in.
I started to cry, right there in his fancy octagonal, feng shui conference room. I was upset at my own stupidity and short sightedness. And...he didn't try to make me feel worse. He adopted a "it is what it is" attitude about the whole thing, reminding me how lucky we were to have modern techniques at our disposal. And he gave me some tools to help me through the anxiety I am going to experience over the next six months.
It's gonna hurt. And then its going to be better.
Sunday, August 10, 2008
Back home again...
in Indiana.
Being back in my little hometown always changes me somehow. But mostly it reminds me how glad I am that I left. I would never have survived living here as an adult.
Never.
Back to snow belt tomorrow night, then on a plane to Synod-City very early Tuesday morning.
That's more like it.
Being back in my little hometown always changes me somehow. But mostly it reminds me how glad I am that I left. I would never have survived living here as an adult.
Never.
Back to snow belt tomorrow night, then on a plane to Synod-City very early Tuesday morning.
That's more like it.
Thursday, August 07, 2008
To No.4
Okay. You have decided to Joe Montana the end of your career. Okay. Whatever. If it really truly is for the love of the game, then Godspeed. If it is spite, then do you really think you will get the adulation you want wearing anything other than the green and cheese?
Don't kid yourself.
Oh, and to all those self-proclaimed SuperFans out there: Give Rodgers a break. None of this is his fault, and he has so far conducted himself with maturity and grace while trying to do an impossible job. If you're a Packers fan, be a Packers fan. If you're a Brett fan, good luck. Try wearing that jersey around here and not getting a bratwurst thrown at you. With extra kraut.
Don't kid yourself.
Oh, and to all those self-proclaimed SuperFans out there: Give Rodgers a break. None of this is his fault, and he has so far conducted himself with maturity and grace while trying to do an impossible job. If you're a Packers fan, be a Packers fan. If you're a Brett fan, good luck. Try wearing that jersey around here and not getting a bratwurst thrown at you. With extra kraut.
Monday, August 04, 2008
Return of the Meat Truck
What follows in italics is an archived post from my old blog (no longer in service). It is from almost exactly two years ago:
While I was on my way back from Church Camp For Grownups (and kids) yesterday, when we were about to approach Hiptastic Capitol City, I called home to give an ETA to my waiting family. The following conversation took place:
Other Equal Half: "Guess what I just did?"
Me: "I can't guess. What did you just do?"
OEH: "A guy came through the neighborhood with a truck selling meat. I bought some."
Me: "I'm sorry, I must have lost the signal for a second there. What did you say?"
OEH: "I said I just bought some meat from a guy with a truck."
Me: (Fighting off a mental picture of a guy in a trenchcoat driving a rusty flatbed) "You bought meat from a guy in a truck????? Ha ha. Very funny."
OEH: "No really. I did."
Me: "How much truck meat did you buy?"(laughter in the background, as my traveling companion cannot resist listening in)
OEH: "$167 worth."
Me: "Let me get this straight. A guy drives in to Lake Park with a truck, hauling meat, and you spend a whole week of grocery money on it. Truck meat???? You expect me to eat meat from a truck???"
OEH goes one to explain that it was a refrigerated truck, individually frozen meat, and there was a glossy, full-color brochure from the company, should we run out of truck meat and need to order more.
He did go on to mention that the peculiar thing to him was that the man asked him to write the check not to the company, but to him personally.
Me: "Gee, I hope the meat isn't stolen. Check CNN for an APB for stolen meat, and a guy posing as a truck meat salesman."
OEH: "Are you making fun of me?"
For dinner tonight: bacon-wrapped trucksteaks. I'll let you know how they taste.
I am repeating this little gem because my doorbell rang ten minutes ago, and I looked out to find the MEAT TRUCK parked in my driveway. When I recovered from my spastic laughing fit, I called Spouse to tell him:
CH: Guess who just came to my door?
SP: I don't know, who?
CH: The TRUCK MEAT man.
SP: You didn't buy any, did you?
CH: Are you kidding me?
SP: I hope not. I just ate the last trucksteak last week.
CH: OMG! That stuff is two years old!!!!!
Sp: It was a little chewy, now that I think about it...
While I was on my way back from Church Camp For Grownups (and kids) yesterday, when we were about to approach Hiptastic Capitol City, I called home to give an ETA to my waiting family. The following conversation took place:
Other Equal Half: "Guess what I just did?"
Me: "I can't guess. What did you just do?"
OEH: "A guy came through the neighborhood with a truck selling meat. I bought some."
Me: "I'm sorry, I must have lost the signal for a second there. What did you say?"
OEH: "I said I just bought some meat from a guy with a truck."
Me: (Fighting off a mental picture of a guy in a trenchcoat driving a rusty flatbed) "You bought meat from a guy in a truck????? Ha ha. Very funny."
OEH: "No really. I did."
Me: "How much truck meat did you buy?"(laughter in the background, as my traveling companion cannot resist listening in)
OEH: "$167 worth."
Me: "Let me get this straight. A guy drives in to Lake Park with a truck, hauling meat, and you spend a whole week of grocery money on it. Truck meat???? You expect me to eat meat from a truck???"
OEH goes one to explain that it was a refrigerated truck, individually frozen meat, and there was a glossy, full-color brochure from the company, should we run out of truck meat and need to order more.
He did go on to mention that the peculiar thing to him was that the man asked him to write the check not to the company, but to him personally.
Me: "Gee, I hope the meat isn't stolen. Check CNN for an APB for stolen meat, and a guy posing as a truck meat salesman."
OEH: "Are you making fun of me?"
For dinner tonight: bacon-wrapped trucksteaks. I'll let you know how they taste.
I am repeating this little gem because my doorbell rang ten minutes ago, and I looked out to find the MEAT TRUCK parked in my driveway. When I recovered from my spastic laughing fit, I called Spouse to tell him:
CH: Guess who just came to my door?
SP: I don't know, who?
CH: The TRUCK MEAT man.
SP: You didn't buy any, did you?
CH: Are you kidding me?
SP: I hope not. I just ate the last trucksteak last week.
CH: OMG! That stuff is two years old!!!!!
Sp: It was a little chewy, now that I think about it...
Sunday, August 03, 2008
Dark, Dark Knight
I saw "Dark Knight" today, since I had not been to a movie with Spouse in a ridiculously long time. It is not the kind of movie I like, but sometimes to make another person happy you do things that are not your first choice.
Heath Ledger is scary. crazy. in this movie. I am very sad that he is not alive to see how people react to his work. What a waste. I was sad just watching him. Really.
Spouse agrees with me that the ratio of "stuff gettin' blowed up" to actual plot is so skewed, that now he must see "Sex and The City" with me AND one period movie about a dead woman author.
That'll teach him.
Heath Ledger is scary. crazy. in this movie. I am very sad that he is not alive to see how people react to his work. What a waste. I was sad just watching him. Really.
Spouse agrees with me that the ratio of "stuff gettin' blowed up" to actual plot is so skewed, that now he must see "Sex and The City" with me AND one period movie about a dead woman author.
That'll teach him.
Is it August yet?
Picture a couple of cranky kids in the back seat of a car asking "Are we there yet?" over and over. Yeah. That's how I feel.
I don't know how exactly it worked out this way, but I did not have any time off yet this summer. I will take this coming weekend off, making it a long weekend, then I will be leaving on August 12 to go do some Synod stuff for three days, then I will come back and have to be at our all day Art Fair on the 16th, then preach the next day. So, basically, it I am smart at all I will write the sermon for Aug 17 sometime this week. And pray nobody dies.
And I think history has shown that I'm not even as smart as I look.
Of course, I do have a lovely four days in New York to look forward to at the end of the month. If I can hang in there until then.
Some churches spend August "getting ready for the program year", but our church does not have a lot of programs. We have a handful of kids in Sunday School, and the choir starts up about mid-September. That's about it. I am planning some Adult Christian Ed classes, and I'm waiting to hear back from Confirmation families to see if we'll be having that this year. That's not something that takes weeks and weeks of planning.
Our huge fund-raisers are in the summer, and about 25% of the active portion of our congregation migrates to warmer climates by November, and stays there until March/April. So we have pretty good attendance September-November and April-June. The rest of the year, there's not much point in scheduling anything. Either people are traveling/staying at their vacation house, or they will not drive because it is too dark/too cold/too icy.
So, why am I so tired?
I don't know how exactly it worked out this way, but I did not have any time off yet this summer. I will take this coming weekend off, making it a long weekend, then I will be leaving on August 12 to go do some Synod stuff for three days, then I will come back and have to be at our all day Art Fair on the 16th, then preach the next day. So, basically, it I am smart at all I will write the sermon for Aug 17 sometime this week. And pray nobody dies.
And I think history has shown that I'm not even as smart as I look.
Of course, I do have a lovely four days in New York to look forward to at the end of the month. If I can hang in there until then.
Some churches spend August "getting ready for the program year", but our church does not have a lot of programs. We have a handful of kids in Sunday School, and the choir starts up about mid-September. That's about it. I am planning some Adult Christian Ed classes, and I'm waiting to hear back from Confirmation families to see if we'll be having that this year. That's not something that takes weeks and weeks of planning.
Our huge fund-raisers are in the summer, and about 25% of the active portion of our congregation migrates to warmer climates by November, and stays there until March/April. So we have pretty good attendance September-November and April-June. The rest of the year, there's not much point in scheduling anything. Either people are traveling/staying at their vacation house, or they will not drive because it is too dark/too cold/too icy.
So, why am I so tired?
Saturday, August 02, 2008
Procrastination, thy name is blogger
I'm being really cranky today about it being August and I've only had 2 Sundays off in 2008. That's going to change next week, but it doesn't seem soon enough. Plus August is packed--packed I tell you, Sunday off or no Sunday off. So I'm a little Gripey McCrankypants today.
Sermon? I got nothin'. Add to that my Imploding ManChild Situation, and the fact that all my Spouse can talk about is airplanes, airplanes, airplanes, all the live-long day.
Blech...
So I'm cheering myself up by admiring WonderGirl's rockin' new short hair, and looking at the pictures she took from the Music Festival Named After What Happens When You Are Too Exposed To The Elements yesterday. (Hint: those of you who are my facebook friends, can look up WG's profile picture if you know her real name, and the real name of Pretentious Village, and see her 'do plus her musical hero.)
Yesterday I cleaned out the hall coat closet. It is a thing of beauty. In it I also found three things that needed to be returned because of wrong size ordered. I took care of those errands yesterday, so that felt good. Wish there was a sermon in that...
Crankily Yours,
Cheese
Sermon? I got nothin'. Add to that my Imploding ManChild Situation, and the fact that all my Spouse can talk about is airplanes, airplanes, airplanes, all the live-long day.
Blech...
So I'm cheering myself up by admiring WonderGirl's rockin' new short hair, and looking at the pictures she took from the Music Festival Named After What Happens When You Are Too Exposed To The Elements yesterday. (Hint: those of you who are my facebook friends, can look up WG's profile picture if you know her real name, and the real name of Pretentious Village, and see her 'do plus her musical hero.)
Yesterday I cleaned out the hall coat closet. It is a thing of beauty. In it I also found three things that needed to be returned because of wrong size ordered. I took care of those errands yesterday, so that felt good. Wish there was a sermon in that...
Crankily Yours,
Cheese
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
About that day with my MIL...
Remember: it's complicated.
But when things imploded with my son, I knew that there was one person in the room who knew how I felt, because she had been there, done that with my spouse's youngest sibling. Even her husband, not the most touchy-feely person in the world, refrained from giving advice, but looked at me with concern and genuine compassion while things around me unraveled for (what seems like) the billionth time in my son's life.
I spent the afternoon taking with her, just she and I while her husband napped on the couch and mine spent three hours in an airplane. It was the longest conversation we had had with each other in twenty-seven years. Twenty-seven years. Then WonderGirl came home from work and she joined us in the living room, and the laughter started. I don't think my MIL appreciated ever before how hilarious my daughter is, or how very funny we are together. I don't remember ever, in twenty seven years, seeing my MIL and her only daughter ever sharing a laugh.
When my daughter walked upstairs to change out of her uniform, the look on my MIL's face had changed from one of pity to one of admiration, with the tiniest tinge of envy.
But when things imploded with my son, I knew that there was one person in the room who knew how I felt, because she had been there, done that with my spouse's youngest sibling. Even her husband, not the most touchy-feely person in the world, refrained from giving advice, but looked at me with concern and genuine compassion while things around me unraveled for (what seems like) the billionth time in my son's life.
I spent the afternoon taking with her, just she and I while her husband napped on the couch and mine spent three hours in an airplane. It was the longest conversation we had had with each other in twenty-seven years. Twenty-seven years. Then WonderGirl came home from work and she joined us in the living room, and the laughter started. I don't think my MIL appreciated ever before how hilarious my daughter is, or how very funny we are together. I don't remember ever, in twenty seven years, seeing my MIL and her only daughter ever sharing a laugh.
When my daughter walked upstairs to change out of her uniform, the look on my MIL's face had changed from one of pity to one of admiration, with the tiniest tinge of envy.
Saturday, July 26, 2008
Making an appearance at the library
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I went to the library today. Let me say right off the bat that I am a bad library patron. At least, according to the cranky librarians here I am. I return books late. Pretty frequently.
I returned a couple of books late a few weeks ago, and knew that I faced a fine today when I checked my books out. I had my money out, ready to pay. As usual, the cranky librarian (How can somebody be that glum when they work in a giant room full of books? I mean, it might as well be a candy store, or Disneyland.) got the crankiest look on her face, and took a deep breath to start in on her speech about what a scourge to the community I am. I cut her off before she could launch:
Me: "Ma'am? I will double my fine and give the extra money to the library as a donation if you can just not scold me today. I'm serious. I'm sorry that I returned the books late, but can I just take my consequences?"
Her: "Are you serious?"
Me. "Yes."
Her: "Your fine is $6.45."
Me: "Here is $13.00. Consider the rest a donation."
The person in line behind me just stood there, slack-jawed.
Victory!
Friday, July 25, 2008
Retail Therapy
Fully recovered form yesterday's Ocular Migraine, which for the first time ever morphed into a real, live headache that lasted until about 2:00 am this morning, despite mucho Aleve, (I think it might qualify as a traditional migraine. Crap.) I went out to day for some "therapeutic retail" as my gay boyfriend loves for me to describe it.
There is a shopping center here that has our only Trader Joe's. I seldom go there, but I am not sure why. While there I wandered over to the Big and 'Noxious book store, and was looking in the " "home organization" section. I noticed that the "reduce/reuse/recycle--but don't throw anything out" books are crammed right up against the "throw out all your crap and free up your life" volumes. I couldn't decide between the two, so I think I'll see what the Pretentious Village Libarry has instead. It seemed silly to BUY a book to tell me how to do either of those things. I gave up, took myself to lunch, then wandered over to TJ's and bought myself some flowers. Along with some other yummy treats.
Bonus Conversation at the check out:
Young hip, facially pierced Clerk Boy to Bagger Girl: "Did you know that the Little Bears (baseball team south of here) have a song that they play whenever they win?" (He's obviously a LB fan, but there's no accounting for taste.)
Cheesehead to no one in particular: ::Snort:: "Too bad they hardly ever get to play it."
Bagger Girl to Cheesehead (once she catches up): "Snarky! I like it!"
Clerk Boy: "Hey! Juicy Fruit Field is special. Don't be a hater."
Cheesehead, both chastened and oddly flattered that the Pierced One uses "hater" with her, despite her clearly being an old lady, picks up her grocery bags and smiles as she walks past cases of Three Buck Chuck, and out into the warmth of the day.
And Scene!
There is a shopping center here that has our only Trader Joe's. I seldom go there, but I am not sure why. While there I wandered over to the Big and 'Noxious book store, and was looking in the " "home organization" section. I noticed that the "reduce/reuse/recycle--but don't throw anything out" books are crammed right up against the "throw out all your crap and free up your life" volumes. I couldn't decide between the two, so I think I'll see what the Pretentious Village Libarry has instead. It seemed silly to BUY a book to tell me how to do either of those things. I gave up, took myself to lunch, then wandered over to TJ's and bought myself some flowers. Along with some other yummy treats.
Bonus Conversation at the check out:
Young hip, facially pierced Clerk Boy to Bagger Girl: "Did you know that the Little Bears (baseball team south of here) have a song that they play whenever they win?" (He's obviously a LB fan, but there's no accounting for taste.)
Cheesehead to no one in particular: ::Snort:: "Too bad they hardly ever get to play it."
Bagger Girl to Cheesehead (once she catches up): "Snarky! I like it!"
Clerk Boy: "Hey! Juicy Fruit Field is special. Don't be a hater."
Cheesehead, both chastened and oddly flattered that the Pierced One uses "hater" with her, despite her clearly being an old lady, picks up her grocery bags and smiles as she walks past cases of Three Buck Chuck, and out into the warmth of the day.
And Scene!
Thursday, July 24, 2008
What Condition My Condition Is In
(Anybody else but me remember that song, or am I totally dating myself?)
I have a condition called Ocular Migraine. It is different than your classic migraine in that it usually doesn't hurt, and in my case usually resolves within 30 minutes or so. But they are 30 nauseating, blurry, scary, loss-of-control minutes.
Today I had one while at the hospital visiting a parishioner. I realized as I got off the elevator on the fifth floor that I had suddenly lost my right field of vision. It doesn't go dark; instead it looks like there are white flashing lights on a circle, and then the lights get brighter and bigger, then slide off the field of vision, usually the opposite side of the field than they started.
I can't drive, read, or do anything other than think about how creepy it is, try not to throw up, and wait for it to end. I sat in the hospital cafeteria and waited. Not the best place when a person is trying not to hurl, but there you have it.
Unfortunately, ocular migraine has one effect that is similar to the headache kind: I am completely wiped out after one is done. Utterly. I am sitting in my comfy chair typing this, and then I am going to stretch out on the couch and nap. I never nap. It's more or less against my religion to nap. Yet nap I will.
I just have this one thought: I wonder if what tires me out so much is trying to see clearly, trying to will away the blurriness, trying to make sense of something that is distorted and misshapen ? I wonder if people who wander into our churches and try to figure out the lingo, the ritual, the unspoken, hidden "sacraments" of our traditions and the glorious past we are so fond of reliving (and I include myself in this) just find it so tiring that a nap sounds better and more refreshing?
Just wondering.
I have a condition called Ocular Migraine. It is different than your classic migraine in that it usually doesn't hurt, and in my case usually resolves within 30 minutes or so. But they are 30 nauseating, blurry, scary, loss-of-control minutes.
Today I had one while at the hospital visiting a parishioner. I realized as I got off the elevator on the fifth floor that I had suddenly lost my right field of vision. It doesn't go dark; instead it looks like there are white flashing lights on a circle, and then the lights get brighter and bigger, then slide off the field of vision, usually the opposite side of the field than they started.
I can't drive, read, or do anything other than think about how creepy it is, try not to throw up, and wait for it to end. I sat in the hospital cafeteria and waited. Not the best place when a person is trying not to hurl, but there you have it.
Unfortunately, ocular migraine has one effect that is similar to the headache kind: I am completely wiped out after one is done. Utterly. I am sitting in my comfy chair typing this, and then I am going to stretch out on the couch and nap. I never nap. It's more or less against my religion to nap. Yet nap I will.
I just have this one thought: I wonder if what tires me out so much is trying to see clearly, trying to will away the blurriness, trying to make sense of something that is distorted and misshapen ? I wonder if people who wander into our churches and try to figure out the lingo, the ritual, the unspoken, hidden "sacraments" of our traditions and the glorious past we are so fond of reliving (and I include myself in this) just find it so tiring that a nap sounds better and more refreshing?
Just wondering.
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
Bonus Conversation: "That Ain't No Etch-a-Sketch" edition.
WonderGirl stands in the kitchen shaking Tic-Tacs into her mouth. I hold my hand out pleadingly. They are the grapefruit pink-ribbon version, or as we call them in our house, 'b**b savers'.
Me: "C'mon. You can never have too many of your favorite one-calorie breath mint."
Tall Curly Hair Friend: "WonderGirl! Did your mom just quote Juno?"
WG: "Yeah." (can't help but look bored)
TCHF: "Best. Mom. Ever."
WG: "Sad but true."
Me: "C'mon. You can never have too many of your favorite one-calorie breath mint."
Tall Curly Hair Friend: "WonderGirl! Did your mom just quote Juno?"
WG: "Yeah." (can't help but look bored)
TCHF: "Best. Mom. Ever."
WG: "Sad but true."
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
in which she lays down the law
I don't know how this happened, but somehow I am the only person living in my house who has the part of the brain that registers discomfort at chaos/disorganization/filth in the home environment. Everyone else I've ever lived with since I turned 21 has been the sort of person who could live quite happily in a rat-infested, turbid, festering, roach-overrun, fourth-floor-walk-up tenement. As long as there was cable and wireless. Thankyouverymuch.
I am the one around here who is considered the weirdo who needs help.
The other day I laid down the law about the cabinet--you know the one. The one that probably at least 95% of families living in North America have. The cabinet which holds the plastic containers.
It was so crammed full that it hardly shut properly, yet nobody could ever find a container to put leftovers in. (God forbid we discard of three strands of angel hair pasta that aren't moldy yet.)
So I laid down the law: there are two things I don't have room for in the kitchen
I feel better for getting this off my chest.
As you were.
I am the one around here who is considered the weirdo who needs help.
The other day I laid down the law about the cabinet--you know the one. The one that probably at least 95% of families living in North America have. The cabinet which holds the plastic containers.
It was so crammed full that it hardly shut properly, yet nobody could ever find a container to put leftovers in. (God forbid we discard of three strands of angel hair pasta that aren't moldy yet.)
So I laid down the law: there are two things I don't have room for in the kitchen
Lids without containers Containers without lids
So I dumped the entire contents out on the floor. I matched up container to lid, and all the orphans got thrown into the recycling bin. My family just stood there and watched. Feeling sorry for me, I'm sure. Crazy lady that I am.I feel better for getting this off my chest.
As you were.
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
on a *slightly* less existential note...
WonderGirl is having her senior portraits done tomorrow morning. We have about a week's worth of outfits picked out.
Plus shoes.
Wish me luck...
Plus shoes.
Wish me luck...
Tuesday, July 08, 2008
Generational Differences
My MIL and her husband are in town. My relationship with my MIL is complicated. It always has been, but so has my relationship with my own mother.
I haven't ever really thought of my MIL as old before. She was young when she had spouse--younger even than I was when I had my kids. She went on to have four kids and raise them pretty much by herself while her husband (my FIL) finished college, then worked very hard as an engineer, then began to develop hobbies: golf, tennis, and women.
By the time my spouse and his older sister had gone off to college, her life changed pretty dramatically when she and my FIL divorced, and she had to find work (after raising kids for 20 years) and live in an apartment (after living on the fashionable north side of Indianapolis in a comfortable home). But she still had a son in junior high, and one finishing high school, so she soldiered on.
That's about the time I entered the picture. I think the intensity of my relationship with her son, and the schmoopie way we carried on all the live-long day was hard for her when her relationship had fallen apart. Plus, I was getting to finish college, which she had not due to her very early marriage and the birth soon after of her first child.
So, even though it was complicated, I admired her for what she had been able to accomplish under very trying circumstances. I wouldn't say we were friends, exactly, but we have always gotten along. Mostly. I have never thought of her as old. She and her second husband became "cruisers" about twelve years ago, which means they sold their house and cars and put the few things they really wanted to keep in storage and lived aboard a catamaran for about two years. I mean they lived on the boat! People who do that can do anything, right?
They have stopped here on a leg of a journey that will take them eventually from their home on the "ocean-side" of Florida to the glaciers of Alaska. That's clear across the country, yo! They are traveling by car, train, plane, and ship. It's an adventure that they have planned for a year, and they even quit smoking in preparation. (MIL's husband has not been on an airplane since the FAA banned smoking on them.)
My spouse asked for an itinerary that includes their cell phone number. We tried to call them last night to see when they would be in town today so we could arrange our schedules around it. The cell phone just gave him a recording that said that the voice mail box had never been set up. When we finally saw them today, Spouse asked his mom if her phone was new. "No, it's the same phone we've had all along."
He explained the problem leaving a message, and asked why they hadn't set up voice mail. My MIL told exclaimed that her phone didn't come with voice mail. When Spouse told her that it's built into the phone she was surprised--she thought it would be a separate device, like an answering machine. So spouse, Man Child and I explained that voice mail did not cost extra, nor did the caller ID function on the phone, nor did programming the numbers of her kids and friends. She thought all those were Extra, as in Extra Cost, so she ignored them. After about fifteen minutes of persuasion, she handed her phone to Man Child, and he set it up for her. It took him all of 45 seconds.
Generational differences, you see.
Later, when ManChild was getting up to leave, he informed us that he was meeting Fairly Worthless Girl, and they were driving up to Snow Belt Peninsula Resort Area, where her parents were staying at a condo. "ManChild, that's a four-hour drive! How long will you be staying?" "Oh, just overnight."
I gasped at the wastefulness of such a lavish petroleum burn for just one night--one short night at that. "Mom, when did you get to be such an old lady?" he asked me.
Generational differences, you see.
I haven't ever really thought of my MIL as old before. She was young when she had spouse--younger even than I was when I had my kids. She went on to have four kids and raise them pretty much by herself while her husband (my FIL) finished college, then worked very hard as an engineer, then began to develop hobbies: golf, tennis, and women.
By the time my spouse and his older sister had gone off to college, her life changed pretty dramatically when she and my FIL divorced, and she had to find work (after raising kids for 20 years) and live in an apartment (after living on the fashionable north side of Indianapolis in a comfortable home). But she still had a son in junior high, and one finishing high school, so she soldiered on.
That's about the time I entered the picture. I think the intensity of my relationship with her son, and the schmoopie way we carried on all the live-long day was hard for her when her relationship had fallen apart. Plus, I was getting to finish college, which she had not due to her very early marriage and the birth soon after of her first child.
So, even though it was complicated, I admired her for what she had been able to accomplish under very trying circumstances. I wouldn't say we were friends, exactly, but we have always gotten along. Mostly. I have never thought of her as old. She and her second husband became "cruisers" about twelve years ago, which means they sold their house and cars and put the few things they really wanted to keep in storage and lived aboard a catamaran for about two years. I mean they lived on the boat! People who do that can do anything, right?
They have stopped here on a leg of a journey that will take them eventually from their home on the "ocean-side" of Florida to the glaciers of Alaska. That's clear across the country, yo! They are traveling by car, train, plane, and ship. It's an adventure that they have planned for a year, and they even quit smoking in preparation. (MIL's husband has not been on an airplane since the FAA banned smoking on them.)
My spouse asked for an itinerary that includes their cell phone number. We tried to call them last night to see when they would be in town today so we could arrange our schedules around it. The cell phone just gave him a recording that said that the voice mail box had never been set up. When we finally saw them today, Spouse asked his mom if her phone was new. "No, it's the same phone we've had all along."
He explained the problem leaving a message, and asked why they hadn't set up voice mail. My MIL told exclaimed that her phone didn't come with voice mail. When Spouse told her that it's built into the phone she was surprised--she thought it would be a separate device, like an answering machine. So spouse, Man Child and I explained that voice mail did not cost extra, nor did the caller ID function on the phone, nor did programming the numbers of her kids and friends. She thought all those were Extra, as in Extra Cost, so she ignored them. After about fifteen minutes of persuasion, she handed her phone to Man Child, and he set it up for her. It took him all of 45 seconds.
Generational differences, you see.
Later, when ManChild was getting up to leave, he informed us that he was meeting Fairly Worthless Girl, and they were driving up to Snow Belt Peninsula Resort Area, where her parents were staying at a condo. "ManChild, that's a four-hour drive! How long will you be staying?" "Oh, just overnight."
I gasped at the wastefulness of such a lavish petroleum burn for just one night--one short night at that. "Mom, when did you get to be such an old lady?" he asked me.
Generational differences, you see.
Thursday, June 12, 2008
RBO Thursday+ Bonus Conversation
FEMA is in town. That can't be good. Tanner is back to his old self. We've had over ten inches of rain in four days. (see first bullet) We do not live in the desert. I sent out over 18 Presbytery-related emails in the past 24 hours. I'm pretty sure my committee is sick of me. Spouse is on a weight loss program that seems to be working terrifically for him. At this rate, I suspect he will meet his goal in about eight weeks. Spouse is obviously a dude. I love my domestic goddesses. Is that idolatry? Discuss.
Bonus conversation with WG:WG: "Well, it seems as if Blondie (old boyfriend pre-dating BW) and I are dating again."
Me: "Seems as if? Wouldn't you be one of the first two people to know?"
WG: "Well, okay, we are. I just wanted to see if you'd freak out."
Me: "So, you're stealth dating?"
WG: "Kinda. Are you going to blog this?"
Me: "Seems as if I will. "
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
Better
I'm sure it has something to do with the presence of a certain big yellow ball in the sky, after a mostly nine-day absence.
My jangly, frizzled feeling is a little better. There are still a few unsettling things going on in my life, but some clergy friends helped walk me through the bizarre phone call from yesterday this morning, and a lunch meeting (with someone who gets me, affirms the things about me that are affirm-able, and is able somehow to challenge me on the other stuff without being irritating) really helped me to work through another really, really big project I have cooking.
I have a meeting in about (checks clock) ten minutes that has all the potential to be either really good or kind of a dud, then another about 6:30 this evening. But somehow going from thing to thing to thing helps me to not have to think about the distractions. I think that was part of the problem yesterday: too much empty space on my calendar that I did not fill creatively or purposefully.
But hey, I'm not Jesus, right?
My jangly, frizzled feeling is a little better. There are still a few unsettling things going on in my life, but some clergy friends helped walk me through the bizarre phone call from yesterday this morning, and a lunch meeting (with someone who gets me, affirms the things about me that are affirm-able, and is able somehow to challenge me on the other stuff without being irritating) really helped me to work through another really, really big project I have cooking.
I have a meeting in about (checks clock) ten minutes that has all the potential to be either really good or kind of a dud, then another about 6:30 this evening. But somehow going from thing to thing to thing helps me to not have to think about the distractions. I think that was part of the problem yesterday: too much empty space on my calendar that I did not fill creatively or purposefully.
But hey, I'm not Jesus, right?
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