My mom's been here visiting since the 19th of December. Hooray! As she said, we've seen one another a fair amount in the last year, but it's always been around events, so this visit has been good. Lots of free time. I've had work to do, of course, but she's been reading, and doing puzzles, and we've played alot of games.
I've wanted her to meet some of my friends and colleagues, and I've wanted her to have a sense of the scope of what I do and where I go, so on Thursday we took a road trip.
We drove to Marquette in search of a pea coat for her (don't even get me started, that was a challenge, but we found a coat that she adores in store number seven!) and to do some visiting.
Thursday night, we had dinner with my friend Gwen, her husband Jim, and Jim's brother Larry, who is 60, has Down's Syndrome, and some dementia. Larry has lived with Gwen and Jim for the last eighteen years. For dinner, we ate lamb raised on a local farm and slaughtered here in the UP. Yummm.
Also, Thursday was, for those who are liturgically minded, the Feast of the Holy Innocents. Gwen and Jim are local priests in the Church of the Holy Innocents in Little Lake; they invited us to their Feast Day Eucharist. It was a beautiful service, in a lovely little church in the middle of the woods. Seven of us worshipped with the mixture of joy and solemnity that befits this particular feast day. In place of a homily, Jim read us some Christina Rosetti poetry on the Feast of the Holy Innocents. You can find the two of them here.
Friday, we had coffee with Jim (my bishop) and a few colleagues at the office, lunch with my friend Marion, finally found the aforementioned coat, and then traveled, in light to moderate snow, to Iron Mountain. My friend and colleague Charlie is the rector of Holy Trinity in Iron Mountain, missioner to the church in Menominee, and all-around fab guy. Holy Trinity has Ministry Support Teams, in addition to a rector, and Charlie's wife Linda is one of the local priests. Dinner was a fabulous pork loin, roasted, and served with homemade cranberry chutney - to die for. It was a great evening.
We tooled on home through more snow, having logged about 300 miles in just about thirty hours.
30 December 2006
24 December 2006
Sam
My colleague Anita offered me one of her cats. It's a long story, but Sam is mine for as long as I live in the UP. He's an adult male (what I'd been longing for) and a total lovebug. However, his arrival is quite the story.
Anita lives in Marquette. I live in Ontonagon. It's about 115 miles from her house to mine. On a good day, it takes me about two hours and ten minutes to go from A to B. Last night I got snowed in in Marquette, and didn't leave for home until this am. I picked up Sam the Purring Machine at about 10:15, and he immediately began yowling.
When I called Marlene from the road, she asked, "Are you torturing small children in your car?" When Ginny called me a bit later, her first words were, "You have a very unhappy cat." It was a LONG two hours. Sam stopped yowling during Car Talk, but really that was it.
When we got home, I unloaded his cat box and his food, and then let him into the house. I showed him both, and he immediately went into the basement and hid. For hours. Just as I began to wonder if he'd ever surface, I went down stairs again, and he acted glad to see me. Against his better judgement, I brought him upstairs, where he has been prowling around, cuddling Mama and me, eviscerating a catnip mouse, and generally acting glad to be here. Presently he's contemplating, make that in, my lap.
Pictures soon.
Anita lives in Marquette. I live in Ontonagon. It's about 115 miles from her house to mine. On a good day, it takes me about two hours and ten minutes to go from A to B. Last night I got snowed in in Marquette, and didn't leave for home until this am. I picked up Sam the Purring Machine at about 10:15, and he immediately began yowling.
When I called Marlene from the road, she asked, "Are you torturing small children in your car?" When Ginny called me a bit later, her first words were, "You have a very unhappy cat." It was a LONG two hours. Sam stopped yowling during Car Talk, but really that was it.
When we got home, I unloaded his cat box and his food, and then let him into the house. I showed him both, and he immediately went into the basement and hid. For hours. Just as I began to wonder if he'd ever surface, I went down stairs again, and he acted glad to see me. Against his better judgement, I brought him upstairs, where he has been prowling around, cuddling Mama and me, eviscerating a catnip mouse, and generally acting glad to be here. Presently he's contemplating, make that in, my lap.
Pictures soon.
21 December 2006
Royalty - Who Knew?
My friend Sarey turned me on to this - I've always had a bit of a royal hankering... So, I thought I'd check it out, and was totally tickled. Go ahead and try it - in these dark days, we all ought to play more!
 | My Peculiar Aristocratic Title is: Lady Madame Frannie the Educated of Lardle St Earache Get your Peculiar Aristocratic Title |
O Christmas Tree
Call me old fashioned but I'm kind of a stickler about Advent. Perhaps my feelings come in response to twelve years in retail management. Whatever the reason, I like Advent to be Advent and Christmas to be Christmas. I don't listen to carols until they become impossible to avoid. I like to get a tree as late as possible; I keep it up through Epiphany.
You'd think in a place as populated with trees as the UP, that a Christmas tree would not be so hard to find. Mom (aka Barbara) arrived yesterday, and I told her that I'd have a tree when she got here, so that we could decorate it together. I'm not picky. I really wanted a little tree, not necessarily dense, but approximating symmetrical. Most of its needles still in situ would be good, too. Could I find a tree that came even close to that description? NO. All the trees I saw were either ugly and pathetic or enormous, or in one sad case, both.
In fact, I started to panic. I'm working most of the next two days, what if I never found a tree? I really wanted a tree. Here. In my own living room.
Tonight, I had a meeting in Ishpeming - roughly 100 miles away. I remembered seeing some trees and a trailer in the IGA parking lot in Ishpeming, so I left early, determined to come home with a tree. Well, most of the trees were monsters - six or seven feet tall, big burly trees. Just as I was about to despair, I rounded a corner and there she was. MY TREE. She's a wee tiny thing - shorter than I am by a number of inches. My guess is that she's about 4'10" tall. She's kind of round, but not in an unseemly way. And, she fit in the back of Maggie, so that she did not have to drive home on the roof. She's shed some needles in the back of the car, so I'm not sure how healthy she is - but she's mine.
I've rearranged the furniture in the living room, so that she sits right in front of the big picture window. She's in her stand, and I hope she's sucking down water like there's no tomorrow.
She won't get lights or decorations for a day or two, but she's mine - all mine. And, one night this week, after all her lights are on, I'll keep her lit all night, and I'll sleep on the couch to keep her company. It's tradition.
You'd think in a place as populated with trees as the UP, that a Christmas tree would not be so hard to find. Mom (aka Barbara) arrived yesterday, and I told her that I'd have a tree when she got here, so that we could decorate it together. I'm not picky. I really wanted a little tree, not necessarily dense, but approximating symmetrical. Most of its needles still in situ would be good, too. Could I find a tree that came even close to that description? NO. All the trees I saw were either ugly and pathetic or enormous, or in one sad case, both.
In fact, I started to panic. I'm working most of the next two days, what if I never found a tree? I really wanted a tree. Here. In my own living room.
Tonight, I had a meeting in Ishpeming - roughly 100 miles away. I remembered seeing some trees and a trailer in the IGA parking lot in Ishpeming, so I left early, determined to come home with a tree. Well, most of the trees were monsters - six or seven feet tall, big burly trees. Just as I was about to despair, I rounded a corner and there she was. MY TREE. She's a wee tiny thing - shorter than I am by a number of inches. My guess is that she's about 4'10" tall. She's kind of round, but not in an unseemly way. And, she fit in the back of Maggie, so that she did not have to drive home on the roof. She's shed some needles in the back of the car, so I'm not sure how healthy she is - but she's mine.
I've rearranged the furniture in the living room, so that she sits right in front of the big picture window. She's in her stand, and I hope she's sucking down water like there's no tomorrow.
She won't get lights or decorations for a day or two, but she's mine - all mine. And, one night this week, after all her lights are on, I'll keep her lit all night, and I'll sleep on the couch to keep her company. It's tradition.
18 December 2006
Ishpeming District Court
In Michigan, there is something called VBS - Violation of the Basic Speed Law. It means that if you lose control of your car in bad conditions, you're ticketable, since the Basic Speed Law says that your speed must be such that you maintain control of your car at all times. The day I rolled Maggie, the Trooper cited me for VBS - and then apologized. When he drove me to the church in Ishpeming, he said, "There's where the court is. If you contest the ticket, you'll go there."
Now, when one enters the Franklin County Court House in Greenfield, MA, one enters a building that LOOKS like a courthouse. After passing through a metal detector and getting patted down by an armed guard, one waits in a crowded hallway filled with offenders, lawyers, a judge or two, some probation officers, annoyed state troopers and police officers, and all the other hapless drivers hoping to get their day in court. It's the only courthouse I'd ever been in (before today) and is sort of my court paradigm.
Even though the trooper had pointed it out, I missed the Ishpeming District Court the first time. It's in a big, white, brick building that looks like it started life as a factory, was converted into a mall; it is now largely vacant. On the ground floor, the shops and offices were mostly empty, the one that was open sold bows (and presumably arrows, as well). I have to say, it seemed an odd business to share a building with a court.
The court area took up most of the second floor. When I arrived, the hallway was completely empty and the doors were closed. After sorting out where to check in, I entered an office. Only one other person was waiting. When I returned to the hallway, the trooper who'd been at the scene was sitting in the hallway. "Hey!" he said, with a big smile, and then motioned for me to come sit by him. "How are you?" "Did they get your car fixed?" "Were you late for church that day?" We were chatting like old friends when the magistrate called us in to court.
After being sworn in, the magistrate asked the tropper for his side of the story, and he explained that he thought that I had been driving slowly, that the road conditions were uneven, that the curve was unusually sharp, that I'd learned a valuable lesson about driving in the UP, and that I was a nice woman. I explained that I'd overestimated how fast I'd been driving when the trooper asked me (since I was watching the road and not my speedometer), that the curve was not marked, and that I was going slowly and carefully.
In the end, I was found not responsible for the accident and the ticket was dismissed! The trooper and I walked out together. I thanked him for coming in on his own time, for supporting my cause, and for his help on the day of the accident. He told me to drive carefully. We grinned at one another and walked out of the courthouse.
The accident was bad. But from the moment I lost control on, it's been nothing but grace-filled. Today was a fitting closure.
Now, when one enters the Franklin County Court House in Greenfield, MA, one enters a building that LOOKS like a courthouse. After passing through a metal detector and getting patted down by an armed guard, one waits in a crowded hallway filled with offenders, lawyers, a judge or two, some probation officers, annoyed state troopers and police officers, and all the other hapless drivers hoping to get their day in court. It's the only courthouse I'd ever been in (before today) and is sort of my court paradigm.
Even though the trooper had pointed it out, I missed the Ishpeming District Court the first time. It's in a big, white, brick building that looks like it started life as a factory, was converted into a mall; it is now largely vacant. On the ground floor, the shops and offices were mostly empty, the one that was open sold bows (and presumably arrows, as well). I have to say, it seemed an odd business to share a building with a court.
The court area took up most of the second floor. When I arrived, the hallway was completely empty and the doors were closed. After sorting out where to check in, I entered an office. Only one other person was waiting. When I returned to the hallway, the trooper who'd been at the scene was sitting in the hallway. "Hey!" he said, with a big smile, and then motioned for me to come sit by him. "How are you?" "Did they get your car fixed?" "Were you late for church that day?" We were chatting like old friends when the magistrate called us in to court.
After being sworn in, the magistrate asked the tropper for his side of the story, and he explained that he thought that I had been driving slowly, that the road conditions were uneven, that the curve was unusually sharp, that I'd learned a valuable lesson about driving in the UP, and that I was a nice woman. I explained that I'd overestimated how fast I'd been driving when the trooper asked me (since I was watching the road and not my speedometer), that the curve was not marked, and that I was going slowly and carefully.
In the end, I was found not responsible for the accident and the ticket was dismissed! The trooper and I walked out together. I thanked him for coming in on his own time, for supporting my cause, and for his help on the day of the accident. He told me to drive carefully. We grinned at one another and walked out of the courthouse.
The accident was bad. But from the moment I lost control on, it's been nothing but grace-filled. Today was a fitting closure.
12 December 2006
Explore! Part 1
On Sunday nights, when work commitments don't keep me from it, I come home from my travels on the UP road, change into my blue jeans and a sweater, and drive to Houghton. It's 51 miles from my door to Trinity Episcopal Church, where my friend Ginny is the rector.
At 7pm on Sunday nights, Trinity offers the Explore! service. It's a quiet, contemplative eucharist. We sing Taize chants and quiet hymns. We hear the Gospel reading, often in contemporary translation, and then we reflect on it. We pray. We share the peace. Moving into the sanctuay, we gather around the most beautiful altar I've ever seen. Made by a woman named Neely out of weathered wood from an old goat barn, this altar has character and life. Gathered around the altar, we hear the story of Jesus' life and death; we share the bread and wine. During the final hymn, several of us bring out coffee, juice, and home-made cinnamon rolls; we share more communion right there in the sanctuary from the barn-wood altar.
I try hard NOT to have other commitments on Sunday nights, because this time is life-giving for me. I arrive early; in the peace of this big beautiful church, I set out the pottery chalice and paten, the home made bread, the churchy port wine. Ginny and I move the altar into position and set the shim in place that keeps it from being tippy (Neely built it outside and discovered the ground was NOT level). I sing along as Deb (the pianist) and Rick (the singer) practice the music. Sometimes I help make service leaflets, or unlock the doors. All of that preparation grounds me; when I take my place in the front pew on the right hand side, and the service begins, all of the clutter of my day, my week, my life, falls away, and I am present. And praying. And thankful.
At 7pm on Sunday nights, Trinity offers the Explore! service. It's a quiet, contemplative eucharist. We sing Taize chants and quiet hymns. We hear the Gospel reading, often in contemporary translation, and then we reflect on it. We pray. We share the peace. Moving into the sanctuay, we gather around the most beautiful altar I've ever seen. Made by a woman named Neely out of weathered wood from an old goat barn, this altar has character and life. Gathered around the altar, we hear the story of Jesus' life and death; we share the bread and wine. During the final hymn, several of us bring out coffee, juice, and home-made cinnamon rolls; we share more communion right there in the sanctuary from the barn-wood altar.
I try hard NOT to have other commitments on Sunday nights, because this time is life-giving for me. I arrive early; in the peace of this big beautiful church, I set out the pottery chalice and paten, the home made bread, the churchy port wine. Ginny and I move the altar into position and set the shim in place that keeps it from being tippy (Neely built it outside and discovered the ground was NOT level). I sing along as Deb (the pianist) and Rick (the singer) practice the music. Sometimes I help make service leaflets, or unlock the doors. All of that preparation grounds me; when I take my place in the front pew on the right hand side, and the service begins, all of the clutter of my day, my week, my life, falls away, and I am present. And praying. And thankful.
06 December 2006
Farewell Mark and Sharon
Mark Engle has been the Rector at St. Paul's in Marquette for nearly twenty years. He retires on 31 December 2006, and he and his wife Sharon will move to Lower Michigan for proximity to grandbabies. To celebrate Mark and Sharon's time and to send them off with fond farewells, the rectors, missioners, and other assorted fans of Mark and Sharon gathered for a party on Sunday afternoon.
In other dioceses, farewells are offered at stuffy dinners, with champagne toasts. Perhaps a roasting is offered, or speeches.
In Northern Michigan, we went bowling, and then ate at Red Lobster.
Picture, if you will, twenty of us, on four lanes at the bowling alley in Marquette. Some (like Jim and me) were quite competitive (not GOOD, mind you, just competitive). Others (like Sue and Sharon) used the ramps provided for kids learning how to bowl. Some (like Chuck and Mark) were actually pretty fabulous. Anytime someone threw a strike, or a spare, or just generally made a good effort - the whole crowd, all twenty of us, cheered, screamed, and made a big fuss. I spent time wondering what the gaggle of young women bowling next to us was thinking about who we were and what we were up to. It was really fun. The result: My score - an acceptable, though not stunning, 93 - wisely 5 points below Jim's 98!
After bowling, we all trouped over to Red Lobster. No private room for this crowd. We assembled ourselves at a table for twenty in the middle of the dining room, and proceeded to eat our way through an impressive quantity of food. We chit-chatted, told stories, and then sent Mark and Sharon off to Battle Creek with presents, and they left us with gifts, as well. Speeches were made and tears were shed. My sense is that it was just the kind of send off that Mark and Sharon wanted - fun, quirky, sincere.
Via con Dios, friends.
In other dioceses, farewells are offered at stuffy dinners, with champagne toasts. Perhaps a roasting is offered, or speeches.
In Northern Michigan, we went bowling, and then ate at Red Lobster.
Picture, if you will, twenty of us, on four lanes at the bowling alley in Marquette. Some (like Jim and me) were quite competitive (not GOOD, mind you, just competitive). Others (like Sue and Sharon) used the ramps provided for kids learning how to bowl. Some (like Chuck and Mark) were actually pretty fabulous. Anytime someone threw a strike, or a spare, or just generally made a good effort - the whole crowd, all twenty of us, cheered, screamed, and made a big fuss. I spent time wondering what the gaggle of young women bowling next to us was thinking about who we were and what we were up to. It was really fun. The result: My score - an acceptable, though not stunning, 93 - wisely 5 points below Jim's 98!
After bowling, we all trouped over to Red Lobster. No private room for this crowd. We assembled ourselves at a table for twenty in the middle of the dining room, and proceeded to eat our way through an impressive quantity of food. We chit-chatted, told stories, and then sent Mark and Sharon off to Battle Creek with presents, and they left us with gifts, as well. Speeches were made and tears were shed. My sense is that it was just the kind of send off that Mark and Sharon wanted - fun, quirky, sincere.
Via con Dios, friends.
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