The North Shore?

I'm still adjusting to life in the Midwest. Growing up in Massachusetts, the North Shore meant the part of Massachusetts that was on the ocean, north of Boston. Up here, it means the North Shore of Lake Superior. If you want a sense of the geography click here. I live on the south part, at the base of the peninsula that contains Houghton/Hancock and Copper Harbor. (I'm just above that little cluster of mountains.) If you drove on highways all around Lake Superior, it would be over 1000 miles.

My friends Letha & Scott and I just spent 40 glorious hours on the North Shore (9 miles north of Grand Marais) in a house belonging to friends of theirs. It was glorious. The sun was shining. It was cold (but not as cold as it could have been, given that it is winter and we were in Minnesota). We played tons of games (Scrabble, Five Crowns, cards) and ate great food. We drank way more than our share of red wine. I proved (against some odds) to be the Fire Queen, getting some good fires going in the big stone fireplace. Letha and I took a great hike on the Superior Hiking Trail.

Wildlife abounded. We saw cardinals, blue jays, gulls, nuthatches, chickadees, and eagles. A bald eagle flew in from over the water yesterday and spent about 20 minutes in a tree across the street until it headed off to fish. Today, it (or another?) came back while I was in the shower. Several small red squirrels that chided us whenever we left the house and disturbed their meals at the feeders.

We walked on the beach yesterday and today. The north shore's beach is really rocky. The lake has not frozen this year, and some interesting things were happening on the beach. The rocks froze in clusters. We saw these amazing ledges made from ice, gravel, and larger rocks. As the sun melted the ice today, they were collapsing. As we stood there, we could hear the rocks dropping four to six inches.

There was also a deer carcass on the beach, which had fed a host of carnivores. Our best guess is that it was hit on the road nearby, wandered onto the beach, and died there.

In the house, we had no cell phone coverage, no internet, no television. I feel rested and recharged. Total miles driven for this adventure: 589.

Two more eagles

Or, maybe it was the same eagle twice.

Manuel and I drove to Ironwood together yesterday. On the ride over, we saw a murder of crows feasting on a dead deer by the side of the road. With them was a bald eagle, also feasting. Because bald eagles have been so much a part of my time here, I was very excited.

Manuel said that he'd seen so many of them that he didn't even get excited anymore. I hope that doesn't happen to me. When I see a bald eagle, my heart quickens. I give a little gasp. And I grin like a fool from ear to ear.

On the way home, we saw the same murder of crows feasting; an eagle (perhaps the same one) was feasting, as well. I don't care if it was the same eagle. My heart beat quickened. I gasped and grinned. And I counted it again.

Running UP eagle count: 7

Do you think it's about Baptismal Ministry?

Since I moved into this house in July, I've had at least ten plumbing issues. First, it was the sewage pipes which had been entirely destroyed by tree roots. One memorable Sunday night, I realized that the basement floor was covered with (ick) raw sewage. For several days, I was without water, as they sorted out the problem and then replaced the entire sewer pipe system from house to road. I first suspected a problem when the basement floor was covered in water whenever I did laundry. Laundry runoff water was leaking back into the basement from a crack in the foundation. That's so bad.

Since then, they've replaced the heating elements in the hot water heater because the hot water would conk out mid-shower. And fixed a leak in the basement that was actually coming from the bathroom (water leaking from the toilet tank). And done some more rotorooter - when the laundry run off started coming in again. And fixed a leak from the washer itself.

Last night, while I was doing dinner clean up, the garbage disposal finally went south. And both sinks in the kitchen refused to drain. And the disposal began to leak really fast. Picture me with buckets running between tub and under sink. Bailing the sinks frantically. The good news: Ron the plumber came today, put in new disposal (thank God!) and replaced pipes all over the place. The kitchen sink drains. Hooray.

At the end of each plumbing event, I've thought to myself. "OK. The house sat empty for 19 years. You expect some maintainance to have built up. But, we're done now."

So tonight, when I went down to do laundry, I lost it when there was, again, water all over the basement floor. I said many many many bad words. I yelled. I screamed. I cleared everything away from the puddle, and gave thanks that my tent was dry. I played with the valve that seemed to be leaking - only to cause more water to spray out. So, I called Chuck. Again. And he came over. Again. Happily, it was a simple bolt-tightening thing.

After he left, I decided that maybe this is God's sense of humour. What we do here is Baptismal ministry. We all have ministry by virtue of our baptism. Perhaps there's so much water in my basement because God wants to make sure that I get the baptism metaphor. She does have a sense of humor.

Virginia, Florida, Virginia, Home

This has been a week on the road, but in a more far-flung way than usual. Last Saturday, I departed Ontonagon before sunrise (which was really about 7:50am, but we don't want to talk about that, do we?). Because I live in the UP and flights in and out are limited, I did a little creative traveling. My ultimate destination was DelRay Beach, Florida. The training I was attending ran from early Monday am until 3pm on Weds. We were asked to book flights that left after 5 on Weds, so that we did not leave the training early. Turns out, you can't leave DelRay Beach after 5 and get home to the UP on the same day. So, I got creative and booked one round trip from Marquette to DCA (National Airport) and then one from DCA to Palm Beach.

I spent Saturday in Washington/Northern Virginia, visiting with friends and enjoying the Fawcett's hospitality; Sunday, I worshipped at St. Anne's and generally reveled in being back with so many folks that I love. Dinner with Kate before flying out completed the day.

After a two hour delay on Sunday night, I flew to Florida where I was trained to be an anti-racism trainer for the Episcopal Church. The weather was warm and sunny, but the training was long and tiring, so I didn't get to enjoy Florida nearly as much as I might have if I had been there for something less taxing. I still managed a long brisk walk on Monday night and an evening sitting outside and visiting with other trainees on Tuesday. This was not, however, a day at the beach!

I must say, there's nothing like several days of listening to people talk about the kinds of cruelty they have experienced because of race (and class, and gender, and sexual orientation) to make me want to cry. Or get violent. Or (at least on good days) actively work to change the world.

I returned to VA on Weds night, had more time with friends, flying out at noon on Friday. Thursday morning, Kate and I took a walk in the sun, watching birds and admiring creation at Huntley Meadows. The beauty of that place and the gift of our conversation did much to recharge my soul.

I survived an amazing airport adventure in Minneapolis. [We won't even talk about the fact that I thought I was going to Detroit, since nearly every flight from DCA to MQT goes through Detroit, and it was only when I got to the airport and the Northwest agent said, "Gardner, going to Minneapolis," when she handed me my luggage tag that I learned otherwise!] I landed in Minneapolis at 1:45CT for a 3:35CT flight to MQT. The monitor said that the flight was delayed until 4:30. I got some sushi, poked in a bookstore, fought with the airport wifi, and finally, about 2:55, I wandered off to the gate. The plane was now listing at 5:05. I called the friend who agreed to meet me at the airport, and alerted her to the great lateness of the flight. Settled at my gate, fought with the wifi somemore, and then heard someone talking about a flight that was not going to Marquette. So, I wandered off, at 3:28 to check the status of my flight and see if it had moved gates. The flight had moved to a new gate, and reverted to being on time. I raced back, scooped up my stuff, sprinted to the new gate, and discovered that the plane was actually boarding. Great aerobic exercise. I bought the older Barak Obama book to read in the airport, since my first book would not stand the test of the extra hours, and then I slept most of the way from MSP to MQT. Sigh.

I'm in MQT, at the apartment, but it's closer to home then I've been in a week, and it feels great.

What kind of reader are you?

This quiz comes from my friend Lisa the Librarian. Several of you may remember Lisa, from when she was Lisa the Library School Student - and crashed on my dorm floor in Alexandria periodically during my first year. Those of you who know me well won't be surprised by the quiz results. Where do you fall?

What Kind of Reader Are You? Your Result: Dedicated Reader You are always trying to find the time to get back to your book. You are convinced that the world would be a much better place if only everyone read more.
Obsessive-Compulsive Bookworm
Literate Good Citizen
Book Snob
Fad Reader
Non-Reader
What Kind of Reader Are You? Create Your Own Quiz

Sam - Samwell - Samaroonie - Sammy - Samuel - Monster Cat

I don't want to turn this into a blog about how my cat is the king of the freaking universe, or even just one more cat blog. But, he is pretty cute. And he is turning into Sam the Wonder Cat of Many Names.

He has a number of endearing qualities that I simply must share (especially as I am about to abandon him for a week while I'm in FL and VA. Cheers to Jeannie who will feed, water, toss catnip mice, and scoop while I'm gone!):

• That boy can eviscerate a catnip mouse in about ten minutes. He's pretty good with the dangly feather toy, too.
• When I am at the table and not sitting flat against the back of my chair, he leaps onto my back (but with no claws out) then crawls up onto my shoulder. He does that when I am playing cards, too.
• He's cute. Have I mentioned that?
• His favourite place to snuggle is with back paws on my lap, front paws on my sternum, and head nuzzling mine. It's pretty fab. Since my first cat induced me to take her home from the shelter by placing one front paw on each shoulder and tucking her head under my chin and then never did it again I'm pretty thrilled that this behaviour hasn't vanished.
• He loves toys and plays with all of them, chasing mice and rubber balls with abandon.
• He comes when I call him.
• He sleeps at the foot of my bed.
• My desk is a honkingly big old metal desk with a typing tray that juts out at a ninety degree angle. I leave it open so that I have one more surface to clutter. Except that now it's HIS space. He sleeps there when I'm working at the desk. He's there now, purring away.

On the other hand, lest you think he is only angelic:

• He sometimes tries to sleep on the paperwork, on the laptop, on the cluttered desk. It's hard to type with a cat lying on the keys.
• If his food bowl is empty, he wakes me up at 6am.
• I've caught him sharpening his claws on the chair that belongs to the parish. I wouldn't like it any better if he sharpened his claws on MY chair, but at least it would be MY chair. Y'kno?
• He can be an insistent pain in the ass if he wants to be cuddled and I am, say, writing a sermon... or a blog entry.
• He has, on several occasions bitten when annoyed. Mostly it was my mother, though.

New Year's Eve Sermon

I thought the sermon I preached on New Year's Eve was pretty good, so I thought I'd share it here. I preached it from the pulpit at Church of the Ascension in Ontonagon at the 10am service, and then preached it agin, largely from memory (though holding my notes in my lap!) at Explore on Sunday night.

Also, I read Sarey's sermon posted on her LJ, and thought it was even better - wish I'd written it. Here is the link to her sermon: Dragons, Dracula, and Darth Vader.

Text for the Day: John 1:1-18
We are in the midst of the twelve days of Christmas, so the folks who fashioned the lectionary that we use to determine our weekly readings chose to focus on stories of Jesus’ origins. On Christmas Eve, we heard Luke’s version of the story of Jesus’ nativity, replete with angels and shepherds, and, of course, a baby in a manger. John’s version of this same story is much more cosmic. Jesus is the logos, the word and wisdom of God, who has been with God since “The Beginning.”

For John, that’s the same beginning that we hear about in Genesis… In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth. And it was the logos, the sophia, that gave voice to God’s creating power. That word mediated the creative power of God, created with God, and continues to be a source of life and light, a beacon of hope in and for the world.

That Logos, John tells us, eventually took on flesh and came to dwell among us. In the biblical Greek, the word for flesh is sarx; it’s an earthy word. This is not some ethereal body we’re talking about here, this is physical flesh and blood. And the biblical Greek word skayno, here translated as dwell, can also be translated as tent among. The first century Jews, upon hearing this, would remember that the tabernacle of the covenant traveled with the Israelites in a tent during their time in the desert.

In the Episcopal church, we have an Incarnational-God-With-Us-Emmanuel theology, and it takes its roots right here in the poetic language of John.

John also tells us that the logos is the light for the people, shining in the darkness.

Right at the moment, when I look at the world we live in, I feel like we could use a little light. There’s civil war in Sudan and Somalia. Deadly natural disasters in Southeast Asia and Texas. Corruption in the ongoing Katrina recovery efforts. Saddam Hussein executed for his vicious crimes against humanity; the news of his execution greeted with celebration and dancing in the streets. Church fights about biblical interpretation, orthodoxy, and who belongs. It’s grim.

But grimness is not, in fact, all that there is. There is light in the world, if we have eyes to see it. John tells us that there were those who did not recognize the light, the logos.

During the time that I managed the bookstore, a book came out called Pay it Forward. It was one of those lovely mind-candy books that doesn’t have a ton of substance, but spent time on the bestseller lists. It was a feel-good book that left me in tears at the end – my favourite kind of reading experience, really. And then it got made into a movie.

The basic plot is that a social studies teacher assigns his middle school class a project: to do something to change the world, for extra credit. One twelve year old boy in the class comes up with the idea of Paying Forward. The idea is that if someone does you a favour, you don’t pay them back, you pay the favour forward. And you don’t pay it forward once, you pay it forward three times. It doesn’t have to be a huge thing, it just has to be an unexpected kindness. Helping someone else who is in need. And, you don’t do it just once. For each kindness done for you, you pay forward three times. So that one person does a nice thing for three people, who each do a nice thing for three people, so that nine people then pay forward to twenty-seven…. You get the idea.

John tells us that the logos came to shed light on places of darkness and that the darkness could not overcome the light. This true light, John tells us, will enlighten everyone. I particularly like the translation that comes from the Jesus’ seminar’s book calledThe Five Gospels: “Genuine light – the kind that provides light for everyone - was coming into the world.”

Darkness is not a bad thing; I love darkness. In fact, one of the things I grew weary of when I lived in Northern Virginia was that it’s never truly dark. I love being on the beach in Ontonagon, late at night, when the only light comes from the stars, and it’s really truly dark. But sometimes, you need to see. A tree fell on power lines near my house several months ago, and for several hours it was really really dark. I lit a candle and the effect was immediate. Darkness dispelled.

I heard about a story on NPR this week about a girl named Hallie Geier. Hallie was almost twelve when she was struck and killed by an SUV near her house. Shortly after her death, her parents found her journal, in which she’d written, “People – be nice to each other. Love, Hallie.”

Her family discovered that she had saved nearly $400 from her daily lunch money to help children with HIV/AIDS in Africa. Her parents created a foundation called Love Hallie to continue the work their daughter had been passionate about. They learned of the Agape Orphanage in South Africa where all the children were AIDS orphans. Some of them recorded a CD to raise funds to improve their facility, but before the work could be done, the orphanage burned to the ground in an electrical fire.

Love, Hallie brought ten of these children to New York, where they performed in concerts, and made connections in the music industry. They have raised enough money to rebuild their orphanage. In the spirit of the Love Hallie foundation, these AIDS orphans in South Africa donated 10% of their raised funds to help with ongoing reconstruction after Hurricane Katrina. One girl’s generosity created a circle of caring and compassion that brought light and life to a variety of places in the world.

During Advent, some of the women from St. John’s Church in Iron River made preemie hats. On the first Sunday of Advent, I talked about the MDGs in my sermon there, and encouraged people to support the goals. I talked about financial support, and then I talked about other ways to support the goals. As one example of a non-monetary project, I showed them the wee baby hat I was knitting to send to Save the Children to help combat infant mortality in developing countries. At coffee hour, several women asked for hat patterns. We all knitted – in meetings, watching movies, in the car, whenever we could. And yesterday, I mailed off a box of sixty-seven hats to Save the Children. Sixty-seven babies in Bangladesh and Malawi now have an increased chance at life. Sixty-seven little lights shining in the darkness.

The logos is the light shining in the world. But so are we. In Matthew’s gospel, Jesus tells those who would follow him: YOU are the light of the world. And he gave lots of examples of how to be that light. Love God. Love Neighbor. Feed. Clothe. Visit. Care. Have a party and don’t invite those who can return the favour, invite those who cannot.

The amazing thing about our Incarnational Theology is that Jesus’ coming into the world empowers each of us to become partners with the logos in light-bearing. We are the light of the world. We can bring light by paying forward kindnesses received, feeding those who are hungry, sharing what we have, telling the story of the Good News of the logos.

You are the light of the world. Go shine.

Taking Mama on the Road

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Eats flies

I'm in Minneapolis for Thanksgiving. I've been the guest of my good seminary friend Letha and her husband Scott. Joining us for the weekend are Samuel Sudhe and Nicholas Sichangi: Virginia Theological Seminary students who are Anglican priests in Kenya. It's been amazing to share food traditions, family stories, and the vast differences in how theological students are trained in Kenya compared to how we are trained here.

So, what does this have to do with eating flies? Well, there's a wonderfu ad campaign being waged in the Twin Cities. My guess is that it's encouraging freedom of thought and self-confidence. Each poster is a photo of a famous entity and something short and pithy about his/her life.

My favourite poster, seen on a bus stop shelter in St. Paul, Minnesota:

Eats flies. Dates a pig. Is a movie star. Live your Dreams - accompanied by a picture of Kermit the Frog.

Diocesan Apartment - Friday Night 11-17

Diocesan Council goal-setting happened tonight and continues tomorrow. I made me reservation early for one of the beds in the diocesan apartment - it's my home away from home here in Marquette. I'd heard that Joyce and Linda, two ECW women would be staying here, as well. I'd sort of hoped some other option might come up (say, Ginny would come to goal-setting and we could go to her house), but no.

I came upstairs a bit after goal setting, feeling tired from a day of meetings (some of them quite intense) and discovered four women, spread out over the conference table. They were surrounded by bags, fabric, projects, stash. And sewing machines.

"Do you sew?" one of them asked me.

"Uh. No. But I knit," I replied.

"And you've got it with you, I saw you knitting in the meeting, pull up a chair." This wasn't really what Lucia would call a polite request. Soon, I had a chair, my knitting, and a glass of red wine in my hand, while these women worked on beautiful fabric creations that made me want to sew.

We talked of life in the UP, my ordination, husbands, partners, church, fabric techniques, and church politics. Oh, and football. It was sacramental. When I think of how close I came to simply smiling and going into my room and shutting the door, I shudder. Miracles hide in all sorts of disguises.

Doctor's Appointment

When I had my car accident, the insurance folks said I should go see my doctor. Well, I don't have a doctor in the UP. So, I decided maybe I should do something about that, and today, I went to see Dr. Maki.

Dr. Maki is about my age, wears his hair in a very long ponytail, and is a semi-lapsed Episcopalian. He is very interested in progressive Christianity. And thinks its cool that I'm gay. I've died and gone to heaven.

We talked about how we can work in partnership with people in need. We talked about the general good direction of recent elections. We talked about church and politics and local issues. He told me that there is a gay community in Ontonagon, it's just a little hard to find. And then, he went over my health history, did a basic physical exam, and put forth a low-key and non-invasive plan to address a couple of health issues that have been hanging around for a while - nothing serious or scary, but nice to have a plan. And, he immediatelly understood my desire to be as low-key, non-invasive, and unobtrusive as possible, and agreed. He won extra points by not telling me I was too fat (I must lose some weight, but it was nice not to have him say it) or making bad food choices (I know when I'm doing it, and hate naggy docs).

Total time=2 hours. AMAZING. The only bad news is that he's leaving the practice. But, he's hoping to stay in the Western Region of the UP. How cool is that? I like this guy. I like this place. This falls into the "only in the UP" category.

Things seen and heard on the road

I traveled a number of miles in the last 48 hours, and saw and heard some things that caught my attention in lovely and horrifying ways.

Wednesday night, driving home from Gladstone with my colleague Kevin, a big white owl flew into the path of his car. It was raining sporadically, and quite foggy. I'd joked about being on deer watch, as the deer have really started moving. Suddenly, from nowhere, it seemed, a huge white owl appeared in front of the windshield. It was flying across the road, and was moving so quickly that we didn't hit it, thank goodness. I was so busy thinking deer that owl was outside of my cognitive zone. "What the hell was that?" I asked, even as my brain was slowly coming to owl. Kevin said that in his six years of driving around the UP, he'd never seen an owl like that.

Thursday morning, driving towards Ironwood on M-28, I saw a bald eagle eating a dead deer by the side of the road. It was HUGE. This is my fourth eagle sighting since I've arrived, and by far the closest I've ever been to one. I pulled onto the shoulder, and got a good look before it flew up and over my car. As I drove away, it was circling back to continue its feast.

Finally, Thursday night, I ran to the IGA to get milk, and was scanning for something on the radio. I came to some interesting-sounding choral music. It turned out to be a scary-fundamentalist radio station. I'll confess that I don't usually have much patience for that sort of thing, but before I could hit scan, the voice said, "Tonight, we begin a new bible study on the book of Leviticus." The announcer told us that Dr. So-and-So, the famous biblical scholar will lead us through this "amazing book of the bible. He will tell us," the announcer exclaimed, "why he believes that Leviticus is the most important book in our whole bible."

What? Leviticus? The most important book in our whole bible? Oh please. Well, I was hooked, I have to say. Purity codes? Condemnation against gay and lesbian people? What would this man tell me was the reason for giving Leviticus such vaunted status?

I actually had an anti-NPR moment. Rather than sitting in my car because an NPR story had so captured me, I was sitting in the parking lot in the IGA in horror, listening to this scholar tell the folks out there in radioland that Leviticus was "written by Moses." And that it was important because it was highlighting all those things that Jesus said in the Gospels.

It's no wonder to me that people are so biblically clueless. There are folks out there listening to this crap that sounds so smart and academic (though I have to say that this man sounded like he was about 80, a cattle-rancher, and a chain smoker, he had the raspiest voice I've ever heard). The believe that if someone who has Doctor appended to his name, what is being said must be true.

I was horrified. Clearly. And still am.

They call it "Yooper Initiation"

What you need to know first - is that I am OK. Fine. A little sore and battered, but FINE. I promise.

It snowed for the fifth time this October on Saturday night. I was in the Central part of the UP for meetings, and staying at my friend Ginny's house in Palmer. On Sunday, there was about an inch on the ground at Ginny's and I headed off to a breakfast meeting. I was quite aware of the somewhat icy road, and felt like I was taking it pretty slowly and carefully.

I came to a curve [really one of an endless series of curves in this road which curves in 3-D like a roller coaster for about six miles]. As I entered the curve, I thought, "You are going to fast for this curve," but there was nothing to do, at that point, as the road was a solid sheet of ice. Sure enough, I swerved left, then right, then left again. I felt the car leave the road; was pretty sure it rolled. It came to rest, tilted. My first words, "Thank God, I'm OK." I felt no pain, at all.

I could not open the driver's door, so I got my feet on the window, moved to the e-brake, pushed hard on the passenger door, and got it open. I was quite high in the air. There was a stump there ["Wow," I thought, "Good thing I didn't hit THAT"]. I stepped on the stump, and got to the ground. The car was clearly not going anywhere, and I was in a ditch with a five foot drop on a pretty lonely road.

I climbed out of the ditch and walked nearly a half mile until I came to a mailbox. The Kotijarvi's let me use their phone to call for help, and then Melba drove me back to my car. When we got to the place, she paled visibly and asked if I were sure I was OK; she promptly took me back to her house for coffee to await the police. Darryl (or Darren, I'm fuzzy here) took me back to the scene when the trooper called to say he was almost there. He told me in the car, "I just got back from Iraq last week. We lost three guys. Actually two guys and a girl. It's bad there." I welcomed him home. He stayed until the trooper arrived.

I was on my way to meet Manuel (my supervisor), Jim (my bishop), Kevin (the diocesan Ministry Development Coordinator) and a number of folks from the standing committee and commission on ministry. We were doing some canonical assessments on a congregation working on commissioning a Ministry Support Team. I was quite sure they would be very worried when I didn't show. I learned later that Jim realized he had a voicemail (as all were wondering where I was) and that he looked shaken when he heard my message, playing it on speaker phone for the whole group to hear.

After the tow truck came, the trooper took me to church. All the folks there fussed and carried on in sweet and caring ways. After church, the tow truck guy took me to the body shop. The body shop loaned me a car. At no point did I show any identification, produce a credit card, or my driver's license! The insurance people have been great.

Tomorrow am, I'll drive back to Ishpiming, return the loaner car and get a rental car until Maggie is fixed. It's still being negotiated, but she's looking repairable - about 10K worth of damage.

I was feeling funky this afternoon, so I called the doc, who told me to go the ER. I walked in and the nurse said, "Are you Fran? The clinic called and said you were coming." vitals, CAT scan, doc consult (minor concussion and bruises, nothing serious), and I was out the door in an hour.

Apparently many folks who drive up here roll a car in the ice at some point. What strikes me most is the kindness of strangers. From the Kotajarvis to Trooper Stanton to the folks at Tim's towing and the owner of Bartanen's auto body, not to mention the folks in the ER at Ontonagon Memorial Hospital, everyone was kind, caring, and lovely.

By the way, here's what the tow truck guys and I have reconstructed about what actually happened: I went into the ditch, missing a utility pole by no more than a foot. The tow truck guys think I rolled twice. The stump is from the tree I broke with the side of my car. What was holding me the tilted position was the trunk of the tree, leaning up against other trees. It was all quite gentle. No crashing, and no jarring. The airbag did not deploy.

My first Tattoo

I've wanted this tattoo since I was nineteen; as Jeff -the-tattoo-dude pointed out today, that's more than half my life. I think it's safe to say that this was not a phase.

So today, in honor of my ordination to the priesthood three weeks ago, I got this tattoo. In case you are wondering (it's hard to photograph one's own ankle), what you are looking at is a photo of my left ankle.

The most amazing thing about the experience was not the tattoo itself, but the long conversation that Jeff and I had, while he was doing the tattoo. "So," he said to me, "what do you do?"

"I'm an Episcopal priest," I replied.

"Really? That's so cool!" And then, this dude with tattoos covering nearly every inch of exposed skin, multiple piercings, earlobe stretchers, and a T-Shirt reading Strippers really like my pole, proceeded to talk with me about faith, spirituality, and theology for the hour it took him to do the tattoo.

He wanted to know what I thought about various parts of scripture and more about the Episcopal Church. He shared some of his own spiritual thoughts and explorations. To say that it was not what I expected would be understatement beyond measure.

I nearly invited him to attend the 7pm Explore! service at my friend Ginny's church, Trinity Episcopal Church in Houghton, but I was afraid of falling into the crazy-evangelistic-Christian stereotype. So, I've decided that when I get my next tattoo, because, oh yes, there will be another one, that I'll invite him to come.

The great public tattoo unveiling took place at Canterbury House, the campus ministry at Michigan Tech. Rick celebrated by making me a fab latte and teaching my how to run their high-tech espresson maker. The house was packed with more than a dozen students, and they thought it was great. It was the perfect setting to take the wrapping off in.

I've spent the rest of the day grinning like a fool, trying to be nonchalant about looking at my ankle.