Words from The Crone

Part of my genealogy project is to sift through hundreds of photos and assign several to each person in my 600 plus person family tree.  As I looked through each person I have noticed that as the years go by the lips get thinner and thinner.  Then I looked in the mirror and lo and behold MY lips were thinner.  What a sad state of affairs.  Where did I go wrong that my lips have disappeared?

 Certain of my anatomy has gone way south of my waistline and my muscles are slowly turning into butter, but thin lips?  What is going on?  I think they are slowing crawling up under my gums to rest in the eternity of lip slits of the elderly.  Scientists would say the collagen has broken down, gone away, and your lips are no more.  Want lips – get collagen injections that last for four months and make you look like Angelina Jolie.  The good news is that thin lips don’t’ hamper how you eat or how you talk so no big deal!  Save your money.

 So what do thin lips have to do with polyester?  Nothing.  Except maybe that only people who have thin lips (read “elderly”) wear polyester.  Younger folks ridicule, criticize, and turn their cute little noses up at polyester slacks, for example.  But, I have come in my thin-lipped maturity to love polyester.  Why?  Because it doesn’t wrinkle, can be washed and dried easily in the washer/dryer, doesn’t require ironing, and always looks almost brand new.  I’ve suffered through linen which always looks like you just crawled out of bed.  I’ve ironed cotton slacks, blouses, and dresses for an equivalent of 317 years.  I’ve itched and sweated years of my life away in woolen anything.  I’ve spent a fortune on dry-cleaning silk.  Nope, I am a polyester gal now and proud of it.

Sometimes I still wish that I had those collagen plumped lips of my youth, but if I had to choose to give up anything I would give up those lips for my polyester slacks and blouses any day.  Polyester may not be fashionable to some and may only be worn by little old ladies and smelly old men, but just you wait – someday you’ll be there too!

Now I think of myself as a reasonable person and God knows I try to find the positive in every person I meet.  I also try not to say anything bad about anyone and when I have a really diverse political or religious point of view from someone else I try to bite my tongue and shut up.

 But, with all those “Mama Grizzlies” out there I just can’t take it anymore.  I suffered through Sarah Palin and all the idiotic comments she made during the last presidential campaign.  I prayed every single day that John McCain would not get elected.  Not, mind you, because I thought he would not make a good president, but because the thought of him having a heart attack and dying and leaving Sarah in the White House made me nauseous.  Okay, maybe not only nauseous, but scared to death.  I mean really, can you picture someone running the most powerful country in the world who doesn’t even know the names of the newspapers she (maybe) reads?  Or worse yet, whose best comment is “You betcha!” 

 And now, we have “Mama Grizzly, You Betcha the Second” Christine O’Donnell, running for the senate in my home state of Delaware.  Not again!  I had hoped that Sarah and her ilk would simply disappear into the woodwork and we wouldn’t have to suffer through her ignorance any longer.  Now we have our own home grown version.  This woman cancelled two national television appearances because she was “tired.”  Or, was it that she had to do the laundry?  I can’t remember.  But it would seem to me that anyone running for the U.S. Senate would leap at the chance for such national exposure, maybe even walk over hot coals to do it.  Guess she didn’t know “witch” way to turn!  I can see her in the oval office on the phone saying, “You’ll have to cancel my next nationally televised press conference – our local Coven is meeting that day!”  Go figure.  No, don’t bother. 

 What really scares me, however, is that people actually voted for these women.   What scares me more is that Sarah might run for president and people might actually vote for her.  She might even win.  If terror could be seen you would see that in me.  I want someone who at least has a modicum of intelligence running this country.  Just thinking about it makes me stutter!  I-I-I-I jus-jus-just ca-ca-can’t t-t-take it a-a-n-nee-nee-y m-m-more!

Now, I know that I have friends (maybe now former friends) who think Sarah and her pals are wonderful, and I will agree that we are all entitled to our own opinions and our own votes.  But, come on, if you want to have brain surgery you don’t send in the plumber!  Oh, I just can’t take it anymore!  I’m going to cancel my TV service and newspaper subscription until someone lets me know we have regained our national sanity.  And, now I’m going to volunteer at “Elect Rational Real People for Congress.”

Genealogy can really hurt a girl.  I don’t mind the fact that there are some of my ancestors that will forever remain a figment of my imagination because I can’t document them.  But, I really have my feelings hurt when I can’t find any documentation on my parents.  Well, at least I can’t find any documentation that they were born!

 Search and search as I may, no state, county, or local vital records office nor town or village clerks have been able to document the fact that my parents were ever born.  What makes this even more irksome is the fact that I know the exact date that each of them was born and the city/village in which they emerged from their mother’s womb.  But, it seems only me and those mothers know this to be a fact.  Well, okay, my mother and father know too, but since they are both deceased they could care less.  I guess.  

To answer that ageless question “How does that make you feel?”  It makes me feel like I am a figment of someone’s imagination.  If my parents weren’t born how could I be?  I don’t exactly feel orphaned although it does feel a bit like I have no roots.  It feels like there is this air space in my lineage that has to be filled.  A chain without a link.  A loose end.  Or, as genealogists would say, a brick wall. 

But how can I fill this void?  I have hoped that maybe the town clerk would say, “Well, we had a fire (or a flood) in 1907 and all the records were lost.”  Of course, it would have to have happened in one city and one village within months of each other so that is probably an irrational desire.  One town clerk looked at me sadly when no records turned up and said, “Are you sure they lived here?”  It sounded sort of like, “Are you sure they lived?”  I assured her they had lived here for fifteen years.  Her sad eyes grew sadder and she just shook her head as if to say, “You poor thing with no record of your mother’s birth.”  She suggested that I contact a medium who might lead me to the truth.  No, I’m only kidding.  However, I might consider that. 

It took me three years to find a great-grandfather’s death certificate so maybe if I keep plodding along I can move from the ranks of being a “Figment” to being a “Real” person.  Come to think of it, I haven’t checked with the town clerk to see if my birth record is on file.  Maybe I really am a figment.

Today is 9/11 and this is the sermon I wrote for the following Sunday on 9/16/2001. I’m not sure we’ve come very far in our forgiveness since then. And, I pray that no copies of the Qur-an will be burned today.

The skyline of your life

Yesterday was the 25th anniversary of the “legal” ordination of women to the priesthood. The clergy were to celebrate the event last Tuesday at our Clergy Day and I was prepared to report that it was a glorious event as we listened to the stories of the women, male priests and Bishops who were courageous enough to color outside of the lines and ordain the first women who burst open the way for the rest of us. But it wasn’t a celebration, it was a wake. The World Trade Towers and the Pentagon were attacked by terrorists and we all are still coming to grips with what that means for the survivors, their families and for us.

On Tuesday, September 11, 2001, the skyline of Manhattan, so familiar to the world, changed forever. That day, the skyline of our lives changed forever too. For generations to come this event will be the starting point for some new way of life that is being defined as we sit here, still dazed, still shaking our heads, still incredulous. Still awestruck that a disaster of such magnitude could even happen, not only in the U. S., but anywhere in the world for that matter. And for what? To send what message? To retaliate for what? This ravaging of innocent life isn’t the work of one or two madmen such as the Oklahoma City bombing, or the assassination of President Kennedy. This ravaging of innocent life was done like clockwork, by a well-oiled machine, with precision and planning like the attack on Pearl Harbor or the horrors of the Holocaust. This was an act of enormous evil carried out by enormously evil men and women.

In anger, many ask, “Where is God in this picture?” Or they say, “How can God allow this to happen.” God doesn’t allow this to happen. Life happens, to the fortunate and the unfortunate. It is all part of being human and living in an imperfect world. If God sat on a cloud and manipulated the lives of each human being, it wouldn’t be life as we know it. It wouldn’t be life with all the fullness of chance, change and choice. It wouldn’t be life with all the variety, veracity and yes, even violence. It might be a perfect life, but then we would not be here on earth, we would be somewhere in eternity.

And God is in the picture. Walking side by side with each and every one of us through whatever adversity comes our way in this imperfect world. Holding us up through all of this ugliness. Whenever anyone asks me that particular question, “Where is God in this picture?” I am reminded of that wonderful poem, Footprints, by Mary Stevenson.

One night a man had a dream. He dreamed he was walking along the beach with the LORD. Across the sky flashed scenes from his life. For each scene, he noticed two sets of footprints in the sand: one belonged to him and the other to the LORD.

When the last scene of his life flashed before him, he looked back at the footprints in the sand. He noticed that many times along the path of his life there was only one set of footprints. He also noticed that it happened at the very lowest and saddest times in his life.

This really bothered him and he questioned the LORD about it. “LORD, you said that once I decided to follow you, you’d walk with me all the way. But I have noticed that during the most troublesome times in my life, there is only one set of footprints. I don’t understand why when I needed you most you would leave me.”

The LORD replied, “My precious, precious child, I love you and I would never leave you. During your times of trial and suffering, when you see only one set of footprints, it was then that I carried you”.

And God will always be with us. Never doubt that and never forget it.

My life, your life, and certainly the families of those whose loved ones died, many thousand perhaps, are left now to deal with it. To deal with it as Jews, Muslims, Sikhs, Hindus, Buddhists and as Christians. And as hard as it is to sit here and hold back the tears in acceptance of what happened, what Christ calls us to do in the days and years ahead will be even harder.

As Jesus hung from the cross, as cruelly mocked, ridiculed and killed as those in the Trade Towers and the Pentagon, his final message was this. “Father, forgive them for they know not what they do.” Forgive them, I scream in my anguish and grief. Forgive them for committing this hideous and heinous act against innocent men, women and children. Never, never, I can hear myself shout. How can God ever expect me to forgive such evil?

But I know, and you know, that unless and until we fall on our knees and forgive these evil people, our lives will forever be tainted by the evilness of our own thoughts of disgust, hatred, retaliation and revenge. And I know I don’t want that to define the skyline of my life. Yes, the skyline of our lives will be changed forever, but this is our golden opportunity to make sure that change is positive. For right now, in this moment, we are creating how that change will look. We can go down the dark path of revenge and retribution, or we can change our consciousness, and change the world. Revenge and retribution was the driving idea in the minds of the men who boarded planes with the intent of using them as ghastly weapons of destruction. We can act from that same mindset, or we can change our minds, and find a better way through forgiveness, love, compassion, responsibility, freedom and justice without vengeance – for all humanity. What will the skyline of your life look like tomorrow? The choice is up to you alone. Let us pray:

Almighty God, give us the strength and the wisdom to find the light of Christ within us in the coming hours, days and months. Send the blessing and healing of the Holy Spirit to dwell with the survivors and families of all the men, women and children who have so viciously been taken away from us this week. May those who died rest in peace, and may peace rest in us. AMEN

A man was walking down the road looking for some carpentry work. He knocked on doors and asked if anyone needed something built. At one house the owner said, “Yes, I need a fence built, can you do that?” “Sure, said the carpenter. Where do you want it?” “Down there in front of the creek.” “Why, down there,” asked the carpenter?

The owner explained that he had an ornery neighbor on the other side of the creek. This neighbor was cranky and irritable, didn’t keep his property cleaned up, and muttered nasty things whenever anyone came near his property. The owner endured this for a year and decided that he no longer wanted to see his neighbor and his messy yard, hear him mutter obscenities, or have him wade across the river and even step on his property. The carpenter nodded and set about getting the materials for the fence and soon began cutting and hammering and nailing.

The owner had to go away on business and when he returned he expected to see his new fence completed. To his surprise he found a spanking new bridge! He was outraged and told the carpenter he would not pay him. The carpenter said, “No, problem, but if you cross over the bridge and talk to your neighbor you might find out that he has severe crippling arthritis, his wife died about a year ago, he lost his job, his son is estranged from him, and he is in constant pain while trying to cope with all his grief. All of this causes him to be very ornery as well as miserable and he could use a friend to help him out.”

The owner felt ashamed and crossed the bridge to go and find his neighbor. To this day they have worked out their differences and reconciled, forgiveness abounds, and they have a deep and abiding friendship. The owner has cleaned up the neighbor’s yard for him, invites him to dinner once a week, does his shopping for him, takes him to his doctor’s appointments, and calls every day to see how he is feeling. They laugh together, cry together, and have a joyful relationship.

There are always two sides of the river, or two sides of a fence, or two sides of a story. And, unless we make the effort to learn what is on the other side of our wall of misery, or the fence of our discontent, we will never be able to break through it all into a life of forgiveness, reconciliation, contentment and joy.

But, in order to do that one must build a bridge, not a fence.

Since the beginning of time man (and probably women too) have been battling insects of one kind or another – spiders, creepy crawlers, beetles, palmetto bugs, mosquitoes, you name it. My insect battle this year has been with ants. Some of them are so tiny you can hardly see them and others are your ordinary average picnic ant size. But, none of them are the giant carpenter size ants, thank God.

This year the ants must number in the ga-billions. They are coming at me from everywhere – under the toilet, under various places along the baseboard, in the dishwasher, in the refrigerator, under the bathtub, out of the a/c ducts, over my desk, down my walls, they are simply EVERYWHERE!

The battle was on! We started with a strong commercial spray – nada. A neighbor gave us some commercial strength “Ant Bait” guaranteed to wipe out the colonies (yes, plural) within 30 days! Oy, 30 days, that’s a long time to have to eat, sleep, and dine with the ants. We scrubbed every dish clean before we put it in the dishwasher, we wiped the kitchen counters and stove top so much they cried “Uncle.” The poor dog had about two minutes to eat his food or it was swarming with hundreds of the little ant buggers. I think he lost two pounds. Some days we gave up entirely and just watched the twenty-foot long trail of ants coming and going. Industrious little suckers, they are.

Outside the house was much worse, so that was a blessing. However, when they found the hummingbird feeder and covered that, I flipped out! Out with the hose, wash down the feeder, move the feeder, fool the ants, try again. Didn’t work – ants found the new installation within minutes, maybe seconds. Then we discovered that a line of chalk will not be crossed by ants. And so, we used up several sticks of chalk on the pathway to our bird feeder. Worked – sort of, but at least there are a lot fewer ants.

Our condominium association kept answering my pleas for help with, “That is not an association problem since the ants are not a detriment to the property.” Not for them, maybe, but crunchy ants in my cereal was a detriment to the enjoyment of my meal. Ants everywhere in my house were a detriment to my mental health. They were driving me nuts. Time for the big guns.

Off to Lowes. Daughter bought 20 pounds of some ant poison granules. Sprinkle all over lawns, decks, grounds, foundations. Water, water, water. Wait. Fewer ants. Woo Hoo.

Next, heavy duty ant poison spray that won’t harm humans or animals when it dries. Spray, spray, spray, baseboards everywhere, including inside closets. More fewer ants. Double Woo Hoo.

Final step – clear silicone caulk. Seal all holes in the baseboards, around sinks, toilets, tubs, any hole or crack found inside or outside the house! Caulk, caulk, caulk. Haven’t seen an ant all day, inside or out! Triple Woo Hoo! Maybe, just maybe we’ve won the battle of the ants! I sure hope so because I think they were even crawling into my scalp at night and nipping away. Scratch. Scratch. Scratch.