On the baptism of the Lord, and so forth

Had a good time this morning discussing the lectionary readings as reassurances for those "afraid of the water"... and talking about cultural images of "Jesus standing in line" and taking everybody by surprise.

A beautiful drive both ways.  Weather has warmed up spectacularly overnight but temperature was still below freezing on the way 'out' this morning.  So everything on both sides of the highway was delightfully frosted over.  I am accustomed to the lovely "apple-blossom" aspect of mountain-ash trees, leafless, with the berry clusters covered in snow.  But this morning was the first time I recall seeing willows with their vivid early-spring stems likewise veiled in white -- the resultant colours were like saltwater taffy...implausibly beautiful.

Some raptors to be seen, along the way -- a nice change from the all-prevalent corvids...only two bison quite a long way from the road as I was coming through the nat'l park...and a couple of ponies kicking up snow at each other in a paddock.

It has grown warm enough as the afternoon comes on to make the road surface mucky -- I need to refill my windshield washer before I quit work for the day.  And it would be prudent to clear my walks while it's nice and mild also.

Some cooking-projects await my arrival at home...and I'm down to about the last 100 pieces of the 1500-piece monster jigsaw I've been assembling this week.  A good, quiet, scaled-down kind of an evening.  Happy sigh.  "Savouring the graces," as they say.

Winter fauna

Do 'fauna' include birds?  I suppose they must.  In any event there was a fine vocal magpie in the backyard grove this morning declaiming in Anglo-Saxon: "Hwaet!  Hwaet!  Hwaet!"  I didn't have time to stop and explain "Hwaet" was going on, unfortunately.

We have had pictures and reports of a number of unusual birds in the area this winter -- a yellow-shafted flicker, and more spectacularly, a gyrfalcon... There is a Christmastide bird-census, but I've never yet taken part.  (They don't use the long form, I understand.)

Guest once more of the blessed library...and grateful for it.  Time to fly away and free up this terminal for some other happy soul.

Happy "Baptism of the Lord," tomorrow, everybody.  Remember, your cue is, "Jesus stands in line."  All else follows from that.  You have been told.

A Milestone

As of today -- I have turned the corner into a new decade -- this is my seventieth birthday, and I have very little vision of what that means -- sixty-ish, yes; eighty-ish, yes; but SEVENTY??? 

Partly I want to ask, "HOW did this happen?"  but I know the answer to that one well enough.

I have enjoyed a day of almost entirely untrammeled self-indulgence (well, it's a start....) -- up and a long phone conversation, very affable, with the Father of My Children -- then rushed off to get my haircut -- home and met my neighbour between our two houses and heard him apologize that he hadn't got my lawn cut for me before I cut it myself, earlier this week (it looks a bit like a kindergartener's self-hair-cut, but hey)...then I chased down my weedkiller/fertilizer technician and made him sort out the invoices that he had put in the wrong mailboxes...then I repelled the earnest efforts of the Jehovah's Witnesses (ah, Saturdays in the summer)...then I went to the Library and played on their computers and handed in one book and took out four more, all slender and non-challenging... then I did a little reconnaissance on the dinner-venue for this evening...then stopped at a cafe for a mid-afternoon treat, came home, and in due course got myself out of the house again for supper with 2/3 of my children and 2/2 of my grandchildren, one DIL, one SIL, and the co-grandparents of one of the little granddaughters.
Dinner was Italian, in a right-sized private dining-room where the granddaughters could hoot and holler and play tag around the table when they were tired of eating (Italian food which they both like, and watching the 20-month-old smack the table and demand more OLIVES was a highlight of the evening)...so after wonderful charcuterie and wine and pizzas and pastas and -- for me -- praline gelato in a bowl about as big as the average washbasin... and lovely cards and presents ... "and so home," like Samuel Pepys...

Tomorrow I'm preaching and presiding again for the first time in a couple of months; must look out a clean black shirt etc. and make sure my vestments are packed and in the car.

Time to take one more look over the sermon notes...I feel very very "guest-preacher-ish" this evening and the sermon is perhaps somewhat idiosyncratic also... But I don't think I'll do them any harm.

a day to remember...

Well, dear all,  I would love to strew this post with picture-proof, but I am on a "borrowed device" (public library) and not sure whether I'll EVER have access to my own pictures, documents, etc., EVER AGAIN.
New computer time, in short.  Actually new computer time + 10 days.  Ah, well.
Yesterday WAS ANOTHER DAY, however.  Annie and her intrepid parents and I met at the local summer fair, which has been called all sorts of things, some of them printable, but for the moment is called "K-Days" again.  Do not ask me.  Il ne faut pas chercher a comprendre.  Just take my word for it.
Now a week or ten days ago the Notable Annie, Thing #One, spontaneously expressed an ambition to RIDE A HORSE.  After some dialogue she agreed, "Pony would be better.  Little would be better.  And a seatbelt" (the thought of which makes me helpless every time I think of it).
Are you keeping in mind, O Best Beloved, that Annie is 28 months old???
Inevitably, FATEDLY, not long after we embarked down the midway, there were RIDABLE EQUINES.  Parenthesis here to note that she and Grandma had already met the Clydesdale pair in the farm-animal display...individually in box stalls, with their heads down in the hay-box.  Until they straightened up.  I had just a glimpse of how big a Clydesdale looks to a 2-year-old.  When that big head comes up into view, it might as well be the Kraken.  But "did she tremble, did she blinch?"  She did not...took in the spectacle with utter satisfaction and aplomb.  Heart of a lion, in this little girl.
Back to the RIDABLES.  The usual panoply of pony-sized critters harnessed to a windlass-arrangement, walking solemnly in a circle.  In due course it was Annie's turn.  Her Mommy put her in the saddle and walked around with her while Daddy and Grandma cheered on the sidelines.  First round, considerable consternation on the face (but not distress); second round -- all tranquil and calm; third round, HUGE grin.
Her Mommy reported that throughout the ride, which was substantially long ("Grandma, I went ROUND AND ROUND AND ROUND"), there was a constant inner bubble of delighted laughter in that little mortal frame.
This all bodes delightfully well.  I see clearly boots and a little black velvet helmet in the future.
Oh yes -- and when it was over, and Annie was lifted off -- "Mommy, I think I jus' have to give Horse a Little Kiss"  which she did.  He took it well.
Some other time I'll tell you about the Rubber Ducky game and Annie's triumphant win of a small non-specific green/blue stuffed dog, christened "Loola."  Oh yes, and the sheep-shearing at which Annie interpreted the bleating of the patient...
And a good time was had by all!
 

Happy New Year!

Good afternoon, all.

Here we are in a new year -- and I am brooding over schedules and priorities and calling and resources and eternity (and wonderin' where the lions are), and like that.

New Year's Resolutions in other words. I've been making them for about 60 years. Not keeping them -- also about 60 years. Could be discouraging.

But, but. We start over. I've had two years now, since retirement began; I've had two years to work off some of the Total Fatigue accumulated in the preceding fifteen; I'm feeling more energy and more gusto and more "desire to Do Something" instead of "desire to prove I don't have to Do Anything."

And I'm also conscious of diminutions rolling down upon me (just watching, or listening to, Indiana Jones and the Temple of Foolishness, and, yes, seeing Big Stone Rollers in my path too), so, let us see, maybe this year.

I've started off with a new regime for morning devotions -- the whole-Psalter-in-a-month, every month schedule from the old Book of Common Prayer , and the morning and evening prayer readings from Scripture. Started off this morning briskly with circumcision according to Torah and circumcision according to Paul (Romans 2). I think this will be doable.

What else? Kitchen clean, every night by bedtime. Bedroom tidy every morning before I launch upon the day. Bathroom clean, every day. Laundry done up and finished, every Monday, for the week. Little cat, and house-plants, attended to every morning before I have my own breakfast. Grocery shopping organized, once a week and once a month for "big stuff" on the 10% discount day. And I rather think I'll have a go at making my own bread, again. I don't seem to use very much, I think I can stay ahead of it, and I like to do it.

I'm investigating how long my "staples" last me -- a jug of dishwasher detergent, a big jug of laundry detergent, a three-pound box of margarine, a big bottle of shampoo. (A tank of gasoline, for that matter.)

Some time every day for journal, and letters, and this blessed blog. Some discipline about responding to emails and letters and phone calls.

Exercise. Sigh.

I have dreams of a great grandiose LIST of everything that needs doing, organized in one place, so that I can ration it out and come to an understanding of what constitutes a day's work, so I know when I can feel entitled to quit and rest, or quit and play.

Because at 67 I don't think it's morbid to reflect that most LIKELY I have already lived more of my life than I have left before me, and it behooveth me not to waste any of the latter?

Fabrector, my boss, is away from the parish for a bit, so this morning's liturgy was in my hands. We had a happy time with the Naming of Jesus. Then after the second service I went and made a pastoral bedside call. I still struggle with the pastoral etiquette...do I ask whether I MAY come, do I announce that I AM COMING, how do I hear what it is, that the person on the phone is hoping I will say next? and utter it? The man I went to see is in the process of dying, at home. But not quite as imminently today, perhaps, as his wife thought he was, last night.

And so home, and a Beautiful Breakfast -- a couple of eggs omelette'd up with onion and celery and jalapeno and pre-baked potato cut up, and a piece of ham dolled up with some cranberry juice and a few raisins.

And then sleep, naturally. But I did not, I WILL not, lie down on the couch. I may doze off in my chair (and I did), but otherwise, sleeping is done IN BED. NOT, on the couch with the lights on and the TV roaring.

And, gulp, no more computer games. Except Sporcle quizzes. I mean, after all.

what's left, this evening? a salad supper; kitchen tidying; thank you letters; a couple of pastoral phone calls; and to bed, betimes.

Second day...

Awake a little before five this morning. The People's FM Radio plays interesting music until six a.m., after which Teh Stoopid takes over. So I lay and listened; got up a bit after six a.m. when the news was over and made a bit of a list for the day. It looked reasonable...and some of it even got done -- two loads of laundry, a run to the bank, and the Post Office, and two grocery stores. After which, it being payday and all, I treated myself to a (not very good) lunch "out."

Home, and got the groceries put away -- and that's ALL she wrote. Made a good breakfast and a light supper, and I'm finished for the day. Will watch the rest of Monday Night Football, and crawl off to bed.

Much intrigued by the discussion on what our theology says or fails to say about the animal part of creation -- the nonhuman animals, that is -- led me to reflect on some of the background reading I did "back when", preparing lectures on Black Beauty. I knew, I knew, that there were theologians in the background of Anna Sewell's work, and I was please to be able to trace the thread back to Horace Bushnell, q.v. In the process read some interesting notes on Calvin's theological references to animals (not to the impoverished references of CALVINISTS, to animals).

Recalling, in conversation with other RevGals, the doctrinaire objections to the Blessing of Animals in church -- summarized as "Animals don't go to heaven, because they don't have souls." Two thoughts, well, two utterable thoughts, always rose up in response to that: first that it's the Resurrection of the BODY we say we believe in, NOT the immortality of the soul, fine pagan notion though that is. And second -- that if a discernible soul is the criterion, a whole bunch of folks I encounter day by day had better look to their qualifications (grump, grump).

More and more I think that the secret to pragmatic success in parish life is the willingness to condone, flatter, echo, and cheerlead people's envy, contempt, and spite toward other folks. I am so weary of it. Hence, in part, the "Monday face."

ramblin'

Back again in the internet oasis and about to go back to the Falls and walk a little bit more ambitiously than the last time.

Another brilliant, brilliant day -- not hot, but the sun is v. assertive at these altitudes.

As always on holiday I make plans to revise the day-to-day when I get back to ordinary-level: purchase topographical maps, choose and fit the permanent car-picnic box, keep better records, REALLY find out how this camera works best...maybe this time?

Opened the curtains on the west-side of my motel room this morning to see the first light on the mountains across the valley. And what walked by, close enough to touch, but a very nice young white-tail buck...probably full of apple-sauce, bless him, there are a couple of derelict old trees in the next block. I admired him until he disappeared, then began getting day-ready, and there was a great uproar out that window, sounded something between a 'quack' and a 'mew' -- maybe most of all like a really annoying child with a new kazoo. Looked out again. Mrs. Whitetail went by, vociferating.

Got my opening-time dunk in the hot pool (102 F) this morning and then UP the delectable valley very briskly.

Lunch has been purchased, and I'm on my way again. Home tomorrow. Full of RESOLUTION.

the Friday Five

Dorcas has given us this introduction to the Friday Five, over at RevGalBlogPals:

"Though I am from a non-liturgical denomination, I find myself longing for some of the expressions others of you may experience at this time of year. The same thing happens to me during Advent. At both times I am drawn to the symbolism of darkness becoming light, of longing turning to joy. One of my favorite things at this time of year used to be draping the wooden cross at the rear of our sanctuary with a dark purple velvet cloth and adding a crown of (ouch!) thorns--and what a lovely thing it was to see that same cross on Easter Sunday morning, draped in glowing white with a golden, jewel-studded crown added. Not being a pastor this year, I am missing some of the symbolism I always tried to employ. I may find a nearby Episcopalian or Lutheran congregation to visit at some point, actually.

Meanwhile, today I am asking for your thoughts on that movement from darkness to light. Tell us five ways in which you are anticipating, or your life is moving towards light, joy, hope--new things: new ideas, new hobbies, new people...and so on."

And here are mine

1. LIGHT -- just plan flat out candle-power. More light in the evenings, now at last more light in the mornings. A dawn worth waking up to see.

2. BIRDS -- There is a chickadee in my yard who has found two notes that please him, and bellows them early and late. I haven't seen robins yet, but their whooping and bragging is unmistakable. And the geese, bless them. They remind me of a long ago April a long way from where I am now (in every dimension)...stepping out into a lovely soft New England evening, I heard a tiny repeated sound...and there was a "VEE" labouring northward, so high in the sky they were at the limit of what I could see. [Pause while you picture the Rambler running up and down the sidewalk in short homesick bursts, crying ank-ank, ank-ank, ank-ank, don't leave me...well, no, not quite, but the impulse was there!]

3. GROWING GREEN The church garden at St. Curious is under the windows against the south wall. A lovely sun-trap. And there are all manner of bulb-things showing green -- and indomitable leaves from the hollyhocks, already as big as the palm of my hand. Poignant when we remember we can still have a killing frost any time in the next six weeks... And in the meantime I am confident that my tulips are reaching for the sky, and light, and air, against the south wall of Tether's End, here...in their "igloo greenhouse" where the neighbour has piled the snow from his driveway all winter. It is melting away from underneath.

4. and so here and elsewhere, WATER -- running water, everywhere, on the sidewalks, in the streets, in the lanes, in the ravines, in the creeks. The best sound ever.

5. SPRING CLEANING accelerating the thinning and purging of bookshelves, closets, file cabinets, sordid little caches of this, that, and the other, all over the house. In honour of spring, and in anticipation of ...

5A. DOG and a very new and different engagement with time, place, energy, activity. S/He's not even a pup yet, just a notion...but this year, for sure, for sure.

AAAAAAHHHHH

In case you're not aware, that header represents "screaming like a little girl."

I've been growing increasingly impatient with DITHER as a Life Principle, also its close relative, Shilly-Shally, and everything came to a head yesterday morning...soooo...I emailed the proprietrix of the kennel whence come the Gordon Setters.
Actually it was--I think--the recklessness of a fellow RevGal in posting up a pic of a Bernese Mountain pup. With bed-head. TOO MUCH TO BEAR, friends.

So after months of drooling over the kennel website, and boring all my acquaintances pallid with switherings and ditherings about Gordon Setters, I emailed the Kennel Goddess.

And she answered me. (Reprise on the screaming, above)

And this very evening, I am going to a hitherto unknown place to observe agility classes. With Gordon Setters. Being agile, presumably.

Thing is: I've never had a dog, not ever, not even a little negligible penwiper dog. I've always wanted a dog. Always. A big dog. Preferably a setter. And Irishes, although lovely beyond words, are, well, differently clued, right?

Hence, the Gordons. Big ol' black'n'tan dog. Yup. With a gentle expression in its eyes, says so, right here in the book. Kind of a dog-a-logue book, it is.

My boss, Fabrector, has lent me the Monks of New Skete book on puppy raising. Fabrector has a big ol' dog of her own, and he is trained to a HAIR and is all "Ma'am yes ma'am"...a great encouragement to dog ownership for the timid. Yesterday morning he went out of is way to demonstrate to me what a Good Thing it would be, for me to have one of my own. There was affectionate leaning on, there was affectionate cuddling, there were dog kisses, there was chin-on-your-knee with upturned-adoring-gaze. I would think he had hacked into my email...

I'll keep you posted. (for "psoted," read "bored...")

a quick update

up early this morning for a tryst with the ironing board...getting clothes suitcase-ready and ME-ready, trying to scry the weather in two cities, two provinces over three days, with about four different occasions at four different levels of formality (including one that needs the big ol' vestment bag, sigh).

Life somewhat intensified by the prospect of a second session of travel starting very soon after the return to Tether's End...what can I get accomplished in the interval, what HAS to be done before I go away (the second time, by car). For example, schedule exchange of all-weather tires for snow tires; I'd rather listen to them whine unnecessarily than find myself in the midst of the Great Flatness wishing I had them.

On the inter-tubes this morning to find out about Advance Polls for the municipal election...one more thing to schedule in for next weekend.

Taking the national Road Atlas with me on the plane this morning for some more detailed planning of when, where, how far, how many days. Also Bible (preaching next Sunday), also book (for review, due day after return).

Deciding NOT to take excellent dog book by Monks of New Skete (property of public library). I distrust my capacity to travel with a book that is someone else's property, and get it home again safely.

Much taken with the dog-training ethos of the New Skete community. Trying not to list the human beings I know who would be all the better for a "quick leash pop" from time to time.

Feeling a bit daunted by all that I DO NOT KNOW about the dogly realm, as I contemplate becoming a dog-person. I get the two basic principles, that most dogs who distress their owners a) haven't figured out who the boss is and b) haven't had enough exercise. I think I can do the "boss" part (snickering offstage from offspring etc). But two walks a day -- AND PLAY? Dogs need PLAY? They're not talking about cribbage, either, are they? Backgammon? Beggar-my-neighbour? Nah, didn't think so.

...it feels really, really, foolish, but I'm not at all sure I know how to play with a dog...

Back to the ironing board.

HOME, HOME ON THE RANGE.....

where the buffalo roam

Life in Prairie Province isn't hardly EVER dull.

a quiet Tuesday

Not a very accomplishing day. I think if I can put my laundry in order and commence my packing, and get the kitchen tidy enough before bedtime, I'll have done all I needed to do. Tomorrow is also a day.

I'm away next weekend -- a foray to Wisconsin for an ordination...from Prairie Metropolis such excursions ideally begin with the hop to Minneapolis. There WAS an alternate route this time...Seattle, Denver, Chicago...I don't think so!!

Soon after I was ordained I found an extra-long garment bag, which I've used ever since for vestments: first my alb, and after I'd worn it threadbare, cassock, surplice, etc. For about the last five years it has been "non-zippered" and held sketchily closed with an array of safety pins. I want to take my vestments as carry-on baggage on this run, and the safety-pin expedient just doesn't cut it, I think.

So the other night I dug out a nail file and a pair of pliers and went to work on the zipper and managed (fingers crossed) to get the slider first opened up and then closed up again, so as to control MOST of the zipper (the remainder I have sewn together solidly). Happy sigh of accomplishment.

Oh yes! also riding in the vestment bag this trip will be a lighweight washable chasuble; it was a handed-down ordination gift from a Clergy Widow who had originally made it for her husband. Among the happy memories of my first year of ordination are a number of attempts by Clergy Widows to get "THAT cupboard" empty at last--as a result I was very well outfitted, far better than I could have afforded on my own. And now the chasuble is going to another new ordinand...and in HER baggage, to Jerusalem and the Holy Land. A comfortable thought.

And I have emptied three bags of books. Perhaps one more, this evening, in the intervals of laundry, ironing, and dish-washing?

As inspiration, I have printed the Puppy-Face seen above and posted it on the fridge...to remind myself of WHY I need to put the house in fit condition to harbour a big ol'dog.

Hoping upon my return to open up lines of communication with the nearest breeders of Gordon Setters. Most of the kennels I've looked up specify that they don't even arrange a breeding until they know they have takers for the hypothetical pups. I'm willing to wait, I think the breed is the better for this scrupulosity. It seems a bit odd, I guess, to set my heart on a dog I've never actually seen in the flesh...all I know is what I've read, and what I've been told about the Gordon my grandfather owned long before I was born! I don't want a dog to breed, or to show -- or to hunt!!! -- just a companion... and I love the setter shape and size...not sure I have the strength of character to tolerate the ditziness of an Irish.

I have friends with very well-behaved dogs who are a perfect joy, and friends with dogs which are Hysterical Monsters, so I'm approaching this project with some trepidation...must find my book about the monks of Skete and plumb its depths I guess!

and away we go, again.

{explanation of this image a bit later; bear with me, 'kay?)


I am now embarked upon my sixty-seventh year.

And perhaps I shall try to blog daily, for a while at least, as a discipline (which I sorely need).

Yesterday was a most marvellous birthday...in an introverted control-freak sort of style: a quiet morning at home with some computer time, a beautiful lunch out with the Daughter Unit, good conversation and a beautiful salad; some quiet contemplation of the backs of my eyelids during the afternoon; a light half-supper; a delightful gathering with the Wise Women of St. Curious to begin reading Ann & Barry Ulanov's Primary Speech together.

Home again, and a second half-supper (left over chicken and rice and Miscellaneous Sauce from Sunday evening)...some television, a snooze on the sofa, a few more hours' sleep properly in my bed -- and from 3 a.m. on, AWAKE. So: tea, and perhaps presently a little toast.

I am carrying about the recollection of several score birthday greetings on my favourite 'social utility' also -- and phone calls, and cards, and wonderful encouraging prezzies (including chocolate cake!!!)

And I am having a bit of a daydream. I like dogs -- well-behaved dogs. I haven't ever had a dog. I am now thinking a dog-shaped thought (assisted by Google). I am thinking about a Gordon Setter...(see pic above).

And now I am going to take my tea, and return to bed, and read some more Harvey Cox on Pentecostalism.

miduum of the triduum...

Taking a short break this afternoon for a nice grilled cheese sandwich with bread and butter pickles (internal to the sandwich, mmmm) ... a homemade latte ... a little desultory television...and then time to get changed and saddle up and go do a communion visit. Back to St. Curious in time for the Vigil tonight at 8...assisted by three other parishes, so the Rambler gets to ride the bench unless one of the visiting clergy sprains something vital.
It's been a good Holy Week at St. Curious -- Palm Sunday went beautifully including some slightly impromptu processing by children and choir, happy distribution of home-made palm branches (hooray for newsprint): then daily Eucharists Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday; a students' supper Maundy Thursday followed by a mighty footwashing (on a scale hitherto unknown in those parts); children doing a fine and happy activity on Good Friday during the Good Friday devotions -- with a very good turn-out, mightily cheering to one and all.
A lovely interlude on Friday evening -- local small chorus has established the tradition of a "sacred concert" on Good Friday in the Fancy Schmancy Downtown Concert Hall; and this year their choice was the Brahms Deutsches Requiem; 30 some select voices and piano accompaniment. There was a good crowd including a significant number of local clergy--it is such a treat late on Good Friday to participate in something beautiful and reverent without having to DRIVE it!
And this morning an innovation, an Easter Egg hunt on the church grounds for children of the community, and thanks be to God there was no snow to contend with...contrary to ALL expectations (head-shaking, tooth-sucking expectations), there were at least 20 children in attendance and a whooping good time was had by all.
Just to ensure that the laughter never stops... Fab Rector at St. Curious was up early this morning and let out her Faithful Dog, who went out like the valiant creature he is and promptly found a skunk. They did not part friends. So on her schedule today also is the de-stinking of her mephitic hound (also self, house, clothing, etc. etc.).

Nobody has as much fun as we do, nobody.

And there were swans this morning, flying over the river...
Happy Easter, alleluia.

Saturday all day!!!

Another brilliant day and mild enough that it may be safe, later on, to run Harriet-the-Echo through some lucky carwash somewhere... she is filthy all the way to the roof.

I am making a running start on the cleaning bee scheduled for this afternoon by gutting my kitchen drawers. So far, done the two little ones. The principle here is to remove the artefacts which are merely ARCHIVAL...as well as the long since completely useless.

For example -- do I NEED to store my bulky, awkward, used-annually-if-that jar-lifting tongs in the small drawer with the spoons, ladles, etc. that I grope for when I'm actually working at the stove? Answer comes, not at all.
On the other hand I have not relinquished the thought of doing something more in the pickles'n'jam department, one of these summers.
Hence~! tongs go downstairs and are stored out of harm's way in the big canning kettle, with the appropriate jar racks, spare lids'n'rings, etc.

By the way -- here's a linguistic question for you -- what do YOU call the flat-bladed tools that you use to lift and turn food that you are frying -- eggs, pancakes, hamburgers? (see picture above) Are they "lifters"? "turners"? "spatulas"? (I think there are geographic markers in the vocabulary here but I'm not sure!)

Part of the clean-up energy is also the fruit of purchasing a FOOD PROCESSOR yesterday (at an advantageous price, about 1/3 off)...and re-thinking pantry storage for appliances and serving pieces...still somewhat traumatized by the New Year's Eve stand-off with the elderly blender, doing its Danny Glover imitation, "I AM TOO OLD for CHICKPEAS"...it is silly to think I paid $90 for a tool to make hummus with...but every time I watch a cooking show, it seems that at some critically interesting and inspiring juncture, whirr whirr, a food processor is totally necessary.

Meantime Nefertiti-the-cat is having a heyday with the shopping bag I'm hoping to use to deposit relegated kitchen tools on the doorstep of Nameless Parish That Has Rummage Sales. Also having a heyday with the nice fat sparkling-wine corks I am removing from storage. Her mega-fun of the morning was trying to pursue a thrown cork without emerging from her shopping-bag cave...better than the circus, this one.

While I am in this Tomb Raider mood, I'll try to tackle the (shudder) drawer under the stove as well...


and presently I shall have a lovely read of Monk Habits for Everyday People in preparation for a session with university students tomorrow evening, on the virtue of STABILITY. "Stay in your cell, and your cell will teach you all you need to know. And while you're waiting, clean out a few drawers, eh?"

episkope and other matters

Reflecting on the picture of His Grace in my last post (dear me, that sounds quite military and sad, doesn't it)...I remember my very first encounter with things Anglican, indeed with the episcopate in any form.

It was sixty years ago this past summer (merciful Heaven...the Rambler goes into Ancient Mariner mode here for a bit) "in a galaxy far, far away" -- well, no, but it was in the Yukon Territory, at a place called Carmacks, on the Yukon River. There was a coal mine at Carmacks, and my father managed it.

Along about midsummer, visitors arrived, by boat -- an "outboard" -- and stayed for lunch and for an afternoon's visit: the Anglican Bishop of the Yukon and his curate, the Rev. Randall Stringer (son of the Rt. Rev. Isaac O Stringer, "the Bishop who ate his boots." You could look it up). My Dad and Randall had known each other growing up in Dawson City, and they and my mother had a lively conversation around the table after lunch. But Bishop Adams sat down on the floor with me. We didn't play tea-party; but I had some plasticine, and he made me an entirely charming pig complete with curly tail.

I checked the Diocese of Yukon website just now -- he was a man of 70 when I met him. Visiting his diocese, in an open boat on a not-altogether-tame river through the wilderness...stopping wherever he encountered a human being...and taking the time to play with a little girl.

Yes, I think that's leadership.

(And as my friends say at this point: "And then, you became ordained.")

Busy times at MH & U -- baptisms and confirmations scheduled for October 18th beting St. Luke, and parish anniversary, and the Rambler's 13th anniversary of ordination; we have young adult, middle-aged, and senior candidates for both sacraments as well as adolescents and infants.

And I have three major pieces of writing on my plate today along with Clericus, hospital communion service, wedding interview, and spiritual journalling meeting. Whee! More coffee is called for!

Sunday comin'...

And with the help and encouragement of friends in the blog-i-verse, I'm going to do St. Francis for the children's talk and (gulp) the Gospel for the sermon...on the grounds, much reiterated by different folks, that it really isn't responsible to have that Hard Word read aloud and then just leave it unbroken.

I'm leaning very hard on William Willimon's sermon treatment here and a hat-tip and profound reverence to the Vicar of Hogsmeade for the link!

and away we go...

+++Rowan
David Adams Richards


A radical change in the weather, and I can't even tell you how cold it was this morning because the wind yesterday blew the thermometer off the side of the house -- no lie!

We lost a few substantial branches and a lot of twiggery from the eight or nine full-sized poplars at the Rambler's Rest aka Tether's End...but none of the dendrology came into our house or anyone else's house, TBTG.

I sometimes say I don't actually have a "yard" as such -- I have a vase full of poplars...and I love them, rather more than my neighbours do, alas, even when I encourage them to enjoy all the lovely FREE oxygen pouring over the fences all night long.

Good things happening today at MH & U -- Knit Wits in the Upper Hall, sorting donated yarn and winding it into manageable balls...Husband Units cruising about with younger helpers, unplugging plumbing, and joshing each other non-stop; IT Guy working up a diocesan-wide approach to computer service; and so we mark St. Michael and All the Manifest Flyin' What-nots.

Went downtown to "The Big'Un" under the impression that -- fifth Tuesday and all -- I was on duty for the noon Eucharist. No noon Eucharist -- "not even on a Holy Day?" I allowed myself that much querulousness. So I had a lovely chat with a young friend and then betook myself to downtown lunch (having put eight bucks into the parking machine) which turned out to be delicious and so copious it's going to be supper too.

And tonight is our last session of Thought of Rowan Williams... "THE ISSUE" or as my kids say, "ISSSSSS-sue"...meantime I've received Tokens of Trust and Wrestling with Angels in the mail -- so could start over with another course immediately!

Also finished reading God Is by David Adams Richards. A quirky, deeply felt, ineloquent but compelling, not-at-all-edited polemic against the New Atheism. Man has listened to a lot of cheap'n'cheesy guff in faculty lounges on campuses hither and yon, I can tell you. And he's ALSO a reader of Dostoevsky.

back at my desk.

"Adelaide Hoodless" her own self.


I can't decide what to turn my hand to this morning.

Came into the office in good time and had a lengthy consult with the team of senior gentlemen now engaged in hanging the new presence lamp in the sanctuary. Preliminary efforts have resulted in the (probably inevitable) shattering of the red glass 'chimney.' No injuries, thank goodness. Thoughtful looks on all faces, and a decision to swing by the church-supply store, "and maybe actually we should pick up a COUPLE of them, just in case."

The women's auxiliary of the senior gentlemen is increasingly anxious to have this installation completed. The nightly spousal tossing and turning is getting old, they report.

Some emails, some face to face consulting with other folks, some phone calls.

Discussion with our garden-maven volunteer lady about a suitable Farewell Gift to MH & U on the part of the Rambler. We are actively considering the array of Hardy Canadian roses...a beautification and a security measure all in one, as the police never tire of telling us, "No perp can possibly lurk IN a rose-bush. CAN'T be done..."

And we have a stretch of ancient brick wall with good sun-exposure that could probably be an appropriate backdrop for a nice row of, say, the Canadian Explorer series of hardy roses...in a range of colours (see above, e.g.) other than the Lowest Common Denominator Pink that seems to prevail elsewhere.

Speaking of colours: it has seemed for some years now that cars -- at least as they are marketed hereabouts -- come in a most restricted palette: black, white, dirt, dun, and duct-tape grey. This, at length, oppresses the Rambler's spirits. So it is a pleasure to see what appears to be a general intensification of HUE...we've always had a certain amount of red, but I see more and more taxi-yellow cars, quite a lot of electric-blue...it's not enough to keep the mind alive, granted, but it furnishes amusement at stoplights.

and also...

...there were kingfishers...