Wednesday, September 26, 2012

Buzzing Trust

My husband placed a lot of trust into my hands. With our ever-shrinking budget, he opted not to spend the $18 for a haircut, but let me "give it a whirl" instead. Of course, my choice of words weren't that encouraging.
I've been cutting my own hair for years now, as I mostly trim my ends and bangs. I even cut it short myself one year, without the benefit of a beautician to make sure the back was even.
I can't say it was pretty, as I titled the picture "Stop with the scissors!" But for the most part, I haven't seen looks of utter shock or heard giggles behind me.
So Saturday I was all set to cut my husband's hair, scissors in hand. I walk into the bathroom and paused as he handed me this strange torture device I've seen him apply to his face from time-to-time. He uses it to trim his beard, but apparently it's what the barber uses to cut his hair, only using the scissors to add the finishing touches.
I have never - ever - used a buzz clipper. I didn't even know how to turn it on. Now, most common-sense people would have run screaming from the bathroom straight to the barber down the block. But my husband patiently showed me how to turn it on and use it. Then let me have a wack at his hair.
It's often said that a great deal of trust is placed in the hands of a barber or beautician, as your hairstyle is part of your image, what others will see of you and - sadly too often - how they will judge you.
My husband placed that trust in me, and I didn't even know how to use the tools. That says A LOT about the level of trust that he has in me - and the amount of love and respect for me that he holds in his heart.
For that I am truly grateful. :)
~ ESA

Images: Bottom from Kenny Jones Radio website. Top is mine.

Scheduling

Last month, I took a course in managing multiple deadlines, where I learned to use a computer's calendar and task features to plan events and lock in some personal time, so the demands of work and life in general don't take over my life and leave me a raving, sleep-deprived lunatic.
It went well, until I realized that something was missing from the calendar and to-do list. What was it?
  • Time to eat: check.
  • Time to get the work done by the deadlines: check.
  • Time for the meetings: check.
  • Time for exercise: check.
  • Time for after-work activities: check.
  • Time with my husband: check.
  • Time off from work: check.
  • Time for family events: check.
  • Time to write...? I'll squeeze that in somehow.
I had gone through all the items listed in the class booklet. What was missing?
Time with God and time to pray.
As 3:00 pm is the accepted time of death for Christ on the cross, it seemed the ideal time to peel myself away from a busy work afternoon, or even to pause on weekends and vacation days. I choose that as my prayer time, in addition to morning and nightly prayers.
The white space in the schedule is the buffer for last-minute "drop everything and put out this fire" stuff that is normally part of my work day. But I wanted to commit time for the most important thing in my life: God.
 It's sad how good intentions don't pan out when I move from planning to practice.
At the point of implementation, I discovered that those little blue boxes are sure easy to move when "priority projects" are squeezed in, or when the boss drops something complex on my desk that he "needs done right away."
Often, my plans are moved well past 5 pm, or moved to tomorrow, or next week, or cancelled all together. "Prayer Time" was one of those boxes that life shoved off the schedule.
That little pop-up reminder on the computer was ignored too. Maybe if I had a cat that would walk away with my computer mouse and paperwork at 3pm each day, it would help. I needed something else to help me. God was worth far more than to be lost in the shuffle of life.
While I don't have the latest iPhone - or anything remotely close to a smart phone - my cell phone (pictured here) does have an alarm feature. I may be able to ignore a pop-up on the computer screen, but it's a bit harder to ignore a mexican jumping bean in my pocket that blasts out an annoying little song.
For the past few weeks, I've found this works for me. Even when I am in a meeting, I can close my eyes and offer a prayer to God - at 3 pm. I even find it works great on weekends, even if I go hiking miles from a cell tower, let along a wifi hotspot or a computer.
My boss may ask me to drop everything and work on his project, but I owe much more to the One that dropped EVERYTHING to work on mine.

What's in your schedule?
Make the time.
It's worth it.
~ ESA


Images: Top from US Marines website, checkboxes from ncvps.org, stressed woman from the internet (source unknown), phone from Verizon Wireless website, the rest are mine.

Sunday, September 16, 2012

Pottie Poet

This Friday, I met a sister that connects with both my Spirit and my heart.
At the Big E, the ladies rooms are kept by attendants who clean, decorate and stock them from their own pockets... for tips they receive. With my IC/PBS, I need to go -- often! So I tend to hit practically every rest room there. One is filled with Halloween decorations, others are beautified with flowers and scents. Another is managed and maintained with military precision.
One... took my heart away.
The walls, both inside and outside the stalls, are covered with hand-written poetry, sweet simple lyrics reminding us to flush and help keep the place neat. Each was signed, "The Pottie Poet." Any of these lines would be a breeze to tweet, even from a bathroom seat.
Each time I went in to... well you know, I would sit a moment and listen to the lines she belted out non-stop all day. Every third or forth rhyme she shared was a Blessing. I was touched and moved.
In the Northeastern US, too often we avoid mentioning the word "God" in public, in our attempt not to offend anyone who may not believe as we do. Here in a very public place, where we take turns in mostly private stalls, was a woman sharing it with all the Joy in her heart.
Each time I left that restroom,
To continue with my day,
I gave her a hug and a rhyme:
God Bless the Pottie Poet I pray.
~ESA
PS: For those in New England (or the Northeast) who attend the Big E, she's in the Better Living building. :D

PPS: A little bird tipped off the news crews, who shared the story and their views. Please see this link.

Images: Top from Improbable Research and bottom from VinceHuston.org

Thursday, September 13, 2012

Soup Story

As the leaves turn here in New England, it's time to re-post this story, written originally in 2008. Feel free to share.
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Soup Story 
There was once a little village in a time not so long ago. Unlike the days of old when the villagers once worked the land as their ancestors, these villagers got into their cars and traveled a distance – sometimes a great distance to get to the jobs they worked. For you see, these jobs paid for the food on their table, paid for the clothes on their back and paid for the roof over their head. But in those days, taxes weren’t so high, jobs paid well, and there was even time for leisure where the village would hold picnics and parties and music concerts on the village green.
Neighbors and friends had time to visit one another and even help one another. It was a close knit community. There was even money to spare, and the village would raise funds to donate to charities, such as the soup kitchens in the nearby cities. This went on for several years.
Then times changes, as they sometimes do. Businesses closed nearby and the villagers had to travel even further from home. Leisure time became less. Neighbors stopped seeing each other as much, but would still make time to attend the gatherings on the village green. Unfortunately, they didn’t have the time to visit each other nor help one another like before. Money was still good, but not as good as before. Donations were slimmer at the charities. This went on for some years.
Times changed again. Businesses were laying off, and taxes were rising. The villagers also changed a bit more inside. It had been some time since they knew their neighbors. There were fewer and fewer people they recognized at the village gatherings. Who were all these new people? Where did they come from? Are they after our jobs? If they take our jobs, how will I feed my family? Will we loose our home?
The the news spoke of terrible things that neighbor did against neighbor, and informed one and all that they should be alert against strangers. The attendance at the village green shrank and eventually the village no longer held these outings. Villagers would get home, stay on their own lot and lock their windows and doors, careful not to be noticed by any strangers in their midst.
Then taxes continued to rise, the price of gas skyrocketed and jobs were cut again. With money only trickling in and signs that there were even tougher times ahead, donations dried up. The nearby soup kitchens closed.
Now, during this time, on a bright autumn day, a minister to the poor and hungry in the nearby city decided to try the local villages to see if he could get any donations to reopen the soup kitchens. But try as he might, house by house, block by block, no one had anything to spare, not even a box of macaroni and cheese or a can of soup. Some would not even open the door because he was a stranger.
It didn’t take this minister long to see that not only had this village come upon hard economic times, but the community itself that once thrived in villages like this had also vanished. Taking the villagers into his heart, he decided to do something to help them before he went on his way to the next village.
Near the town green, he spied an old propane grill on one side of someone’s home. He knocked on the door again and said to the surly man who answered, “Excuse me, sir, I know you do not have any food to spare, but I just noticed your gas grill – the one rusting on the side of your house. Could I borrow it to heat up some food out there on the green? You see, we’re going to have an end of the season party, a nice one with food and games and music and laughter. We could use your grill.”
The surly man eyed the minister suspiciously. “Why? There’s no any gas for it.”
The minister merely shrugged, “I would appreciate it if you let me borrow it all the same. I will certainly return it when I’m done.”
The surly man gazed at the minister a long minute and ran his eyes over the expanse of the village green. A few lonely oak trees stood majestically, brightly colored leaves fluttering to the empty lawn beneath them. There was no one on the green or even outside. “Who’s the ‘we’ at this party? There’s no one out there.”
The minister smiled broadly, “Oh, the whole village is invited; you’re more than welcome to come too. It’ll be fun!”
The surly neighbor’s eyes narrowed and he thought a few moments. “What will you charge for those attending?”
“Charge?” asked the minister shocked. “Why nothing! This is merely a friendly gathering. Friends don’t charge friends when they gather together. But” added the minister, “if you feel like bringing anything out to share, it will be more than appreciated. However, it’s not a requirement.”
The surly man shook his head and the beginnings of a smile crept at the corners of his mouth. “I don’t know what you’re up to, you old coot. But sure, you can borrow my grill. But I can’t give you anything else…” He stepped out of his home and unlocked the grill from the metal pole that secured it.
“I thank you for your loan, that is more than sufficient,” added the minister as he wheeled the grill across the road and onto the village green.
Next, the minister found another gas grill – this time with an empty propane tank. After a similar conversation, he wheeled the second grill next to the first. Then he found someone who had a little propane left in his tank a little further from the green and managed to acquire this and connected it to the first grill. After that, the minister wound his way to some of the neighbors and was able to obtain four oversized pots – two for each grill.
With a little bit of a jig in his walk, the minster then went in search of water. “Just a little tap water will do just fine” he told them. Soon he had all four of the borrowed pots full.
By now, the villagers had become very curious. Even though they were suspicious of this stranger in their midst, what kind of harm could he do with four large pots of water, two gas grills and barely enough propane to light one grill for two minutes. They started to gather on the green, keeping their distance from this strange minister and each other, but curious one and the same.
The minister looked up from his work as he finished pouring the last of the water into the forth pot. He smiled broadly and pointed to the nearby picnic tables that had become grey and weathered and long since unused. “It’s going to take some time before the soup will be ready. Perhaps you could sit there and play some games until then.”
The villagers looked wide-eyed at the tables and back to the minister. “There’s no games over there,” one of the villagers called back.
The minister looked over at the tables as if surprised. “Oh, I haven’t gotten them yet. Does anyone know who would be willing to loan us some cards or maybe a board game we can play until the soup is ready?”
“I have some cards I can bring out,” one villager called back and hurried back to her home.
“My kids have some fun board games,” replied another and he hurried off in a different direction.
In no time there were quite a few villagers out on the green on this nice sunny autumn day. Some brought a baseball, bat and gloves and started an impromptu game in one corner; others were playing dodgeball or tag, while those gathered around the picnic tables watched or played the various games that had started there.
In the meantime the minister went out again, asking house to house for some salt, pepper, and common herbs and seasonings. These he added to the cold water in the four large pots above the two unlit grills.
A young man, at the prompting of some neighbors went over to the minister. “How do you expect to heat this soup without any propane?”
The minister tapped the gauge of one tank. “This is enough to start. But if someone could donate a little more, I would greatly appreciate it. It will heat up the soup that much faster.”
The young man, smiled and almost laughed. “I’d say it would….” He paused and glanced over at his family. “Say, I have about half a tank at home. This is probably the last time we’d have to use it. I’ll bring it over.”
The minister grinned broadly, “Thank you.”
By the time the young man walked back to the green with the propane tank on his shoulder, a second villager was heading out to get his. Soon the two grills were lit and a vapor of steam wafted off the surface of the contents of the four pots.
A middle-aged woman wandered over as minister was stirring with a long-handled wooden spoon he managed to borrow from somewhere. She glanced into the pots with a knowing eye and commented, “That’s a mighty thin soup you’ve got there.”
“Yes,” replied the minister with a sad smile. “But these are thin times and we can not give what we don’t have…”
The woman glanced at the minister and then at the growing crowd on the village green. “I have some potatoes I was planning for our dinner tonight. It looks like we’re going to be eating here instead, so I’ll bring them out to you. It’s not much but it will help your soup.”
The minister smiled broadly and the hints of tears appeared in his eyes. “That would be a very generous donation, ‘mam. Thank you very much.”
The woman returned with an armload of potatoes, just enough for one and a half in each pot. When she returned to the villagers gathered around the tables, some asked her why she gave the stranger her food. When she told them her reasons, a few others nodded and departed to their kitchens. Soon a few limp carrots and some cabbage were added to the pots.
An old man wandered over to pots and commented to the minister. “You know, sonny. I remember a lean time long before this. My mum would make soup like this back in the ‘30’s. It was a real treat for us when we could get hold of some chicken necks to toss in there.”
The minister’s nose crinkled a bit. “Chicken necks?”
“Aye, sonny, there’s some meat to be had on the necks and there’s flavor from the bones.”
The minister nodded and laughed a little. “It’s a nice thought, but I don’t think the local supermarket carries chicken necks.”
“Laugh and think what you will, sonny. But I used to be a butcher. I still do some butchering now and then.” And the old man winked at the minister. “I have some in my freezer now, if you promise not to tell the others what they are. They think I’m old and crazy as it is.”
The minister’s eyes widened with delight. “That would be wonderful!”
The old man shuffled off to his home humming an old tune that arose from his heart.
Little by little, the small donations the villagers made thickened the soup. Soon the aroma filled the village green and the hungry villagers passed the remaining time playing games, and singing songs accompanied by the guitars and other musical instruments people had brought out. Laughter and the buzz of conversation among neighbors rose in the village green as the shadows of the great oaks extended across the autumn-dry grass.
In the fading daylight the villagers headed home for their bowls and mugs as well as jackets and wraps. They lined up peaceably while the minister spooned out the soup to any who wanted it. In the cool air after a fun day in the sunshine, the soup was warm and wonderful. Everyone had a smile on their face.
Those who loaned the pots were surprised there was some soup leftover and offered some to their neighbors as they headed home.
When the gas grills where wheeled away and the last of the villagers were heading home in the darkness. The minister returned to his car with a sigh. He didn’t accomplish what he planned to do here; there was still no food for the soup kitchen… Then he heard two people talking as they walked by his car on their way home.
“You know, Joe, that was fun. We should do that more often.”
“You’re right, Bob. It’s amazing how far so little food could go.”
The minister smiled to himself as he realized maybe he didn’t fail at all…
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~ ESA

Big E

To many, "The Big E" simply may mean an over-sized letter of the alphabet. But to those in this corner, September brings a unique fair. New England is made up of six States: Maine, Vermont, New Hampshire, Massachusetts, Connecticut, and Rhode Island. The Big E is a combination of a State Fair for all six New England states, and a small version of a world's fair. It has exhibits, vendors and performances from around the world.
This post is not to advertise The Big E - they certainly do enough advertising themselves. But I did want to share what it means to my husband and I. For a lengthier description of all the stuff I look forward to each year, please see my earlier post from two years ago.
For the past dozen years, we've attended this fair several days each year, often purchasing a season pass for the 17-day long event. The majority of the time is spent catching up with many vendors, performers, volunteers and others we see year-after-year. For us, it's a reunion.
There is a broomsquire that hand-crafts brooms, using broom straw he harvests himself, working in one corner of the village green of the colonial village within the fair grounds. In 2009, when he didn't make his appearance, many were concerned and called him up. You'd be amazed how much it feels like family.
There are many happy moments too, my husband and I somehow were roped into an exhibition to support local farms of CT. While my husband is the chef at home, here I am making breakfast for strangers one Saturday. How do you like your omelet?
And just because I have officially taken a vacation day to attend opening Friday doesn't mean my boss can't schedule a conference call. Yet today we now have the technology to take calls from anywhere, including the fair grounds. I laugh with this shot, commenting that I put up with the work "bull -- well you know" even on my vacation  - and I have pictures to prove it!

 
 
At the close of The Big E, one of our traditions is to attend Sunday Mass under the Big Top, which I've blogged about here.
Tomorrow is opening day, and my husband and I look forward to seeing our many friends again. So with a smile, I share a simple video that shows several snapshots the year I went ga-ga with the camera, trying to capture every little moment. Did you know you can grow pumpkins large enough to be boats?
 Nowadays, I leave the camera home and capture the moments with my heart.
Happy Fall!
~ESA
 
Images: all are mine.

Monday, September 10, 2012

Hope's Adolescence

This is an update on the baby bird of whom I blogged a few times here and here. Since then, a few people have asked me, how is Hope? This is a quick update on the antics of this little bird.
For those who haven't seen the prior posts, I was one of a handful of people in our apartment community who helped raise a baby bird that had fallen from it's nest this past spring. The community kids who spear-headed the mission named the bird "Hope." Once the bird became a juvenile, it was let go to live outdoors, like the other birds of it's kind. Unfortunately, because it associated with humans, it believes humans are part of it's family.
The whole community (181 apartments) had given their hearts to this little bird. It became our community mascot and we all watched over it. Hope would join us at the community pool, where she would sit on shoulders, playing with ear-rings and necklaces, or perch on someone's head to ride as they did laps back and forth across the pool. She would even rest on shoulders, arms and other body parts just below the water's surface to use the swimming pool as her personal bird bath.
Then one day, news came from across the street. Hope had been sighted at the senior housing complex. Whenever someone would be wheeled outside to enjoy a bit of sun, Hope would flutter in to sit on their shoulder and play with their ear-rings or necklace. It appears our little bird certainly had quite a fettish for shiny stuff. She went ga-ga over shiny wheelchair wheels!
At first the staff over there thought Hope was sick, as wild birds do not normally perch calmly on people's shoulders. But news of our community's "pet bird" had spread over there too, so the senior complex welcomed Hope with open arms, and birdseed! By August, Hope was no longer seen in our complex, but lived full time across the street. This mama bird felt like she was abandoned. Typical teenager! But in hindsight, she now brings great joy to many who also feel abandoned... the seniors. If she brings them a ray of sunshine, why should I begrudge her that?
She's also expanded her range further. A short distance from the senior center is our local supermarket, which has some outdoor tables and chairs. While I haven't seen her there yet, many have reported that Hope spends part of her days there, singing for her crumbs as she goes from table-to-table mooching off those seated there, especially the lunch crowd. I'm not so sure this mama bird approves of mooching, but sometimes those unruly teenagers are hard to control.
One of the employees of the supermarket (who wasn't too keen on the "tips" Hope left behind on the tables) decided it best to relocate this over-friendly feather-brain. Hope was taken to a local farm and let loose where she would be safe and find her own kind. She was back at the tables the next day, several miles from that farm. She knew where home was.
Today was a nice chilly morning, leaves have already started to turn in this part of New England. Birds from Canada have already been spied on their journey south; soon we'll be inundated with geese. Will Hope migrate too? Will my baby bird know where to go and how to get there? Or will Hope try to weather the cold, bitter New England winters? All I know is if Hope decides to stay, there are several bird houses that have been built over the summer in preparation of sharing our winter too. She will be well-loved and taken care of. Do you think she'll want marshmallows with her hot chocolate?
~ ESA

Images: Mine, except for the last, of which source is unknown.

Monday, September 3, 2012

Faces of Christ

This is primarily in response to a conversation I had with another on Twitter yesterday. In the conversation, I had sent a tweet stating how Christ likes friendly banter too. It was accompanied with the image to the left. My correspondent noted that this was the first time he's seen an image of Christ without such a serious expression.
He went on to discuss that it's likely that God does feel all the emotions we do: joyful laughter, tears of pain, anger, and -- of course -- Love.
 



Many picture Jesus / Yeshua as standing separate, above all else, with eyes always and firmly set on God the Father above. Yet, many forget, Christ is as fully human as He is divine. He goes through all the emotions (and corresponding facial expressions) we have as a human race.
So, with few words following, I'd like to share some of my collection, covering a range others may not have seen.
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While we remember His tears...
... let us not forget His laughter shared with us...




... even in the laughter of  today.




While there may be anger...



 ... He prefers to share His smiles with all.


There will be times we need to seek His comfort...




...but He hopes to be our guide too.


He knows all life experiences, from feeding basic hungers...

 ... through experiencing life with all of His senses.

He is with us all of the time, in work...





 ... and play.




While many condemn sisters and brothers...


...He still seeks us out ~ always ~ where ever we are...
 ...and is with us, even in our darkest places.


Lastly, I'd like to share an interesting image. It is a photograph taken by a Kenyan nun, Ana AlĂ­, in Rome, on September 8, 1987. It's one of the images in my screen saver.
When I look at it, sometimes Christ is sad, other times He has a gentle smile, and sometimes there is a mischievous look in His eyes, as though He is about to smile, sharing in the humor of the moment.
What do you see?

 ~ ESA

Images: Last image is found at: jesusphotos.altervista.org. The rest are of unknown sources, found across the internet.