Maunderings on a Saturday Morning

It's been a while since I've posted anything, so I thought I'd just ramble a bit. Just so the poor dear hasn't thought I've forgotten it, you know.

Today's going to be a scorcher. When I let The Penster out at 9:30 this morning, the heat and humidity was almost a solid wall hitting me in the face. Even the dog wasn't her usual energetic self when returning to the coolness of the house after the heat got hold of her. I have a feeling that our evening ramble is going to be closer to midnight than we ordinarily venture out. It's a good neighborhood, though, so it should be okay.

The house is beginning to look barren and no longer mine. It's not sold yet, but I'm continuing the process of emptying the place. Last weekend, it was suggested that I paint the entrance foyer something other than its exuberant yellow. I've known for some time that I'll probably have to paint the walls some blah color, but was hoping to not actually be living in the house when that happened. My son's coming home next week to provide the labor, and I already have the paint, so that's not a problem. I could do it, but can't bring myself to color over the walls I so carefully painted after Her Horribleness roared through and made a mess of my house.

But the painting's why the house is beginning to actually look barren. So far, much of what I've removed to storage has been hidden in cabinets. Now the rogues gallery has come down off the walls and many of my pictures are in boxes waiting to be hauled off to a drab and barren little room filled with other boxes. I haven't pulled them all down. Don't have enough boxes of the right size for that. But it is still a bit of a jolt to look at the places where the pictures have been and see only blank wall.

And then, what if there's a hurricane before I get everything to wherever my new place ends up being? ACK! I have no way of burrowing through the boxes to find my boxed up picture albums and framed pictures. All I can do is hope that they survive in storage. Now, of course, this may be a ridiculous fear. After all, I wasn't able to do anything before Her Horribleness came through town in 2005 and nothing happened. Loss of life is obviously much more devastating than losing some pictures, yet there is a sense of continuity which goes with having them around to look at from time to time. When I move from one place to another, it's nice to have my rogues gallery and other art (pictures my son made in elementary school, of course) to make the new place "home".

I'll live. But I'm not happy about it at the moment!

Manana, I have an early morning drive up to Lufkin to preach. It's about a 2 hour drive and is through reasonably nice territory, that is, there are trees and hills, not flatland and scruffy stuff. It's a neat congregation. I'm doing something with the kids for Father's Day. Just love it when a congregation picks up on my hinting and comes through! They've always done something for Mother's Day, but Father's Day just seems to slip off the map when it actually comes to doing something for the fathers. When I asked about doing something, my contact volunteered to help provide the 'something'! How cool is that?

This church isn't the only one I've encountered to honor mothers, but just gloss over fathers. Since I'm not the pastor of a particular congregation at the moment, I just hint broadly (well, actually say, "You know, we celebrate Mother's Day. What are you doing on Father's Day?") and see how it goes. When I've been pastor, I just boldly say, "What are we doing for Father's Day?" and then hang in there until something definite, and roughly equivalent to Mother's Day, is planned. It's a tough job, but somebody's got to do it! *chuckle*

Ah, well! We're headed dangerously close to afternoon here, and I've a couple of morning things to finish before we get there. Who knows? Someone may decide to look at my house this afternoon ... and I still have last night's dirty dishes to hide, er, deal with and put away!

Inane Plot Devices

One might say that I watch too much tv. One would be right. Part of my tv watching is professional. That is, I watch some shows to keep up with what's happening in the world culturally and, thus, get some insight into the various groups of the congregations I serve. Part of what I watch is just for fun. The internal illogic of many of my viewing choices, though, could be considered convoluted enough to make the venerable Mr. Spock's Vulcan head spin. (One would probably admit that La Femme Nikita isn't Top Ten material for most pastors under any circumstances.)

While I recognize that fictional tv, even based-on-fact tv, operates with an element of unreality and generally has storyline movement that would make any expert in the subject cringe, I'm pretty much able to put such incongruencies aside and enjoy the general flow of the story. Of course, most of McGyver's duct tape and chewing gum problem-solving is unrealistic, but there was just enough element of the plausible to let it slide.

Then there's the truly inane.

There are two shows that I watch right now where the inane just slaps me in the face. For one, I just shrug and keep watching. The other just irritates me to distraction.

Each Tuesday, I turn the channel to Glee and watch the inanity begin. It's built on super-exploded stereotypes and inane plot devices that often lack any continuity, or rhyme or reason. What high school principal would hire a housewife with no degree as the school nurse? LAWSUIT!! (Plus the school board would probably fire him in a snap.)

Yet I come back week after week to watch the next episode. It's not my favorite show, but I enjoy the show choir routines. But, even in the midst of such outrageous inanity, when they get that one personal note, that one teaching moment, that one AHA! head nod, I pump my fist and go, "YES!!"

Then there's Royal Pains.

OK. I willing to overlook the HUGELY inane plot device which got Dr. Hank to the Hamptons. Sort of. The guy comes to the ER on his day off with an emergency patient he began treating on the street, and gets fired, and then blackballed, because he doesn't manage to save the life of a billionaire patient, patron of the hospital, who happens to have some bizarre complication once Hank gets to the hospital? C'mon!

While the reviews describe the show as a dramedy, there's more drama than comedy. But it's a light drama and reminds me of McGyver, so I've hung in there.

But last night was the second season premiere. Out of the clear blue sky, the love-interest hospital administrator gets hit with this incredible animosity from one of the physicians (special-guesty, award-winning star-type person). Completely out of proportion to anything in the scene. All of the sudden, hospital administrator has a phyicians' mutiny on her hands and her job is in jeopardy?

She fired a doctor who was representing the hospital at a charity event while clearly enebriated. Well, d'oh! Her soon-to-be ex-husband waltzes back into the hospital, manipulates himself a job at the hospital, tries all sorts of sabotage to get her to take him back, and, when she doesn't (btw - Good for her! No one should be expected to enter or reenter a relationship under such circumstances), he quits. And it's all her fault? C'mon!

I'm not quite sure why this rubs me the wrong way so strongly, but it does. Don't know if I'll hang in there a whole lot longer, though.

Maybe I should just get a life, instead.

The Mysterious Thud

I've lived in this lovely house for over six years now. I'm not sure precisely when this started happening, but my best memory of a beginning is sometime after Hurricane Rita.

One calm, sunny day I was peacefully sitting in my home, minding my own business, when there was this loud BOOM! and the house quivered seemingly down to its foundation. Something must have hit the roof. I rushed outside and carefully studied the back of the house, where my trees are. All three of them were right where they belonged, no limbs missing, enjoying the sunshine.

After scratching my head, I headed to the front yard, where there are no trees, on the off chance that something truly weird had caused a limb to plop down on my house. Nothing.

Next stop? Move the car out of the garage so I could get a look at the attic. Nothing extraordinarily weird up there, even though there is weird stuff in the attic.

OK. Must be imagining things. Got my local handyperson to come and give things a look. He scratched his head, too, and decided it was nothing to worry about.

Over the years since then, I've heard this mysterious thud multiple times. No rhyme or reason to its occurence, except that it's always been during the day, generally in the afternoon, and the weather has been of the sort that doesn't lend itself to loud booms. Each time, I've rushed outside, scanned the roof and surrounding yards, scratched my head in befuddlement, and gone back inside.

Then there was today.

KABOOM! The house shuddered. Contrary to my usual approach, I ran out the front door to look at my roof and up and down the street. I wasn't the only one standing in my front yard looking perplexed. The gentleman two houses down said, "Did you hear that?! Do you see any trees down?" We both scanned the nearby houses and horizon. No down trees.

I said, "I'm going to check the back of the house!" He said, "Me too!"

We both ran through our houses and began looking at our homes and at the nearby houses. No down trees. We both shrugged, then went back into our respective houses.

At least I now know it's not my house that has a problem.

But just what is that mysterious thud?

In Memoriam

Somehow it seems fitting that today is the one year anniversary of the final worship service of Westminster Presbyterian Church, Beaumont, TX. Admittedly, Memorial Day is a day when we remember those who have given their lives in service to the United States that we might live in freedom. We've not figured it out perfectly yet, but I'm grateful that we have the opportunity to work toward that goal.

The life and ministry of Westminster was an expression of our faith in Jesus Christ, one of those freedoms we have, and the ministry of healing the sick, helping the poor, and working for justice for those in need. She was a grand old lady, who touched many lives in her 129 year ministry.

I drove by the building today. It seemed appropriate. It hasn't changed a whole lot in a year, but then, it wasn't the exterior of the building that was weak. What was truly surreal was that the signs on the building haven't changed a bit. Worship services are still prominently posted and my name is still listed as pastor.

In some sense, I guess I am. I will always be the last pastor of Westminster. There won't be anyone else to take my place, to minister with her members, to share their lives as Westminsterites.

It has been a truly strange day. One whole year. Hard to believe it's been that long. Hard to believe it hasn't been forever.

Rest in peace, Westminster. Your work is finished, and it has just begun. I'm so glad you were a part of my life!

Of Language

For the umpteenth time, I've heard this commercial for something that I simply haven't the interest in remembering. But there's this one line that catches my ear each time it's on. The commercial insists that the edible product is "made with real ingredients". Well, yeah! Whatever it is it's made of, they're ingredients. And if you're going to put them in your mouth, chew them up, and swallow them, they're real.

Oh! I'm not totally dense. I know what they're trying to say. Yet my brain wanders off into the real vs. fake ingredient tangent, so I'm not sure I've ever heard the name of the product being hawked.

Then, to amble off in the direction of accents, The Penster and I were taking our evening stroll in the cool(?) of the day. With it being a holiday weekend and somewhat reasonable temperatures, there were quite a few people outside visiting with each other and sharing transient pleasantries with passersby.

On the back leg of our circuit, we crossed paths with a gentleman headed to his car. I asked how he was doing. He said he would be much happier if it was cooler. I agreed. On the basis of about 8 words, he asked me if I was from Texas. !!!

Now I've lived huge hunks of my life in Texas. We moved here from Ohio when I was 2 and I didn't move to Oklahoma until I was 40. I only sojourned in Oklahoma for about 7 years, so you'd think there'd be a heavy dose of Texas in my accent. Those very early years, plus the fact that my parents grew up in Ohio/Pennsylvania/West Virgina, must have had a lasting effect on my accent.

I wonder just what it is that doesn't sound Texan to them?

Appeasement?

It's that time of year again. Mother's Day has come and gone. Graduates are graduating. Students are applauding the end of school and dreaming up summer antics. Memorial Day weekend is happening.

I dig back into my memories and recall the annual disturbing pattern: day by day, sometimes hour by hour, once you get past Mother's Day, gasoline prices sneak upward. A penny here. A nickel there, and before you know it, gasoline prices are poised to reach their summer peaks and profits.

Sure, the companies take advantage of the least little bump or nudge or gallop of potential fiscal chaos throughout the year, whether caused by someone dampening a spigot in a foreign country or the natural calamity of a hurricane. But generally, regular as clockwork, you know when summer's about to start and the companies get ready for people to spend bucks for vacations.

But not this year.

Over the past week, ten days, it has seeped into my consciousness that gasoline prices haven't been tracing their usual trajectories. Two weekends ago, when I traveled to preach in other cities, I was thrilled to find a couple of stations where the price was less than $2.70/gallon. (Ok - I'm aware that that's really cheap in some parts of the world, and cheaper than it was during 'the great gas price crisis', but for my purposes at the moment, $2.75+ was the norm.)

I've been economizing by not driving unless I absolutely have to, so my encounters with gasoline prices have been somewhat intermittent. Over the past two weeks, though, my forays through the community have brought an odd phenomenon to my attention: gasoline prices have actually been headed downward. I went past one of my usual stops yesterday and the price was below $2.60/gallon! The day before the Memorial Day weekend starts? What's going on here?!

Seems to me that someone's trying to appease the driving community and keep them from thinking about things like the massive impact of the Deepwater Horizon explosion and oil spill, and potential outrage leading to a desire to develop alternative sources for energy and many of our products made of petrochemicals today. Guess they figure if they take a bit of a hit financially right now, it'll keep us addicted to the petrochemicals that inhabit huge chunks of our lives and ensure their own futures once the immediacy of the ecological catastrophe has slipped from our awareness.

Problem is - petrochemicals are not a renewable resource. We're going to be at the end of our ropes someday, even if it isn't within the next 50-100 years (just guessing at a timeline). Yet isn't this the perfect time to seriously refocus our creative resources to develop alternatives to the way we do so much today?

Lost jobs in the petrochemical industry? Well, yes. But there will be new jobs in whatever field evolves from research into alternatives to petrochemicals. I truly cannot imagine that whatever the alternative is will ultimately slice the number of jobs available to virtually nothing. New technologies tend to open new opportunities.

Don't quite know how to get large numbers of people onto the alternatives bandwagon, but did want to raise for consideration the question of who's to benefit from the recent slippage in gasoline prices and what we might do to avoid similar catastrophes in the future.

Ahhhhhhh, Spring!

This morning is quite a beautiful day!

The sun is shining. The temperature is just perfect. And, in spite of future repercussions sinusally and insectally, I opened my unscreened patio door, just to enjoy the Spring-ness of the day.

The birds are tweeting. The idiot nearby woodpecker has once again decided that my aluminum patio cover has juicy bugs hidden in it. Quite the peaceful moment.

Then, what to my wondering ear should resound? The wafting music of ... no! it can't be! ... a marching band!

Awwwwwwww, c'mon! A marching band? The nearest marching band is two miles away over a busy freeway. I can't be hearing a marching band! Yes, I know. The sound carries well. My son was in a marching band. But at that distance, at absolute best, about all I'd hear would be drums. I had to be imagining things!

But wait! It's getting closer! Have to go check this out!

When I opened the front door, a car went by, then a school bus, obscuring the wafting notes. Hmmmmmmmm ... must have been imagining things. Then there was quiet. Well, the relative quiet of before, and, sure enough, the brass ... the drums ... they were indeed coming closer.

Scratching my head, I crossed the street and looked down toward the elementary school at the end of the block. There were brightly colored bodies lining the school side of the street. And, yes! The music was coming closer!

Soon, to join the wonderful sounds of a marching band, came a line of flag corps flags, then a line of tubas, then several more perfectly straight lines of brass, then drums, then cheerleaders, and several groups of children, and a car, and a policeman on a motorcycle at the end of the parade.

Looks like the elementary school had some sort of springtime parade this morning. So glad I got to enjoy it too!

Jesus Is Coming

Well, that's what the decal in the back of the car's window said, and I'm in agreement with that thought. Don't know precisely when he'll get here, but he said he'd come back and I trust that.

Then there was the second line of that decal:

Look busy

Uh ... no!

You see, I believe Jesus looks for substance over appearances. If anything, appearances really seem to irritate him.

In the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus tells his disciples and all who were listening to him, "Beware of practicing your piety before others in order to be seen by them; for then you have no reward from your Father in heaven. So whenever you give alms, do not sound a trumpet before you, as the hypocrites do in the synagogues and in the streets, so that they may be praised by others. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward. But when you give alms, do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing, so that your alms may be done in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you. And whenever you pray, do not be like the hypocrites; for they love to stand and pray in the synagogues and at the street corners, so that they may be seen by others. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward. But whenever you pray, go into your room and shut the door and pray to your Father who is in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you." (Matthew 6:1-6 NRSV)

So I take issue with that "look busy" part of the decal.

Stop and think about it. Jesus was interested in the essence, the motivations, the depth of why one does things. From his perspective, doing good things so other people will think you're a good person, even if that other person is Jesus, is not sufficient.

"Looks" aren't important.

Is your heart one that truly cares for the welfare of others? Are the actions you take intended to further the work Jesus began when he was among us? Do you love your neighbors as yourselves? Do you "love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you" (Matthew 5:44 NRSV)? Tough stuff that Jesus asks us to do! And we're asked to do them not for appearances sake, but with hearts that seek the will of God and the betterment of those around us because it is the right and true thing to do.

So I'd change that second line of the decal:

Jesus Is Coming
Get Busy

Quasi Modo

This has been a morning full of online serendipity.

I've been doing some work for the General Assembly Committee on Representation that I used to serve on and wanted to check up on some facts before etching them into the proverbial stone of an informed opinion to be presented at our upcoming national meeting. I'll try to avoid the technical stuff, because some of it is technical, and just stick to the serendipity. Wish me luck!

First stop? The committee's staff person. I wanted to be certain that I had the names of our denomination's non-geographic presbyteries. We don't have a lot of them and they are primarily Korean language-oriented. Found out I'd missed one - a Native American presbytery that had been in existence since the 1800s.

That led the staff person to some beetle-tracking. She learned about the history of the presbytery and how it's managed to remain a non-geographic presbytery over the decades. Really interesting stuff and it speaks to how the Native Americans have interacted with the white culture, and shows how much we have to learn from them about diversity and relationship and "being one in Christ".

It won't change my approach to my particular project, exactly, but it has informed the task and overall work.

Next? A change of direction.

I decided to figure out what scripture I'm preaching on this Sunday. One of those "EEP! It's already Wednesday and I haven't even started yet!" moments.

So I wandered to one of my sermon prep sites. Because I hadn't been preaching from the lectionary, it had been a couple of weeks since I'd strolled that direction.

In case you aren't up on some of the historic liturgy, the Sunday after Easter used to be (and is now being reclaimed) Holy Hilarity or Holy Humor Sunday. A celebration of God's laughter at death through the resurrection of Jesus. I've never quite pulled it off on the Sunday after Easter, but have encouraged my congregations to give Holy Hilarity a try in the summer. (Not quite as Presbyterian-threatening then. *chuckle*)

And what pops up? Quasimodo Sunday!

I'd never heard of it! I'm still doing some online trolling to find actual liturgies, but I think it'd be interesting. I couldn't figure out how Quasimodo from The Hunchback of Notre Dame figured into the Sunday after Easter. Turns out that the name comes from the first two Latin words of the Roman Catholic introit for that Sunday found in 1 Peter 2: "Quasi modo geniti infantes" 'As if now we are newborn infants' (a free-range translation).

As if now ...

There's a lot in my life that is "as if now". Seems like a pretty good serendipitous place to be!

And the Sign Said ...

... Last Call Ministries. Opening Soon.

I've gone past this building on the road from Houston to Beaumont on and off for over 30 years. For most of that time, this building has been one of the local watering holes in one of the itty-bitty towns along the way. It's been closed for the last couple of years.

Now I'm scratching my head.

Is this going to be a new bar? Or a new church? Either way, it's an interesting twist.

... 40 Water Baptisms in 2009!

This was the computer sign on one of the local non-denominational churches. Usually they post the names of speakers and worship times.

Now I'm scratching my head.

Does that mean that there weren't any baptisms "with the Holy Spirit and with fire" (Matthew 3:11)? I'm in kind of an off-center mood and, although I recognize what the church is going for, can't help but wonder a couple of things: (1) does that mean that if they had baptisms with the Holy Spirit and with fire, that they didn't happen during worship? and (2) did they get the first baptism and miss out on the second?

Why not just joyously announce 40 baptisms? Does it truly matter which kind of baptism it is? Good old Peter was finally convinced that Gentiles were to be baptized with water after the Holy Spirit descended on Cornelius and those with him listening to Peter. After all, baptism is a gift from God, whichever version you have.

... Cowboy Worship. Come join us!

I was driving to preach at a church about an hour away from home one Sunday. As I came up to the county's livestock auction barn, there was a young boy on his Shetland pony, rigged out in full cowboy regalia. Next to him, holding the sign, was his father (most likely). And several individuals were meandering around, some on horseback, some afoot, ready to ride the range after worship.

No head scratching here! Just broad smiles, and wish that I could have stopped in and joined that horse-y crowd as they worshipped God and the gifts of sky and range and critters big and small.

And the sign said ...

Alleluia! Amen!

Weathercasting ...

... an inexact science.

This morning when I got up, I thought I'd check out the local forecast to plan out my day and the timing of the Penster stroll. Turned on The Weather Channel, just in time for Local on the 8s.

Current temperature - 68. Sunny. Local radar - big blob of rain slowly headed in the general direction of my house over the previous 3 hours, but not quite close enough to show up on the close in radar. Afternoon forecast? Abundant sunshine! HUH?

So I watched the Local on the 8s over the next couple of hours. Now that the storms are almost upon us, The Weather Channel has updated its forecast to "isolated thunderstorms with 30% chance of rain".

*chuckle* Great timing, guys!

Gray

It's a gray day today, with a light rain. Actually, it started turning gray late yesterday afternoon. Nothing too unusual about that here in southeast Texas. Gray, rainy days and southeast Texas seem to go together.

However, this week is Holy Week, when Christians recall the last week of Jesus' life.

Last Sunday was a bright, sunshine-y day. The weather couldn't have been better. Just perfect for the drive to the Houston area to preach that morning and then take a late afternoon ramble with the Penster. Not a bad day for a Palm Sunday.

Then yesterday, Maundy Thursday, about the time the Penster and I took our early evening ramble, the clouds began to gather and the sun began to go into hiding. Somehow I associate that kind of weather with Jesus and the disciples heading toward that Last Supper together. Kind of like even the weather is aware that something is about to happen.

Then today. Good Friday.

It's been pretty gray all day. I checked the Weather Channel and the radar showed no rain in the area. So the Penster and I started our (almost) daily stroll about 3pm. The gray sky began to toss some mist toward the ground, and now there's this light rain, not quite drizzle, falling steadily.

I realize that we're not on Jerusalem Daylight Savings Time around here, but having the gray and the rain and all reminds me of the dark, uncertain, waiting time that the disciples experienced on that Black/Good day long ago. They didn't know it was Good yet. All they knew was that their hopes seemed to have been placed on a cross and left to die a horrible death.

It seems singularly fitting to wait in the gray along with the disicples. I don't know what my personal future will hold, but then, neither did the disciples. These last months have been waiting, healing, preparing for a future unknown.

So for now the world is waiting in gray.

But I live in a time of already, but not yet, and trust that there will be an Easter of knowing and sunshine and hope.

Easter Is a She

And how, you wonder, do I know that?

A bright youngster at worship passed this info along to me.

The family had gone to one of the local fairs and, while there, had won (or purchased, I'm not quite sure which) a HUGE white and green balloon dog one and 1/2 times the size of its owner.

As the dog was being drug through the sanctuary, it's owner proudly proclaimed that the dog was named Easter. Grandma piped in with "Someone mentioned that it was getting near to Easter, so that's how it got it's name."

As to being a 'she'? Well, d'oh! Easter had on a pink shirt, so it must be a 'she'.

Then my brain flashed onto this, mostly unrelated, thought: I wonder how it would affect our understanding of Easter if we thought of it as a 'she event'.

Some people envision the Holy Spirit as the feminine aspect of God. Certainly the Spirit was involved in Christ's resurrection, so how might a feminine understanding of the resurrection affect our understanding of Easter and Christianity?

I haven't gotten any further in my own thinking than the question, so don't have anything further to add. But I think I'm going to do a but more pondering in this Lenten season.

And a little child, dragging a HUGE white and green dog balloon named Easter, shall lead them.

The Hassle

I love the internet! I hate the internet!

I have several email addresses. Who doesn't? It helps me keep stuff separated so I can find things quicker. It keeps the inboxes less cluttered. And it allows me to let different kinds of information be available to different groups of people.

So guess what I'm spending today doing.

Setting up a whole slew of new email addresses through my gmail account because some scuzzy individual has hijacked one of my email addresses and is sending out "buy stuff" emails to my contact list.

What's even more irritating is that I reported the email to hotmail and got even more spam-mail sent under my email address.

I know I'm not responsible for what's happening and that there isn't anything I personally can do to eliminate the carp that's being sent, but I can't help but feel uncomfortable that people I know are getting these excreable emails under my supposedly safe name. Gmail seems to do a better job of dealing with these miserable trolls, so I'm ditching the compromised hotmail address.

In the process, though, I have a whole bunch of emails saved for various reasons and now have to transfer all of them to new addresses. It has taken me more than four hours to change the stuff I really want to keep over to new accounts. Now that I've transfered the saved emails, it's time to change ALL of the contact emails that I have directed to that address. Problem is, I can't remember all of the sites I've done that with. *sigh*

Back to repairing my internet id.

*leaves the page muttering imprecations against the miserable, excreable trolls who spend their time violating the internet identities of others*

As If ..

it wasn't already quite apparent, I'm not cut out for the medical profession.

This past week, my mom had her defibrillator replaced with a newer model. So far, so good. I didn't have to be anywhere near needles being poked or iv's started or any of the other ooky medical things that can be done to help another human being become healthier. Outside of my encounter of the dorky kind with a hospital sliding door, the trip to the medical center was pretty uneventful.

I even did quite well when Mom decided to do things too quickly and the combination of pain meds, antibiotics, and not quite enough food made her light-headed enough to nearly pass out. Disaster averted, healing continues.

Then came the 48 hour point.

Forty-eight hours after the surgery, it was time to remove the gauze that had been attached with industrial strength tape and slightly imbedded in the staples used to close the incision.

EEP!

We did everything suggested to get that darned gauze removed without pulling on the staples, and there was still a 1/2-inch by 4-inch strip enmeshed. *cringe* Not wanting to encourage an infection or having the gauze become a part of the healing skin, I convinced my mom that a trip to a minor emergency clinic was in order.

An hour later, the physician's assistant came into the room, put on some gloves and ... voila ... three gentle motions later, completely removed the stuck gauze.

The medical profession dodged a bullet when I decided to become a pastor!

Comment Span

Logged onto my computer this morning and strolled over to the email account where I get these sweet little emails saying someone has commented on my poor, forlorn blog. My eyes about popped out of my head when I saw that there were TWELVE new comments on various posts.

Then I opened the first email and it was gobble-de-garbage. Comment spam. YUCK!

How on earth did that happen? I've had this blog for four years now and was very careful to ensure that posters couldn't be anonymous when I did the comment settings. I also added word verification to the mix in an attempt to keep the bots out.

Looks like the bots have gotten smarter. It's obvious these are bot posts. All twelve happened within a 2-3 minute span. They all have the same "poster id" and all have the same text (if you can call it that).

There was no way I was keeping that stuff on my blog, even if the comments were only on much older posts. Who knows what search engine link might bring some otherwise interested person to a particular post? So I've just finished scrolling through my blog and deleting them. How totally irritating!

What's even more irritating, sort of, is that I'm now requiring that posts be moderated before they hit the screen. Not that I get that many posts in any given day, or week or month, for that matter.

Why can't these people just leave us alone? We weren't bothering them, were we?

I'm Responsible

I really didn't plan it that way. I thought I was just doing things 'decently and in order' when I sent my application for COBRA insurance to the board that handles such things. I found out how much to send. I filled out the application. Enclosed a check for said amount. Sent the darned thing "return receipt requested" so I'd know it got there.

And it did.

My return receipt said it did. The board says it did. They even have proof! Praise God!!

The problem is that between the photocopy room where they made a permanent record of my check and the accounting room where the check would make a permanent dent in the amount owed ... well, it disappeared! Into thin air (or thick walls - I've always had this skewed belief that poltergeists squirrel away missing papers, hoarding them until some grand moment when they all burst from the walls. *chuckle*)

So, it's off to the bank to get them to stop payment on the missing check and writing a replacement check. The board's being really good about it and covering any fees the bank charges. (Yay, board!!) They also said I could include the amount in my next premium payment. Another good thing.

And the best thing? Because of me, they're changing the system so checks don't wander off into oblivion in the future.

Sometimes it feels good to be an instigator of change ...




... even if it was unintentional.

Absolutely Appalled

On this, the morning after a pilot deliberately flew his small plane into an IRS building in Austin, I was checking news stories for more information and to confirm that fatalities and injuries were limited. In spite of the horrific nature of the act, I was feeling truly grateful that the numbers were so small, not like the Murragh building in Oklahoma City.

I scrolled down the page, looking for any information that was more current than the earlier links.

And there it was. The Austin Airplane game.

I couldn't believe my eyes, so I clicked on the link. Yes, less than 24 hours after a deliberate attack on a building with what had to be more than 200 innocent people in it, killing at least two, injuring around 11, there is a video game where you, too, can crash a plane into an IRS building in Austin.

I had hoped that the comments section underneath the initial link would be filled with "Sicko." and "How could you possibly?" and other expressions of outrage.

Wrong.

There were numerous comments praising the game, saying how "awesome" it is, and that they had "hit a car on the very first try" (not completely sure what that was about, but apparently taking out a car with even more innocents scores points). Out of the 41 posts on the first page, only 4 of the comments were about the tastelessness of the game. Most were ecstatic that someone had 'stuck it to the man' or that the IRS deserved it.

Absolutely appalling!

I'm still sitting here more or less in shock at the callous nature of the game's creators and those who revel in playing it.

Downy Time

It's definitely time to break out the Downy Fabric Softener when I wash clothes. With the temps below 45, I have become a static electric generator powerful enough to keep a small town running for a week. (Well, not really, but it feels that way.) I'm tired of getting shocked whenever I touch anything, wood, the dog, the sliding glass doors, the curtains, ...

Oddly enough, I don't particularly mind the cold. It's the shock to the system that bothers me!

Surreal Moments

The other day I rented a storage space to store my stuff when I'll ultimately have to move from my house. Now, I've rented storage space before. The usual kind with exterior access. This time, though, I rented a space in a "climate controlled" setting, so I could store my piano without any difficulty.

As the manager and I walked through the building to get to the space, I couldn't help but feel as though I'd wandered into another universe. There were rows and rows of white metal "rooms" with rows of green and orange and white doors residing under a white balloon-material roof. When we got to the assigned space and the manager opened the door, there wasn't a speck of dirt or dust or anything in it. Just three metal walls, a wire mesh top, a metal wall with a metal door in it, and a smooth concrete floor. I've never walked into a storage space that was as clean and almost sterile as this one was. The whole experience was a bit surreal. (Well, d'oh!)

On Sunday, my congregation held its "Gifting of the Final Fruits". It was a wonderful opportunity for them to 'play Santa Claus', just as they'd wanted to. There were 35 truly worthy organizations that received funds from the proceeds of the sale of the building and the balance of the church's endowment funds. It was well and beautifully done, in a meeting room of one of the local hotels. Media were present. Members gave introductions to each of the organizations and explained why they were significant. Photos were taken. Refreshments served.

And yet, it was a very surreal moment for me. I was and was not a part of the proceedings. I was and was not a part of that wonderful group of members. There was sadness in the loss, and joy in the accomplishment of this heart-wrenching task done with courage and grace. There was fear and impatience in the "what now?" moments of my own life. There was this really weird feeling that somehow, some way, this should have been happening in a church, while I realized that the ONLY place it could have really taken place was totally inaccessible. And yet ...

Then yesterday I was watch-listening to the tv while doing some other things around the house. It was commercial time and I hadn't hit the mute button. Soon across the room wafted the obnoxious voice of Billy Mays. He was touting one of these hands-free adapter thingys for cellphones and went on and on about how wonderful this gizmo is. (Of course, that's his job.) Then, a woman's voice came on air and said, "Billy, you're needed in the production office in twenty minutes." To which, Billy replied, "No problem! I'll see you shortly."

Immediately my mind jumped to "Oh! I hope she isn't afraid of ghosts!" It may be more of a problem than he thinks for Billy Mays to get to that meeting, since he died several months ago. I can't imagine why the company decided to keep that particular ad. Definitely another surreal moment.

In fact, even writing about these surreal moments, feels a bit surreal. Wonder whether it's the moments, or just me!