Not En-Raptured

The news has been filled with various stories about the Apocalypse predicted by Harold Ramping, who has mysteriously disappeared since he predicted today would be the beginning of "The End Times" due to some mathematical calculations he had done through studying passages of the bible.

Admittedly, I stayed up late last night, tracking  a Twitter feed from New Zealand where "Herald Harold" predicted the beginning of the end of the world as we know it (somehow, that phrase always makes me think of the band R.E.M.) The New Zealanders were to be hit with a massive earthquake at 6 p.m. their time (though NZ does have more than ONE time zone...go figure.) Then successively, various regions of the world were all going to be obliterated at 6 p.m. when "their time" came. This is one of those times when the world truly ended not with a bang but a whimper.I feel sorry for those who gave up all their possessions thinking that they would no longer need food, shelter or clothing. You can either see these "believers" as "gullible fools" or have compassion for their beliefs gone wrong.

An Ogden Nash Moment or Two

I wrote poetry from about the age of eleven until thirty. Not sure why I stopped, as it never was intentional. Sometimes I blamed life, other times I thought maybe my "writer's voice" was dead. But below is one version of a poem I wrote in the mid-1970s which found their way into publication (albeit in a limited way.) A university professor who read it compared it to Ogden Nash. But I take credit for it.



                                                      

Consider the lowly bumpy toad

who lives in some dark, dank abode,

and eats his fill of bugs each day

and hibernates the cold away.

If man were like the toad would he

thrive in such mediocrity?

Or change his ways,

remove the dull,

with thought processes in his skull?

Copyright protected 1976

Review: Faith Interrupted by Eric Lax

  Something about the title of the book by Eric Lax intrigued me: Faith Interrupted: A Spiritual Journey and browsing a blurb about it piqued my interest further. So I bought a copy of the book to see what it was about.
  Like me, Lax is the adult child of an Episcopal priest. Besides a few differences related to gender, regional placements during childhood and adulthood, our stories intersect. He makes an observational comment with which I can identify. "For all my childhood, it was as if faith were part of my DNA, determining but unseen." But in many ways Lax's DNA and mine diverge, despite we both had grown up, literally, in the Episcopal Church.
 Lax's father had been an Episcopal priest for as long as Eric had been alive. My father did not become a member of the clergy until attending a theological seminary when I was in second grade, after he'd been in the U.S.Army Air Corps during World War II, and had been an automobile mechanic for many years. I can still recall my father's standard black lunch box carried by many blue collar workers back then, and the grease and oil under his fingernails when he came home from work, removing it with the rough texture of bars of Lava soap.
  Lax writes about his memorization of many parts of the Episcopal services within the Book of Common Prayer, the book of worship adapted from the Anglican prayerbook used by the Church of England.
 But Lax also recalls his time as an acolyte, something girls weren't allowed to do until I was nearly out of high school, and often that factor was left to the discretion of the parish clergy, which my father, being on the traditional, conservative side, was a bit slower to introduce.
 As a counterbalance more serious than the gender of acolytes, Lax recalls his decision to become a conscientious objector to the war raging in Vietnam, which was a real issue with males of my generation at that time because of the military draft system in place then. As a female, I never would be faced with such a hard decision. I don't want to say what happened in Lax's life as he made his way through his own spiritual decisions, because I would give away a large section of the book, but I know he and I both traveled our own spiritual journeys, again sometimes intersecting, other times diverging.
  Even if you aren't the child of a member of the clergy (be it Christian, Jewish, Muslim on Hindu...even non-denominational) if you've ever been on a search within yourself, especially trying to get in touch with the spiritual side, I recommend this book.

Ahhh.....There's a change in the weather

When I woke up this morning, a change was in the air...and by that, I mean a welcomed change. Since I live along the Gulf Coast (prefer not to disclose location) I have to deal with two seasons. I say "deal" because if I had my choice, despite the many people I know here, I'd live elsewhere. The seasonal changes in this area are but two: Green and Brown. Not-so-cold and blazing hot and humid. Living and Dead. OK, you get my point.

Having a nomadic childhood was difficult at first, but after the first couple of moves, I adjusted. Then I married someone from a town along the Gulf Coast. The warnings started. "If you marry someone from here, you'll just have to accept staying here." So far, that's turned out to be true. It's been a source of restlessness for much of my married life, and when some have suggested a "long distance marriage" I gave it a serious consideration, applying for a couple of jobs in areas where I would like to reside, but they didn't come to pass.

After mourning the loss of the brief cool weather here, I was pleased to wake this morning to chilly temperatures. Mind you, I have no desire to live where one has to contend with several feet of snow for six months or more (so I guess Alaska is out) but I WOULD like to reside where there is transitional weather, i.e. the beautiful autumnal colors I've experienced in the past.)

Because my current region of residence rarely sees snow, it causes work closures, school closures and total amazement when a mere coating of snow hits the ground. Ice does create problems, however, that my mother once grumbled about when I rejoiced in the snowy winters of childhood. She would say "Just wait until you have to drive in this stuff and you won't think it so much fun. Well, she was right.

When I first drove on ice covered roads here, I was trying to make a turn near a ditch that was about three feet in depth, but still enough to swallow part of a car if I lost control. It happened. I skidded and the comedian Bill Cosby's words rattled in my head to still my anxiety of hitting the ditch "When you go into a skid, turn your wheel in the direction of the skid." Fortunately, I didn't question that rule as Cosby did which sent his car skidding sideways--or so he relates to others. I never had that problem in other areas where ice was more prevalent. Maybe it was luck, maybe it was because the highway maintenance people (if there is such a group) went about their task of clearing the snow and ice off the road. Even though it wasn't fast enough to stop my mother from grumbling.

Death gets in the way

I'd planned to keep going daily with this blog once I restarted it a few weeks ago, but certain events got in the way. The major one was the declining health of my beloved mother-in-law who had gone into the hospital for a surgical procedure, followed by a period of rehabilitation. She seemed to be improving, and then things turned worse. A few days later, she died. Naturally, those who cared about her and loved her were stunned by the sudden change, and it opened a wound for me which involved a similar circumstance of my own mother's unexpected death a decade ago. I thought I could write about it, as I know that death is the ultimate end where we are all headed, even if there is an afterlife or reincarnation, both ideas I entertain. Even raised as a Christian, more specifically, the daughter of an Episcopal priest, I always considered the afterlife and have never really been afraid of my own death. I did worry about the deaths of those I loved, and still do, but while I thought for many years I would never survive without my parents, I discovered that I have been able to do so. My father had died several years ago close to the date of my mother-in-law, so naturally, that, too, caused a swelling of grief.

My father struggled with Alzheimer's Disease (or maybe it was those of us in the family who watched his slow decline who struggled) for about fifteen years. By the time he was in the end stages of the disease, he also had developed a cancerous growth on his lip. I remember the consult with his physician that my brother (older and only sibling) and I had. In the end, it was decided to not treat the tumor and let my father go. By that time, my brother had already begun to view our father as deceased, but even though recognition of us was seemingly impossible by our father, I still could not absorb the impact fully. It's been written in several books related to the process of grief (though some object to that word "process") that the "slow death" of a loved one gives a sense of resolution to the idea of death which doesn't happen with the unexpected death. It's hard to say, having experienced both types of deaths with my parents, which was harder.

But now, my husband and his sisters are all dealing with those things that usually follow the deaths of parents, their father having died eighteen years ago, another unexpected event, and I think we are all aware of how it feels to be as one writer titled it "An Adult Orphan."