Faith

Tuga and Aleluja

March 1, 2017March 2, 2017 Sally6 Comments

A few months ago I made an impulse buy at Target — two plastic rabbits. I set them on my bookshelf to remind me of my “rabbit” friends — an affectionate term for the people I know through The Rabbit Room and Hutchmoot (tickets go on sale today, by the way).

A fellow blogger, Manee, posted pictures of her flamingo in February, calling it Flamingo February. I found myself looking forward to Fancy the Flamingo’s adventures — splashes of pink in an otherwise drab month.

I also started looking around for something I could use to follow suit, and caught sight of the rabbits. I hesitated, though, because March marks the start of Lent, and that’s not a time for silliness. Lippity-lippity Lent sounds goofy — even though I love Beatrix Potter’s descriptive words for a rabbit’s slow hop, and I really want to slow down even more during Lent.

This morning I brought the rabbits downstairs with me for my quiet time. I set them on top of my Lenten devotional. They stared at me, unblinking.

“How can you help me with Lent?” I asked them.

My devotional is a study of Isaiah. The theme verse is Isaiah 43:1

… I have called you by your name; you are mine.

It reminded me of a theme that ran through Andrew Peterson’s Wingfeather Saga — the importance of names.

I decided to name my rabbits Tuga and Aleluja. Tuga is the dark-colored rabbit, and Aleluja is the white one.

Tuga is Croatian for sorrow. I’m going to carry Tuga with me throughout Lent.

Aleluja means, as you probably guessed, Alleluia.

I hid Aleluja away this morning, burying him as it were.

On Easter morning, he’ll emerge again.

This morning I went for a short walk with Tuga in my pocket. I patted my pants, making sure he was there. I could feel the hardness of his plastic ears poking against the denim.

He will be my companion for the next 40 days. I imagine he’ll show up here a time or two.

Today, especially, he’ll share my sorrow as I remember Stewart’s passing.

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.

The Last Hallelujah

February 28, 2017February 28, 2017 Sally3 Comments

Tomorrow is Ash Wednesday.

Three years ago, Ash Wednesday began with an early phone call from my sister telling me that my brother had died unexpectedly. It brought a whole new depth to “Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.”

Now the two events are forever linked in my mind — Ash Wednesday and Stewart’s death. Somber and sad.

This morning I was looking for a Collect for Shrove Tuesday and stumbled across a website where I would like to spend more time: Liturgy It’s the work of Bosco Peters, an Anglican priest in New Zealand. On his Shrove Tuesday page, he said,

This is the last day of the “Alleluias” until Easter. This day may even involve the burying of the Alleluia.

I loved the idea of making today a day of Hallelujahs, the last day of Hallelujahs before Easter.

I looked out the window and saw a little chickadee hopping around on a tree and imagined it chirruping Hallelujah. I could hear the stream in the basement (not a good thing, but a sign of spring) and saw the clear blue sky with puffy white clouds. Before I knew it, I was writing a little Hallelujah poem.

My day will be filled with Hallelujahs. Will you join me?

The chickadee hops from twig, branch, to limb
Chick-chick-a-dee hallelujah
The gurgle of water as snow melts to spring
Burble-splish-splosh hallelujah

10X sugar piles on robin’s egg sky
Azurean cerulean hallelujah
Mud-luscious earth, spikes of green occupy
Plant-sprouting-spring-shouting hallelujah

Brisk breeze brushes cheek in a chilly embrace
Shiver and shudder hallelujah
Remembering the quickening, tender touches of grace
Life, light, and love — hallelujah

Tomorrow hallelujah dies from our lips
We walk with both Jesus and Judas
Today we rejoice, putting darkness aside —
Come sing! Come shout! Hallelujah!

family

Behind the Camera

February 27, 2017 Sally3 Comments

“Here’s an old picture of us,” I said, passing Bud a family photo that I found in a pile of stuff. “We’ve got everyone but Philip there.”

“Where am I?” he asked.

“Behind the camera,” I replied.

It’s true. Bud took a lot of the family pictures when we were on vacation. If we didn’t snag a passer-by, he was out of the big group shot. He would appear in the just-a-Zaengle family picture that my brother or brother-in-law would take, but the everyone shot often didn’t include everyone.

Who is in the picture (and who isn’t) — just two of the clues about what year it was taken.

I’m in the center, behind Helen who is holding Laurel. Helen couldn’t possibly do that today because Laurel is now taller than Helen. Laurel’s age, though, tells me that it’s probably 2004.

Mary is wearing her Matt Kenseth Dewalt Tools hat. That tells me that we were in our NASCAR phase — everyone had a driver that they followed. Mary liked Matt Kenseth because she was fascinated with power tools; we had recently completed an addition on our house and she had seen an awful lot of yellow tools lying around.

Philip isn’t there. He must have been at college.

Karl’s cheeks are quite pink. He’s either sunburnt (unlikely, since no one else is), or had just been running around (likely, he’s a little boy). We, as a family, have this pink-cheek thing going on whenever we exercise.

My hair is short and I’m not wearing a jumper. That tells me a lot about me at the time.

But the man behind the camera, had his hair starting turning gray yet? I wish he was there beside me to complete the picture. Time to shuffle through more piles of photos to find out.

family · Life

La La Land

February 26, 2017 Sally4 Comments

Warning: this post may contain spoilers

On the way home from La La Land Mary asked me which song was my favorite. I didn’t have to think about it — “The Audition Song.”

“You’re a storyteller. Tell us a story,” the people behind the desk told Mia. She stood for a moment, collected her thoughts, and then told a story about her aunt jumping into the Seine River.

In her audition she sang,

Here’s to the ones who dream
Foolish as they may seem
Here’s to the hearts that break
Here’s to the mess we make

I should have been forewarned by the lyrics that broken hearts were ahead.

I left La La Land feeling dissatisfied with the story.

Later, largely due to discussion about the movie over at the Rabbit Room, I realized that my problem was that I had been Hallmark-ized. The only ending I could consider happy was the one where the right guy and the right girl end up together.

Had that been its ending, La La Land would have fallen into the same category as so many of the movies I choose to watch. A feel-good moment soon forgotten. Hallmark movies that are simply background noise because I don’t need to pay attention to know what is going to happen. La La Land would have been, in so many ways, the same-old-same-old — good music, nice story, satisfying ending.

Like my father’s nightly bowl of vanilla ice cream.

A sweet way to end the day.

But La La Land left me unsettled.

The truth is the stories I love most leave me unsettled.

Fiddler on the Roof, Hunchback of Notre Dame, The Big Sky, A River Runs Through It, A Tale of Two Cities.

None have syrupy happy endings.

They all leave me with something to ponder. They take a long time to absorb.

I fear that I have gotten used to a jiggly jello diet — stuff that slides down easily and digests easily. I don’t know how to handle more substantial foodstuff.

On the way home from La La Land, Mary and I also talked about upcoming movies and what we’d like to see next. The ripples from the pebbles of La La Land may need to subside before I’m ready for another.

photography

Sahara

February 25, 2017 Sally2 Comments

Sahararid

family · photography

Before and After

February 24, 2017April 21, 2017 Sally4 Comments

Babies look like babies when they’re little.

It’s nice to see how they turn out.

Baby Philip

Adult Philip (with Amanda and Henry)

Baby Owen

Adult Owen (with Emily)

Baby Sam

Sam and Mom -- 1990 — Sam and Mom — 1990

Adult Sam (with Donna)

Baby Helen

Adult Helen

Baby Karl

Almost-adult Karl

Baby Mary

Teenage Mary

Baby Laurel

Laurel learning to sit alone — baby Laurel

Teenage Laurel

dementia · family

Remembering Birthdays

February 23, 2017 Sally9 Comments

Three years ago for my birthday I was in the wilds of the Texas hill country, without cell coverage and with minimal wifi. Laity Lodge is great that way because it allows guests to make real connections.

But it was my birthday and I don’t think anyone there knew.

Not that it mattered, of course.

I called my husband on a land-line and talked with him and the kids. It was enough.

He told me that my brother Stewart had called and wanted me to call him back.

When I got home, I put off that call.

My brother died from a heart attack 11 days after my birthday.

When did I last hear his voice? I don’t know.

In my mind I can still hear him, though. I remember what my name sounded like when he said it. I remember his laugh.

My mother forgot my name altogether. I used to remind her.

“I’m Sally,” I would say, and she would repeat back, “That’s right. You’re Sally.”

I used to use photographs to help her remember the names of family members, naming each person as we touched them in the picture. She eventually couldn’t do that either.

I don’t remember the last time she said my name.

And I have more trouble remembering her voice — maybe because it turned dry and creaky. She didn’t sound the way I wanted to remember her.

This year for my birthday, I heard from all my children — most with a phone call or FaceTime. Mary, Laurel, Bud and I went to see La La Land and then went out to dinner. It was very nice.

My morning started with a birthday card in my coffee maker (from Laurel) and birthday stickers on the newspaper (from my brother).

I was curious to see what my father would say about the birthday stickers. I knew he wouldn’t remember my birthday without some sort of reminder.

“Oh! I see we have stickers on the newspaper this morning,” he said as he sat down at the kitchen table.

He peered at them closely. “It says, ‘Happy Birthday,'” he read. “I don’t think it’s my birthday though.”

“No, Dad,” I answered, giving him his pills and his juice. “It’s my birthday.”

“Oh,” he said. “I guess that makes sense.”

And that was it.

No birthday wishes.

It wasn’t a slur against me. It doesn’t really matter.

But it did.

It does.

Because it means I’ve lost another little piece of him.

We lost my mother in dribs and drabs, an expression she used to use.

Now we’re losing my father the same way.

It’s almost certain that next year he won’t remember my birthday either. Dementia tends to only go in one direction.

I just hope he still remembers my name.

family

The Bathroom

February 21, 2017 Sally13 Comments

She was waiting for me when I came out of the bathroom this morning.

No, no — not one of my children, although, as you can imagine that has happened to me more times than I care to remember.

Every mother quickly learns that the bathroom is a refuge.

Every child learns just as quickly that if he (or she) waits long enough outside the door, Mom will eventually emerge.

And she can hear you if you talk to her through the door.

If a sibling is being mean and Mom is in the bathroom, a note under the door will sometimes expedite her emergence.

But she may not be terrible happy about it.

Bathroom = Sanctuary

I imagine, if Quasimodo hadn’t had Notre Dame to carry Esmeralda into as he rescued her from the gibbet, if he hadn’t had that great cathedral to escape to, he would have found a bathroom.

I no longer have to use the bathroom as a hideout from my children, though.

Yes, young moms, your children will one day learn to leave you alone in there.

Or they will be so busy with their lives that they won’t care one whit if you’re in the bathroom, the bedroom, or any other room in the house. As long as they are fed and the wi-fi is working, the natives will not be restless.

Now I have a cat that waits outside the bathroom for me.

Yes, a cat.

She follows me around the house. Down the hall. Into the kitchen. Into the living room. Up and down the stairs — not on quiet little cat feet, like the fog, but thumpity-thumpity, like an angry rabbit.

She loves the bedroom where she can hide under the bed and pounce on my feet as I walk around it, straightening the sheets and blankets. I think she especially loves that she can still surprise me

I draw the line at the bathroom.

Her litter box is just around the corner. She likes to supervise my cleaning of it, patting her paws on the scooper as I sift the litter and, um, the other stuff.

But, no, I don’t want her in my bathroom.

It’s that sanctuary thing.

So she sticks her paws under the door a few times to let me know she’s out there and then she waits.

Do cats outgrow this sort of behavior?

Faith

Amy

February 20, 2017 Sally3 Comments

One thing is for sure about Amy — she knows how to rejoice.

Easter with Amy is a joyful celebration complete with silly string, confetti, streamers, caterpillars-turning-to-butterflies, and the Hallelujah Chorus. It’s like glitter.

Anyone who has ever worked with glitter knows how impossible it is to clean. The tiniest bit used in a craft project will show up for the next week on the table, on hands, on clothes, on faces — everywhere!

But Amy — my heart was broken to learn that Pastor Amy is moving on to a new church.

When Bud and I made the decision five years ago to move from the non-denominational church we had been attending to the United Methodist church in town, we sat down with the pastor at our current church to let him know what we were thinking and doing.

“You know,” he said, “Methodist pastors only stay in a place about 7 years. They move them around.”

Pshaw, I thought.

That was not what I was thinking last night.

I can remember the first time I saw Amy. It was at Helen’s Baccalaureate service. Amy was put in an awkward position and handled it with such grace.

Get to know her, God whispered in my heart.

Um, God, maybe you didn’t notice — she’s a woman. A woman pastor? I responded.

Sometimes it’s funny the things God doesn’t notice.

Still He niggled at me — about Amy.

It was probably close to two years later that we started attending the church she was pastoring.

Can I be honest here? Amy and I probably don’t see every issue the same way.

But Amy is like glitter. She got on my hands and in my heart.

I see little sparkles in the darnedest places where Amy has left her mark.

I see many issues differently. I understand them differently.

I am more compassionate because I’ve known Amy.

My pshaw has turned to aww… to sadness. Sadness for a church that will feel her absence. Sadness for me because I like things to always stay the same, and I don’t like change, and I don’t want Amy to ever leave ever ever ever — even though we’re staying in Cooperstown most of these days and don’t even go to the church in Greene. I just want Amy to stay where I knew her forever.

But glitter.

It spreads. It sparkles. Spreads and sparkles, spreads and sparkles — showing up everywhere.

I guess it’s important for Amy to move on. Throw a little glitter around somewhere else.

I, in turn, will not try to get the glitter in my heart cleaned up.

I’ll proudly display it like a Grandma Moses snow scene — sparkling and joyful.

For Amy.

Faith · photography

Show Me Something Cool

February 19, 2017 Sally2 Comments

I was clicking through all my pictures and almost clicked past it.

Another blurry picture, I thought.

I’m an expert at the blurry snapshot. In the days of film cameras, that talent was especially frustrating. I’d get back a whole roll of nothing but blur — and have to pay for it.

These are the kind of pictures I often take. I think this was supposed to be the reflection of the moon in a puddle. It was sandwiched in with a whole bunch of other moon pictures. I remember that evening walk, seeing the moon’s reflection in a roadside puddle, taking the picture, knowing that I didn’t have enough light.

Karl is playing tennis somewhere in this photo. In the days of film cameras, I would have thought that I somehow double-exposed, but I don’t think I can do that with my phone. I don’t know how it happened.

At least in this blurry shot, there’s a sense of what the picture was all about. We were setting up the family photo at Christmas, arranging people on the stairs, and I snapped this. I love to catch my children laughing, and they were laughing at something here. Something blurry.

This is the one I almost clicked past, but I paused and looked at it. It was a little ironic, because that’s what I did the day I saw it.

I remembered the day I had taken a walk in town. I parked in front of the library and before I started out, I prayed a little prayer Andrew Peterson had talked about once at Hutchmoot — Lord, show me something cool.

Because I walk the same route over and over, even though it’s Cooperstown and beautiful, I start missing the beauty and wonder of it.

Lord, show me something cool — and half a block later, there was this decapitated, one-legged Lego man, half on the curb, half in the street.

I stepped over it, barely noticing, and took about three more steps. Did I just miss something cool?

I walked back, took the not-blurry picture, and continued my walk, turning that little dead Lego man over and over in my mind. Should I have scooped him up and thrown him away? Should I have scooped him up and found a head for him? Should I have left him there for the street cleaner or another passerby, maybe even a child?

I did leave him there — but he didn’t leave me.

He reminded me of the hurting world we live in — a world of poverty, not just of material goods, but of the soul.

Where we fail to think of the other person.

Where we hoard all the things with which we should be generous.

Where we forget whence we came.

Lord, show me something cool.

Cool things come in unexpected shapes and sizes and places. A broken toy in the gutter can become a whole sermon.