Yesterday morning, driving home after breakfast with a friend, I pulled over to the side of the road where I live. Hundreds of wineberry bushes were overflowing with deep-red berries. The dark color means that they are ripe, and they don't last once they get to that stage.
Got out of the car and eagerly picked the ones with the boldest color. Not only do they easily fall off the branch, they practically melt in my hand. The area is low ground, close to the Delaware River, and gets lots of sun, and I wonder if that makes a good formula for a bountiful crop.
After gathering a handful of these slightly-gooey things, I hear an unfamiliar KGKGKGGEEER, GEEEERKRGK sound coming from the ground. I'm pretty sure that it's a bird, but I don't see anything. I stop for a moment, nothing happens, and I continue. Taking a few steps to my right a bit further into the woods, I hear KIIIKGKGKGRK!! a little closer this time.
You can tell that I've watched too much TV this hot summer, because my imagination immediately takes me to the scene in "Jurassic Park" when the guy who played Newman on Seinfeld meets a dino-lizard whose innocent chirping quickly turns into man-eating growls. I started to backpedal, "Uh, no reason to get greedy here," and went back to the car.
No idea what creature produced that noise. Like I said, it was most likely a bird, and I didn't want to risk accidentally stepping on a nest. Plus, I'd rather not answer such questions via leg bite, thank you very much.
Got about 50 this time, and I'm gradually stockpiling enough to make jam.
Saturday, July 17, 2010
Thursday, July 15, 2010
It's Hot
The past few weeks have been, to quote an overplayed wedding song, Hot Hot Hot. However, my policy about weather complaints is the Eighth Amendment Standard: I try to reserve griping for "cruel and unusual" weather patterns.
For instance, ice storms that create dangerous driving conditions are cruel. Excessive rainfall that results in destructive floods - ditto. The same goes for draughts which kill plant life and set the stage for brush fires. Those are "cruel" weather patterns which deserve complaints.
"Unusual" means stuff out of place or season. Ninety-degree temps belong in mid-July Pennsylvania, so the present conditions don't satisfy my groan criteria. Reaching the 90s in April, however - which has mysteriously occurred the past two springs - is not supposed to happen. April means the return of baseball, flower buds, and moderate weather, not heat waves.
So yes, it's very very hot out there. Abiding by the 8th Amendment policy, though, I have no complaints. I'm just thankful that I have a roof overhead and a cool place in which to blog.
For instance, ice storms that create dangerous driving conditions are cruel. Excessive rainfall that results in destructive floods - ditto. The same goes for draughts which kill plant life and set the stage for brush fires. Those are "cruel" weather patterns which deserve complaints.
"Unusual" means stuff out of place or season. Ninety-degree temps belong in mid-July Pennsylvania, so the present conditions don't satisfy my groan criteria. Reaching the 90s in April, however - which has mysteriously occurred the past two springs - is not supposed to happen. April means the return of baseball, flower buds, and moderate weather, not heat waves.
So yes, it's very very hot out there. Abiding by the 8th Amendment policy, though, I have no complaints. I'm just thankful that I have a roof overhead and a cool place in which to blog.
Saturday, July 10, 2010
Relationship with God
Relationships - romantic, familial, political - have always been a favorite topic of mine. Many of my personal rel-ships need work, and I hope to attend to them in the months ahead. That said, there's one 'ship that especially beckons: my relationship with God.
For most of my life, I have been suspicious of phrases like "relationship with God." What does that mean, exactly? How can I relate to an invisible and eternal being? What I am supposed to do? How does one tell the difference between a "real" divine encounters and the projection of deified fantasies into an imaginary relationship?
Well, thank goodness we have blogs to answer such questions once and for all!! Kidding aside, these profound questions warrant (and have inspired) volumes and volumes of writings. Today I'm only going to do the two-minute drill and will save the dissertation for another time. Here is my three-step process for boosting one's relationship with The Godster.
The Image of God: When someone reads or hears the word "GOD," it triggers an image in that person's mind. What is that image for you? For most of my life, I thought of a white man, white robe, white beard, sitting on a throne in a cloud. This is God as Zeus which goes all the way back to the Hellenistic influences on early Christianity. Somewhat ironically, the image was further solidified in the 1950s when Charlton Heston played Moses in the film remake of "The Ten Commandments." Although this heroic father imagery has its place in the Christian canon, it can lead to problems if left unexamined.
First, Zeus and Moses have a law-or-bust preoccupation. That can lead to (what I believe is) a misleading interpretation of God as harsh judge whose biggest concern is that his subjects obey his rules. Second, the image is far too limiting; it's hard for me to accept that the creator of the WHOLE ENTIRE UNIVERSE looks like a retired English Professor in a bathrobe. Third, the image sets off the patriarchy alarms like crazy. In light of male power dominance throughout Western history, it's too convenient to simply think of God as a male, not to mention a straight, able-bodied white guy.
To counteract such unconscious programming, I'm trying to play with different divine imagery, things as big as the nighttime sky to as small as microscopic cells. After all, the God that I worship inhabits such places large and small.
If this topic interests you, check out the 1997 book The God We Never Knew: Beyond Dogmatic Religion to a More Contemporary Faith by Marcus Borg. It's a thoughtful and challenging exploration of how our images of God unconsciously play a big role in our formation.
Talking to God - There are many ways to communicate with God, but the most critical and (for me) underutilized form is prayer. One type is intercessory prayer, ie praying on behalf of others. For instance: Oh God, please help my dad while he rehabs from his recent knee replacement surgery. Then there's meditation prayer, they type where I stop listening to the white noise streaming through my brain and just be still. Stillness and quiet are openings for the Holy Spirit.
Meditation is not the same as black magic; it's not invoking power to do your will. Instead, it means coming into harmony with God's creation around us, deepening our attentiveness and awareness to the soft, still voice of God. Mysteriously, unpredictably, and graciously, prayer "works."
Do Something - Think about God, talk to God, and then act on that. Do something consistent with what you believe God is and what you have heard God say to you. Let your image of God inspire you in your human relationships.
I'm not sure what that "doing" will entail for me, at least not in the short term, but I'll continue to do steps 1 and 2 in the meantime. Certainly, time with Scripture provides many examples of Godly relationships, from the ancient Israelites to the early followers of Jesus. To answer a question I posed earlier, Scripture is one resource that can help us discern the difference between our will and the will of God.
What images for God do you find helpful? What is your favorite way to communication with God? How do those two answers inform the choices you make in daily life?
For most of my life, I have been suspicious of phrases like "relationship with God." What does that mean, exactly? How can I relate to an invisible and eternal being? What I am supposed to do? How does one tell the difference between a "real" divine encounters and the projection of deified fantasies into an imaginary relationship?
Well, thank goodness we have blogs to answer such questions once and for all!! Kidding aside, these profound questions warrant (and have inspired) volumes and volumes of writings. Today I'm only going to do the two-minute drill and will save the dissertation for another time. Here is my three-step process for boosting one's relationship with The Godster.
The Image of God: When someone reads or hears the word "GOD," it triggers an image in that person's mind. What is that image for you? For most of my life, I thought of a white man, white robe, white beard, sitting on a throne in a cloud. This is God as Zeus which goes all the way back to the Hellenistic influences on early Christianity. Somewhat ironically, the image was further solidified in the 1950s when Charlton Heston played Moses in the film remake of "The Ten Commandments." Although this heroic father imagery has its place in the Christian canon, it can lead to problems if left unexamined.
First, Zeus and Moses have a law-or-bust preoccupation. That can lead to (what I believe is) a misleading interpretation of God as harsh judge whose biggest concern is that his subjects obey his rules. Second, the image is far too limiting; it's hard for me to accept that the creator of the WHOLE ENTIRE UNIVERSE looks like a retired English Professor in a bathrobe. Third, the image sets off the patriarchy alarms like crazy. In light of male power dominance throughout Western history, it's too convenient to simply think of God as a male, not to mention a straight, able-bodied white guy.
To counteract such unconscious programming, I'm trying to play with different divine imagery, things as big as the nighttime sky to as small as microscopic cells. After all, the God that I worship inhabits such places large and small.
If this topic interests you, check out the 1997 book The God We Never Knew: Beyond Dogmatic Religion to a More Contemporary Faith by Marcus Borg. It's a thoughtful and challenging exploration of how our images of God unconsciously play a big role in our formation.
Talking to God - There are many ways to communicate with God, but the most critical and (for me) underutilized form is prayer. One type is intercessory prayer, ie praying on behalf of others. For instance: Oh God, please help my dad while he rehabs from his recent knee replacement surgery. Then there's meditation prayer, they type where I stop listening to the white noise streaming through my brain and just be still. Stillness and quiet are openings for the Holy Spirit.
Meditation is not the same as black magic; it's not invoking power to do your will. Instead, it means coming into harmony with God's creation around us, deepening our attentiveness and awareness to the soft, still voice of God. Mysteriously, unpredictably, and graciously, prayer "works."
Do Something - Think about God, talk to God, and then act on that. Do something consistent with what you believe God is and what you have heard God say to you. Let your image of God inspire you in your human relationships.
I'm not sure what that "doing" will entail for me, at least not in the short term, but I'll continue to do steps 1 and 2 in the meantime. Certainly, time with Scripture provides many examples of Godly relationships, from the ancient Israelites to the early followers of Jesus. To answer a question I posed earlier, Scripture is one resource that can help us discern the difference between our will and the will of God.
What images for God do you find helpful? What is your favorite way to communication with God? How do those two answers inform the choices you make in daily life?
Monday, July 5, 2010
(Independence) Day in the Life
This year I celebrated Independence Day with three red-white-and-blue activities: morning church, evening family picnic, and afternoon rubus phoenicolasius.
Began the day attending Holy Eucharist at my home parish, St. James Langhorne. Great to see friends I hadn't seen in six months. Rev. Barbara Kelley gave an informative homily/history lesson - without notes, no less! - reminding us that the balance of church and state has been a long-standing issue in the Church of England, not to mention its ensuing mutations (ie the Episcopal Church).
At night, I gathered with my family for a 4th picnic. My bro-in-law used the grill, but nobody wanted to stay outside very long because it was 999 degrees out there. So we enjoyed burgers & mom's premier potato salad in the comforts of my sister's air-conditioned dining room. Nice to have low-key family time.
In between these social outings, I picked Wineberries, aka rubus phoenicolasius. Evidently, these plants are indigenous to Asia. Explorers brought them to Western Europe and then to North America for decoration. They escaped, multiplied, and have found a home for themselves in Southeastern Pennsylvania, including my 'rents property north of New Hope. Although somewhat tart, Wineberries are delicious when ripe and easy to pick.
There's a catch to berry-ing, however. Central Bucks has been a hot zone for Lyme Disease, an ailment that can be transmitted via tick bite. Yuck. Spend any time in the deep woods around here, and it's amazing how quickly the ticks find you. (Insert favorite joke about ex-partners, telemarketers, lawyers, etc.) It's laughable that picking little berries in the woods is a dangerous enterprise, but such is life East of Edensville.
My mom, sister and I used to pick berries when sis & I were youngsters. Lots of fun memories doing that, in part because the Wineberries ripen in early July, aka the beginning of summer vacation. This year, for some reason, I'm feeling my age and wanted to refresh a childhood joy. So I got it into my head that I wasn't letting any teeny-tiny punk interfere with my walk down memory-berried lane.
As a precaution, I dressed like a character from Michael Crichton's The Andromeda Strain: long white pants, white socks rolled over the pant legs, white tee shirt, and white baseball cap. With this all-white getup, I could either hunt for berries or do a morning power walk at a shopping mall.
The sun was out, scorching everything in its view. I didn't linger outside too long, maybe twenty minutes. Those minutes yielded about two cups worth - not bad for a first day of picking. Since they are just starting to ripen, I left quite a few small ones on the bushes.
As soon as I walked back into my parents' house, I barely had time to show off my harvest when Hawkeye Mom spotted... guess what? Yep, a creepy crawly on my shirt. She removed him/her promptly, and she/he was last seen "white water rafting" towards the septic tank. Life in the country has its hazards.
It's a blessing to have the time and freedom to enjoy the simple pleasures of life: good liturgy among friends, good food among family, and time amidst God's creation. Can't help but wonder, though: why didn't Noah throw those two ticks overboard?
Began the day attending Holy Eucharist at my home parish, St. James Langhorne. Great to see friends I hadn't seen in six months. Rev. Barbara Kelley gave an informative homily/history lesson - without notes, no less! - reminding us that the balance of church and state has been a long-standing issue in the Church of England, not to mention its ensuing mutations (ie the Episcopal Church).
At night, I gathered with my family for a 4th picnic. My bro-in-law used the grill, but nobody wanted to stay outside very long because it was 999 degrees out there. So we enjoyed burgers & mom's premier potato salad in the comforts of my sister's air-conditioned dining room. Nice to have low-key family time.
In between these social outings, I picked Wineberries, aka rubus phoenicolasius. Evidently, these plants are indigenous to Asia. Explorers brought them to Western Europe and then to North America for decoration. They escaped, multiplied, and have found a home for themselves in Southeastern Pennsylvania, including my 'rents property north of New Hope. Although somewhat tart, Wineberries are delicious when ripe and easy to pick.
There's a catch to berry-ing, however. Central Bucks has been a hot zone for Lyme Disease, an ailment that can be transmitted via tick bite. Yuck. Spend any time in the deep woods around here, and it's amazing how quickly the ticks find you. (Insert favorite joke about ex-partners, telemarketers, lawyers, etc.) It's laughable that picking little berries in the woods is a dangerous enterprise, but such is life East of Edensville.
My mom, sister and I used to pick berries when sis & I were youngsters. Lots of fun memories doing that, in part because the Wineberries ripen in early July, aka the beginning of summer vacation. This year, for some reason, I'm feeling my age and wanted to refresh a childhood joy. So I got it into my head that I wasn't letting any teeny-tiny punk interfere with my walk down memory-berried lane.
As a precaution, I dressed like a character from Michael Crichton's The Andromeda Strain: long white pants, white socks rolled over the pant legs, white tee shirt, and white baseball cap. With this all-white getup, I could either hunt for berries or do a morning power walk at a shopping mall.
The sun was out, scorching everything in its view. I didn't linger outside too long, maybe twenty minutes. Those minutes yielded about two cups worth - not bad for a first day of picking. Since they are just starting to ripen, I left quite a few small ones on the bushes.
As soon as I walked back into my parents' house, I barely had time to show off my harvest when Hawkeye Mom spotted... guess what? Yep, a creepy crawly on my shirt. She removed him/her promptly, and she/he was last seen "white water rafting" towards the septic tank. Life in the country has its hazards.
It's a blessing to have the time and freedom to enjoy the simple pleasures of life: good liturgy among friends, good food among family, and time amidst God's creation. Can't help but wonder, though: why didn't Noah throw those two ticks overboard?
Monday, June 28, 2010
Kalickiwat!
We live in a technological era which erodes privacy; welcome to 2010. I aid and abet this tendency whenever I gawk at Youtube candid footage or read blogs that could be more discreet.
Lately, I've been fighting the urge to vent my spleen about private business between me and someone else, someone who matters.
Venting, aka letting off steam, is a healthful practice. It helps release tension, lessening the chance that anxiety will be internalized. I've got some steam that I'd like to vent, but in the interest of discretion - changing the names to protect the innocent - I'm going to blow smoke instead of steam. IOW, I'm not going to tell the story explicitly in blogdom.
Instead, I'll tell it in code. NUBBU....nubbu po lij tvedc'k wwwwuqu. Scxeedde wheet VOU lonner tash bonna wox rioghan, rioghan. Dasai immo hoffa po qui meekloem, zep utre dueckso. Zoc zoc liitosh t'kao, reiquovon kliedsah oc trvest! Kalickiwat, tosha me wadate, kalickiwat!!
Before the Mensa Minds dig out their decoder rings, they should know that my rant is not really "code" but is more appropriately classified as "gibberish." There's no secret message, no revelation about Al Gore's libido, no juicy gossip to be found. It's just a lot of smoke and steam.
So there you have it: a privacy-protecting rant. I'm feeling better already. Kalickiwat.
Lately, I've been fighting the urge to vent my spleen about private business between me and someone else, someone who matters.
Venting, aka letting off steam, is a healthful practice. It helps release tension, lessening the chance that anxiety will be internalized. I've got some steam that I'd like to vent, but in the interest of discretion - changing the names to protect the innocent - I'm going to blow smoke instead of steam. IOW, I'm not going to tell the story explicitly in blogdom.
Instead, I'll tell it in code. NUBBU....nubbu po lij tvedc'k wwwwuqu. Scxeedde wheet VOU lonner tash bonna wox rioghan, rioghan. Dasai immo hoffa po qui meekloem, zep utre dueckso. Zoc zoc liitosh t'kao, reiquovon kliedsah oc trvest! Kalickiwat, tosha me wadate, kalickiwat!!
Before the Mensa Minds dig out their decoder rings, they should know that my rant is not really "code" but is more appropriately classified as "gibberish." There's no secret message, no revelation about Al Gore's libido, no juicy gossip to be found. It's just a lot of smoke and steam.
So there you have it: a privacy-protecting rant. I'm feeling better already. Kalickiwat.
Saturday, June 26, 2010
Fantasy Baseball
As I type and as you read, we are co-creating electronic footprints. Somewhere it is being recorded that you, the reader, have pulled up my blog site; it is also noted that I am creating this log.
Some entity - NASA, Microsoft, extra-terrestrial life - may choose to review my e-footprints. They can examine phone records, noting who I talked to and for how long. (Two-plus years of long-distance relationships will give them plenty of material.) They will see my purchasing history. They can note what web sites I frequented and how often I checked e-mail.
They will also discover that I'm a pretty darn good Fantasy Baseball general manager.
In 2002, a group of fellow Notre Dame alums assembled a ten-player league through the Yahoo web site. My friend Lance, a baseball fanatic, invited me to join. He made me an offer that I couldn't refuse. I had no idea what I was doing, but I stumbled along and learned on the job. The records from year one have not survived, but I'm pretty sure that my team struggled.
Check out the run that followed:
2002 - ? place, did not make playoffs
2003 - 1st-place finish in the regular season, 3rd in postseason (bye, loss, win)
2004 - 2nd in reg season, 1st in postseason (bye, win, win)
2005 - 7th place, did not make the playoffs
2006 - 2nd reg season, 1st post (bye, win, win)
2007 - 4th reg season, 2nd post (win, win, lost Championship in tiebreaker)
2008 - 2nd reg season, 1st post (bye, win, win)
2009 - 1st reg season, 3rd post (bye, loss, win)
2010 - 2nd in the standings, only one game behind the first-place team (as of week 12 in the 22-week season)
Team names: "Time On My Hands" (2002-05), "Bristol Babylonians" (2006-07), and "Cambridge Prophets" (2008-present).
In eight years, I have won 3 championships, 1 second-place finish, and 2 third-place finishes. I have finished in the top 3 in six of the last seven seasons.
My postseason record is 10-3.
Let's hope that my skill/good luck in fantasy b-ball carries over into some real-life skill. For instance, it would be nice to be good at pastoral ministry, homiletics, automobile maintenance, home repair, being a loyal friend, finding a mate, getting things done on time, financial management, fighting for social justice... it's a long list.
Play ball!
Some entity - NASA, Microsoft, extra-terrestrial life - may choose to review my e-footprints. They can examine phone records, noting who I talked to and for how long. (Two-plus years of long-distance relationships will give them plenty of material.) They will see my purchasing history. They can note what web sites I frequented and how often I checked e-mail.
They will also discover that I'm a pretty darn good Fantasy Baseball general manager.
In 2002, a group of fellow Notre Dame alums assembled a ten-player league through the Yahoo web site. My friend Lance, a baseball fanatic, invited me to join. He made me an offer that I couldn't refuse. I had no idea what I was doing, but I stumbled along and learned on the job. The records from year one have not survived, but I'm pretty sure that my team struggled.
Check out the run that followed:
2002 - ? place, did not make playoffs
2003 - 1st-place finish in the regular season, 3rd in postseason (bye, loss, win)
2004 - 2nd in reg season, 1st in postseason (bye, win, win)
2005 - 7th place, did not make the playoffs
2006 - 2nd reg season, 1st post (bye, win, win)
2007 - 4th reg season, 2nd post (win, win, lost Championship in tiebreaker)
2008 - 2nd reg season, 1st post (bye, win, win)
2009 - 1st reg season, 3rd post (bye, loss, win)
2010 - 2nd in the standings, only one game behind the first-place team (as of week 12 in the 22-week season)
Team names: "Time On My Hands" (2002-05), "Bristol Babylonians" (2006-07), and "Cambridge Prophets" (2008-present).
In eight years, I have won 3 championships, 1 second-place finish, and 2 third-place finishes. I have finished in the top 3 in six of the last seven seasons.
My postseason record is 10-3.
Let's hope that my skill/good luck in fantasy b-ball carries over into some real-life skill. For instance, it would be nice to be good at pastoral ministry, homiletics, automobile maintenance, home repair, being a loyal friend, finding a mate, getting things done on time, financial management, fighting for social justice... it's a long list.
Play ball!
Thursday, June 24, 2010
Prophets Authentic and Otherwise
In the Episcopal Church, today celebrates the Nativity of Saint John the Baptist.
Cue non-Episcopal audience reaction: z-z-z-z-z-z....
Well, John the Baptist has significance, even today. His greatest claim to fame, as told in the four Christian canonical gospels, is that he baptized Jesus of Nazareth. His infancy narrative is told only in Luke, and it serves as a companion story to the Nativity of Jesus.
In all four gospels, John goes out of his way to proclaim that Jesus is the true prophet. Many biblical scholars think that John was, like Jesus, a charismatic preacher who attracted a following. In the years following the execution of John and Jesus, the surviving movements might have competed against each other, both thinking that their leader was The True Prophet.
It is possible that John did, in fact, defer to Jesus. There is also the possibility that his character is just written that way; the gospel writers wanted to sublimate John to the Man from Nazareth. Hence, we get John's not-worthy-to-untie-his-sandals comments. In other words, the gospel authors wanted to distinguish between A prophet and THE prophet.
How do we recognize authentic prophets? For that matter, how do we reconcile matters when authentic prophets rival each other?
Leaving this question open, I'll close by recommending a short story. Check out T.C. Boyle's "The Silence," a fictional send-up of New Age pretensions. Boyle shows what happens when Present Moment People on a desert retreat encounter morally-neutral representatives of the animal kingdom. I found the story in the Atlantic magazine 2010 Fiction issue. For your convenience, the on-line link is listed.
Choose your prophets carefully!
http://www.theatlantic.com/magazine/archive/2010/08/the-silence/8040/
Cue non-Episcopal audience reaction: z-z-z-z-z-z....
Well, John the Baptist has significance, even today. His greatest claim to fame, as told in the four Christian canonical gospels, is that he baptized Jesus of Nazareth. His infancy narrative is told only in Luke, and it serves as a companion story to the Nativity of Jesus.
In all four gospels, John goes out of his way to proclaim that Jesus is the true prophet. Many biblical scholars think that John was, like Jesus, a charismatic preacher who attracted a following. In the years following the execution of John and Jesus, the surviving movements might have competed against each other, both thinking that their leader was The True Prophet.
It is possible that John did, in fact, defer to Jesus. There is also the possibility that his character is just written that way; the gospel writers wanted to sublimate John to the Man from Nazareth. Hence, we get John's not-worthy-to-untie-his-sandals comments. In other words, the gospel authors wanted to distinguish between A prophet and THE prophet.
How do we recognize authentic prophets? For that matter, how do we reconcile matters when authentic prophets rival each other?
Leaving this question open, I'll close by recommending a short story. Check out T.C. Boyle's "The Silence," a fictional send-up of New Age pretensions. Boyle shows what happens when Present Moment People on a desert retreat encounter morally-neutral representatives of the animal kingdom. I found the story in the Atlantic magazine 2010 Fiction issue. For your convenience, the on-line link is listed.
Choose your prophets carefully!
http://www.theatlantic.com/magazine/archive/2010/08/the-silence/8040/
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