In Gone With the Wind, Mammy said, when Bonnie Blue Butler was born, "The happiest days is when babies come." How true that is. It seems that when a baby is on the way, we become excited, hopeful, anticipatory, and just happy thinking about the new life that will, in some way, give new meaning to ours.
We had a baby shower today. The youngest member of our church choir, the young woman who grew up in our church, moved away, and then came back to be married and be a part of the church, is having a baby. Max and I made a cake and spiked coffee, I got flowers and new candles, and I even bought "baby" napkins so that we could remember why we were there. Our church choir is a tight-knit group, singing together every Wednesday and Sunday, seeing each other through family crises, illnesses, death, and, most happily, new life. Stephanie brought her husband John, who sat stoically through the opening of the gifts, the "oohs," the "ahs," and the stories of Stephanie's grandmother Marilyn, who, though she died many years ago, is still larger than life through tales of her legendary antics.
Max, Wes, and Jim (Stephanie's father and our ringer tenor) also braved the femininity of a baby shower to come and "ooh" and "ah" along with us women. Even they had a good time. We laughed, shared stories, shared gossip, remembered the choir's past and its present, and celebrated what may be its future in preparing to welcome Hannah, the fourth generation of this family to come into our church and who knows? Sing in the choir?
Pink was the predominant color, laughter was the loudest noise, and familiarity and comfort the most prevelant feelings. It was a good day and a great shower.
We didn't play any games.
Sunday, January 16, 2011
Thursday, January 13, 2011
The Wisdom of Solomon
Court was interesting yesterday, but the day began with a story I didn't want to hear.
A young man, 20, approached. He didn't have the money to pay his ticket, which had been issued because he couldn't produce proof of insurance when asked to do so by a police officer. Typically, we ask those people to buy insurance so that they will be legal drivers, and then they pay a reduced fine. He bought insurance, but he doesn't have the money to pay a fine. The insurance he bought has now expired because he could afford to buy insurance for only one month.
He is homeless. He doesn't have a car. He doesn't have a job. He does have a GED and a sister. They are orphans. The sister has a job at a nursing home, but doesn't make enough money to find an apartment and pay the first and last month's rent and a damage deposit. Their father died last July, and their mother died last August. At the time of his mother's death, he lived in Blue Springs, still with no car. She had been admitted to the hospital and he had called to find out how she was. She was improving. The next day she was dead.
He found that she had left a van, which he planned to use, but by the time he could get to it, his mother's roommate had arranged for it to be towed. The towing company now wants over $1000 to release the van; however, if he can pay $600, they will accept that.
I like to solve problems, and that's one of the reasons I like being a municipal judge. I can use wider vision to solve problems, but I can't solve this one. I have no idea what to do to help this young man and his sister. Someone, the mother of the sister's friend, is allowing them to stay in her home, but the long term for both of them looks bleak. How do we help kids such as these? How can they get on their feet when the very things they need to survive and work - a home, a car, insurance for the car, food - costs money that they can't get because they can't find decent jobs?
The kid is a decent kid. His problems must seem overwhelming to him, and yet I don't know what to do to help him begin a life that is stuck in first gear.
He needs the money he would have to pay for a fine.
I dismissed the charge
A young man, 20, approached. He didn't have the money to pay his ticket, which had been issued because he couldn't produce proof of insurance when asked to do so by a police officer. Typically, we ask those people to buy insurance so that they will be legal drivers, and then they pay a reduced fine. He bought insurance, but he doesn't have the money to pay a fine. The insurance he bought has now expired because he could afford to buy insurance for only one month.
He is homeless. He doesn't have a car. He doesn't have a job. He does have a GED and a sister. They are orphans. The sister has a job at a nursing home, but doesn't make enough money to find an apartment and pay the first and last month's rent and a damage deposit. Their father died last July, and their mother died last August. At the time of his mother's death, he lived in Blue Springs, still with no car. She had been admitted to the hospital and he had called to find out how she was. She was improving. The next day she was dead.
He found that she had left a van, which he planned to use, but by the time he could get to it, his mother's roommate had arranged for it to be towed. The towing company now wants over $1000 to release the van; however, if he can pay $600, they will accept that.
I like to solve problems, and that's one of the reasons I like being a municipal judge. I can use wider vision to solve problems, but I can't solve this one. I have no idea what to do to help this young man and his sister. Someone, the mother of the sister's friend, is allowing them to stay in her home, but the long term for both of them looks bleak. How do we help kids such as these? How can they get on their feet when the very things they need to survive and work - a home, a car, insurance for the car, food - costs money that they can't get because they can't find decent jobs?
The kid is a decent kid. His problems must seem overwhelming to him, and yet I don't know what to do to help him begin a life that is stuck in first gear.
He needs the money he would have to pay for a fine.
I dismissed the charge
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
Winter
The snow yesterday was absolutely beautiful as it fell, and, as long as I was looking out the kitchen window to the back yard, after it fell. Our pergola was the perfect winter picture: the table and chairs that welcome us in the summer sat silently as the snow became both tablecloth and seat cushions. Wisteria branches were redolent with white rather than lavender. Dusk came and the snow still sifted down, sparkling through tree branches as the lights from the motion sensors hit it. I couldn't tear myself away from the kitchen window, as I watched the soft and quiet, listening to the silence of the January evening.
Today, the magic was gone, as the sun came out and melted the white stuff and exposed the street and its gray imperfections. One of my regulars at court showed up to shovel the walk, and was surprised to see me at the door. Cars traveled fast down the street, turning the lovely powder lining the street a dingy brown speckled with black and dirt. Work and my computer beckoned, and so out my office window, minute by minute, I watched the landscape change from lovely to Missouri winter.
But the back yard still looks gorgeous. Found Fluffy tracks aren't really visible in the yard, and the table and chairs on the pergola and the wisteria branches over it are still dressed in their white finery. Safe and warm, I can look out into the yard and be mesmerized once again by winter as it should be instead of how it usually appears.
Today, the magic was gone, as the sun came out and melted the white stuff and exposed the street and its gray imperfections. One of my regulars at court showed up to shovel the walk, and was surprised to see me at the door. Cars traveled fast down the street, turning the lovely powder lining the street a dingy brown speckled with black and dirt. Work and my computer beckoned, and so out my office window, minute by minute, I watched the landscape change from lovely to Missouri winter.
But the back yard still looks gorgeous. Found Fluffy tracks aren't really visible in the yard, and the table and chairs on the pergola and the wisteria branches over it are still dressed in their white finery. Safe and warm, I can look out into the yard and be mesmerized once again by winter as it should be instead of how it usually appears.
Sunday, January 2, 2011
A Day of Rest
I enjoy our interim pastor so much. I often think that Alex is God's gift to our little congregation, the congregation that has been buffeted by so many hard winds over the past ten years. For today, he selected a hymn, a spiritual, that everyone knows but that no one has really sung in a church service: "Amen." The problem with the song is that it is divided into two parts: One part sings, obviously, "Amen," and the other part sings the verses. We had no idea how to break up the song so that it made sense and so that everyone would sing, but we finally got the idea to break the congregation in half, one side singing the "Amen" and the other side singing the verses. I think it went rather well, and even more important, we had a good time while singing it. Can you imagine? A group of Presbyterians having fun when singing!!!
I was lucky enough to have Sandy play the hymns with me, which takes some of the pressure off my feet (organ foot pedals, you know). She and I have a habit of dressing, without consultation, alike. Today, we wore gray trousers and pink sweaters. We accessorized with silver jewelry. Alex saw us before the service, as we were discussing how to play "Amen," and he suggested that Phil, the music leader, begin each hymn by saying, "A-one-a, a-two-a, hit it, Girls!" As I write it, I guess you had to be there, but such a jovial and joyful atmosphere is energizing and uplifting, exactly what I needed for today.
After feasting on leftover New Year's Day bounty, when the Chiefs began their hideous demise, I took a nap in our sun-filled bedroom, while the found Fluffy snored from her favorite chair. Now, I watch Emma Thompson and Kate Winslet in "Sense and Sensibilities" and wait for the fire to take hold. I can't remember when I experienced such a lovely afternoon - an afternoon of rest.
I was lucky enough to have Sandy play the hymns with me, which takes some of the pressure off my feet (organ foot pedals, you know). She and I have a habit of dressing, without consultation, alike. Today, we wore gray trousers and pink sweaters. We accessorized with silver jewelry. Alex saw us before the service, as we were discussing how to play "Amen," and he suggested that Phil, the music leader, begin each hymn by saying, "A-one-a, a-two-a, hit it, Girls!" As I write it, I guess you had to be there, but such a jovial and joyful atmosphere is energizing and uplifting, exactly what I needed for today.
After feasting on leftover New Year's Day bounty, when the Chiefs began their hideous demise, I took a nap in our sun-filled bedroom, while the found Fluffy snored from her favorite chair. Now, I watch Emma Thompson and Kate Winslet in "Sense and Sensibilities" and wait for the fire to take hold. I can't remember when I experienced such a lovely afternoon - an afternoon of rest.
Wednesday, December 29, 2010
Christmas once again and an angel gets his wings
I love Thanksgiving. It is a no-stress, no-pressure holiday. A bunch of people who generally like each other get together and eat fabulous food, and, if necessary, watch a football game or two. Wine is always included, as is dessert, and everyone is happy at the end of the day.
Christmas is another story.
Did I get the right present for _________ (fill in the blank)? How do we visit all the parents, in-laws, step-parents, and other dear ones in such a short time period? How do we not tell someone that we like the other house better? Do I have enough poppy seed bread to go around? Have I forgotten anyone? Stress, stress, stress. Pressure, pressure, pressure.
Add to that the fact that my husband and I cannot tell time, and so our daughter was born on December 30 (Really, I didn't want a December baby. I said that loud and often. However, after years of infertility, I would have done a back flip whenever she was born!).
What that means is that for about three weeks, I am on the go all the time. I bake presents. I buy presents. I clean house. I decorate the house, usually alone, but my husband is getting the idea that I would rather have lots of help. I wrap presents. I find a suitable birthday present for our only child. I stay up late asking the questions in the third paragraph. And I grade final exam papers. By the time Christmas is here, I am worn out and don't really care about much of anything.
I have dreaded this Christmas more than usual because it has been a hard year. My mother-in-law died in February after a long stint with liver disease. I taught two really hard on line classes this past fall. My brother-in-law had a stroke-like event that has left him lying in a bed unable to do anything for himself, and unable to communicate at all. My daughter has begun and finished her next-to-last semester in college, and she and her boyfriend of over a year broke up. One of my best friends has been diagnosed with a brain tumor. And yet Christmas was coming on like a freight train.
At first, things went better than expected. My husband won tickets to the December 26 Chiefs game. Emily had planned on giving tickets to that game to her boyfriend, but with the unexpected crash of the relationship, was not going to go. So she got an extra Christmas/birthday present, and was ecstatic. We had our usual Christmas Eve tradition, visiting dear friends, going to a fabulous Christmas Eve party, and then finishing the evening with our friends of almost 26 years. We got up late on Christmas day, my mother, step-father, and sister came over, and we had brunch. We opened our gifts, and everyone was happy.
The next day, Emily and Max went to the freezing game, and I intelligently spent the time with my ex-sister-in-law (who got custody of us during the divorce) and her siblings and nieces and nephews. The Chiefs won big and are going to the playoffs.
I slept late on Monday. A friend came over to dinner, and dinner was good, and we had a good time.
Until.
We noticed that our little 15-year-old, deaf, blind, Bichon Frise was not in her usual place upstairs in the chair. She wasn't in the dining room on a chair. She hadn't gotten lost in the basement. She was gone. We were beside ourselves, and couldn't remember who had let her out, or who had not brought her back in, or when any of that might have happened.
We put on our coats and hats and went looking for hours - until 1 in the morning. Nothing. There was no trace of her. We came home and tried to sleep, hoping some kind soul had found her, picked her up, and taken her home for the night. The next day, we called the veterinarians in town, the animal shelter, the police, and the radio stations. We made fliers and took them to all our neighbors. Then we sat and waited. Nothing happened.
Last night, Emily completed applications for graduate school. I tried to get a headache. Max feigned interest in the Missouri game. And we tried to come to grips with the fact that the little dog, Fluffy, was probably gone. We were sad and cried a lot over little things, but never really said why we were crying.
Then we went to bed.
At 7:30 this morning, we got a call from animal control. Fluffy was found. Someone, obviously an angel, had found her, taken her in, and then taken her to the shelter, where someone put two and two together and figured out she was ours. A few minutes later, the big white truck pulled up in front of our house, and a tired and disoriented Fluffy was handed over to us. I got the angel's telephone number and called him a little later.
Fluffy was a little over one mile from our home. I have no idea how she got there or why she felt compelled to go. She was out all night, and when the angel found her, she was cold and hungry. He took her home, got her warm, fed her, kept her all the next night, and when he called the animal control people, he told them that if the owners didn't claim her, he would take her. I started crying again, and called my husband, and he teared up, and then he went by the man's house to personally thank him.
So all in all, this Christmas season has been better than most. An angel appeared to me and said, "Fear not," which is what Christmas should be about, anyway - a miracle on earth. I have a couple of other miracles I would like to offer up for consideration, but the one we got was just fine, and I am grateful for it.
Christmas is another story.
Did I get the right present for _________ (fill in the blank)? How do we visit all the parents, in-laws, step-parents, and other dear ones in such a short time period? How do we not tell someone that we like the other house better? Do I have enough poppy seed bread to go around? Have I forgotten anyone? Stress, stress, stress. Pressure, pressure, pressure.
Add to that the fact that my husband and I cannot tell time, and so our daughter was born on December 30 (Really, I didn't want a December baby. I said that loud and often. However, after years of infertility, I would have done a back flip whenever she was born!).
What that means is that for about three weeks, I am on the go all the time. I bake presents. I buy presents. I clean house. I decorate the house, usually alone, but my husband is getting the idea that I would rather have lots of help. I wrap presents. I find a suitable birthday present for our only child. I stay up late asking the questions in the third paragraph. And I grade final exam papers. By the time Christmas is here, I am worn out and don't really care about much of anything.
I have dreaded this Christmas more than usual because it has been a hard year. My mother-in-law died in February after a long stint with liver disease. I taught two really hard on line classes this past fall. My brother-in-law had a stroke-like event that has left him lying in a bed unable to do anything for himself, and unable to communicate at all. My daughter has begun and finished her next-to-last semester in college, and she and her boyfriend of over a year broke up. One of my best friends has been diagnosed with a brain tumor. And yet Christmas was coming on like a freight train.
At first, things went better than expected. My husband won tickets to the December 26 Chiefs game. Emily had planned on giving tickets to that game to her boyfriend, but with the unexpected crash of the relationship, was not going to go. So she got an extra Christmas/birthday present, and was ecstatic. We had our usual Christmas Eve tradition, visiting dear friends, going to a fabulous Christmas Eve party, and then finishing the evening with our friends of almost 26 years. We got up late on Christmas day, my mother, step-father, and sister came over, and we had brunch. We opened our gifts, and everyone was happy.
The next day, Emily and Max went to the freezing game, and I intelligently spent the time with my ex-sister-in-law (who got custody of us during the divorce) and her siblings and nieces and nephews. The Chiefs won big and are going to the playoffs.
I slept late on Monday. A friend came over to dinner, and dinner was good, and we had a good time.
Until.
We noticed that our little 15-year-old, deaf, blind, Bichon Frise was not in her usual place upstairs in the chair. She wasn't in the dining room on a chair. She hadn't gotten lost in the basement. She was gone. We were beside ourselves, and couldn't remember who had let her out, or who had not brought her back in, or when any of that might have happened.
We put on our coats and hats and went looking for hours - until 1 in the morning. Nothing. There was no trace of her. We came home and tried to sleep, hoping some kind soul had found her, picked her up, and taken her home for the night. The next day, we called the veterinarians in town, the animal shelter, the police, and the radio stations. We made fliers and took them to all our neighbors. Then we sat and waited. Nothing happened.
Last night, Emily completed applications for graduate school. I tried to get a headache. Max feigned interest in the Missouri game. And we tried to come to grips with the fact that the little dog, Fluffy, was probably gone. We were sad and cried a lot over little things, but never really said why we were crying.
Then we went to bed.
At 7:30 this morning, we got a call from animal control. Fluffy was found. Someone, obviously an angel, had found her, taken her in, and then taken her to the shelter, where someone put two and two together and figured out she was ours. A few minutes later, the big white truck pulled up in front of our house, and a tired and disoriented Fluffy was handed over to us. I got the angel's telephone number and called him a little later.
Fluffy was a little over one mile from our home. I have no idea how she got there or why she felt compelled to go. She was out all night, and when the angel found her, she was cold and hungry. He took her home, got her warm, fed her, kept her all the next night, and when he called the animal control people, he told them that if the owners didn't claim her, he would take her. I started crying again, and called my husband, and he teared up, and then he went by the man's house to personally thank him.
So all in all, this Christmas season has been better than most. An angel appeared to me and said, "Fear not," which is what Christmas should be about, anyway - a miracle on earth. I have a couple of other miracles I would like to offer up for consideration, but the one we got was just fine, and I am grateful for it.
Monday, September 27, 2010
I am grading papers, and Secretary Vilsack is on television talking about school lunches. His comments bring to mind a commercial I saw the other day that addressed childhood obesity. The commercial was clever; children were commenting about the rise in in obesity, one of them saying that childhood obesity had increased by 30% in the last so many years. Then another child says, "So have you, Dad." And yet another child says, "My dad thinks ketchup is a vegetable."
Normally, I would think that to be funny; however, it is not funny because ketchup became a vegetable for school lunch purposes under the administration of The Great Communicator, Ronald Reagan. I am serious. In order to scrimp on school lunches, which are required to follow the FDA's dietary guidelines, the Reagan Administration's FDA declared ketchup to be a vegetable. By doing so, schools did not have to offer a REAL vegetable at lunch, but could give kids ketchup, wonderfully healthy ketchup, high fructose-filled, sodium-filled ketchup, and say that they were offering a vegetable and therefore following FDA regulations.
And people think Ronald Reagan was a wonderful president. I sigh.
Normally, I would think that to be funny; however, it is not funny because ketchup became a vegetable for school lunch purposes under the administration of The Great Communicator, Ronald Reagan. I am serious. In order to scrimp on school lunches, which are required to follow the FDA's dietary guidelines, the Reagan Administration's FDA declared ketchup to be a vegetable. By doing so, schools did not have to offer a REAL vegetable at lunch, but could give kids ketchup, wonderfully healthy ketchup, high fructose-filled, sodium-filled ketchup, and say that they were offering a vegetable and therefore following FDA regulations.
And people think Ronald Reagan was a wonderful president. I sigh.
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