Sunday

WorldCon is over. I'm registered at Fourth Street Fantasy for next year and on the waitlist for World Fantasy this year. I bought the Laurie Edison ring (tourmaline and sterling silver, gorgeous) as a birthday gift to myself, but because she has to size it, I probably won't have it until after my birthday. Elsewhere in birthday land, I went to Inez' birthday party, thrown by several of her old friends in Reno, which featured a truly fantastic Day of the Dead birthday cake.

Tomorrow, Inez flies back to Iowa.

Many other people are already gone.

I'm both sad and relieved. For five days now, I've been on a little piece of My Planet. Now, most of My People are going home, and I have to resume the stranger-in-a-strange-land gig.

On the other hand, tomorrow I get to sleep in. And exercise again, which hasn't been possible during the con. And maybe get some writing done. I'm very glad I had the foresight to cancel my hospital shift tomorrow!

For the rest of this evening, I plan to be a vegetable.

Another Renoversary

Gary has been here in Reno fourteen years today. Happy anniversary, Gar! And happy summer, everyone else!

Seen and Unseen

Here's tomorrow's homily. The Gospel's John 14:15-21.

I had trouble with this one; for one thing, John's my least favorite Gospel, since Jesus' speechifying there sets my teeth on edge. Yeah, he speechifies elsewhere, too (Sermon on the Mount, anyone?), but to me -- and I know this is probably heretical -- John makes him sound like a pompous stuffed shirt. I like him much better when he's feeding and healing people. So sue me.

In my old parish, we always had an agape meal on Maundy Thursday, and while we were gnawing our fruit and nuts, one of our priests would read the High Priestly Prayer -- John 17 -- which even our clergy took to calling the I-Am-the-Walrus prayer, since "As you, Father, are in me and I am in you, may they also be in us," sounds a bit too much like, "I am he as you are he as you are me and we are all together." So one priest would solemnly read John 17, and we'd all say Amen, and then another priest would say, "Coo coo ka choo," and we'd all laugh.

But tomorrow's Gospel reading's from John, and also it's Memorial Day, and also we're doing a baptism (for a baby who's the grandchild of a parishioner but lives elsewhere). So this is one of those hodge-podge homilies that's all over the map. It's short, but that works with a baptism, and Atheist Gary has given it his seal of approval.

Speaking of clouds, it's snowing now. Ick!

*

For a little over a year now, my sister and I have been orphans. Our father died in March 2009; our mother, divorced from him many decades earlier, died in April 2010. Our parents are no longer with us in the flesh.

I miss them terribly. I miss their delight in the Reno landscape, my father’s love of music and my mother’s love of hand-crafted jewelry, the meals I shared with them. I miss hearing their voices on the phone.

At the same time, though, I am surrounded by reminders of them. Whenever I see quail, I remember how Mom and I watched a mother quail and her approximately seventeen hundred tiny chicks cross the road during a drive to Virginia City. Whenever I see a dramatic Nevada cloudscape, I remember how Dad loved to watch the changing colors of the sky. I wear my mother’s earrings and use the dining room chairs she gave us when my husband and I bought our house. Artwork we inherited from both of my parents hangs on our walls. When I sit on our back deck, I remember how much Dad loved sitting there, too.

In the months immediately after my parents’ deaths, these reminders were exquisitely painful. Everything reminded me of them, but I couldn’t touch them or hear their voices or ask their advice. The process of working through my grief, though, has gradually transformed each source of pain into a source of comfort. I can’t touch my parents, but I can touch things they touched. I can no longer hear their voices on the telephone, but I can hear them in my head whenever I want or need to, and occasionally even when I’d rather not. I can’t ask their advice, but years of knowing them has left me with a strong sense of what they would say. When I need the comfort of memories not my own, I can talk to other people who knew and loved them: my sister, my husband, cousins and friends.

My parents are no longer in the flesh, but they are everywhere in the world. They both dwell within me and surround me. The world no longer sees them; other people who look at clouds and quail see only clouds and quail, not my parents. But I see them. Technically, I am an orphan, but I have not been left orphaned. My parents live on in memory and in tradition.

This coming Thursday, June 2, forty days after Easter, the Christian church will celebrate the Feast of the Ascension. Jesus, who has been walking around breaking bread and cooking fish and generally carrying on like somebody who never died, is going away again. He’s going to live with his Father.

The Gospels of Mark and Luke describe the Ascension, although very briefly. Mark says that Jesus “was taken up into heaven and sat down at the right hand of God.” Luke tells us that while Jesus was blessing his followers,“he withdrew from them and was carried up to heaven.” Matthew and John don’t describe the Ascension at all. Because our three-year cycle of Scripture readings – the lectionary used by the Episcopal Church and many other churches – is focusing on John right now, the editors have had to do a bit of fancy footwork. This morning’s reading comes from the instructions Jesus gave his disciples before the Crucifixion, before Easter. But they work just fine before the Ascension, too.

In a little while the world will no longer see me, Jesus tells his friends, but you will see me. I will not leave you orphaned. I will ask the Father and he will give you another Advocate, to be with you forever.

That Advocate is the Holy Spirit, who will descend upon the disciples at Pentecost, forty-nine days after Easter. This year, that’s June 12. On Pentecost, the Spirit arrives in rushing wind and tongues of flame, bestowing gifts of healing and prophecy. This astonishing and joyous event transforms Jesus’ rag-tag collection of followers into the church, the body that still keeps Jesus’ commandments alive in memory and in tradition, even though he is no longer present in the flesh.

Our faith assures us that Christ is alive. He will come again, in God’s good time; we will join him someday. But right now, he’s sitting at the right hand of God, dwelling in a far country we can’t reach via car or airplane. Telephones, e-mail and Skype don’t work there. Prayer works, but sometimes there’s static on the line: we aren’t sure what we’ve heard, or if we’ve been heard. The Spirit blows through us, bringing us messages, but sometimes we wonder if those are just our imaginations. The Gospel message of love, forgiveness and eternal life stirs our souls, but those words were written so long ago, and sometimes we find ourselves doubting or questioning them. We want Jesus with us here, now. We miss him terribly, just as the disciples must have missed him after the Ascension.

Our life in the church, the life we begin at baptism, teaches us to look for him even where others cannot see him. The church is a family of people who love God as much as we do, a family related by the water of baptism and by the bread and wine of the eucharist. We are all the beloved descendants of that first rag-tag group of followers.

We welcome Esten into this family today. We pray that one day he will welcome others. We trust that he, too, will learn to see Christ even where others do not.

We pray for Esten to know that although our Lord is no longer with us in the flesh, he is everywhere in the world. We pray for Esten’s church family to teach him to see Christ in bread and wine, in water and wind, in the faces of those he loves, and in the faces of strangers, even when those strangers are enemies. We pray that Esten will learn the discipline of seeking Christ in “the least of these:” in the hungry and homeless, prisoners and the outcast, those who are ill and those who are despised. With Esten, we promise to do Christ’s work in the world, striving for justice and peace.

Jesus, like everyone we honor this Memorial Day -- all of those we love but see no longer -- both dwells within us and surrounds us. We can hear him in our heads whenever we want or need to, and sometimes even when we’d rather not. When we need the comfort of memories not our own, we can talk to other people who know and love him: clergy, fellow parishioners, our brothers and sisters in Christ. We find him in creation even as we carry his name and his legacy into places of woundedness and destruction. In the words of poet Gerard Manley Hopkins, “The world is charged with the grandeur of God. It will flame out, like shining from shook foil.”

All of which is simply a long way of saying what we’ve said for several weeks now, the words we will repeat every Easter season until we ourselves go to join the Father, trusting that those who love us will see us, too, shining in the world around them. “The Lord is risen. Alleluia, alleluia!”

Carpe Diem

I woke up this morning to a shaken e-mail from the head of the faculty senate, announcing that UNR President Milt Glick died of a massive stroke last night. Gary and I had seen him and his wife the night before at a concert. He looked great.

The mind reels. I can't help but wonder what role the state budget crisis played in this. The guy's been under incomprehensible pressure. Our bodies feel these things.

My immediate response -- surprise, surprise -- was to book a cruise in November for Gary's sixtieth birthday. It's a fourteen-day circle Hawaii trip, again on Holland America (on the same boat as our other two cruises, in fact; someday we'll get off the Oosterdam!). This goes well beyond decadent into financially irresponsible, but as I told Gary, "Life is short, and you only turn sixty once." And this cruise has been near the top of our wishlist.

We love Hawaii; we've already been to three of the four ports on the itinerary, but that means that we'll be able to make excellent use of our time without paying for shore excursions. I'm already looking forward to snorkeling again in our favorite spot in Waikiki, and then eating at one of our favorite Thai restaurants.

Gary cried when he found out. I asked if he was mad at me, but he's not: we have the money, after all. As he said, it's not like we'll be living in a refrigerator carton because of this.

I called my sister and said, "I just did something completely financially irresponsible."

"You booked a cruise," she said, without missing a beat.

What, me, predictable?

This is an expensive little addiction I've developed, but it's better for my health than other addictions. And at least now, having booked our next cruise, I can stop obsessively searching the cruise websites, which will give me more time to do more useful things.

News Flash! Social Work Reprieved!

From the homepage of the UNR Social Work Program:

Message from Dr. Denise M. Montcalm, Director UNR School of Social Work:

A short while ago, we received word from Provost Johnson that, because UNLV is proposing ”curricular review” of their social work programs, he is retracting the proposal to close the School of Social Work at UNR. This action reflects the President’s and the Provost’s commitment to ensuring “… that Nevada students have an opportunity to obtain a social work degree in Nevada.”

Thanks be to God! I'm unclear on the relationship between UNLV's curricular review and what's happening here -- it sounds like UNLV thinks they'll close their programs, so we get to keep ours so there will still be one in the state -- but it's good news. We'll take it!

Christmas

This is a photo of the qiviut scarf I knit for Gary's mom for Christmas. Since she's opened the package, I can now post the photo!

I've already started knitting for next Christmas. Thank God for knitting, which carried me through a fairly joyless holiday. Last night we went out for dinner to our favorite restaurant, and it was nice, but somewhat subdued. The two highlights were Gary telling me that he'd always wanted to go on a cruise but never thought he'd get the chance because it's so decadent -- I didn't know it meant that much to him! -- and seeing two friends who were also eating dinner there.

We came home. I hung out and knitted for an hour or so before heading off to church. Somehow, although I can't quite figure out how from the timing, I missed a phone call from the ER in town where I don't volunteer. A bereaved relative had asked for pastoral care and they didn't have anyone there, so they were cold-calling anybody who might be able to help; somehow one of the nurses had gotten my number from an old church friend. I'd have gone if I'd known about this -- although I don't know if they'd still have wanted me once they learned I'm not clergy -- but I only got the voicemail message tonight.

My heart aches for the poor soul begging for pastoral care after a death on Christmas Eve. Horrible. I hope the hospital found someone. (flask, if you're reading this, I thought of you.)

But I didn't get the call -- maybe we got home right after they'd left the message? -- so instead I knitted and headed off to church, where my old deacon wasn't part of the service after all. He starts January 1. I sat with him, his wife, and their daughter, the reporter who did the lovely story on the closing of St. Stephen's. It was a nice service, but it was longer than we're used to, and it wasn't home. Someday it will feel like home. I just have to keep showing up.

I slept in this morning and headed off mid-morning to the ER where I do volunteer. It was a pleasant, low-key shift; I'm glad I was there, and I think at least a couple of patients were, too. No codes, thank goodness. I had a nice chat with One of My Favorite Nurses, who suggested that we and our husbands go out to dinner sometime. That would be great fun, and I hope it happens.

I also had a good conversation with the head staff chaplain, who was working today, and who said that the ER has very high rates of patient satisfaction with spiritual care. So those of us who work there (and several other volunteers, not to mention the staff chaplains, put in significantly more hours than I do) must be doing something right. The medical staff's very aware of spiritual issues, too, if only because there are often chaplains underfoot.

I came home, had a rather disjointed conversation with my sister, who didn't sound much more overjoyed with the holiday than I was, and settled down to knit and listen to my audiobook of The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. The reader chews the scenery -- why do people who read children's books have to ham up their performances so much? -- but it was still fitting for Christmas. This time around, I was newly struck by the scene where Aslan, walking to the stone table with Susan and Lucy, asks them to put their hands in his mane to comfort him. That's such a poignant detail. Even though I'm now hyper-aware of how Lewis is retelling the Passion, I like how he handles Gethsemane and Easter morning. The two girls stay awake; they stay with Aslan for as long as they can, and they watch what follows even when they can hardly stand to look at it, and -- just as in the Gospels -- the Daughters of Eve are the first witnesses of the resurrection.

So there you have it: a somewhat dull, sad, Christmas, but certainly there were very nice moments and a lot of reminders to be grateful.

And now to bed.

New Toys

Staples had a shredder on sale yesterday for $29.00 (after rebate), so I got one. One of my long-term sabbatical plans is to get my filing cabinets cleaned out and organized -- there's stuff in there I literally haven't touched since we moved to Nevada thirteen years ago -- and that will include discarding ancient financial documents, so the shredder seems like a prudent investment.

Meanwhile, today the CrackBerry store had a one-day sale on the Tether program, which turns your BlackBerry into a mobile hotspot for your computer. This will be very helpful when I'm traveling with my netbook. You can connect the phone and computer via USB cable or Bluetooth, but Bluetooth eats up so much power that I'll be going the USB route. My Kindle recharging cable doubles as a USB. Very handy!

So I'm pleased. New gadgets are always fun, and now I won't have to worry about paying for internet access in hotels, airports, coffeeshops, etc. Unfortunately it won't do me any good on our Mexico cruise, since international roaming rates and cruise-ship roaming rates are both more than I want to pay, but it will be great the next time (for instance) we go to Hawai'i.

In writing news, today I talked to my editor about a new plot turn in the book. I was afraid it was too over the top, but he said it sounds workable. We had a nice chat. To my immense relief, he seems unconcerned about deadlines; his attitude is, "Give the book as much time as it needs." So I feel like I have a little more breathing room than I did before, although I still want to finish this project sooner rather than later.

Happy Winter Solstice, everyone! From now on, the days get longer! What a relief!

Thanksgiving

Now, here's a grateful cat! Note kneading paws.

So far, the Feliway seems to be making Figgy more lovey-dovey. We can't tell yet if it's helping Bali. He's still shedding huge hunks o' fur. He seems a little calmer to me than he has, but I may just be imagining it.

I hope everyone had a nice Thanksgiving. Ours has been quiet, even though it's also Gary's birthday. I woke up feeling worse again today, which has put a damper on things.

We went to our friend Katharine's house for dinner, and it was pleasant as always, but I felt like I was underwater. When we got home, I crashed for several hours. Now I'm grading my daily quota of papers, and when I'm done with that, we'll probably watch a little TV before I crash again.

I hope I feel better tomorrow!

Sabbatical!

When I got home from work tonight, Gary said, "Hey, you got a letter from the President of the University." It informed me that I've been awarded a sabbatical leave for the academic year 2011-12.

Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah! Thanks be to God! ThankyaJesus!

I've been prancing around the house in delight, even though my throat's still sore and my head's still clogged. Sabbatical! Yay! Yay! Yay!

My proposal's to finish two novels and a poetry chapbook, which is a non-trivial amount of work, but at least I'll be able to concentrate on that stuff without having to teach classes at the same time. Yay!

The downside, of course, is the two-thirds salary belt-tightening, although the leave's completely worth it.

This also means we won't be getting another cat until autumn of 2012, but by then, maybe Bali will have calmed down enough to allow another animal into the household (we just got the Feliway today; I hope it works!).

Sabbatical! Yay!

Can you tell I'm happy?

Celebrations

Twenty-one years ago today, Gary and I met. We began dating almost immediately thereafter.

Fifteen years ago today, Gary and I got married.

Four years ago today, Bali was born.

And, of course, it's Veterans Day.

We plan to have a lovely day, and hope all of you will do the same!

Yay, Harley!

The vet called with the results of the bloodwork. Harley's basically where he was six months ago: his numbers aren't normal, but they also haven't gotten significantly worse. Once again, his urine contained no crystals or bacteria that would explain the bleeding.

So he's holding steady, which is the best we can hope for. This implies that we may get to enjoy his furry company for a while yet. Hurrah!

It also means, though, that we'll be going ahead with the dental work on Friday. He won't enjoy that one bit, but it will help hiim stay healthier for longer, and the vet will give him lots of extra fluids during and after the surgery to help his compromised kidneys flush the anesthesia out of his system.

I'm not looking forward to the bill for all this, but it's the price of responsible pet ownership.

Zesty Zinnias!

One of the university librarians -- the woman who's in charge of electronic reserves, and who saves my life about ten times a semester -- brought me these flowers today because she missed the party.

Birthday Report

I had a splendid fiftieth birthday, I must say. Upwards of fifty people came to the party yesterday, despite a lot of cancellations because of illness (there seems to be a nasty stomach bug going around, and several friends' kids have come down with strep: welcome to the beginning of school!). We had a lot of great food -- much of it thanks to my brilliant-chef husband -- plenteous beverages, and fabulous music from Charlene. As you can see from the photographs below, we also had near-perfect weather.

Three things made me especially happy. First: Some friends from church brought their grown daughter, who's developmentally disabled. She has a hard time socializing, but she loved the music. When Charlene started playing, her face lit up and her feet started tapping, and then she got up and started dancing. When she saw that no one else was dancing, though, she sat down again. I'm never brave enough to dance in public, but I went up and asked her if she wanted to dance, and she did, so the two of us got up and hopped happily around. A third person -- a friend with much better coordination than either of us -- danced too. We were the only three people who danced, but it made me feel really good to be able to help bring some joy to our friends' daughter, and she taught me something about unselfconscious celebration.

Second: The guests included two church friends I haven't seen for a really long time, who've been estranged from church for one reason or another. It felt healing to see them there and to see them connecting with other people.

Third: One of the abovementioned church friends, as she was leaving, told me, "If you can start studying the fiddle in your late forties, I guess I can start taking voice lessons in my fifties!" She's never had formal voice training, despite singing in choirs for years. Our friend Katharine teaches voice, and my friend from church had talked to her, and it sounds like she'll be starting lessons soon. This makes me happy; perhaps my fiddle project has done the larger world some good even if I'll never -- as is almost certainly true -- be fit to play for any kind of audience.

I'd told people not to bring gifts, but some people brought them anyhow. The cats made out like crazy: birthday-cat Figaro got more catnip, treats, and toy mice than he and the other two beasts will be able to destroy for several years, which is really saying something. Katharine gave us a humongous zucchini from her garden, with a gold ribbon wrapped around it, and a pretty potted plant. (Katharine's determined to turn me into a gardener, even though I've told her that plants die if I look at them.) My friend Judie brought us another kind of squash, the name of which I forget. Our friends Stephanie and Gary, who just got back from Alaska, seem to have bought out the state; they brought me chocolate from Alaska, soap from Alaska, an Alaska mug, an adorable moose earring-and-necklace set, and a set of very unusual buttons made from bits of bone and antler (I'm sure all this stuff was humanely harvested). Stephanie was anxious to know if I could use the buttons in my knitting. I'll certainly try! Now I have extra motivation to make that cardigan Gary's been asking for.

Speaking of knitting, my friend Sheila from the VA, who's a fabulous knitter, made me socks! Ironically, they're the same lace pattern I'm using in a pair I'm making, although Sheila's are much nicer. I can't wait for colder weather so I can wear them.

I also got a ton of really wonderful cards, some of which were amazingly creative. One friend printed photos from this blog to make a card for Figgy. Sweet!

We got at least half a dozen bottles of nice wine, along with homemade cider from Charlene's husband. I drink very little, but Gary will certainly enjoy all this. Someone -- and I wish I could remember who -- brought me a chocolate dessert wine from a Christian vinyard in California. This sounded so intriguing that I just had to try it, so I had a small glass last night. It's profoundly yummy. Since I hardly ever drink, it knocked me right out, but I plan to enjoy small bits of it on evenings when I don't need to do anything but go to sleep.

Our friend Wendy, who'd flown in from Seattle and was staying with us, was incredibly helpful with set-up and clean-up. The whole thing would have been much more stressful if she hadn't been there.

This morning, my actual birthday, Gary gave me a CD of baroque music played on viola. The three of us went out for breakfast, and then we hiked on the mountain across the street (photos below). Gary had mapped out a new route that took us into a beautiful canyon and then up a hillside with striking stands of pine trees (unfortunately, I didn't get photos because my camera was out of room). Today's high winds made walking more difficult than usual, and we were out for two and a half hours -- the most exercise I've gotten since well before my recent knee problems -- so I was pretty exhausted when we got home. Also sore. I took Tylenol (since ibuprofen messes up my stomach) and feel better now, but we'll see how I do tomorrow.

During the hike, my sister called me on my cellphone to wish me happy birthday. We got home to find a package from my friend Ellen, who sent me a sarong from Hawai'i: pink and purple batik in a floral pattern, very pretty indeed. Gary wanted to put it on the wall, but I want to wear it as a shawl, and since it's my present, I win!

We had dinner -- half of Katharine's zucchini in a stir-fry -- and then took Wendy to the airport. It was incredibly generous for her to fly down here for two days just for my party, and it was great to see her. She's a therapist, so we spent a fair amount of time talking about my parents (we might have done that even if she weren't a therapist, but her occupation lent extra gravitas to the conversations).

Although I thought about, and missed, both of my parents today, I think I did a great job planning a birthday celebration that left me more happy than sad. I'm nervous about Christmas, though: the first Christmas without either parent and without my old parish. I'll just barely have started going to another church and probably won't feel fully at home there yet (and I'll miss my old church even if I do). Gary hates Christmas and would rather ignore the entire season, but I love it and want to do something to recognize it. I also really want to be with Gary, though. I'd thought about going to Philly to be with my sister -- and that may still happen -- but Gary's especially allergic to this kind of family holiday, and if I'm going into a sabbatical year on two-thirds salary, spending the money to fly us, or even just me, across the country seems unwise.

I talked to Wendy about all this, and she said that it's important for me to make plans for the holiday, to have something to do that will make me happy. I'd already known that, but talking to her underscored the point. This morning it occurred to me that, weather permitting, I'd really like to drive to San Francisco for Christmas. Gary likes that idea. We could stay in the hotel by the beach we found when Dad was in the VA hospital there: walk by the water, hike in the Presidio, eat good food. If my friend Ellen's in town, we can spend some time with her and the kids. It won't be a churchy Christmas, and it certainly won't be the family Christmas I've missed so much over the last few years, but it will be a new tradition rather than an emptiness, if that makes sense. The ocean always makes me feel better -- partly because it's one of the places where I feel the presence of God most strongly -- and I have a hunch that listening to surf and smelling salt spray will be just what I need, in through there.

Birthday Hike 2

Birthday Hike 1

Tim and Ada Johnson

Charlene Playing at the Party

Party People 3

Party People 2

Party People 1