Brainerd Bombers Fall in Line

Well, Reunion #2 with my elementary and junior high school girlfriends  is now just a wonderful memory - three days filled will laughter, tears, and lots and lots of food. Sort of like Reunion #1 (the family reunion at the farm). The only difference was the amount of booze consumed at #2. (Not to worry. We were up on a mountain and contained within a lovely log cabin. No driving or operating heavy machinery were involved.)

Alas, we all promised to abide by the sacred golden road rule ("What goes on the road, stays yadda-yadda"), so I can't pass along some of the best stuff. But, let's see. There must be something I can report. OK, here are a few harmless, yet adorable, highlights:

• So many junior high events that we'd forgotten were remembered, thanks to Debbi's scrapbook - and I do mean "scrap' book. Newspaper clippings (back when every little thing got local news coverage) of awards assemblies, choir concerts, river boat parties, and home ec. fashion shows (love those swingin' 60's styles!) brought back lots of memories.
• A hilarious game of Catch Phrase quickly turned into a game of Please Pass The Eyeglasses So That I Can Read My Clue. (That's not too much information, is it, ladies?)
• We still know all the words to "Hey, Baby" and the Brainerd Junior High fight song, which we spontaneously broke in to during one of our photo sessions. (Why? Who knows?) But do not ask us to remember our children's middle names or our current cell phone numbers.
• Actually, there was one incident involving the operation of`heavy machinery, but I can't tell you about it. However, I don't think it had anything to do with wine consumption.

We had such a good time that we vowed to make it an annual event and gather even more Barger/BJHS girlfriends. The more the merrier, especially since we're at the stage where we need a roomful of us to come up with one lucid fact. Now, one more time!

Oh, when those Brainerd Bombers fall in line,

We're gonna win this game another time.

For when the Brainerd team has got the ball,

We'll be the champions again this fall, this fall.

We're gonna fight, fight, fight for every yard.

We're gonna circle in and hit 'em hard.

We're gonna roll old Northside on the sod, on the sod.

Brainerd Junior High!

Reunionating

It's a season of reunions for me. Normally, I'm not big on reunions - at least, not the infamous high school type. But since neither of my springtime get-togethers involves anyone I sat with in Algebra II or fought with over the cropping wheel on the yearbook staff, I'm happily taking part. Not only taking part. Seems I'm one of the main instigators and planners of two reunions. (What was I thinking?)

Well, for both, I was thinking: Isn't it about time?

One, a family reunion (with my daddy's side) on the family farm near Nashville, Tennessee, was way overdue. It was the first time in almost 50 years that I'd been to the farm. The last proper Frazier/Pardue family reunion was in the late 1980s, but it was held at a park, not the farm. The genesis of the reunion idea was at Aunt Frances' funeral last August. It was obvious to all of us that it was high time to reconnect and celebrate the family and the family place.

So we just did it. Our goal was to make it as no-muss-no-fuss as possible. No years of planning, elaborate invitations, or food responsibilities. We got in touch with as many folks as possible via email, Facebook, and Evite, though I did hand-write two notes. We named the date, said "y'all come! and bring a side dish or dessert," and hoped for the best.

The weather was cold and breezy, but the gathering was warm and full of love. It was so good to see the farm again and walk down roads where I'd stirred up dust as a kid. It was good to spend time with cousins and Uncle Harold; why don't we see each other more often? It was fun meeting and re-connecting with more distant relations. I loved showing daughter Kate and grandson Liam their Tennessee roots, literally and figuratively. Yes, this long-overdue reunion was everything we'd hoped it would be.

And tomorrow I leave for reunion #2. So many girlfriends from elementary school and junior high had found each other via Facebook that we decided to stop posting "We should get together some time!" and actually do it. Like the family reunion, we put the invitations out electronically, and said whoever could show up, should show up. I'm looking forward to seeing friends from a long, long time ago. Like our slumber parties of yore (and I do mean yore), I'm sure we will have a Twistin' good time, unless someone breaks a hip.

Just a bit of advice. If you've wanted to get together with family or friends you haven't seen in decades, do it. It doesn't have to be elaborate. The hardest part is finding a place and date. And no date will work for everyone, but don't let that stop you. Life is too short to miss out on spending time with a scattered, spread out family or those friends who taught you to Twist or suffered through Willie Jones gym class with you. Just re-union.

Guess I'd better go pack. Wonder what I did with those spiffy mod pj's I used to wear to all those slumber parties?

Things I Do When I Can't Sleep

1. Think up brilliant story plots and titles for novels. Which I totally forget about the next day.
2. Eat cereal with bananas. If I have any cereal. And bananas. And milk. But it's really nice when the universe smiles upon me, and I have all three handy.
3. Start creating photo books on Shutterfly or Snapfish. Sometimes I even finish one. 
4. Google random people from my past. But not for nefarious purposes. Just for fun.
5. Read the first couple of chapters of Three Men in a Boat (to Say Nothing of the Dog). Unlike the narrator, I think I must have housemaid's knee.
6. Look through my New York City guidebooks to see what I simply must do that I haven't done so far. Alas, the list is long.
7. Rearrange my teapots. Yes, I have enough teapots to rearrange.
8. Wonder about what became of products advertised when I was little. Hazel Bishop Lipstick. Gleem Toothpaste. Prell Shampoo. Fizzies.
9. Make lists. Grocery. Stuff I need for the apartment. Gifts for various family and friends. Bills to be paid. 
10. Worry about how lousy I'm going to feel when the alarm goes off in the morning.

Office Daffodils

Just because they brighten my day. I have them right in my sight-line to the door so that whoever shows up - whatever the request, comment, or attitude - these little daffy-dills remind me that the world is way, way bigger than my office, my workload, my triumphs, my problems. All that soothing flower-love for a measly $3.

Ahhh, Springtime. Happy April, everyone!

To Serve Man

Last December I was asked to write a reflection for Lent 2012. It was a hard thing to do in the middle of Christmas trees, carols, and Santa, but I persevered. Well, thanks to Rod Serling I managed to come up with something. Since today, March 30, is the day of my Lenten meditation, I thought I'd share it:

One of my favorite Twilight Zone episodes involves a bunch of big-headed aliens who come to earth toting an impressive reference book. At first, everyone is terrified, but after a little diligent Alien-to-English work, one of the scientists declares that the title of the book is “To Serve Man.” The earthlings are thrilled and start crowding onto space ships headed for the alien planet. Alas, after a little more translation work, the scientist tries to stop people from leaving earth with the cry, “Wait! To Serve Man is a cookbook!”

That Twilight Zone episode bears some similarities to the Gospel reading in Mark. Zebedee’s boys, James and John, are trying to fight their way onto Jesus’ heavenly space ship by crawling over the other disciples and asking not only to board, but to be given seats in First Class, with Jesus in the middle seat.

Don’t you just know that Jesus got tired of this kind of silly stuff?  I picture him sighing before he continues. First he tells them that they have no idea what they’re asking. “Are you able to drink the cup that I drink? Be baptized with my baptism?” Like children, or anyone who doesn’t have or understand the whole story, James and John eagerly boast that, yes, of course, whatever. 

By this time the other ten guys are steaming with indignation, thinking James and John have crossed the line with their demands. But Jesus gathers them together, and then switches things around, turning logic and reason upside-down.

“First of all, I’m not the one with authority to give out seats in First Class,” Jesus explains. “And by the way, all the great and rich people who think they can buy their way up front are in for a surprise.” And here’s the twist: Jesus tells them that whoever wants First Class seats will be have to become a servant to everyone else on board. Just like him. Jesus lets them know that he did not come to sit in First Class. He did not come to be served. He truly came to serve man, and not in the Twilight Zone cookbook-sense.

When reflecting on our place in this kingdom and the next, we would be wise to stop clamoring for the First Class seats and consider our true purpose as people who serve Christ in the world.

“For the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life a ransom for many.”  Mark 10:45, NRSV

Dream a Little Dream

So what would you do with $540 million? That's the question everyone's asking right now. Who knows how much the Mega Millions lottery will be worth at tomorrow night's drawing? So far, I've contributed $2 to the cause. And that's my limit.

One dollar was chipped in with my Office of Communications colleagues at the Church Center. Our pledge - and it is in writing, and everyone has agreed - is that if we win, we will contribute a large sum to underwrite our department, since we are facing budget cuts. We have big dreams for what we do for and with the Episcopal Church, and we're willing to pony up a chunk of our winnings. The rest will be divided evenly amongst us. Seems fair. Cost to me? One dollar.

Then I went out and bought one - yes, one - ticket for my own personal self. The way I figure it is that I'm either lucky or not. Buying more tickets won't change that. Anyway, even if I bought 50,000 tickets, that's still just a drop in the bucket of ticket sales. I don't see it increases my odds any more than just buying that one lucky ticket.

Here's the thing. For $2, I get to spend a couple of days dreaming that dream: what if? After taxes are paid and I take the one-time pay-out, what would I do with the money?

It's fun to dream big. It's fun to make a list of loved ones and unknown ones that I could make very happy or help beyond measure. It's fun to think that retirement and old age would be taken care of, come what may. It's fun to list which church, arts, and aids charities I could support in a big, make-a-difference way. It's fun to dream about how the money could be used to seed important projects. And of course, it's really fun to dream of the vacations, the little paid-for house in Atlanta and maybe a pied a terre in NYC, and the just-for-the-hell-of-it stuff.

The odds of winning a half a billion dollars are massively stacked against me (and my colleagues). But dreaming big, taking stock of priorities ("where your treasure is, there will your heart be also"), and letting the imagination run wild is surely worth two lousy bucks. Go ahead. Dream a little dream. Sing it, Ginger!

Kanuga Spring

Anyone who's followed this blog over the years knows about my love for Kanuga, an Episcopal conference center near Asheville, North Carolina. Our parish has had an autumn weekend retreat there for about thirty years. Since moving to NYC, I don't get to join in as much as I used, though I did get to go last October with Daughter, Son-in-Law, and GrandBoy. Daughter was 4 months old at her first Kanuga. In short, we've built many wonderful memories at this lovely spot over years - the dances, the talent shows, the cabin-mates, the walks around the lake, the apple-picking, and a few things that, well, let's just say - what happens at Kanuga stays at Kanuga.

Anyway, I attended a conference (an actual conference, not a weekend retreat) at Kanuga this week and got to see this sacred space filtered through blooming flowers and budding green trees rather than the golds and reds of autumn. It was a wonderful experience, but I missed staying in one of the 1909 green and white-trimmed cabins (we stayed in the inn), partying with dear friends, and watching children running around with abandon. And, as much as I love spring, Kanuga-autumn will always be most dear to me.

I did enjoy sitting on a bench tucked among the pines, watching the sun go down as the geese played on the lake. What a symphony! Frogs and crickets and water fowl and night birds and who knows what all vocalizing to high heaven. Not a dissonant sound in the bunch. I highly recommend it for recharging the soul.

Oh, and I'm still Foursquare Mayor of Cabin 19. Do note even think of ousting me. You're welcome to Cabin 18 or 20, though.

St. Patrick's Day in New York

March 17th dawned bright and beautiful in New York, a perfect day for a massive parade of pipers, drums, flags, and all manner of creatures wearing green. I found a spot on Fifth Avenue at 66th Street and got as close to the parade action as possible. Enjoy!

Cutting the Cord

No more one-ringy-dingy, two-ringy-dingy for me.

I did it. I discontinued my land-line and am completely reliant on the whims of mobile phones and the internet. I realize I'm the last person on the planet to do this, but when I lived without my land-line while my apartment was being painted, it became very clear to me that I didn't need it.

The whole thing is kind of scary, but I just couldn't justify outrageously large monthly bills for something I rarely use. The only folks who'll miss my land-line are Time Warner and wrong numbers, political hacks, and TV evangelists (how they got my number, I'll never know). Oh, and some poor inmate at the local drunk tank, who calls repeatedly for Janice.

The hardest thing about discontinuing the service was giving up my highly-prized Manhattan 212 area code. Sigh. But at least I can say I did, once, have the code. Moving on.

So now I'm waiting for my new cell phone and service. Should be delivered at the office on Monday. In the meantime, I still have my Blackberry for work, which will suffice for any emergencies between now and then.

It's the end of the line. Literally. I do hope poor Ernestine has moved on to AT&T, Verizon, T-Mobile, or Sprint. Hate putting her out of a job.

"We're the phone company. We don't care. We don't have to."

The Well-Ordered Shelf

When my books are in order, my life is in order. Well. OK, that's stretching it a bit, but it certainly feels that way. After nearly a week of apartment-chaos, everything is back in its place. Mostly. But at least the books are sorted. And they are sorted (double-shelved, of course) as follows:

• Southern fiction
• British (mostly English) fiction
• Mysteries and thrillers
• Series (Harry Potter, All Creatures Great and Small, Tales of the City, etc.)
• Classics (mostly fiction, but some non-fiction)
• New York fiction
• Christmas books
• Biographies
• Reference
• World War I non-fiction (yeah, I have enough books on World War I to warrant its own category)
• General non-fiction
• New York guidebooks
• Bibles, hymnals, BCPs
• Humor, satire, and general silly stuff
• Large picture and reference books (coffee-table books)

I did a good job of filling a couple of large bags with books I no longer want, and they'll be donated to Housing Works. I also re-discovered some old friends, which caused major distractions as I got sidetracked thumbing through books I'd forgotten about. Still, I managed to complete the job. Now I'm sitting back, enjoying my nicely organized and line-up shelves.

Yep. This is as well-ordered as my life gets. All's right with the world.