Just Like High School

For all of my years as a student, I consistently received two comments on my report card:

"Excellent student" or "Talks too much in class"

Forgive the distinction but although I did talk in class, I was responding! Someone ... usually one of the girls above had asked a question, made a comment, sent me a look or passed me a note.

Our girlfriend reunion weekend was magical. I expected it to be great and I was not disappointed. The four of us could sit in a room with nothing to do but watch paint dry and we could not run out of conversation or laughter. We ate a lot of junk and tried to fill it in with some healthy stuff. We asked our questions and they ran the gamut from funny to morose to reflective.

They all went to my church on Sunday. I tried to be an excellent student. And yes, we were a tad disruptive.

To my goldies, thank you!

Cleaning

It is true that for most of my adult life, I have had someone clean my house. Single, divorced, married ... it didn't matter. As long as I could afford it, I did it. Truthfully, I did it even when I really couldn't afford it but I was spoiled. (In my defense, I still did some cleaning!) Anyway, the whole cleaning thing changed about a year ago.

While living with my oldies, I try to help out. The comedian Steven Wright (who reminds me a lot of George Carlin) used to say, "It's a small world ... but I wouldn't want to paint it." I would change that sentence to: It's a small world but I wouldn't want to dust it.

Earlier this week, I pitched in with my oldies and another couple to help clean our church. (Remember one of my resolutions was to volunteer more.) It was rewarding.

I may not always clean my house but I felt a great joy in helping to clean God's house.

A Simplified Christmas

For the first time in at least 18 years, I will not be celebrating Christmas in my usual fashion. I will not be organizing a family photo, addressing and mailing hundreds of cards, decorating every room, trimming a live tree or hosting any parties. I will not be buying gifts and wrapping for hours. (Ok, I might buy the dog a new toy.) I will not be coordinating schedules to accommodate other people. I enjoy doing most of these things but this is not the year for it.

I am not skipping Christmas. I'm already listening to holiday music. I will help my oldies trim a small tree. I will keep my mother and sister company while they do their annual candy making. I will help my mother prepare a holiday meal. I will enjoy the children's Christmas show and the choir's cantata at church.

Tradition and rituals are important to me. This will be my first Christmas making some new ones.

She Went That Way!

Once again, life has come full circle. I am living with my parents in the neighborhood I grew up in. It is a temporary arrangement so I'm soaking up every second of it. Many of my childhood neighbors still live here. Most of the children that I ran around with still come over to visit their parents so I get to see them too.

I've always had good neighbors and the house I shared with the husband was no exception. It was just a different kind of neighborly. In that house, I could walk on the patio and no one could see me. Here, I am regularly greeted by one of the next-door neighbors across the fence.

The other day I forgot to put Gabby's invisible fence collar on her and I also left the gate open. As she darted, the friend across the street opened her front door and yelled, "She went that way!"

Someone backed out of her driveway and hit a neighbor's car parked on the street. How do I know this? I saw neighbors gathering out front so I grabbed my glass of wine and ventured over to find out what was going on. That's how we do it here.

The lady across the street has watched me grow up and I have been attending the same church with her for many years. She has noticed my car so the other day during the meet and greet portion of the service, she gave me a hug and said, "Welcome back neighbor."

I'm comforted here. Not just by the obvious love and support from my oldies but from neighbors and friends who look out for each other and have been doing it for decades.

The Jewish Woman in the United Methodist Church

There's a woman in my church and to say she is involved is to do her a disservice. We've been acquaintances for years -- we've both been involved in media and marketing, we have some mutual friends, etc. Our paths have crossed often.

She's on church committees. She might be handing out the bulletin one week and passing the collection plate the next. (I have never done these things.)

When she began showing up in church a few years ago, I was mildly shocked. She was dating a man who attended our church and whose family has been there a lot longer than my family. I said to my mother, "I thought she was Jewish."

She is. But she has embraced this little church. She works for it. In some ways, she married into it. Lots of couples who have different religions go their separate ways. Instead, she chose to be inclusive and included.

The reporter in me is curious. Does it feel funny when we take communion? Do you feel embraced? (I hope she does.) Do you go to Temple and pray for guidance or do you pray for forgiveness for having a foot in both camps?

I have no preconceived notions. I have a lot of admiration.

Olan Mills

Do you remember when everyone had their photo taken at Olan Mills? It was like buying jeans at Sears -- a given. It seems kind of quaint in this digital age.

I'm struck by the fact that they allowed you to bring your pet -- that's my childhood dog, Candy, in 1975. They allowed you to bring your signs -- that's part of my college gang circa 1982.

A few years ago, the baby and I had our photo taken at church. You guessed correctly -- Olan Mills.

Finding Stuff Everywhere

My church bazaar is coming up. This is our big event of the year. I may or may not attend this year because the husband will be recovering from surgery. He's a pretty strong guy so maybe if I drop him at the club, I can pop over there for a while.

I've filled up my dad's truck with donations and I still have more to come. I've requested boxes from my local drug store and taken them to church. (I'm sure the church appreciates that they're all liquor boxes but hey, they are the sturdiest ones.)

Yesterday, I ran into a friend in the parking lot. Our cars were parked side by side. I commented on the stuff in the back of her SUV. She said, "I'm headed to get rid of it at Goodwill." I have no problem with Goodwill -- I give them tons. But now, I'm in bazaar mode. She gave it all to me to add to the bazaar.

A couple of the things are so cute that I may have to try them on before I decide if they go to the church. I'm trying to be a good steward but I am not a saint. If those pants she bought in Rome fit me, I'm keeping them.

My drug store manager friend is saving more boxes for me. I have been accumulating piles of more stuff to add. I'm trying to do my part.

I've been doing this for many years and one of the biggest hits seems to be my books. Some church members go through them before the bazaar and pick what they want. (They pay for them.)

I walk for charities. I donate to various causes. In honor of my oldies, I support many veteran organizations. For the next ten days or so, I'm all about the bazaar.

I hope I get to go.

Joys & Concerns

In my small church, we have a period before prayer time where the congregation is encouraged to express joy or concerns. Some weeks I think every person there is going to talk. I try to imagine them doing this in a huge church; they would all be there until Monday morning.

The joys are often:

A family member home safely after a trip
A new job
Successful surgery
A new baby or grandchild

The concerns are just as you would expect:

illness
death
financial woes
other tragedies

This part of the service always sticks with me. It reminds me to find joy when I'm having a crummy day. I spend a little more time counting blessings and less time feeling sorry for myself.

Mothers and Daughters

I did not get dressed on Sunday. It was sort of a laze around day and I enjoyed every second of it. Brushing my hair and my teeth was enough.

I spent some time gathering items for our church bazaar. I was quite proud of myself -- lots of good stuff that will hopefully bring much needed money. My dad came over to load up his truck and be the delivery man. One arm was busy patting myself on the back while the other was dialing my mother. I thought she'd be thrilled. Instead, she said, "It's not quite the same as having your butt in the pew."

She sent me a gift the other day. It's a towel that says, "I smile because you're my daughter. I laugh because there's nothing you can do about it."

Guilt

I'm good at guilt. I can inflict it on others and I'm really good at self-infliction. Lately I feel guilty about:

My church attendance.
A doctor's appointment I should attend but I'm going to the lake instead.
The husband and not being there for his worries.

I mess up every day... multiple times. I like this quote, attributed to Abraham Lincoln. "It really hurts me very much to suppose that I have wronged anybody on earth."

He Got Me

We have a new minister in our church. I had never met him but I have the best reporter (my mother) on the case. Some people, like the husband, have serious issues with organized religion. Others, like me, tend to float in and out. I am comfortable in many churches.

I love The Garden. It's a service that is so casual you will get nervous. People are eating donuts and drinking coffee during the message. Video clips involve movies and music videos. They bring in speakers. It may not be your cup of tea but it makes me think.

On Good Friday and other days that I feel the need to go to church, I often go to the BIG Methodist church near my home. I know many people in the congregation and I feel comfortable there.

Sometimes I just stop in a random church. I need to be in a sanctuary and say a prayer. I did this a lot while the oldies were with us.

Thanks to the Pasadena gang of my childhood and then my college experiences, I am quite comfortable in the Catholic church. Good thing since my goddaughters and their parents are Catholic.

I am Methodist but I do love the rituals of Catholicism.

My on-the-scene reporter informed me that our new minister has instructed the congregation to say, "Thanks Be To God" after the bible reading portion of the service. That's something most Methodist congregations don't do.

He got me. I went to church this morning to meet my new minister. I'm pretty excited because I found him to be charming, funny, smart and someone I could talk to. Expectations run high with a new minister and I understand this is a tricky position. I've had the blessing of some really great ministers (& priests.)

Dr. Ken Crossman who answered my endless and annoying questions, kept me on his prayer list and performed a blessing of marriage ceremony when the husband and I married. He was also my uncle so he couldn't escape me.

Dr. Charles Ballard who baptized me, helped me through confirmation, counseled me, and performed the service at my first wedding. My mother still makes divinity (Ironic!) for them.

Rev. Gwen Roberts who could simultaneously laugh, cry and inspire. There's a fire in her that lit me up. I'm very grateful the Baby went through confirmation classes with her.

I have a good feeling about Pastor Cameron.

Holiday Pleasures

I didn't just get up on the wrong side of the bed today; I was cannon blasted into the dark side.

Then I went to get my roots touched up and was informed that my eyebrows are also sprouting gray hairs. Thankfully, I had not signed up for a bikini wax.

So, I decided to take a little time for myself. It's time to decorate for the holidays and my house is a jumble of boxes because I'm doing it in stages. The magic kicked in and my mood improved immensely.

I put my iPod on the holiday shuffle (lots of old favorites like Brenda Lee and Elvis) and started arranging decorations. Every item I unearthed is a memory. Many of my decorations were passed along from my parents so they were part of my childhood Christmas celebrations. Many others are gifts from aunts and friends. I know which ones are my favorites and the family's favorites.

I realized that the oldies have given away most, if not all, of their Christmas decorations.

All of a sudden, the mother-in-law (who felt crummy all day) is singing. Hangdog is talking about his childhood Christmas memories and songs he used to play on the accordion. I caught him singing too.

I'm a little too "good enough, it'll pass" kind of person. The mother-in-law is the extreme opposite. (You should watch us cook together.) I have this very dorky reindeer made out of some kind of fake plant. She insisted that he needed a red nose and some button eyes. Yes, we did it... using the glue gun, searching for buttons, making a red nose. No one will notice but it made her happy and it does look better.

Every year, I make a vow to decorate less. Every year, I break it.

Here's why. Those items I unpack and display represent everything I hold dear: the honor of celebrating Christmas, the memories of Christmas' past and the great pleasure I get in having people in this home. It may not be church but it's definitely fellowship. I packed my bad mood away and relished the time.

And we haven't even gotten to the tree.

I Say a Little Prayer

Sometimes I morph into Dionne Warwick. I say a little prayer for you. Sometimes, I'm goofy and I even sing it. I figure God could use a little entertainment during all those people begging for help.

My Uncle Ken kept a prayer list of people he prayed for every day. I'm not that organized.

Do you still pray when you get to heaven? Or, do you just tap God on the shoulder and say, "I know you're busy but please pay attention to this one."

I get a little grief when I've avoided church for a while. But make no mistake, I'm still talking to God.

If I know you and love you, I've knelt and asked God to watch over you. Now it's out of my hands.

The moment I wake up ... before I put on my makeup
I say a little prayer for you.

Going to Church

I grew up going to church on Sunday. Dr. Charles Ballard is one of the most influential people in my life. He inspired us and he led us. I adored him in my childhood and I adore him now. He's semi-retired but he still fills in for clergy on vacation or whatever. My heart swells to twice its size when I see him standing at the pulpit.

I am Methodist. But I consider myself quasi-Catholic. A lot of the neighborhood was Catholic and I would sometimes go to church with them. I learned the rituals. (Once I went to college, I also liked option of Friday night mass at 5:00 so the rest of your weekend was free.) The priest in my college days was not rigid. He knew I was toying with converting to Catholicism so he allowed me to take Communion and to go to confession. He allowed me to explore my faith.

When my goddaughters were born, I was there. They are Catholic. There was some question about my qualifications as a godmother because I was technically not a practicing Catholic. Again, a nice priest saw the intent and the love. He took a leap of faith. I hope I've lived up to it.

The husband has had some crummy experiences with organized religion. He was raised Catholic, attended parochial schools, etc. When the daughter was an infant, he and his wife wanted her baptized in the Catholic church. The priest in their parish proceeded to bargain with them and would only agree to baptize her if they agreed to attend mass every Sunday. (In my world, that's blackmail.) This did not sit well with Big Daddy and as the story goes, he asked the man to leave their home. He is only willing to step into a Catholic church for the funeral of a friend or a ritual for one of my goddaughters. Even the oldies got a little perturbed with the church and converted to Episcopalian.

I occasionally agree with him. Sometimes organized religion seems about power, money and control. Sometimes it gets a little corrupt. Sometimes it provides hope for the hopeless. Maybe they could find it elsewhere; maybe not.

Yet, I was emphatic that the baby have some religious training. If he's going to turn away from it, I want him to have some basic principles to understand what he's turning away from. He spent many years in church youth groups, attending church-sponsored trips and participating in church activities. He went through confirmation classes and made great friends. He'll stray but there's not a doubt in my mind that when the chips are down, he'll remember the lessons learned.

I belong to a little church. It's filled with people I love. We've changed ministers a few times. Rev. Harry told a story once about a man who commented to him, "I don't need to attend church. I can pray anywhere -- even on the golf course." Rev. Harry responded, "But do you?"

Then we got Dr. Gwen. A little (almost country-like) church and they send us a middle-aged, African American woman. Well, people about fell out of the pews. As my dad used to tell her, she had a little Baptist going in her. She could ratchet it up. Sometimes she broke into song. Often, she broke into to tears. She was the most inspiring and down-to-earth minister I've ever known -- except Uncle Ken. We have a new minister now and I feel guilty that I don't know him very well.

I go to other churches. I have a huge and majestic Methodist church very close to my home. I know many people there and I attend many times a year. They have an offshoot service, held in a local theater. The service is casual and everything is contemporary with live, upbeat music, video clips, etc. I like to attend a few times a year. They have guest speakers so I go to hear my favorites.

Here's what I do know. I love sitting in my church, in the pew beside my parents, with aunts and uncles surrounding. I love greeting fellow parishioners and asking about their families, their health and their lives. I love holding hands with my mother and singing "Shalom (Peace) to You." I love watching my dad as a greeter. I love kneeling at the altar beside my father. I'm not only saying my own prayers: I'm praying that all others will be answered also.

Sometimes I get busy with travel, work, etc. Sometimes I just want to sleep in. I'm not quite as dedicated to regular church-going as I should be but it's still my church. The fellowship is what does it for me.