So according to the news on NPR this evening, Exxon has recorded the biggest profit EVER for any company for the last year. I guess I shouldn't be surprised, but it seems a bit immoral to me for an oil company to earn record profits riding on the backs of consumers paying record amounts for gas. Of course these record profits are "necessary" so that the company can pour more dollars into finding and extracting more oil (what's left of it), rather than exploring alternative energy sources. Sigh.....
And it looks like Alito will be confirmed tomorrow, thus ensuring Bush's legacy as changing the timbre of the Supreme Court for the next generation.
Monday, January 30, 2006
Sunday, January 29, 2006
Tuesday, January 24, 2006
The Iceland Sagas
In the comments below, a couple of folks asked me to "tell a story about Iceland"....well, you may be getting more than you bargained for. I'll add pictures when I can get some scanned.
I was just 20 when I moved to Iceland, 20 and married for a year. I arrived there in November, as winter was setting in. There was some snow on the ground and it was COLD. That time of the year daylight was brief...the sun rose about 10 am and set by about 2 pm. But on clear days, the sky was an intense, clear brilliant blue, and the early sunsets were stunning. The NATO base in Iceland is located in Keflavik on a rocky spit of land south of Reykjavik, the capital and largest city. I've read that the base was intentionally located in a rather inhospitable environment because the Icelanders did not want foreigners to like it there too much, and the base didn't have a lot to recommend it. Many of the buildings were WWII and early 50s era, although there was a great deal of building and updating while I was there.
The village of Keflavik was down the hill from the base, and was typical of small to medium sized Icelandic villages. It had a main shopping street with a needle work store, a household goods shop, maybe a clothing store or two, and neighborhood bakeries and small groceries. The architecture in Iceland is modern--newer buildings are reinforced concrete so as to withstand earthquakes, and are usually painted in bright colors. The one down side of Keflavik was the fish processing plant which produced fish meal. Most of the time the horrendous smell was blown out to sea, but occasionally the direction of the wind would be less favorable and "Katie Kef's" malodorous smoke hung over the village.
That first winter we lived in a small apartment in Keflavik while we waited for housing on the base. I was unemployed and childless and for the first time in my life had all the free time I could want. I luxuriated in sleeping late, and in taking long walks around town. Most afternoons I would stop by the neighborhood bakery for fresh bread or pastries. Counted cross stitch was very popular (predating its popularity in the US; it is, I think, Scandinavian in origin) and there was a needle work shop in every village, so I took up cross stitch. I read a lot, and I wrote long letters--real letters to my parents, my mother in law and grandmother in law (my m-i-l and gm-i-l both saved these letters as I discovered when my m-i-l died a few years ago). On weekends we would go to Reykjavik or further to a little town across a mountain where there was a large greenhouse warmed by the hotsprings. It was a wonderful place to visit in the winter--you could get hothouse vegetables and enjoy the semi-tropical atmosphere while it snowed outside. And there were always flowers in bloom there.
At Christmas the cemeteries are lit (I never did find out how they did that) and it's quite striking to drive past one in the dark. In Icelandic tradition there are Christmas elves that come out and some are quite mischievous (I need to go back and read up on that again). That first Christmas a friend of my husband married an Icelandic woman and we were invited to the wedding in a small village church and to a reception at her parents' home afterwards where I had my first real Icelandic food.
On New Year's Eve, there are lots and lots of fireworks. It was truly spectacular. My first New Year's Eve there was a big snowstorm--at least a foot, and it was so beautiful to see the fireworks in the falling snow. You can also see the northern lights--not every night but often. They are much more subtle than I had imagined--very pale wafts of color--, and you can miss them if you don't know what you're looking for. But even without them, the night sky is gorgeous--clear with brilliant stars. That first winter was colder than average for that part of Iceland and we had a spell of weather where the temps were far below zero for several days. The weather in Iceland, particularly that part, is moderated by the Gulf Stream, so those extreme temperatures are the exception rather than the rule. We quickly learned that our American car (a Mustang) was not up to Icelandic winters, and bought a VW (my first Beetle--baby blue) which did quite well.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
That summer we decided to see as much of Iceland as we could. Theoretically that shouldn't be too hard, since Iceland is about the size of Virginia. The interior of Iceland is uninhabited, however, and the main roads go around the perimeter of the island. More over, only the roads in towns were paved, so getting there from here takes a bit longer. I had never been camping, but we decided that camping was the way to go. Our first trek was a long weekend at Thingvellir, the site of the first Icelandic parliament meetings over a thousand years ago. Thingvellir is a lovely valley surrounded by rocky mountains, and transected by a clear and swift stream. It's not that far from Reykjavik, but it feels isolated nonetheless. We rented camping gear and set off. It turned out to be a cold and rainy weekend, as June can be in Iceland. I have a beautiful picture of a rainbow that came out late the first afternoon we were there, but the weekend was mostly soggy.
We also made day trips around the area. Farther north of Reykjavik are two famous attractions: Gulfoss and Geysir. "Foss" is Icelandic for waterfall and "Gulfoss" means "Golden Falls". You get there up a very steep and rough road, but it is beautiful once you get there. The falls are in the midst of green hill and you can climb up beside them, and at one place, walk underneath a portion of the falls. I've never been to Niagara Falls, but they must be something like Gulfoss. Geysir is the geyser from which all geysers get their name, and it is close to Gulfoss. Because it is a volcanic island, Iceland has many hot springs and geysers, but Geysir is the most famous. What surprised me was the vivid blue and green of the pools of water around the geyser--incredibly bright colors. Geysir goes off regularly, and there was a crowd there to watch every time we went. There are lots of water falls along the south coast, too, and in many cases you can just pull off the road and walk up to them. I loved the ones where you could actually walk under the falling water. When we went to Stong, which iirc is the oldest existing structure in Iceland--an old farm house--we found out that you can indeed ford a stream in a VW Beetle.
Just as Vermont has creamy stands, so does Iceland have its own soft serve ice cream stands, and that was always a treat on our day trips--that and Icelandic hot dogs, which were made from lamb and came with wonderful toppings--mustard but not plain yellow American kind, and a red sauce that wasn't quite ketchup, and some kind of crunchy topping. I wasn't wild about eating lamb, but I loved the hotdogs (the Icelandic word for which escapes me at the moment).
Later that summer we took a week to travel to northern Iceland. Driving through Iceland during the summer is a feast for the eyes. The mountains sides are covered in green moss, and the meadows are thick with buttercups. Sheep are plentiful in Iceland, and graze contentedly. Icelandic sheep are on the large side and have impressive long coats--quite a sight. The west coast of Iceland has lots of beautiful bays and fishing villages and we meandered our way through them at a leisurely pace, but managed to get to Akureyri, the second largest city in Iceland, located on the northern coast, by evening. But not without mishap--in the late afternoon a rock propelled by the car in front of us flew into the windshield and cracked it badly. This was not an uncommon occurrence given the gravelly roads, and we had "windshield insurance" but it meant we'd have to find a glass shop before we took the next leg of the journey.
Akureyri has a large public campground right in town--it's a popular destination--and we began to set up camp when we arrived. Mishap number two: an important piece of the tent was missing, and rain was threatening. Somehow we jerry-rigged it, and prayed that it would hold for the night. First thing in the morning we were off to the hardware store, and a most helpful clerk found the right piece for us AND directed us to a glass shop to get the windshield fixed. Many Americans claimed that Icelanders were unfriendly and disliked the presence of Americans in their country. Frankly, I don't blame them for not wanting an American military presence (and it was almost all American despite being a NATO base), but I never found Icelanders to be unfriendly. The helpfulness of the clerk that morning was pretty typical of the way most Icelanders treated us.
The next day we set off for Myvatn, a large inland lake. The landscape in Myvatn was much more desolate--more lava fields, fewer green meadows, more stark landscape. The weather had remained cloudy and gloomy and on the cool side, and it was a bit like being in another world. My memories of Myvatn are mostly of the flies that plagued us the whole time we were there, making it impossible to be outside comfortably for any length of time. One of the things I discovered on this trip was that I wasn't crazy about camping. We had sleeping bags, but no air mattresses and the ground was hard and rocky, and my back hurt. And so much time in the car was making me a bit nauseous. But nonetheless I was enthralled with the variety of the Icelandic landscape.
Our next stop was Dettifoss--the largest waterfall in Europe. Dettifoss is in an even more stark and desolate area. We passed very few other cars on the road, and it really felt like we were in another world. We could hear Dettifoss long before we could see it. I wouldn't say Dettifoss was beautiful--it was very brown and rocky all around, and the water was foamy and dark--but it was majestic--and loud. Our last stop on this trip before turning back towards home was the Icelandic National Forest. At one time Iceland was heavily forested, but all the trees were cut down for fuel and for building long ago, and there are virtually no trees in most of Iceland. The forest is not much of a forest by our standards--the trees were more like large shrubs, but it was more than the rest of the island could boast of. (I wonder how much they've grown since then?)
We stopped in Akureyri again on the way back home: the campground there had an indoor pool with hot showers! By that time I was thoroughly sick of sleeping on the ground and eating camp food, and I was happy to get back home. But at home my back kept on hurting, and I continued to feel nauseous. The next week I played a nanny for couple who were off to Europe for week, and although Baby Ann wasn't a difficult baby, I was beginning to think that maybe I didn't want a baby of my own right away--I needed more sleep than she let me have. Perhaps you can see what was coming, but I did not suspect at all myself until a couple of weeks later: yes, I was pregnant.
END of PART ONE.
I was just 20 when I moved to Iceland, 20 and married for a year. I arrived there in November, as winter was setting in. There was some snow on the ground and it was COLD. That time of the year daylight was brief...the sun rose about 10 am and set by about 2 pm. But on clear days, the sky was an intense, clear brilliant blue, and the early sunsets were stunning. The NATO base in Iceland is located in Keflavik on a rocky spit of land south of Reykjavik, the capital and largest city. I've read that the base was intentionally located in a rather inhospitable environment because the Icelanders did not want foreigners to like it there too much, and the base didn't have a lot to recommend it. Many of the buildings were WWII and early 50s era, although there was a great deal of building and updating while I was there.
The village of Keflavik was down the hill from the base, and was typical of small to medium sized Icelandic villages. It had a main shopping street with a needle work store, a household goods shop, maybe a clothing store or two, and neighborhood bakeries and small groceries. The architecture in Iceland is modern--newer buildings are reinforced concrete so as to withstand earthquakes, and are usually painted in bright colors. The one down side of Keflavik was the fish processing plant which produced fish meal. Most of the time the horrendous smell was blown out to sea, but occasionally the direction of the wind would be less favorable and "Katie Kef's" malodorous smoke hung over the village.
That first winter we lived in a small apartment in Keflavik while we waited for housing on the base. I was unemployed and childless and for the first time in my life had all the free time I could want. I luxuriated in sleeping late, and in taking long walks around town. Most afternoons I would stop by the neighborhood bakery for fresh bread or pastries. Counted cross stitch was very popular (predating its popularity in the US; it is, I think, Scandinavian in origin) and there was a needle work shop in every village, so I took up cross stitch. I read a lot, and I wrote long letters--real letters to my parents, my mother in law and grandmother in law (my m-i-l and gm-i-l both saved these letters as I discovered when my m-i-l died a few years ago). On weekends we would go to Reykjavik or further to a little town across a mountain where there was a large greenhouse warmed by the hotsprings. It was a wonderful place to visit in the winter--you could get hothouse vegetables and enjoy the semi-tropical atmosphere while it snowed outside. And there were always flowers in bloom there.
At Christmas the cemeteries are lit (I never did find out how they did that) and it's quite striking to drive past one in the dark. In Icelandic tradition there are Christmas elves that come out and some are quite mischievous (I need to go back and read up on that again). That first Christmas a friend of my husband married an Icelandic woman and we were invited to the wedding in a small village church and to a reception at her parents' home afterwards where I had my first real Icelandic food.
On New Year's Eve, there are lots and lots of fireworks. It was truly spectacular. My first New Year's Eve there was a big snowstorm--at least a foot, and it was so beautiful to see the fireworks in the falling snow. You can also see the northern lights--not every night but often. They are much more subtle than I had imagined--very pale wafts of color--, and you can miss them if you don't know what you're looking for. But even without them, the night sky is gorgeous--clear with brilliant stars. That first winter was colder than average for that part of Iceland and we had a spell of weather where the temps were far below zero for several days. The weather in Iceland, particularly that part, is moderated by the Gulf Stream, so those extreme temperatures are the exception rather than the rule. We quickly learned that our American car (a Mustang) was not up to Icelandic winters, and bought a VW (my first Beetle--baby blue) which did quite well.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
That summer we decided to see as much of Iceland as we could. Theoretically that shouldn't be too hard, since Iceland is about the size of Virginia. The interior of Iceland is uninhabited, however, and the main roads go around the perimeter of the island. More over, only the roads in towns were paved, so getting there from here takes a bit longer. I had never been camping, but we decided that camping was the way to go. Our first trek was a long weekend at Thingvellir, the site of the first Icelandic parliament meetings over a thousand years ago. Thingvellir is a lovely valley surrounded by rocky mountains, and transected by a clear and swift stream. It's not that far from Reykjavik, but it feels isolated nonetheless. We rented camping gear and set off. It turned out to be a cold and rainy weekend, as June can be in Iceland. I have a beautiful picture of a rainbow that came out late the first afternoon we were there, but the weekend was mostly soggy.
We also made day trips around the area. Farther north of Reykjavik are two famous attractions: Gulfoss and Geysir. "Foss" is Icelandic for waterfall and "Gulfoss" means "Golden Falls". You get there up a very steep and rough road, but it is beautiful once you get there. The falls are in the midst of green hill and you can climb up beside them, and at one place, walk underneath a portion of the falls. I've never been to Niagara Falls, but they must be something like Gulfoss. Geysir is the geyser from which all geysers get their name, and it is close to Gulfoss. Because it is a volcanic island, Iceland has many hot springs and geysers, but Geysir is the most famous. What surprised me was the vivid blue and green of the pools of water around the geyser--incredibly bright colors. Geysir goes off regularly, and there was a crowd there to watch every time we went. There are lots of water falls along the south coast, too, and in many cases you can just pull off the road and walk up to them. I loved the ones where you could actually walk under the falling water. When we went to Stong, which iirc is the oldest existing structure in Iceland--an old farm house--we found out that you can indeed ford a stream in a VW Beetle.
Just as Vermont has creamy stands, so does Iceland have its own soft serve ice cream stands, and that was always a treat on our day trips--that and Icelandic hot dogs, which were made from lamb and came with wonderful toppings--mustard but not plain yellow American kind, and a red sauce that wasn't quite ketchup, and some kind of crunchy topping. I wasn't wild about eating lamb, but I loved the hotdogs (the Icelandic word for which escapes me at the moment).
Later that summer we took a week to travel to northern Iceland. Driving through Iceland during the summer is a feast for the eyes. The mountains sides are covered in green moss, and the meadows are thick with buttercups. Sheep are plentiful in Iceland, and graze contentedly. Icelandic sheep are on the large side and have impressive long coats--quite a sight. The west coast of Iceland has lots of beautiful bays and fishing villages and we meandered our way through them at a leisurely pace, but managed to get to Akureyri, the second largest city in Iceland, located on the northern coast, by evening. But not without mishap--in the late afternoon a rock propelled by the car in front of us flew into the windshield and cracked it badly. This was not an uncommon occurrence given the gravelly roads, and we had "windshield insurance" but it meant we'd have to find a glass shop before we took the next leg of the journey.
Akureyri has a large public campground right in town--it's a popular destination--and we began to set up camp when we arrived. Mishap number two: an important piece of the tent was missing, and rain was threatening. Somehow we jerry-rigged it, and prayed that it would hold for the night. First thing in the morning we were off to the hardware store, and a most helpful clerk found the right piece for us AND directed us to a glass shop to get the windshield fixed. Many Americans claimed that Icelanders were unfriendly and disliked the presence of Americans in their country. Frankly, I don't blame them for not wanting an American military presence (and it was almost all American despite being a NATO base), but I never found Icelanders to be unfriendly. The helpfulness of the clerk that morning was pretty typical of the way most Icelanders treated us.
The next day we set off for Myvatn, a large inland lake. The landscape in Myvatn was much more desolate--more lava fields, fewer green meadows, more stark landscape. The weather had remained cloudy and gloomy and on the cool side, and it was a bit like being in another world. My memories of Myvatn are mostly of the flies that plagued us the whole time we were there, making it impossible to be outside comfortably for any length of time. One of the things I discovered on this trip was that I wasn't crazy about camping. We had sleeping bags, but no air mattresses and the ground was hard and rocky, and my back hurt. And so much time in the car was making me a bit nauseous. But nonetheless I was enthralled with the variety of the Icelandic landscape.
Our next stop was Dettifoss--the largest waterfall in Europe. Dettifoss is in an even more stark and desolate area. We passed very few other cars on the road, and it really felt like we were in another world. We could hear Dettifoss long before we could see it. I wouldn't say Dettifoss was beautiful--it was very brown and rocky all around, and the water was foamy and dark--but it was majestic--and loud. Our last stop on this trip before turning back towards home was the Icelandic National Forest. At one time Iceland was heavily forested, but all the trees were cut down for fuel and for building long ago, and there are virtually no trees in most of Iceland. The forest is not much of a forest by our standards--the trees were more like large shrubs, but it was more than the rest of the island could boast of. (I wonder how much they've grown since then?)
We stopped in Akureyri again on the way back home: the campground there had an indoor pool with hot showers! By that time I was thoroughly sick of sleeping on the ground and eating camp food, and I was happy to get back home. But at home my back kept on hurting, and I continued to feel nauseous. The next week I played a nanny for couple who were off to Europe for week, and although Baby Ann wasn't a difficult baby, I was beginning to think that maybe I didn't want a baby of my own right away--I needed more sleep than she let me have. Perhaps you can see what was coming, but I did not suspect at all myself until a couple of weeks later: yes, I was pregnant.
END of PART ONE.
Saturday, January 21, 2006
The Four Meme
because memes seem to be all I can manage right now...
Four Jobs I've Had in My Life
1. Library aide
2. Waitress
3. Preschool teacher
4. Research assistant where my chief job was to inject mice with alcohol and run them in Skinner boxes
Four Movies I Could Watch Over and Over, and Have
1. Sleepless in Seattle
2. Steel Magnolias
3. When Harry Met Sally
4. Wizard of Oz
Four Places I have Lived
1. Wadesboro NC
2. Salisbury MD
3. Summerville SC
4. Keflavik Iceland
(and many more)
Four TV Shows I Love to Watch
ummm.....I haven't owned a TV in about 10 years, so how about
Four Favorite TV shows from Childhood
1. Lassie
2. Lost in Space
3. Captain Kangaroo
4. Sky King
Four Places I have been on Vacation
1. Outer Banks, NC
2. Sullivan's Island SC
3. Akureyri Iceland
4. How sad is it that I can't think of a fourth place?
Four Websites I Visit Daily
WAAAAY more than four....
Four Favorite Foods
1. Indian food
2. Thai food
3. Seafood
4. CHOCOLATE--the darker the better
Four Places I'd Rather Be Right Now
1. New York City
2. England
3. Vermont
4. New York City
People I tag --is there anyone out there who hasn't done this yet? Consider yourself tagged.
Four Jobs I've Had in My Life
1. Library aide
2. Waitress
3. Preschool teacher
4. Research assistant where my chief job was to inject mice with alcohol and run them in Skinner boxes
Four Movies I Could Watch Over and Over, and Have
1. Sleepless in Seattle
2. Steel Magnolias
3. When Harry Met Sally
4. Wizard of Oz
Four Places I have Lived
1. Wadesboro NC
2. Salisbury MD
3. Summerville SC
4. Keflavik Iceland
(and many more)
Four TV Shows I Love to Watch
ummm.....I haven't owned a TV in about 10 years, so how about
Four Favorite TV shows from Childhood
1. Lassie
2. Lost in Space
3. Captain Kangaroo
4. Sky King
Four Places I have been on Vacation
1. Outer Banks, NC
2. Sullivan's Island SC
3. Akureyri Iceland
4. How sad is it that I can't think of a fourth place?
Four Websites I Visit Daily
WAAAAY more than four....
Four Favorite Foods
1. Indian food
2. Thai food
3. Seafood
4. CHOCOLATE--the darker the better
Four Places I'd Rather Be Right Now
1. New York City
2. England
3. Vermont
4. New York City
People I tag --is there anyone out there who hasn't done this yet? Consider yourself tagged.
Monday, January 16, 2006
Ten Top Trivia Tips
With a tip of the hat to Scrivener (and you should check out his trivia, too.)
Ten Top Trivia Tips about Rev. Dr. Mom!
- All gondolas in Venice must be painted black unless they belong to Rev. Dr. Mom!
- US gold coins used to say 'In Rev. Dr. Mom we trust'.
- Without its lining of Rev. Dr. Mom, your stomach would digest itself.
- 68 percent of all UFO sightings are by Rev. Dr. Mom.
- Moles are able to tunnel through 300 feet of Rev. Dr. Mom in a day.
- If Rev. Dr. Mom was life size, she would stand 7 ft 2 inches tall and have a neck twice the size of a human.
- Owls cannot move their eyes, because their eyeballs are shaped like Rev. Dr. Mom!
- It is bad luck to light three cigarettes with the same Rev. Dr. Mom.
- The only Englishman to become Rev. Dr. Mom was Nicholas Breakspear, who was Rev. Dr. Mom from 1154 to 1159.
- Czar Paul I banished Rev. Dr. Mom to Siberia for marching out of step.
Saturday, January 14, 2006
Where in the World....cont.
3. Charleston SC--like Iceland I ended up here because of the Navy--my then-husband was by that time in submarines, and stationed in Charleston. But I had family ties, too, because my mother's family was from Charleston. Charleston is a beautiful place, and its history and air of romance appealed to me. But Charleston is a special place to me more because that is where I finally "grew up" and found myself.
Being a crew member on a submarine meant that my husband was home for three months and gone for three months. When he left the first time, it marked that first time I had lived alone--well as alone as you can be with a preschooler and a toddler. He'd only been gone a few days on his first cruise when a hurricane hit Charleston--a very minor hurricane, but still scary. That was just the beginning of my adventures as a single parent in practice if not in reality. My third child was born there, while he was at sea, because the crew rotation schedule was such that unless you were very lucky, home for conception meant away for birth. Unlike my first two children, she was a C-section (double footling breech and nine pounds) and his absence made that whole process even more challenging.
It was in Charleston that I turned 30 and began to say to myself--omigod, what am going to do with the rest of my life? That led to my return to college (I'd gone for one year before getting married). I LOVED being back in school, and although my goal had been to become a kindergarten teacher, my mentors convinced me that it really was reasonable to pursue a graduate degree. Unfortunately, the last threads of my marriage unraveled shortly after I returned to school. So there I was, reinventing myself as a college student and single mom of three (3, 6, and 9 at the time).
It was in Charleston that I returned to church as an adult, and took some baby steps on my spiritual journey. It was in Charleston that I forged my first adult best-friendship, with a dear person I still stay in touch with. It was in Charleston that I spent hours in therapy with a wonderful woman who helped me not only find myself but also to understand my (even then) troubled relationship with my mother.
I went through difficult times in Charleston. My friend and I often joked about wanting to grow only to find out how painful growing actually was! But despite some regret about a failed marriage, there's not much I would change about those years. I had good friends who cared about me and supported me, and I came into my own as an adult I mostly liked.
As much as I love Charleston, it's not a place I aspire to return to live. Both in terms of the church and in the political world, SC has become much too conservative for me to feel comfortable. I left Charleston for a state even further south to attend grad school. I won't blog about that place, at least not now, because it is NOT among my favorite or special places.
4. Vermont--When I refer to northern New England, this is where I mean. When it came time to go on the job market as I (finally) finished grad school, I limited my job search to the southeastern states. That's where I'd always lived, and I thought that's where my family would be happiest. Except that there was this great ad for a position at a liberal arts school in Vermont--it sounded too good to pass up, so I sent in all my stuff. I mean, what were the odds of getting an interview there anyway? Turned out the odds were pretty good. And so in March I took off in 80 degree weather for an interview in Vermont, where the day before it had snowed 18+ inches.
Well, the job was all I wanted, and the folks who interviewed me were great, and my free day in Vermont was brilliant and sunny and gorgeous as only winter can be in New England. As I rode up the hill on a city street lined with old Victorian houses and saw the lake and the mountains in the distance, I fell in love. And lucky for me, I was offered the job. I spent the whole summer before we moved not only rushing to finish my dissertation, but also listening to the lovely daughters telling me how I was ruining their lives by moving to a place most of their friends had never even heard of, and couldn't locate on a map (now how sad is that!?!). But they came to love Vermont as well.
I loved my job for the first few years, but life (or something) intervened and called me in a different direction. As I was discerning my call to the priesthood, the hardest part wasn't thinking about giving up tenure, it was thinking about having to leave Vermont. I've lived so many places in my life, and when I got tenure, I thought I would stay in Vermont forever. And I would return there in a heartbeat if the right kind of position there became available. Does that sound contradictory with my love for NYC? I can't explain it either, but my love for both places is about equal. I couldn't, I think, live anywhere in VT, but there are a handful of places where I would be very happy indeed.
My life in Vermont was not all a bed of roses. The first year there, my second marriage (ah, another story!) fell apart, and it was very painful. Working towards tenure is not easy anywhere. Finances were pretty tight for a while. But I never tired of the place, of the view of the mountains, and of lake views when I could get them. I loved that when I went for a cup of coffee or to my favorite shoe store I was just as likely to run into our senator or lt. gov. as anyone else. I loved the wild flowers and the farmer's market in summer, and the snow in winter, and the politics and independence of Vermonters. I miss Vermont just about as much as I miss NYC.
Okay, I need one more place....have to think on that one....
Being a crew member on a submarine meant that my husband was home for three months and gone for three months. When he left the first time, it marked that first time I had lived alone--well as alone as you can be with a preschooler and a toddler. He'd only been gone a few days on his first cruise when a hurricane hit Charleston--a very minor hurricane, but still scary. That was just the beginning of my adventures as a single parent in practice if not in reality. My third child was born there, while he was at sea, because the crew rotation schedule was such that unless you were very lucky, home for conception meant away for birth. Unlike my first two children, she was a C-section (double footling breech and nine pounds) and his absence made that whole process even more challenging.
It was in Charleston that I turned 30 and began to say to myself--omigod, what am going to do with the rest of my life? That led to my return to college (I'd gone for one year before getting married). I LOVED being back in school, and although my goal had been to become a kindergarten teacher, my mentors convinced me that it really was reasonable to pursue a graduate degree. Unfortunately, the last threads of my marriage unraveled shortly after I returned to school. So there I was, reinventing myself as a college student and single mom of three (3, 6, and 9 at the time).
It was in Charleston that I returned to church as an adult, and took some baby steps on my spiritual journey. It was in Charleston that I forged my first adult best-friendship, with a dear person I still stay in touch with. It was in Charleston that I spent hours in therapy with a wonderful woman who helped me not only find myself but also to understand my (even then) troubled relationship with my mother.
I went through difficult times in Charleston. My friend and I often joked about wanting to grow only to find out how painful growing actually was! But despite some regret about a failed marriage, there's not much I would change about those years. I had good friends who cared about me and supported me, and I came into my own as an adult I mostly liked.
As much as I love Charleston, it's not a place I aspire to return to live. Both in terms of the church and in the political world, SC has become much too conservative for me to feel comfortable. I left Charleston for a state even further south to attend grad school. I won't blog about that place, at least not now, because it is NOT among my favorite or special places.
4. Vermont--When I refer to northern New England, this is where I mean. When it came time to go on the job market as I (finally) finished grad school, I limited my job search to the southeastern states. That's where I'd always lived, and I thought that's where my family would be happiest. Except that there was this great ad for a position at a liberal arts school in Vermont--it sounded too good to pass up, so I sent in all my stuff. I mean, what were the odds of getting an interview there anyway? Turned out the odds were pretty good. And so in March I took off in 80 degree weather for an interview in Vermont, where the day before it had snowed 18+ inches.
Well, the job was all I wanted, and the folks who interviewed me were great, and my free day in Vermont was brilliant and sunny and gorgeous as only winter can be in New England. As I rode up the hill on a city street lined with old Victorian houses and saw the lake and the mountains in the distance, I fell in love. And lucky for me, I was offered the job. I spent the whole summer before we moved not only rushing to finish my dissertation, but also listening to the lovely daughters telling me how I was ruining their lives by moving to a place most of their friends had never even heard of, and couldn't locate on a map (now how sad is that!?!). But they came to love Vermont as well.
I loved my job for the first few years, but life (or something) intervened and called me in a different direction. As I was discerning my call to the priesthood, the hardest part wasn't thinking about giving up tenure, it was thinking about having to leave Vermont. I've lived so many places in my life, and when I got tenure, I thought I would stay in Vermont forever. And I would return there in a heartbeat if the right kind of position there became available. Does that sound contradictory with my love for NYC? I can't explain it either, but my love for both places is about equal. I couldn't, I think, live anywhere in VT, but there are a handful of places where I would be very happy indeed.
My life in Vermont was not all a bed of roses. The first year there, my second marriage (ah, another story!) fell apart, and it was very painful. Working towards tenure is not easy anywhere. Finances were pretty tight for a while. But I never tired of the place, of the view of the mountains, and of lake views when I could get them. I loved that when I went for a cup of coffee or to my favorite shoe store I was just as likely to run into our senator or lt. gov. as anyone else. I loved the wild flowers and the farmer's market in summer, and the snow in winter, and the politics and independence of Vermonters. I miss Vermont just about as much as I miss NYC.
Okay, I need one more place....have to think on that one....
Friday, January 13, 2006
Where In the World.....
have I been?
The Friday Five meme from the RevGals is about travel, and the truth is that I don't travel much--I've hardly ever been on a vacation that wasn't going to visit relatives, and I don't even do that very much anymore. But I have lived a lot of places, and I have places that are special to me, and so I'm modifying the meme in that direction.
Five Special Places, Past and Present
1. New York City--Most of the readers here have likely figured out that when I write about Seminary City, I am writing about New York City. I've long had a fascination for NYC. I first visited the city in the mid 80s when a good friend moved with her husband and baby daughter so that he could pursue graduate studies there. I spent a week helping them unpack, playing with the baby, and seeing the city. They lived on the Upper West Side and and though we traversed the city, the place that most fascinated me was the Cathedral of St. John the Divine. Whenever I walk into the Cathedral I am immediately struck by a sense of Presence and of connection. The Cathedral calls itself a "House of Prayer for All People", and I really feel that there.
And that's part of what I feel about the city--it's a place of and for all people--all sorts and conditions inhabit the city. Before I visited there, the city seemed unreal in a way, not a place where "ordinary" people lived and "regular" life went on, but a place of movies and the rich and famous, or conversely, a place of the very poor. All of that is indeed there, but in that first visit, and even more so when I lived there, I was struck by this great sense of ordinariness--the quotidian regularity of life--that unfolds in the city in all its vastness, and all its diversity and weaves a wonderful living tapestry with a richness I've experienced in no other place. And yet in the ordinariness there was still this sense of verve, of spice--hey, this is New York! That never wore off for me.
I loved that when I walked out of the front gate of the seminary I could see the Empire State Building. I loved how in my neighborhood I was known to the people in the coffee shop, in the deli, even in Rite Aid--the city was not this big anonymous place; rather it was a network of neighborhoods each with its own character and population. I loved walking through the Village with its twisting streets and nooks and crannies. I loved walking down Sixth Avenue, a shopping mecca for the ordinary folks (unlike 5th Avenue which while interesting in its own way, is out of the league of many of us). I loved the green market in Union Square, and the street vendors, and the demonstrators. And the Riverwalk, stretching all the way to the tip of Manhattan. We spent one Sunday afternoon walking from Christopher Street all the way down to Battery Park and back. I loved walking most places I had to go. I didn't miss my car, and was grateful for buses and subways.
When I visited the city with my friend 20 years ago, I toyed with the idea of applying to grad schools there, but I still lacked the self-confidence to think I could make it on my own there with my kids. But when it was time to consider seminaries, the city was like a magnet that pulled me. My three years there were extraordinary. Many of my classmates enjoyed the city while they were there but were happy to go back "home" after graduation. A few of my classmates really disliked the city, and got out of town as often as they could. But I thrived in the city, and I hope to go back sometime to live. I know it won't be the same as when I was there for seminary, but there is something about the city that grounds me and connects me that I miss.
2. Iceland--Long ago and far away....I married my high school boyfriend just a year after we graduated. He had joined the Navy even before graduation--I think one of the things that attracted me to him was his sense of direction and purpose when I had none. When we'd been married almost a year, it was time for him to get his first real "assignment"--he'd been in schools of various sorts up until this time. We knew that he would be assigned to sea duty unless we were lucky enough to be sent overseas, so he hopefully requested duty in Spain or Scotland. Instead, he received orders to Iceland. Of course, we really knew nothing of Iceland, and it was a bit disappointing at first, and yes, a bit scary. But it turned out to be a wonderful place to be for three years.
Iceland is a beautiful country--beautiful in the winter when the world is covered in snow and ice, when the daylight hours are short but brilliant, and the night sky is lit by stars shining with a clarity I've not experienced elsewhere and the aurora borealis is often visible. It's beautiful in the summer when the mountain sides are coated in green, and the meadows are full of buttercups and flocks of sheep grazing contentedly. The sun sets only for a few hours, and there is twilight at most, and people make the most of the long days of sunlight. The air was clean there, and so was the water--we would drink from streams when we went camping.
The countryside is rocky and rugged--it's a volcanic island after all, and it has its own beauty. The climate is milder than the name of the country implies--yes, it's cold in winter, but not unbearable, and summers are pleasant with high temps in the 50s and 60s. The capital of Iceland, Reykjavik, is a bustling city of old and new. (According to the NYTimes, Reykjavik is a "hot spot" for tourists right now, but it wasn't quite that glitzy when I was there).
We tried to make the most of our time in Iceland--went to Reykjavik as often as we could, went camping around the island in summer, had some Icelandic friends who introduced us to the food and customs. My first child was born there. For us, as a young couple, it was a time to be on our own, independent of family constraints, and I think that was good for us. For me, it began to teach me that living in and appreciating the wider world made my life richer. It broadened my horizons.
To be continued....
The Friday Five meme from the RevGals is about travel, and the truth is that I don't travel much--I've hardly ever been on a vacation that wasn't going to visit relatives, and I don't even do that very much anymore. But I have lived a lot of places, and I have places that are special to me, and so I'm modifying the meme in that direction.
Five Special Places, Past and Present
1. New York City--Most of the readers here have likely figured out that when I write about Seminary City, I am writing about New York City. I've long had a fascination for NYC. I first visited the city in the mid 80s when a good friend moved with her husband and baby daughter so that he could pursue graduate studies there. I spent a week helping them unpack, playing with the baby, and seeing the city. They lived on the Upper West Side and and though we traversed the city, the place that most fascinated me was the Cathedral of St. John the Divine. Whenever I walk into the Cathedral I am immediately struck by a sense of Presence and of connection. The Cathedral calls itself a "House of Prayer for All People", and I really feel that there.
And that's part of what I feel about the city--it's a place of and for all people--all sorts and conditions inhabit the city. Before I visited there, the city seemed unreal in a way, not a place where "ordinary" people lived and "regular" life went on, but a place of movies and the rich and famous, or conversely, a place of the very poor. All of that is indeed there, but in that first visit, and even more so when I lived there, I was struck by this great sense of ordinariness--the quotidian regularity of life--that unfolds in the city in all its vastness, and all its diversity and weaves a wonderful living tapestry with a richness I've experienced in no other place. And yet in the ordinariness there was still this sense of verve, of spice--hey, this is New York! That never wore off for me.
I loved that when I walked out of the front gate of the seminary I could see the Empire State Building. I loved how in my neighborhood I was known to the people in the coffee shop, in the deli, even in Rite Aid--the city was not this big anonymous place; rather it was a network of neighborhoods each with its own character and population. I loved walking through the Village with its twisting streets and nooks and crannies. I loved walking down Sixth Avenue, a shopping mecca for the ordinary folks (unlike 5th Avenue which while interesting in its own way, is out of the league of many of us). I loved the green market in Union Square, and the street vendors, and the demonstrators. And the Riverwalk, stretching all the way to the tip of Manhattan. We spent one Sunday afternoon walking from Christopher Street all the way down to Battery Park and back. I loved walking most places I had to go. I didn't miss my car, and was grateful for buses and subways.
When I visited the city with my friend 20 years ago, I toyed with the idea of applying to grad schools there, but I still lacked the self-confidence to think I could make it on my own there with my kids. But when it was time to consider seminaries, the city was like a magnet that pulled me. My three years there were extraordinary. Many of my classmates enjoyed the city while they were there but were happy to go back "home" after graduation. A few of my classmates really disliked the city, and got out of town as often as they could. But I thrived in the city, and I hope to go back sometime to live. I know it won't be the same as when I was there for seminary, but there is something about the city that grounds me and connects me that I miss.
2. Iceland--Long ago and far away....I married my high school boyfriend just a year after we graduated. He had joined the Navy even before graduation--I think one of the things that attracted me to him was his sense of direction and purpose when I had none. When we'd been married almost a year, it was time for him to get his first real "assignment"--he'd been in schools of various sorts up until this time. We knew that he would be assigned to sea duty unless we were lucky enough to be sent overseas, so he hopefully requested duty in Spain or Scotland. Instead, he received orders to Iceland. Of course, we really knew nothing of Iceland, and it was a bit disappointing at first, and yes, a bit scary. But it turned out to be a wonderful place to be for three years.
Iceland is a beautiful country--beautiful in the winter when the world is covered in snow and ice, when the daylight hours are short but brilliant, and the night sky is lit by stars shining with a clarity I've not experienced elsewhere and the aurora borealis is often visible. It's beautiful in the summer when the mountain sides are coated in green, and the meadows are full of buttercups and flocks of sheep grazing contentedly. The sun sets only for a few hours, and there is twilight at most, and people make the most of the long days of sunlight. The air was clean there, and so was the water--we would drink from streams when we went camping.
The countryside is rocky and rugged--it's a volcanic island after all, and it has its own beauty. The climate is milder than the name of the country implies--yes, it's cold in winter, but not unbearable, and summers are pleasant with high temps in the 50s and 60s. The capital of Iceland, Reykjavik, is a bustling city of old and new. (According to the NYTimes, Reykjavik is a "hot spot" for tourists right now, but it wasn't quite that glitzy when I was there).
We tried to make the most of our time in Iceland--went to Reykjavik as often as we could, went camping around the island in summer, had some Icelandic friends who introduced us to the food and customs. My first child was born there. For us, as a young couple, it was a time to be on our own, independent of family constraints, and I think that was good for us. For me, it began to teach me that living in and appreciating the wider world made my life richer. It broadened my horizons.
To be continued....
Monday, January 09, 2006
Huh?
Does it seem troubling to anyone else that Newt Gingrich is calling on the Republicans to recapture their "moral authority"?
Sunday, January 08, 2006
Tired But Happy
It has been a wonderful, exhilarating, exhausting, emotional whirlwind of a weekend. Yesterday along with 10 others I was ordained to the Sacred Order of Priests at the Episcopal Cathedral in Nearby City. It's hard to describe the emotions that come with such an event. Anxiety, fears that something would go wrong, fears that I was inadequate to the task plagued me all last week, as I madly cleaned house to prepare for guests, and took my car in for unexpected repairs and attended to last minute details. But even in all that, moments of grace intruded as friends and parishioners called to wish me well, and things fell into place. As I arrived at the Cathedral I was still anxious but I was there! And it was the Day!
An ordination is a marvelous celebratory occasion, both the culmination of a long process and the beginning of a new journey--serious, yes, sobering with its vows, but still joyous and infused with so much love. Members of my parish here traveled up to the city to be present, my bishop from a neighboring diocese came to ordain me, friends from far away sent well wishes before hand, so I felt so lifted up by love. Two of my good friends from seminary were ordained with me, and I had flashbacks to our first seminary classes, when we all eyed each other warily trying to see the priests we all would hopefully become.
I almost sobbed at the moment when the bishops and other priests laid hands on me. I really don't have the words to adequately describe the deep joy that flooded over me. And not just joy, but a sense of awe that this was really happening.
And today, at my parish I celebrated the Eucharist for the first time. Again I was anxious as the time approached. What if I forgot what to say? What if I forgot the gestures? What if.....but all was fine. Once we started it felt right, and it was both humbling and joyful. My seminary prof and good friend came to preach, and she preached an awesome sermon. And who knew she could sing, too, till she did the descant to "King of Glory, King of Peace" which is one of our "seminary standards" (if you have a hymnal look up the name of the tune...) Again I was almost moved to tears during the service.
After a reception and a nice lunch with my friend and her partner before they went on their way, the adrenaline is about gone, and I'm exhausted. I don't think I could've asked for a more wonderful weekend, a more wonderful start to my priestly ministry. It is a beginning. Thanks be to God.
An ordination is a marvelous celebratory occasion, both the culmination of a long process and the beginning of a new journey--serious, yes, sobering with its vows, but still joyous and infused with so much love. Members of my parish here traveled up to the city to be present, my bishop from a neighboring diocese came to ordain me, friends from far away sent well wishes before hand, so I felt so lifted up by love. Two of my good friends from seminary were ordained with me, and I had flashbacks to our first seminary classes, when we all eyed each other warily trying to see the priests we all would hopefully become.
I almost sobbed at the moment when the bishops and other priests laid hands on me. I really don't have the words to adequately describe the deep joy that flooded over me. And not just joy, but a sense of awe that this was really happening.
And today, at my parish I celebrated the Eucharist for the first time. Again I was anxious as the time approached. What if I forgot what to say? What if I forgot the gestures? What if.....but all was fine. Once we started it felt right, and it was both humbling and joyful. My seminary prof and good friend came to preach, and she preached an awesome sermon. And who knew she could sing, too, till she did the descant to "King of Glory, King of Peace" which is one of our "seminary standards" (if you have a hymnal look up the name of the tune...) Again I was almost moved to tears during the service.
After a reception and a nice lunch with my friend and her partner before they went on their way, the adrenaline is about gone, and I'm exhausted. I don't think I could've asked for a more wonderful weekend, a more wonderful start to my priestly ministry. It is a beginning. Thanks be to God.
Wednesday, January 04, 2006
About Food, What Else?
I'm reading a novel, Before You Know Kindness, by Chris Bohjalian. It's not great literature, but it's an okay read. I bought it because Bohjalian is a "local" author--local to where I used to live before seminary, anyway. He's best known for Midwives, which became a bestseller when Oprah chose it for her bookclub a few years back, but my favorite of his works is Tran-Sister Radio, a story about a transgender person. This most current novel, however, is about a vegan animal rights activist who is accidentally shot with his brother-in-law's deer rifle. I won't reveal any more about the plot, but somethings Bohjalian says and/or implies about hunting and about animal rights and about vegetarians got me thinking.
Bohjalian's commentary at least through the first half of the novel could be read as a strong apologetic for hunting, particularly deer hunting. Through his characters he speaks of how deer have few natural predators these days, and how their deaths from starvation, the inevitable result of the overpopulation that would occur without hunting, would be much more painful than dying quickly to the hunter's bullet. I've never understood the draw of hunting. I don't like guns, and I don't like killing--it's hard for me to think of killing anything as sport. And when I think of deer, for better or worse I think of Bambi. I've tasted venison once, and I don't like it, and frankly the idea of eating wild game makes me very queasy--more about that later. But if he's right about predation and overpopulation, his arguments make some sense. I still have problems with killing as sport, though.
To his credit, Bohjalian makes a potent argument for strong gun control as well. One of his characters does something incredibly stupid with his gun, and through the character of a police officer no less come comments about needing strong gun laws. I grew up in a family that had guns--my grandfather collected guns, and my father had to have a gun for his job although he never used it as far as I know. Guns scare me, and I see no need for them. One of my daughter's best friends committed suicide with a gun in middle school, and to this day I think she might not have been successful in her attempt if there had not been a gun in the house. "Guns don't' kill, people do" is the argument you hear so often against gun control, but guns make it so much easier for stupid bad things to happen when people get out of control.
But back to the meat issue. I've been a "semi-vegetarian" for a while now--off and on for about 15 years, but more consistently the last 3. By that I mean that I don't eat beef and I avoid most pork, except that I have a weakness for bacon, and for ham sandwiches (not logical, I'll grant you). I eat seafood, and although I don't cook it, I will on occasion eat poultry. [Disclaimer--I cooked a turkey breast for the benefit of my son right after Christmas, but it may be the last because he seems to be losing his taste for it.] I quit eating meat not for ethical reasons so much as for health reasons, and because I just wasn't that attached to it. Not ever having beef is no hardship for me.
Both of my daughters flirted with vegetarianism in high school and college, and both returned to being carnivores after a while. Lovely Daughter #1 who was quite strict about her eating took up meat again right after college; she became friends with some people who were very into the whole northern New England alternative lifestyle--gardening and hunting and ice fishing for food, and so on. She didn't hunt, but she did eat things that I never imagined that she would eat--bear for example. But even as a meat eater, she was concerned about the sources of her food--preferring free range chickens and eggs (when she could afford them) for example.
The last summer before she went to Korea, LD#1 worked on a farm--it's a "tourist farm"--the former estate of a wealthy family now turned working farm/museum/inn, and her job was primarily teaching children about the animals--milking the cows, making cheese and butter, and so on. But she did a lot of basic farm work as well. One of the things she did was to help care for a flock of turkeys, and in the fall each of the staff who had cared for them was given a turkey with the proviso that they must slaughter the turkey themselves. And so LD#1 did. She killed it and dressed it and plucked it, and she cooked it for a Thanksgiving dinner for her friends.
I couldn't have done that. I would sooner never eat turkey again than to have to do what she did. Am I spoiled? No doubt, and had I lived in an earlier time, I'm sure I would've had to deal with killing my food. LD#1 takes it a step further: she says that I am in denial about where my food comes from. And she's more than likely right, and so I've tried to be more mindful of that. When I could shop at Whole Foods, the little bit of meat I bought was organic, free range, no hormones, etc.
The character in Bohjalian's novel is a vegan because he can't stand the idea of animals suffering. IMHO he takes things too far--he obsesses about causing pain to lobsters the summer he worked in a restaurant in college, and he won't even let his daughter go to a zoo or to a fair where there might be a 4H exhibit with animals. For him, any use of animals is exploitation. I don't think I want to go that far; I don't, for example, believe that shell fish have nervous systems advanced enough to suffer the way Bohjalian's character imagines. And I believe that the potential benefits from medical research are great enough to justify the use of animals there, with proper oversight. Zoos and aquariums can, if done right, provide a decent environment for animals.
I've recently been thinking that I need to completely give up meat--the bacon and ham I love to start with. So for now, I think it's no more mammals for me. And probably no more poultry either. [Another disclaimer: we gave up fast food from MickieD's and BK years ago, but I still have a liking for crispy chicken strips from KFC. Probably my southern upbringing.] Again, my motivation is less about the treatment of animals and more about healthy food choices. For me, meals that don't feature meat are lower fat and calories, and that's a good thing.
But increasingly I think that my food choices are influenced by what's good for the environment as well as what's good for me. I eat organic food when I can, and I try to choose foods with less packaging. How does this relate to choosing not to eat meat? If what I read a few years back is correct, raising beef (for example) consumes far more resources for the amount of nutrition it provides than does raising plant foods.
I don't claim to have a completly logical rational for any of this, nor will I likely ever be totally vegetarian. But for now, no more mammals, anyway.
A final note: The down side is that I don't like some of the foods vegetarians rely on--specifically mushrooms and tofu. Any one with good recipe suggestions?
Bohjalian's commentary at least through the first half of the novel could be read as a strong apologetic for hunting, particularly deer hunting. Through his characters he speaks of how deer have few natural predators these days, and how their deaths from starvation, the inevitable result of the overpopulation that would occur without hunting, would be much more painful than dying quickly to the hunter's bullet. I've never understood the draw of hunting. I don't like guns, and I don't like killing--it's hard for me to think of killing anything as sport. And when I think of deer, for better or worse I think of Bambi. I've tasted venison once, and I don't like it, and frankly the idea of eating wild game makes me very queasy--more about that later. But if he's right about predation and overpopulation, his arguments make some sense. I still have problems with killing as sport, though.
To his credit, Bohjalian makes a potent argument for strong gun control as well. One of his characters does something incredibly stupid with his gun, and through the character of a police officer no less come comments about needing strong gun laws. I grew up in a family that had guns--my grandfather collected guns, and my father had to have a gun for his job although he never used it as far as I know. Guns scare me, and I see no need for them. One of my daughter's best friends committed suicide with a gun in middle school, and to this day I think she might not have been successful in her attempt if there had not been a gun in the house. "Guns don't' kill, people do" is the argument you hear so often against gun control, but guns make it so much easier for stupid bad things to happen when people get out of control.
But back to the meat issue. I've been a "semi-vegetarian" for a while now--off and on for about 15 years, but more consistently the last 3. By that I mean that I don't eat beef and I avoid most pork, except that I have a weakness for bacon, and for ham sandwiches (not logical, I'll grant you). I eat seafood, and although I don't cook it, I will on occasion eat poultry. [Disclaimer--I cooked a turkey breast for the benefit of my son right after Christmas, but it may be the last because he seems to be losing his taste for it.] I quit eating meat not for ethical reasons so much as for health reasons, and because I just wasn't that attached to it. Not ever having beef is no hardship for me.
Both of my daughters flirted with vegetarianism in high school and college, and both returned to being carnivores after a while. Lovely Daughter #1 who was quite strict about her eating took up meat again right after college; she became friends with some people who were very into the whole northern New England alternative lifestyle--gardening and hunting and ice fishing for food, and so on. She didn't hunt, but she did eat things that I never imagined that she would eat--bear for example. But even as a meat eater, she was concerned about the sources of her food--preferring free range chickens and eggs (when she could afford them) for example.
The last summer before she went to Korea, LD#1 worked on a farm--it's a "tourist farm"--the former estate of a wealthy family now turned working farm/museum/inn, and her job was primarily teaching children about the animals--milking the cows, making cheese and butter, and so on. But she did a lot of basic farm work as well. One of the things she did was to help care for a flock of turkeys, and in the fall each of the staff who had cared for them was given a turkey with the proviso that they must slaughter the turkey themselves. And so LD#1 did. She killed it and dressed it and plucked it, and she cooked it for a Thanksgiving dinner for her friends.
I couldn't have done that. I would sooner never eat turkey again than to have to do what she did. Am I spoiled? No doubt, and had I lived in an earlier time, I'm sure I would've had to deal with killing my food. LD#1 takes it a step further: she says that I am in denial about where my food comes from. And she's more than likely right, and so I've tried to be more mindful of that. When I could shop at Whole Foods, the little bit of meat I bought was organic, free range, no hormones, etc.
The character in Bohjalian's novel is a vegan because he can't stand the idea of animals suffering. IMHO he takes things too far--he obsesses about causing pain to lobsters the summer he worked in a restaurant in college, and he won't even let his daughter go to a zoo or to a fair where there might be a 4H exhibit with animals. For him, any use of animals is exploitation. I don't think I want to go that far; I don't, for example, believe that shell fish have nervous systems advanced enough to suffer the way Bohjalian's character imagines. And I believe that the potential benefits from medical research are great enough to justify the use of animals there, with proper oversight. Zoos and aquariums can, if done right, provide a decent environment for animals.
I've recently been thinking that I need to completely give up meat--the bacon and ham I love to start with. So for now, I think it's no more mammals for me. And probably no more poultry either. [Another disclaimer: we gave up fast food from MickieD's and BK years ago, but I still have a liking for crispy chicken strips from KFC. Probably my southern upbringing.] Again, my motivation is less about the treatment of animals and more about healthy food choices. For me, meals that don't feature meat are lower fat and calories, and that's a good thing.
But increasingly I think that my food choices are influenced by what's good for the environment as well as what's good for me. I eat organic food when I can, and I try to choose foods with less packaging. How does this relate to choosing not to eat meat? If what I read a few years back is correct, raising beef (for example) consumes far more resources for the amount of nutrition it provides than does raising plant foods.
I don't claim to have a completly logical rational for any of this, nor will I likely ever be totally vegetarian. But for now, no more mammals, anyway.
A final note: The down side is that I don't like some of the foods vegetarians rely on--specifically mushrooms and tofu. Any one with good recipe suggestions?
Monday, January 02, 2006
It's This Saturday
Yes, my ordination to the priesthood is this Saturday, January 7. I think I forgot to tell the date in the post below.
As some of you know all too well, the road to Holy Orders is a long and sometimes arduous one. I first said the words, "I think I am called to be a priest" out loud to another person six and half years ago. I said it to the priest at my church, and I said it with fear and trepidation, so afraid that he would laugh at me, or just dismiss the notion out of hand. But he didn't, and here I am. Of course it wasn't quite that simple--there were discernment groups and papers to fill out and spiritual autobiographies to write and Commission on Ministry meetings and interviews with the Bishop and psychological testing and physicals and applications to seminary. Then there was quitting my job (giving up tenure-gulp!) and selling my house and moving to a new place, and classes and CPE (Clinical Pastoral Education-- a hospital chaplaincy internship that all seminary students do the summer after their first year) and more classes and a field placement and preaching and more interviews with the Commission on Ministry and the Bishop and more classes and the Dreaded General Ordination Exams and job interviews and nail biting and more job interviews and FINALLY a job offer and graduation and moving once more and ordination to the diaconate (a totally wonderful awesome day) and starting a new job and meeting with the Standing Committee and with the Bishop one more time. Whew! It's been a real roller coaster ride, thrilling at times, terrifying at times, and when you get off you say, wow--what a ride!
Some would argue that priests are born, not made. I don't know if I believe that or not, at least for everyone. For myself, looking back (and I know retrospective analysis is always an iffy prospect) the church always held an attraction and fascination for me as a young child and then again as a teen and young adult. But growing up in the Episcopal Church when there were no women priests, no female acolytes, no female lectors, no female eucharistic ministers--well you get the picture--meant that any urgings I had toward priesthood were sublimated.
My life circumstances being what they were, when women began to be ordained in the Episcopal Church, I lacked the self confidence and gumption to think I could do ANYTHING. When I went back to school at age 30 and began to think about what my life might be like and to develop a modicum of self-confidence I did think fleetingly about priesthood--but it still didn't feel within the realm of possibility. Women had been ordained for a few years then, but I'd never met a woman priest (and didn't until I moved to New England in 1994 where I met not only women priests but also a woman bishop) and I still couldn't conceive of myself as a priest--but I think there was a nascent yearning (call?) there.
In 1998-99 the notion that I was called to be a priest sort of hit me hard, and it took me by surprise, let me tell you, because I had earned a Ph.D. and had what I thought of as my dream job and was on the tenure track (and got tenure while I was in the parish level of discernment).But pursuing that call became something I coudn't NOT do.
I was sometimes a little bit in awe of some of my younger seminary classmates who KNEW in high school or college that they were called to priesthood. But that was them, and this is me, and I have realized that an early call is not necessarily superior to one heard later. There have been moments that I have wished that I could've been doing 20 years ago what I'm doing now, but the truth is, I wasn't ready, for lots of reasons. It's taken all my life experiences, the good, the bad, the ugly, to get to where I am, to form me into the person I am and the priest I will be.
I've only been blogging a few months (and reading and commenting a bit longer) but I already feel like I am part of a community here. I am glad to be sharing this part of my journey with all of you.
As some of you know all too well, the road to Holy Orders is a long and sometimes arduous one. I first said the words, "I think I am called to be a priest" out loud to another person six and half years ago. I said it to the priest at my church, and I said it with fear and trepidation, so afraid that he would laugh at me, or just dismiss the notion out of hand. But he didn't, and here I am. Of course it wasn't quite that simple--there were discernment groups and papers to fill out and spiritual autobiographies to write and Commission on Ministry meetings and interviews with the Bishop and psychological testing and physicals and applications to seminary. Then there was quitting my job (giving up tenure-gulp!) and selling my house and moving to a new place, and classes and CPE (Clinical Pastoral Education-- a hospital chaplaincy internship that all seminary students do the summer after their first year) and more classes and a field placement and preaching and more interviews with the Commission on Ministry and the Bishop and more classes and the Dreaded General Ordination Exams and job interviews and nail biting and more job interviews and FINALLY a job offer and graduation and moving once more and ordination to the diaconate (a totally wonderful awesome day) and starting a new job and meeting with the Standing Committee and with the Bishop one more time. Whew! It's been a real roller coaster ride, thrilling at times, terrifying at times, and when you get off you say, wow--what a ride!
Some would argue that priests are born, not made. I don't know if I believe that or not, at least for everyone. For myself, looking back (and I know retrospective analysis is always an iffy prospect) the church always held an attraction and fascination for me as a young child and then again as a teen and young adult. But growing up in the Episcopal Church when there were no women priests, no female acolytes, no female lectors, no female eucharistic ministers--well you get the picture--meant that any urgings I had toward priesthood were sublimated.
My life circumstances being what they were, when women began to be ordained in the Episcopal Church, I lacked the self confidence and gumption to think I could do ANYTHING. When I went back to school at age 30 and began to think about what my life might be like and to develop a modicum of self-confidence I did think fleetingly about priesthood--but it still didn't feel within the realm of possibility. Women had been ordained for a few years then, but I'd never met a woman priest (and didn't until I moved to New England in 1994 where I met not only women priests but also a woman bishop) and I still couldn't conceive of myself as a priest--but I think there was a nascent yearning (call?) there.
In 1998-99 the notion that I was called to be a priest sort of hit me hard, and it took me by surprise, let me tell you, because I had earned a Ph.D. and had what I thought of as my dream job and was on the tenure track (and got tenure while I was in the parish level of discernment).But pursuing that call became something I coudn't NOT do.
I was sometimes a little bit in awe of some of my younger seminary classmates who KNEW in high school or college that they were called to priesthood. But that was them, and this is me, and I have realized that an early call is not necessarily superior to one heard later. There have been moments that I have wished that I could've been doing 20 years ago what I'm doing now, but the truth is, I wasn't ready, for lots of reasons. It's taken all my life experiences, the good, the bad, the ugly, to get to where I am, to form me into the person I am and the priest I will be.
I've only been blogging a few months (and reading and commenting a bit longer) but I already feel like I am part of a community here. I am glad to be sharing this part of my journey with all of you.
Sunday, January 01, 2006
Welcome 2006
Toasting you all with my sparkling blueberry juice and wishing you all a happy, healthy, peaceful New Year!
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