Flashback...

      What would a blog be with a book reference?  ECV sent me a World War II, history book. While reading it I found a description of military K-Rations from the 1940s. This flashed me back to my time in the Marines in the early 60s. We seldom had K-Rations, they were lighter survival fare. Often when we were on field exercises, without a field kitchen, we lived on C-Rations (later,Meal Combat Individual or MCI).
     It was a bit of the luck of the draw what combination would be found in the ration box issued. Often trades could be made with other Marines. There was one thing no one would accept in trade; ham and Lima beans. Never was anyone around me known to eat it. One bite would meet the monthly maximum requirement for sodium. It was so salty it was inedible.  Unprintable names came to attached to it.
     On the whole C-Rations weren't bad. The canned, boned chicken or turkey was really good. Canned fruit was fine; peaches, apricots, plums, etc. Chewing gum and a small chocolate bar were standard as were 4 cigarettes and matches. Dessert, canned, was included and featured either "Mother's Cookies", as imprinted, or pound cake. (See the Wikipedia article Below.)
      Marines never ate as well as the Navy. When we were aboard ship...I spent about 6 months at sea...or on a Navy base, the food was better than on Marine bases. We maybe fought better but they cooked better. 😀
      My memories of C-Rations are basically positive

"In 1973, Army Colonel Henry Moak was issued a MCI ration during his stay in Vietnam. Included in the MCI ration was a can of pound cake, manufactured in 1969. He kept the unopened can and vowed to eat the pound cake when he retired from the Army. On July 24, 2009, with news media and dignitaries in attendance, Moak opened the forty-year-old can and ate the contents. He noted that the pound cake still looked and smelled like fresh pound cake." Wikipedia

    On more serious note; Pastor Mary is reading H Is For Hawk and forwarded these three sentences about grief to me.

It is more like earth under a spade, turning up things you had forgotten. 

Surprising things come to light: not simply memories, but states of mind, emotions, older ways of seeing the world. 
The archaeology of grief is not ordered.

    Unfortunately my Kindle will not accept Hawk, but these sentences resonate.

Takk for alt,

Al

Best Seller

    It's not been a pattern for me to watch the best seller lists to read what appears there.  On the Sunday New York Times list I noticed a couple of books that I'd read; Little Fires Everywhere and Educated. Both of those were choices of my book club.
    Perusing books available from the Hennepin County Library I saw Where the Crawdads Sing, Delia Owens, was available. Knowing it had been a best seller for weeks I thought "why not." WOW!  Now I know why it's a best seller.  Survival story? Mystery? Romance? Family systems? Environmental tract? All of the above?  The lead character's understanding and engagement in the marsh that surrounds her is as poetic as the poetry that's included in the book.
    Owens can construct characters that are enticingly engaging. They are so engaging that I found myself  emotionally deeply involved.  "It's just a story" I kept, yet I remained significantly attached. She's also a consummate story teller and values are woven into the story that  create moments of moral outrage.  This would be good book for a club with plenty of issues to discuss.  Yes, it's a page turner.

Takk for alt,

Al

Good and evil redux.....

      The Sparrow, Mary Doria Russell mentioned in yesterday's blog also raises the issue of missionary impact on a foreign culture. Something seemingly as innocent as a vegetable garden becomes a huge issue. A very long time ago I read a sci-fi piece in which reverse time travel was possible. The time travelers would go back to a much former time being very careful not to disrupt anything. A group, on their trip to the past, unknown to them accidentally killed a butterfly. Killing this butterfly totally changed the course of history.
    The Japanese Christian author, the late Shusaku Endo, wrestled with how Christianity could enter Japan without bringing with it Western contamination. His answer, illustrated in many of his novels, was in a selfless, though wounded, person who labored totally for others, i.e., a suffering servant. The travelers in The Sparrow significantly, though unintentionally, disrupt life on the other planet with dire consequences for themselves. (Read the book.)
   
      Grace University Lutheran in response to needs caused by the pandemic is sending a daily devotional. Tom offered this today and it's appropriateness speaks for itself.

We will not go back to normal.
Normal never was. Our pre-corona
existence was not normal other than
we normalized greed, inequity,
 exhaustion, depletion, extraction,
disconnection, confusion, rage,
hoarding, hate and lack. We should
not long to return, my friends. We
are being given the opportunity to
stitch a new garment. On that fits
all of humanity and nature.

SONJA RENEE TAYLOR

    Yes, let's reflect on this!

Takk for alt,

Al

Good and evil........

      Climbing into his pickup, slamming the door, he drove off without fasting his seat belt. When I encouraged him to belt in he said "I trust God."  To which I replied "Don't tempt God by asking God to do what God's not promised. Thank God for seat belts." His behavior didn't change and fortunately he was never in a serious accident.
      "In an interview the author  said 'I wanted readers to look philosophically at the idea that you can be seduced by the notion that God is leading you and that your actions have his approval.'"
"We seem to believe that if we act in accordance with God's will, we ought to be rewarded. But in doing so we're making a deal God didn't sign on to." So speaks author Mary Doria Russell about her book The Sparrow.
      This book is from Lisa's library and when she handed it to me she said "it's in my top ten." With that endorsement I began reading and was into it before I realized it was sci-fi. Normally that's not something I choose. The genre carried the freight for big questions of the relationship between God and evil and, much more.
      While it's well written, the author's academic background (B.A., Cultural Anthropology, U of IL, Urbana; M.A. Social Anthropology, Northwestern; PhD, Biological Anthropology, U of Mich., Ann Arbor.) shines through, the payoff is in the final chapters.  I remember when every month a group of developmentally delayed adults had a social at church. Each time they met 'Charles' had the same question "Why did God make mosquitoes?" A wag might answer "To prove we're not in heaven." But, this simple question asks the profound "why" of evil. What is the relationship between evil and God?  The Sparrow doesn't answer that question but poses it in a profound and remarkable way.
        Copyrighted in 1996, I'm glad I read it.
 
Takk for alt.

Al

PS I just finished writing this and when I opened the Washington Post I saw this headline:

A preacher believed ‘God can heal anything.’ Then coronavirus killed him.

"The Spradlins were also counting on a power greater than a Z-Pak or an albuterol canister. Their fervent brand of charismatic Christianity held that God regularly intervened in the world to alter the course of believers’ physical ailments."

What day is it?

      In a recent conversation with a friend she said she had a very hard day tracking the days of the week. Without the customary markers she found it hard to remember which day it was. "Welcome to the reality of retirement" I said. "That's why I volunteered at school three days a week, so I'd know which day was which."
      Of course I still track the days of the week, if for no other reason than to keep up with my household chores. Tomorrow is Monday which is the day that I vacuum the main floor, etc. Lisa keeps a very neat and clean house so it makes her happy if I help

with that.
      Values from my home of origin live on in my life. One of those values is, that I should not be a burden. This is very important to me but I do not remember anything explicit teaching me that. It must have been in the cool aid. I must have drunk gallons of it. But, it's a handy way of being now that I've plunked down on Lisa.
       Tuesday it will be five weeks since I moved here. The time has gone quickly which is a gift and an indication that I'm not bored. Fortunate, that would be the word, very, very fortunate.

Takk for alt,

Al

Hoping the students are safe.

Confession...

       It was a rather unusual request that appeared in my email box. The request came from a friend who's had a number of close calls with death over the years. However, he's not in apparent danger now. He sent me a copy of his funeral service and requested my response to it. It was well planned and inspirational, I responded.

     When he called me talk about it I told him he should write his obituary. That's a good idea he said. A couple of days later he emailed me a copy of his obituary. It was bursting with gratitude and filled with relational information about the persons who have blessed his life.

     Now for the confession. I have encouraged others to write their obituaries but I have not written my own. This reality, and transaction with my friend about his funeral service and obituary, came to mind when I read this article in the Washington Post

By SARAH PULLIAM BAILEY Washington Post

The Rev. Barbara Brown Taylor spent a portion of Good Friday planning her death. The Episcopal priest hopes to outline the music she would like to hear as her life comes to an end, the floral scent she hopes to smell and which of her 12 hand-pieced quilts she intends to hold.

Taylor is not ill, but at 68, she falls squarely into the age range especially vulnerable to COVID-19. So before Taylor spoke in virtual gatherings about death and resurrection last week, she had already prepared her advanced care directives, designated power of attorney over her affairs, and plans to be buried — near her parents and sister.

“Few people are up for this conversation,” said Taylor, a nationally known author who lives in Georgia. “You won’t believe how many people walk away from me when I bring this up.”

   I, too, am in "the age range especially vulnerable to COVID-19."   Power of attorney is in place, advance directives are on file and I want to buried with Joanne.  Planning the funeral service is not important to me, my survivors should do what is meaningful to them. Doing my obituary would be a gift to them.


Takk for alt,,

Al

Grief's pattern.

         Grief is individual and, yet, grief has patterns that are common to many grievers.  Perhaps a common experience might go under the general heading of "flashbacks."  Out of the blue a sound, a smell, a person, an event, an anniversary will trigger a memory that brings a flood of grief.  This experience in bereavement is common enough that it shows up in literature.
        In Mary Doria Russell's The Sparrow,  a Jesuit Priest, ordained after his wife died, talks about his grief. "In the normal way of things, it takes about a year, when you lose someone you really care for. Before the worst of it lets you go, I mean. I found anniversaries the hardest. Not the normal things like wedding anniversaries, you understand. I'd be going along, functioning fairly well really, and then I'd realize, today would have been ten years since we met, or six years since we moved to London, or two years since that rip to France. Used to lay me away properly, little anniversaries like that."  P. 282
     Yes, grief, as least my grief is like that. Yet, life in limbo has not exacerbated it significantly.  During this time of pain and suffering I am truly among the fortunate ones.

Takk for alt,

Al

Again? I Refuse...

   Seems a bit repetitive to do a book report. While Lisa was teaching me the finer points of accessing books from the Hennepin County Library to my Kindle app on my laptop, we needed a trial run. "Pick a book and give it a try" she said. Under that stricture I turned to Norwegian author, Per Petterson, and successfully down-loaded his latest book. Awhile back I'd read his Out Stealing Horses, followed by I Curse the River Of Time, both of which I appreciated.  The neighborhood book club discussion of Horses left the Lebanese participant scratching her head at Norwegian culture.
    Now, with I Refuse on my Kindle what was I going to do but read it? So I did. It's provocative and a little like Roy Jacobsen's style leaves much work for the reader to do. Two childhood friends split at age 17, and their lives bear little resemblance after that. The end was fascinating.
    For those who haven't read Petterson I'd suggest beginning with Horses and then River of Time. If you're taken with Petterson then move to I Refuse.  There are also two or three other books of his between River of Time and  I Refuse. 
    Again I have two books going. One is in hand read by daylight on the porch surrounded by 17(?) plants. The other book is on Kindle giving me the ability to read in low light. Could I ask for more?

Takk for alt,

Al,

Time for another random picture.

My congregation is doing a picture directory using submitted pictures. This was my submission.

Close to home!

      Wishing I knew more clearly how this time is for you?  Daily phone calls give me some clue. An email today told of the first person that I know who has the COVID virus. Likely others I know may have it but if they do I don't know.  Now that I know Martha has it, the virus moves out of the abstract into the immediate. Martha's in a long term care facility and unable to communicate by phone. When the people are known to me, people for whom I care, their pain and grief burdens me, too. 

    Martha's daughter-in-law, S.A., shared this Mary Oliver poem which, no surprise, speaks eloquently to the situation in which we find ourselves.

"My work is loving the world.

Here the sunflowers, there the hummingbird-

equal seekers of sweetness.

Here the quickening yeast; there the blue plums.

Here the clam deep in the speckled sand.

Are my boots old? Is my coat torn?

Am I no longer young, and still not half-perfect? Let me

keep my mind on what matters,

which is my work,

which is mostly standing still and learning to be

astonished.

The phoebe, the delphinium.

The sheep in the pasture, and the pasture.

Which is mostly rejoicing, since all ingredients are here,

which is gratitude, to be given a mind and a heart

and these body-clothes,

a mouth with which to give shouts of joy

to moth and the wren, to the sleepy dug-up clam,

telling them all, over and over, how it is

that we live forever."

Mary Oliver

     During this pandemic can we be found "standing still and learning to be astonished"?


Takk for alt,

Al

Pandemic and the land of grief.

      He was in the Army and died in World War II. Buried next to him is his widow who lived 54 years after he died. They are among the 66,000 persons buried in St. Mary's Cemetery where I take my morning walk. The grief embodied in those 600 acres is almost palpable with markers for sons and daughters, wives and husbands...every stone a record of pain and loss.
     Now we occupy a world gripped by a pandemic that we were told would come someday. In the midst of it, losses mount. Grief abounds. The losses are well enumerated in this article from the Minneapolis StarTribune.

Whether it’s the loss of a job, a loved one or a sense of control, we need to face the pandemic-induced pileup of uncertainties.

By RACHEL HUTTON rachel.hutton@startribune.com

Therapists at the FamilyMeans Center for Grief & Loss in St. Paul have been inundated with calls. Many people seeking help are dealing with what psychologist Molly Ruggles describes as “a stacking up of losses without enough time and emotional space to move through those losses before another one comes along.”

The arrival of COVID-19 has brought with it layers of losses.

First and foremost, of course, is the rising death toll and the increasing number of people becoming ill. But there are also a wide range of losses unrelated to health, said Ruggles, the center’s assistant clinical director, naming several on an ever-growing list.

For people who have lost jobs, there’s a loss of financial security and loss of identity, she said. Those working from home can experience increased stress, too, especially if their kids are around. There’s also the loss of communities in the workplace, at school, at the gym, with faith organizations, and other groups. Then there’s the loss of freedom simply to go places and see people.

Our familiar routines have disappeared, along with the comfort that comes from knowing what to expect.

“This whole pandemic is a trauma and lot of little traumas,” she said. “And what that does to us, psychologically, is that it really shatters what people’s worldview was before this all happened.”

People whose lives were generally predictable, and who felt the world was a comprehensible, benevolent place, have had those beliefs upended.

“For lots of people, that opens up a lot of anxiety and fear and uncertainty and feeling paralyzed on how to cope,” Ruggles said.

    THE LAND OF GRIEF:   If we didn't before, we all live it in now. What do we know about living in it?  1. Stay in relationship. 2. Name the losses. 3. Help others. 4. Maintain spiritual practices. 5. Exercise. 6. Be kind to yourself. 7. Look for humor.  8. Practice gratitude.

Takk for alt,

Al
        

Would, that all Americans....

     Seldom have I finished a book and thought "Now, that wasn't worth reading."  Most books I finish I can recommend to others with a brief report. Few are the books that upon finishing I wish all Americans would read it. One that would come close is White Trash: The 400 Year Untold Story of Class In America by Nancy Isenberg. Our country would benefit from an understanding the role that class plays in American Life.
      Would that all Americans read Frederick Douglass: Prophet of Freedom, David L. blight...a biography.  Frederick Douglas, 1818-1895, began his life in slavery and died one of the most eminent  citizens of America. Orator, publisher, author, editor who inveighed against slavery, injustice and racism, his words speak powerfully to our time.
     This biography not only admirably recounts Douglass' life it also details the history of race relations in America. It was Douglass' destiny to live in slavery, see the end of slavery via the War to End Slavery, and the loss of the gains in racial equality after the end of reconstruction. The North, the Union, won the war and then seceded the peace to the forces of white supremacy. Within Douglass lifetime he saw the rise of: "The Lost Cause narratives typically portray the Confederacy's cause as noble and its leadership as exemplars of old-fashioned chivalry, who were defeated by the Union armies through numerical and industrial force that overwhelmed the South's superior military skill and courage." (Wikipedia )  This fiction holds that the war was not about slavery but about states rights.  How noble is a cause in the defense of slavery? How noble is treason?
     With white supremacy on the ascendancy today, receiving encouragement, from the occupant, Douglass' words and struggles are contemporary. When neo-Nazis are called "good people" Douglass would have had powerful Biblical rejoinder. 
     Yes, good people, read the book!

Takk for alt,

Al

Redux

    MJV emailed me today after rereading my blog post from last December.  The blog was written in response to a story about a woman who chose not deal with a melanoma because it would mar her beauty. She eventually died from the cancer and left her husband bereaved. She owed it to her husband to seek treatment, I opined. 

     This is an excerpt from MJV's email.

"The second question is: Isn't it odd how some things apply in different ways in different situations?

"This was your blog from December 2, 2019.  It had nothing to do with the CoronaVirus of course, since it was well before that became a "thing" for all of us.  However the title "Who owns an illness" really caught my eye. You said: "It is too facile (nice use of the word Al) to answer, 'who owns an illness?' by simply saying the person in whose body it resides. That would imply a person owes nothing to anyone but himself/herself."  It went on to discuss the responsibility to "own an illness" and the compelling interest of those around them, as they are impacted by the illness.

"This struck me as interesting in a couple of ways.  Do the protesters have a right to protest if they possibly endanger others around them and their own loved ones they come home to?"

     The irresponsibility of protesters protesting quarantine orders is clear to me. Even more serious is the dereliction of duty of governors, such as the one in South Dakota, who refuse to issue 'stay home' orders. The governor, and the protesters, have no way of knowing whose lives are being endangered because enough persons aren't being tested. There is no way of knowing, without either testing no symptoms, who is carrying the virus. Just one percent of Americans have been tested so far.  Some of the protesters will rue their participation when they fall ill to the virus. We don't allow persons to yell "fire" in a crowded theater. Why allow untested persons to avoid social distancing? The threat they pose is not only to themselves but silent carriers pose threats to others whom they encounter.  Whose illness indeed!

Takk for alt,

Al

Unknown origin?

       Recently I blogged about my late remembrance of Kindle on my laptop. So, when I opened Kindle, what did I find? Found were a host of titles I'd already read. Also found was a book which I have no recollection of downloading, nor anything about it. Words in Deep Blue, Cath Crowley,...when/how/why did I get it?
     So, what was I to do?...read it of course. It was engaging from the get go. Joanne had a practice of giving a book one chapter and if it wasn't engaging she'd put it aside. Not there yet, I'm inching in that direction. This one passed the test and remained so until the end. It's kind of a romance but what makes it more significant is the death of the protagonist's (Rachel's) brother before the book opens, and the impact of that death on the story. Rachel is in a significant depression over the death and as much as the book is romance it is also the story of grief work.
     When her loss becomes known to others one of her acquaintances, whose wife died twenty years earlier, writes to Rachel.

" I lost my wife twenty years ago, and sometimes I feel as if I have lived without her for a decade, and sometimes I feel as though I lost her just a minute before. I write “lost,” but I have grown to hate that expression. She was not a set of keys or a hat. The equivalent is saying that I have misplaced my lungs. I know you understand what I mean. I can see it in your face. There comes a time when the nongrievers go back to life, even some of the grievers, and you’re left trying to comprehend the incomprehensible. What’s the point in living on past the moment when those we have loved have left us? And how can we ever forgive ourselves for letting them go? I thought about these things a great deal after my wife died. I met her when I was twenty-one. She was my best friend. I could not imagine life without her... I tried to save my wife. I tried to resuscitate her while I waited for the ambulance. I think often about that last kiss—breathless in a way so different from the first. And I comfort myself with the thought that I tried. And that it was beyond my control.  But I do believe we have choices—how we love and how much, what we read, where we travel. How we live after the person we love has died or left us. Whether or not we decide to take the risk and live again."  PP. 258-260

   "Lost"...I,  too, have never liked that expression. It's that euphemistic need to avoid saying "she died."  "She was my best friend. I could not imagine life without her..."  Friendship is a major factor in marriage, indeed "my best friend."
    I wish I knew the circumstances of loading Words in Deep Blue, unto my Kindle but, regardless, I'm glad I did.

Takk for alt,

Al

Trygve, while I read.

April showers....

      This spring is typical of Minnesota with its fits and starts. With approximately 8 inches of snow on Sunday (Easter) the April showers to 'bring may flowers' came in the frosty form. I notice tulip leaves poking up. C.H. gave us a bouquet of yellow tulips many days ago...ten maybe...and they're still pretty. The trick of putting copper pennies in the vase has worked to keep them upright.  Flowers will be particularly welcome during this pandemic.
     The furnace in The Little House On The Prairie didn't ignite last winter. The dehumidifier that runs in the basement all summer died last fall. When the furnace failed some pipes in the house froze.
Today I called a plumber in South Dakota to fix the pipes. When I told him about the dehumidifier he said "O, I'll pick one up at Lowes and bring it when I fix the pipes."  How's that for service?
      Here's hoping you are all safe and sound!   A little spring poetry to brighten your day:

I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud

by William Wordsworth

I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:

Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:
I gazed—and gazed—but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,

They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.

Takk for alt,

Al

Another book bites the dust!

      Duh!!!  So, why did it take me many days to remember I have Kindle on my laptop, a Hennepin County Library membership and a back lighted computer screen. Reading after sunset is a breeze via laptop/Kindle. Well, whatever, my reading hours are extended and that's good.
     Having just finished another book that MJV sent me perhaps I should report on it. THE STORYTELLER'S SECRET, Segal Badani, is one of those "story worms" that will pop up in my mind for a long time to come. An American woman of Indian descent travels to India in search of  family's past and to know herself. She's a writer and discovers that her late grandmother was also a writer in a context that did not value her gift. MJV writes about it "The imagery of a storyteller and the lasting impact of stories and the desire to write down those stories is an appealing one....We are in many ways a compilation of our stories that affect us....The New York Journal of books notes: 'The Storyteller's Secret is lavishly told tale of secrets, love, and loyalty. It is a celebration of the beauty of story and its ability to help us be heard and understood.'"
    The book was educational, entertaining, inspiring and moving. Yes, I recommend it. It would be an excellent choice for a book club discussion.

     Often I've said "So many good books, so little time."   Now I just say "So many good books." 😊

Takk for alt,

Al

I'm grieving that when I go back to teach in Thailand it will not be in this funky, old, wooden building.

Such is life.

    Three weeks have passed quickly. When Lisa remarked that it was three weeks yesterday since I arrived at her abode I was surprised.  Time passes quickly which is a clue that I'm not bored.  Good eyesight, the love of reading and access to good books is a great gift. Day times I read by natural light and at night I turn to kindle. Currently I have three books going; a biography and two novels. As a junior in high school when our family got TV, I never learned how to watch it. Lisa doesn't have a TV which is fine with me. On the other hand, I do rely on the internet. The cell phone is also a blessing so I can connect with family and friends...and I do everyday.
     Living in a comfortable little cocoon, as I do, is surreal, as all about me large numbers of people are in dire straits. Tempted to plunge in and help I'm restrained by the reality that I'm helping by cocooning. Isn't that weird?  One of my friend's congregation does a monthly community meal. So, last night they gave out 180 meals to people who drove through their parking lot. It was a meal in a sack with a choice of chicken, ham or cheese sandwich, bag of carrots,  fruit cup, two homemade cookies, a bag of potato chips and a bottle of water. It was well advertised and given with no strings attached. Makes me happy just thinking about it.
    How are you faring?  There is so much for which I'm thankful. Of course I wonder about the future and how this will change things. Expecting an "end" is probably unrealistic.

Takk for alt,

Al

Easter view from the front door.

The view from my reading chair. Lisa has a green thumb.

"Love in...."

       "Love love love, that's what it's all about..." the lyrics of the song proclaim to a bouncy tune...phone me and I promise not to sing it for you.  Many of the humorous postings about the virus strike the theme of boredom. Confined to home, boredom may well be the plight of many.  Perhaps it is not the issue for parents trying to home school while also working from home. This is another of those situations in which "one size does not fit all."  (My box of  vinyl gloves says 'one size fits all' but then why do I have to struggle for minutes to pull one on?)
      The experience of sheltering at home is as varied as the persons who are doing it. Grace University Lutheran has extended the Lenten Daily Devotional into the Easter Season. Today's offering put a very helpful cast on this time of social distancing, and, does it with poetry.

Love in the time of Covid-19

When you go out

and see the empty streets,
the empty stadiums,
the empty train platforms,

don’t say to yourself: It looks like the end of the world.

What you’re seeing is Love in action.

What you’re seeing in that negative space
is how much we do care for each other.

For our grandparents,
For our immune-compromised brothers and sisters,
For people we will never meet.

People will lose their jobs over this,
Some will lose their businesses,
And some will lose their lives.

All the more reason to take a moment,

When you’re out on your walk,
Or on your way to the store,
Or just watching the news,

To look into the emptiness
and marvel at all that Love.

Let it fill you and sustain you.

It is not the end of the world.
It is the most remarkable act of global solidarity
We may ever witness.

(author unknown)

      Yes indeed "Love love love, that's what it's all about...."   With the care of distancing, leadership from helpful persons, dedication of health care personnel, the service of essential workers, etc. there is so much for which to be grateful.

Takk for alt,

Al

This random picture is for B.G.

The new school may be open when I return to Thailand.

On a lighter note!

     My email box has been the happy recipient (you didn't know that email boxes have feelings?) of jokes related ti COVID.  Like the mailbox, I too, have been glad to receive them. Seeing the funny side ameliorates the gloom of the dire news which assaults us daily. In that vein...which reminds me of the old pun about the red corpuscle who lived his life in vein...today's post is to entertain.
     Teaching in Thailand has heightened my awareness of  the idiomatic nature of much spoken English. The principle of my school likes to practice her English with me.  Idioms often creep into my speech and, of course, they take some explaining. Being no linguist  I have no idea how English compares to other languages in the use of figures of speech.
     Consider the following poem.
Two Poets

– or, why English is such a difficult language to learn –
by Julie Cadwallader Staub
 

Hey—we've been passing like ships in the night.
Can't we hang out together
and make beautiful music like we used to?

You must have lost your marbles, she says.
You need to turn on a dime
and step up to the plate
if we're going to make hay while the sun shines.

Wait a minute—you're putting the cart before the horse.
Let me cut to the chase.
We've been treading water, and all I'm trying to do
is move the ball down the field.

I know, she says, but you have to have
your oar in the water too.

Look, he says, you're my north star.
I know I missed a few beats, but
don't throw the baby out with the bath water.
I've turned over a new leaf.
I'm watching my p's and q's.
I'm dotting my i's and crossing my t's.

Now we're cooking with gas, she smiles.

I'm so relieved. I was afraid you had hung me out to dry.
If we can be like two peas in a pod again,
everything else will be icing on the cake.
 

“Two Poets” by Julie Cadwallader Staub from Wing Over Wing. Paraclete Press, © 2019. Used by permission of Paraclete Press in Brewster, Massachusetts.

  On this "lighter note" I suppose I can resume posting random pictures. 😃

Takk for alt,

Al

Chao Phraya River, Bangkok

 

Blessed Easter! Joanne Elizabeth (Hanson) Negstad, April 1, 1936-April 12, 2018.

      
            It's been snowing all day so it looks like Christmas this Easter of isolation.  Easter is bound up with Joanne, who was truly an Easter person.  Her final birthday was on Easter, April 1, 2018. Now it's Easter on April 12, the second anniversary of her death.  Plans to place flowers in church in her memory on this day fell victim to the pandemic. My thoughts of her are filled with memories of Easters we shared beginning in 1964 and ending in 2018. That final Easter/birthday was the last time she ate a meal at the table. She was strong enough to stay there for almost two hours, 12 days later she died. Today the presence of absence is acute.
         In the biography of Frederick Douglass, by David W. Blight, Douglass is quoted as saying "Memory is given to humanity for a purpose." P.  531.  That purpose has several facets such as helping us plot the future. It is also a gift for the bereaved as he/she treasures the life which was shared.  "No,you can't take that away from me.
        Even as a I make my way in the land of grief I'm struck by how blessed I am as I contemplate the suffering exacerbated by the pandemic.  When have so many suffered so much?   Warm, safe and fed, I count my blessings.

Takk for alt,

Al

PS.  Here is little historical context for us in the "new world," this excerpt is from an email from a friend in Norway.
"We also miss church, especially Norway Easter. It is first time in 1000 years that all churches have been closed for weeks here in Norway. That is for the history books!" 

"Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all."

  Likely this quote about love was originally about romantic love. However, it also applies in the context of the death of a loved one. Never have I regretted the investment in Joanne and our relationship. The regret is that death intervened.
   Once again poetry says it best.

'Tis a Fearful Thing

Tis a fearful thing
to love what death can touch.

A fearful thing
to love, to hope, to dream, to be –

to be,
And oh, to lose.

A thing for fools, this,

And a holy thing, a holy thing
to love.

For your life has lived in me,
your laugh once lifted me,
your word was gift to me.

To remember this brings painful joy.

‘Tis a human thing, love,
a holy thing, to love
what death has touched.”

Yehudah Halevi (c.1075–1141)


       Easter blessings to you. In the days ahead may the resurrection be in your experience.

Takk for alt,

Al

Good Friday!

    Joanne often remembered Good Fridays when she would accompany her father to churches where he would preach on each of the "seven last words." These services would last four hours. There was no complaint in her memory just recollection of time with father. My memory of those services is of people coming and going with few present for the full time.
    Later I experienced tenebrae services many in which I participated.  Usually they were quite dramatic and preaching was not the main focus. Lighting and candles created atmosphere. Heavy crosses were carried in some.
   This does not feel like Good Friday nor Holy Week.  Global pandemic is very Good Fridayish though, with suffering, death and an unpredictable future. Perhaps this virus will replicate the gloom of the first Good Friday and give us better preparation for appreciating Easter.  Yes, we certainly long for hope and new life. 
     I'll participate online tonight with Calvary Lutheran, S. Mpls., where both of my children have roles in the service. Here's hoping for you, deep Good Friday experience.

Takk for alt,

Al

Recommended Reading

     Norway has an exceptional literary tradition.  For a small country of 5.3m, it has great writers both past, think Ibsen and Hamsun, and present. think Per Pettersen and Roy Jacobson. Books published around the world are quickly translated into Norwegian. Once Joanne and I stopped a middle aged woman on the street in Norway to ask directions and when we asked her if she could speak English she replied "Of course."  So, many Norwegians could read English books with out translation.
     After re-reading, with delight, Norwegian, Roy Jacobson's The Unseen, I wondered what else he had written. His Child Wonder was copyrighted in 2009, and I found it a great read. It's a very child-centric book narrated by the child protagonist.  Jacobson has a writing style that intimates and lets the reader supply details and fill in the blanks...very effective.
      Child Wonder, very aptly named, slides along as a very pleasant story until the conclusion startles while illuminating much of what has preceded.  Here's hoping that Jacobson continues to write. As, is true of The Unseen, family dynamics are much in play...'family systems' anyone?


Takk for alt,

Al
   

In front of Ingedal church in southern Norway.

This day in history.

     It was the spring that would never come and our first living near the Canadian border, where North Dakota, Saskatchewan and Manitoba meet. It was also a winter of exceptional snowfall. In March my father died and I remember seeing all the windbreaks drifted full of snow, as I flew North Central Airlines home for the funeral. April came and still no thaw as we wondered about our new home in North Dakota.
   Our small town, Mohall, had it's own 22 bed hospital and the town was also the Renville County seat. On April 9, I drove Joanne the 8 blocks to the hospital and a few hours later Lars Allan was born. He had a good start at 10 lbs. and 24 inches.  As the only baby in the nursery he was the object of some attention, delivered by Dr. Walter Gokavi, who permitted me to be present at birth with this admonition, "If you faint you're on your own because I will be occupied."   (I didn't faint.)
    Five days later, when mother and son came home, all the snow was gone.  The temperature had soared to 80 degrees so with the rapid snow melt most of the county bridges were also gone. The city of Minot, through which the Mouse River flows, suffered severe flooding.
     Now I'm fortunate to have him living, with his wife and two daughters, near me in South Minneapolis. Before his move to Minneapolis he'd lived in Ohio, Norway, New York City, Cambodia, Austria, Washington, D.C., and last in Chicago.  When I was working to help establish the organization now known as ISAIAH, I never imagined that he'd one day work for it.
     It's a great blessing to have him, with his family near me, as is my daughter, Lisa, with whom I'm staying.

Takk for alt,

Al

Lars with his daughter, Sella.

Community!

"Our country is in trouble and it lacks coherent leadership and this obligates us to extend ourselves to each other. Love your neighbor. Gather your family close. Prepare for hard times ahead. Pledge allegiance to each other. This country is so much better than it appears these days. Now is the time to come to its aid, before it sinks."  Garrison Keillor. 

    As the second anniversary of Joanne's death approaches I'm reminded by Keillor's words of how important community was to me as I struggled to regain my footing after she died. The communities I counted in Norway, Thailand, Iowa, North Dakota, South Dakota, Wisconsin, scattered other place around America and closer to home in my neighborhood and my church, made up of  family and friends, bolstered me through the darkest days of grief.
   Once again these communities are present for me as we live in the reality of COVID-19.  These relationships are not only personal but the bulwark for restoring our civic life.  What was that old ad? "Reach out and touch someone today."

Takk for alt,

Al
    

Two weeks and.........

     Routine is a comfort to me. Life seems best when it is organized around regular routines. Now that I've lived here with Lisa for two weeks patterns have emerged.  Up between 6:00 and 7:00, Tyrgve and I circumnavigate the perimeter of St. Mary's Cemetery for a walk of a mile plus. Breakfast follows, then coffee with Minneapolis and Washington Post Papers.  This brings me to my daily vacuuming chores.  Reading time follows, currently a biography and a novel alternatively. A couple of telephone chats with family or friends, additional walks with Trygve brings me to dinner which Lisa and I share. If she's available in the evening we often play cards...she's teaching me cribbage.  So goes my days.  Bored? Not yet, anyway.  Good food, companionship, exercise with Trygve, good books, conversations with family and friends, sleeping well, good health...yes. I am richly blessed.
     So, as we wait out this pandemic, are you finding a rhythm to your days?  Do you consume all the news you can, or do  you selectively choose?  The former is my style primarily using the local paper and online sources such as The Washington Post, Huffington Post and The Economist, both print and online.
    I have an equanimity that both surprises and puzzles me, but, for which I am grateful. "Who me worry?" 😀

Takk for alt,

Al

Mystery!

      After Joanne's death two years ago I found that religious talk about her death was only marginally helpful. Too often certainties were offered for realities we could only hope. What I found helpful was the concern of the persons talking even if their words bounced off me.  
      Fools postulate that COVID-19 is God's punishment for some specific sin, which of course, always conforms to their prejudice. If it is punishment it's not "for our sins but by our sins" ala Richard Rohr.  The sin being our lack of preparedness.
     In an essay in Journey with Jesus, Debie Thomas writes:
"Over these past few weeks, we have seen Death magnified, Death exceeding all boundaries we try to impose on it.  Can we rest in our shiny religious certainties any longer, given the scope of these losses? Maybe we need mystery right now — mystery commensurate to a planet reeling in loss.  Angels in murky places. A stranger’s voice, revealing the divine. Transformations both inexplicable and uncontainable.  Maybe we need God, who dwells in light so bright and so unapproachable, he covers us in merciful darkness to protect our fragile sight."


"Can we rest in our shiny religious certainties any longer, given the scope of these losses?" 

      Debie's quite right..."we need mystery now..."  It was mystery that shrouded the meaning of Joanne's death. Mystery shrouds the experience of COVID-19. Who will it take? What's the aftermath?  Will worship of 401Ks be altered?  "Shiny religious certainties" don't hold up well to pandemics.
      We live by promise.

Takk for alt,

Al
   

What's the promise?

    The Biblical story of  the Exodus is full of miracle. There's Moses at the burning bush. How many plagues did Moses call down on Pharaoh?  Then there is the ultimate rescue in the parting of the sea. In the wilderness there is the manna and the flight of quail landing in the camp.  Those are all wonderful  pyrotechnics, a great show of dramatic proportions. But, they are not what give the story its energy.
     Exodus belonged to a small band of Hebrew slaves. Much later Christians claimed it as their story, sometimes while acting much more like Pharaoh than persecuted Hebrews. Think of all the slave owners going to church imagining themselves as the exiles even as they kept their slaves in bondage.  But, what is it about the story that captures the imagination in a way that makes very different groups appropriate it as their own?
      It is the promise that Egypt is not the end of their story, that there is future for them beyond slavery, that led the Hebrews forth. That radical hope propelled them forward. Others reading their story put themselves figuratively in their place and find promise that gives hope and thus energizes them to action.
     Confronted with the extraordinary pandemic we face, with out hope, despair looms. Therefore, the question which confronts us is "what is the promise that can give us hope" in this situation, so we might find energy for the march?  Survival? that's pretty thin fare, isn't it?  What's a light on the horizon that gives meaning to our current predicament?  What has this pandemic taught us that, if we survive, will lead us to deeper, richer living? 
       When we answer that question then will come the resilience needed to thrive in the morass in which we find ourselves. How can we envision a future that gives energy similar to that of slaves marching toward freedom?   Your answer?

Takk for alt,

Al

Time to lament!

      Perhaps few of us doing daily Bible reading begin with the book of Lamentations. Maybe it's time. Perez' article on grief last night appeared to resonate with many readers. She's "new" to me and serves as chaplain at Muhlenberg College.  Below is another article from her. Some days ago I published Sam's lament on not being able to gather. Perez again is on target with her reflections on lament.

by Kristen Glass Perez

The word lament can be used as a verb (to express sorrow, mourning, or regret) or a noun (wailing, crying out in grief).

In the Hebrew Bible, the book of Lamentations is made up of five poems that express grief over the destruction of Jerusalem and exile of the people in 586 B.C. (The Harper Collins Study Bible, by Lemke. Lamentations (1: 1-3; 4).

The destruction is described in 2 Kings 25:8-21:

“So the city was besieged until the eleventh year of King Zedekiah. On the ninth day of the fourth month the famine became so severe in the city that there was no food for the people of the land.” (vs 3-4)

Warner E. Lemke writes, “Lamentations is a unique literary composition addressed to the survivors of the destruction of Jerusalem and designed to help them come to terms with the realities and implications of that catastrophic experience. It has been suggested…that these poems were used in public rites of mourning.”

In 2020, we are again in a time of public mourning where we find ourselves navigating new identities and new ways of being. The coronavirus (COVID-19) global health crisis has forced us to reconcile many things that we thought were stationary: borders, jobs, symptoms of illness, essential employees, access to medical supplies and resources for help and comfort.

Physical and social distancing takes a toll on our bodies, minds, and spirits. The Biblical tradition of lament does not jump to easy answers but rather lets us sit deeply in the shock and awe of upheaval. It is a necessary part of the collective grief process. 

A lament for coronavirus (COVID-19):

A reading from the book of Lamentations (1: 1-3; 4)

How lonely sits the city
that once was full of people!
How like a widow she has
become,
she that was great among the nations!
She that was a princess among
the provinces
has become a vassal.
She weeps bitterly in the night,
with tears on her cheeks;
among all her lovers
she has no one to comfort her;
all her friends have dealt
treacherously with her,
they have become her enemies.
The roads to Zion mourn,
for no one comes to the festivals;
all her gates are desolate,
her priests groan;
her young girls grieve,
and her lot is bitter.

     In his biography of Frederick Douglass, in commenting on the Civil War, (the War Between the States, the war to end slavery,) David Blight writes "War possesses an awful logic and causes a psychic drama like few other human experiences."  P. 359   He is correct.
    A viral pandemic also "possesses an awful logic and causes a psychic drama like few other human experiences."  It's interesting to contemplate life after the pandemic when there is no guarantee that we will be among the survivors.  What's the logic when a 106 year old man survives while young, middle aged and elderly succumb?  Lament indeed! 
"for no one comes to the festivals;
all her gates are desolate,
her priests groan;
her young girls grieve,
and her lot is bitter."

    Grief is to be lived through and lament is a way of doing that.

Takk for alt,

Al