Who Does She Think She Is?
March 20, 2011 Leave a comment
Walking around on Resurrection ground
March 19, 2011 Leave a comment
Obama: a muddled-mess; a Niebuhr-ian flip-flopper; a John Cage-ian adopter of chance procedures; a point neither here nor there.
The score calls for a PRESIDENT–
a man Sostenuto,
a Well-Tempered Clavier –
not a free-floating theological realist, not a pointilist nor a tempo rubato self-centered-ess and certainly not 4’33”.
March 19, 2011 Leave a comment
Marriage is disarming. The every day volatility is alarming and yet reassuring. The refuge and prestige are comforting. We are one and two together. And, that seems to be enough.
Let’s examine. I am woman. He, a man. We submit to each other for the purpose of refuge and prestige, under vow of love. Therein, embrace and endurance, capital “T” “tedium” and lower case “me“.
“We” – pronoun of the first person plural (compare I, our, ours, us).
“We” falters. “We” begins again. “We” starts. “We” stops. “We” meanders. “We” relishes and defines and redefines. “We” supposes and deposes. “We” questions and answers. “We” finalizes and leaves open-ended.
‘We” is progenitor, a community of life and the recipient of sacramental blessing.
“We”, together, each and the other. Forever.
********
Here’s a look at one marriage from a passage of Samuel Beckett’s novel Malone Dies:
The man’s name is Saposcat. Like his father’s. Christian name? I don’t know. He will not need one. His friends call him Sapo. What friends? I don’t know. A few words about the boy.
This cannot be avoided. …
…He was the eldest child of poor and sickly parents. He often heard them talk of what they ought to do in order to have better health and more money. He was struck each time by the vague-ness of these palavers and not surprised that they never led to anything. His father was a salesman, in a shop. He used to say to his wife, I really must find work for the evenings and the Saturday afternoon. He added, faintly, And the Sunday. His wife would answer, But if you do any more work you’ll fall ill. And Mr. Saposcat had to allow that he would indeed be ill- advised to forego his Sunday rest. These people at least are grown up. But his health was not so poor that he could not work in the evenings of the week and on the Saturday afternoon. At what, said his wife, work at what? Perhaps secretarial work of some kind, he said. And who will look after the garden? said his wife. The life of the Saposcats was full of axioms, of which one at least established the criminal absurdity of a garden without roses and with its paths and lawns uncared for. I might perhaps grow vegetables, he said. They cost less to buy, said his wife. Sapo marvelled at these conversations. Think of the price of manure, said his mother. And in the silence which followed Mr. Saposcat applied his mind, with the earnestness he brought to everything he did, to the high price of manure which prevented him from supporting his family in greater comfort, while his wife made ready to accuse herself, in her turn, of not doing all she might. But she was easily persuaded that she could not do more without exposing herself to the risk of dying before her time. Think of the doctor’s fees we save, said Mr. Saposcat. And the chemist’s bills, said his wife. Nothing remained but to envisage a smaller house. But we are cramped as it is, said Mrs. Saposcat. And it was an understood thing that they would be more and more so with every passing year until the
day came when, the departure of the first-born compensating the arrival of the new-born, a kind of equilibrium would be attained. Then little by little the house would empty. And at
last they would be all alone, with their memories. It would be time enough then to move.
He would be pensioned off, she at her last gasp. They would take a cottage in the country where, having no further need of manure, they could afford to buy it in cartloads. And their children, grateful for the sacrifices made on their behalf, would come to their assistance. It was in this atmosphere of unbridled dream that these conferences usually ended. It was as though the Saposcats drew the strength to live from the prospect of their impotence. But sometimes, before reaching that stage, they paused to consider the case of their first-born. What age is he now? asked Mr. Saposcat. His wife provided the information, it being understood that this was of her province. She was always wrong. Mr. Saposcat took over
the erroneous figure, murmuring it over and over to himself as though it were a question of the rise in price of some indispensable commodity, such as butcher’s meat. And at the same time he sought in the appearance of his son some alleviation of what he had just heard. Was it at least a nice sirloin? Sapo looked at his father’s face, sad, astonished, loving, disappointed, confident in spite of all. Was it on the cruel flight of the years he brooded, or on the time it was taking his son to command a salary? Sometimes he stated wearily his regret that his son should not be more eager to make himself useful about the place. It is better for him to prepare his examinations, said his wife. Starting from a given theme their minds laboured in unison. They had no conversation properly speaking. They made use of the spoken word in much the same way as the guard of a train makes use of his flags, or of his lantern. Or else they said, This is where we get down. And their son once signalled, they wondered sadly if it was not the mark of superior minds to fail miserably at the written paper and cover themselves with ridicule at the viva voce. They were not always content to gape in silence at the same landcape. At least his health is good, said Mr. Saposcat. Not all that, said his wife. But no definite disease, said Mr. Saposcat. A nice thing that would be, at his age, said his wife. They did not know why he was committed to a liberal profession. That was yet another thing that went without saying. It was therefore impossible he should be unfitted for it. They thought of him as a doctor for preference. He will look after us when we are old, said Mrs. Saposcat. And her husband replied, I see him rather as a surgeon, as though after a certain age people were inoperable.
March 19, 2011 Leave a comment
Fast forward Spring-
New batteries point clock hands
Hope needs rewinding.
© Sally Paradise, 2011, All Rights Reserved
March 18, 2011 Leave a comment
Buy it or not: I was caught off guard this morning when I happened to see a TV commercial for a baby food blender. The target audience for this product, I assumed, was mothers with newborns. Or, was it?
The ad was for the Baby Bullet – a small food blender in the shape of a…bullet?! Whoa, that gives you pause! Maybe this ad is a subliminal message from the NRA: imagine a happy baby eating his pulverized greens as they are being spooned out of the smiley-faced bullet shaped container. No wonder there are so many gun loving Americans! Someone, please tell Mayor Daley!
Now, I would definitely call this product something besides the Baby Bullet. And not Baby Blender, either.
Name suggestions: the Mason Jar-Like Juxtaposer or Baby’s Busy-As-A-Bee Blender or Newborn’s Highfalutin’ Incredible Meal Mulcher.
Bullseye!
March 16, 2011 Leave a comment
Every now and then I channel surf the TV for something viewable. I am looking for something to watch that doesn’t contain guns, good/bad guys, crime scenes, sitcom-‘ick’ silliness, ER rooms, people walking and talking through scenes from one room to the next speaking to each other with ‘edgy’ dialog or Real Housewives from any geographic area in and around New Jersey, Atlanta, and LA. Sometimes, out of the surf, comes the Bill Gaither Homecoming Friends musical program.
I love this program. It is a gathering of the best gospel singers imaginable. I enjoy the close harmonies and the spirit with which they sing. The music, besides giving glory to God, takes the viewer back to those days of first love in Christ. There is a lot of toe-tapping music (“Turn Your Radio On”) and slow lush ballads (”Jesus There’s Something About That Name”). The music reminds me of a special time in my life.
Many years ago I was an education/music student at Moody Bible Institute. I played the trumpet in the early days of Moody’s newly formed concert band under the musical director Gerry Edmonds. Often during those busy school days the music director would get an ‘outside’ request for musicians. As a trumpet player I would be asked to play for weddings, church gatherings and concerts. Sometimes we were asked to play for popular musicians. On one occasion two of us lead trumpets were asked to supply some brass at a couple of local concerts. We accepted the offer to play with Bill & Gloria (& Danny) Gaither.
The first Gaither concert was held in a Merrillville, Indiana auditorium and the other, in a local Chicago area auditorium.
On stage before the concert we met with Bill, Gloria and Danny Gaither. (Danny was singing with the group in those days.) Before we prayed together, we talked about the line-up of songs. Bill wanted our horns to let loose during the playing of “The King Is Coming” and “Because he Lives.” Our clarion horns were definitely heard by all.
I was thrilled to be a part of these concerts. The finale, “The King Is Coming”, lifted the roof off of the house, as they say.
I thought I saw a white horse and a Rider descend at the sound of the trumpets.
March 12, 2011 Leave a comment
For several years now I have lived as woman. And, riding the commuter to Chicago and back I now and then see people who had seen me while I was transitioning. That time of my life was not a pretty sight. When I do recall it the title of a movie comes to mind: The Phantom of the Opera. Well, as it happens, currently there is one guy who rides the same train and he had seen me back in those days. This guy reminds his commuter friends about “what” I am.
Every week day on the 5:04, he and his friends stand in the train’s vestibule drinking beer. When he sees me he points me out with derision to his beer buddies. I am extremely tired of his jejune behavior. I consider him in the same category as those people who make the snide mocking comment “Well, what did you think.” when I relate to them that some of the people closest to me deride me in their own deprecating ways. Now, I don’t live to be noticed and certainly not in a denigrating way. What part of me don’t you understand?
Some things play out differently. This happened last night.
My week at work finished up nicely. I had completed my projects on time and I didn’t have to bring work home with me. Last weekend, I had worked tons of overtime. But last night I was ready for some time off, for some time to kick back.
At the end of day, I left my desk and got on the elevator. There was a man standing at the rear of the elevator. The elevator doors closed and the man then proceeded to pick his nose from the 24th floor to the first floor. Gross! (But, uncannily, I was reminded what a good friend once told me: “You can pick your friends and you can pick your nose, but you can’t pick you friend’s nose!”) Fortunately, I walked away unscathed. lulz.
Off the elevator, I walk over to the train. I get on the train and sit down. Soon, a man who smells like he has bathed in urine sits down near me. Then, another man nearby (probably an attorney) is excitedly making sure his law partner (on the phone) understands how things should be handled. I can hear every word. It’s a type “A” conversation. Sadly, these annoyances during the train ride’s lock down are common place on the commuter, but they don’t usually gang up on me.
After an hour and ten excruciatingly long minutes I get off the train and head for a local restaurant I favor. It is a seafood restaurant (not Red Lobster). I am hoping that Jambalaya is on the menu. I had tried their version (w/mussels) on Fat Tuesday. It was superb.
I sit down at the bar and order a Stella. The bartender who served me on my last visit greets me and says, “Nice to see you.” I smile and think, “Nice to be seen”.
The bartender hands me the menu after he reads the Specials to me. I am only interested in the Jambalaya. The chicken and seafood gumbo on the menu would be an acceptable default finisher in the event of a Jambalaya no-show. But, my food thoughts were interrupted. Someone sat down next to me and said “Hi”.
Glancing sideways, barely looking at this guy, I return his greeting. Immediately I realize that it is my old business partner D-. Eeyow!
I began sipping my beer and digging through my purse trying to find my cell phone. I needed diversion!
At this point, I am desperate, anxiously looking for the bartender so that I could order food To Go. I want to get out of the stew I’m in. My bartender, though, is down at the end of a rather long bar. He’s creating frou-frou drinks. So, I began quickly swigging my beer while going through the menu on my cell phone. I check out the Emoticons.
Now, I had known D-. for a long time. D-. reminds me of Alec Baldwin’s Blake in David Mamet’s film version of Glengarry Glen Ross. He is completely self-possessed, obnoxious and arrogant. He could quickly become vulgar and he would verbally abuse you if you get on his wrong side. I know. I worked with him for sixteen years and I was a business partner with him for fourteen years. That was until the day I decided I had had enough. I had enough of him and his angry, demeaning ways.
As a partner with D-. in an S corporation I received a six figure income and plenty of perks including a company car. But I also had an incredible work load. I was the VP of Engineering for our small corporation (roughly $17-20m/yr in sales) and I was on call 24/7.
In those days customers were given my cell phone number to call if there ever was a problem. If the machine we had provided a customer had an issue, the customer would call me. Beyond this, I was flying to different parts of the world such as Poland, South Korea, Saudi Arabia, Mexico, most of the Canadian provinces and almost all of the States to provide support for the equipment we sold. I, in fact, had designed and built major portions of our corporation: I set up the accounting and the computer network and CAD stations, I designed the electrical engineering portion for the equipment we manufactured including the schematics and wiring design. I programmed P.L.C.s and SCADA systems. I managed a group of engineers (16) and dozens of customers. I welded, painted and wired machines. But, this wasn’t good enough for D. Somehow I was lacking in his eyes and this lack usually happened when the bottom line of the P & L took a hit and this due to a stagnant economy. It was then that D-. would often turn his verbal rants onto me.
Now, because I was married at the time of my business relationship, my relationships outside of work suffered: I was either on the phone with a customer or gone somewhere with a customer or simply brain dead after receiving the brunt of D-.’s economic panic attacks. After fourteen years of this I needed out. I didn’t care about the money or perks. I needed relief. So, I gave my notice.
After my decision, D-. came to my house begging me to stay on. I refused. I had had enough. I cut my ties with him and his abuse and the excessive workload strapped to my back. It took months to return to close to an even keel. (The sad irony for me: I had the exact same marital relationship as my business relationship with D. After leaving the egregious business situation for my spouse and kids (and for myself) and being out of work for some time, my spouse decides to separate and later divorce me. Even though I did everything for this person except bear children it still wasn’t enough. During our own tough economic times, the bottom line of our marriage P & L was written in red ink, in my spouse’s view.)
Well last night D-. was sitting next to me, nine years after my divorce from the partnership. I don’t know if he knew that I had re-gendered after my own divorce. He didn’t recognize me, it appeared. But, just in case, I turned and faced the entrance to the restaurant hoping to see a phantom friend enter the door.
The bartender never came back. I halted a passing waitress and told her that I needed to pay and go. She took the money, gave me the change and I was out the door. Whew!
I didn’t get the Jambalaya I wanted so badly. It wasn’t on the menu. And, I didn’t want to stick around for the seafood gumbo. I sought food elsewhere (fish and chips to be exact) at the local Irish pub. A Green solution!
Presently, I have a job I love and a quiet, peaceful life. My loved ones still avoid, ignore and shun me because of my re-gendering and because I have left over anger from the whole terrible time of the business and the marriage. I am still recovering.
I hope to never, ever see D-. again. I became nauseous while he was sitting next to me last night. I certainly wouldn’t accept any payment to be around him, as before. I would, though, buy everyone at the pub a beer. A Green solution, all around!
© Sally Paradise, 2011, All Rights Reserved
March 10, 2011 3 Comments
2011. Last night I received the external mark of penitence with the imposition of ashes: the sign of the cross placed on my forehead. I was reminded: “Dust you are and to dust you shall return” (Genesis 3:19).
After the imposition of the ashes our congregation knelt and we confessed sin. The rector then spoke over us forgiveness and absolution from sin. We then celebrated the Great Feast of Thanksgiving. I received the Eucharist and returned to my seat.
While others in the congregation went forward to receive the Eucharist, the choir and congregation sang hymns and choruses. It was during this time that the organ began to play “Just As I Am”. Immediately I recalled the Greater Chicago Billy Graham Crusade I had attended in 1971.
The Crusade took place in Chicago’s huge convention center, McCormick Place. The convention center at that time was the largest indoor arena in the United States. Over 18,000 people gathered for the event held during May & June of 1971.
With other members of my church, I attended the crusade as a counselor. This crusade was an event I will never forget: massive crowds of people, thousands of voices singing, Cliff Barrows leading songs, George Beverly Shea singing solos, the Crusade Choir singing How Great Thou Art and of course, the preaching of Billy Graham. At seventeen years old, I was awe struck. I had never seen so many people come together for Christ. It was foretaste of heaven for me.
Around that time, many of my friends and I were involved in the Jesus People movement in the Chicago area. Our simple message during the crusade: “One Way” and “Tell Billy Graham: ‘The Jesus People love him.”
At the end of Billy’s message, an invitation was given to come forward. The choir began to sing Just As I Am. Hundreds of people then came forward to receive the Lord into their hearts. There were people of all races and walks of life. Billy would say to the crowd, “The ground is level at the foot of the cross.”
As one of many prayer counselors, I talked and prayed with those who came forward to receive Christ. Many decisions for Christ were made that day. Many lives were forever changed that day. I was changed by the power of the Gospel.
The Good News of Jesus Christ, “the Jesus Revolution”, is at work in me now, just as I am – dust.
Just as I am, without one plea, but that thy blood was shed for me, and that thou bidst me come to thee, O Lamb of God, I come, I come. Just as I am, and waiting not to rid my soul of one dark blot, to thee whose blood can cleanse each spot, O Lamb of God, I come, I come. Just as I am, though tossed about with many a conflict, many a doubt, fightings and fears within, without, O Lamb of God, I come, I come. Just as I am, poor, wretched, blind; sight, riches, healing of the mind, yea, all I need in thee to find, O Lamb of God, I come, I come. Just as I am, thou wilt receive, wilt welcome, pardon, cleanse, relieve; because thy promise I believe, O Lamb of God, I come, I come. Just as I am, thy love unknown hath broken every barrier down; now, to be thine, yea thine alone, O Lamb of God, I come, I come. - Charlotte Elliott
March 8, 2011 Leave a comment
Whirring FFWD>>
Oxide-coated plastic tape,
Acceleration, No!
Snap! STOP[]
REC this,
PLAY that,
PAUSE ||
PLAY this,
REC that,
<REV-FWD>
Reel-to-reel
And, back again.
© Sally Paradise, 2011, All Rights Reserved