After an evening on the Bay

In the Lansing Airport, Overnight

I'm on my way to Boston to conduct a Memorial Service for Laura Ross, an old-time radical comrade and long-time friend who supported me in my career as a cultural worker and in my decision to go to seminary and become a minister. The service is sponsored by the Communist Party and the Center for Marxist Education, two institutions which were built and supported by Laura over many years, and will be held at the Community Church of Boston where I was the minister from 1998 to 2005. I am looking forward to being with old political friends even as I am beginning to feel my sadness at Laura's death more acutely.

I need to get back to Flint to be able to conduct our Sunday service, and the onlyway I can do that (and conduct the Memorial Service) is to fly into Detroit Metro Airport on Saturday night at 11:30, and then drive home. But the only way I can afford the trip without a Saturday night stay over is to fly this crazy route I was able to book: to fly from Lansing to O'Hare and to Providence, and then to fly back from Providence to Washington, DC and then to Detroit Metro. So the trick is to get between Lansing and Detroit . . .

I discovered there is a shuttle between Metro and East Lansing, and so I drove to Detroit and caught the shuttle. I was pleased to park on the "Blue Ramp" which is connected to the Smith Terminal by a crossover bridge. But the work in the Blue Ramp is not quite finished, and there are no directions for getting to the Terminal, so I found myself on the telephone with the Michigan Flyer people trying to get help finding the shuttle bus. The walk from where I parked to the terminal was far longer than I ever imagined, and even when I saw the bus from the crossover bridge, I had a hard time figuring out how to get downstairs to the street.

Thankfully, the driver called me to walk me through those last few minutes, and the bus ride was very pleasant. As there were only four of us on the bus, and as we were all going to East Lansing, we didn't stop in Jackson or Ann Arbor and arrived early.

In East Lansing, I took a minute to get dinner (at Big Ten Burrito) and then took a cab to the airport. The cab driver was a young Cuban man named Pedro, and we had a fun time talking about Cuba and the punitive travel restrictions on Cuban families. He also shared some thoughts about his church, and tithing, and his desire to prosper in this country. It was a pleasant ride that I thoroughly enjoyed.

At the airport, I found a corner in which to sit, and slouch, and eventually fall asleep for a few hours. I was the first person in line at 5:00 a.m. when the ticket window opened, and had a quick bite to eat when the little cafe upstairs opened a few minutes after 5. Boarded the short trip to Chicago at 5:40, and caught naps throughout the rest of the morning.

My mom picked me up in at the Providence Airport (in Warwick) and took me home to Riverside. Now I'm going to catch a nap.

About the sunrise . . . I flew out of Lansing in the dark, and then saw the sun rise in Chicago at about 6:40 a.m., a time that would be "normal" in my East Coast experience. (Sunrise in Flint was at 7:20-something.) It felt great! Except that I was so shot from sleeping in the airport.

Great day.

FACT Federated Training

Finally, after many months of planning, we've held a first "federated" training session for Flint Area Congregations Together.

Other Michigan Institutions

Last Saturday, I was honored to celebrate the wedding of April Smith and John Rummel in Detroit. They chose the Swords into Plowshares Gallery and Peace Center (at Central United Methodist Church) on Adams Street, facing Grand Circus Park, as the site of the wedding. It was a simple and beautiful setting, especially given the gorgeous day--sunny, bright, with a gentle breeze.

The Gallery is a smallish room with great high ceilings in the front with am open set of stairs in the back leading to a mezzanine above with a library below, April made her entrance down the flights of stairs to meet John who was standing among a series of statuary stands with bouquets of pink to purple to off-white flowers. Family members played the piano and read poetry, and the morning bore well the personalities and public interests of these two radicals, a morning of class solidarity and desire for individual fulfillment and collective aspirations for peace . . .

Serendipitously, a piece of public art for peace was opening on Grand Circus Park just after the wedding. The Arlington Midwest installation is a series of over four thousand tombstones representing the United States service personnel killed in the invasion and occupation of Iraq and Afghanistan.

(Hmm. Somehow this blog has been corrupted. I'll try to restore the rest of it soon)John and April's wedding, at Swords into Plowshares Gallery.

Arlington Midwest installation.

Michigan Renaissance Festival.

Somehow this post (and others) got corrupted. Hmm. I'll re-load when I'm back in Flint.

Coming Up for Air

It has been a challenging week, with a full time of interaction with the "Truth in Translation" production from South Africa and then some turmoil at the church. It is also just a busy time of year, this "start up" season, and I have had a wedding or a funeral a week every week this month, which, added to everything else, has been exhausting.

I have incomplete posts waiting to be published. I've gained five pounds since August 4. And I haven't found the time to go through my library to find the books I want to donate to the book sale . . .

Still . . .

Mornings have been beautiful these past few days, and sunrise is getting later and later in the day. 7:19 this morning! When middle school kids are starting at 7:20 or so!

Autumn will soon be here. I harvested my dill weed crop the other evening for a salmon and rice dinner. Barely a teaspoon of dill--what happened? The area at the edge of the driveway that I set aside for herbs was not aparticularly fertile, but I added topsoil and compost )and some manure, as I recall). The herbs I planted that I has started early in doors virtually disappeared in the spring rains (fennel in starter pots, and clumps of thyme). I put in a butterfly bush at the back of the herb "patch," and it grew a few inches all around, and seems to have "set in." (I hope it will flower next year.) The dill I planted directly into the newly enriched bed sprouted quickly but never really "took root."

My hope is that, by planting seed only directly into the herb garden next year, and after adding some composty nutrients, that next year might offer some great weed. (Note twinkle in eye.)

The whole Idea behind planting twenty square feet of dill was to have a pile of it ready for a crayfish eating party in August. Somehow that didn't materialize this year. (Hell, I didn't use my Mojito mix until a few days ago. Where did the summer go?) Next summer I'll reconnect with "being Swedish" with my summer foods and fetes.

The trees are beginning to turn. I need to cut the grass before the sycamore starts to do her wild work of covering the back yard with enormous leaves and fragments of bark. I want to neaten things up, put on a winter fertilizer, and fill in some empty patches as the warmest days end.

I'm making some choices regarding evergreens that are coming out around the lilacs that I planted last fall; clearing a way for a clump of river birch in another corner; preparing to add a couple of inches of humus and topsoil to the shade garden, after the killing frost; and trying to cut back on some of the plants that are taking over the edges of the yard (between my house and the empty houses which abut my yard).

The sun just peeked above the garage, yellow and cool. A long yellow strand appears in the shadows the othe yard next door, brightening the needles of the sad evergreen that stands between me and the kennel next door. The sound of highways in the distance is steady, enveloping this end of Flint. My stomach growls.

A car drives by.

Good morning.

Smiling and Satisfied

Okay, I promise that this is not a smarmy post-sex post. But I am sitting here smiling and deeply satisfied about weekend activities that left me totally exhausted.

On Saturday, I had an all-day-and-into-the-night work "day." A training session for volunteers who make our Sunday morning possible (greeters, ushers, worship associates, office and kitchen volunteers and sound technicians) brought 37 people out. That's over a third of our active members. What a joy! We shared thoughts about what we have been able to accomplish with one another; we found places where we weren't sufficiently communicating with one another; we tried to imagine being more consistenly a welcoming place for newcomers. I think we shared some positive ideas and hope that we are finding a way to work together better.

Then I worked on preparation for the Sunday service. We had our Ingathering to mark the start of the program year. I arranged the Sanctuary chairs into as big a circle as the room could hold, and tried to make it so that no one would attempt to sit in a second row. (Failed at that one, by the way.) Got a large plastic washtub, perched on top of a box, in the center of the room, ready to take water brought by attendees from the many places our families have visitied this summer. Then went to Bordine's Nursery in Grand Blanc township to find some plants on-sale to surround the tub. I was expecting mums, of course, and got them. But also found a nice looking flowering plum (bushy, not in flower, but with pretty purple leaves) and a green and yellow Jacob's Ladder. Brought those back to the church in time to greet the leaders of our Youth Group who were setting up for an overnight lock-in of teenagers. Then met with Pia Broden-Williams, our Music Director, to cement the music for Sunday's service. Then made corrections to the Sunday bulletin . . .

You can imagine that I was pretty wiped by midnight, when I got to bed.

At 5:30, I decided to sleep in a little (choosing not to write) and re-set the clock for 7:00 a.m., when I'd see the glow of sunrise, and be thoughtful for a few minutes before showering and dressing and getting to church to have breakfast with the teens and to cut a CD of special music for the Sunday service.

Our Ingathering was as rich as it ever is. I was touched to hear the simple stories some of us shared; to note the connections people made to each other; to laugh when one member sought the aid of another in pouring a half dozen containers of water from many places; to see the "more than water" sharing of a seashell, or a photograph; to encourage the children to note well what was poured into the common receptacle, and to marvel when little candles were floated on the surface of the water to symbolize our prayers.

Amy Derrick, our Director of Lifespan Learning, carried the theological weight of the morning in reading the story, "Water Dance," and then talking about how water is such a potent symbol for many religious traditions. While her story was directed to our children, it was the message for us all, and I delighted to see this very-pregnant and very-vibrant young woman showing intellectual leadership of the community.

Pia Broden-Williams, our Music Director, sang "Come Down, Angels" and led us in our opening song "Come, Come Whoever You Are," during which I led the spiral dance, and the closing "Bashanah haba'a," which we sing as "Soon the Day Will Arrive." Pia was raised in an African Hebraic home, and marks the Jewish Days of Awe, and added a soaring descant in the last chorus, when she and I switched over to Hebrew for a few lines, and sped the tempo up just a bit. (Thank you Jennifer Howard at the piano!)

A group of our children took the water tub out to our Memorial Garden and poured a libation at its portal and then poured the remaining water on many of the trees and plants in thememorial garden. We started with the double white birch which is planted by the ashes of John Straw's parents (his grandsome Chris and Leonard helped) and then it was up to the children's inspired play that the rest of the water was poured. And then, of course, the tub was abandoned, as was I . . .

Our monthly "pot luck" luncheon was full of tomatoes, and good spirits; plenty of interaction among people about activities in the church and in our lives. I shared coffee and a little fruit, and stopped for a moment to discover that a 5:30 meeting I was expecting to attend had been moved to another time. I checked things in the Sanctuary, made sure my study was locked up, and left to go home to fall asleep on the day bed upstairs.

I did stop to check in on Lucy Mercier and her boys (Linda Campbell, who had been up all night with the teenagers had gone to bed), and was pleased to be offered a little oven roasted chicken and some potato salad as the boys ate McDonald's. Jennifer Howard stopped by, too, and Lucy and I made arrangements for our weekly Minister and Moderator meeting . . . and then, finally, I went home.

I woke up at 5 or so, considered, for a minute or two, getting up and cutting the grass. But I let that pass, and allowed myself as much sleep as my body would take. Watched a DVD in the early evening (Arlington Road, what an amazing pre-9/11 anti-terrorism movie), and then finally hit the sack at 11.

And rose this morning smiling and satisfied. Watered the transplants and the new plants waiting to be put into the garden. Moved some variegated ivy out of the window boxes and porch urns and into a space at the edge of a maple tree where not much seems to grow. Watered my herbs, again, and the very late gladioli. Tossed old watermelon rind into the cuttings and leaf pile (not managed anough to be a real compost pile!). Then came to work to start the day a litttle early.

Overcast, cool, invigorating.

Good morning.

Back to Work

A week (almost) of vacation is a bit extreme for me. Ive only had such a vacation about four times before--at least since I was aBoy Scout. My family used to go to Lubec, Maine, for vacation when I was a young teenager. I went once with the family, but after I turned 16 I had a summer job that prevented me from going along. After Jeanne Black graduated from Brown in 1975, we drove her to Atlanta to start graduate school, and took about a week between driving down the coast and then spending a few days in Atlanta before I left to go to my summer job. When I became Dan Kim's partner, we spent vacations on Newfoundland and Labrador and later in southern California. And Leonel and I spent a week in the Dominican Republic in his last August, just as he was beginning to share with people that he was HIV positive.

All my other "vacations," that I can recall, were either shorter than a week or were working vacations where I was driving a bus or truck to Mexico on the way to Cuba, for example, or being a road manager for a film that was being made with artists and volunteers, for example. Lots of traveling in my life, but much of it while working.

I go back to work today, with so many projects running late. If I am ever going to learn to take a vacation, I think I need not to be so overwhelmed and ashamed that so much yet needs to be done. I bet that that is just the way the world is, and being able to detach from the hubbub and personal responsibilitiy needs to be part of coping and caring. So this queasy feeling is good for me, yes?

I have a graveside committal in a few hours, so I'll stop writing now. Only ready to say that "I'm back," and, despite 2,700 unread e-mail messages (and more every minute!) I'm ready to go.

Sun rising later and later. Passed to 7:00 a.m. yesterday (Labor Day), and 7:01 a.m. today (EDT). By the end of the month, it will be 7:30! Yikes! (Just getting acclimated to THIS place and ITS sunrises.)

Crisp air, feeling a bit like fall. Steady drone of traffic. Noticing a little acoustic trick, where the sounds coming from one side of the room find an echo is what comes from the other window. Sounds rich, full.

Good morning.