tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-69866626496315845282024-03-18T20:58:11.932-07:00Lost in MaineMiddle-Aged Musings from MaineLost in Mainehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02134337407462876169noreply@blogger.comBlogger123125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6986662649631584528.post-9655641274348564942016-07-04T11:26:00.003-07:002016-07-04T11:26:59.076-07:00Saying GoodbyeDear Readers:<br />
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It is time to say farewell to <b style="font-style: italic;">Lost in Maine. </b>After moving to Maryland last fall, both the title and idea don't seem right. The 131 posts helped me sort out many things over the past few years, the biggest being that I truly <i>found </i>my adult self in the beautiful state of Maine.<br />
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After 22 years there it's on to another adventure on the Eastern Shore. Yes, I miss Maine, but have no regrets-this is where we are meant to be at this time in our lives. And of course I am still ruminating over life and my part in it, so I invite you to check out my new blog <a href="http://mbirdjournal.blogspot.com/">Mockingbird Journal.</a> I hope to have it up and running in the next few days.<br />
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Thank you for the many thoughtful comments I've received. I feel sad, saying goodbye, but it's time to move on.<br />
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With love,<br />
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Julia<br />
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<br />Lost in Mainehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02134337407462876169noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6986662649631584528.post-50340617135995276052015-12-09T13:55:00.000-08:002015-12-09T13:55:04.973-08:00Quiet Mystery<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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It has been a wild few months...endless unpacking, lengthy lists of minutiae, too many new experiences to count. Truthfully, there have been times when I wasn't sure I'd make it to the next day. But here we are, happily, on the Eastern Shore of Maryland.<br />
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Although I have tried to continue my contemplative practice each morning, I confess to taking shortcuts at times. That hasn't done me any good. My spinning mind just whirls ever faster and the day gets off to a frantic start.<br />
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The photo above is from a nearby walking trail near our house. It's a perk we didn't know about when we bought this place. Since I've yet to get a piano studio together I try to take this walk several afternoons a week. It has become a touchstone for me and I call it my River Monastery.<br />
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<i>Days pass when I forget the mystery.</i><br />
<i>Problems insoluble and problems offering</i><br />
<i>their own ignored solutions</i><br />
<i>jostle for my attention, they crowd its antechamber</i><br />
<i>along with a host of diversions, my courtiers, wearing</i><br />
<i>their colored clothes; caps and bells.</i><br />
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<i> And then</i><br />
<i>once more the quiet mystery</i><br />
<i>is present to me, the throng's clamor</i><br />
<i>recedes: the mystery</i><br />
<i>that there is anything, anything at all,</i><br />
<i>let alone cosmos, joy, memory, everything,</i><br />
<i>rather than void: and that, O Lord,</i><br />
<i>Creator, Hallowed One, You still,</i><br />
<i>hour by hour sustain it.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
"Primary Wonder" by Denise LevertovLost in Mainehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02134337407462876169noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6986662649631584528.post-73617736255977606472015-10-23T18:10:00.000-07:002015-10-23T18:10:54.327-07:00Leaving Maine<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkyH7P2HzAJz7aW7pn4EiQyBULfn50FFb-9cSkuhG2-ER6g61oE2u2DM9WIW0trzomsnY_37y0FnFP4bo_R4UHrvOGBYDsfM6kfLaVe5BBATbqqogHiXich-RkH_ViyD3NtkUjKQ3ljT6v/s1600/truck+leaving+Maine.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkyH7P2HzAJz7aW7pn4EiQyBULfn50FFb-9cSkuhG2-ER6g61oE2u2DM9WIW0trzomsnY_37y0FnFP4bo_R4UHrvOGBYDsfM6kfLaVe5BBATbqqogHiXich-RkH_ViyD3NtkUjKQ3ljT6v/s1600/truck+leaving+Maine.jpg" /></a></div>
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Exactly one month ago we said goodbye to our beloved Maine and began our trek to Maryland, slightly over 700 miles away. For several weeks we'd been packing non-stop. Oodles of trips to Goodwill, the dump and Home Depot for boxes, wrapping paper and tape. We couldn't have done it without Pamela and Sarah, who packed the never-ending kitchen, and Debbie, who adeptly crated up the prints and paintings.<br />
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A couple of days previously my dear friend Christie flew to Maine from Connecticut in order to drive my car, loaded with plants, garden statuary, booze and anything else we couldn't put on the truck. What a gift! It meant that Bill and I didn't have to drive the 700 miles in tandem. She stopped for a few days in her home of Stamford, then brought the car on to Maryland. </div>
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I've had my piano moved many, many times and I honestly don't want to count them. Even though it strikes fear in my heart, it is actually an interesting process. The 3 legs are carefully removed as the piano is turned on its side. The piano is then wrapped in blankets and strapped to a special piano board. These movers also put shrink wrap around it as an extra measure of protection. Above you'll see the piano coming out the front door and down the steps. The three guys were straining, grunting and huffing, to be sure.</div>
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After the movers left we walked around the house one last time, picking up a few forgotten things and saying goodbye. I think we were suffering from a mild case of shock...bone tired and emotionally worn out, we sat on the front steps and took this photo.</div>
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As we were leaving, a friend that we hadn't seen for years dropped by, having no idea of our plans. He walked into the empty, echoing house, and all I could manage was <i>Paul, you have caught us at a very odd time. </i>I hope he forgave my lack of hospitality and inability to make small talk.</div>
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We are in Centreville now, reversing the packing process. All in all we are doing well and longing to feel <i>settled.</i></div>
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Lost in Mainehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02134337407462876169noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6986662649631584528.post-29530282130084869582015-09-12T18:10:00.000-07:002015-09-12T18:10:23.608-07:00Boundary Days<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I feel neither here nor there… as if I’m crossing from one
life to another.</div>
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This is my last week at St. Saviour’s and it’s a hard one.
So many goodbyes, so many “lasts.” Last
choir rehearsal, last Sunday service, last contemplative prayer group, last
time to play the instrument that I know so well, and on and on.</div>
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In the midst of these boundary days we took a short trip to
Grand Manan, a Canadian island in <st1:state w:st="on">New
Brunswick</st1:state>. It
was a chance to rest, be quiet and gather our wits before the final farewells
and packing. Coming back into <st1:state w:st="on">Maine</st1:state>, at the border
crossing, I just fell apart when the guard said “Welcome home.”</div>
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In two short weeks we will be on our way to <st1:state w:st="on">Maryland</st1:state> and a new
life. We have a new house and I have
already begun to choose music for my new job.
I wonder what it will feel like on that side where it’s too late to turn
back. </div>
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Grandson Zev visited recently, with his parents, and it was
a confirmation of our plans to move closer to them. Thank you, Spirit.</div>
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Lost in Mainehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02134337407462876169noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6986662649631584528.post-7539927288555960882015-07-25T05:32:00.000-07:002015-07-25T05:32:24.445-07:00Looking Down on Life<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Yesterday I saw my life from the window of an airplane.</div>
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For a couple of months now Bill and I have been in the throes
of an agonizing decision.…in the fall we are moving to the Eastern Shore
of Maryland in order to be closer to Emily and her family.</div>
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Last week I was in <st1:state w:st="on">Tennessee</st1:state>
for a church musician’s conference, the one I attend every summer, and my
return flight included a transfer at Washington-Reagan airport. I have flown into and out of this airport so
many times that I know exactly where to sit for the best views. I was in that very seat yesterday, 7F, and
watched the usual landmarks pass by - the Capital, National Cathedral, <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Georgetown</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">University</st1:placetype></st1:place> and such. As we got to the outskirts of the city I
returned to reading my book until a few minutes later I looked out the window
again and we were crossing the sparkling <st1:place w:st="on">Chesapeake Bay</st1:place>
and its scary bridge. My eyes followed the highway across <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Kent</st1:placename> <st1:placename w:st="on">Island</st1:placename></st1:place>
until it turned north towards Centreville, where I will begin work in October.
I was seeing my future.</div>
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Perhaps I’ve just never noticed, but I don’t remember flying
that particular route before. I truly had a bird’s eye view of our new hometown
and the surrounding area of farms, fields and woods. It felt like serendipity,
seeing where we are moving from that vantage point, and it gave me a tremendous
sense of confidence and a feeling that all would be well.</div>
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And then…as is customary the plane flew along the coast of <st1:state w:st="on">Maine</st1:state>, up to
Damariscotta before turning inland across the central part of the state. I have lived here for many years and know the
geography well…I recognized Popham Beach, the famous bridge over the Penobscot
River at Bucksport and the road I traveled for many an organ lesson. As we made our way north towards <st1:city w:st="on">Bangor</st1:city> I could see the paradise of <st1:place w:st="on">Mount
Desert Island</st1:place> in the far distance, a scene of indescribable
beauty. My life of the past 22 years passed before me and I both grieved and
rejoiced… the passage of time was staring me in the face, yet my heart was
filled with joy at the memory of friends, music and natural beauty.</div>
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Dear, dear <st1:state w:st="on">Maine</st1:state>…I
will miss you. And <st1:place w:st="on">Maryland</st1:place>? I think we will get along very well.</div>
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Lost in Mainehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02134337407462876169noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6986662649631584528.post-87708008487648645152015-05-20T18:17:00.000-07:002015-05-20T18:17:35.837-07:00Wearing a Cross<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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For my recent 60<sup>th</sup> birthday I wanted something
more than the usual sweater or blouse from my mother. I wanted a keepsake,
something to treasure, from her. And so I decided on a cross pendant. While in Texas last month to celebrate the big
day, she and I went to the James Avery store and had a wonderful time looking
at the many possibilities, trying a few on, and ultimately choosing what’s
called the Serenity Cross. It is very
simple and lovely, with a tiny dove in the middle. </div>
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If you’ve been reading this blog for long you’ll know that I
am a Christian, but not the born-again, salvation thru Jesus’ death, all others
go to hell kind. I call myself a
Christian because I try to use Christ as a model for compassion and love, an
ideal of which I fall far short.</div>
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When I was at my Shalem residency in March several of the
other students and I began a conversation about wearing a cross. It began with my admiring one that a friend
was wearing and her confession that she usually felt awkward doing so. I admitted the same and then our rationales
began: <i>people will think we’re evangelicals or theologically conservative</i>
(not that there’s anything wrong with that; only in <b>our</b> minds); <i>it might be misinterpreted
as a fashion statement</i> (yes! remember Madonna’s huge crosses draping her
scantily clad body?); or, <i>my faith is
private, I don’t need to parade it</i>.</div>
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These rationales left us both feeling empty and we began
instead to talk about why we <i>might</i>
wear a cross: to remind us of our <i>guide,</i>
to ground us, to not be ashamed of our faith, to open conversations. So at that point Pattie and I made a pact to
wear a cross at least once a week. Over
the next few days two other women joined us in this agreement and now a
therapist, a general in the Army, a former editor and a church musician are all
wearing a cross every week. </div>
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I have a pretty gold Celtic cross that I bought in Ireland a
few years ago, as well as a couple of others given to me as gifts. But as a way of honoring this commitment as
well as my significant birthday I wanted a new one, bought just for these
occasions. And I have my keepsake and
treasure, from my dear mother.</div>
Lost in Mainehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02134337407462876169noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6986662649631584528.post-18161745803730574812015-04-07T17:15:00.002-07:002015-04-07T17:17:17.012-07:00Sixty<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpBmZdJxFjXGq_S9HIqEoXVazI7xba5cFbkhwvlyuX3RkPkeWCMBsSxewkahFo3P-6Oym0xwC0UrpkgeIS_oO6WhQVcKt3BGm0SGmfxkxHUMsYRQbziFpC-vt9Knb8NpyXg7vadoJ9JROu/s1600/Zev+and+Nana+at+the+Coupe+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpBmZdJxFjXGq_S9HIqEoXVazI7xba5cFbkhwvlyuX3RkPkeWCMBsSxewkahFo3P-6Oym0xwC0UrpkgeIS_oO6WhQVcKt3BGm0SGmfxkxHUMsYRQbziFpC-vt9Knb8NpyXg7vadoJ9JROu/s1600/Zev+and+Nana+at+the+Coupe+1.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
Early yesterday morning, as I walked outside with Prudy, I was greeted by a trio of birds enthusiastically singing a birthday greeting. Only a few hours before I had become sixty years old.<br />
<br />
Like most people who make the turn into this new decade I cannot believe it's so. <i>How did we get so old?</i> My friends and I laugh and commiserate over the rapid passage of time, shaking our heads and insisting there must be some mistake.<br />
<br />
But amidst the celebrations, cards, gifts and even jokes, I have noticed something lurking deep inside. It took me awhile to figure it out- I really wasn't feeling <i>over-the-hill,</i> in fact I feel pretty darn good, so why a bit of darkness, of anxiety?<br />
<br />
The answer is that I sense, for the first time, the finiteness of life. Yes, of course we all know that we will die, but something about turning sixty has convinced me that my life really is <i>finite. </i>That's the idea that is causing me some problems, not the gray hair or occasional memory slips. There's going to be an end.<br />
<br />
My choices of how to make the most of my years are beckoning and weighing my heart down. And now I must dig deeply into the accumulated wisdom from sixty years of my wonderful life.Lost in Mainehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02134337407462876169noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6986662649631584528.post-47239952258505005432015-03-14T14:32:00.001-07:002015-03-14T14:32:58.329-07:00Quiet <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7yabBlo31cGlQCtc_bktXwjkSdKggrf3qI6ULo1NjOLG4xR2rUHsOXEZ329m-YofMr2SkF7uegzu_26nFOHpVeHbOkpstPE1Bmhz1ceVXVjekPteCbmM6XI1wOFRgamkuJNeFQM5NnMfz/s1600/Shalem+3.14.15.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7yabBlo31cGlQCtc_bktXwjkSdKggrf3qI6ULo1NjOLG4xR2rUHsOXEZ329m-YofMr2SkF7uegzu_26nFOHpVeHbOkpstPE1Bmhz1ceVXVjekPteCbmM6XI1wOFRgamkuJNeFQM5NnMfz/s1600/Shalem+3.14.15.JPG" /></a></div>
<br />
It is a quiet day; I am on a weekend silent retreat in the midst of the final residency for my contemplative prayer class. The hours of silence are a gift-a gift of rest, of breath, of prayer, of the awareness of <i>Being.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
In the midst of this gift I struggle to say <i>no </i>to the ever-present to-do list which lurks around the edges of my consciousness. <b>NO.</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>Quietness</i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>Inside this new love, die.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>Your way begins on the other side.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>Become the sky.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>Take an ax to the prison wall.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>Escape.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>Walk out like someone</i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>suddenly born into color.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>Do it now.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>You're covered with thick cloud.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>Slide out the side. Die,</i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>and be quiet. Quietness is the surest sign</i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>that you have died.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>Your old life was a frantic running</i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>from silence.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>The speechless full moon</i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>comes out now.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Rumi</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><br /></i></div>
Lost in Mainehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02134337407462876169noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6986662649631584528.post-13635643637378800892015-01-30T14:05:00.001-08:002015-01-30T14:11:06.777-08:00Snowshoes<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5d3jX4FL7visfkjwM_ZUV5QaZ72hoPp6FAGP-xVluYatrSYNtM0BmxmYHUt5N2sxcBndNxYG6sRe6xFyKy9aC2Pp7SQjX1ROyCUWrQr8S5DX_-0om-kTDtIPIO6RWNBvdXFFfg3IafT76/s1600/snowshoes.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5d3jX4FL7visfkjwM_ZUV5QaZ72hoPp6FAGP-xVluYatrSYNtM0BmxmYHUt5N2sxcBndNxYG6sRe6xFyKy9aC2Pp7SQjX1ROyCUWrQr8S5DX_-0om-kTDtIPIO6RWNBvdXFFfg3IafT76/s1600/snowshoes.JPG" /></a></div>
<br />
As you might have gathered from my previous post, we are having a lot of snow in Maine. <i style="font-weight: bold;">A LOT. </i>So this morning, tired of fighting the slippery roads into work, I decided to give myself a day off. After breakfast I said to Bill <i>want to go snowshoeing today? </i>He cleared his throat, hemmed and hawed a bit, and finally out came <i>I was afraid you might say that.</i><br />
<br />
Coming from Texas, I have not been a natural at winter sports. Downhill skiing was hardly possible since I fell at the top of the chair lift every time. Cross-country skiing wasn't much better-I still fell and those long skis became tangled and I could not get up. Both embarrassing situations that I was not eager to repeat very often. But snowshoeing...that's a different story. First of all, I don't <i>fall</i>. The shoes are wide and sturdy and they grip the snow just right. Years ago I was absolutely thrilled to find that here is a winter sport that I can manage and <i>enjoy.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
When we first moved to Maine over 20 years ago Bill bought a set of 1930's era snowshoes for me at an antique store. He had to do a lot of work to make them usable and they were a treasured gift. Most people now use more modern snowshoes made out of aluminum, but these are truly beautiful, make a pretty track and work very well for me. I have cherished them for years.<br />
<br />
Living on the coast our snow totals are often not what they are in interior Maine and there have been some years I did not snowshoe. But this year? Just perfect. So what was the problem? Bill had given away my snowshoes to a neighbor boy down the street who helps us mow our yard. I bet you can imagine my response to that...and now you see the result in the photo above...reunited with my snowshoes.<br />
<i><br /></i>
<i><br /></i>Lost in Mainehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02134337407462876169noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6986662649631584528.post-53023979244562408722015-01-27T10:32:00.000-08:002015-01-27T10:32:05.694-08:00Surviving the Blizzard<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4X-o6MfufB4wxGfw-BVneteaDK7GFnS1q6xvgvsem0qbn8XhpPCHZz9BiokYSEfWHMCkjgMgQ8r0tpxKyC3cCdC1rIyamDnH6KwptkeTuAJfVMgQ2n03Z5dkB50Z5aFMa7wDY6FzQVQnL/s1600/Toulouse+and+the+Blizzard.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4X-o6MfufB4wxGfw-BVneteaDK7GFnS1q6xvgvsem0qbn8XhpPCHZz9BiokYSEfWHMCkjgMgQ8r0tpxKyC3cCdC1rIyamDnH6KwptkeTuAJfVMgQ2n03Z5dkB50Z5aFMa7wDY6FzQVQnL/s1600/Toulouse+and+the+Blizzard.JPG" /></a></div>
<br />
Smart cat, our Toulouse, sitting on the radiator while the snow piles up on the window behind him. Actually, we are taking his lead, although our radiator is a cozy woodstove.Lost in Mainehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02134337407462876169noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6986662649631584528.post-92197537192790980112014-12-27T05:25:00.000-08:002014-12-27T05:25:46.306-08:00Incarnation<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8elrA1SfoUgUW4c-xqU2fFe0JWC7SvEwbQpV3O_Nl3_wOfFAMfw_hnwuJSXow16iRtl1unitJ_uhXkaD8gHGRkd3LBVgfIz9hRWXh4EEq69DiYE-FAtjpanzyOwUvR5USdEGTFv6NaTt3/s1600/creche.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8elrA1SfoUgUW4c-xqU2fFe0JWC7SvEwbQpV3O_Nl3_wOfFAMfw_hnwuJSXow16iRtl1unitJ_uhXkaD8gHGRkd3LBVgfIz9hRWXh4EEq69DiYE-FAtjpanzyOwUvR5USdEGTFv6NaTt3/s1600/creche.JPG" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>May you enter into the
Christmas liturgies with some joy in the Incarnation. </i> This was how my advisor in the Shalem
Institute program signed his recent email in response to my request for extra
time to write a paper. It stopped me
dead in my tracks….joy was the absolute last thing I was experiencing. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Every December is difficult for a church musician. There are so many expectations, extra
services, needy church members, sick or out-of town choristers, weather
problems…the list goes on and on.
Although I don’t understand why, this December was particularly hard for
me. Musically things went very well, but
I just ran out of steam. Joy at the coming of God to earth? Maybe next year.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And then, something happened…at the last of the Christmas Eve
services, late at night, I unexpectedly saw the Incarnation in the soloist who
sang off key. And then I saw it in the intrepid choir members, singing their
hearts out way past their bedtime.
During the sermon, as I was gazing at the beautiful poinsettias and
candles, I took my husband’s hand and saw it in his patience and kindness to
me. I looked further into the
congregation, some weary, some merry, and yes, I saw the spirit of God in each
and every one. The stress and non-stop schedule of the past few weeks began to
melt away and I felt <i>joy.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And the next day, Baby Zev arrived for a visit. As I wrapped
my arms around him I saw clearly…<i> Incarnation.</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>The embodiment of a
deity or spirit in some earthly form.</i>
Thank you, Winston, for urging me to find joy in this season.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijMLqzT9-GcHWu3GNRq3WN0Qz2grT8beIDoEn1mUnrccmbPh2ne1aYvtsVHhHu7dLFKC_ga8i2bQTFM4hof55YA2KPy2mHaBtw5mv7-DG5U3b_ELwsH_oQsRDhSpAu72FG4OBRkwLKwvCZ/s1600/Zev+and+Incarnation.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijMLqzT9-GcHWu3GNRq3WN0Qz2grT8beIDoEn1mUnrccmbPh2ne1aYvtsVHhHu7dLFKC_ga8i2bQTFM4hof55YA2KPy2mHaBtw5mv7-DG5U3b_ELwsH_oQsRDhSpAu72FG4OBRkwLKwvCZ/s1600/Zev+and+Incarnation.JPG" height="320" width="180" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Lost in Mainehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02134337407462876169noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6986662649631584528.post-23762882916990323102014-12-10T16:58:00.000-08:002014-12-10T16:58:13.803-08:00A Personal Advent<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
For most of the western world the Christmas season is in
full swing. Decorations, music and ads
have been appearing since Halloween and the frenzy of holiday shopping was
encouraged by Black Friday, Small-Store Saturday, Cyber Monday and even Giving
Tuesday, of all things. Many folks
lament this commercialization, as do I, and I try not to be a part of it. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Many years ago, full of loneliness and confusion after a
divorce, I was headed home across north <st1:state w:st="on">Texas</st1:state>
on Christmas Eve. The radio was playing-
there were precious few stations to choose from- and of all things I heard the
hymn <i>O Come, O Come Emmanuel</i> for the
first time.<i> </i> At that moment I fell head-over-heels in love
with Advent.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Growing up as a Southern Baptist I’d never even heard the
term <i>Advent</i>, much less observed it as
a holy season. There was nary a single
Advent hymn in our hymnal at that time and the church Christmas tree and
poinsettias went up the Sunday after Thanksgiving. This idea of waiting, of expectation and
hope, filled a need in my soul, and still does.
Now a church musician and an Episcopalian, Advent has become my favorite
sacred season. No church decorations or
Christmas carols until after the fourth Sunday of Advent for us, just the way I
like it. And twenty-four Advent hymns,
yes, that’s correct, twenty-four.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I am feeling this season more profoundly than ever this year
because I believe that I am in the midst of a personal Advent, one that will
likely last for months or even a few years.
As I approach my 60<sup>th</sup> birthday, as my church continues to
struggle, as my new grandson grows and changes daily, and as my husband enters
a new stage, we must decide where we want to make our life. Do we stay in <st1:state w:st="on">Maine</st1:state>, which has become our comfortable
home, or do we move closer to family, to share our lives with theirs more
fully? It is a decision which should not be forced and which I am confidant
will be revealed, in due season. In the
meantime, we wait.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<i>O come, thou Wisdom from on high,<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<i>who orderest all things mightily;<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<i>to us the path of knowledge show,<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<i>and teach us in her ways to go.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<i>
Latin, ca. 9<sup>th</sup> century<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<i><br /></i></div>
Lost in Mainehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02134337407462876169noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6986662649631584528.post-21678031881452332962014-12-01T17:24:00.000-08:002014-12-01T17:24:39.973-08:00Contemplation<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>What is there beyond knowing that keeps </i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>calling to me? I can't</i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>turn in any direction</i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>but it's there. I don't mean</i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>the leaves' grip and shine or even the thrush's</i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>silk song, but the far-off</i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>fires, for example,</i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>of the stars, heaven's slowly turning</i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>theatre of light, or the wind</i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>playful with its breath;</i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>or time that's always rushing forward,</i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>or standing still</i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>in the same-what shall I say-</i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
moment.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>What I know</i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>I could put into a pack</i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>as if it were bread and cheese, and carry it</i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>on one shoulder,</i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>important and honorable, but so small!</i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>While everything else continues, unexplained</i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>and unexplainable. How wonderful it is</i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>to follow a thought quietly</i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>to its logical end.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>I have done this a few times.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>But mostly I just stand in the dark field,</i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>in the middle of the world, breathing</i></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
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<i>in and out. Life so far doesn't have any other name</i></div>
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<i>but breath and light, wind and rain.</i></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
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<i>If there's a temple, I haven't found it yet.</i></div>
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<i>I simply go on drifting, in the heaven of the grass and the weeds.</i></div>
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<b>What Is There Beyond Knowing </b>(Mary Oliver)</div>
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Lost in Mainehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02134337407462876169noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6986662649631584528.post-29038788305134584192014-11-04T17:33:00.001-08:002014-11-04T17:33:59.575-08:00Grandmothering<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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A few weeks ago I spent several precious days with my grandson, who is 6-months old today. It's true what <i>they </i>say: grandparenting is special indeed. I confess that I used to silently roll my eyes when friends would enthuse about their grandchildren and think to myself something like <i>Oh, get a life! </i>I try to remember those feelings as I pull out my iphone with its hundreds of photos of Zev to show to anyone who asks.<br />
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My first assignment on the recent trip was to take care of baby while Emily had her haircut. The 3 of us took the Metro downtown and Zev and I went to the American Art Museum while Emily was at the hairdresser. And boy was he fussy!. He did not want to be in the stroller and his piercing cries in the atrium drew many dark looks. He did, however, enjoy being in my arms and looking around at the art. All in all, though, not an auspicious beginning for my grandson-sitting days.<br />
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Fussy or not, those few days were happily spent together-bath time, silly playtime, bedtime routine, an occasional bottle-just getting to know each other better. And, of course, the first piano lesson.<br />
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Your Nana loves you, Baby Zev.Lost in Mainehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02134337407462876169noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6986662649631584528.post-34082436268453933132014-10-27T17:31:00.000-07:002014-10-27T17:32:57.876-07:00Season's End<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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After several weeks of an extraordinary display of fall colors, our trees are now shedding their leaves as winter approaches. The dark and the cold are just around the corner. Our garden produced admirably this year, except for the summer squash. Have you ever even heard of summer squash not producing? Well, ours were a wipe-out and I didn't once open my entirely squash cookbook.<br />
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Bill is the vegetable gardener and I am the cook and preserver. His specialty is garlic and about 60 heads of the Russian variety are stored for soups, stews, stir-fries, you name it. We even send some to appreciative friends in California. And then there are the tomatoes-cherries, slicing and Romas.<br />
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This batch is ready to be made into pasta sauce, which I freeze. It makes a wonderful meal on a cold winter's eve. Bill gets his yearly quota of bacon with day after day of BLT's and eats the cherries right from the bush. Me? Well, I only like my tomatoes cooked-that's too bad, but I've tried and it just doesn't work.<br />
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This is my first ever batch of ratatouille, made from our tomatoes and garlic, with squash, onions and eggplant from the farmers' market. Yum.<br />
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And then of course there is the basil. This year I made three recipes of pesto and socked it away in the freezer. It will last until the spring if I'm careful. My favorite way to use it is as a topping for salmon or white fish. You can even buy less expensive frozen fish if you prepare it this way and it tastes great.<br />
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We still have many carrots and beets in the garden and they only get sweeter as the fall progresses. And we have a bumper crop of arugula, which loves cool weather-twice I've taken it to choir rehearsal and given away bunches and bunches.<br />
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How lucky we are- a bounty from our garden to sustain us during the cold, frozen winter months.<br />
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<br />Lost in Mainehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02134337407462876169noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6986662649631584528.post-51955345221692820822014-09-24T17:40:00.000-07:002014-09-24T17:40:31.227-07:00Respite<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Earlier this month, after weeks of house guests and performances, Bill and I boarded a ferry in Blacks Harbour, New Brunswick, for an hour-and-a-half ride to Grand Manan Island. Although one can see its majestic tall cliffs from the coast of Maine it is actually part of Canada. The area is home to many species of birds, whales, seals and the like. About twenty miles long, Grand Manan was once a thriving hub of fishermen and dulce harvesters. But now the two thousand or so hospitable and friendly inhabitants just try to get by however they can.<br />
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The east side of the island is mostly beach and marsh. Our simple housekeeping cottage looked out over a scene much like the above. We had happy hour on a bench near the water every evening and watched the ferry come and go.</div>
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We explored by car and foot for two days, ate simply and rested. There are many spectacular hiking trails, an interesting museum and a few shops. It was exactly what I needed.</div>
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Each time I come back from a vacation such as this (even though it was short) I wonder <i>why do I work so much? </i>The simple answer is we need the money for recurring living expenses and retirement. And I keep trying to figure out how to lower those expenses so that I can have more <i>time. </i>I want that desperately yet there's no easy answer.</div>
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We are planning a return trip to Grand Manan next summer, for a week.</div>
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<br />Lost in Mainehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02134337407462876169noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6986662649631584528.post-54209002523406346892014-08-25T12:47:00.000-07:002014-08-25T12:51:07.000-07:00Untethered<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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The beautiful Maine summer is beginning to wind down- the
shadows are long, the evenings cool, and I can no longer begin my after dinner
walk at 7:30. The gardening I hoped to accomplish, the hikes I wanted to take,
swimming in a lake, cleaning out the attic…most of that is still undone. I am tired, travel weary and a bit
untethered.</div>
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Despite my love of seeing the world I am a homebody at
heart. My favorite evenings are spent
with my husband quietly reading, watching a movie, knitting or listening to
music with a dog by my side and two cats stretched out nearby. There has been a pitiful lack of these
evenings this summer. I likewise cherish
rainy days and the chance to clean out a closet or organize my recipes or,
heaven forbid, crawl into bed with a good book. But this summer I have been on
the road or practicing or working or...</div>
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I am not necessarily complaining, just noticing…in many ways
it has been a stellar season. An
inspiring American Guild of Organists convention in <st1:city w:st="on">Boston</st1:city>,
time with family and friends in <st1:city w:st="on">Dallas</st1:city>,
recharging my church music batteries at the Episcopal Musicians Conference in
TN, accompanying Poulenc’s <b><i>Gloria</i></b> for the Mount Desert Summer
Chorale, a recital of organ duets and solos with my friend Ellen.</div>
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But I feel a change coming...</div>
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Lost in Mainehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02134337407462876169noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6986662649631584528.post-6775702329200155592014-08-03T18:57:00.000-07:002014-08-03T18:57:06.138-07:00Simple Summer Supper<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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On these sticky summer days I like to make a salad for supper. And with our garden and local farmers market in full swing it's easy and healthy. Last night I improvised on a recipe I'd seen on line and this is what I came up with:<br />
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<i><b>Mediterranean Salad</b></i><br />
<i>serves two</i></div>
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<i>several handfuls of mixed greens</i></div>
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<i>one hard boiled egg</i></div>
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<i>cucumber slices</i></div>
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<i>avocado slices</i></div>
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<i>red bell pepper</i><br />
<i>kalamata olives</i></div>
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<i>one can of chickpeas, rinsed and drained</i></div>
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Arrange the above ingredients as you like (you can see my composed version above), drizzle with homemade balsamic vinaigrette and enjoy. Serve with a glass of dry red wine. Cantaloupe makes the perfect dessert.<br />
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Any salad ideas from you readers?</div>
Lost in Mainehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02134337407462876169noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6986662649631584528.post-54031501227645915522014-07-01T18:16:00.001-07:002014-07-01T18:16:57.323-07:00Early Summer<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>White peonies blooming along the porch</i><i></i></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; display: inline !important; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i style="text-align: justify;">send out light</i></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>while the rest of the yard grows dim.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Outrageous flowers as big as human</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>heads! They're staggered</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>by their own luxuriance: I had</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i> to prop them up with stakes and twine.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>The moist air intensifies their scent,</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>and the moon moves around the barn</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>to find out what it's coming from.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>In the darkening June evening</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>I draw a blossom near, and bending close</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>search it as a woman searches</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>a loved one's face.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><b>Peonies at Dusk</b>, Jane Kenyon</i></div>
Lost in Mainehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02134337407462876169noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6986662649631584528.post-55483870218567447212014-06-15T12:24:00.000-07:002014-06-15T12:24:04.697-07:00Silence<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnkinmAeyR2lYeNr0MKHo1PIGj1tpHSJY5iDCpv-NZsw8KN33XnVVzqkG3sKs5mzQk4YbPwDUcw_wxUfX3YM6XUrnV6D6SDW0uOlFFDMKACeRzWdWHMWyK_rsPwhCct0Bj6wg9rSrf4XN6/s1600/Shalem+iris.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnkinmAeyR2lYeNr0MKHo1PIGj1tpHSJY5iDCpv-NZsw8KN33XnVVzqkG3sKs5mzQk4YbPwDUcw_wxUfX3YM6XUrnV6D6SDW0uOlFFDMKACeRzWdWHMWyK_rsPwhCct0Bj6wg9rSrf4XN6/s1600/Shalem+iris.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<i>For God alone my soul
in silence waits;</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<i>From him comes my
salvation.</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">(Psalm
62)</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In the midst of getting to know my new grandson I attended a
week-long residency for my class on contemplative prayer, offered by the <a href="file:///C:/Users/Julia%20M/Documents/shalem.org">Shalem Institute</a>. To say that both these experiences were
transformative is not exaggerating one bit. The miracle of new birth combined
with a spiritual experience of great depth and meaning has given me a new lens
through which to look at life.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Not knowing a single person or really what I was getting
into, I was quite anxious about the residency, held at a retreat center west of
<st1:city w:st="on">Baltimore</st1:city>. But when I walked into the first session I
realized that the other 21 students felt just like me. The anxiety lasted about 5 minutes-I quickly saw
that we all spoke the same language.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Each day included a seminar on such topics as leadership,
prayer forms and contemplative awareness. We met daily with a small peer group
where we “practiced” leading a particular form of prayer and made and received
comments from our leader and the other members. We shared good food together as
well as walks by the meditation pond or on trails thru the surrounding woods.
There was no hiding-we talked one-on-one and in larger groups about our deepest
beliefs, hopes and disappointments. And
there was plenty of opportunity to be alone and quiet if one so desired. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXnAGxb_XKB73yvdVifgHYyL9gINR_jBTy85qHHeFXg4GPhh9f5fObSe2R4f0FBOSNbNpEt2zg9Z0yOpHUuprNDH6pSDkmjY1192LpJjYDJD37hSUK1lbCuWZ-47Xzobv5nCG7Fnqztil3/s1600/Shalem+pond.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXnAGxb_XKB73yvdVifgHYyL9gINR_jBTy85qHHeFXg4GPhh9f5fObSe2R4f0FBOSNbNpEt2zg9Z0yOpHUuprNDH6pSDkmjY1192LpJjYDJD37hSUK1lbCuWZ-47Xzobv5nCG7Fnqztil3/s1600/Shalem+pond.jpg" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In the midst of the residency there was a 36-hour period of
total silence. We still ate together,
met in seminars (led by a leader who <i>was </i>talking)
and even danced our hearts out. But we
were silent. I relaxed into this time
with myself, and truthfully, it was wonderful.
I noticed the ordinary and treasured the common.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I want to explain a bit about prayer forms-this has been new
to me. A prayer form is simply a way to
help one grow closer to the Spirit and <i>listen</i>-it
is similar to meditation, with the intent of drawing near to God. The prayer forms serve as ways to help calm
and clear a cluttered mind. One can use
a particular word, chant, icon or interior image.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In leading my peer
group I chose to use thanksgiving as my prayer form. Reminding the group
members of Paul’s admonition to<i> be
thankful in all things</i> (1 Thessalonians 5:18) I asked them to say “thank
you” to each thought that came into their minds, whether positive or negative,
then to let it go. Yes, it is easy to be
grateful for the good in our lives, but what about the bad? This prayer is not gratitude <i>for</i> the bad but a way of showing us that
something good can come from a tragedy, a loss, a death. But how can the death of a loved one contain
anything to be thankful for, you might ask?
Perhaps your loved one was spared agonizing pain by dying or perhaps
estranged family members drew closer. This is what is meant by thanksgiving <i>in </i>all things.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Returning to my everyday life after the residency was not
easy. Stacks of bills, piles of paper,
flower beds full of weeds-all vying for my attention. Yet I am trying to carry
this marvelous idea of contemplation with me as I live each day. I feel that I
am on a bridge, leaving behind the tendency to control and demand and heading
toward a profound sense of peace and acceptance.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<i>My soul waits quietly
for you<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<i>From you comes my
deliverance <o:p></o:p></i></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<i> (Zen-inspired translation of Psalm 62
by Norman Fischer)<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimtOZz1W84yPIZqyMIbtEIMokuC8rMLnmE7gX_F1mlMP0tZmgwo0vKmzhDAJVcq9un9HEKBiY0_ULkWZ86eZTMmC5L9lpDgH5Fyy3YZAjG3pOPA9PeVBlpQK8Ne_KAu5G2dBVJHETD18KK/s1600/Shalem+bridge.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimtOZz1W84yPIZqyMIbtEIMokuC8rMLnmE7gX_F1mlMP0tZmgwo0vKmzhDAJVcq9un9HEKBiY0_ULkWZ86eZTMmC5L9lpDgH5Fyy3YZAjG3pOPA9PeVBlpQK8Ne_KAu5G2dBVJHETD18KK/s1600/Shalem+bridge.jpg" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<i><br /></i></div>
Lost in Mainehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02134337407462876169noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6986662649631584528.post-48560112673884182682014-06-07T10:13:00.000-07:002014-09-08T06:07:23.962-07:00Baby's Bris<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcEimY12cYG_OR0gDnkzDhbRpRph4LEIx_lZqf-awqWqNN2w4MEGzVTjhZiLdAXDigmqR8uyoTj6wqqCFGpvxAOmVspZtoJo1tgk8WfgraxiisLpwfagooecVnZHCRNaqvxz3QxbdhzmyN/s1600/Zev+at+the+bris.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcEimY12cYG_OR0gDnkzDhbRpRph4LEIx_lZqf-awqWqNN2w4MEGzVTjhZiLdAXDigmqR8uyoTj6wqqCFGpvxAOmVspZtoJo1tgk8WfgraxiisLpwfagooecVnZHCRNaqvxz3QxbdhzmyN/s1600/Zev+at+the+bris.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p> </o:p>Yes, that would be as in circumcision….and not in the
hospital, but at a private home. Exactly
eight days after Baby Zev’s birth his bris took place. Many friends of Emily and Jeff’s, along with
their young children, as well as three grandparents and an aunt were in
attendance. Rabbi Shira was there along
with the <i>mohel,</i> the person
professionally trained to perform the procedure. She was an ob/gyn, which gave me some
comfort!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The baby was laid on a small table with Grandpa Marty in
charge of holding his legs down. Zev had
been given a local anesthetic and a few drops of wine were ceremonially placed on his
lips. I turned my back as the
circumcision began and in a few short seconds baby was crying and it was all
done. Emily nursed him and he then slept for a long time. It was somewhat traumatic for a
number of us, including the baby, but ultimately the meaning of the ceremony
won out over the pain for me.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Rabbi Shira led the naming ceremony for Zev and offered numerous prayers and blessings. The prayers sounded oddly familiar and
reminded me very much of baptismal prayers.
We were asked to pledge our support for the parents and our love and
care for the baby as he grows. A
celebratory feast of bagels, lox, cheese, fruit and wine followed.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Most of my life I have lived as part of the majority, but
this afternoon I found myself in the minority, looking in. I felt respected, welcomed and embraced as
someone from outside this Jewish world.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzaQ4gEEcx9xuOHAtNG76rMAt8dwG77ErQUnTAxnims-hLM_79PvjCS5_Udkx5sBkBVlsOMov7OEtjFkFlEqL6-eBxG05r0UWs4fUV-iSM0RO9kKQDs4AUYQfx1PVUS-KfPHqZ1aYOkS3a/s1600/Zev+on+my+shoulder.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzaQ4gEEcx9xuOHAtNG76rMAt8dwG77ErQUnTAxnims-hLM_79PvjCS5_Udkx5sBkBVlsOMov7OEtjFkFlEqL6-eBxG05r0UWs4fUV-iSM0RO9kKQDs4AUYQfx1PVUS-KfPHqZ1aYOkS3a/s1600/Zev+on+my+shoulder.jpg" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Lost in Mainehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02134337407462876169noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6986662649631584528.post-33070022615600159302014-05-14T12:53:00.002-07:002014-09-08T06:08:37.575-07:00Welcome to the World<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKOgFX4NdVKH1xoKzlmo7W63FYbC8ok0hRq-tk3iX3uj3GzDg8iCFMzLDlkbE5jjv8KjQCY7niY1YdBx8YAF4C4ZtsQg1rwsQUNQIkpB6DOSsii-UB_ZyYjGRMykQ81Nleb9or6z4ue2XV/s1600/Zev+with+me+(2).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKOgFX4NdVKH1xoKzlmo7W63FYbC8ok0hRq-tk3iX3uj3GzDg8iCFMzLDlkbE5jjv8KjQCY7niY1YdBx8YAF4C4ZtsQg1rwsQUNQIkpB6DOSsii-UB_ZyYjGRMykQ81Nleb9or6z4ue2XV/s1600/Zev+with+me+(2).jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Zev Gabriel </i><br />
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
May 4, 2014</div>
Lost in Mainehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02134337407462876169noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6986662649631584528.post-62405596203309380982014-04-29T17:18:00.000-07:002014-04-29T17:18:37.477-07:00Spring Walk<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn0i-MZdq8SYxRRHLmx2gcHTAFvO_aUnO_TsweQxIUeDbWwe0OzsbtIhnTwKbVRUZVm35qku7-m8Teg1x9i2Zqo3uMtw_w2Yvai9LY2EBmt2cs51bpP69irQz_ZX_5XJFNEO59QryU_zqf/s1600/forest.jpg" /></div>
<br />
I awoke this morning to the unwelcome companions of aggravation and annoyance. Family, friends, pets, unwashed dishes, laundry waiting to be folded, piles of correspondence, myself-it didn't matter, I was annoyed. So on a cold and windy spring day I put Prudy in the car and drove to one of my favorite walks in the town of Hancock, about 10 miles away. The trail follows an old rail bed and meanders thru beautiful forest for several miles. Prudy and I had it to ourselves and we walked about a mile to where the trail crosses a quiet tidal cove.<br />
<br />
It seems I haven't been outdoors for months and months. I was cold this winter and could rarely make myself don down jacket, scarf, hat, gloves and boots for a substantial walk. Perhaps I was lazy, too. But this morning got me on the right track and I came home renewed and right with the world.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />Lost in Mainehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02134337407462876169noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6986662649631584528.post-41734121058885548302014-04-22T17:26:00.000-07:002014-04-22T17:26:45.062-07:00Counting the Days<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJzE2Lj4kU6-MvK09Ot5OZpt1oyrH5ty2W2n-AdoQgITbdx4fVTyBg9TtCF2GX7gkdqI0TtxYdPgDLjE2IQcTD12nA89ZvAfmn3DheYN1UvtmHfEV4nOBuX5ebZSM2wGAaPJoX4gCdVzQn/s1600/Pregnant+Em.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJzE2Lj4kU6-MvK09Ot5OZpt1oyrH5ty2W2n-AdoQgITbdx4fVTyBg9TtCF2GX7gkdqI0TtxYdPgDLjE2IQcTD12nA89ZvAfmn3DheYN1UvtmHfEV4nOBuX5ebZSM2wGAaPJoX4gCdVzQn/s1600/Pregnant+Em.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
Thank you, dear grandson, for waiting until after Easter to make your appearance in this world. Anytime is fine now; I can't wait to meet you.Lost in Mainehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02134337407462876169noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6986662649631584528.post-30397127281129700482014-04-01T17:36:00.000-07:002014-04-01T17:40:50.621-07:00Something New<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2ZNG5m9MtsUjCeNOvf6SLkddfxoJhMPHehHovyab0-hICBsjeKZFCDtlo-BfDq3hZ4TmbAZI6JefBqSB0L6SC9JRlnIChhWq5Z1ZIaFig-fr6j2oE0lJLlEynjKaTGvsJa2lGccg-wFLU/s1600/IMG_1859.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2ZNG5m9MtsUjCeNOvf6SLkddfxoJhMPHehHovyab0-hICBsjeKZFCDtlo-BfDq3hZ4TmbAZI6JefBqSB0L6SC9JRlnIChhWq5Z1ZIaFig-fr6j2oE0lJLlEynjKaTGvsJa2lGccg-wFLU/s1600/IMG_1859.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
For as long as I can remember I have prayed. Growing up as a Southern Baptist in the Bible
Belt my prayers tended to be either asking God for something or trying to make
a deal. This selfish, shallow and
ultimately meaningless type of prayer has been a hard habit to break, despite
my having left the Baptist church decades ago.
But being the restless spirit that I am, I’ve kept on trying and
searching.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A few years ago I began hearing bits and pieces, here and
there, about something called contemplative prayer. Little did I know that there was an entire
movement just waiting for me to discover.
I stumbled upon a gem of a book, <b><i>Zen for Christians, </i></b>by Kim Boykin,
and voilá, I was onto something. But how to find out more?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A casual conversation with a summer parishioner a couple of
years ago led me to the <a href="https://www.shalem.org/"><span id="goog_1121344437"></span>Shalem Institute<span id="goog_1121344438"></span></a> in <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:city w:st="on">Washington</st1:city>, <st1:state w:st="on">DC</st1:state></st1:place>.
Please check out their website and you’ll understand why I became so excited
that I could hardly contain myself. I
knew that I had found something to help me along this new path. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
What is contemplation?
Classical spiritual authors use the term to mean a sheer experience of
loving presence. A simple definition
could be “loving presence to what is.”
For Christians it is finding God in all things and all things in God.
For so many years this was the religion I wanted and instinctively felt in my
heart; I just didn’t know how to verbalize it.
And to find out that many, many others feel the same way- my spirit is
now free and bounding thru space at this discovery.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In February I began a 16-month course thru Shalem called <b><i>Transforming
Community: Leading Contemplative Groups
and Retreats</i></b><i>.</i> The work consists of an extensive reading
list, a dedicated daily prayer time, work with a spiritual director, writing,
two residencies and the leadership of my own contemplative prayer group. It is
time-consuming, daunting and expensive…and I am thrilled to be doing it.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Will I someday make this my life’s work? Will I give up being a church musician, a
piano teacher? I don’t think so. I don’t know where this is leading, but right
now I’m doing it for <i>me.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Somehow I will banish those Southern Baptist remnants!</div>
Lost in Mainehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02134337407462876169noreply@blogger.com0