it's Christmas...

...full of complete joy...in celebrating a family birthday...singing the descant to 'Once in Royal David's City' at midnight mass...and soaking in the spirit, food & 'spirits' of our first Christmas in Wonderful W. But wait...there's more to come!

O Antiphons, part eight...

December 23: O Emmanuel...

O Emmanuel, Rex et Legifer noster
exspectatio Gentium, et Salvator earum:
veni ad salvandum nos, Domine, Deus noster.

O Emmanuel, our King and Lawgiver,
the Desire of all nations and their Salvation:
Come and save us, O Lord our God.

O Emmanuel
O come, O come, and be our God-with-us
O long-sought With-ness for a world without,
O secret seed, O hidden spring of light.
Come to us, Wisdom, come unspoken Name
Come Root, and Key and King, and holy Flame,
O quickened little wick so tightly curled,
Be folded with us into time and place,
Unfold for us the mystery of grace
And make a womb of all this wounded world.
O heart of heaven beating in the earth,
O tiny hope within our hopelessness
Come to be born, to bear us to our birth,
To touch a dying world with new-made hands
And make these rags of time our swaddling bands.

-- Malcolm Guite

O Antiphons, final...

Ghent altarpiece by Jan VanEyck

A click on the above painting will take you to a Website that has, toward the bottom, a listing of the antiphons with an audio file of a corresponding Latin chant for each.

O Antiphons, part seven...

December 22: O Rex Gentium...

O Rex Gentium, et desideratus earum,
lapisque angularis qui facis utraque unum:
veni, et salva hominem.

O King of the nations, and their desire,
the cornerstone making both one:
Come and save the human race,
which you fashioned from clay.

O Rex Gentium

O King of our desire whom we despise,
King of the nations never on the throne,
Unfound foundation, cast-off cornerstone,
Rejected joiner, making many one,
You have no form or beauty for our eyes,
A King who comes to give away his crown,
A King within our rags of flesh and bone.
We pierce the flesh that pierces our disguise,
For we ourselves are found in you alone.
Come to us now and find in us your throne,
O King within the child within the clay,
O hidden King who shapes us in the play
Of all creation. Shape us for the day
Your coming Kingdom comes into its own.

-- Malcolm Guite

Dale Warland Singers: Spaseniye Sodelal

An Advent YouTube gift for this day, bringing yet more splendor lucis to my soul: *Spaseniye Soledal, a Kievan Synodal Chant by Pavel Chesnokov (translation: Salvation is created in the midst of the earth, O God, O our God. Alleluia.)

Click on the above photo to watch and hear this wonder.

*This video is mis-named - Otche Nash is an 'Our Father'.

The Dale Warland Singers is perhaps the finest choral group ever. His artistry and choice of spirit-slaying repertoire had a profound influence on me. With his retirement, the group has disbanded, rather than finding a new leader.

O Antiphons, part six...

December 21: O Oriens...

O Splendor lucis aeternae,
veni, et illumina sedentes
in tenebris, et umbra mortis.

Splendor of light eternal
and sun of righteousness:
Come and enlighten those who dwell in darkness
and the shadow of death.

O Oriens (Paradiso XXX:61)

First light and then first lines along the east
To touch and brush a sheen of light on water
As though behind the sky itself they traced
The shift and shimmer of another river,
Flowing unbidden from its hidden source;
The Day-Spring, the eternal Prima Vera.
Blake saw it too. Dante and Beatrice
Are bathing in it now, away upstream...
So every trace of light begins a grace
In me, a beckoning. The smallest gleam
Is somehow a beginning and a calling;
"Sleeper awake, the darkness was a dream
For you will see the Dayspring at your waking,
Beyond your long last line the dawn is breaking."

-- Malcolm Guite

it's advent...

...giving thanks for Malcolm Guite's Advent sonnets and dipping a baby toe into Christmas with one tree up 'and a Bix-by-ee un-der the tree.

O Antiphons, part five...

December 20: O Clavis David...

O Clavis David, et sceptrum domus Israel;
qui aperis, et nemo claudit;
claudis, et nemo aperit:
veni et educ vinctum de domo carceris,
sedentem in tenebris et umbra mortis.

O Key of David and sceptre of the House of Israel
you open and no one can shut;
you shut and no one can open:
Come and lead the prisoners from the prison house,
those who dwell in darkness and the shadow of death.

O Clavis
Even in the darkness where I sit
And huddle in the midst of misery
I can remember freedom, but forget
That each dark clasp, sharp and intricate,
Must find a counter-clasp to meet its guard
Particular, exact and intimate,
The clutch and catch that meshes with its ward.
I cry out for the key I threw away
That turned and over turned with certain touch
And with the lovely lifting of a latch
Opened my darkness to the light of day.
O come again, come quickly, set me free.

-- Malcolm Guite

Malcolm Guite...

I feel a bit as if I am on holy ground. This, this angelic step happened a few days ago in a way that often repeats in blessing: a serendipitous stroke of computer keyboard keys and - voila! - something new and profound enters through a light-filled door.

So it is with Malcolm Guite: an incredible poet and musician, theologian and teacher, person and angel.

I've enjoyed perusing his site and 'meeting' him. And, I believe, there's always going to be more, with him.

It seems he is writing a third book of poetry which may center around the O Antiphons. For now, I am enjoying his incredible, soul-encouraging sonnets on each of them.

O Antiphons, part four...

December 19th: O Radix Jesse...

O Radix Jesse, qui stas in signum populorum,
super quem continebunt reges os suum,
quen Gentes deprecabuntur:
veni ad liberandum nos, jam noli tardare.

O Root of Jesse, stand as a sign among the peoples;
before you kings will shut their mouths,
to you the nations will make their prayer:
Come and deliver us, and delay no longer.

O Radix
All of us sprung from one deep-hidden seed,
Rose from a root invisible to all.
We knew the virtues once of every weed;
But, severed from the roots of ritual,
We surf the surface of a wide-screen world
And find no virtue in the virtual.
We shrivel on the edges of a wood
Whose heart we once inhabited in love.
Now we have need of you, forgotten Root,
The stock and stem of every living thing
Whom once we worshiped in the sacred grove.
For now is winter, now is withering
Unless we let you root us deep within,
Under the ground of being, graft us in.

-- Malcolm Guite

O Antiphons, part three...

December 18th: O Adonai

O Adonai, et Dux domus Israel,
qui Moysi in igne flammae rubi apparuisti,
et ei in Sina legem dedisti:

O Adonai, and leader of the House of Israel,
who appeared to Moses in the fire of the burning bush
and gave him the law on Sinai:
Come and redeem us with an outstretched arm

O Adonai

Unsayable, you chose to speak one tongue
Unseeable, you gave yourself away,
the Adonai, the Tetragramaton
Grew by a wayside in the light of day.
O you who dared to be a tribal God,
To own a language, people and a place,
Who chose to be exploited and betrayed,
If so you might be met with face to face,
Come to us here, who would not find you there,
Who chose to know the skin and not the pith,
Who heard no more than thunder in the air,
Who marked the mere events and not the myth.
Touch the bare branches of our unbelief
And blaze again like fire in every leaf.

-- Malcom Guite

O Antiphons, part two...

December 17th: O Sapientia:

O Sapientia, quae ex ore Altissimi prodiisti,
attingens a fine usque ad finem,
fortiter suaviterque disponens omnia:
veni ad docendum nos viam prudentiae.

O Wisdom, coming forth from the mouth of the Most High,
reaching from one end to the other mightily,
and sweetly ordering all things:
Come and teach us the way of prudence.

O Sapientia
I cannot think unless I have been thought
Nor can I speak unless I have been spoken
I cannot teach except as I am taught
Or break the bread except as I am broken.
O Mind behind the mind through which I seek,
O Light within the light by which I see,
O Word beneath the words with which I speak
O founding, unfound Wisdom, finding me
O sounding Song whose depth is sounding me
O Memory of time, reminding me
My Ground of Being, always grounding me
My Maker’s Bounding Line, defining me
Come, hidden Wisdom, come with all you bring
Come to me now, disguised as everything.

-- Malcolm Guite

part one: O Antiphons...a day late...

In the weavings of a mystical web page, whose threads of inspiration include Julian of Norwich and a modern day poet, a treasure of 'O Antiphons' was grace-fully stumbled upon.

They are not as mysterious as they seem. Most, if not all of us, already know the 'O Antiphons' through the almost universally familiar Advent hymn, O Come, O Come, Emmanuel, with its verses all beginning with the same impassioned plea, "O Come..." (Here, a beautiful and concise webpage on the Antiphons.)

There are seven "O Antiphons", one for each of the seven days leading up to Christmas Eve. They are, in fact, chanted this way in many corners of the world, as singular statements, chained together in time, out of time...defining a season of waiting. December 17th would be the 'First Day of O Antiphons'. And, so, I'm a day late.

To follow, a post on each of the Antiphons, on the appropriate day. From the heart of poet, musician, and priest, Malcolm Guite, an interpretation of each antiphon will be included in the form of a sonnet. I think of it as a sort of seven-day Advent, or perhaps Emmanuel calendar gift from him.

Today, I rejoice: we'll be gifted with two - to catch up.

snow day...

I hear Fr. C playing the piano upstairs: Advent III hymns...the ones he won't get to sing this year.

From Saturday late night through Sunday afternoon, a dramatic storm delightfully dumped about two feet of snow on our town, bringing life to a winter wonderland standstill. The local television station announced church closures. Even the 'community mega-church' canceled ('They have no concept of the Lord's Day', Fr. C muttered)! Well, WE don't cancel...WE just can't come, was his profound proclamation.

So we proceeded to experience some elements of an 'ordinary Sunday' -- the norm for most in this country, but a never for us. In between snapping pictures of various stages of 'white' development, the dona de casa would make omelets. As I opened the carton of eggs purchased the prior afternoon at a Chicago Trader Joe's, the declaration on the inside jumped out at me: This is the day that the Lord hath made; let us rejoice and be glad in it!

And, so we did. Frosted with magical grace, even the chores of the day (OK...I didn't do much shoveling...) had a lightness about them.

Early morning island serenity...but there's "more" to come...

After snow blowing before 6am & showering, dressing:
still not going to church...and there's more to come...

Lucy pondering (lack of) backyard options...

The pre-6am work majorly undone...

Lucy leaped and loped through the backyard ('movie at 11')...

"Upholstery in white": Deck table and chairs, an eery and ghostly landscape.

Wait -- isn't that blob on the far right our Christmas Tree????

Lucy and I brave the snowy wind to walk in a truck's wake on the silent street...


Target boots save the day!

Jesus shops for sandals...

At BuyNothingChristmas.org, there is a marvelous tract - a tongue in cheek excursion with Jesus as he shops for sandals. Click here for the first page, and then 'next page-it' to the end.

This website's concept of drawing back from Christmas consumerism is something I found winning and persuasive last year. Still do! What really struck me this year, as I was again tickled by the tract and its invitation to see shopping through Jesus' eyes, was much more than the obvious and total inanity of Jesus shopping. This time, I read the comments and was just astounded at how people can take something so seriously and unimaginatively. And thereby miss the point. Talk about a plethora of suggestions as to what he should have done, with some complaints about 'blasphemy' (Jesus doesn't know how to pray). It's not about that! Yes, thankfully, some commenters got the point: 'Jesus shopping' does make us uncomfortable. He certainly wouldn't descend into the consumer mosh pit - then or now.

But to sum up a discomfort that stems from this: How strongly we feel we know exactly what Jesus wants, thinks, should do, should require us to do. The temptation is to treat Jesus like a super action figure that we can pose to fit our own purpose or foist onto others as a reflection of ourselves.

I've always been entranced by the concept of relationship...of 'hanging out', in a manner of speaking. Enjoying his presence without putting words in his mouth or needing to dissect something. No 'projecting' and making him in our own image. No squeezing him to fit a tangible mold. As humans, we love to pin something down and tear its wings and heart out. In great contrast, I recently heard a friend describe with awe and gratitude the discovery of 'just being' with Him...removing the shoes of our heart's feet and basking in awesome presence...and nothing more. Maybe then we can surpass all knowing or 'think-we-know'ing and find something truer than we though possible.

The mystics were great at this. May we take a lesson from them.

in or out? bixby in the driver's seat...again...

A pic from happier & warmer times...

Inspired by Catsinger's delightful, side-splitting and publishable 'Cat-mas Carols', here's a tribute to Bixby's evil- cute-ness, evidenced by a game of cat and mouse at the open doorway to our icy deck this morning. I thought he wanted out. And thus the drama began. (Bixby's comments/interruptions in...what else...orange...)

(Sung to the tune of Love, Look Away, from Flower Drum Song)

Bix, look away;
Bix, come away right now!
Move while I shut the door.
Move, or your a$$ is... MEOW*

Please do not play;
Please do not toy with me!
Frost forms upon my nose;
Toes, numb as they can be.

So nonchalant...
So 'in control'...
Twisting the knife,
Make me the fool.

Since you can see
It really matters to me.
Strrrrrrretching the point, she'll see!
Come away! Move away! What'd you say?
Meow-ME**

Translations:
* 'whatever'
** 'Geez...I'm really not sure... Actually can't commit on this. I'll give it some consideration and get (not) right back to you on it...

yup...it's advent...

It's Advent. Specifically, somewhere between the second and third Sundays of this approximately four week season. In our own hearts, household and lives we 'celebrate' this season. It's one of waiting, preparing...quietness, introspection...and, actually, some sense of penitential awareness and action.

Coming from a family where Christmas started on the day after Thanksgiving -- well, it took me some years to fully live into this time of 'Prepare ye the way of the Lord'. But assisted by a little 'push' from excessive December busy-ness, which made it pretty much impossible to do anything until after Advent IV, I've become a big fan.

Contrary to popular belief, the next season (Christmas!) doesn't begin 12 days before it. Nope. You don't get to the 12 drummers drumming until 11 days after The Day, making Christmas actually and not too surprisingly, the 'First day of Christmas'.

Discussion with friends who join us in this liturgical tradition sometimes involves bemoaning the fact that we don't live into the 12 days of Christmas fully and properly! Excessive, lengthy celebration is the hallmark of 'getting into the spirit'. After the long, dry wait...shouldn't we give a present on each and every day of the 12? And, as we haven't sung a single Christmas carol until Christmas Eve (or maybe Lessons & Carols if it falls late enough), shouldn't we sing our hearts out for days -- not just listening to CD's, but actually filling our lungs with air and joyfully caroling?

The true twelve days coincide with a period of time that most people think of as 'Christmas is over'. Without intentional Christmas celebration, I think we may not live beyond that and thus fall short. Any excessive ideas out there?

Advent resources:
St. Margaret Mary parish's simple, but lovely, daily advent calendar.
Finding God site's calendar -- more basic, but very thoughtful. A meditation with scripture links for each day.
BBC Radio's Bach Advent Calendar. It's all about Bach. But it has enchanting stories of his life. And the music played is appropriate for Advent.

(not) finding your true voice...

Google cracks me up. It 'reads' my gmails and supplies a list of interesting (translate: tempting) links off to the right, based on words and phrases used in an email I'm reading. Sometimes, it even eerily matches a 'concept'.

As I e-correspond with a number of friends and family who share a passion for a certain genre of music, I'm not surprised when I see 'National Cathedral Music', the Black Folder and Choral Charisma on the sidebar. But there's one in the bunch that just screams misfit: yourtruevoicestudio.com, where you are a click away from finding your talent. Hey -- apparently it's just like talking! Turn down your speakers if you click on this one. Screaming MeeMee's, GIVE ME A BREAK!!! Belting out your heart in imitation of the mass vocal cord murderers we see on the likes of American Idol has about as much to do with a beautifully floating, truly natural voice as Hershey's does to Green & Blacks. Take a cue from a group of women who can sing Javier Busto's Magnificat , complete with six incipits, and absolutely knock your socks off (I'm sure!).

Ahem. I guess yelling while singing is just not my bag.

completely undone...

A fortunate find: A custom invitation from a year ago. Hearts and talents, freely and generously given, together bring a dream to life. I am completely undone by the sweetness of all it connotes.

Art... sacred space...Anglican tradition...all united and involved...of one mind. The inscripted text inside combines all...singing sublimely, encapsulating the incarnate:

While all things were in quiet silence,
And that night was in the midst of her swift course,
Thine almighty Word leaped down from heaven
Out of thy royal throne. Alleluia.

Here, the hearts-standing-still setting by Ned Rorem.

TNCW

It's Tuna Noodle Casserole Week on Robyn's blog. Today -- 'making friends' with TNC variation.
Wow, did this bring back memories of children and friends in a small kitchen in the Pacific Northwest.

Mine started out with homemade macaroni and cheese. I can still see it smell it and almost taste it. Sizzling butter in a pan...blended with flour for a 'roux'...adding the milk, waiting for it to slightly thicken and then adding the piece d' resistance, grated Tillamook cheese (we were on 'WIC' in those days, and this exceptional cheese was on the list, i.e., free)...blending and cooking to make a sauce for elbow macaroni (how plebian!).

One day, I had some tuna & mayo, leftover from sandwiches. I dumped that in to the mac'n'cheese mosh pit (I've always used that term inappropriately. Just ask a certain choir). Then I would add frozen peas. Not sure where that came from. Hmmm...I'm channeling some kind of remembrance from my childhood -- ah, creamed tuna on toast. Well, maybe that included peas. But I doubt it. The peas are undoubtedly random.

I remember rather clearly a day with my young children and a few friends with their children. They requested the gourmet home made mac'n'cheese (though at that age, my kids begged for Kraft...). And when I made it without tuna and peas, they were taken aback and insisted I 'make it the right way'.

That was an eye opener. I never thought of it as anything but 'the kitchen sink' and really couldn't believe they craved the concoction.

Ah, the flavors of the past beckon. I could go on...with homemade custard (made with honey) - oh so good, still warm from the oven... mashed avocado on buttered whole wheat toast with grated onion and salt on top... fried egg sandwiches topped with red onions sauteed in butter, with one piece of bread heavily buttered and the other heavily mayo'd...

In this pre-Thanksgiving week, it's easy to crave the poison 'comfort' food one grows up with. But -- more about poisons mom fed us, later.

OMG. Cooks.com has an actual recipe for tuna and peas on toast.

Moments musicale... part trois...

Once again, Dave* plays something from Amelie, this time, "La Noyee". This particular video was in the #1 spot on YouTube UK homepage. Wow. Over a half a million 'views'. (Note the MySpace address at the end)



This young man is an incredible and formidable talent. Click on the picture to go to his blog.

Thanks, Dave. We'll be watching your bright future, gleaming with the promise of uncompromising heart and uncontainable talent. An excerpt from his blog speaks to the former:

"So many of you have shown a great interest and belief in me, so many of you have said such wonderful things about my playing, so many of you share with me this one common love for the sheer beauty of Yann Tiersen's music.. how it touches us through shivers, like a gentle breath on skin... how it mourns to our hearts, like nothing save the tears of a child... wistful, innocent, true."

*Ah, all grown up, looking more mature. And his room is clean (just joking...if he did clean it, he really didn't have to...). If I were fourteen, I'd be madly in love and daydreaming about running off with him. Of course, I felt the same way about Paul McCartney, and look where that got me...

episcopal cafe...

From the Diocese of Washington's Episcopal Cafe website: their Meditations page. I especially appreciated 'O Gracious Light', a slide show of cathedral stained glass reflections. The accompanying music is lovely. (Yet, it might have been nice to have an actual 'Phos Hilaron' sung!)

moments musicale... part deux...

From what appears to be the bedroom/music studio of a very talented U.K. musician. 'Dave' has a gift for playing by ear and is enthralled with the music of composer Yann Tiersen. Here, Tiersen's Valse d'Amelie

moments musicale... part one...

A 'circle of life' type video, featuring the hypnotic Comptine d'un autre ete from one of my all time favorite movies, Amelie. Heart-bending marriage of the two.

(Glad to see a touch of realism portrayed in the difficult left hand part -- a glimpse of a deceptively difficult stretch?)

guest essay: practice makes perfect prayer...

In an essay on the Covenant blog, guest writer, mother, and violinist Mari Carlson invites us into her busy life and at the same time illuminates the practice of prayer.

"My violin pulls me into prayer. The violin and bow hold my hands and lead me on a journey."

Read it all, each and every wonderful word, here.

Thanks, Fr. C.

ten thousand things...

Excitedly, an evite to our son's final masters art show in Salvador, Brazil, which opened today at the Dutch Consulate there. Server is slow on his new website. But you can enjoy some of his current and earlier work at Nuvens Sismograficas.

Of particular and dear significance to his mother is his 'cutting edge' work on Caravaggio's Supper at Emmaus*.

*Remembering that, in the spring of 2005, I created a particular 'winged blog' for the unfulfilled purpose of an England 'travelogue'...one of the crowning moments of profundity on that trip being the Caravaggio exhibit at the National Gallery in London, where a hand reached out to me from that very painting...mirroring my own hand reaching into the sacred space of the whispering gallery at St. Paul's Cathedral as the pipe organ raised the roof, just a few hours prior. Oh, so very grateful...and...you really just had to be there...

I do see that Blogspot gives me 'credit' in years for having started Winged Musings then...even though it laid empty and dormant for two years, until this past spring...

i'm tagged!!!!!!!!!!

Thanks, Miz Minka, for tagging me with Google Fu Fun meme!!! Having run across my own blog when I was searching the net for replacement cushions for my Martha Stewart wicker sofa - bought sans such at a KMart killer sale mentioned in my blog, I read the instructions*...and got going.

Number one hits, no quotes:

damselfly mind
mystical sake
bixby is always armed and dangerous
...and of course, blog names...

Still ticked that 'anglican choral nerd' came in second. (Must have been the 'John Rutter' the first guy had in there. Oops...I see now that I've moved to third place - The internet is like trying to hold on to a river. Felipe: see this Lutheran blog for the 11/12/06 statement on the beauty of anglican music - his was hit #8. Wow - also discovered ePiscoSours at #6. Love the net). Oh...NOW I see. It was Anglican Choral Music Nerd that I first searched upon. And, look: I've now been moved to the Number One Spot...undoubtedly courtesy of me clicking on my own blog in the search results. As I said...gotta love the net and its own special flow...

'I'm thinking GDCC must have crack in them' came in third. Sheesh. What do chocoholics have to do to get some attention here??? (BTW - Ghirardelli Double Chocolate Chocolate Chips are $1.97/bag at Walmart here. That's 2 cents less than they were some years ago at Trader Joe's)

And finally: I actually had to use quotes to get "Patricia Barber is still bloody brilliant" to come up #1...but did enjoy all the other results that confirm the universality of this statement.

*From Adventures in Ethics and Science, the Google-fu meme, originated by David Ng.

“I'd like to suggest a meme, where the premise is that you will attempt to find 5 statements, which if you were to type into google (preferably google.com, but we'll take the other country specific ones if need be), you'll find that you are returned with your blog as the number one hit.
This takes a bit of effort since finding these statements takes a little trial and error, but I'm going to guess that this meme might yield some interesting insight on the blog in question.
To make it easier, we'll let you use a search statement enclosed in quotations -- this is just to increase your chances of turning up as number one, but if you happen to have a website with the awesome traffic to command the same statement without quotations, then flaunt it, baby! Of course, once you find your 5 statements, pass the meme on to others.”

WAR-saw in-di-AN-a, war-saw IN-di-an-a...

You know you're in Warsaw when...

...you arrive at your new home in August and it is unlocked...with the key waiting for you inside on the kitchen island

...the boy next door can jump off his bike and leave it on the front lawn for however many days he'd like and it never gets stolen

...you call your doctor's office and Christian radio is their hold music

...ice cream places close down for the winter (though we did mention to Ritter's Frozen Custard that they might want to revise their November 11th closure date in deference to global warming)

...ECW is alive and very well, and the end-of-the-year party was on a pontoon boat

...a TV star comes to visit her grandparents at Christmas...and actually comes to church (Hayden Panettiere)

...everyone waves and says hi when you're on a walk

...you pull in your driveway at night and there's a deer in 'your' headlights

...the city might just offer you use of one of their trucks if challenging health problems and inadequate finances make it hard for you to clean up a house they've declared unsafe (from the local paper)

...a plumber says he'll be by tomorrow and it's OK to leave a key for him if you're not going to be home...but when he finds out you will be home in the morning says 'Oh, I'll be sure to come then!' And he does...

...gas prices don't seem to jump when the price of oil goes through the roof (might they be less greedy in waiting for their supply of cheaper gas to run out before jumping on the high price bandwagon?)

...awesome community concerts are FREE! Musical talent abounds!!

...a local dry cleaners gives you a biscuit for the 'dog in the car'

...DMV (actually BMV) offers an 'In God We Trust' license plate...and, thankfully, a cardinal one!

...you look up at the night sky and see more stars than you thought God had ever made

october 17th musings from garrison keillor...

I'm wondering if he is referring to Maryland's historic, Episcopal parish,
Mount Calvary Church...

WENT TO BALTIMORE AND SAW THAT IT WAS GOOD

By Garrison Keillor

In Baltimore with friends Sunday morning, a splendid fall day under blue skies, we marched off to the nearest church and found ourselves in an old brownstone temple of 1852, wooden box pews, stained glass on all sides, old tiled floor, for a high Anglican-Catholic Mass, a troop of choristers in white, altar boys, bearded priests in medieval vestments, holy water and puffs of smoke and bells and chanting of scripture, precision bowing and genuflecting, all rather exotic for an old fundamentalist like me but deeply moving, and it made me think about my father, whose birthday was October 12, and brought me to tears.

It was formal high Mass, none of that hi-and-how-are-we-all-doing-this-morning chumminess, and the homily only summarized the scripture texts about healing, it didn't turn into an essay on health care. Ten voices strong and true in the choir and positioned as they were under the great arch of the chancel, their tender polyphonic Kyrie and Gloria infused the whole building with pure kindness.

The singing was O my God just heartbreakingly good. There were less than thirty of us in the pews, fewer than the names on the prayer list, and to hear "Behold, how good and joyful it is; brethren, to dwell together in unity" sung so eloquently as the priests swung to their tasks was to be present in a moment of extravagant grace that does not depend on numbers or any other measure of success for its meaning, just as the Grand Canyon does not depend on busloads of tourists to be magnificent. Most of our brethren, bless them, are off enjoying brunch or reading the funnies or lifting weights at the gym, and our faithfulness does not make us better people. We simply happened to walk by and see this vast canyon of God's love and stand looking into it.

Faithfulness was a guiding principle in Dad's life. He was the fifth of eight children of a farmer and a schoolteacher on a little farm on Trott Brook in Minnesota. Dad worked with his hands, tending his garden, fixing his cars, cutting and joining wood. He was faithful to his family, to the Ford Motor Company, and also to his separatist theology and visions of millennial splendor. If you are true to Christ and separate yourself from this world, you will be raised to glory in paradise. My father was faithful to this, even as his little band of believers dwindled, diminished by schism and by escaping children, and I was unfaithful.

I separated myself from the separatists with my eyes open. I wanted to live a big complicated life and not sit in a closet. I do not repent of that, though I have plenty else to repent of and am sorry that it came between Dad and me. There have been dozens of people who happened to sit next to me on airplanes over the years who knew more about me than my dad did. No more his fault than mine.

Now I'm an old tired Democrat, sick of this infernal war that may go on for the rest of my life and in which more of our brethren will die miserably, both American and Iraqi. I'm sick of politics today, the cleverness and soullessness of it. I am still angry at Al Gore for wearing those stupid sweaters in 2000 and pretending he didn't know Bill Clinton, and I am angry at everyone who voted for Ralph Nader. I hope the next time they turn the key in the ignition their air bags blow up.

But here in an old brownstone church at an ancient ceremony, there is a moment of separation from all the griefs of this world. Ten men and women are singing a cappella, "Bless the Lord, O my soul, and all that is within me bless his holy name," and their voices drench us fugitive worshipers kneeling, naked, trembling, needy, in the knowledge of grace, and when we arise and go out into Baltimore, the blessing follows us.

It followed me as I ate a dozen oysters that afternoon and hung around the library and paid homage to H.L. Mencken's house on Union Square, that hearty old sinner who said, "Church is a place in which gentlemen who have never been to heaven brag about it to persons who will never get there." Thank you for your service to our language, Henry. Thank you for your life, Dad. And now onward to November and the first good snowfall and the first day of ice-skating.

Tribune Media

notes from grace college...

Didn't initially expect much to come from my contacts with Grace College, (email exchange in June "I'm coming to Warsaw! Would love to make/teach music in the community! Need help?"...then dropping off resume when we arrived in August...). But it certainly has blossomed into something in between keeping me from looking for a real, full-time job and surprisingly reinforcing the musical life I love. I sometimes find renewed musical strength and resources with in me through this work and am grateful for that. In somewhat chronological order:

• They need a second rehearsal/performance pianist for the Symphonic Chorus (a combination of students, alums and community folks that is still rather small and cries out for more tenors to augment the section of one male, one female) which is doing Brahms Liebeslieder Waltzes this semester -- described sometimes as being written for 'two pianos with optional embellishing singers'. Easy and pleasurable work on Monday evenings. Next semester I'll have that night off.
• Voice lessons need accompanying. Keeps multiplying, but we're still in single digits. Five one-hour lessons (including a post-grad student who pays her own way and so I voluntarily play for next-to-nothing), one half-hour lesson. They prefer to give their own students this kind of work and experience, which is a good idea.
  
• A Hindemith piano concerto with trombone accompaniment. Just kidding...sort of. This trombone sonata is a killer for me. But practicing it incessantly is doing more for getting me back in physical shape than anything else. Unsure how this will be paid. Most likely by the student...
• Their pre-college fine arts academy has lost their advanced piano teacher. I have three students -- one aged thirteen and another who is fifteen are college level. A third one reminds me of a niece of mine -- both in her looks and in her gracefulness (no pun intended there!). Downside: as most of the academy teachers are Grace students, it is tied to the college semester. I only have 12 lessons with them per semester, instead of the 18 in my own studio. Plus, I'm not sure that I can put my foot down and say 'College-level students must take at least a 45-minute lesson and preferably an hour!'. I have to force myself to cut the lesson off at a half hour...and usually I'm not successful.
• Retired St Annes' parishioner signs up for piano lessons. She is a complete joy to work with!!! Rediscovering the piano after working through John Thompson Book Four as a youth (those who have used/played this series know that his five books take a student practically up to a basic college level) and being an avid reader, The Piano Shop on the Left Bank is something she would surely enjoy. (The son of new parishioners begins lessons next week. I would like to end up with 25 or 30 students. Not sure that's realistic. My total of five students is more than I usually have when we've moved to a new place.)
  
• Awesome Grace vocal prof Don Bernadini needs accompaniment for rehearsing music for upcoming auditions. This tenor is amazing. Accompanying in his studio reminds me of UOP conservatory days in the studios of the likes of Lynelle Wiens, David Brock. I realize how much the very creative vocal studio work has impacted my perception of things vocal...choral...and even piano. Unfortunately, vocal accompanying includes 'icky'...technical musical term, here...but mandatory orchestral reductions of opera arias. Some are better than others. Personally, I hate it when a reduction that is impossible to play has added-in teeny orchestra notes that you really can't reach...just to remind you of how inadequate a pianist is and how it really should be done by an orchestra (just kidding...).
  
• Violin student needs accompaniment for a senior recital. Oops -- two selections (Mozart Rondo - yup, another orchestral reduction, wherein my fingers have to pretend they can do violin I & II, viola, and cello runs all at the same time...and Bartok Roumanian Dances) must be ready for a general student recital in a few weeks. Again, not sure how to charge for this. I wish Grace College would create an accompanist position with a 'Hey, we expect you to do anything and everything for any and every body' kind of salary so I wouldn't have to ask poor students for $$.
• An adjunct voice teacher began telling a student this week about the tone of an amazing vocal ensemble that was based in Minneapolis. She turned to me and asked if I had ever heard of the Dale Warland Singers!!!!!!!!! Gosh, she even traveled to their final concert before the group disbanded -- they couldn't fathom being under a successor's baton upon his retirement. I mentioned their December Stillness CD, which she of course knows well. And it conjured up in my mind and heart and ears Stravinsky's Ave Maria... Kverno's Corpus Christi Carol... Messiaen's O Sacrum Convivium... and Hess's The Oxen... all on this CD, which served as inspiration for the 'going to the next level' that the St. John's Choir & Choir Friends embraced for Lessons & Carols and Holy Week.

Pardon me while my heart sheds tears of gratitude and amazement for the unexpected gift of that journey...and looks forward to whatever else unexpected might come my way here in lovely Warsaw.

a gift from spasmically perfect...

I would call it 'a magical excursion through a mass of humanity'. SP's insightful and spiritual sense hits the spot at the center of life. Don't miss 'Not that scary anymore' on her blog.

piano shop on the left bank

Currently dealing with the hard truth that I am horribly addicted to Sudoku. Having bought a book that has 531 puzzles, there's plenty to keep me busy and I don't 'ration' this activity (addicted, I said...). I figure, I can always buy the same book again. Certainly I won't remember a single puzzle, as extra-puzzling as one or two might have been to me, the memory is not of a specific puzzle. So...I 'puzzle' away.

Books of any sort are usually associated with a trip. I bought this particular one in the San Francisco airport, on our way to Brazil in late July. I didn't know at that point that we would be delayed - or, actually, our plane would be delayed coming into SFO (fog), arbitrarily chosen by air traffic controllers to stay in a holding pattern, while others would arrive afterwards to pick up their travelers on time. We eventually made it to LAX - but were 10 minutes past the LAN cutoff for boarding in the international part of the airport metropolis and turned away. After a surreal afternoon at the United desk, we had dinner at Denny's, spent the night at a Travelodge, and made it back in for an Continental flight to Sao Paulo, via Houston...lots of time for Sudoku-doing during the flight, especially at night when I could not sleep. (Fr C's oh so very complete travelogue here.)

I also brought along Harry Potter 1. Had started it when first purchased a year or two ago, but was distracted by the norm of an insanely busy life. I finished it on the way to Brazil, occasionally reading charming passages to Fr. C. Upon our departure back to the U.S., I was positive I could find HP2 at the Sao Paulo airport bookstore. NOT! A huge international airport, I expected a more 'cosmopolitan' array of books. Ended up buying a cheap romance novel from their minuscule English section, at an astronomical price, so I wouldn't be bored during the 24 hours of travel or so. Then -- on our one hour layover in Lima - voila!!! HP2 in English!

Distracted by the most excellent accommodations, food, movies on demand on LAN, and as always alternating reading with Sudoku, I did not get far into the book. Brought it along on the drive out to Warsaw, but didn't get much reading done (I wonder why???). Now, that book, along with some other car treasures (my Patricia Barber 'Verse' CD), are 'missing' -- safe, I suppose. Just hidden from myself.


But I still have my Sudoku volume here. Fr. C watches me ply that obsession with renewed mono vision. 'Maybe you could read a real book', he reminds. Hmmmm. Unpacking, I come across my well-loved, but never finished, Piano Shop on the Left Bank. (Rather than offer a link to Amazon.com, or the like, wonderful musings on this book can be found in blogland: Cornflower - you'll enjoy the previous post of hers, as well - and Stuck-in-a-Book.) Begun on a 2004 California tour, on a patio at the quaint (i.e., delightfully cozy and small...) Coast Village Inn in Santa Barbara...a few miles from where we attended college...I forced myself to mouth and relish each word as an antidote to painful speed-reading habits. It's the kind of book that has such elegant writing, it seems to matter not if you start over, take up where you left off, or open a page at random and just dive in. So, I've started grabbing it for a quick immersion in his seductive prose, here and there, as able, sometimes opening it and simply beginning reading at the first word of a random page, always admiring his art. I cannot do anything but marvel at its weavings of a real life centered around music (piano!)...perhaps embellished by his poetic imagination.

Happening upon his chapter entitled "Master Classes" yesterday morning, describing such an event with Peter Feuchtwanger, I suddenly felt the joy of my own unique musical skin around me...synchronicity in the universe...renewed passion for the 'ease of playing' that is my mantra, endlessly played and varied for students, lesson after lesson. 'Elliptical, relaxed movements...fluidity...'. Yes!! I tried out his concept of 'Natural movement - both freeing and riskier' with a 13 year old wunderkind this afternoon. Tomorrow night, the 15 year old boy whose rigid strength endangers my piano parts. Oh, the joy of oneness with the keys. Better to feel them as flesh than to play with wooden fingers.

i am not called to be pollyanna

This post is from the dearestdragonfly genre of 'forgotten posts caged as drafts, just now being let out'. From June 4, 2007:

Much as I would like it to be, and often can't get it out of my head and heart that it ain't so, life, especially the really important things, is rarely an eggs-neatly-all-in-one-basket, glorious-bouquet-of-Martha-Stewart-roses kind of thing. I keep looking for extreme of perfection...in all areas. But, recently, most especially in the affirmation category of "Things God's Will".

Life is messy and unpredictable. God's will is messy...and unpredictable. There's grit, there's potting soil. There's dustbunnies, gleaming wooden floors. Sticky fingers, silken caresses. Evil bermuda grass mixed into a neat border of lavender. Attempts to corral, contain, keep constant...simply unravel. "Stop!!! The point of life," I'd like to declare, "is to attain and then maintain the perfection."

In Ann Tyler's The Accidental Tourist, the title character reaches for the hand of an utterly forlorn boy...finding in its imperfect soiled, stickiness a celebration of sweetness. This variety of winningly sweet messiness I can relate to. Yet, it seems I have a certain radar (I hope not a 'magnet'...) for seeing - or at least acknowledging - a darkly discouraging side of things. I reluctantly leave the embrace of the freshness of the possibility of perfection and consider taking on the other side - almost, 'hello darkness, my old friend'. And look for the redemption that follows.

Maybe this is why I follow the Fr. C sermon template so well.

But therein I miss the point. Isn't the messy more interesting? more fun? And perhaps the point reaches past 'oh, go for the adventure: delight in the aberrant, the messy.'

Last Sunday, I cried a bit during the opening hymn. It is my absolute favorite hymn in the entire realm of hymnody: St. Patrick's Breastplate: "I bind unto myself this day...", (ancient text here, hymnal version here with a few 'bonus' verses) worthy of an entire blog entry of its own. Being a church musician, I often don't have the luxury of living 100% into the worship. I envy those who can...natural musicians, no doubt. But as I sang along with this one, with its sweeping, boundless affirmations following after affirmations of what we believe, I got to this stanza and lost it:

I bind unto myself today
The power of God to hold and lead,
His eye to watch, His might to stay,
His ear to hearken to my need.

Despite doubts, concerns...the spiritual glass half-full is ALWAYS there (thanks, Spaz...). Perhaps my call is to see the end result of redemption. Though I love every stanza of this hymn, this one was the most appropriate for my current state of heart and mind. Shall I be windswept by doubts, fears...loves...concerns...on all sides?

The beauty of redemption surpasses the original, lost perfection. So, I am called to revel in God's hand, leading, guiding, promising, fulfilling. And it is certainly my sticky hand that Redemption holds ever so tightly and lovingly.

Amen.

I arise today Through god's strength to pilot me; God's might to uphold me; God's wisdom to guide me; God's eye to look before me; God's ear to hear me; God's word to speak for me; God's hand to guard me; God's way to lie before me; God's shield to protect me; God's host to save me.

I'M FIVE!!!

I took the Real Age test last night. I'm feeling positively infantile! Two-and-a-half years younger than my chronological age...which puts me at something with a couple of fives in it.

Sing it, Barbra! (I bravely took out the irritating 'autoplay' HTML code, so you have to start it the old fashioned way - PRESS PLAY!)

I'm Five (from My Name Is Barbra) (Barbra Streisand)

Video Code provided by MusicRemedy.Com

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i object...!!!*

How can there not be an 'anglican choral music nerd' section on this test? Well...I'll gladly settle for the Minka 'cool club'.

I'm not sure I can hang out with Felipe anymore - 'uber cool'. I'm so sure...

Just had to get the dot dot dot in there somehow...

identity lost & found or found & lost ...or neither

Written last Sunday night...

I'm rather in the middle of an identity crisis dance. Not surprising after a big move. What of me stays there? What of me is found here? Part of it is a palpable presence today: A beloved and longtime Stockton musician slid onto the organ bench at St. John's. Here, in my new life that is still forming, I have wrestled - not with the wanting to continue that particular ministry, as I enjoy 'being' with the congregation and hearing the fruits of very talented musicians at St. Anne's - but with the saying goodbye part of it...and not knowing what - if any - sort of work might be mine to grasp later. Grasp. Now, there's a word. What part of me do I own?

I am beginning some work for Grace College here. It is both the same, and yet different, from the work I've done before. The same...in that part of it involves a bit of accompanying. A post-grad soprano working on a recital presents me with the 'Queen of the Night' aria from Magic Flute (orchestral reduction...hmmmm...) I'm reminded of the 'me' that did so much accompanying in my 20's (learning a lot about orchestral opera reductions), a bit in my 30's and 40's (counting school children and choirs), a huge lot in my 49th year and beyond. Always a shifting identity within those. (I would love to have that 20's identity right now. Actually, I wish to command it to appear.) I am the same person...yet different.

I want to tighten my grasp around....well, something. But it seems I can't even tighten a grasp around me. I feel for comforting parameters around me, but there is mostly empty, undefined space.

Enter Fr. C's Year C: Proper 18 (9 September, 2007) sermon. Way before the end, I had mentally and spiritually written that check to God with 'my identity' in the amount spot. Glad to do it, actually. Freeing...immensely. I felt rather like one of the Dog Whisperer's pups, who finds its true self in not being in charge. Exhale.

Now, almost a week after writing this, I find the 'unknown' has almost become a comfortable skin. I'm not sure what color it is. Or if it's silk threads or cotton ones weaving. But it feels strangely comforting and 'right'...in ways I may not even understand yet.

the dreaded '3'...

We had some strong and over-the-top exciting "wanting to buy" kind of interest in the house last weekend. There has been a steady stream of lookers at the Open Houses...some who used to live in it or used to play with people who used to live in it...some who are curious...and lots of people who wish they could buy, but must sell their own house first and not much is selling (San Joaquin County is top in the nation in foreclosures, though we did hear an interview with a Stockton realtor on NPR last week who says banks are working with people to help them keep their homes. There are too many foreclosures and the banks can't sell them either.). The house is intrinsically magical and has phenomenal magnetism -- and not just the kind that attracts people like me who see possibilities and don't mind imperfections and enjoy working on a house. It deserves special, loving owners. This couple was perfect: They loved it and were amazed at the affordable price. They had money to put into it (some important 'This Old House' projects remain). It was the husband's first choice. They spent an hour in it, returned the next day, and on the following day bought the house across the street. That one's pristine condition was irresistible. For me, compared to our house that one is boring...nothing beckons with interesting, personalizing projects. There's barely any yard at all. (Yup. It's Fr. C's dream house!)

But, we're happy for our former neighbors who are now living in Georgia. It's been way over a year since they put it on the market, and in that time they've put tens of thousands of dollars into it improving it. It sold for $100K less than the original price. And, they're paying $12K of the closing costs.

Our realtor is fabulous. Has lived in the 'historic district' for most of her life. Is always upbeat, encouraging and on top of things. She was disappointed about losing the sale...even though she has the listing on the house across the street. She went into a slight 'over-reactive' mode: Let's paint the interior (Probably thinking 'boring neutrals' -- 'neutering' ones, I call them -- which our friends had used)!! Nope. Can't afford that. "It will only cost $600-800 to 'stage' the house!!!" Ditto. We compromised on one project: repainting the Peony Pink dining room. That hurts. I cried. But, without my mother's Monet-like paintings...and the old rose and gold floral print couch...well, in the buff it looks like Pepto Bismal, she said.

We had lowered the price to to entice the lookers last weekend. Yesterday she called. For this Saturday's real estate section open house ad, she wants to lower it again. It still begins with a '4'. I ask -- what price will she want to put on it in a month if it hadn't sold by then? This one begins with a '3'. We knew that was coming. And we knew we would support it. And we know it's for the best. It might be that we were also in an over reactive mode. It might be that we were too impatient - it's been on the market for less than two months. But we said yes. And...it was an emotional day.

I fear we have devalued the house by doing that. And, devalued the many other houses for sale in the Magnolia district and every other district in Stockton. That's how a bottoming out market works. Two years ago, when we were needing to put a new roof on it, the house appraised at $500K. Great. But, perhaps, not really...

When we returned from visiting family in Brazil in August and exited the house three days later, I saw our realtor's information sheets on the kitchen counter. One was from a lender, showing creative ways for a buyer to afford its original list price. I gulped. Our mortgage is oppressive enough for us. I would like for my children -- and everyone's children -- to be able to afford to buy a house someday, and not have to take out one of those ridiculous should-be-illegal mortgages or spend half their income on it. Things must change.

Come Holy Spirit and comfort and inspire the souls of those yearning for shelter, stability...for a house to care for and a home to delight in.

Amen.

PB at GM...

OK. There is something seriously wrong with me. Fr. C and I went to Chicago on August 27th - an anniversary celebration - and we saw Patricia Barber at the Green Mill and I haven't blogged about it yet. A serious illness must be involved.

Life is busy...and yet not, sometimes. Maybe it's just the adjustment period in our new lives. The air is different. I don't think it has anything to do with exhausting activities like...It's midnight and I'm cleaning up some impressive Bixby projectile vomit in the living room...he was on the harvest table right by the stairs and, though there was a liquid heap on the tablecloth on said table, still, much of it left a lace-like effect splattered on a large area of the carpet...even reached the stairs...AND the railing...as well as embedding itself in the screws holding the stair railing in place...and, well, I can't even adequately describe the impressive scope of it. I'm not usually a big fan of carpet. But the rectory carpet is understated, lovely - low pile, cottony... And I want to be a good steward of it. So...I cleaned up the complicated slurpy canned cat food vomit crime scene with Nature's Miracle and SEVERAL rags; rolled up half of the organdy cloth on the harvest table to contain that portion for later (morning) cleanup. Climbed in bed. Hear a loud thud. Lucy has pulled the tablecloth onto the carpet, displacing several heavy items on the table (i.e., landed on the carpet) and actually rather quickly chewed through a corner of the valued, delicate cloth in her quick attempt to do her own thorough clean up. Yup, I'm sure. My lapse in blogging, decline in creative energy, has nothing to do with that.

BTW: Why I still like Clive Davis. His review of PB's latest CD - Mythologies (the result of her Guggenheim fellowship) : "Audacious is the only word for the Chicago-based singer-pianist's latest leap into the unknown. She's always pursued an unconventional course, and this, inspired by Ovid's Metamorphoses, no less, is one of the most unusual and memorable records to come my way in a long, long time. Oh, and this is a nice one from Time Out, NY: Patricia Barber is a demon of an improvising pianist, especially live. (YES!!) But the literary, even cerebral cast of her original material has evident highbrow appeal, especially as sung in her distinctively icy alto; Laurie Anderson with a nightclub gig... (Oops, I think I just threw Blogger into font confusion)

Green Mill is her stomping ground. I don't think she plays three sets just any place. She wears it like a comfortable, over-worn jean skirt. Relaxed, at home. Now, she is off working/playing on her UC Berkeley fellowship, then a couple nights at the Getty villa in Malibu. But when she's back in town, it will be Monday nights at the Green Mill as usual.

She looked like herself -- I was surprised at how well I 'know' her, how much I've seen on her website and on CD sleeves is real, really her. Wearing black. Her hair loosely clipped back. Signature facial expressions and gyrations at the piano. She even had her signature cognac-filled glass by the piano.

It just might be true that the other members of the quartet match her brilliance. But I'm not going to say that. It is The Patricia Barber quartet, and she reigns as queen. The first set included three, lengthy, impressive, on-the-spot improvisations from the group. Danson la Gigue was her only composition (setting a Verlaine poem) from a CD. There were a few cool, blue 'cover' ballads. I would have killed to hear 'If I Were Blue' and a few others of her original lyrics/music creations, but there was no opportunity. After announcing the first break -- with an astonishing promise of two more sets to come -- we waited and waited and waited and it was obvious the group was enjoying the night at 'home' so very much that, when it got to be midnight on Indiana EDT, we bailed and hit the road. Must stay the night next time!!!

Notes on the evening's offerings are buried deep in my purse. When excavated, there may be more to share.

(Oh -- and all this for a cover of $7 at the door, the price of a movie in Warsaw, and likely half a movie in Chicago. I don't sense this is because she hasn't forgotten her roots, but that she still is her roots. Nature Conservancy is her 'cause'.)

NPR's Jim Fusseli reviews her CD 'Verse' (2002) on All Things Considered.

Definitely click on 'Launch the Mythologies player' at the top of her news page.

something inane...why not? it's a holiday...

Your Heart Is Purple

For you, love is about establishing and developing a deep connection. If it's true love, it brings you more wisdom and inner strength. Your flirting style: Sincere Your lucky first date: An afternoon at a tea house Your dream lover: Is both thoughtful and expressive What you bring to relationships: Understanding

What Color Heart Do You Have?

views from the rectory...come visit!

How cute is Lucy?

It's doing it again. The sun is bouncing off the ripples of the breeze-ruffled pond and reflecting in a stretched window-shaped view screen on the master bedroom ceiling. Now it is that I wish my cell phone could capture this as video...and return to it at will for mesmerizing viewing. (hmm...it occurs to me that perhaps my phone might actually do that. Does Motorola have a Hogwarts school of cell phone wizardry? I'd certainly need to attend to become Hermione of all Razr features.)

Long overdue, here are photos of the breathtaking view from the rectory (the interior is in various states of order/disorder, but we're almost there!). These were taken during our first week, when the weather was somber...sometimes stormy...gray around the edges. I like the drama in that. But we've had some brilliant, beautiful, blue-sky days recently which tempt with another view.

The rectory is one of 20 homes surrounding a spring-fed pond with an island in the middle (thus our street name: Island View Drive). The homes vary in age, style, size. But they all have one thing in common: the sloping backyard that ends at the pond, with a second, basement level revealed as you look back at the house. The windmill above belongs to our neighbor; judging from the mowing, I'd say it marks the property line. In the land of no fences and vast expanses of green carpet, I've seen other kinds of 'markers', presumably to remind of that.

View of the opposite shore, from the dining room.

Taken from the driveway: Woods across the street with three of its many inhabitants. Lucy isn't quite sure what they are, but one thing's for sure: they're interlopers and need the business end of a border collie's sheep herding instinct to keep them under control. Translation: lots of barking upon sightings!

The driveway, from kitchen window. The house is full of triptych windows. There are no curtains or blinds at this point, and we almost wish it could stay like that.

One corner of the kitchen. The first week we allowed ourselves the luxury of hanging a few paintings as a reward for progress. The Vine Street kitchen could fit in this space... and still have room for table & chairs...DD's tall desk/cabinet...a newly purchased Martha Stewart 'wicker' sofa (killer sale at KMart! Of course, it didn't come with cushions, but that's a minor detail, right?)...a corner cabinet...and still has plenty of room for walking around!! Oh, and sweeping...

From Lucy's fenced yard: the kitchen at night.

Island view from the deck. What you're not seeing are the stacks of empty Bekins boxes lining the wall.

View from the enclosed porch directly under the deck.
Fr. C has already fallen asleep to a few lightening-filled thunderstorms here.

Bixby looking outside longingly, but securely, from our bed. He's turned into a total candy a$$! Loves the indoor life, doesn't seem to miss catching his own food, has gained a lot of weight and still manages to find time to turn his coat into spun silk, daily. I'm sure it's not as easy as it sounds.

Fr. C's first Sunday: the recessional. St. Anne's is lovely in every way! That will be another picture album.

Ah. Fr. C has just uploaded recent photos from the camera. Sunny day pics!

View from the master bedroom: the pond world, coolly reflected in still water.

The infamous Bixby! Bravely (ha!) venturing out on the deck...which, by the way, is inaccessible from anything below and too high for him to jump off of.

Deep sky blue pond

Sunny deck - and the bridge that connects to the island in the background. Check out the swan boat docked at the bridge!!! I'm thinking 'Christmas present' for DD...but deep down I know it's more fun when you're not the one cleaning and maintaining.

Love to all, near and far!