The Adorable Godson has a job! Hurrah for him. It didn't take long for him to find it. He graduated with his second bachelor's degree in May (physics - the first bachelor's was a couple of years ago with a double major in computer science and math) and received the job offer about a month later. He will be doing Serious Tech-y Things for an Interesting and Useful Company beginning in July. The company is in California, so off he goes ten days from now. I --and we in his little congregation-- will miss him, but we are all very happy for him and proud of him.
In addition to this, he got a haircut for the job interview (not a short short one, mind you; he has much too beautiful hair to go for a buzz cut, but the hair was a little too much in his eyes and down toward the shoulders to look professional, even for the high tech world) and looks very handsome.
Of course this is all very first-time-ish and scary too, so we welcome both your prayers of celebration and your prayers for a smooth landing in the world of full-time employment. I haven't yet asked him whether I can use his real first name here, so for now, you can just pray for Jane's Adorable Godson and Godde will know quite well whom you mean. Thanks!
Showing posts with label family. Show all posts
Showing posts with label family. Show all posts
Sunday, June 20, 2010
Saturday, March 20, 2010
Ruth Olver, R.I.P.
Two years ago my parents' dear friend John Olver died. I only wrote the first of two posts I had planned to write on him. We had a visiting lecturer from Botswana at school on almost-last-minute notice and I never got to write more. But the first post is here and will tell you a bit about him. (There is a good link to a short bio.) John was a warm, witty, intelligent man who worked for UNDP, the United Nations Development Programme, for most of his life. I think of him when I hear news of Gaza because he was one of the few people who managed to get anything done there. In his case, it was bringing fresh water to Gaza. He wrote a book about it, but I think it was a self-publish and never got out there into the wide world. I once saw a used copy on Amazon, though. It was called Roadblocks and Mindblocks: Partnering with The PLO and Israel.
John died in March of 2008, a month full of deaths and with Holy Week in it besides.
Today John's wife Ruth Olver died. Ruth and my mother met at Hunter College in uptown Manhattan when they were in their late teens. They used to study at the library together, taking turns napping. Later, when they were both married, the two couples became close friends and my mother became godmother to Ruth's second child, a daughter. I used to get hand-me-down clothes from Amy; they would arrive in a package at our house in Paris, all the way from wherever the Olvers were at the time. For a while they lived in Geneva.
We received news of Ruth's passing from Ruth and John's son this evening. (Interesting note: both he and I entered the Episcopal Church in our middle age.) Ruth had been very ill for several years. She had Parkinson's and other ailments, and she had recently turned 92 years old.
Ruth Olver was an early civil rights activist, attempting to integrate public facilities in Washington, D.C. in the early 1940s (as did my mother's late brother, Don Rothenberg). Her son wrote, "A brilliant woman of her generation, after her marriage to the late John Olver in 1944 she devoted herself to raising her children and supporting the UN career of our late father. However, she was always very active in organizing schools, supplies and other social support for children wherever he served, especially in Libya and later in the Palestinian Territories."
In her forties, back in the U.S., Ruth became a psychiatric social worker. In addition to an active clinical practice, she was a pioneer in campaigning against spousal and other domestic abuse in Westchester County. (For those of you who don't know, that's a suburban county north of New York City; part of it is fancy shmancy and it also has middle-class neighborhoods and towns and pockets of poverty; domestic abuse does not know class lines.) Ruth was a founder of the Women's Justice Council, which lobbies the police and courts for justice for victim-survivors of domestic abuse and and provides childcare and other support to them while they are pursuing their rights. (I'm paraphrasing Richard's letter here.)
Ruth was a founder of My Sister's Place, a Westchester County shelter for victims of abuse. The family has requested that in lieu of flowers, donations be made to that shelter.
Please remember Ruth Olver and her children and grandchildren in your prayers. Remember also John, who preceded her in death two years ago and who like her worked for the good of humanity. Remember also my parents, who have yet again lost a dear friend of their generation.
John died in March of 2008, a month full of deaths and with Holy Week in it besides.
Today John's wife Ruth Olver died. Ruth and my mother met at Hunter College in uptown Manhattan when they were in their late teens. They used to study at the library together, taking turns napping. Later, when they were both married, the two couples became close friends and my mother became godmother to Ruth's second child, a daughter. I used to get hand-me-down clothes from Amy; they would arrive in a package at our house in Paris, all the way from wherever the Olvers were at the time. For a while they lived in Geneva.
We received news of Ruth's passing from Ruth and John's son this evening. (Interesting note: both he and I entered the Episcopal Church in our middle age.) Ruth had been very ill for several years. She had Parkinson's and other ailments, and she had recently turned 92 years old.
Ruth Olver was an early civil rights activist, attempting to integrate public facilities in Washington, D.C. in the early 1940s (as did my mother's late brother, Don Rothenberg). Her son wrote, "A brilliant woman of her generation, after her marriage to the late John Olver in 1944 she devoted herself to raising her children and supporting the UN career of our late father. However, she was always very active in organizing schools, supplies and other social support for children wherever he served, especially in Libya and later in the Palestinian Territories."
In her forties, back in the U.S., Ruth became a psychiatric social worker. In addition to an active clinical practice, she was a pioneer in campaigning against spousal and other domestic abuse in Westchester County. (For those of you who don't know, that's a suburban county north of New York City; part of it is fancy shmancy and it also has middle-class neighborhoods and towns and pockets of poverty; domestic abuse does not know class lines.) Ruth was a founder of the Women's Justice Council, which lobbies the police and courts for justice for victim-survivors of domestic abuse and and provides childcare and other support to them while they are pursuing their rights. (I'm paraphrasing Richard's letter here.)
Ruth was a founder of My Sister's Place, a Westchester County shelter for victims of abuse. The family has requested that in lieu of flowers, donations be made to that shelter.
Please remember Ruth Olver and her children and grandchildren in your prayers. Remember also John, who preceded her in death two years ago and who like her worked for the good of humanity. Remember also my parents, who have yet again lost a dear friend of their generation.
Saturday, March 13, 2010
Why Mexico City
Someone on Facebook asked why my parents got married in Mexico City.
Since it's too long an answer for Facebook, here goes.
My father got his master's degree at the Columbia University Journalism School. He was not yet 21 years old. He graduated at the top of his class (1939) and was one of three recipients of a Pulitzer Traveling Fellowship. This gave him the opportunity to travel and write for a year.
He headed for Europe in June. He knew by then that he wanted to be a foreign correspondent. He traveled through Western Europe, then Eastern Europe and the USSR and back to Western Europe. Well, if you remember your world history, you remember what started happening on September 1, 1939. World War II broke out.
My father had hoped to stay and find work as a war correspondent, but despite his letters of recommendation, he couldn't find a job, and he went home, not on a Cunard liner as he had on the way over, but on a freighter taking refugees back to the U.S. Among the passengers was my father's cabin-mate --not by choice-- who turned out to be, so he said and my father had no reason to doubt him, Prince Felix Yussupov. You may remember him as the man who killed Rasputin. My father notes in his memoir that he "had never before met anybody who had killed a man, let alone boasted about it. Sharing a cabin with him was fun on an otherwise tense voyage, but I didn't sleep too well thinking about my new friend, the murderer." (p.23)
FoAoH decided to finish up his fellowship in Mexico City, so off he went. There were many estadounidenses there at the time: Mexico was warm, welcoming, and inexpensive. It was also, as my father discovered, desperately poor, and the Mexico City metropolitan area was already crowded then with a population over five million. He started freelancing and stringing (working part-time) for several newspapers and news services.
After he'd been there for a while, MoAoH got sick of waiting up in Brooklyn. She'd finished college by then, so, as I like to tell it, she said to her parents "Bye-bye, I'm going to marry FoAoH!" Okay, it wasn't entirely like that. My parents had both turned 21 by then, it was now early 1940, and my father saw that they could live quite well on under $15 a week, so they decided that they would get married sooner rather than later. My father wrote a letter to my mother's father, as one did in those days, and promised he would take good care of her. They had known each other for years so my mother's parents knew my father was a trustworthy sort, and they knew my parents wanted to get married. People didn't "get engaged" in those days, at least in my parents' circles. It was the Depression and nobody was buying or showing off diamonds on their left ring fingers, and my mother's family was never terribly conventional anyway, though they certainly believed in marriage.
My parents met at James Madison High School in Brooklyn, New York. They didn't become sweethearts till college but were in the same group of friends in high school. Like many in their high school --mostly children and grandchildren of Jewish immigrants-- they attended public colleges: she went to Hunter College, which was all women at the time; he went to City College, which was all men. Both of those schools were way uptown in Manhattan, of course, and my family's version of "In my day we had to walk five miles to school in the snow, uphill in both directions!" was "It was the Depression, we lived at home, and we took the subway to school an hour and a half in each direction." Three hours of commuting a day to get an education. My mother is the one who talks about this.
My father was editor of the college newspaper and helped get a corrupt college president on the road to resignation, but that is another story and you can read it in FoAoH's memoir. He went on to a private university (Columbia) for professional journalism study. My brother also went there, years later, and I contemplated doing the same but didn't.
Back to the Mexico story. My mother took the bus down to Mexico City from New York. Yes, the bus. More like buses. I think her first stop was Indianapolis because she had an uncle there. Not sure whether or where she stopped after that, but it was a five-day trip. At any rate, she got to Mexico City safe and sound on a Friday, and the following Tuesday she and my father were married.
They married at the American Embassy because they were patriotic young people and wanted to be married on American soil. But the Ambassador wasn't empowered to officiate at weddings (unlike some other foreign diplomats) so they got a Mexican Justice of the Peace. Only civil marriages were valid in Mexico. A wedding at the JP's Registry office would cost two pesos, but they decided to splurge and go for the 32-peso wedding, which is what it cost to get married outside the Registry. 32 pesos in those days was about 8 dollars.
Foreign Service officers couldn't officiate at marriages but they could witness them (in the church that's the same thing, so I don't quite get the distinction, but there you have it) and issue a certificate of marriage so in addition to the Mexican wedding certificate, my parents got a U.S. certificate (for one dollar extra). I'm not sure whether the Consul General or the Ambassador signed the piece of paper, but they were both there. The Ambassador at the time was Josephus Daniels, a former Secretary of the Navy under President Woodrow Wilson who was a former newsman -- how appropriate. I remembered he was a Southerner, but what I had forgotten and just re-read in the Mexico chapter of the memoir is that he was the founder-editor of the Raleigh News & Observer. That's Raleigh, North Carolina.
Meanwhile, my paternal grandparents had expressed the desire for my parents to have a Jewish wedding ceremony, so several days later PoAoH located a rabbi, which in Mexico City was not so easy, and he witnessed and officiated at a religious ceremony. It was in Spanish and Hebrew and they had a sheet or a tablecloth for a chuppah (the traditional wedding canopy) and my father didn't have a kippah (yarmulke) so he used a handkerchief tied at four corners. The part of this story I love is that the rabbi lived on Jesus Maria Street. Now there's a title for a novel: The Rabbi on Jesus Maria Street.
Parents of Acts of Hope did have a little reception with a wedding cake. The cake was the work of two Greek-American pastry cooks from Manhattan who after fighting in the International Brigade in the Spanish Civil War (i.e. against Franco's forces) had settled in Mexico and opened a restaurant and bakery.
My father's memoir doesn't say and I haven't asked my parents, but it occurred to me a few years ago upon re-reading my father's description that these guys, Nick and Mike, were probably a couple. But maybe they weren't.
The cake had two white doves on top.
The big story in 1940 in Mexico was, of course, Trostsky's assassination, and my father, as a freshly minted journalist, got to cover it. There was a substantial cast of characters in the background shenanigans leading up to the assassination, including an American woman who had been one of Trotsky's aides. My father was stringing for the Jack Starr-Hunt News Service and among their clients was the N.Y. Daily News tabloid, which could care less about the politics of the story. Who cared if Stalin's arch-enemy had just been killed? The Daily News fired off to my father a cable that read "RUSH 1,500 WORDS GIRLIE ANGLE." Welcome to highfalutin foreign correspondent work.
After a few months in Mexico, with the fellowship year over, my parents returned to the U.S. and Brooklyn, where both their families lived. My father got a stop-gap editing job at the Brooklyn Academy of Music while hunting for a real job in journalism. At last, after six months, a real job materialized, and off my parents went to Herkimer, New York (for those of you who don't know, that's in the boonies, at least from a New York City perspective) where my father worked on the Evening Telegram newspaper for the magnificent sum of $35 per week.
The following year Pearl Harbor happened and my parents moved to Washington.
But that is another story.
Since it's too long an answer for Facebook, here goes.
My father got his master's degree at the Columbia University Journalism School. He was not yet 21 years old. He graduated at the top of his class (1939) and was one of three recipients of a Pulitzer Traveling Fellowship. This gave him the opportunity to travel and write for a year.
He headed for Europe in June. He knew by then that he wanted to be a foreign correspondent. He traveled through Western Europe, then Eastern Europe and the USSR and back to Western Europe. Well, if you remember your world history, you remember what started happening on September 1, 1939. World War II broke out.
My father had hoped to stay and find work as a war correspondent, but despite his letters of recommendation, he couldn't find a job, and he went home, not on a Cunard liner as he had on the way over, but on a freighter taking refugees back to the U.S. Among the passengers was my father's cabin-mate --not by choice-- who turned out to be, so he said and my father had no reason to doubt him, Prince Felix Yussupov. You may remember him as the man who killed Rasputin. My father notes in his memoir that he "had never before met anybody who had killed a man, let alone boasted about it. Sharing a cabin with him was fun on an otherwise tense voyage, but I didn't sleep too well thinking about my new friend, the murderer." (p.23)
FoAoH decided to finish up his fellowship in Mexico City, so off he went. There were many estadounidenses there at the time: Mexico was warm, welcoming, and inexpensive. It was also, as my father discovered, desperately poor, and the Mexico City metropolitan area was already crowded then with a population over five million. He started freelancing and stringing (working part-time) for several newspapers and news services.
After he'd been there for a while, MoAoH got sick of waiting up in Brooklyn. She'd finished college by then, so, as I like to tell it, she said to her parents "Bye-bye, I'm going to marry FoAoH!" Okay, it wasn't entirely like that. My parents had both turned 21 by then, it was now early 1940, and my father saw that they could live quite well on under $15 a week, so they decided that they would get married sooner rather than later. My father wrote a letter to my mother's father, as one did in those days, and promised he would take good care of her. They had known each other for years so my mother's parents knew my father was a trustworthy sort, and they knew my parents wanted to get married. People didn't "get engaged" in those days, at least in my parents' circles. It was the Depression and nobody was buying or showing off diamonds on their left ring fingers, and my mother's family was never terribly conventional anyway, though they certainly believed in marriage.
My parents met at James Madison High School in Brooklyn, New York. They didn't become sweethearts till college but were in the same group of friends in high school. Like many in their high school --mostly children and grandchildren of Jewish immigrants-- they attended public colleges: she went to Hunter College, which was all women at the time; he went to City College, which was all men. Both of those schools were way uptown in Manhattan, of course, and my family's version of "In my day we had to walk five miles to school in the snow, uphill in both directions!" was "It was the Depression, we lived at home, and we took the subway to school an hour and a half in each direction." Three hours of commuting a day to get an education. My mother is the one who talks about this.
My father was editor of the college newspaper and helped get a corrupt college president on the road to resignation, but that is another story and you can read it in FoAoH's memoir. He went on to a private university (Columbia) for professional journalism study. My brother also went there, years later, and I contemplated doing the same but didn't.
Back to the Mexico story. My mother took the bus down to Mexico City from New York. Yes, the bus. More like buses. I think her first stop was Indianapolis because she had an uncle there. Not sure whether or where she stopped after that, but it was a five-day trip. At any rate, she got to Mexico City safe and sound on a Friday, and the following Tuesday she and my father were married.
They married at the American Embassy because they were patriotic young people and wanted to be married on American soil. But the Ambassador wasn't empowered to officiate at weddings (unlike some other foreign diplomats) so they got a Mexican Justice of the Peace. Only civil marriages were valid in Mexico. A wedding at the JP's Registry office would cost two pesos, but they decided to splurge and go for the 32-peso wedding, which is what it cost to get married outside the Registry. 32 pesos in those days was about 8 dollars.
Foreign Service officers couldn't officiate at marriages but they could witness them (in the church that's the same thing, so I don't quite get the distinction, but there you have it) and issue a certificate of marriage so in addition to the Mexican wedding certificate, my parents got a U.S. certificate (for one dollar extra). I'm not sure whether the Consul General or the Ambassador signed the piece of paper, but they were both there. The Ambassador at the time was Josephus Daniels, a former Secretary of the Navy under President Woodrow Wilson who was a former newsman -- how appropriate. I remembered he was a Southerner, but what I had forgotten and just re-read in the Mexico chapter of the memoir is that he was the founder-editor of the Raleigh News & Observer. That's Raleigh, North Carolina.
Meanwhile, my paternal grandparents had expressed the desire for my parents to have a Jewish wedding ceremony, so several days later PoAoH located a rabbi, which in Mexico City was not so easy, and he witnessed and officiated at a religious ceremony. It was in Spanish and Hebrew and they had a sheet or a tablecloth for a chuppah (the traditional wedding canopy) and my father didn't have a kippah (yarmulke) so he used a handkerchief tied at four corners. The part of this story I love is that the rabbi lived on Jesus Maria Street. Now there's a title for a novel: The Rabbi on Jesus Maria Street.
Parents of Acts of Hope did have a little reception with a wedding cake. The cake was the work of two Greek-American pastry cooks from Manhattan who after fighting in the International Brigade in the Spanish Civil War (i.e. against Franco's forces) had settled in Mexico and opened a restaurant and bakery.
My father's memoir doesn't say and I haven't asked my parents, but it occurred to me a few years ago upon re-reading my father's description that these guys, Nick and Mike, were probably a couple. But maybe they weren't.
The cake had two white doves on top.
The big story in 1940 in Mexico was, of course, Trostsky's assassination, and my father, as a freshly minted journalist, got to cover it. There was a substantial cast of characters in the background shenanigans leading up to the assassination, including an American woman who had been one of Trotsky's aides. My father was stringing for the Jack Starr-Hunt News Service and among their clients was the N.Y. Daily News tabloid, which could care less about the politics of the story. Who cared if Stalin's arch-enemy had just been killed? The Daily News fired off to my father a cable that read "RUSH 1,500 WORDS GIRLIE ANGLE." Welcome to highfalutin foreign correspondent work.
After a few months in Mexico, with the fellowship year over, my parents returned to the U.S. and Brooklyn, where both their families lived. My father got a stop-gap editing job at the Brooklyn Academy of Music while hunting for a real job in journalism. At last, after six months, a real job materialized, and off my parents went to Herkimer, New York (for those of you who don't know, that's in the boonies, at least from a New York City perspective) where my father worked on the Evening Telegram newspaper for the magnificent sum of $35 per week.
The following year Pearl Harbor happened and my parents moved to Washington.
But that is another story.
Friday, March 12, 2010
The Amazing Parents of Acts of Hope: 70 Years Today!
The Amazing Parents of Acts of Hope are still alive and kicking at 91, after a scare this winter when Mother of Acts of Hope had medical episode which put her in the hospital for a little under a week and sent me dashing up to Boston on four hours' notice back in January. It took a while for her to get better but she is up and about and we are grateful, because today is a big day. Seventy, yes, 70, count' em, 70 years ago, on March 12, 1940, Mother and Father of Acts of Hope were married in Mexico City. Why Mexico City? That is a tale for this weekend. What I can tell you now is that Mother of Acts of Hope, age 21 at the time, took the bus, or rather several buses, from Brooklyn, New York to Mexico, D.F., Mexico. Now there's determination. And love!
We children are not up in Boston but will be going there in a few weeks when everyone in several different countries can get schedules coordinated, and we are looking forward to it. For now we are using electronic means to communicate, and of course flowers.
I'm always hesitant to post family photos on the blog and never post photos of children anywhere on the Web, blog or Facebook or websites, but if you are on Facebook and are a FB friend of mine and go to my profile, you can see in one of ththe family album some photos of my parents which I put up a while back. Note: I am off Facebook on Fridays, Saturdays, and most of Sundays in Lent, and it's a good thing. I may do more of this after Lent is over.
It is spring break at Guilford and I have been sleeping long hours and working on the Big Tome as well as taking care of this and that (never enough time during term time to do the simplest things, like make phone calls to physicians about check-ups and clean the kitchen floor and find lost pieces of paper) so no special celebration on my end today, except for a little family-in-the-Spirit time locally. The Adorable Godson and his bff are coming here for lunch --we haven't had a meal together in too long -- and so I must go to the kitchen. Good thing the boys aren't coming till an hour from now.
In other news, the Right Reverend and Right Honourable Maya Pavlova, FBE, is lolling against the laptop, looking sweet and calm, but she has a serious case of spring fever and broke the glass in a picture frame two or three days ago in a morning mad dash about the house. Outdoors the daffodils are blooming under grey skies and the birds are out in full force. Over and out.
Saturday, November 28, 2009
Today she is two!
My great-niece, who lives in Portugal with her big brother and her mother and father (who is also known here as Nephew the Elder) is two years old today!
I still haven't met her face to face, but I am determined to get to Lisbon this coming year. Meanwhile, I gush over the pictures.
Happy Birthday to B! She is, by the way, a strong and determined young lady. Is anybody surprised?
And a belated Happy Birthday to the Fabulous Father of Acts of Hope, who turned 91 three weeks ago. Now both my parents are 91 years old.
Photo: Lisbon, Portugal
Friday, November 27, 2009
Friday cat blogging, deferred: a message from +Maya
It is I, Maya Pavlova, Feline Bishop Extraordinaire. I have been napping in an open drawer here in the study. The Canon to the Extraordinary has left the drawer open because she doesn't use the soft things in it that much, and frankly, I look and feel cozy and adorable in it and I can keep an eye on her if I need to.
The Canon tried to take a picture of me a few minutes ago. She has a new camera -- well, a no longer new to her lovely hand-me-down (thanks to You Know Who You Are) which for some bizarre reason she did not learn how to use this summer; something to do with a Big Tome and concentration. She finally got the batteries in it while I was napping and printed out the Big User's Guide and came up to me and pow! A flash in my eye. But she's not sure whether she really took a picture and she needs to study the manual some more, and that will take her an hour, which is going to have to be tomorrow, because she has to write. Silly human.
I am very well. I have the Canon close at hand and I keep close tabs on her. She has been away far too much for my taste. It's not that I starve or get cold, but I like my human and in those hours when I am awake, I like to converse with her and butt into her business. So I have been sleeping a little less than usual since she settled down at home for a few days and spending extra time butting in. I also jump on counters and on the kitchen table -- a lot.
I must go supervise the Canon, who is trying to get some work done on that Tome thing. I think she needs help.
The Canon tried to take a picture of me a few minutes ago. She has a new camera -- well, a no longer new to her lovely hand-me-down (thanks to You Know Who You Are) which for some bizarre reason she did not learn how to use this summer; something to do with a Big Tome and concentration. She finally got the batteries in it while I was napping and printed out the Big User's Guide and came up to me and pow! A flash in my eye. But she's not sure whether she really took a picture and she needs to study the manual some more, and that will take her an hour, which is going to have to be tomorrow, because she has to write. Silly human.
I am very well. I have the Canon close at hand and I keep close tabs on her. She has been away far too much for my taste. It's not that I starve or get cold, but I like my human and in those hours when I am awake, I like to converse with her and butt into her business. So I have been sleeping a little less than usual since she settled down at home for a few days and spending extra time butting in. I also jump on counters and on the kitchen table -- a lot.
I must go supervise the Canon, who is trying to get some work done on that Tome thing. I think she needs help.
Friday, September 11, 2009
Family time
Brother of Acts of Hope and Beloved of Brother of Acts of Hope are flying in from Europe on Saturday and we are converging on Parents of Acts of Hope. I get in a day before the Siblings do. I will be in New England for barely two days because I teach first thing in the a.m. on Mondays, but the far-flung Acts of Hope family makes the best of short amounts of time, so we are all happy happy happy. "All" being the two older generations. The two younger generations (Nephew the Elder, Nephew the Younger, their partners, and two kidlings) are off in their usual faraway countries.
Blogging will be scarce, but I will at some point put up the promised "write the media" post in the "DO SOMETHING for Health Care Reform" series.
I'll be with media types all weekend, so we'll see if they have any advice on this beyond the ideas I have collected or cooked up already. Lots of folks in the news biz in the Acts of Hope family, at least in the two older generations. The young 'uns didn't want to touch journalism with a ten-foot pole. Then again, one of them is in the wine biz, so we are grateful. The Really Young 'Uns may or may not go into journalism. At this point they are just busy being Really Young.
Shabbat Shalom and happy weekend, everyone.
Sunday, August 30, 2009
Mother of Acts of Hope is 91 today!
The one and only Mother of Acts of Hope is 91 years old today!
Father of Acts of Hope, a younger man who will not turn 91 till November, is a romantic and has written a sonnet for the occasion, and of course given his beloved a bouquet of roses.
We children can't be with Parents of Acts of Hope this weekend, but hope to converge on them in a couple of weeks. Meanwhile, Happy Birthday to our indomitable mother!
Photo: Autumn scene, Vermont. Nicked from somewhere on the Web. Mother of Acts of Hope's parents founded a summer camp in Vermont, and many years later my parents bought an old house near there, site of many happy summers and family gatherings. We no longer own the house but we still love and visit Vermont.
Father of Acts of Hope, a younger man who will not turn 91 till November, is a romantic and has written a sonnet for the occasion, and of course given his beloved a bouquet of roses.
We children can't be with Parents of Acts of Hope this weekend, but hope to converge on them in a couple of weeks. Meanwhile, Happy Birthday to our indomitable mother!
Photo: Autumn scene, Vermont. Nicked from somewhere on the Web. Mother of Acts of Hope's parents founded a summer camp in Vermont, and many years later my parents bought an old house near there, site of many happy summers and family gatherings. We no longer own the house but we still love and visit Vermont.
Monday, August 17, 2009
And so we return, with bits of theology, of the readable kind
I am back in North Carolina and will be easing back into blogging with bits of theology, since I have been immersed in theology for most of the summer. Not treatise theology, but theology that often speaks in narrative and poetry and liturgy. A bit of treatise theology too, but not much.
Her Grace the feline bishop, who received food and water and cuddles from a series of cat-sitters (or as the Rev. Liz Zivanov calls them --the term actually came from one of her cat-sitters, Dr. Elizabeth Drescher-- au-purrs) was mightily peeved at me when I returned. First she gave me the silent treatment and pretended to ignore me. That lasted about thirty seconds, tops. Then she yelled at me. All this time I sat still on the floor and waited for her to come to me. Eventually she did and began by sniffing my feet. (They and their shoes had been in California and on two airplanes and in a car belonging to the best friend of the Adorable Godson --both boys picked me up at the airport-- so there was plenty to sniff.) Then of course she climbed on me and we had a good snuggle. She scolded me on and off for several hours and slept on my chest at night. Now we are back to normal, whatever normal is.
I am happy to be back with +Maya Pavlova. I am not so happy to be back in muggy weather with bugs ready to bite the minute you walk out the door, after six weeks in the Mediterranean climate of Northern/Central California.
So, on to a little theology. It will be readable, I promise. It's not my writing, it is that of others, for your pondering pleasure (or distress -- theology should disturb as well as console).
Oil painting by Harry Simpson
Saturday, August 1, 2009
Fabulous Father of Acts of Hope Takes on Health Care Reform
Current Events:
PRESENTERS:
[Father of Acts of Hope] & [FoAoH's Friend], MD
OBAMA AND OUR HEALTH:
THE BATTLE OVER HEALTH CARE REFORM
*************
What's wrong with our present system?
What are the proposals for reform? What are the options for reform?
What is the "public option" ?
What about single payer?
What is the timeline?
What's the issue over money? How do we finance reform?
Who are the stakeholders?
What can we do as active citizens?
What about single payer?
What is the timeline?
What's the issue over money? How do we finance reform?
Who are the stakeholders?
What can we do as active citizens?
To discuss this and other related questions
in one of the most crucial
issues of our time,
issues of our time,
the next Current Events forum will take place on
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
[time, place]
[at my parents' retirement community]
*************
Both presenters are ninety-ish years old. Go, Daddy!
***************
P.S. FoAoH favors single-payer health care.
Monday, June 22, 2009
A Deenie update and a note on health care proxy
It has been nearly four years since I moved to North Carolina and I have yet to get a new health care proxy. Don't do what I have done. Take care of this now. Even if you are not old, you may find yourself incapacitated and need someone trustworthy to make health care decisions for you. Many of you have probably been through health care proxy / living will / durable power of attorney (note: these three are not the same thing - consult your state law) conversations with aging parents or ill loved ones. I know our family has had these conversations. But have you dealt with this for yourselves? I have been remiss in taking care of this.
Laws vary state by state. Consult the law for your own state. Those of us who are single and with no adult children need to pay special attention to this. Who is the best person for a health care proxy? Is it a relative or is it a friend? Pay attention to the relationship's long-term dynamics as well as to the person's values. You may also write very specific directives. Not all medical situations are the same. Again, check your state laws on this, talk to a medical professional, to your lawyer, or your clergymember or counselor if you feel more comfortable starting there. This post does not constitute either medical or legal advice. (It does constitute Auntie Jane's advice based on life experience and thirty-five years in ministry and other professional work. The link above will give you a basic definition of a health care proxy and health directives.)
All this to preface the news that Deenie's situation is not good at all.
Thanks, by the way, to Helen --in the comments to the previous update --for all the information. Helen, I can't really give all the details of the primary caregiver and family situation. Suffice it to say that it's not as functional as you would want it to be, so your suggestions, while very good, do not exactly apply. And now the situation is about to change drastically.
Against all advice from the hospice and all pleading from Deenie's friends, the family member who has health care proxy for her has decided to move Deenie from her home (where she has a paid caregiver plus friends who visit all the time plus a good neighbor who is a friend and pops in regularly) to a nursing home on the other side of the city.
(Note to Helen: Deenie is no longer capable of making decisions for herself; she is too weak to oppose other people's decisions.)
This family member was not the original person who had the health care proxy. The original person found him/herself too far away geographically, so Deenie changed the health care proxy, picking this particular family member, we are not sure why; perhaps she hesitated to burden a friend, even though her friends are in many ways her family.
The nursing home in question is not a hospice. It is not set up to help people die comfortably and peacefully and in a loving and serene setting. Our friends have done some research about it and it is not an adequate facility. Deenie has always said --as she did when I visited her and she was still compos mentis-- that she wanted to die at home, not in an institution.
Our mutual friend is trying to see what she can do before tomorrow and has gotten in touch with a family member who is truly devoted to Deenie and is also trying to reach Deenie's lawyer of many years (who is terrific) in hopes that one or both may be able to intervene somehow.
The situation is messy and cruel. Our friend writes that she prays Deenie will die before this move can take place against her wishes.
Deenie's 70th birthday is next Monday.
Kyrie Eleison. Christe Eleison. Kyrie Eleison.
Lord, you now have set your servant free
to go in peace as you have promised;
For these eyes of mine have seen the Savior,
whom you have prepared for all the world to see:
A Light to enlighten the nations,
and the glory of your people Israel.
My soul gives glory to my God.
My heart pours out its praise.
God lifted up my lowliness
in many marvelous ways.
My God has done great things for me:
yes, holy is this name.
All people will declare me blessed,
and blessings they shall claim.
From age to age, to all who fear,
such mercy love imparts,
dispensing justice far and near,
dismissing selfish hearts.
Love casts the mighty from their thrones,
promotes the insecure,
leaves hungry spirits satisfied,
the rich seem suddenly poor.
Praise God, who loving covenant
supports those in distress,
remembering past promises
with present faithfulness.
God of all consolation,
grant to those who sorrow
the spirit of faith and courage,
that they may have the strength to meet the days to come
with steadfastness and patience;
not sorrowing without hope,
but trusting in your goodness;
through him who is the resurrection and the life,
Jesus Christ our Saviour.
Amen
Laws vary state by state. Consult the law for your own state. Those of us who are single and with no adult children need to pay special attention to this. Who is the best person for a health care proxy? Is it a relative or is it a friend? Pay attention to the relationship's long-term dynamics as well as to the person's values. You may also write very specific directives. Not all medical situations are the same. Again, check your state laws on this, talk to a medical professional, to your lawyer, or your clergymember or counselor if you feel more comfortable starting there. This post does not constitute either medical or legal advice. (It does constitute Auntie Jane's advice based on life experience and thirty-five years in ministry and other professional work. The link above will give you a basic definition of a health care proxy and health directives.)
All this to preface the news that Deenie's situation is not good at all.
Thanks, by the way, to Helen --in the comments to the previous update --for all the information. Helen, I can't really give all the details of the primary caregiver and family situation. Suffice it to say that it's not as functional as you would want it to be, so your suggestions, while very good, do not exactly apply. And now the situation is about to change drastically.
Against all advice from the hospice and all pleading from Deenie's friends, the family member who has health care proxy for her has decided to move Deenie from her home (where she has a paid caregiver plus friends who visit all the time plus a good neighbor who is a friend and pops in regularly) to a nursing home on the other side of the city.
(Note to Helen: Deenie is no longer capable of making decisions for herself; she is too weak to oppose other people's decisions.)
This family member was not the original person who had the health care proxy. The original person found him/herself too far away geographically, so Deenie changed the health care proxy, picking this particular family member, we are not sure why; perhaps she hesitated to burden a friend, even though her friends are in many ways her family.
The nursing home in question is not a hospice. It is not set up to help people die comfortably and peacefully and in a loving and serene setting. Our friends have done some research about it and it is not an adequate facility. Deenie has always said --as she did when I visited her and she was still compos mentis-- that she wanted to die at home, not in an institution.
Our mutual friend is trying to see what she can do before tomorrow and has gotten in touch with a family member who is truly devoted to Deenie and is also trying to reach Deenie's lawyer of many years (who is terrific) in hopes that one or both may be able to intervene somehow.
The situation is messy and cruel. Our friend writes that she prays Deenie will die before this move can take place against her wishes.
Deenie's 70th birthday is next Monday.
Kyrie Eleison. Christe Eleison. Kyrie Eleison.
Lord, you now have set your servant free
to go in peace as you have promised;
For these eyes of mine have seen the Savior,
whom you have prepared for all the world to see:
A Light to enlighten the nations,
and the glory of your people Israel.
My soul gives glory to my God.
My heart pours out its praise.
God lifted up my lowliness
in many marvelous ways.
My God has done great things for me:
yes, holy is this name.
All people will declare me blessed,
and blessings they shall claim.
From age to age, to all who fear,
such mercy love imparts,
dispensing justice far and near,
dismissing selfish hearts.
Love casts the mighty from their thrones,
promotes the insecure,
leaves hungry spirits satisfied,
the rich seem suddenly poor.
Praise God, who loving covenant
supports those in distress,
remembering past promises
with present faithfulness.
God of all consolation,
grant to those who sorrow
the spirit of faith and courage,
that they may have the strength to meet the days to come
with steadfastness and patience;
not sorrowing without hope,
but trusting in your goodness;
through him who is the resurrection and the life,
Jesus Christ our Saviour.
Amen
(That last one is from the New Zealand Prayer Book.)
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
Deenie and Prayer Posse update
I visited Deenie yesterday for two hours. After some good weeks, she has begun to feel weaker and more sluggish. This new phase began two or three days before my visit. Her energy is lower than it was. She does, however, have all her marbles, but she is on heavy painkillers and that slows her down. We talked in catch-up mode, for the most, until a few minutes before I took my leave.
After those last few minutes of conversation, the kind you would expect from friends who are seeing each other for the last time, and hugs and kisses, I said to Deenie that the Prayer Posse and I were praying for peace for her. "Make it come quickly," she said, looking at me intently.
She meant, of course, that now that she is on the decline --which she had said explicitly earlier in the conversation-- she wants death to come speedily. I commend her to your prayers, that her end may be gentle and as swift as she desires. She has been a true friend to many, a wonderful aunt and godmother, a sharp intellect, a woman of deep spirit, and a lifelong worker for justice. I am not sure whether she will live to see her 70th birthday in July. I give thanks for having seen her alive on this visit.
I have had a rich week in Boston, staying with Parents of Acts of Hope at their retirement community but also managing to get into the city (sidewalks! public transportation!) and see a few friends, though not all the ones I'd hoped to see. I haven't had time to blog (I may yet, from the airport or before or after the conference, in snapshots) and am off to Halifax at the crack of dawn tomorrow for a four-day conference. Links to details of the conference in this post if you are interested in theological matters.
Adorable Godson update: Thank you for your continued prayers. The Adorable Godson (age 24) is back at work and at summer school, though of course he still has many weeks of healing ahead. He is recovering from the assault and fall and getting out and about as the leg and crutches allow.
Pablo Picasso: Dove with Olive Branch (1950)
After those last few minutes of conversation, the kind you would expect from friends who are seeing each other for the last time, and hugs and kisses, I said to Deenie that the Prayer Posse and I were praying for peace for her. "Make it come quickly," she said, looking at me intently.
She meant, of course, that now that she is on the decline --which she had said explicitly earlier in the conversation-- she wants death to come speedily. I commend her to your prayers, that her end may be gentle and as swift as she desires. She has been a true friend to many, a wonderful aunt and godmother, a sharp intellect, a woman of deep spirit, and a lifelong worker for justice. I am not sure whether she will live to see her 70th birthday in July. I give thanks for having seen her alive on this visit.
I have had a rich week in Boston, staying with Parents of Acts of Hope at their retirement community but also managing to get into the city (sidewalks! public transportation!) and see a few friends, though not all the ones I'd hoped to see. I haven't had time to blog (I may yet, from the airport or before or after the conference, in snapshots) and am off to Halifax at the crack of dawn tomorrow for a four-day conference. Links to details of the conference in this post if you are interested in theological matters.
Adorable Godson update: Thank you for your continued prayers. The Adorable Godson (age 24) is back at work and at summer school, though of course he still has many weeks of healing ahead. He is recovering from the assault and fall and getting out and about as the leg and crutches allow.
Pablo Picasso: Dove with Olive Branch (1950)
Friday, May 29, 2009
Lost Things and the Power of Memory
My latest essay, "Lost Things and the Power of Memory," is up at the Episcopal Café today. The Café welcomes your comments. (If you don't already have a login there you'll have to get one, but it's free and easy. See here.)
I've also posted the link on Facebook.
I've also posted the link on Facebook.
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
On the road again
I am headed for Boston tomorrow to visit the intrepid Parents of Acts of Hope, this time for a week, which means the stay won't be All Parents All The Time and I will also see a few friends, including Deenie.I lived in the Boston area for 15 years and for three years a few years before that when I was in divinity school, so I have many dear friends there, from my old church (where I served on staff in my Catholic days and where I continued as a member after leaving the staff to go and work on my first book) and many other places. Those include the Episcopal Church, since the Diocese of Massachusetts and its cathedral are where I got to know the Episcopal Church, though I didn't become an Episcopalian till some years later when I was living in California. The Boston friends now include two of my Ph.D. classmates who got teaching jobs there. So, despite moving away, I have more peeps there rather than fewer. The city doesn't call itself the Hub for nothing.
After that I am headed to Halifax for the annual convention of the CTSA, which I had to skip last year for the first time in 15 years. (CTSA stands for Catholic Theological Society of America.) I've never been to Nova Scotia and I'm excited about the trip, though you don't get to see much during conferences. But I'm arriving in Halifax a bit early and leaving a bit late, so I hope to see the sights. I'll also get to see some of city since I will be staying in altnerate housing (staying at the hotel is so much better during conferences, but I just can't swing it without a roommate or two and I made plans too late to find roomies) and there will be bus rides involved.Two very nice humans will be taking care of Her Grace the feline bishop while I am away so I am feeling a manageable level of guilt about leaving town so soon after my last trip.
Photo by Paul the BB.
Friday, May 22, 2009
Prayer Posse alert for the Adorable Godson
Cross-posted on Facebook:
Those of you with a spiritual practice, do send prayers, good vibrations, incantations, and meditations of healing to my godson Robbie (aka Lopi) who was assaulted and robbed yesterday and is in hospital bruised and with broken leg.
This was in Greensboro, just before I left town. In cheerier news, I have arrived at destination and have begun frolicking with friends. A quiet afternoon of writing now. More frolicking this evening.
Please pray also for Robbie's attackers.
Those of you with a spiritual practice, do send prayers, good vibrations, incantations, and meditations of healing to my godson Robbie (aka Lopi) who was assaulted and robbed yesterday and is in hospital bruised and with broken leg.
This was in Greensboro, just before I left town. In cheerier news, I have arrived at destination and have begun frolicking with friends. A quiet afternoon of writing now. More frolicking this evening.
Please pray also for Robbie's attackers.
Friday, May 15, 2009
Cecilia coming-out-to-congregation update
Cecilia, about whom I posted an update two nights ago, has more news now about her coming out to her congregation.
Things have gone well so far. The congregation loves and knows Cecilia and appreciates what a good pastor she is. This is guiding the congregation's response.
There will be tough times ahead since the denomination to which Cecilia and her congregation belong is one that does not allow out lesbian and gay people to pastor. Pray for Cecilia, for her Beloved, for the congregation, and for the church, that the love of Christ may lead and surround them, that Godde may remind them daily that they are beloved and created by Godde, that the Spirit may guide and sustain them.
I am remembering also what many lesbian, bisexual, and gay friends have told me -- that coming out is not a one-time event but a process, and that coming out happens many times over time. Still, this event for Cecilia is perhaps the most important. She came out to close friends, to her children, and more recently to her father (see follow-up with her dad here) and to a few colleagues before telling the congregation.
Some music for the occasion, following up on the music selection from the previous post on Cecilia's coming out. Same piece, different movement, one of the most powerful.
Things have gone well so far. The congregation loves and knows Cecilia and appreciates what a good pastor she is. This is guiding the congregation's response.
There will be tough times ahead since the denomination to which Cecilia and her congregation belong is one that does not allow out lesbian and gay people to pastor. Pray for Cecilia, for her Beloved, for the congregation, and for the church, that the love of Christ may lead and surround them, that Godde may remind them daily that they are beloved and created by Godde, that the Spirit may guide and sustain them.I am remembering also what many lesbian, bisexual, and gay friends have told me -- that coming out is not a one-time event but a process, and that coming out happens many times over time. Still, this event for Cecilia is perhaps the most important. She came out to close friends, to her children, and more recently to her father (see follow-up with her dad here) and to a few colleagues before telling the congregation.
Some music for the occasion, following up on the music selection from the previous post on Cecilia's coming out. Same piece, different movement, one of the most powerful.
Thursday, May 7, 2009
Travelers home safely
The intrepid Parents of Acts of Hope phoned to say they are home safely and happy birthday. They had a wonderful trip. They are off to bed since for them it is nearly 11 p.m. and they have been on a plane all day.
I am grading papers (grades are due first thing in the morning, no late grades allowed) and feeling all kinds of deadline pressure but taking a break to go out to dinner with two wonderful men who love each other. Life is good.
(That's the back terrace of the restaurant. Click to enlarge.)
I am grading papers (grades are due first thing in the morning, no late grades allowed) and feeling all kinds of deadline pressure but taking a break to go out to dinner with two wonderful men who love each other. Life is good.
(That's the back terrace of the restaurant. Click to enlarge.)
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
A birthday conversation
Okay, so I am having a little trouble wrapping my brain around the number of years my imminent birthday is celebrating. It's not a Big Round Number, but I am ever so slightly freaked out, which doesn't happen to me much, though the last two birthdays have held more of this omigodde feeling than the previous umpteen ones.So let's have some fun with this, and let me ask you all:
What was the hardest age for you to reach?
What was your best birthday? (So far. You have some other good ones ahead, G*d willing.)
What was the most difficult birthday you've ever had? Why?
What is your favorite thing to do (or not to do) on your birthday?
What is your favorite thing about birthdays?
Do the approach and day of your birthday evoke particular memories? Smells? Tastes? Feelings?
Birthdays: love 'em, hate 'em, ignore 'em? None of the above?
How do you feel about age and aging?
How (if at all) does your congregation (or spiritual circle, or whatever your community of meaning and celebration is) celebrate or honor its members' birthdays?
What did your family do about birthdays when you were growing up?
Do you have "mortality moments" on your birthday? Do you invariably feel grateful? Both? Neither?
Do you tell people your age? Why or why not?
Do you take the day off on your birthdays? Why or why not?
If you do, what do you do (or not do)?
Have you ever spent a birthday alone? Do you prefer spending your birthday alone?
Do you broadcast your birthday or prefer not to mention it?
Do you have particular rituals on your birthday?
What do you think of birthday parties?
What do you think of surprise parties?
At what time of year were you born? How has this affected your birthdays?
What is (are) your culture(s) of origin? How do you think this affects your attitude toward birthdays?
How does the culture in which you now live affect your birthday and your attitude toward birthdays?
Does your religious or spiritual practice affect your birthday practice(s) and your attitude towards birthdays?
Do you feel differently about other people's birthdays and your own?
Do you have trouble remembering your loved ones' birthdays? Do you keep a birthday book?
Tell the truth now: do you celebrate your pets' birthdays?
I suppose I should ask what your favorite birthday present has been, but that is an afterthought. I don't think I've ever really remembered specific birthday presents as much as I have where I was or with whom I was or what I did. Or what I ate. But that may be me.
I do remember and treasure a few specific birthday presents - e.g. I still have the present my best friend from college gave me on my 20th birthday and I have a few noteworthy birthday memories, not all of which are suitable for a family blog.
Feel free to ask your own questions about the birthday thang, too.
Use the "Comments" section below. Answer any or all of the above, as you please.
As MadPriest would say: Off you go, then.
P.S. I'm turning 57. Tomorrow. Pretty nondescript, except for the fact that it is the only time I will ever turn 57 on 5/7. And of course people have already started making Heinz 57 Varieties jokes. Which doesn't really go very far with someone like me who likes homemade salad dressing and doesn't like or eat hot dogs. Not that ketchup isn't sometimes necessary.
Monday, May 4, 2009
Remembering my grandfather
I only knew my maternal grandfather. My paternal grandfather dropped dead in his 50s, two years before I was born. He had immigrated to the U.S. in the early 1900s as a teenager, worked very hard, and raised a family here. All three of his children went to college. My maternal grandfather was born in the U.S. His parents had immigrated mid-century or mid-late century. (Mid-late 19th century, that is.)
Today is my maternal grandfather's birthday. He died two months before I turned eight years old and I still remember him fondly. We were always close and I think of him often. When my mother visited him during his dying days (we were living in different countries so it was a big trip for her, from France back to New York, leaving her husband who was working two jobs and her two children during the school year) he once said to her, during one of their conversations, "How I wish I could see Jane when she has grown into a young woman."
I like to think that he has seen me somehow and that he is with me, watching and giving me courage.
I wrote about him and posted a picture of him two years ago.
As I noted then, today is also the birthday of one of my cousins (we are almost twins; my birthday is three days after hers, same year of birth - we were our grandfather's birthday presents) and of Nephew the Elder, who is 39!!! (I can hardly believe that, but since Brother of Acts of Hope is 66, it must be true.)
My grandfather's name was William. My grandmother called him Will. Everyone else called him Bill, including his grandchildren.
I miss him.
Today is my maternal grandfather's birthday. He died two months before I turned eight years old and I still remember him fondly. We were always close and I think of him often. When my mother visited him during his dying days (we were living in different countries so it was a big trip for her, from France back to New York, leaving her husband who was working two jobs and her two children during the school year) he once said to her, during one of their conversations, "How I wish I could see Jane when she has grown into a young woman."
I like to think that he has seen me somehow and that he is with me, watching and giving me courage.
I wrote about him and posted a picture of him two years ago.
As I noted then, today is also the birthday of one of my cousins (we are almost twins; my birthday is three days after hers, same year of birth - we were our grandfather's birthday presents) and of Nephew the Elder, who is 39!!! (I can hardly believe that, but since Brother of Acts of Hope is 66, it must be true.)
My grandfather's name was William. My grandmother called him Will. Everyone else called him Bill, including his grandchildren.
I miss him.
Parents of Acts of Hope sighted in Paris, and a "whassup" update
The intrepid parents of Acts of Hope are on the fourth and last leg of their European trip, in our beloved former home, Paris. So says our correspondent, who keeps track of them and reports to me at my worrying-but-cheering-daughter stateside post. All went well in the Abruzzi and the related short stay in Rome.
Meanwhile, I posted the following update on Facebook this morning:
Jane Redmont is extremely very cranky, adding to the to-do list, about to deal with the bureaucracy, and not amused. Gazing at the irises in bloom as much as possible, drinking Assam tea, and looking forward to the Women's Studies dinner tonight. Hoping to check off two major items on the to-do list by lunchtime. Organizing graded and ungraded student papers in stacks. In despair over the state of grammar and punctuation.
Meanwhile, I posted the following update on Facebook this morning:
Jane Redmont is extremely very cranky, adding to the to-do list, about to deal with the bureaucracy, and not amused. Gazing at the irises in bloom as much as possible, drinking Assam tea, and looking forward to the Women's Studies dinner tonight. Hoping to check off two major items on the to-do list by lunchtime. Organizing graded and ungraded student papers in stacks. In despair over the state of grammar and punctuation.
Special thanks to Rowan the Dog, Bishop of Playing, who made an appearance on Facebook via his guardian Lindy in the comments section of the update.
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