Goodbye John Glenn

We had seven true heroes in the US when I started school. The last one died today.

I can't really convey how much we kids idolized the first astronauts, the Mercury 7. Those of us who lived in Tidewater Virginia boasted of Alan Shepherd's living in Virginia Beach and of the astronauts' training in Hampton at Langley Field. We followed every news story diligently. (I'm confident the space program helped develop improved reading skills all over the area!) In that era before "smart classrooms", our teachers brought in televisions so that we could watch the launching of Shepherd's and Grissom's capsules. Breathlessly exciting they were.

It seems so naive now to be excited about a spacecraft orbiting the earth. How many things orbit routinely, 24 hours a day? But in 1962, we didn't know if that would work for the US. The Soviet Union had already placed two different astronauts into earth orbit, so we understood it could be done. But could we do it?

The day John Glenn climbed inside his capsule and prepared for launch remains quite vivid to me. I can still hear Walter Cronkite's voice narrating the step by step process as Glenn approached the launch pad. I can still see that joyful smile on Glenn's face as he climbed inside the capsule. (Have you ever SEEN a Mercury capsule? How did they even fit inside it?) Then the countdown, and the scenes of the crowds waiting at Cape Canaveral, and the scenes from inside Mission Control, and finally "T minus 10 seconds and counting". Oh, my goodness, what an exciting moment.

Glenn's spacecraft successfully entered earth orbit and we cheered. On the television, we could follow his path around the earth via a track that as I recall looked like a sine curve. An anxious moment made us watch intently as his capsule communications switched from the continental US to Perth, Australia. Static, static, then the acknowledgment that Perth "had him". Yes! One orbit, two orbits, and then three orbits. Time to come home. Of course, nothing is a given in spaceflight, and Glenn and NASA had to deal with the possible loosening of the heat shield and the destruction of everything in a re-entry fireball. What would happen? Watching that capsule break through the clouds and safely land in the ocean caused much rejoicing. We were on our way to space!

John Glenn was everywhere in the news for the next couple of years. He paraded in cities big and small. He was the face of the space program without a doubt. The parade I remember best was when he returned to his hometown in Ohio and the citizens honored their native son. I remember watching Glenn and his wife Annie, and watching the friends and neighbors amongst whom they had grown up. It didn't get much better than that in those early years of NASA.

What I admired most about John Glenn was his determination to continue contributing to our country. You would think his career as a fighter pilot and an astronaut fulfilled that goal. Yet Glenn's integrity and ideals led him to the U.S. Senate for over 20 years. By all accounts, he served his constituents well and faithfully.

After retiring from the Senate, while in his mid-70s, Glenn returned to space! He flew again, this time on the space shuttle. I still smile at the thought. No age barrier for him. Good for you, Mr. Glenn.

Now he has slipped the bonds of earth and belongs to history. I'm sad to say goodbye but oh, so grateful for his courage and his service to us all. Thank you, John Glenn.

A Little Behind in My Decorating

Last Saturday, delivery men brought us a new couch. I am enjoying it very much. We enjoy having the extra seating space and look forward to having our family stretch out comfortably over the holidays.

The one fly in the ointment is that the loveseat and overstuffed chair it replaces can't be picked up by St. Vincent de Paul until the 19th. Our living room closely resembles a furniture warehouse, in fact. This would not necessarily cause a problem in, say, September, but it certainly is cramping my Christmas decorating plans. No point in buying a tree: no place to set it up. No point in unwrapping all my little knick-knacks and dispersing them throughout the house. No point in bringing my decorative lighted penguins up from the basement, because I can't get them outside onto the porch! No point in sending my husband up into the attic to bring down the boxes of decorations: they would completely fill up the rest of the living room and we would not be happy.

All of this means I truly am celebrating Advent this year rather than Christmas! I enjoy the anticipation of Christmas itself. I light the Advent candles every time I sit down to eat. I faithfully put the little magnetic figures of my Advent calendar up on my kitchen cabinet door. I listen to my collection of Christmas and Advent CDs playing all day long. I watch the snow falling and hear the winds blowing. I read.

I'm not able to get out to the shops very much this year, so most of my Christmas purchases come on-line. This brings its own fun, because I can also spend time poring over catalogs! Frankly, this enforced calm regarding decorating and shopping brings quite a nice change from the usual compulsions.

I don't recommend redecorating your living room just before Christmas, but there might be compensations. Savor that hot chocolate and listen to Christmas music, because you can't put lights on your non-existent tree anyway!

Tiny Tim, George C. Scott, and Christmas

Just on a whim, today I re-read Dickens' A Christmas Carol. It never stales. I paid more attention than usual to how descriptively Dickens writes, and how economically he advances the story. Wouldn't it have been amazing to hear him read his own stories when he toured the United States so long ago? Today proved a good time to cuddle up on the couch and spend Christmas with Tiny Tim.

Tomorrow I'm going to hunt out our DVD of A Christmas Carol, starring George C. Scott as Scrooge. Our family regards this as the best film presentation of the story, hands down. If you haven't seen this version, do try and track it down over the Christmas season. The supporting cast are excellent, even though I can't remember any names! But George C. Scott elevates this film to a high level that other versions don't. (Do any of you remember watching "Mr. Magoo's Christmas Carol" way back when? Oh Lord.)  As he follows the three Spirits through the visions of Christmases Past, Present, and Future, Scott delivers a masterful presentation of the terrified, haunted, and repentant Scrooge. Scott brings Scrooge to life more realistically than other actors I have seen. Once you've watched him awaken on Christmas Day, overwhelmed with joy and delirious with happiness, you won't settle for any other film presentation of this universally beloved story. I never tire of watching it. I urge you to add it to your holiday film list. You won't be sorry! And God bless us, every one.

Yes, I still send Christmas cards.

I set aside today for the annual signing and addressing of my Christmas cards. I'm about halfway there at this point and hope to mail the lot tomorrow. South Bend doesn't offer a great variety of sources for what I consider good cards, but I can always count on Barnes & Noble for Gaspari cards. I'm pleased with what I bought yesterday.

Why should I bother?

Precisely because it's not a bother.

This yearly activity has become a present I give myself. My card list has remained the same for decades, with a few emendations. In my little address book, I note which years I sent cards to which people. (Note to self: Santa needs to drop a new address book in my stocking!) As I work my way from A to Z, I focus on who will receive that card. I see them in my mind's eye. I hear their voices. I may even recall their houses! I remember what lovely, happy moments we've shared in the past, as well as the times we have wept with each other. The hardest moments come when I have to strike out someone's name because they have died. I sometimes comment to my husband about a particular person and share an anecdote with him. When I'm carefully writing the name and address on that card, I am actually in the presence of that person and sharing everything about that friendship or family relationship. I am 'visiting' with those who are going to receive that card.

What could be more refreshing amidst the ridiculous clamor of commercial Christmas? Spending a couple of minutes in communion with a dear friend or family member as I write out a card? Absolutely. This simple yearly custom gives me far more than it gives the recipients. I realize anew how rich I am in amazing and loving friends and family. I travel down memory lanes without number, which brings back memories of more friends and family who have left this life. I confess that I wallow in love and laughter as I address my cards.

Needless to say, I also pray for the recipients as I seal up each card.

I know it's a little bit expensive in this day and age, but I plan for this every year and count it as one of my Christmas presents. If you don't send cards, please don't feel guilty if you receive one from me. Rather, think of your card as a present to ME that my remembering you allowed me to give myself.

Now back to 'visiting' with those on my list. Happy Christmas!

Pregnant at Christmas

No, I am NOT pregnant. Rest easy. I have been reflecting on the fact that my first and third pregnancies spanned across the Christmas season, which led me to some treasured moments. I know that some of my former students and other friends are pregnant right now. I'm thinking of them, too, this season.

Advent made quite an impression on me during my first pregnancy. By that point, I was feeling quite well and could enjoy all the preparations. To my surprise, Mary increasingly became the focus of my Advent reflections. I think she really gets lost in all the hype about Christmas anyway, and I received so much grace and encouragement in my own journey to childbirth from reflecting on Mary's journey from the Annunciation to the Nativity. Reading and re-reading the Gospel stories about the Nativity gave me more insight into Mary's experiences than I could ever have imagined. Carrying my own first child made me feel like a true companion to Mary as she carried Jesus. I hadn't anticipated this at all.

My first Christmas as an expectant mother forever changed the way I experienced Advent. Now I understood the waiting, the anticipation, the longing. I tried to emulate Mary's calm, Mary's quiet joy, Mary's faith. I celebrated the Nativity with extra joy that year, I think.

My second Christmas pregnancy followed the loss of our second child two years before. I was near to term by Christmas, so Advent mimicked Mary's journey to Bethlehem even more closely. You may imagine how anxious we all were that this child would be born live and healthy. I clung to Mary during those weeks. And our little family rejoiced on the Twelfth Day of Christmas when our first son arrived, hale and hearty. His birthday provides us with a welcome excuse to keep celebrating Christmas until Twelfth Night.

Obviously being pregnant at Christmas can't happen to all of us. At least not in the sense that we will give birth to a child. But I think that Advent does give each of us the opportunity to prepare for the coming of something new in our own lives. Is there a new direction we want to follow in our life, one that brings fulfillment and joy? Is there something creative within us that we long to make present in the world? Is there some love that we want to share with those who have no love? Is there a way we want to engage with life that makes the angels sing? I believe this can be true for each of us. Mary taught me this long ago. I am preparing for yet another opportunity for grace this Advent and asking for her help along the way. I pray that each of you may find what you are seeking and that Christmas joy will find you.

The Sandbox

I want to get a sandbox for my yard. My twin grandchildren will be visiting me more and more and I think they will enjoy playing in sand at Grandmama's house. This afternoon, I roamed the internet looking at sandbox choices, and I found them in abundance. I could spend quite a bit of money on a sandbox! More than likely I will go for either a red plastic crab or a green plastic turtle (each with supposedly sturdy lid). I don't need Virginia Beach's oceanfront in my backyard.

Memories of our childhood sandbox rolled over me as I pictured the fun my grandchildren will have. In a shady, open spot at one edge of our backyard, my father constructed our sandbox. I remember his building it, so this must have occurred before I started school. He had scavenged some boards from our church during a renovation/construction phase, and he attached them in a large rectangle. He put the rectangle directly on the ground and made sure it was solidly sited. There it waited, no sand in view.

In a few days, a large dump truck stopped beside our gate. What on earth did that portend? The driver came to our door and spoke to Mother. They agreed on something, and he went back to the truck. He moved the truck so that the tailgate opened exactly at our by-then-opened gate. To our astonishment, he then dumped a load of sand right into our side yard. I can still see all that sand cascading out of the truck and piling up at the foot of our porch steps. After closing the tailgate, he drove away.

Now what? We had to wait until my father came home from work. He seemed delighted with this huge obstacle in our yard. Apparently, this pile of sand would move to our sandbox over the next few days as Daddy filled the wheelbarrow and pushed each load of sand to the box. The sand had even originated with one of our dear friends at church. Daddy had paid Mr. Robbins (who worked at the local hardware store) to send out a truckload for us.

Only a few days elapsed before Daddy completed the transfer of sand to the sandbox. We could barely contain ourselves. He had made a solid wooden cover for the sandbox and had put it on each night, so we couldn't even give the sand a trial run while he was at work. Once his work was done, we jumped in and began a stretch of years of happy play in that sandbox. Every night we helped him close it up,  and every day we helped Mother take off the lid. Our cousins would often visit and play with us there. It was so much fun, and even on the hottest Virginia summer days we stayed cool under that shady tree.

Each year, Daddy ordered a fresh truckload of sand and replenished the sandbox. We never knew when that would arrive. Yet seeing that pile of pristine sand in our yard came to mean that spring had come at last and summer would follow quickly.

Writing this has brought a smile to my face, remembering that sandbox. I can hardly wait to get out tomorrow and buy that red crab and set it up for my grandchildren! I hope there's room in it for all three of us.

Sweet Harmony

I have been travelling for more than a month, here and there, so the blog has suffered. Not that I haven't had access to the internet, but rather because I've only had my mobile phone with me and I do not like typing long posts on the phone. Now it seems as if I will be in one place for awhile.

Here's what's on my mind today.

Last October I spent a long weekend in England, in the very north of Cumbria, not far from Carlisle and very near Hadrian's Wall. I attended a singing workshop at Stones Barn, offered by Maddy Prior, a marvelous singer whom I've admired since I first "discovered" her and her band, Steeleye Span. The weekend brought many opportunities to sing and have fun with her and with her co-teacher, Abbie. I enjoyed myself immensely.

To put this in context for those of you who don't know Steeleye Span or Maddy Prior, it was rather like one of Taylor Swift's devoted fans getting to hang out at Taylor's house for a weekend and sing with her till you dropped. Really. I didn't know whether to levitate with delight or keep singing.

One of the most memorable times came on the Saturday. All the participants had gathered to share a delectable meal at Stones Barn, and after we cleared away the pudding, some rather ad hoc singing occurred. This proved great fun. Up to that point, Maddy had sung only one of her signature songs for us, earlier in our rehearsals. Now that changed. Maddy and Abbie came forward to sing, and were joined by Maddy's former husband Rick Kemp, a formidable musician himself and long-time member of Steeleye Span. My delight knew no bounds. (I didn't even know he was going to be present.)

What they sang doesn't matter here, although the songs were gems. What struck me was the absolute comfort and harmony and ease that permeated their singing together. This is a special kind of harmony, born from years of working through music together, performing together, and living in close proximity. I could see it as they tuned the rest of us out completely and simply became part of the songs. I could see it in their glances, in the inflections of their voices, in the phrasing of the songs. I watched them pass the music back and forth among themselves. They showed us what the effortless beauty of years of singing together looks like. They gave us such a gift and they sparkled. I will long treasure that performance.

Recently my friend Alice visited our dear friend and former choir director, Les. He hasn't been well, lives far away now, and has suffered many serious physical problems. We mourn the diminution of his vigor, his mobility, and his overall health. He and Alice and I and our dear friend Dan enjoyed years of sweet harmony together. Les was our director and composer and creative challenger. Dan was our solid foundation (natural for a bass) and lent his erudition, wit, and charm to the quartet. Alice covered us all with her lovely, lovely soprano voice, fed us, and bound us together with deep friendship. I held down the alto role and generally helped out with everything, as well as being Les's substitute organist at various parishes.

We fit together well for years. We used to say that Les directed us with his eyebrows or his eyes. It's also true that whenever I played the organ and Dan or Alice cantored, we had a similar harmony in that we could read each other very well. We had shared so many things, not just music, over the years that our harmony was sweet indeed.

All of this changed more than 10 years ago. Les moved to Wisconsin and then to South Dakota, Dan moved to the Loyola area in Chicago, I moved to Indiana, and Alice remained in Skokie. We have never sung together since then. In fact, Dan died last year and has left us completely. Never did we imagine that we would reach our 60's and find everything so different.

Watching Maddy Prior and Rick Kemp singing together, then, in October felt bittersweet to me. I recognized and treasured the sweet harmony they showed us, because I remembered the sweet harmony that my friends and I had shared as well. Alice, Les, and Dan, we were so blessed.