tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-71400517488799068532024-03-13T12:12:50.465-04:00One Day IsleThe good Reverend Doctor's cancer blog, composed in the heat of battle as he struggles against an insidious malignancy for the survival of his entire universe.... (cue Dramatic Theme Music) [HINT for New Readers: start out with the links on the left, and read chronologically from the beginning until is starts to sound repetitive. Then skim ahead until you catch up to "real time."]The Eclectic Clerichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12692982208236857534noreply@blogger.comBlogger208125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7140051748879906853.post-49883368776305674182009-09-03T16:16:00.002-04:002009-09-03T16:25:20.966-04:00Memorial Services for Tim JensenThere have been two memorial services scheduled to celebrate Tim's life<br /><br /><strong>PORTLAND, OREGON - September 19, 2009</strong><br /><br />Friends and family of Tim Jensen will gather Saturday, September 19, 2009 to celebrate his life. You are invited to attend. <br /><br />Date: 19 September 2009<br /><br />Time: 11:00 a.m.<br /><br />Place: The Melody Ballroom, 615 SE Alder Street, Portland, Oregon<br /><br />If you are unable to attend, you may write about what you learned from Tim and send it to margaret.weddell@yahoo.com . These rememberances will be collected into a book for Tim's family. <br /><br /> <br /><strong>PORTLAND, MAINE - November 7, 2009</strong><br /><br /><br />Date: 7 November 2009<br /><br />Time: 1:00 p.m.<br /><br />Place: First Parish Unitarian Universalist Church<br /> 425 Congress Street, Portland, MaineThe Eclectic Clerichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12692982208236857534noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7140051748879906853.post-47455629209803811932009-08-18T00:45:00.002-04:002009-08-18T00:50:53.671-04:00Tim Talks with the new President of First ParishTo follow Tim as he starts his new journey<br />Log on to www.firstparishportland.blogspot.com<br />or go to firstparishportland and click on <br />leadership blogThe Eclectic Clerichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12692982208236857534noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7140051748879906853.post-32259795373792143502009-08-10T12:26:00.002-04:002009-08-10T12:42:25.800-04:00From Tim's Youngest Brother ErikIt is with sadness that I have to report that my brother Tim passed away on Sunday morning last (August 9th) after his eighteen month battle with cancer. He died at the UC Davis medical center surrounded by his former wife, Margaret, his father and myself. We were all pleased that he was able to make his end of life decisions on his own and he was alert until slipping into a coma on Saturday night. He passed away, peacefully, at 11:00 a.m. Sunday morning.<br /><br />I know that he would have wanted me to thank all of you for your support in his battle with cancer and with your friendships, whether they were lifetime friendships or had lasted only for a short while. Your support gave him great strength and happiness, not only in his valiant struggle with cancer, but throughout his entire life.<br /><br />Tim will be cremated and his ashes sent to Camano Island where they will be kept with those of his grandmother and mother and his beloved Boston Terrier, Parker. We will announce plans relating to a memorial service when we have made appropriate plans.<br /><br />Erik JensenThe Eclectic Clerichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12692982208236857534noreply@blogger.com28tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7140051748879906853.post-34521208228736996612009-08-01T19:59:00.004-04:002009-08-01T22:57:59.335-04:00A Critical Sense of UrgencyFor those of you who have been missing One Day Isle, and are desperate for a little cheap entertainment, you might try looking <a href= "http://eclectic-cleric.blogspot.com/2009/07/report-from-rose-garden.html">here</a> or maybe even <a href= "http://obiwannabekobe.blogspot.com/">here.</a> <br /><br />Yesterday was pretty much consumed by Medical appointments, punctuated by the information that I needed to be careful when relieving myself, because I know had "hot urine" (What! As in Radioactive piss?") thanks to the contrast agent I was injected with for the PET scan. Still won't know any answers for awhile either, unless the information is really bad (in which case they will tell me right away), so this really is a situation of "no news" being "good news." <br /><br />Even so, I can't help but feel anxious. Times like these are just a very invasive and persistent reminder that I really am sick, that I'm never going to really be "well," and that while I may very well be able to look forward to many, many years of a reasonably healthy, energetic, fun, loving, and even productive lifestyle, the long-range trend is down. And that thought can sometimes be very depressing indeed.<br /><br />Of course, it helps to have something to look forward to. And yet ironically what I find myself feeling most right now is nostalgic for the ministry. I keep catching myself wanting to go "back to church" shopping, and thinking about where we were programatically in my last church, and what we needed to be doing next in order to grow into the kind of dynamic, challenging, ground-breaking, life-changing, world-shaking faith community I envisioned, and knew we were capable of becoming. The cancer changed all that too, not just for me, but for them as well. Bummer.<br /><br />And at the same time I'm feeling frustrated because I still have so much to do on my plate right now, and can't seem to push through it all. Just a little at a time I tell myself. But the pile seems to be getting bigger faster than I can get it done. And I'm still feeling very much like I'm living out of a suitcase here, knowing how much more there is to unpack, how LONG that is going to take (months) before it is complete, and also watching and waiting while Debra and my Dad slowly pack up their stuff to go over to the new house a mere seven minutes (three miles) away.<br /><br />But for now it's mostly just chaos and clutter. And a little progress, every day. Sometimes so little it almost appears invisible. But it's happening, and I'm grateful for it. <br /><br />Even if it does glow in the dark when I pee....The Eclectic Clerichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12692982208236857534noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7140051748879906853.post-78741842412728988622009-07-30T15:57:00.011-04:002009-07-30T17:59:52.539-04:00Congratulations are in Order!`<br />And it turns out that today, July 30th 2009, is the 54th anniversary of my parents wedding! In as much as I will be celebrating my 53rd birthday at the end of October, clearly they weren't wasting any time...although the charming legend that I am actually a contraception malfunction during final exams of my mother's Senior year is clearly unfounded -- my mother had already graduated from college and had entered the workforce as a schoolteacher by then. My dad was still in school though, attending the University of Washington on the GI bill in what would have been his sophomore year. But finals at the U-Dub would have been well over by then; if anything (and assuming I'm counting backward correctly on my fingers) I was simply a mundane "back to school" diversion. Which makes a lot of sense in terms of how I turned out, when you stop to think about it.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_73M9nzwkB7g/SmIuIaTD2JI/AAAAAAAABKM/TznKvfw220w/s1600-h/fs_581586.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 316px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_73M9nzwkB7g/SmIuIaTD2JI/AAAAAAAABKM/TznKvfw220w/s400/fs_581586.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5359897228557408402" /></a> <I>[l to r: Beth (Gildow) Horton, Shirley (Jensen) Ennis, Laura (Paulson) Pressy, Mary Lou Krause, Gerald Frederick Jensen, Betty Jo (Krause) Jensen, Harry Jensen, Irene (Ward) Jensen, Nathan Krause, Susan (Steele) Krause. July 30th, 1955]</I><br /><br />Meanwhile, my parents didn't order a very elaborate wedding album - only about 20 prints all told, and pretty traditional poses to boot. I suspect finances and the use of a professional photographer had something to do with it. How different from today, where the guests have cameras in their telephones, and EVERYTHING gets photographed!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_73M9nzwkB7g/SnIKfk5dSGI/AAAAAAAABPw/d24PEMkFEGo/s1600-h/fs_581590.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 322px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_73M9nzwkB7g/SnIKfk5dSGI/AAAAAAAABPw/d24PEMkFEGo/s400/fs_581590.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5364361643748575330" /></a>The happy (but nervous?) Bride and Groom.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_73M9nzwkB7g/SnIKfFtRkzI/AAAAAAAABPo/G0Vr4fxFM-A/s1600-h/fs_581594.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 324px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_73M9nzwkB7g/SnIKfFtRkzI/AAAAAAAABPo/G0Vr4fxFM-A/s400/fs_581594.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5364361635375977266" /></a>View of the ceremony from the balcony. My dad's best friend, Chuck Hazen (my "Uncle Charlie") is the best man; my Aunt Mary Lou was the maid of honor. I believe the wedding took place in the Methodist church where my mother grew up, and the officiant was the Rev. George Poor (a renowned Seattle Social Activist in his day).<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_73M9nzwkB7g/SnIJ_uLMJSI/AAAAAAAABPg/RZeyP3v8u3M/s1600-h/fs_581596.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 322px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_73M9nzwkB7g/SnIJ_uLMJSI/AAAAAAAABPg/RZeyP3v8u3M/s400/fs_581596.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5364361096483054882" /></a> "I now pronounce you man and wife." Nowadays we would say "husband and wife." Because let's face it. I can pronouce a man a husband and I can pronounce a woman his wife. But I can't make a man into a man, no matter how often I say it. And then there's the whole same-sex marriage issue.... "Partners in Life?"<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_73M9nzwkB7g/SnIJqh9vAmI/AAAAAAAABPY/ZM5Itvo7XbM/s1600-h/fs_581598.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 323px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_73M9nzwkB7g/SnIJqh9vAmI/AAAAAAAABPY/ZM5Itvo7XbM/s400/fs_581598.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5364360732428141154" /></a> A traditional cake-cutting shot. Call me silly, but I sometimes used to fantasize about cutting the cake with an honest-to-God sword, before recessing out of the church in full dress uniform beneath an arch of drawn sabers. But you know, I just don't see that happening for me any time soon....<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_73M9nzwkB7g/SnIJqEh2EWI/AAAAAAAABPQ/nJH3I_Z09Ac/s1600-h/fs_581602.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 318px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_73M9nzwkB7g/SnIJqEh2EWI/AAAAAAAABPQ/nJH3I_Z09Ac/s400/fs_581602.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5364360724526535010" /></a>Admiring the Rings. The older woman holding my mother's hand is Chuck's mother, my "grandma Hazen."<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_73M9nzwkB7g/SnIJKxnV0QI/AAAAAAAABPI/hKFnRkAHe-Y/s1600-h/fs_581608.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 319px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_73M9nzwkB7g/SnIJKxnV0QI/AAAAAAAABPI/hKFnRkAHe-Y/s400/fs_581608.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5364360186873368834" /></a>Escape to the Honeymoon!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_73M9nzwkB7g/SnII0sk86jI/AAAAAAAABPA/dllxQKF8AgA/s1600-h/fs_581610.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 318px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_73M9nzwkB7g/SnII0sk86jI/AAAAAAAABPA/dllxQKF8AgA/s400/fs_581610.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5364359807564048946" /></a> With the car all decorated too, Chuck's last duty as the best man.The Eclectic Clerichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12692982208236857534noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7140051748879906853.post-53583061017882499022009-07-30T00:20:00.001-04:002009-07-30T13:07:52.206-04:00Transition Tension<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_73M9nzwkB7g/SnEgQ-dqbBI/AAAAAAAABOM/3nwGUpMeHmM/s1600-h/Liberal+Hunting+Permit.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_73M9nzwkB7g/SnEgQ-dqbBI/AAAAAAAABOM/3nwGUpMeHmM/s400/Liberal+Hunting+Permit.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5364104107192380434" /></a><br /><br />And I can't remember where I first saw this image, but obviously it made an impression on me; so I copied it on to my own desktop, and now I'm sharing it with all of you. Just one of the things from "out there" in the in the larger culture that is bothering me, even though I would just as soon not have to be bothered about it at all. But that's scary too -- feeling the way that my life just seems to be compacting down more and more into a size that I can handle from day to day, and how often even that seems to be way too much. It's frightening. Even terrifying Makes me feel so [f-Word] helpless. Sometimes I feel like I just can't stand it any more. But then I realize that I have to, because the alternative is not to have a life at all.<br /><br />Two of my past three mornings have been taken up with medical appointments; tomorrow I get a day off, but then Friday I've got a double-header. And then another long weekend waiting for results. The days pass so quickly, and yet so slowly. So much to do, but does any of it really matter? My mortality feels very close this evening. And I don't like it one little bit.<br /><br />;Happy Birthday Daudre!!!The Eclectic Clerichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12692982208236857534noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7140051748879906853.post-31131087171923957512009-07-26T23:01:00.002-04:002009-07-26T23:44:49.097-04:00Old Habits Die HardAnd I caught myself at a discount book rack today, purchasing a title that caught my eye but which I have no intention of reading any time soon, simply because the price was right, I knew it would be hard to find later, and I knew that It would "preach" -- that is to say, that if I ever found myself caught late in the week without a good idea for Sunday morning, I could spend a few hours with this book and come up with SOMETHING to say for twenty minutes that would not be either a waste of my time or the time of those good people who had come to church that week in the hopes of feeling inspired by something I had to say.<br /><br />A lot of preachers I know jump on books like this when we find them; but the point that I am trying to make is that I don't HAVE TO any more. Those days are over for me...at least for now, and as far into the foreseeable future as anyone can look. And while it makes me feel a little sad, it also gives me a great deal of relief knowing that the stress of meeting those deadlines is now behind me as well, and that the only person whose time I need to worry about wasting really is my own. And it feels pretty good, actually. So good I'm a little ashamed to admit how good it feels. Amen, and Blessed Be.The Eclectic Clerichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12692982208236857534noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7140051748879906853.post-28955387213973161642009-07-25T23:23:00.002-04:002009-07-25T23:51:22.050-04:00Living for the WeekendAnd you wouldn't think, that for someone in my situation, the difference between "weekend" and "weekday" would make that much difference. But it does. There are a lot of factors that figure in, but mostly it's because nobody can really schedule any medical appointments for me on the weekend, which means that I'm much less likely to have my day broken up by that sort of thing. And on the other hand, there is also always church...which so far I've pretty much been playing hooky from for the month of July. The church in Sacramento is scheduled to have a forum on Health Care facilitated by a member of the UU Legislative ministry: that sounds terribly inspiring, doesn't it, even if it does hit a little close to home. Can't find the topic for the church in Davis, but I do know the service is a half-hour earlier and a 45 minute drive. So maybe I will just plan on sleeping late. Especially since I'm going to have to talk by dad into giving me a ride anyway.<br /><br />Next week the medical appointments come on fast and furious: MRI first thing Tuesday morning, a visit to the Coumadin clinic first thing Wednesday, and then Friday at noon a double-header, with a PET scan scheduled for noon, with a CT scan immediately to follow. I know my new docs also want to take another look at the tissue samples from my first biopsy over a year ago now, and... and I just need to remind myself that none of this is intended to "cure" my cancer. It's all about comfort, quality of life, extending my life, and essentially creating a new lifestyle for myself that will allow me to live with cancer like a chronic disease, until it (or something more interesting) eventually manages to take it all away.<br /><br />And that's the hardest part right now. The cancer itself seems to be fairly stable (so far as I can tell at least), I have reasonably good pain control, people keep telling me how GOOD I look, which I'm convinced now is clearly a sign of how much stress I was under before, trying to struggle with this disease and still serve as an effective minister at First Parish. But at the same time, my shortness of breath continues to grow more and more acute, at times even causing terrible panic attacks after I overexert myself and feel as though I am suffocating right there in broad daylight! So more talk now of evacuation more fluid from my right chest cavity, and even of putting in a permanent shunt so that it can be routinely drained at will.<br /><br />Assuming that's the problem, right? I mean, the presenting problem which is leaving me feeling so weak, helpless, and breathless....The Eclectic Clerichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12692982208236857534noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7140051748879906853.post-41409898854426997512009-07-23T21:32:00.009-04:002009-07-24T00:53:33.264-04:00The Law of Averages`<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_73M9nzwkB7g/SmkPgPqC1TI/AAAAAAAABNU/C2YkeHjic7w/s1600-h/Willie_and_Joe_Law_of_Averages.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 315px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_73M9nzwkB7g/SmkPgPqC1TI/AAAAAAAABNU/C2YkeHjic7w/s400/Willie_and_Joe_Law_of_Averages.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5361833877994394930" /></a><i>"I'm beginnin' to feel like a fugitive from th' law of averages."</i><br /><br />I've been thinking a lot about the Law of Averages lately, and also about this whole metaphor of cancer as a "war" -- something we battle courageously and to which we never surrender, even when the odds are long against us and we seem to have little to live for. The cancer survivor as heroic warrior -- and if for some reason they do not survive, their courage must have somehow failed them, or they just didn't battle hard enough.<br /><br />But modern warfare isn't really like that at all. You wait, you patrol, you wait some more; you clean your weapons and look forward to hot chow, and when the battle comes (and it can come at any moment) it is loud, and confusing, and you follow orders and act as you've been trained, and just hope that today is NOT the day that your number comes up. The violence of the modern battlefield is anonymous and unpredictable, and often times who lives and who dies really does seem like merely a matter of luck and random chance. And courage consists of being there despite your fear, and doing your duty, following your orders, accomplishing your mission, even when you would rather be just about anywhere else in the world.<br /><br />Cancer courage is a little like that, I think. I didn't choose to get cancer, but now that I do have it there is nothing really that I can do to get rid of it besides just hanging in there day by day and following my doctor's orders. It doesn't matter how brave I am, and I can't really change anything by being afraid either. Just don't give up and don't give in...knowing like the combat soldier that your number might come up at any time. The one that has your name on it. The one you never hear....<br /><br />As for the law of averages, I know that when I managed to survive my first year after diagnosis, my odds of being alive five years from now improved from one-in-twenty to approximately one-in-three. But I also know, like the combat soldier, that so long as I remain in "harm's way" my odds of eventually being killed in combat increase to 100%. But also like the combat soldier, I don't really have the option of simply remaining in my warm bed with the clean sheets pulled up over my head. (Ok, maybe I do - but only every once in awhile). I need to get up and live with my disease every day.<br /><br />In any event, stumbled over a copy of Bill Mauldin's book that Debra had found in some sale somewhere, and left here in my new bedroom, and it has been a real joy to read -- an almost divine Godsend of inspiration and perspective. And a feeling akin to finding a lucky penny this morning in the parking lot outside the pharmacy, and actually being able to lean over and pick it up! I like my new oncologist, who in many ways is much more down-to-business than my very capable oncology team at the Maine Center for Cancer Medicine. Bothers me a little how casually he talks about the possibility of brain metastasis, for instance, or how one of the potential side effects of some of the drugs I am taking is a form of medically-induced diabetes.<br /> <br />But I'm going to let all that play out at its own pace; right now apparently the agenda is to "re-stage" me, running an entirely new set of diagnostic tests over a year after my original diagnosis, simply to get a sense of how far my disease HAS progressed, and what new might be available for me now in the way of therapy. Meanwhile, I still need to pull together the rest of my treatment team as well -- meet my new Primary Care Physician, and track down as well a new psychotherapist, a new Physical Therapist, and perhaps even a new Massage Therapist as well. I'm getting a new nutritionist this time around as well, which should be pretty interesting. And I still haven't really given much thought about what I'm going to do in the way of church.<br /><br />Meanwhile, here's Bill Mauldin: <br /><br /><blockquote>Religious services in battle zones offer weird contrast to bursting shells and the twisted wreckage of war. I is strange to seee reverence helmeted and armored. I saw a Catholic chaplain at Salerno gather up is white robes and beat a Focke-Wulf's tracers into a muddy ditch by a split second, tghen return and carry on the service as if nothing had happened. I have a lot of respect for those those chaplains who keep up the spirits of the combat guys. They often give the troops a pretty firm anchor to hang onto. </blockquote> [Bill Mauldin, <i>Up Front,</i> (New York: Henry Holt, 1945) p. 103]<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_73M9nzwkB7g/Smky8n3ESOI/AAAAAAAABNc/56Za9l56F1M/s1600-h/Willie_and_Joe_cartoon_21_130_1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 297px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_73M9nzwkB7g/Smky8n3ESOI/AAAAAAAABNc/56Za9l56F1M/s400/Willie_and_Joe_cartoon_21_130_1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5361872848434776290" /></a>The Eclectic Clerichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12692982208236857534noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7140051748879906853.post-18277460000185103932009-07-22T21:46:00.001-04:002009-07-22T22:12:35.200-04:00"That's one small step..."`<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_73M9nzwkB7g/SmeqXXxjqMI/AAAAAAAABMM/WNw__flsY5A/s1600-h/Earthrise.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 292px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_73M9nzwkB7g/SmeqXXxjqMI/AAAAAAAABMM/WNw__flsY5A/s400/Earthrise.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5361441199903451330" /></a><br /><br />and then another, and another after that, and another and another and pretty soon don't you know it but you're walking. I've always loved this "Earthrise" photo -- I've used it as a meditation mandala, and as a central focal point for a meditation altar, and have always found lurking near it both a strong source of inspiration, and also a sense of cautionary humility. For millennia humanity has been gazing up at the night sky to contemplate the vast infinity of which we are such a small and unintrusive portion. And then, for a brief moment in history some four decades ago, a handful of lucky individuals had the opportunity like Prometheus to ride the stolen fire once more into the heavens for a God's eye view of our tiny island in the vast darkness. And the outcome, if anything, is even MORE humbling than the view from around our solitary, stone age campfires.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_73M9nzwkB7g/Sme_2AfikLI/AAAAAAAABMk/0lTgxqkf9NQ/s1600-h/Mt.+RainierCopy.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_73M9nzwkB7g/Sme_2AfikLI/AAAAAAAABMk/0lTgxqkf9NQ/s400/Mt.+RainierCopy.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5361464815973994674" /></a><br /><br />Mount Rainier finally had the good manners to peek its nose out on my last full day at Camano. I've already mentioned how invigorating and rejuvenating those two weeks were, and I just wish there could have been a few more of them...maybe toward the end of the summer, after I've had a little more opportunity to settle in here in Sacto and get myself unpacked. Had my first visit with my new Doctors today (more on that later), and there's certainly much awaiting me there. And the unpacking, of course, always goes more slowly that anticipated. If I'm LUCKY I'll be fully unpacked and moved in by the end of October, just in time for my 53rd birthday. <br /><br />Drove down to Portland Friday with my son Jacob's fiancee Shelly, who had already driven to Seattle earlier that morning to obtain an expedited passport so that they can elope to Italy the week after next. But of course in the process of developing this wonderful plan, they discovered that it's a lot harder to get married in Italy than they thought, so now the plan is simply to go to Italy, and then get married at some later date back here in the States. I don't know what it is about my family. Margie and I essentially eloped to Atlanta back in 1985, while Steph and Craig have actually been married for months (for insurance purposes involving the baby), but put off having an actual public ceremony and reception until now. We all seem to enjoy the party part (when it finally happens), and the chance to get together with friends we otherwise might not see so often, but we are also all basically of the opinion that a big, fancy wedding is a huge waste of money that might well better have been spent on something else.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_73M9nzwkB7g/SmeZCDvd0PI/AAAAAAAABKk/OOybJ4_FEaA/s1600-h/StephenJen.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_73M9nzwkB7g/SmeZCDvd0PI/AAAAAAAABKk/OOybJ4_FEaA/s400/StephenJen.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5361422142051045618" /></a><i>"Steph-n-Jen" -- my joined-at-the-hip daughters by mutual discernment. Looks like they may have picked up a new admirer.</i><br /><br />In any event, as someone who at one point in his life earned a significant portion of his livelihood by officiating at weddings, I knew better than to offer any advice or make any critiques of the Judge who actually officiated at both the ceremony last Saturday and the earlier one down at the courthouse some months ago. And as a professional, I LOVE large weddings, think I do a pretty amazing job when it comes to "solemnizing" them, and always used to consider the big party afterwards as part of my compensation (although even just 5% of that in cash would have generally been more than satisfactory). Weddings, Child Dedications, and Memorial Services -- those sacerdotal milestones by which clergy share the lives of their people, regardless of their specific faith tradition. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_73M9nzwkB7g/SmeZCkU6lyI/AAAAAAAABKs/_TRsfUHyqsM/s1600-h/vows.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_73M9nzwkB7g/SmeZCkU6lyI/AAAAAAAABKs/_TRsfUHyqsM/s400/vows.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5361422150798055202" /></a><br /><br />Meanwhile, we were confronted with a little mystery Sunday morning: "the decapitation of Saint Frank." One of Margie's garden statues had its head go missing at some point during the weekend, while we were all off celebrating the union of Steph-n-Craig. The head was eventually recovered, but the culprit is still at large; meanwhile, this reminds me of one of Steph's favorite cartoons growing up, of a monk walking out of a devestated barroom, beaten-up bodies littering every broken chair and table, while the caption reads "After that, no one dared call Francis a Sissy again."<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_73M9nzwkB7g/SmeZC2efqNI/AAAAAAAABK0/VUcS-FzLInU/s1600-h/Decapitation+of+Saint+Frank.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 196px; height: 186px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_73M9nzwkB7g/SmeZC2efqNI/AAAAAAAABK0/VUcS-FzLInU/s400/Decapitation+of+Saint+Frank.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5361422155670071506" /></a><br /><br />Flew down to Sacramento Sunday night, and was picked up by my Dad at the airport here right on time. As I mentioned earlier, still plenty of details to be worked out about unpacking and the like -- Debra and Jerry are in the process of moving into a new house they purchased about a year and a half ago only a few miles from here, while most of my things are still in storage waiting to space to open up here. And I truly am guessing it could easily be another month or more before I'm really unpacked and up to speed. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_73M9nzwkB7g/SmeZBeJA2_I/AAAAAAAABKU/guRE2WQALeI/s1600-h/Pool.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_73M9nzwkB7g/SmeZBeJA2_I/AAAAAAAABKU/guRE2WQALeI/s400/Pool.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5361422131957652466" /></a><br /><br />In the meantime though, I have new doctors and I have a new view, plus clean clothes, a comfortable bed, a functional desk (and internet connection!), and even a new dog! Well, not exactly, but the next best thing -- a calico cat named "Lou Lou" who belongs to my father, who dotes on her shamelessly, and provides us all with hours of fascinating entertainment.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_73M9nzwkB7g/SmeZB4caugI/AAAAAAAABKc/T3rEHh5-2XA/s1600-h/Lou+Lou.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_73M9nzwkB7g/SmeZB4caugI/AAAAAAAABKc/T3rEHh5-2XA/s400/Lou+Lou.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5361422139018361346" /></a><br /><br />When she's not sleeping, that is....<br /><br /><i>[cross-posted from The Eclectic Cleric]</i><br />.The Eclectic Clerichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12692982208236857534noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7140051748879906853.post-30780907526562248222009-07-18T16:10:00.011-04:002009-07-30T15:56:14.908-04:00Be it ever so humble...`<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_73M9nzwkB7g/SmIuIaTD2JI/AAAAAAAABKM/TznKvfw220w/s1600-h/fs_581586.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 316px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_73M9nzwkB7g/SmIuIaTD2JI/AAAAAAAABKM/TznKvfw220w/s400/fs_581586.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5359897228557408402" /></a> <I>[l to r: Beth (Gildow) Horton, Shirley (Jensen) Ennis, Laura (Paulson) Pressy, Mary Lou Krause, Gerald Frederick Jensen, Betty Jo (Krause) Jensen, Harry Jensen, Irene (Ward) Jensen, Nathan Krause, Susan (Steele) Krause. July 30th, 1955]</I><br /><br />And these past three weekends in the Pacific Northwest, with two full weeks in between just hanging out at Juniper Beach, have revitalized and rejuvenated me in ways that are difficult to describe and even more difficult to understand. Part of it is just the plain old fashioned simplification of my life -- minimal stress, minimal responsibility, familiar friends in familiar surroundings, not to mention the healing power of all that love. Lot's of sleepy-time too, which never really hurts.<br /><br />First weekend was devoted to immediate family and the Fourth of July. Not too many people missing from those pictures: only two of my Spokane cousins (Earl and Jeff), and Earl's son Johnny. Middle weekend it was mostly friends from High School, or from church...but the latter proved hard to meet up with face to face in the summer, when we all seem dispersed to the four winds "on leave." And now this final weekend in Portland OR, with my daughter and former wife, plus son Jacob and his fiancee/girlfriend (they were planning to be married two weeks from now in Italy, but the bureaucracy was just too overwhelming. I told them Friday that if they were willing to go down to the county clerk's and ask for an expedited license, I could take care of their problem in 20 minutes). Looks like this part of the family really likes to elope anyway. That's basically how Margie and I handled it: married in Atlanta in June at the General Assembly, with a nice party back in Seattle for all our friends when it was over.<br /><br />And not a lot of time to write or reflect about ANY of this now. Hope to get caught up a little once I arrive and am settled in a little in Sacramento. In the meantime though, here are a couple of images that have caught my imagination this past month. The first is from Mom and Dad's wedding in 1955. What interests me about this photo is that all the bridesmaids standing to my Dad's right are still living, and relatively close at hand. Laura lives on the other side of Camano near Utsalady Beach, and Beth just across the bay at Warm Beach on the mainland, while Mary Lou lives in Seattle and Shirley in Spokane, and both were at the beach as recently as the 4th of July. The second photo is from last night's dinner: my daughter at 8 months (and due Aug 26 +/-), and really feeling the heat. Anyway, I'm guessing the baby will be a little early, in order to join the other two Leos who are his mom and uncle. Not that I really believe in any of that....<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_73M9nzwkB7g/SmIuILUbqUI/AAAAAAAABKE/fmaWiqoX0gs/s1600-h/0717091839.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_73M9nzwkB7g/SmIuILUbqUI/AAAAAAAABKE/fmaWiqoX0gs/s400/0717091839.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5359897224536631618" /></a>The Eclectic Clerichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12692982208236857534noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7140051748879906853.post-41337391368384128742009-07-14T10:58:00.005-04:002009-07-14T14:12:20.173-04:00Touchstones<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_73M9nzwkB7g/SQe5dHqrMAI/AAAAAAAAAqM/OvcN_eHM-vg/s1600-h/camano+reunion-1+(c.+1998).jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 269px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_73M9nzwkB7g/SQe5dHqrMAI/AAAAAAAAAqM/OvcN_eHM-vg/s400/camano+reunion-1+(c.+1998).jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5262378599531098114" /></a>Camano Island reunion, c. 1998<br /><br />Just found this image of another Camano Island family reunion from perhaps a decade ago. And it's fascinating for me to see the differences, and review the continuities, in the changed, familiar faces of both the present and the absent. Cast of Characters: Back Row, standing L to R: my mother Betty Jo Jensen, my sister-in-law Lynne, and my aunt Shirley Ennis. Middle Row, seated on bench L to R: my cousin Jeff Ennis, my brother Kurt, myself, my cousin Jim Ennis. Front Row, standing L to R: an unidentified friend of my daughter's visiting from Mt Holyoke College, my cousin (nephew? cousin once removed?) "Little Johnny" Ennis, my nephew Michael, my daughter Stephenie, my niece Emily, and Chrissy O'Connell (or was it O'Conner?), another friend of my daughter's from Mt Holyoke, who was living with us that summer.<div><br /></div><div>What a crew we were! All kinds of sports (volleyball, touch football) and other summer activities, lots of grilling on the Weber, campfires on the beach, boating when the tide was high.... </div><div><br /></div><div>Summertime. </div><div><br /></div><div>And now I look at this photo, remembering my mother (who in many ways was the heart of this reunion, since this was her home) passed away two years ago, while all three of Erik's offspring have been born in the decade since this photo was taken. Michael and Emily are now all-but-adults, while I am struggling hard, hard with my own mortality, just wishing I had the energy, the resources, the simple ability to step into my mother's place here, and keep the cabin occupied all year round. Stephenie will be giving birth to my first grandchild sometime in August. Time slowly seems to slip away, while at the same time rushing toward me with all the intensity of an on-coming train.</div><div><br /></div><div>And it will take Time to measure the levels and limits of my new abilities, to check and monitor the course of my disease, to create a lifestyle that works for me. Slowly, deliberately, patiently...but I don't have time to lollygag either. "So many... so little time...." And yet the WORST thing I can do is to hurry or rush. Daily Practice: exercise, meditation, reading, writing, healthy & nutritious eating. Not exactly Brats fresh off the grill and an icecold microbrew after throwing a touchdown to your cousin when your brother bit on the pump fake. But maybe that's for a younger generation now....<br /><div><br /></div><div><br /><div><br /><div><br /><br /></div></div></div></div>The Eclectic Clerichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12692982208236857534noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7140051748879906853.post-81739548648298206402009-07-12T20:48:00.004-04:002009-07-13T11:32:17.523-04:00Loaves and Fishes<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_73M9nzwkB7g/SltFt5KF8AI/AAAAAAAABJk/QbZzIH5bie8/s1600-h/Kitchen+Window.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_73M9nzwkB7g/SltFt5KF8AI/AAAAAAAABJk/QbZzIH5bie8/s400/Kitchen+Window.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5357952836426919938" /></a><I>The View from my Kitchen Window</I><br /><br />And another really wonderful weekend, entertaining friends from half a lifetime ago, and just celebrating the time we have known one another, and what it has meant to us. Meanwhile, shared the cabin with my nephew Michael and a dozen or so of his WSU (pronounced "Wazuu" or WaZoo) friends, who basically camped in their cars, in our loft, on the lawn, whatever...and had a lot more boisterous time than we did. And of course my aunt was still here also, who has memories of the summer that my friends and I all turned 21 as well, and invade her home like a descending hoard of ravenous barbarians. <br /><br />Saturday's party was myself and Thomas N, Jeff T (briefly), Mike W., Val C. Ann B., and Kanell A. Everybody brought a little something for the "potluck," but it was really Kanell who provided the meal - arriving with a freshly-caught Sockeye salmon and a whole restaurant's worth of supplies in his car. That and Ann's freshly-baked bread would have been enough to provide a meal of biblical proportions, but we also had fresh fruit salads and a pasta salad, sticky rice, and plenty of green salad fixin's as well: truly, a feast. And since I can't and everyone else was driving, virtually no alcohol excepting a bottle of red wine and a six-pack of Stella Artois. I felt almost sorry for the kids, whose meal was...well, let's just say very different than ours. Chips, Brats, Microbrews...hell, I subsisted on that sort of thing for years. But from here on out it is probably going to be a rare treat indeed.<br /><br />The thing I was most jealous of was the touch football. But try as I might, I couldn't throw a spiral to save my life, either sitting in my chair or standing and trying to balance myself using my cane or the walker. Part of the problem was the ball itself, a cheesy little half-sized WSU-logoed Nerf ball which tended to fly out of control no matter who was throwing it. But a lot more of the problem was just me. Yet here was the small light of hope -- although nobody throws a football like an 80-year-old and still plays (even in the front yard), there are plenty of 80-year-old golfers who ride the cart, drive like only an old man can, focus on their short game, and still have a helluva time. So maybe that's what I can look forward to, someday, n'est pas?<br /><br />Sunday's guest list was a little less crowded: the kids had mostly all gone their own ways by noon, and I only had two visitors: a long-time mentor of mine, Rev. Marvin E; and my high-school debate partner, Bill V. And this meal was very much a "loaves and fishes" affair: Kanell's leftover salmon and Ann's leftover bread, plus the rice, the green salad, and (for everyone NOT on Coumadin) some left-over spinach lasagne Mary Lou had prepared late last week. More fantastic conversation (which I can't and won't try to share), and nobody went away hungry. <br /><br />Finally, one of the other real highlights of the weekend was Saturday night's thunderstorm, which really didn't hit here, but which we could see from our front porch to the south, the west and the east of us in all of its awesome magnificence. And such a strange contrast from the human fireworks of the previous Fourth of July weekend -- the fireworks seemed so up-close and, well, explosively overwhelming; but by comparison the thunderstorm dominated the entire sky -- and the amount of energy represented in those thunderbolts (when compared to the skyrockets) is simply so many multiples of magnitude greater. Which is not to dismiss the energy of the fireworks, and...well, this is starting to ramble. Prometheus and Zeus. Three Cheers for the firebringer. But the power of the Gods is not something to be dismissed lightly....The Eclectic Clerichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12692982208236857534noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7140051748879906853.post-32987501731954731972009-07-11T13:17:00.006-04:002009-07-13T20:31:45.137-04:00More Self-Indulgent Fourth of July Family Photos`<br />Why? Because they're there....<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_73M9nzwkB7g/SljOXelAUEI/AAAAAAAABIU/ZVw4p44xbcU/s1600-h/Mary+Lou+solar+box+cooker-July+4+09+008.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_73M9nzwkB7g/SljOXelAUEI/AAAAAAAABIU/ZVw4p44xbcU/s400/Mary+Lou+solar+box+cooker-July+4+09+008.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5357258659497791554" /></a>My aunt Mary Lou and my niece Katie demonstrate the use of a solar box cooker. Using nothing but a cardboard box, some aluminum foil, a pane of glass and sunlight, Mary Lou can heat this oven to nearly 300 degrees, and cook/bake in it just about anything you like. She's demonstrated them all over the world in places where diminishing firewood is a problem (including both Africa and Pakistan), and has helped Duncan Heinz and Betty Crocker dramatically extend their box cake brands into the Third World in the process.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_73M9nzwkB7g/SljOXM_8z8I/AAAAAAAABIM/LGFL5eOyQYQ/s1600-h/3+kids+%2B+dog-July+4+09+013.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_73M9nzwkB7g/SljOXM_8z8I/AAAAAAAABIM/LGFL5eOyQYQ/s400/3+kids+%2B+dog-July+4+09+013.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5357258654778970050" /></a>My brother Erik's three children, their dog cousin, and a rather unflattering view of Erik's crotch. Fortunately, nobody seems to be paying much attention.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_73M9nzwkB7g/SljOW1Bow0I/AAAAAAAABIE/uBkfu7b63Bs/s1600-h/My+Dad+and+his+friend+Bob-July+4+09+028.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_73M9nzwkB7g/SljOW1Bow0I/AAAAAAAABIE/uBkfu7b63Bs/s400/My+Dad+and+his+friend+Bob-July+4+09+028.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5357258648343593794" /></a> My father Jerry and his lifelong friend Bob. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_73M9nzwkB7g/SljNJoennhI/AAAAAAAABH0/dZokfwdIaAs/s1600-h/17+Crab-July+4+09+018.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_73M9nzwkB7g/SljNJoennhI/AAAAAAAABH0/dZokfwdIaAs/s400/17+Crab-July+4+09+018.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5357257322125565458" /></a> What a haul! 17 fresh dungeness crab, after first loosing track of the location of our pots, and assuming they'd been poached. Maybe it's time to start thinking about a GPS.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_73M9nzwkB7g/SljNJ7NDbjI/AAAAAAAABH8/dFEd76PTyGk/s1600-h/Kurt+and+Jim+clean+the+crab-July+4+09+031.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_73M9nzwkB7g/SljNJ7NDbjI/AAAAAAAABH8/dFEd76PTyGk/s400/Kurt+and+Jim+clean+the+crab-July+4+09+031.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5357257327152164402" /></a> My brother Kurt and cousin Jim clean the cooked crab.<br /><br /><br />And How Many Family Portraits Does One Really Need to See?<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_73M9nzwkB7g/SljRZ6WcPnI/AAAAAAAABJc/6fxwcR9hqG8/s1600-h/Family+4%3DJuly+4+09+043.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_73M9nzwkB7g/SljRZ6WcPnI/AAAAAAAABJc/6fxwcR9hqG8/s400/Family+4%3DJuly+4+09+043.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5357261999847521906" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_73M9nzwkB7g/SljRZf65p-I/AAAAAAAABJU/D7piFx8yZgk/s1600-h/sans+Jerry+%26+Shirley+1%3DJuly+4+09+052.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_73M9nzwkB7g/SljRZf65p-I/AAAAAAAABJU/D7piFx8yZgk/s400/sans+Jerry+%26+Shirley+1%3DJuly+4+09+052.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5357261992752687074" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_73M9nzwkB7g/SljRZPRuPcI/AAAAAAAABJM/uk3e8CUoAH0/s1600-h/Family+3+%3D+July+4+09+042.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_73M9nzwkB7g/SljRZPRuPcI/AAAAAAAABJM/uk3e8CUoAH0/s400/Family+3+%3D+July+4+09+042.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5357261988285005250" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_73M9nzwkB7g/SljRZIzJ70I/AAAAAAAABJE/SheFExJPn2Y/s1600-h/Family+3+%3D+July+4+09+042.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_73M9nzwkB7g/SljRZIzJ70I/AAAAAAAABJE/SheFExJPn2Y/s400/Family+3+%3D+July+4+09+042.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5357261986546184002" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_73M9nzwkB7g/SljRBfyXXPI/AAAAAAAABI8/shpPyzxidks/s1600-h/Family+1+%3D+July+4+09+040.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_73M9nzwkB7g/SljRBfyXXPI/AAAAAAAABI8/shpPyzxidks/s400/Family+1+%3D+July+4+09+040.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5357261580400024818" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_73M9nzwkB7g/SljRBOSvGTI/AAAAAAAABI0/KYCSAbG-k6Q/s1600-h/sans+Jerry+%26+Shirley+4%3DJuly+4+09+055.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_73M9nzwkB7g/SljRBOSvGTI/AAAAAAAABI0/KYCSAbG-k6Q/s400/sans+Jerry+%26+Shirley+4%3DJuly+4+09+055.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5357261575703959858" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_73M9nzwkB7g/SljRA2L5rSI/AAAAAAAABIs/a8vhtywVhCI/s1600-h/Family+2+(big)+July+4+09+041.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_73M9nzwkB7g/SljRA2L5rSI/AAAAAAAABIs/a8vhtywVhCI/s400/Family+2+(big)+July+4+09+041.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5357261569232842018" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_73M9nzwkB7g/SlvRteYjgNI/AAAAAAAABJ8/IvbhLh3iqgE/s1600-h/S6000367.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_73M9nzwkB7g/SlvRteYjgNI/AAAAAAAABJ8/IvbhLh3iqgE/s400/S6000367.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5358106760867709138" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_73M9nzwkB7g/SlvRtOvINtI/AAAAAAAABJ0/eU5c7Z-zMdg/s1600-h/S6000366.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_73M9nzwkB7g/SlvRtOvINtI/AAAAAAAABJ0/eU5c7Z-zMdg/s400/S6000366.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5358106756667422418" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_73M9nzwkB7g/SlvRsx2NcYI/AAAAAAAABJs/68uib7MzF8w/s1600-h/S6000362.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_73M9nzwkB7g/SlvRsx2NcYI/AAAAAAAABJs/68uib7MzF8w/s400/S6000362.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5358106748912497026" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_73M9nzwkB7g/SljRAjbzcAI/AAAAAAAABIk/Gnq_-F3RgDQ/s1600-h/The+Whole+Fam+Damily+one+last+time+-+July+4+09+056.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_73M9nzwkB7g/SljRAjbzcAI/AAAAAAAABIk/Gnq_-F3RgDQ/s400/The+Whole+Fam+Damily+one+last+time+-+July+4+09+056.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5357261564199268354" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_73M9nzwkB7g/SljRAamSmQI/AAAAAAAABIc/3Jjle4MhrHM/s1600-h/the+13th+Beachbum+(MIA)%3DJuly+4+09+057.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_73M9nzwkB7g/SljRAamSmQI/AAAAAAAABIc/3Jjle4MhrHM/s400/the+13th+Beachbum+(MIA)%3DJuly+4+09+057.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5357261561827334402" /></a> The 13th Camper (who tried to keep a pretty low profile through most of the weekend. But someone finally managed to capture her on camera in the end).The Eclectic Clerichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12692982208236857534noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7140051748879906853.post-19426837360314235202009-07-10T10:04:00.000-04:002009-07-10T13:11:01.272-04:00Bury My Heart in Freshman AlleyOK, maybe my title doesn't EXACTLY fit. But I was both relieved and delighted to learn that my friend Walter, who was arrested nearly two months ago in the alley behind First Parish in the company of another man who was loading a high-powered hunting rifle at the time, has finally been <a href= "http://pressherald.mainetoday.com/story.php?id=267165&ac=PHnws">released on a Personal Recognizance Bond</a> after spending 51 days in jail on a flimsy concealed weapons charge. <br /><br />I've blogged about Walter here many times before, so I won't try to repeat his ENTIRE story, but my hope now is that with the help of his friends (including those in the church) he will get himself admitted into a good, residential rehab program that WORKS, and then continue on in Art School once he has completed that work and is ready to resume on this new path to a much better life. And in the meantime, I hope he finds the new "school clothes" I bought for him equal to his expectations. A new pair of Levis jeans, a long sleeved work shirt, fresh socks, t-shirts, and boxers...I'm sorry we didn't get a chance to shop together for the jacket (which I know was the most expensive thing on the list), but I do hope that someday Walter you will realize that it is possible to own more than one pair of clothes, and that you don't have to restrict yourself to what will fit in a tent, sleeping bag, and backpack. <br /><br />On the other hand, I can also see some of the attractions of that lifestyle, especially if it's something safe and familiar, compared to the challenges of stepping into an entirely new and unfamiliar segment of society, and in effect turning your back on just about everything that you had known before. But I'm also convinced it will be worth it. Walter has an artistic talent that is worthy of being developed and shared more widely. And he is also at heart a kind and gentle soul, who deserves something far better than a lifelong camouflaged bivouac deep in enemy territory. <br /><br />Somewhere deep within <i>Bury my Heart at Wounded Knee,</i> Dee Brown writes about the four qualities that made for a respected leader among the Plains Indians. They were (as I recall): 1-Courage and personal Bravery, 2-Integrity and personal Honor, 3-Generosity, and 4-Personal Endurance/Fortitude. These same characteristics, I think, are worthy of the character of ANY leader. And I believe they will also help WalterThe Eclectic Clerichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12692982208236857534noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7140051748879906853.post-9751946758413355522009-07-09T00:39:00.003-04:002009-07-09T13:52:08.062-04:00& seven ate 9`<br />The weather is turning nice again, I'm starting to hear back from my local friends, even the photos are trickling in, while good news from the right coast has me smiling, although still a little short of information.<br /><br />One of the most interesting parts of this journey back to the place of my origin before continuing forward to my new residence in California is that it has forced me to consider very carefully just how much "life" I have space for within the boundaries of my current levels of ability. And it's not just about physical stamina; it also involves mental acuity, and the amount of concentration required just to get me though my ordinary "activities of daily living." I'm no where close to being able to live independently, for example, even with good friends and neighbors close at hand. By making adjustments to my environment and "living smarter" rather than harder, I can get closer to that goal (I hope!), but right now it still seems pretty elusive. Good news is that while the nights are often difficult and my mornings even more so, usually by mid-morning/early-afternoon I'm moving around pretty well, and with fairly decent mental focus as well. But even so, the demands upon those few "good" hours are still more than I can really accommodate within them. But I'm trying to do better, you know -- keeping a list, and gradually catching up a little at a time. But what I really want to be free to think about is what I want to do NEXT, now that I'm gradually feeling more and more freed up from the routine responsibilities I've felt most of my adult life, and have (one hopes) the time and the opportunity to pursue some of these other intellectual curiosities I've mused about for years.<br /><br />But before going there, some photos from this past weekend:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_73M9nzwkB7g/SlYk2rqDVxI/AAAAAAAABHM/49JkdBC5vAo/s1600-h/*TWJ-frightening,+isn%27t+i%3F-July+4+09+011.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_73M9nzwkB7g/SlYk2rqDVxI/AAAAAAAABHM/49JkdBC5vAo/s400/*TWJ-frightening,+isn%27t+i%3F-July+4+09+011.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5356509328654423826" /></a><i>Frightening, isn't it?</i><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_73M9nzwkB7g/SlYk25Wd3CI/AAAAAAAABHU/gDmBprX8Uvg/s1600-h/*Zach-July+4+09+014.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_73M9nzwkB7g/SlYk25Wd3CI/AAAAAAAABHU/gDmBprX8Uvg/s400/*Zach-July+4+09+014.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5356509332330372130" /></a><i>My Nephew Zach and his dog-cousin, Jesse</i><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_73M9nzwkB7g/SlYk3cpjTiI/AAAAAAAABHk/rSkUMtg1g-o/s1600-h/Coach-July+4+09+036.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_73M9nzwkB7g/SlYk3cpjTiI/AAAAAAAABHk/rSkUMtg1g-o/s400/Coach-July+4+09+036.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5356509341805661730" /></a><i>I may not be playing, but I still can coach!</i><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_73M9nzwkB7g/SlYk3DU9avI/AAAAAAAABHc/_0YMpbNf4y4/s1600-h/Coach+2-July+4+09+035.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_73M9nzwkB7g/SlYk3DU9avI/AAAAAAAABHc/_0YMpbNf4y4/s400/Coach+2-July+4+09+035.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5356509335008406258" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_73M9nzwkB7g/SlYk30Nx_tI/AAAAAAAABHs/2MjlD_-jbw0/s1600-h/Family-July+4+09+043-1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_73M9nzwkB7g/SlYk30Nx_tI/AAAAAAAABHs/2MjlD_-jbw0/s400/Family-July+4+09+043-1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5356509348131634898" /></a><i>The "Dirty Dozen" - my family of origin (minus an aunt, two more adult cousins, a nephew, two spouses, an ex-spouse, and my children -- who I will be seeing NEXT weekend in Portland, OR) BACK ROW (standing l to r) Michael Jensen, James Ennis, Kurtis Jensen, Lynne Jensen. MIDDLE ROW (seated on or behind bench, l to r) Emily Jensen, the Reverend Dr Timothy Ward Jensen (moi), Katie, Zachary, and Jolene Singer-Jensen. FRONT ROW (standing, l to r) Gerald Jensen, Shirley Ennis, Erik Jensen. NOT PICTURED/NOT PRESENT* Mary Lou Krause, Earl Ennis,* Jeff Ennis,* Johnny Ennis,* Claudine Singer-Jensen, Debra Jensen,* Brandon Jensen, Margaret Weddell,* Jacob Sullivan,* Stephenie Sullivan,* Craig Bowen,*</i>The Eclectic Clerichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12692982208236857534noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7140051748879906853.post-48700721258526412842009-07-07T15:45:00.003-04:002009-07-08T00:46:50.004-04:00Seven. Seven. Oh Nine.And finally, at last, breathing space: a little stability, clean laundry, a good night's sleep and a relatively easy morning, and now the Michael Jackson memorial service to keep me company while I work on line. So precocious in his childhood, that he lived his adult life as a child. Or something like that. A very moving celebration, even for someone like myself who was never that great a fan to begin with. <br /><br />In any event, I've really enjoyed this social time with friends and family, and am hoping that a lot more of my local friends here in the Seattle area will give me a call or drop by to see me and spend an afternoon, especially since it is so hard now for me to get around to visit them. And I've been waiting for folks to e-mail me photos from these past few weeks, so that I can upload them to the blog as well. Until then...well, just the sound of my own voice and a view of this screen.The Eclectic Clerichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12692982208236857534noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7140051748879906853.post-73473011152769876512009-07-04T23:58:00.006-04:002009-07-05T01:36:55.855-04:00Independence Day`<br />Ordinarily our quiet little beach is host to about half-a-dozen eagles, who roost (eagles do roost, right?) up on the hill right behind us; but today they have all long since departed for less patriotic places. The bombs have been intermittently bursting in air since about 10 AM, and now that the sun has finally set (about 12 hours later) the red rockets are squealing with the consistency of clockwork. The displays seem a little less ostentatious than they have been in years past, which is fine with me. I'm not really that big of a fireworks guy anyway. And this year is especially tricky because of my poor health, my restricted mobility, and all of the travel problems thrown in on top. I miss being able to wander from campfire to campfire, and catch up with folks for whom this weekend may well be their only visit to the beach this year. Now, just physically getting MYSELF down to the water is a pretty major accomplishment, and not something that I'm especially eager to attempt in the dark.<br /><br />I wish I could adequately describe what goes on here, but I can't. Thousands (and maybe even tens or hundreds of thousands) of dollars worth of privately purchased and privately detonated fireworks are exploded over our little bay, in a display that has very little thematic coordination beyond start strong, finish stronger, and don't let anything go to waste in between. Free Market capitalism at its most unabashed, uninhibited, and certainly unregulated WORSTSEB. Wish I could adequately photograph it even more. In any event, it is exciting. And even worst, fatiguing.... <br /> <br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_73M9nzwkB7g/SlAtLQkqWyI/AAAAAAAABG8/r9lvKpZoHq0/s1600-h/*Civil+Discourse.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_73M9nzwkB7g/SlAtLQkqWyI/AAAAAAAABG8/r9lvKpZoHq0/s400/*Civil+Discourse.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5354829628394068770" /></a>The Eclectic Clerichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12692982208236857534noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7140051748879906853.post-13405839544202266062009-07-03T21:06:00.010-04:002009-07-04T01:50:03.836-04:00The Third of JulyA few quick images from the glorious third...twenty-four hours from now and this place will feel like a fire-fight, with tens of thousands of mostly illegal fireworks being detonated all along our mile-long stretch of beach, and similar beaches all around the circumference of the island. But tonight, thank God, relatively quiet -- the calm before the deluge.<br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_73M9nzwkB7g/Sk67gxLAm9I/AAAAAAAABG0/cjLYJE-Kj0E/s1600-h/0703091814.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 160px; height: 120px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_73M9nzwkB7g/Sk67gxLAm9I/AAAAAAAABG0/cjLYJE-Kj0E/s400/0703091814.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5354423178619821010" /></a><I>the Beach at low tide</i><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_73M9nzwkB7g/Sk67gqvc0CI/AAAAAAAABGs/eRV8HexDmgw/s1600-h/0703091135.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 160px; height: 120px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_73M9nzwkB7g/Sk67gqvc0CI/AAAAAAAABGs/eRV8HexDmgw/s400/0703091135.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5354423176893616162" /></a><i>my dog-in-law- Jessie</i><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_73M9nzwkB7g/Sk67gF8TpAI/AAAAAAAABGc/WxwdzYpUkNw/s1600-h/0703091819.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 160px; height: 120px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_73M9nzwkB7g/Sk67gF8TpAI/AAAAAAAABGc/WxwdzYpUkNw/s400/0703091819.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5354423167015429122" /></a><i>another world-famous Dungeness crab meets his end. "Meat is murder. Tasty, tasty murder...."</i><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_73M9nzwkB7g/Sk67f3r5ZSI/AAAAAAAABGU/Xs-U2DxCZ-E/s1600-h/0703091839.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 160px; height: 120px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_73M9nzwkB7g/Sk67f3r5ZSI/AAAAAAAABGU/Xs-U2DxCZ-E/s400/0703091839.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5354423163188503842" /></a><i>New Cheetos GIANT. Coming soon to a supermarket near you.</i><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_73M9nzwkB7g/Sk6r7UC7BNI/AAAAAAAABGE/6eKssbi6pJE/s1600-h/0703091134.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 160px; height: 120px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_73M9nzwkB7g/Sk6r7UC7BNI/AAAAAAAABGE/6eKssbi6pJE/s400/0703091134.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5354406042471695570" /></a><i>My Nephew Michael. Also made with real cheese....</i>The Eclectic Clerichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12692982208236857534noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7140051748879906853.post-19053835165236143552009-06-24T09:33:00.003-04:002009-06-28T15:58:03.173-04:00"Washed Away & Back Again with the Outgoing Tide."`<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_73M9nzwkB7g/SkdyPmw0jJI/AAAAAAAABFs/PDD9LUUYNfA/s1600-h/+ACK-the+golden+dome.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_73M9nzwkB7g/SkdyPmw0jJI/AAAAAAAABFs/PDD9LUUYNfA/s400/+ACK-the+golden+dome.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5352372294582045842" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_73M9nzwkB7g/SkfHnXukQ0I/AAAAAAAABF8/wPe-1cNk2R0/s1600-h/Snapshot+2009-06-26+14-14-22.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 227px; height: 276px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_73M9nzwkB7g/SkfHnXukQ0I/AAAAAAAABF8/wPe-1cNk2R0/s400/Snapshot+2009-06-26+14-14-22.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5352466161351279426" /></a><br /><br />So, Sunday's sermon - quite possibly my last sermon ever (and certainly for the foreseeable future), and much different than most of the preaching I've done in my nearly 30 years of ministry. Just a list of notes scribbled on the Order of Service in roughly the order I hoped to address them. But on another level you could say I'd been preparing that sermon my entire lifetime. Started out with a little riff about Father's Day, and the summer solstice, and what it was like to be called "father" by people who really didn't know much about our faith tradition. Was sitting in my wheelchair at the head of the aisle, because I just wasn't feeling strong enough to climb up into the high pulpit, even though it wasn't nearly as high as I'd remembered. And eventually I got around to describing how I became a Unitarian to begin with (a story I've often told in the context of newcomers orientation classes) -- knowing that I WAS a Unitarian, but not really knowing what that meant, since my father had chosen to leave the church in Palo Alto at just that time, in rebellion against its "Hippie" culture and anti-war activism. <br /><br />But fortunately, once we moved back to Seattle the following summer, there was another UU Church (Eastshore Unitarian in Bellevue Washington) just a mile or so from our home, so on Sundays I would arrange to ride my bicycle past the front door just as services were letting out, and then jump off real quickly just to see whether there was anything of interest in the pamphlet rack or on the book table. That's where I found a 35 cent Bobbs-Merrill edition of William Ellery Channing's "Unitarian Christianity and other Sermons." Channing preached that sermon on May 25th, 1819 at the ordination of Jared Sparks as the minister of the Unitarian Church in Baltimore, Maryland...Unitarianism's first real expansion outside of New England and "the neighborhood of Boston." And he took as his text that day a passage from Paul's First Letter to the Thessalonians, chapter five verse 21: "Prove all things; hold fast that which is good." Channing argued from this text that Unitarianism's leading principle in interpreting Scripture is that the Bible is a book written for human beings, in the language of human beings and its meaning is best discerned in the same manner of that of other books, which is to say through the constant exercise of reason. <br /><br />Well, that all sounded perfectly reasonable to me, but next I needed to come up with an actual Bible of my own, which I eventually did a few months later during a High School Debate trip, where I stole a Gideon Bible out of my bedside drawer at the Leopold Hotel in Bellingham, Washington. I mean, it was right there waiting for the taking, and so I took it...and I haven't really looked back since....<br /><br />The rest of the sermon pretty much explored many of the same themes I've been talking about in Portland the last few months: the importance of (and relationships between) Worship, Education, Fellowship, Hospitality, Outreach, Social Justice and Pastoral Care in creating authentic and devoted communities of faith, along with the interdependent qualities of Humility and Gratitude, Generosity and Service, which form our Character and provide the energy and commitment to "be of use." This commitment often has its seeds in some sort of "unitive" experience (which someone like myself might even describe as "mystical"): the recognition that we are a very small part of much larger "whole," yet whole within ourselves and still completely dependent upon things beyond our control for our very existence and survival. <br /><br />There were a few other minor themes I touched on as well, but I can't for the life of me now remember what they were. It was SO great though finally to have this chance to get back to church, to see so many of those wonderful, familiar faces, and also to met some of the folks who have joined the church since I departed from there in 2003. And then there are the faces of the missing: Grace Grossman, Faith Oldham, Ginny Coffin, Cynthia Young, Bill Hance, and Margaret Hitchcock to name just a few. So many fond memories, of challenges faced and risks taken, and joys and sorrows shared.<br /><br />But the most gratifying thing of all was the way in which so many people pulled together to make the trip possible at all. What under "normal" circumstances might have been an easy and pleasant weekend excursion turned into a major expedition, physically challenging for both myself and my caring hosts, and with hundreds of dollars of additional, unanticipated expenses. And I'm also worried that this may well have been my final visit ever to The Faraway Island. Couldn't even make it to the deck to throw my pennies at the Bryant Point Lighthouse; had to send my traveling attendant upstairs to do it for me instead. So we'll see. One thing I do know for certain; I love you all so much that the mere thought that I may have just seen you all for the last time breaks my heart and brings tears to my eyes. <br /><br />Something that seems to happen to me pretty routinely these days....<br /> <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_73M9nzwkB7g/SkdyP0HQQLI/AAAAAAAABF0/Bur4tndaa_k/s1600-h/ACK+DOCKSIDE-the+usual+suspects.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_73M9nzwkB7g/SkdyP0HQQLI/AAAAAAAABF0/Bur4tndaa_k/s400/ACK+DOCKSIDE-the+usual+suspects.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5352372298165797042" /></a>The Eclectic Clerichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12692982208236857534noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7140051748879906853.post-76210319196845709132009-06-21T15:40:00.002-04:002009-06-27T17:11:01.289-04:00Captain Rainbow and the Magnificent Saffron Boy Rise Again!Following my early Friday morning pain episode, which deeply concerned both my traveling companion and my hosts, there was a long discussion about what would be the best way to proceed -- whether I should check myself into the hospital, or even continue to remain on the island at all. Both the current settled minister and the minister emeritus also become involved in our conversation, as well as eventually an ER Doc and the hospital caseworker...both of whom are good friends of the ME. This after a ride in with the firefighters, and about a three-hour wait in an examination room, while my pain gradually subsided (as I knew it would) and the hospital officials tried to explain to all concerned why they couldn't just admit me to the hospital because I would sleep more comfortably there. So they sent me home after walking me around the hospital a little, with instructions to carry on with my usual routine and return if things got any worse.<br /><br />Meanwhile, the CSM lined me up with a friend and parishioner who does live-in home health care as part of a business he calls "Good Works!" Six years earlier, just as I was getting ready to leave the island, he and I had become acquainted at a going-away party for yet another parishioner. He was wearing a magnificent saffron shirt from a Buddhist monastery/meditation center where he had been for awhile, and I was wearing a white greek fisherman's hat with a rainbow-dove pin attached in the front, so I had quickly christened us "Captain Rainbow and Saffron Boy," and it was a great relief to all of us that he was available to stay with me the rest of the weekend, especially since PB needed to get back to the mainland Saturday morning so she could preach at her own church Sunday.<br /><br />So, so far so good. Went to bed Friday night feeling fine and looking forward to a great weekend, but woke up Saturday morning once again feeling "acute and intractable back pain," which lingered on until nearly two in the afternoon, when I finally discovered that one of the reasons it hadn't dissipated was that I had forgotten to take my ordinary morning painkillers earlier that morning! Unfortunately, at that point one can't merely double the dose and try to catch up; instead, I simply took my regular afternoon dose (plus the daily meds I had also missed that morning) and added as much breakthrough as I though was appropriate. That night I got in a car and drove to the home of some other parishioners who had invited me for a cookout, but I knew within 20 minutes of arriving that I wasn't going to be able to do it, so it was back to the ER at the Nantucket Cottage Hospital, where this time I was admitted right away<br /><br />Of course, now I faced an entirely different set of problems. Slept like a baby, but I was terribly concerned that the attending physician wouldn't discharge me in time to preach on Sunday morning! Shouldn't have worried though. Not only did my cohorts from the cook-out slip me in a plate of ribs the night before, but the attending physician wrote the orders and the day nurse had me packed up and out the door before I could even finish my breakfast. Plenty of time up at church too, since for some reason I though the service started at 10 am, instead of the far more civilized 10:45. Which gave me plenty of time to catch up with more church friends as I thought a little about my message for the day: "Washed Away & Back Again with the Outgoing Tide." On Nantucket, a "Washed-Ashore" is someone who is not native to the island, but who typically lives there year round and shares many of the same hardships and concerns of the Islanders themselves. But more about that in my next post.The Eclectic Clerichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12692982208236857534noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7140051748879906853.post-36644737466918021272009-06-19T10:07:00.002-04:002009-06-26T12:05:34.141-04:00The Good Rev. Dr's 2009 bi-coastal "Adios, Adieu and Godspeed" final farewell tourI've decided to post-date a few of these entries from my journal, which has also suffered in terms of timeliness because of my travel travails, but it seems like the most logical thing to do. So looking back now to the "thirteenth" hour, I ended up giving my Pink Martini tickets to the woman and her son who had been driving me around Portland for most of the past two months, and then was able to rent a Ford Explorer at one of the local agencies, and with the help of two self-appointed "handmaidens," arrived in Carlisle on June 16th just in time for the "Milk & Cookies" meet-up they had been promoting through their church bulletin. Still, a very touch and go thing, with a lot of folks going the extra mile just to make it happen at all. Makes me wonder whether I should change my policy of only rarely mentioning people by name here, but they know who they are...and, of course, Jackie was first among them.<br /><br />After the cookies, I met up with another old friend of mine from the Carlisle church, and we had dinner together at the Concord Grill. One of the waiters there just so happened to be one of the guys I used to play basketball with regularly at Concord Parks and Rec, so we also exchanged e-mail addresses which may lead to some renewed contacts there as well. Like all of these events, the missing faces were just as prominent as the familiar ones; and yet that just seems to be the way it is these days in our high-speed, highly mobile 21st century society. I try to celebrate the people I see, mourn (on some level, at least), the people I miss, and hope that somehow the technology will also allow us renew these contacts and enjoy them even at a distance.<br /><br />I'd planned on having Wednesday morning just to hang around the hotel spa and try to recover a little from the previous day's travel, but instead I received a phone call from another "favourite" family, which resulted in morning coffee with mom and eldest plus youngest, then lunch (at the Bamboo!) with dad and middle child. Nothing TOO strenuous at the time, but when my good friend PB arrived later that afternoon (recently home herself from five weeks in Turkey, Romania, and Paris) I knew I was going to feel a little pressed to keep up. We hadn't really communicated that clearly about the exactly extent and limitations of my abilities and "disability" (which would have been hard to do anyway since I really wasn't sure what they were going to be in the first place) or how much I was counting on her to help me navigate Nantucket (another essential unknown), but that first night at her house was a little challenging for me: upstairs bedroom, too-tall bed, trouble getting in to and out of the bathroom...that sort of thing. We wisely decided to pack lightly for the island, even more wisely deciding simply to leave the wheelchair in the car rather than unpacking it in the first place, caught our afternoon boat with little trouble, and soon were happily ensconced at the home of our host and seemed "home free" - a convivial atmosphere, lots of help if I needed it.... Mission Accomplished, and nothing more to worry about until it came to Sunday morning....<br /><br />Wrong. Trouble really started a little after 2 am that morning, when I struggled out of bed to answer a call of nature and discovered that my walker could not navigate around a wooden hamper just inside the door. Hurt my back figuring that out though, which left me collapsed in bed with an excruciating back pain radiating down my right leg and (my apologies to the squimesh) an urgent, nearly bursting bladder to accompany it. Finally broke down and called PB on her cell phone (she had decided to sleep in the other house in order to avoid my snoring), who arrived just a little before 3 am appearing exactly as you might expect someone to appear in such a moment: tousled hair and spectacles, as angry as a drowned cat, and not a bit of artifice or inauthenticity to her -- in other words, to-die-for, drop-dead gorgeous...although I suspect she would have taken those sentiments in a slightly more LITERAL sense than I did. Not exactly Florence Nightingale or Clara Barton, but a close approximation. I was sure happy and relieved to see her, in any event.<br /><br />Friday morning, after several phone calls and face-to-face conversations with my hosts and the current minister, the previous minister, and (of course) PB herself, I agreed to take a ride in a firetruck up the the Emergency Room of the Nantucket Cottage Hospital, to see whether there was anything they could do for me there. But I'll tell that part of the story in the next installment....The Eclectic Clerichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12692982208236857534noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7140051748879906853.post-83647083333540066182009-06-16T22:16:00.003-04:002009-06-16T23:01:04.662-04:00D-DAY!Whew! -- and what a departure it was! Both my brother from from Greenwich and my ride to Boston called in sick this past weekend- the former with a sick child in the hospital, the latter with a temperature of 100.5 - news which sent us all scrambling trying to pull together plan B. Only cost my $3000 to "sell" my car back to the dealership (more on this later - promise), with only 6000 miles on it, and a $12,600 loan balance. Books weighed in at a lot more than anticipated as well, although I knew that they would, they ALWAYS do. But a great group of volunteers from the church managed though to get everything packed, and without much help with me, who basically spent most of Sunday afternoon and evening fast asleep and unable to communicate with the outside world except in brief moments of lucidity. In any event, the movers picked up everything Monday, and Tuesday Jackie once again scrambled around to line me up with a rental car and a couple of volunteer drivers from the choir eager for a road trip. And away we went! Itinerary from here on out included milk and cookies this afternoon with my former congregation in Carlisle, and then a week-long trip to Nantucket over the weekend, where I will also be preaching the sermon on the 21st. Don't have a title yet. Probably something about the longest day of the year. And then after Nantucket, New York (well, suburban Connecticut) where I will be staying with my brother until we all fly out together on the 30th. Fourth of July fireworks on the beach, perhaps 3 weeks of reading and sunshine, followed by a quick weekend trip to Portland OR to visit my daughter, rub her tummy for luck and celebrate her marriage last spring to her longtime live-in boyfriend (another firefighter), and the expected arrival of their first child (Margie's and My first grandchild!) sometime near the end of August. <br /><br />But first from there to Sacramento, to unpack this great mess and get hooked up with my new team of doctors ad UC Davis. Like most tragic heros, my great strength (boundless optimism)) is also the source of my undoing. So ouch! But there it is: Tim's 2009 BiCoastal Farewell Summer "Tour de la Couer." Hope to see or hear from all of you somewhere along the way.The Eclectic Clerichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12692982208236857534noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7140051748879906853.post-61268637755746739702009-06-12T21:11:00.002-04:002009-06-12T21:27:45.431-04:00Approaching the Eleventh Hour`<br />A very difficult time this morning getting out of bed in time for my 8 am ride to Maine Medical center for a procedure during which my pulmonologist stuck an eight-inch needle into my back and withdrew about a quart of very yucky greenish-yellow fluid from the cavity between my right lung and the chest wall. Thankfully, I saw NONE of these things until the procedure was completed. But all was overlooked when the dreary, grey-rainy day that we started out with became a lovely sunny afternoon, just perfect for taking a two-hour sail around Cushing Island with a dozen or so of my parishioners, aboard the FRANCES, a 74-foot locally built Windjammer. Plenty of photos to follow, I hope; just until then, please enjoy their <a href= "http://www.mainesailingadventures.net/">WEBSITE HERE,</a> and daydream about the day when you might get an opportunity to spend an afternoon afloat in one of the most beautiful sailing venues in the world.<br /><br />Meanwhile, moving day continues to loom just over the horizon: Monday morning at 9 am, no excuses. And yes, I will be ready. We will ALL be ready....<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_73M9nzwkB7g/SjMAb_vce4I/AAAAAAAABFk/2wBuqlBUJF0/s1600-h/S:V+Frances.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 296px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_73M9nzwkB7g/SjMAb_vce4I/AAAAAAAABFk/2wBuqlBUJF0/s400/S:V+Frances.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5346617663585811330" /></a>The Eclectic Clerichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12692982208236857534noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7140051748879906853.post-47429536290540109992009-06-06T15:45:00.003-04:002009-06-06T15:54:47.592-04:00Take Me Out to the Ball Game...`<br />Went out last night with a dozen or so of my parishioners to see the Portland Sea Dogs play at Havelock Field. Noticed for the first time the "Binga's Fowl Pole" out in left field, near the faux Monster which gives our double AA ballplayers a small taste of what it might be like to hit in Fenway someday. Now all they need to do is remodel the right field bleachers in a similar fashion, putting in a "Pesky Pole" out by the picnic area, so that those who come there for the nightly BBQ can have that experience as well. We actually sat in the Pavilion seats out in right field, right next to the Sea Dogs Bullpen. Not nearly as elegant as I had hoped, but reasonably handicapped accessible without creating TOO much trouble. In any case, you can read a lot more about it at my <a href= "http://obiwannabekobe.blogspot.com/2009/06/bring-me-home-from-ball-game.html">sports blog, Obi Wannabe Kobe</a> . Enjoy!The Eclectic Clerichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12692982208236857534noreply@blogger.com0