Talking With My Mom in the Commissary
“Mom! Look at the price on that flank steak!” When she sent me off to college, one of the pieces of advice she shared with me was never to spend more than $1.25 per pound on flank steak, one of the leanest, thriftiest cuts of beef available. Even four years later, the butcher looked at me in amazement and said “your mother’s information is out of date.”
But when I saw these breathtaking prices – even marked down! – for flank steak, I couldn’t help taking a photo to share with Mom.
Yes, I still talk with my Mom, I can’t help it. She should not have died when she did, one of the earliest victims of COVID. I have so much admiration for the choice she made – she chose not to be intubated. Intubation machines were limited, and she wanted younger people to have priority on their usage. She was 96. Her mother lived to 104. She requested hospice, and went quietly and without pain. I still choke to think of it, but it was her choice, and a heroic choice.
“Can you believe this?” I ask my mother, incredulously. “Hershey’s chocolate FLAVOR! Not even real chocolate!” and Mom replies in my head, telling me not to buy it, it’s just chemicals.
As the oldest daughter, some of my earliest memories are Saturday trips to the supermarket, wheeling the basket while Mom filled it, stopping now and then to chat with shopping neighbors, or to show me a label and what it meant. It was excruciatingly boring. I learned a lot.
She also taughte me to cook. I’m not the greatest cook (neither was she), but, like her, I have a few great recipes that make me look better than I am. Some of them are hers 😊. Even better, when we were cleaning out her condo, I found this old set of measuring spoons, which I brought home and still use. They must be seventy or eighty years old; look how thin the aluminum is.
I talk to her in the kitchen, too. Yesterday, I made her Autumn Plum Cake (Pflaumekeuchen) (you can get the recipe by typing that into the search box, it’s a great, easy recipe for an Alsatian kind of torte) only I used fresh cherries, and it turned out really juicy. She just laughed (in my head) and told me not to try it with blueberries, that they are a real mess. But she never really liked blueberries.
I have some strange beliefs, including the veil between life and death being a lot thinner than we know. The last message my Mother left on my phone was about some masks I made and sent; she was excited for them to arrive, but that night she fell ill and went to the hospital. She never got to see the masks.
Mind Your Own Business!
This message from yesterday’s Lectionary Readings made me laugh because different cultures have such differences, even in my own country, the United States of America.
I grew up in the great Pacific Northwest, on an island in Alaska, surrounded by Scandinavian immigrants and Alaskan natives and pioneers from the “lower 48,” as we called the USA, which was then a territory and not yet a state. Neighbors relied on one another, and we were strongly interconnected, helping one another out in daily interactions, and in emergencies. We were close, and yet we were also insular – a curious child’s innocent inquiry (mine!) would be met with “Mind your own business.” It meant don’t ask questions. Give people their privacy. In truth, there were many people who had left the “lower 48” for good reasons, established new lives in the last frontier and did not want to be reminded of what kind of mess they might have left behind.
AdventureMan grew up in the deep South, a town of around 3,000 people where they joked that the population always remains the same – a new baby gets born, and a man leaves town.” When I come back from a meeting or a lunch with a friend, he has endless questions. When he meets my friends, he has questions. I tell him generalities, and he asks specifics, and I say something vague. I hurt his feelings when I don’t share all the details – in his culture, in his small town, everyone knew everything about everybody. No one had any secrets. People knew what you had done 50 years ago, and there was little room for changing anyones opinion of who you are now, how you might have changed. People regularly shared what they knew about one another.
We’ve been married decades, and we still push and pull on this issue – how much do we share? We both know there is not a right or wrong, just what feels right to him and what feels right to me, and we have to agree to disagree, and sometimes we can be very disagreeable!
This is what the Lectionary reading says:
Thessaalonians 4:10
But we urge you, beloved,* to do so more and more, 11to aspire to live quietly, to mind your own affairs, and to work with your hands, as we directed you, 12so that you may behave properly towards outsiders and be dependent on no one.
How does it work for you?
Give to Those Who Ask
Yesterday’s Lectionary readings were rich with wise instructions for navigating complicated situations.
First in Doha, then in Kuwait, and now, too, in Pensacola, we encounter beggers. In Doha, it could be women with babies, kicked out of their homes, or a begger in the middle of the street with a transfusion bag full of blood with an introvenous feed tube, begging for enough money to have the operation he needed for his kidneys (I later learned they were fake). In Kuwait, we had beggers who knew us, and who waited outside our favorite restaurants and we would give them our take-away boxes. In Pensacola, it is the homeless, often military veterans with mental health issues, families without homes, elderly men and women abandoned by the side of the road.
Many treat these people with scorn, insisting they are living like kings on what they scrounge from gullible givers. Some act with compassion, passing out bottles of water and fresh made sandwiches, or passing small bills to those at the corners. Discussion varies little about the “problem;” what is the right thing to do?
Living in the Middle East, I was the recipient myself of kind charity, stuck by the side of the road with a broken car, being given bottles of cold water while a kind stranger changed my flat tire, or a neighbor brought me a platter of leg of lamb and mensaf on an Eid holiday. People invited us into their homes and families. People were kind as I struggled to find words, and helped me understand customs which were strange to me. Charity comes with many faces.
If we are who we claim to be – People of the Book, believers – the answer is clear in this reading from Matthew:
Matthew 5:38-48
38 ‘You have heard that it was said, “An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth.” 39But I say to you, Do not resist an evildoer. But if anyone strikes you on the right cheek, turn the other also; 40and if anyone wants to sue you and take your coat, give your cloak as well; 41and if anyone forces you to go one mile, go also the second mile. 42Give to everyone who begs from you, and do not refuse anyone who wants to borrow from you.
43 ‘You have heard that it was said, “You shall love your neighbour and hate your enemy.” 44But I say to you, Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, 45so that you may be children of your Father in heaven; for he makes his sun rise on the evil and on the good, and sends rain on the righteous and on the unrighteous. 46For if you love those who love you, what reward do you have? Do not even the tax-collectors do the same? 47And if you greet only your brothers and sisters,* what more are you doing than others? Do not even the Gentiles do the same? 48Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect.
The Things That Matter
Moving to Kuwait was huge, with so many adjustments. As we hunted for a house, we were shown palatial living spaces. One had a big pool as you entered the house – inside the house. One house had an elevator to the three floors. We were shown so many truly amazing places to live.
It was just me, AdventureMan, and our cat named Pete. My husband worked hard. Those houses were just too big for me, and the quieter life I wanted to live, and how would I find Pete hidden in one of those huge houses?
We chose an apartment high on the 10th floor in Fintas, overlooking a beach park, overlooking a wild street, with a 180 degree view of the Arabian/Persian Gulf. There really was never a question. That view took my breath away, and gave me hours of pleasure, watching dhows, watching fishermen, watching people in the park. I called it my Eyrie.
It also gave me a glorious daily sunrise. Every sunrise was different and glorious.
Later, we were able to buy exactly the house I wanted in Pensacola – a house we had owned before, with a view of the Bayou. As a great favor to me, AdventureMan, who never wanted to move again, agreed to move, and together we watch the sun set over the Bayou. Every night we have a sunset. Every night, a different sunset, a different angle, a different color, a different mood. I am grateful for the richness that fills my life every evening when we watch the sun set, and my heart fills with awe.
Stranger in a Strange Land: High School
Today’s writing prompt is irresistible: Something you learned in High School.
I left my US High School mid-year to live in Germany, and to go to a US Department of Defense High School.
I learned that not everyone thinks the same way I think.
I learned that sometimes the way I think might even be wrong, or incomplete.
I learned that even within our own culture, there may be varieties of cultures and many different ways to do a thing, and that none is truly the “right” way, that there may be many right ways.
I learned to lean back and observe, before I ventured an opinion.
I learned to listen when someone said I was wrong. I didn’t have to agree, but it helped to get this other perspective (no matter how mistaken it might have been, LOL)
After high school, I lived a nomadic life, back and forth to university, then marrying a military man and being on the move for the next forty years. Some of my best friends to this day are friends I made during those high school years, people who have led very different lives, but who still share so much in common because of our uncommon heritage and our diverse views. Learning that kind of flexibility eased the way in later life, living in different cultures in Germany, in Africa and in the Middle East and finally, in the Deep South. I’m still learning! 🙏😄🙏
Oscar Romero, Patron Saint of The Americas and El Salvador
My friends, when you hear that the immigrants seeking a new life in our country are rapists, thieves, the mentally ill and very bad people, please think of Oscar Romero, and all those who have fought the evil forces of thuggery and dictatorship to find a life of freedom for themselves, and for their families, especially, hope for their children.
I urge you to read a much criticized book, American Dirt, by Jeanine Cummins. Here is what Wikipedia says. My experience was that the struggles exposed in American Dirt are very typical of people seeking to escape the violence of their societies.
American Dirt is a 2020 novel by American author Jeanine Cummins, published by Flatiron Books. The book is about a Mexican bookseller who is forced to flee as an undocumented immigrant to the United States, along with her son, after her journalist husband exposes a local drug kingpin.
ÓSCAR ROMERO
ARCHBISHOP OF SAN SALVADOR, AND THE MARTYRS OF EL SALVADOR
(24 March 1980)
Óscar Arnulfo Romero y Galdámez (August 15, 1917 – March 24, 1980), commonly known as Monseñor Romero, was a priest of the Roman Catholic Church in El Salvador. He later became prelate archbishop of San Salvador.
As an archbishop, he witnessed numerous violations of human rights and began a ministry speaking out on behalf of the poor and victims of the country’s civil war. His brand of political activism was denounced by the hierarchy of the Roman Catholic Church and the government of El Salvador. In 1980, he was assassinated by gunshot while consecrating the Eucharist during mass. His death finally provoked international outcry for human rights reform in El Salvador.
In 1997, a cause for beatification and canonization into sainthood was opened for Romero and Pope John Paul II bestowed upon him the title of Servant of God. Pope Francis canonized Romero as a saint on 14 October 2018. He is considered the unofficial patron saint of the Americas and El Salvador and is often referred to as “San Romero” in El Salvador. Outside of Catholicism Romero is honored by other religious denominations of Christendom, like the Church of England through its Common Worship. He is one of the ten 20th-century martyrs from across the world who are depicted in statues above the Great West Door of Westminster Abbey, London.
from Wikipedia
Also commemorated on this day are three Maryknoll nuns and a woman lay missionary killed by a Salvadoran army death squad on 2 Dec, 1980, and additionally six Jesuits, their housekeeper and her daughter, who were also murdered by the Salvadoran army on 16 Nov. 1989.
Small Groups and the Seven Deadly Sins
One of the great calming forces in my life is meeting with my small groups. One is a monthly book club; we are not all of the same mind; we bring different perceptions, and it is good for us. New doors open, we see things differently. Yesterday, I was confronted by a woman who reminded me that when she was reviewing a book she loved, and wondered why it was not popular, there was a silence. And then I said “Well, it was poorly written.” I expected a rebuke, but she said that having given it some thought, now she agrees. Whew!
(I hate confrontation. And I also have a big problem with lying. I believe lying hurts the person receiving the lie, and it hurts the liar. I think lies are seeds that grow wildly, creating a thicket of evil. Unintended consequences.)
My other small group doesn’t meet all the time, just for studies two or three times a year. Small group are where real connections are made, so the church makes an effort to help us connect with one another. This small group has met at the same time with the same leader for several years. It has several people who have been with this group for a long time. New people come once or twice and are never seen again, and some come and settle in for the long haul. We are diverse, from all segments of the church, and we have a wonderful gift in common. As we study and apply scripture, we laugh at ourselves. On rare occasions, we cry with one another. It is a band of buddies, and our buddies keep us safe in life.
Last night we were working on Envy. It was fascinating, and I learned something new. There is a technical difference between jealousy and envy. Jealousy is having something/someone and being afraid of losing what you have. Envy is wanting something – or something better than – someone else has, or something you lack. That’s food for thought for the rest of the week.
As a group, we thought the illustration for Envy was fabulous. One member asked to look at all the eyes, all green, and notice how cold envy is. Another said that Envy is the only deadly sin that gives no pleasure. We only have six weeks; it makes me laugh to know that the deadly sin of Lust is optional.
During an epoch when I find events stirring in me emotional turbulence, I leave these groups feeling at peace, and I sleep well at night. The world goes on. We find our people. They help us shoulder our burdens and march alongside us. Thanks be to God.
Anna Julia Haywood Cooper
Today the church honors Anna Julia Haywood Cooper, an extraordinary woman who prevailed against prejudice.
ANNA JULIA HAYWOOD COOPER
EDUCATOR
(1964)
Anna Julia Haywood Cooper (August 10, c1859- February 27, 1964). Educator, advocate and scholar. Born in Raleigh, North Carolina to an enslaved woman and a white man, presumably her mother’s master, Anna Julia was an academically gifted child and received a scholarship to attend St. Augustine Normal School and Collegiate Institute, a school founded by the Episcopal Church to educate African-American teachers and clergy. There she began her membership in the Episcopal Church. After forcing her way into a Greek class designed for male theology students, Anna Julia later married the instructor, George A.C. Cooper, the second African-American ordained to the Episcopal priesthood in North Carolina.
After her husband’s death in 1879, Cooper received degrees in mathematics from Oberlin College, and was made principal of the only African American high school in Washington D.C.. She was denied reappointment in 1906 because she refused to lower her educational standards.
Throughout her career, Cooper emphasized the importance of education to the future of African Americans, and was critical of the lack of support they received from the church. An advocate for African-American women, Cooper assisted in organizing the Colored Women’s League and the first Colored Settlement House in Washington, D.C. She wrote and spoke widely on issues of race and gender, and took an active role in national and international organizations founded to advance African Americans.
At the age of fifty-five she adopted the five children of her nephew. In 1925, Cooper became the fourth African-American woman to complete a Ph.D degree, granted from the Sorbonne when she was sixty-five years old. From 1930-1942, Cooper served as president of Frelinghuysen University.
from the Episcopal Women’s History Project
Pensacola New Year’s Sunset over the Bayou
We moved to this house at the beginning of COVID. You wouldn’t think it was a great time to go house hunting or to move, but it worked for us. Almost every day, I thank my husband for moving here (he had said “No more moves!” but COVID made things different.) Almost every day is a sunset – not unlike this one, but no two are identical. Every day. It never fails to thrill my heart. Happy New Year!
Diwali: A Light Sparkles in Dark Times
Today, Labor Day, when dark events are taking place in our country, shutting down the light of liberty and democracy, we got an unexpected invitation – to a Diwali party, coming up in a couple months.
We are so honored. And we know Diwali; we were living in Al Fardan 1, in Doha, Qatar, when an Indian neighbor invited all the residents of Al Fardan to come over for Diwali. We didn’t know what Diwali was, and our internet was dial-up and irregular, but we asked around and were told, with big smiles, to go and find out.
The night of Diwali came, and we walked to our neighbor’s house, along with many of our Al Fardan neighbors. We could see it long before we arrived – thousands of candles set out in patterns in the yard, lining the sidewalk, leading us inside, to more lights and a feast of sweets, platters of sweets, all illuminated by gleaming candlelight.
Such open-hearted hospitality. Such generous sharing. No one was excluded; everyone was welcome, and there was plenty for everyone.
Our neighbors’ beliefs were different from ours, and yet, I believe all such generosity, freely given, springs from the same spirit.
We can’t wait for this upcoming Diwali.
Recent Comments
intlxpatr on A Lawless, Authoritarian … Kuwait Someday on A Lawless, Authoritarian … intlxpatr on Oh Thank You, Amazon! Rivergirl on Oh Thank You, Amazon! intlxpatr on Give to Those Who Ask Wikipedia Donate Button
Amazina
Early Voting in Florida
Here There and Everywhere 