One Day Isle

Memorial Services for Tim Jensen

2009-09-03T16:16:00.002-04:00

There have been two memorial services scheduled to celebrate Tim's life

PORTLAND, OREGON - September 19, 2009

Friends and family of Tim Jensen will gather Saturday, September 19, 2009 to celebrate his life. You are invited to attend.

Date: 19 September 2009

Time: 11:00 a.m.

Place: The Melody Ballroom, 615 SE Alder Street, Portland, Oregon

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.

PORTLAND, MAINE - November 7, 2009

Date: 7 November 2009

Time: 1:00 p.m.

Place: First Parish Unitarian Universalist Church
425 Congress Street, Portland, Maine

Tim Talks with the new President of First Parish

2009-08-18T00:45:00.002-04:00

To follow Tim as he starts his new journey
Log on to www.firstparishportland.blogspot.com
or go to firstparishportland and click on
leadership blog

From Tim's Youngest Brother Erik

2009-08-10T12:26:00.002-04:00

It 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.

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.

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.

Erik Jensen

A Critical Sense of Urgency

2009-08-01T19:59:00.004-04:00

For those of you who have been missing One Day Isle, and are desperate for a little cheap entertainment, you might try looking here or maybe even here.

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."

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.

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.

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.

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.

Even if it does glow in the dark when I pee....

Congratulations are in Order!

2009-07-30T15:57:00.011-04:00

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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.

[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]

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!

The happy (but nervous?) Bride and Groom.

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).

"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?"

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....

Admiring the Rings. The older woman holding my mother's hand is Chuck's mother, my "grandma Hazen."

Escape to the Honeymoon!

With the car all decorated too, Chuck's last duty as the best man.

Transition Tension

2009-07-30T00:20:00.001-04:00

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.

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.

;Happy Birthday Daudre!!!

Old Habits Die Hard

2009-07-26T23:01:00.002-04:00

And 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.

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.

Living for the Weekend

2009-07-25T23:23:00.002-04:00

And 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.

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.

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.

Assuming that's the problem, right? I mean, the presenting problem which is leaving me feeling so weak, helpless, and breathless....

The Law of Averages

2009-07-23T21:32:00.009-04:00

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"I'm beginnin' to feel like a fugitive from th' law of averages."

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.

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.

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....

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.

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.

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.

Meanwhile, here's Bill Mauldin:

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.

[Bill Mauldin, Up Front, (New York: Henry Holt, 1945) p. 103]

"That's one small step..."

2009-07-22T21:46:00.001-04:00

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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.

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.

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.

"Steph-n-Jen" -- my joined-at-the-hip daughters by mutual discernment. Looks like they may have picked up a new admirer.

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.

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."

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.

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.

When she's not sleeping, that is....

[cross-posted from The Eclectic Cleric]
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Be it ever so humble...

2009-07-18T16:10:00.011-04:00

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[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]

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.

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.

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....

Touchstones

2009-07-14T10:58:00.005-04:00

Camano Island reunion, c. 1998

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.

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....

Summertime.

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.

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....

Loaves and Fishes

2009-07-12T20:48:00.004-04:00

The View from my Kitchen Window

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.

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.

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?

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.

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....

More Self-Indulgent Fourth of July Family Photos

2009-07-11T13:17:00.006-04:00

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Why? Because they're there....

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.

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.

My father Jerry and his lifelong friend Bob.

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.

My brother Kurt and cousin Jim clean the cooked crab.

And How Many Family Portraits Does One Really Need to See?

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).

Bury My Heart in Freshman Alley

2009-07-10T10:04:00.000-04:00

OK, 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 released on a Personal Recognizance Bond after spending 51 days in jail on a flimsy concealed weapons charge.

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.

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.

Somewhere deep within Bury my Heart at Wounded Knee, 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 Walter

& seven ate 9

2009-07-09T00:39:00.003-04:00

`
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.

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.

But before going there, some photos from this past weekend:

Frightening, isn't it?

My Nephew Zach and his dog-cousin, Jesse

I may not be playing, but I still can coach!

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,*

Seven. Seven. Oh Nine.

2009-07-07T15:45:00.003-04:00

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.

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.

Independence Day

2009-07-04T23:58:00.006-04:00

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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.

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....

The Third of July

2009-07-03T21:06:00.010-04:00

A 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.

the Beach at low tide

my dog-in-law- Jessie

another world-famous Dungeness crab meets his end. "Meat is murder. Tasty, tasty murder...."

New Cheetos GIANT. Coming soon to a supermarket near you.

My Nephew Michael. Also made with real cheese....

"Washed Away & Back Again with the Outgoing Tide."

2009-06-24T09:33:00.003-04:00

`

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.

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.

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....

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.

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.

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.

Something that seems to happen to me pretty routinely these days....

Captain Rainbow and the Magnificent Saffron Boy Rise Again!

2009-06-21T15:40:00.002-04:00

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.

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.

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

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 Good Rev. Dr's 2009 bi-coastal "Adios, Adieu and Godspeed" final farewell tour

2009-06-19T10:07:00.002-04:00

I'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.

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.

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....

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.

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....

D-DAY!

2009-06-16T22:16:00.003-04:00

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.

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.

Approaching the Eleventh Hour

2009-06-12T21:11:00.002-04:00

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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 WEBSITE HERE, 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.

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....

Take Me Out to the Ball Game...

2009-06-06T15:45:00.003-04:00

`
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 sports blog, Obi Wannabe Kobe . Enjoy!

The Greatest Single Tool

2009-06-02T14:40:00.005-04:00

Q: What advice would you give to aspiring poets?
A: Read poetry. As much as you can, as often as you can. It's the only way to develop an eye for what sucks and what doesn't, which is the single greatest tool a poet can possess.

"and the rest is, well, not history, but at least a matter of record...." --Catherynne M. Valente

Catherynne M. Valente is the daughter of one of my High School debate partners, who has also just recently moved here to Peaks Island in Casco Bay. Haven't had a chance to meet her yet, and probably won't before I move back to the West Coast myself; but I have at least bought a few of her novels, and am looking forward to reading them this summer when my own life settles down a bit. She is apparently quite well respected in the tiny, cutting edge corner of the science fiction/fantasy world where she has found her niche, and I'm really looking forward to reading and learning more.

But today I just wanted to focus in on this small bit of advice to aspiring poets -- which is also true for aspiring novelists, playwrights, journalists, essayists, and even preachers.

Read.

Read as much as you can, as often as you can...in order to develop an eye (and more importantly, an ear) "for what sucks and what doesn't."

Neil Postman used to call it a "crap detector," and it really is the most important tool any aspiring "literary" artist can possess.

Or any reader, really.

Or for that matter, simply anyone....

Really.

Read.

“Man, I look like Geronimo....”

2009-06-01T16:29:00.009-04:00

`

And those were practically the first words out of his mouth when I last visited Walter at the Cumberland County Jail, and we got to talking about his mug shot in the paper. And he really does look pretty scary in that photo -- dangerous, older than his years, a little used up by a hard life of drinking and living on the streets. But this is not at all the Walter that I know, the man who has sat quietly in the back of the church for over a year now, and occasionally attended the coffee hour, and actually made some friends (other than me) in the congregation. We know a quiet, gentle, kind and talented wandering soul who has found his way into our community and who now has an opportunity to create a new life for himself as an artist and college student...or at least he did until he was arrested three weeks ago. And now that life is up for grabs, simply because his right to a fair and speedy trial looks like it will be neither speedy nor entirely fair.

Notwithstanding the legal technicality that it was within his reach had he known it was there, no one who knows Walter believes that he is guilty of the crime with which he is charged, Possession of a Concealed Weapon. It wasn’t his car, there’s no evidence it was his knife, if it was concealed from anyone first and foremost it was Walter, who just so happened to be sitting in the passenger seat under which the knife was hidden. The only thing Water was concerned about concealing was the beer, and that only after he realized that the alley was full of cops, well after the initial confrontation and arrest, all of which he claims happened behind his back and without his knowledge. All he was interested in was sitting in the passenger’s seat and drinking more beer, which is kinda how he’d gotten to be there in the first place.

Nor does anyone who knows him believe that Walter is guilty of the crime with which he is NOT being charged (at least not formally), which is conspiracy to participate in a cold-blooded, premeditated triple murder. It simply doesn’t pass the so-called “sniff test.” None of the evidence implicates him: not his car, not his guns, and this time the weapons weren’t even in his possession -- rather they were still behind him in the trunk, while Walter himself never left the car. Walter told me that he wasn’t even aware anything was going on until the back-up arrived with their lights and sirens, at which point his big concern became trying to hide (or finish up) the booze!

Which is not to say that Walter ISN’T guilty of a LOT of things, all of which basically boil down to using poor judgment and making bad decisions, which once again led to him being in the wrong place at the wrong time with the wrong people...”three sheets to the wind,” as sailors are fond of saying, and his own worst enemy. And as I tried to tell the judge at Walter’s bail hearing last week, it’s not society that needs to be protected from Walter, it’s WALTER who needs to be protected from Walter...and the best way to achieve that is NOT to keep him in jail, but to send him through Rehab and to allow him to enroll in college, which is exactly where we were two months ago, when Walter was discharged from the hospital.

And this is where my boundaries all start to get a little fuzzy (and maybe even a little crazy), as I try to sort out the differences between my relationship with Walter as his pastor and our relationship as friends, between co-dependence and “Christian charity,” between Walter’s status as unique and individual human being, as a Veteran, as a Native American, as a member of an oppressed and marginalized social class, as a homeless alcoholic. Just another stereotypical "Drunken Indian." That sort of thing.

All this is further complicated by the fact that a month from now I’m going to be living on the West Coast, and will be unavailable to stand by Walter and support him in what I know firsthand is the very intimidating situation of enrolling in college as a forty-something year old adult. And for Walter this is even more intimidating that it was for me, who already had three college degrees when I returned to school again as an adult learner, and who had always found school a fairly friendly and welcoming place. So it’s no surprise for me that Walter sometimes feels cold feet, perhaps even self-doubt; or that he wonders whatever possessed him to make this decision, and second-guesses himself all the time. I can even understand why at times the street, drinking, and even jail might seem like safer (or at least more familiar) alternatives to the experience of attending Art School.

When he’s not drinking (and often even when he is), Walter is a very talented artist, and an intelligent human being: kind, caring, generous, funny, spiritual, and yet hardened in a way that once again is very different from my own experience, just as my experience as a student is very different from Walter’s. Once more, this is where the boundaries start to get fuzzy. For this to work, Walter has got to want this for himself more than I (and the other people in the community who have been pulling for him) want it for him. But I’m not really sure he even understands how important this can be for him in the same way that I do. This opportunity truly represents for him a chance for a new and different life, a “second chance” to create for himself whatever kind of lifestyle he chooses. Which is why it is SO IMPORTANT that he learns to make BETTER choices than he’s sometimes made in the past.

I also want to say that we all owe an incredible debt of gratitude to Officer Stephen Black, whose perceptiveness, quick action, and personal courage turned what might have been a national news story into a few local headlines. There have been enough church shooting tragedies in the news this past year. Thank God and Officer Black that we are not another.

My prayers right now are for everyone whose lives this incident has touched: Walter to be certain, but also the other defendant and the alleged targets, the members of my church (many of whom aren’t entirely sure WHAT to make of all this), the members of the larger Portland community, and a legal system where both justice and mercy (not to mention the presumption of innocence) are often obscured by the pressure to convict, and the ubiquitous “guilt” of just about everyone who is unfortunate enough to be swept up into the process. Including those of us who are only guilty of making assumptions, jumping to conclusions, or looking the other way. Walter has already served three weeks, and could easily be incarcerated through the end of the summer, on charges he is not very likely to be convicted of should this matter ever come to trial. No doubt at some point he will be enticed into pleading guilty in exchange for time served, and then with any luck he will be able to pick up the pieces of the life that was waiting for him. Or else just return to his familiar world of shelters and alcohol, until his next run-in with the law. I just wish it were possible for me to make more of a difference in all this. And who knows? With the help of others, maybe I still can.

Two Weeks and ticking....

2009-05-30T00:47:00.005-04:00

And I can't believe how quickly the time is flying by, and how much I still have to do to be packed and moving by June 15. Preached my last sermon here Memorial Day weekend --a large congregation despite the holiday, and a very emotional time for us all. Used the "Moment for All Ages" to pass out small awards to some of the folks I've worked most closely with the past two years -- UU-theme lapel pins, mostly, but slightly nicer medallions for both the Past President and the Outgoing President, and some very nice chalice earrings and a pendant for Jackie, who has been my personal Pastoral Care Coordinator this past year and more. And then at the very end I had several brightly-colored basketballs to pass out to the Governing Board, the Board of Trustees, the Finance Council, the Membership Committee and the Worship Committee, each of which was labeled with the name of the committee and the dates 2007-2007, and autographed by me, with the instructions that the members of the committee should all autograph the ball as well, and then keep it as a memento. I know, kind of a silly gesture (especially since I haven't really had a chance here to go into my basketball schtick the way I generally do with other congregations). But I think they got the message about teamwork and recognition , and I think the kids got it too, who were there to witness all this up close, and especially to see the actual awards with their own eyes.

The sermon was basically a summary of the major themes I've been preaching about for the past two years, with a bit of a Memorial Day twist and reference to the arrests outside our church the previous Monday. Wanted to emphasize the importance of mission, and of the seven key areas of Worship, Education, Fellowship, Hospitality, Outreach, Social Justice and Pastoral Care, as well as the three mottos or slogans we've been using to promote our identity: "Portland's Original Faith Community," "Heart(h)fire," and "A Warm & Welcoming Place in the Heart of the City." But it began and ended with the theme of Leadership, starting with Lyle Schaller's 44 parallels between ordained ministers and commissioned military officers, and concluding with the "Be*Know*Do" model of leadership in the "Three Meter Zone," where a leader's knowledge and the performance of the team both follow the character and bearing of the leaders themselves. You can read the whole thing HERE if you're so inclined; just click on the link and away you go.

Of course, the other big thing on my mind this past week (besides packing to move, figuring out how or whether I'm going to be able to COBRA my heath insurance, and generally dealing with too much to do in too little time and my poor health to go along with it) has been Walter. Finally met his court-appointed attorney and his counselor from the University of Southern Maine at a bail hearing last Wednesday. Of course, nothing changed; Walter's bail is still $1000 -- not a huge amount in the greater scheme of things, but for Walter it might as well be a million. And, of course, he really doesn't have anyplace to go other than the street anyway, which in some ways makes me feel relieved knowing that at least as a guest of the county he receives his daily "three hots and cot," he's relatively safe and supervised, and he isn't drinking. I guess my hope would be that we can find him a bed somewhere in a rehab program, then raise the money for his bail, and make sure he finishes rehab before starting school, all the time still awaiting trial. But that's an awful lot for me to take care of personally in the next two weeks. Especially with all the other things I've got on my mind.

Anyway, I'm probably going to have a lot more to write about Walter later, but for now I just need to keep scrambling to get it all done: the farewell parties and final leave takings, acknowledging the grief over the loss of "what might have been," the sobs and hugs and all the rest. Timetable right now is a June 15th departure from Portland, followed by a few days in the Boston area before heading out to Nantucket the middle of the week. I'll be preaching there on Sunday June 21st, and then hanging around for as long as they can stand me before heading back to the mainland and down to Greenwich CT to stay with my brother until June 30, when we will all be flying to Seattle and then driving to Camano Island for the 4th of July. I'll be staying on that island for another couple of weeks after that, and then traveling down to Portland Oregon on or about the 15th of July, to attend a party celebrating my daughter's marriage and the expected birth of my first grandchild at the end of August. But rather than waiting around in Portland for that to happen, I'm planning at that point to head on down to Sacramento and beginning to unpack my new life as a Californian. When the time comes, it's a relatively quick and cheap flight back to PDX anyway.

Finally now, a quick bonus photo from Mother's Day, and the Christening of Anna Sophia. I love this photo, just like I loved officiating at the event itself, and everything that goes along with it. Another thing I'll miss about full-time long-tenured parish ministry.

Last Sunday in Church

2009-05-20T23:53:00.005-04:00

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With all the excitement about the potentially deadly "incident" in the alley behind the church, I almost forgot to post this. Last Sunday in church one on the most venerable members of the congregation (a retired psychiatrist) stood up during the candle-sharing and said this:

I want to express the joy of our relationship with Tim, the concern over his disabilities, and thanks for what he has given to us. He has promoted the very important need for each of us to feel "connected" to each other.

As we come closer to the end of Tim's time with us I want to express deep appreciation for his ability to share who he is at so many levels. In my later years I have begun to learn that hiding thoughts and feelings that I don't want to share with others only hides who I really am. The more of myself that I learn to share with others the more I become who I really am.

Tim has modeled that behavior for all of us and I want to thank him/you with all my heart. He has given us many great readings and sermons but I have never felt that he was preaching "down" to us from our high pulpit.

In summary, "Thank you Tim for being here and being you".

Nice testimonial, n'est pas? Thank YOU Robbie!

One tragedy averted; another in the making....

2009-05-18T20:47:00.007-04:00

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Monday morning an observant, quick-thinking and courageous police officer assigned to Portland High School (which backs to the back of our building across a small courtyard), turned what might have easily been another national headline (like Knoxville) into just another local news story. To quote the press account,

Officer Stephen Black said he was locking the rear school doors, as he does every day at 8 a.m., when he saw Herbert Jones, 46, holding a rifle in a small paved area behind the school known as Freshman Alley. He said he then saw Jones, whose back was to him, loading rounds into the gun.

Black drew his sidearm and ordered Jones to put down the gun, a 7 mm Remington. Jones complied immediately, Black said.

That's the good news. The bad news is that there was also a passenger in the car that Jones had driven to the church, and that passenger was my friend Walter, who had been drinking with Jones since about 6 pm the previous evening. That part of the story was a little slow trickling out, but when I finally learned the details I was heartsick. I've blogged about Walter and his situation here before, and he is certainly a familiar figure to the members of my church, where Walter has been worshiping on and off Sunday mornings for about a year and a half. A few months ago he was hospitalized and sobered up, a caseworker took an interest in him, helped to get him admitted to college...but it was either not quite enough or a little too much. In either case, a few weeks after the hospital discharged him Walter starting drinking again, and things just started to go downhill from there.

The last time I saw Walter (before today, that is) was exactly two weeks ago. His leg was infected again, he was clearly drunk (and smelled it), and had come by the church to hit me up for a few bucks for booze. Told him I couldn't help him out that way, and that he needed to return to the hospital to have his leg looked at again...even offered to put him in a cab (since I'm still not driving myself), but he told me he could manage on his own, so I took him at his word, knowing full well that he would probably never make it all the way there on his own initiative. But honestly, how much more could or should I have done?

That question became all the more pressing after his arrest Monday. For ages I've been preaching that good old Universalist gospel that we are ALL God's children, and thus brothers and sisters to one another. Now I found myself asking, How would I have reacted if it had been, say, my brother Erik arrested in the alley behind my church after an all-night bender, while his drinking buddy loaded up a high-powered rifle in preparation for what sounds like premeditated mass murder? (those of you who actually KNOW Erik know how ridiculous this scenario is, but just for the point of illustration...).

I would no doubt feel angry, disappointed, and probably mostly just a little confused; I would certainly expect some sort of explanation as to what he was thinking, assuming that he WAS thinking. But I certainly wouldn't stop caring about him, certainly wouldn't give up on him or stop trying to support him...even as I made it clear to him that there was only so far I could go to shield him from the natural consequences of his own bad decisions.

Yet I would also do everything in my power to prevent him from being victimized by "the system" as well. Wouldn't want to see him crucified to "set an example" for example, or to beef up some ambitious prosecutor's conviction record (not that stuff like that ever REALLY happens in the United States of America....)

In any event, earlier this afternoon I went down to the Cumberland County jail to visit my friend Walter. First time in thirty years of ministry that I have ever had occasion to visit one of my own parishioners in jail, and it was certainly a learning experience...although one that went much more smoothly than I had any reason to expect when it turned out that my driver/assistant also just to happens to be a thirty-year friend of the current chaplain there, Rev. Jeff McIlwain. Jeff was very impressed with my UUMA ID card, BTW, since apparently so few clergy of other denominations have anything like that at all. (Then again, I didn't realize until he handed back my ID that in my wallet it had become stuck to my Harvard University ID identifying me as an "Officer" of the University). But he ushered me through the whole drill, and got me back into an interview room for what turned out to be nearly an hour-long conversation with my Navajo brother.

As his pastor, I get basically the same access to Walter as I would if I were his lawyer, and that got me thinking quite a bit afterwards about something one of my college girlfriend's fathers (an attorney) once said to me about becoming a criminal defense attorney...that it meant you had to spend a lot of your workday hanging out with criminals....

Lots more to cogitate upon here, but it's getting late. No doubt you'll get a chance to read much more though later in the week.

LINK TO TUESDAY'S PORTLAND PRESS HERALD NEWSPAPER STORY

LINK TO MONDAY'S NEWSPAPER STORY

LINK TO TV NEWS STORY

Denied, Denied, Denied...

2009-05-14T10:19:00.004-04:00

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The letter they sent me said my phone interview would take "at least" an hour, but in reality it was over in about twenty minutes. Back in 1984, when I was first presented with the option, I chose to file form 4361 exempting my clergy earnings from the Social Security Self-Employment tax. I can't really recall what I was thinking at the time: some highly-idealistic notion about the separation of Church and State no doubt, and the power to tax being the power to control...but basically it was just that I couldn't really afford to pay an additional 15% surtax on my already-meager clergy earnings and still keep body and soul together. So I "opted-out," always kind of assuming that at some point in time I would gravitate into academia (and the regular tax system) again, and by which time our elected government officials would have figured out and finally fixed all of the quirky idiosyncrasies of the current system, thus completing the promise of the New Deal.

Certainly hadn't counted on eight years of Bush 43 and his "steal from the poor to give to the rich" fiscal policies, nor that as a first world nation we would resist universal health care for so long, nor any of the other bizarre, "alternative reality" scenarios we've been living through here in the 21st century. At the very least I assumed that after our 19 year marriage, I would be able to collect benefits under my former wife's account...but apparently that's only true if she is dead, or we have both reached the age of 62.

Do you think I'll make it another 10 years to collect? I think I've got a pretty good chance to just on the strength of my old-fashioned, mule-headed stubborn tenacity....

Meanwhile, last meeting ever of the Maine Unitarian Universalist Ministers Association chapter yesterday, appropriately held at First Parish I felt, since no one could remember the LAST time we'd hosted one. Come July 1st this chapter will consolidate with the UUMA chapter in New Hampshire and Vermont, and become the "Northern New England" UUMA chapter instead. And likewise, my last meeting with this particular group of colleagues, whom I've actually had very little chance to get to know in the past two years.

So F*** Cancer! and let's get on with life.

Such bittersweet emotions: so sad to be leaving, angry at the way that this disease has taken...stolen, actually...not only from me, but from so many other people who love and care about this church the way that I have come to. I hate the feeling of helpless powerlessness, sitting on the sidelines not being able to make a meaningful impact on the outcome of events. Jealous of the colleagues who originally came in to help me out, and have now essentially taken my place -- I'm happy for their happiness, just as I know they are sad for the tragedy in my life that made their opportunities here possible. And I'm not really happy about the direction the church is going, and the restrictions (real or imagined) that "the current financial situation" have imposed upon us all.

Obviously we all need to live within our means. But the essential mission of the church is not to balance the budget. A budget is just a tool, for crissakes -- its a plan for how we will use our money if our revenues come in the way we predict they will. A complete act of educated fantasy, actually; or better yet, "guestimation," which we can hopefully make as accurately as we can without letting it completely dictate the terms of everything else we do. Worship, Hospitality, Fellowship, Education, Outreach, Pastoral Care, Social Justice -- these are the things that need to be at the HEART of our lives together. We will figure out a way to ends meet. Somehow....

But that's an awful lot of Inside Church for a sunny spring morning, just the sort of thing I'm supposed to be letting go of for the sake of my own health. And it's true. The relief I feel at NOT being responsible for all these issues any more is actually quite profound; surprising too, notwithstanding the grief I still feel over the loss of "what might have been," my feelings of helplessness and powerlessness in terms of being able to make a difference, or even just the disappointment I feel about the way that the events of these past two years -- both on the larger, international economic level, and in my personal/interpersonal life struggling with cancer -- have changed the "Vision of the Possible" at First Parish, and "grounded" it in a way that was perhaps a little TOO "realistic."

Sigh. At least yesterday finished up with a WONDERFUL little dinner party, hosted by the church treasurer no less! And not one of these topics came up; instead our congenial little group (the Treasurer and his wife, the Nominating Committee chair and her husband, our new Director of Religious Education and myself) talked about just about everything else EXCEPT church. Well, that's not EXACTLY true...we actually talked a great deal about church, but not about its problems. Instead we spoke mostly about opportunity, and planning/designing ahead to fulfill the possibilities rather than working down to overcome the challenges. I have been SO BLESSED by the people of this congregation; I feel so PRIVILEGED to have been called to serve as their minister; I am so DISAPPOINTED about the way that God, Fate, Destiny, Cancer has stolen this wonderful gift way from us all; and yet I TRUST that I will find meaning in it, and am CONFIDENT that I still have more work to do before "God calls me home" once and for all.

And as for those Social Security Disability benefits?.... well, consider the lilies of the field....

Best Intentions

2009-05-13T08:17:00.003-04:00

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It dawned on me this morning that between all the work I did preparing for last Sunday's service, and the amount of time I've spent reading and commenting on Other People's Blogs, that I've pretty much neglected my own blog here, and the sixty-some faithful folk who apparently lot in just about every day to see what I've been up to. So here's the deal:

Sunday's Mother's Day service was truly special: Lebanese Marionite hymns and a belly dancer (both the dancer and the soloist are church members), wonderfully contextualized as a women's art form for our indroit and children's story, then a baby dedication, and finally (if I do say so myself), a very moving HOMILY which concluded with one of my favorite hymns, "For All That Is Our Life/we sing our thanks and praise/for all life is a gift/which we are called to use/to build the common good/and make our own days glad."

Then, not having my own mother available any longer, I took my colleague and "affiliated minister" out to lunch...at Friendly's, no less (you will understand the irony if you read the sermon), which she swears she loves and has loved since childhood.

Monday was pretty much taken up with medical appointments -- all is well, but time is fleeting...only six weeks now til I fly back to Seattle, and before then I need to make sure a) that all my health insurance change-over is in place; b) that I have new Docs lined up in Sacramento, and c) that everything else I own and want to keep is all packed up and ready to go on the truck. Six weeks, and me still desperately dependent upon the kindness of strangers.

Tuesday was mostly a church day -- staff meeting in the early afternoon, and then the Governing Board that evening. The latter in particular was very depressing; like everyone these days it seems, we are looking at some pretty harsh financial realities, and still trying to fulfill our mission while living within our means. And I really can't say too much more than that.

Today is another church day -- the monthly UUMA (Unitarian Universalist Ministers Association) Maine chapter meeting is being hosted at First Parish for the first time in recent memory; we've got a very interesting program planned on the subject of worship, but also a lot of logistics to deal with...most of which I've also been able to delegate to the members of my ministerial "team." And then tonight, a small and informal dinner party at the home of some of my parishioners, who just wanted this chance to say goodbye more personally. Still, it's a long day. And I can't even look forward to having a drink at the end of it....

Every Preacher's Nightmare

2009-05-09T21:32:00.003-04:00

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And I can't believe this actually happened to me, but about 3 pm this afternoon, approximately nine pages into tomorrow's sermon, I touched the wrong key and everything on my screen disappeared. And no matter what I tried i couldn't get it back, even though I'm CERTAIN I'd been saving regularly, just the way I always do since this last happened to me over 20 years ago. The only thing I can think of is that I did change the name of my file on the desktop, so I may actually have been saving my REAL file to another location...which I will probably stumble across, or figure out how to locate in another week or so. In the meantime though, imagine my panic! -- fortunately, since I've had such a long time to be thinking about this sermon, I had a good deal of it already written out almost word for word in longhand anyway in various notebooks and on random scraps of paper. So I just went back to the beginning and started over, not quite as polished as I'd been before, but what the hell -- I'm finished now, still hours earlier than I would have been back in the days Before Cancer, when I was still working full time at the office, preaching EVERY Sunday (instead of once a month), and writing my sermons in all day (and night) Saturday marathons based on an outline and a page or two of notes. And this Sunday's message is quite possibly the antepenultimate sermon of my career, with only Memorial Day Weekend (May 24) here in Portland and the Summer Solstice on Nantucket scheduled on my calendar.

Meanwhile, my colleagues at church have been giving me a hard time because not only do I know precisely how many sermons I have preached (this Sunday will be 653) but I can also generally tell you the titles and when and where I preached them (although there are a few sermons from my student days when I'm not exactly certain of the exact date or venue). What can I say? It was easy enough to figure out, and actually only took me a day or two to pull it all together. I'd have a lot harder time figuring out exactly whom I've married, buried, and christened...although I THINK I have pretty good records of those events tucked away somewhere in my files as well. Again, what can I say? I'm a historian and a pack rat -- what ELSE am I going to do?

I suppose I also ought to mention that about eight years worth of those sermons -- everything I preached on Nantucket, in Carlisle, and here in Portland, are all available on-line -- just go to my profile, scroll down, and click on the appropriate link. Now I'm wondering whether I ought to post a "Table of Contents" on each blogsite as well, just so people know where to look for what they're looking for. Maybe tomorrow. I've had enough computer excitement for this evening. So instead I'm going to try to get a good night's sleep, in anticipation of tomorrow's worship service, and the 149th anniversary of the death of Theodore Parker in Florence Italy, May 10th 1860....

"A Calm & Contemplative Space in the Center of the City"

2009-05-07T07:27:00.008-04:00

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Spent most of yesterday morning again up at my private study in the Eastland Park Hotel, working with a couple of parishioners of mine to catalog my library and pack it to be shipped to California. We're developing quite an efficient routine, but it's still pretty slow going, even though I'm pretty much resisting the temptation to open every volume and thumb through the pages, remembering when and why I bought it, and how much of it I may or may not have actually read, or how eagerly I'm looking forward to reading it once I have the time. Time, time, time. So many books, so little time. So far I'd estimate we've cataloged about a third of what is there, 714 volumes so far, not including the half-dozen boxes that were already packed (but not cataloged) before we started, or the books at the storage unit (which may equal or even exceed the books in my study), or the things I have here with me at my apartment. Yes, bibliomania. It's a frightening occupational obsession of many UU clergy, I've noticed. Myself obviously included.

But that's not really what I wanted to write about.

What I'm realizing as I work to pack up my place at the Eastland is how much I am going to miss that physical space, even though it never really had a chance to come together the way I envisioned it would, even though since coming down with cancer I haven't really been able to use it much at all, except as a very expensive guest room. But this is what I've noticed. I open the door to that room, from the outside an anonymous door just like hundreds of others in that same building -- and I'm transported into a sanctuary of my mind...surrounded by my familiar desk and office furniture, and a collection of books I have acquired over a lifetime, all specifically related to one of my own personal interests, and there at my fingertips whenever I want it. Outside could be anywhere. But inside I am at the center of my own "intellectual space" -- an expression of a lifetime's worth of thought and curiosity, externalized and made manifest in paper and ink.

And that part I can recreate anywhere in the world I want to. But here's the part that made the Eastland special. Like First Parish itself, it too is located "in the heart of the city," about halfway actually between the church and my home, and with a magnificent rooftop lounge where rain or shine (or in snow or even on a bright summer day!) I could go in the afternoon when my mind was getting fuzzy and I was tired of working, and sit at a table with a cup of coffee or a diet coke and write in my journal while looking out over the city and the harbor. And that part I WON'T be able to recreate easily on the West Coast. Which is just another thing I'm going to miss when I leave here, and that I'm angry at the cancer for having stolen it from me, and maybe even a little regretful that I didn't work harder to explore options that might have allowed me to remain on here in Portland a little longer.

Not that I think it would have made any difference in the long run. That's another think I'm discovering as I pack this library. I just can't get as much done in a day as I used to. So, it almost goes without saying -- when I go I'm going to miss the people very much, but I'm not going to miss the winter weather one little bit. And my study at the Eastland...well, I'm going to be missing that much more than one might imagine, both for what it was and for what it represented -- a quiet and contemplative place where I could go to center myself, and a high and open space from which I could enjoy not just a 360 degree panoramic view of the city, but also a clear and inspiring vision of my adopted community unobstructed by anything but the limits of my own imagination. Not bad for a shabby old run-down hotel where the service is slow and the food only mediocre, everything feels like it's under constant repair, and not even the wireless internet service can be counted on. Still, I'm going to miss this old lady I've learned to love. And at least they still allow dogs!

The Bucket List

2009-05-06T16:25:00.012-04:00

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Last night I kinda went back on a promise that I'd made to myself, and watched the movie "The Bucket List." For those of you unfamiliar with the plot and premise of this film, two terminal cancer patents -- one an extravagant over-the-top Billionaire (Jack Nicholson) and the other an automobile mechanic and devoted family man (Morgan Freeman) make a list of things to do before they "kick the bucket," and then set out to do just that in the time that they have left to them.

I'd avoided seeing this movie because it seemed just a little too close to home, and also because I didn't especially like the premise of the whole "bucket list" idea in the first place. But as it turned out, it was just another sentimental buddy movie, where the screen presence of two superstar performers sometimes obscured what was actually a very interesting and closely-crafted script. Rob Reiner's direction may have had something to do with that as well -- the whole film just seemed...well, technically competent, emotionally predictable, and just a little too contrived. But I still enjoyed it, and also think it's a movie that could grow on me in time. It was fun seeing Rob Morrow (who played Joel on the series "Northern Exposure") back playing a Doctor again. That sort of thing. But I didn't mean to turn this into a film review....

What bothered me about the movie was the way it played upon cliches and stereotypes of the cancer experience, without really exploring the heart of what living with (and dying from) cancer is really like. Which admittedly would have been hard to do. But that's kinda what I'd expected, and one of the reasons I'd stayed away from watching this movie up until now. But I also found that the "buddy" aspect of the movie came across very well, even if the actors themselves often seemed to be playing caricatures of themselves (or, more accurately, their previous film persona), rather than the characters scripted by the writer. But enough already. I'm still not convinced I ought to write my OWN bucket list. But maybe if I watch the movie one more time....

“You know, the ancient Egyptians had a beautiful belief about death. When their souls got to the entrance to heaven, the guards asked two questions. Their answers determined whether they were able to enter or not. ‘Have you found joy in your life?’ 'Has your life brought joy to others?’”

--Carter Chambers (played by Morgan Freeman) in "The Bucket List"

2009.0505-Cinco De Mayo

2009-05-05T11:58:00.003-04:00

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And a lovely surprise call over the weekend from "Mrs Chris" -- the wife of a good friend of mine from Camano Island, whose family lives here in Maine and owns property at Higgins Beach. "Mr Chris" and I have known each other since childhood; my mom and his aunt were sorority sisters at Washington State University in the '50's, and our beachhouses now are three doors apart on Camano. The Higgins Beach connection has been nice because once I left Nantucket, it has allowed us to get together summers out here instead of back on Juniper Beach as we have every summer since we were kids. That makes us truly "bicoastal beach bums" (which I think was one of the team names we played Trivia under last summer at Bingas, before the fire).

In any case, Mrs Chris and I met up for breakfast at that wonderful Portland landmark Beckys, and had a lovely time catching up on everything that has been going on in our respective families since I last visited with them last summer. And now I'm really looking forward to seeing them all again out west on the Fourth of July.

Meanwhile, today also marked the last of my 16 sessions of radiation therapy to my right lung. Will see my regular oncologist again on Monday, but it will probably be another month before we'll really know how much good this has done me. In the meantime though, I'm starting to think about trying to make this a daily blog again, more in keeping with its original theme of sharing and documenting my experience with this lung cancer. So I guess we'll just have to see how that goes. And my apologies in advance if it all just starts to sound a little mundane...because that's just my life these days.

Thank God.

Everything Must Change

2009-05-04T07:51:00.002-04:00

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Finally dragged myself out of bed this AM and was greeted by this horoscope from Yahoo: "You're feeling philosophical today, which means it'll be way too easy to get lost in your own thoughts. Think too much about big issues right now, and you will get overwhelmed by the sheer scope of things. So focus on keeping things simple and straightforward today. Otherwise, you will never get out of bed. Your mind had a tendency to over think, which can be paralyzing. You need to stay in touch with the reality of what needs to be done..."

WHEW!!!

Played hooky from my own congregation yesterday, in order to hear Brian McLaren speak at Immanuel Baptist Church. I'd been looking forward this for almost a year, but was a little disappointed, in part simply because I had just finished reading his most recent book earlier that week, and yesterday's presentation was pretty much just more of the same only not as good, but mostly because of logistical issues at the church itself. Sound system wasn't very good, for example, and created a bit of an echo which made it difficult for me to understand what he was saying. Likewise, when I arrived at the church (at the front door of the sanctuary, no less!) there was no one there to greet me or offer me directions; took me 15 or 20 minutes in the wheelchair just to get myself up the steps (six of them, in three groups of two) and into the building, then back into the parish hall where I was finally able to find someone who could point me to the chapel (more steps, this time down) where Brian was speaking, and already about half-way through his presentation. It was a very vivid contrast to the way we handle newcomer hospitality at First Parish,

Didn't really feel much inspired by the worship service either, where (it being the first Sunday of the month) they were serving communion. I had to leave early anyway because by that point my bladder was about to burst (I know Too Much Information), so I left as discretely as one can wheeling up a wheelchair ramp, and then afterwards stashed myself in the parlor until lunchtime. Did meet a few interesting folk there (even though...or perhaps because...I was eating in the alternative, "handicapped accessible" lunch space), including a retired Baptist Minister from Boston who informed me that Immanuel Baptist has 15 retired and/or community-based ministers as members of the congregation, including John Carmen (a retired professor from Harvard Divinity School). I imagine they must either be a real resource or a regular handful for the called and settled minister there! What do you call a collection of clergy like that? I can remember when there weren't that many ordained UU ministers in the entire state of Washington. Or Oregon. And I STILL don't think there are that many in the state of Idaho!

Meanwhile, back at First Parish I missed the monthly pancake breakfast (which is always a treat to attend), and with it a presentation about our current "budget issues." I guess there was some miscommunication between the finance people and the breakfast people about how that was all supposed to take place, which resulted in some confusion and misunderstanding at the time...it's not really my bailiwick any more, but it still bothers me to see mix-ups like that happen, when they are so easy to avoid. I've also heard (unconfirmed) reports that at least two different groups of newcomers showed up for the breakfast, discovered the budget meeting, and left before services even started. That's kind of an eye opener too, but given MY experience at Immanuel, it makes me just that much more sensitive to how quickly and easily we can loose track of how other people perceive us, and especially about the subtle (and not so subtle) barriers we put up between "insiders" and "outsiders."

And I guess if this were still my bailiwick I would want to remind folks of that, and also encourage them to bring a hopeful and optimistic attitude to this entire process, rather than letting the dismal pessimism which so often accompanies these procedures hold sway. The primary mission of this church (or any church) is NOT to "balance the budget." A budget is merely a sheet of paper with a lot of numbers on it: a spending plan and some revenue projections. It's a moving target. It describes a potential reality; it doesn't create it. That comes later. Mt 6:25-33 "But seek first the Kingdom of God and its righteousness, and all these [other] things will be given to you as well."

WHEW! again. Now, if I can just stay in touch with the reality of what needs to be done....

More Souter on my Mind

2009-05-01T22:46:00.007-04:00

And I suppose one of the reasons I will so miss David Souter on the bench is his down-to-earth attitude. He's a frugal, New Hampshire bachelor who once described his position on the Supreme Court as "the best job in the world in the worst city in the world" -- in other words, just my kinda guy. I can understand why he will be happy to get back home to his farm here in New England, but I also imagine he will miss the intellectual stimulation that his position as an Associate Justice offered to him.

Furthermore, between her serious cancer and his advanced age, I always thought that either Ruth Bader Ginsberg or John Paul Stevens would be the first to step down. But apparently they both plan to keep working a little longer, so the 69-year-old Souter is taking his chance at "early" retirement (at his full salary) and then, like his one-time Court Colleague Sandra Day O'Conner, apparently plans to continue to hear cases at the appellate level as part of a program to help lighten the backlog of of appeals created by the confirmation backlog. But with Arlen Specter coming over from the "Dark Side," and Al Franken FINALLY on the threshold of being awarded HIS seat in the Senate, the Democrats should finally be able to field a filibuster-proof 60-vote majority, and be able to confirm whoever Obama decides to appoint.

Judging from the press reports, New York's "two-fer" Judge Sonia Sotomayor (female and Hispanic) seems to be the front-runner. But I kinda like Stanford's Kathleen Sullivan, with Sotomayor still "on the bench" until the next seat comes open. And even under normal circumstances, Obama may actually get a chance to appoint as many as four new Justices, since there is also some talk that Anthony Kennedy may be thinking of retirement as well.

drawing by Kerry Waghorn

Pity though that (short of a virulent swine flu pandemic) there doesn't seem to be much hope of either Antonin Scalia or Clarence Thomas stepping down any time soon. Scalia at least can be entertaining, if his opinions weren't so outrageous (and didn't potentially have the force of law). And speaking of Clarence Thomas, in my opinion Arlen Specter still has an awful lot to answer for when it comes to THAT confirmation fiasco. I wonder whether Anita Hill will make it on to anyone's short list?

But mostly it's the retirement thing I'm ruminating about. What DOES one do after one has "retired" from the best job in the world? That's the lesson I'm hoping David Souter can help ME learn. And relatively quickly....

"... with an independent, even quirky streak."

2009-05-01T07:02:00.006-04:00

Usually I try not to post overtly political content here, reserving it for one of the many other forums I have available to me for expressing those opinions. But today I noticed that Supreme Court Justice David Souter has announced his retirement from the bench, and coming on the heels of Arlene Specter's announcement that he was leaving the Republican party, I just felt the urge to comment.

One of the news articles described Souter as "a typical old-fashioned Yankee Republican — a moderate, with an independent, even quirky streak." This was something I always admired about Souter -- and about New England Republicans like Elliott Richardson, Olympia Snow, even the first President Bush (who appointed Souter in the first place). They were individuals of principle, and even though our opinions might differ, we could still engage in intelligent and mutually illuminating conversation, rather than simply being subjugated to a lot of opinionated hot air (washed down with a lot more "ditto, Rush"). That old Republican party (as many have observed) is now endangered and all but extinct, while the loud-mouthed, short-sighted, half-witted beast that has evolved to take its place literally scares the Bejeezus out of me.

It's hard to say precisely when those old fashioned Republicans lost sway. Some would say it happened with Sarah Palin, while others might look all the way back to Colin Powell's willingness to carry water on the "intelligence" for going to war in Iraq. But personally, I think the Harriet Miers nomination represents some sort of ideological "tipping point of no return." Not only did it reveal how badly the last Administration was out of touch with the rest of the country (and the world!), it suggested how badly they were out of touch with reality itself. Fortunately, the grown-ups showed up, cooler heads prevailed, and the meltdown was averted for the moment.

Everything changed with the election of 2008 -- regardless of which "side" you were on. Karl Rove's "permanent Republican majority" now appears to be mostly a small group of heavily-armed and delusionally-paranoid white males ready to shoot it out with cops (or anyone else who gets in their way) at the smallest provocation. The right-wing talk-radio echo-chamber is filled with blather about "coup, succession, or armed rebellion," not to mention doubts about the President's citizenship and such. Anne Coulter is being Anne Coulter. Who could of dreamed of a Republican party where NEWT GINGRICH was the moderate, responsible voice? It's all just too much to ponder....

And yet ponder it I do. Ponder and pray....

Monday, Monday

2009-04-27T08:46:00.002-04:00

My Dad and Debra are heading back home to Sacramento this afternoon, after all too short a visit here. But they have things to attend to in California too, not the least of which is getting things prepared there for my arrival later this summer. As I've said many times, I dread the process of making this move, but I will be so happy to BE MOVED -- to have transported myself and all this well, "stuff," that I have accumulated over the years all to one place, and to settle in for however long God gives me to doing whatever she has planned for me.

I know, it sounds fatalistic. And I had hoped that with good health Portland might have been that place -- a place where I could finish my career with a long-tenured ministry of a decade or more in partnership with a congregation that really seemed to appreciate and thrive with what I had to offer them. And I got my turn, I think I've made my mark...I have no idea how long it will last, but I suspect that the vision of being Portland's Original Faith Community and "A Warm & Welcoming Place in the Heart of the City" will endure for quite some time, since they arose originally out of the congregation itself. I simply heard them, and repeated them out loud until they started to sink in everywhere.

I'm proud of what we were able to accomplish in terms of Worship and Newcomer Hospitality: how we have worked to define that place of "elegant simplicity" which honors the traditional ambiance of the building and still leaves us space to experiment and be human. Of course, this will be the first thing up for grabs both next year and for the the new minister, as well I suppose it should be. But I'm certain the hospitality piece will remain in place; again, it's something that predates my tenure here, and which is now part of the culture itself.

Oddly, the thing I'm MOST proud of is the re-creation of an effective Finance Council. Last spring First Parish was facing a potential crisis: the Treasurer was resigning his post and moving to Belize, and no one could be found to take his place. Carl himself has suggested a "two-headed" treasurer, essentially dividing the job up between a "collector" who handled the revenue side of the ledger, and a "controller" who wrote the checks and managed expenses. But even this was proving difficult to create. I knew what the answer was: bring together all of the key players around the same table for a First Parish "financial summit," and let them work it out among themselves, which is exactly what we did, Wednesday April 30th, 2008 in the main lounge at the Seaside Rehabilitation Hospital and Health Center. My vision, my initiative, my living room...but apart from that they did it all themselves, which is exactly as it should be. Success has a thousand parents, they say, but failure is an orphan. Plenty of credit to go around here, and I honestly believe that a highly-functioning Finance Council may well prove the difference between whether this congregation struggles or thrives over the next five years.

Gosh, don't quite know how I got on to THAT topic! Maybe it was just because yesterday after church there was a brief congregational meeting to review the pledge campaign and elect the Search Committee who will chose my eventual successor. Think the Nominating Committee did an EXCELLENT job regarding the latter, and the news from the former looks fairly promising to me as well, although it could certainly be "spun" pessimistically as well. I haven't been paying too much attention to these numbers, because I don't really feel that it's my place any more; did get an advance report of what was going to be presented at the meeting, but I didn't actually attend the meeting itself since I didn't really feel that it was my place to do so. But either choice would have been awkward. So I chose to go to lunch with my family, rather than attend a meeting about things that will take place after I have left here permanently.

I've enjoyed having my Dad and Debra here these past few weeks, as well as the visit from my brother Erik and his children this weekend. It was a handful, but also delightful, and I will miss seeing them when I move back to the West Coast as well. At lunch, Erik offered a very interesting Trivia Quiz which pretty much stumped us all; posted it over at another of my blogsites, just to give folks something different to click on. Meanwhile, this week it's back to radiation, back to book packing, back to saying farewell to the good people of this parish who have come to mean so much to me. And then it's off to the Faraway Island to preach on June 21st, and then to Seattle on or around the 30th of June. How quickly the time seems to be passing! I just want to slow down and savor every second of it!

And a dreary, blustery Thursday too....

2009-04-23T18:47:00.005-04:00

`

And I'm just kicking myself now for not thinking to take photos with my phone, of the retired Bank President and the retired University President helping me sort out my self-storage locker in advance of my move to Sacramento this summer. Also had a hand from the Stewardship Campaign Chair, as well as the "usual suspects" -- Jackie, my Dad and Debra -- and I'm truly astonished at how much we were able to accomplish in just a couple of hours, removing things from storage that were either trash or suitable for donation, and then consolidating and organizing the rest of the boxes, so that they could be returned to the unit in an orderly manner -- the things that will be going to California in the far back, with the heavy furniture and such (that will either be sold or donated) near the front, and plenty of room for additional items from my study and the apartment I'm living in now.

Lot's of clothes, bedding, and kitchen gear, not to mention all my basketball equipment. It used to be something of an uncomfortably funny joke, how many basketballs, shorts, jerseys, and sneakers I own. Does anybody really NEED that many gym bags? Of course not. It's just a collection, that's all: something that gives me pleasure in an eccentric, but relatively harmless way. What I would give simply to still be able to shoot a jump shot in rhythm now! And yes, I'm keeping them all -- at least for the time being. My father has no business complaining. He should know as well as anyone, that the fruit doesn't fall far from the tree.

Most of the rest is books, of course, which will probably be cheaper just to mail...except that means we will have to weigh every box individually and lift it AT LEAST three times, whereas if we simply ship them with freight company the only time we have to touch them at all is when we pack them here and when we unpack them there. I honestly have no idea exactly how many books I own (probably somewhere between four and five thousand volumes), but one of the things I'm hoping to do as we pack them is to catalog them at the same time. It's so easy to type the ISBN into one of these on-line cataloging services, and to watch as the computer does all the work. I'm signed up now with a service called "Library Thing," and we cataloged a dozen or so volumes this afternoon just to see how it works; now the plan is to work for a few hours each afternoon doing the same thing, but packing the books as well as we go. I think my dad finds it a little annoying, but I know my mom would be delighted. The fruit doesn't fall far from that side of the tree either....

In any event, working today alongside Wes and Bill and Alan and all the others just reminded me once again how proud I am to have enjoyed the privilege of being the minister of this church, and to have been called by them out of some thirty-odd other aspirants as the person best suited to lead this congregation into the next era of its nearly 350 year history. And we were off to such a great start together, then along comes cancer...stupid, icky, awful, sucky cancer...and yet, the vision is still there, the dream is still alive, and all the potential and the possibilities and the opportunities are just as viable now as they ever were.

Well, maybe not exactly; in addition to my illness, there is also this little thing called the "economic downturn" to deal with. But if anything, that just makes the mission and effective ministry of this community even more urgently needed, which is why feel so bad about not being able to hold up my own end. Instead, retired Bankers and University Presidents are doing my heavy lifting for me, while I am relegated to pointing with my cane and trying to stay out of the way. 21 months, with an additional 2 yet to go. Then it's off to sunny California, and whatever God has waiting for me there.

Rainy Day Wednesday

2009-04-22T21:08:00.008-04:00

`

And suddenly just keeping up with all the little things there are to do in life is becoming almost too burdensome to bear. Daily 7:30 AM Radiation appointments probably aren't helping matters much, and by 3 pm both my Dad and I are pretty much shot for the day. We've done a little bit of packing up in my office at church, managed to get my bicycle shipped to my daughter today also, and I'm gradually getting around to making inquiries about changing over my health insurance, finding a new team of doctors on the West Coast, and contracting with a moving company to get everything shipped cross-country when I leave here.

Also working to finish up strong regarding my last few sacerdotal responsibilities: I'll be preaching on Mother's Day and Memorial Day, and will probably have a brief word of farewell to make at the Annual Meeting May 31st; I'm also scheduled to preach on Nantucket for the Summer Solstice, Midsummer's night eve, Sunday June 21st...that's just sixty days from now, which I'm so afraid will just fly by me in a blur.

Meanwhile, my Dad and his wife Debra are scheduled to fly back to Sacramento next Monday, which doesn't really give us that much time left together either. In between moving and medical errands we've also been making the rounds of the many friends my father has made at church in the year or so he's been traveling out here to be with me during my illness. All of it important, and becoming increasingly urgent as time slips away. Perhaps a metaphor of my larger situation in life as well. But at least on that front, everything seems to be going very well indeed. I'm actually beginning to worry that I may outlive my disability benefits, and have to go back to work!

OK, I worry about a LOT of stupid things. Maybe I'll just let that one alone for the time being....

Rumor and Reality

2009-04-16T11:55:00.006-04:00

~

There's a saying I once heard somewhere to the effect that "a lie can travel half-way 'round the world before truth can get its pants on." Or maybe it was shoes, or boots, and all the way 'round the world (or six times 'round the world) -- I've seen it attributed to Winston Churchill, and to Mark Twain, and even to James Watt (remember him?), but the basic truthfulness of the proverb doesn't really depend much upon who first said it, or how quickly falsehoods travel, or even what Truth is or is not wearing. The rumors start, the gossip flows, and the next thing you know, everyone you meet knows something that just isn't true, and the best one can do is to try to correct it every time we hear it, and to hope that once the Truth is fully dressed it will eventually catch up with the lie and beat the crap out of it.

In the meantime though, I find it best to take everything I hear with at least a small grain of salt, and to try not to repeat gossip EVER, even when I KNOW it's true but also nobody's business. Which is the other issue, of course -- that the lies somehow always seem to be a little more racy, and titillating, and scandalous, than the plain, unadorned truth ever can be. Which is one of the BIG problems with news as entertainment, and the whole market-driven metaphor of the meaning of life, which has us pursuing happiness as quickly as we can commodify it, and package it for retail delivery.

Anyway, if you're waiting now for some big revelation about me, sorry to disappoint you. So far as I know, things are relatively quiet on this front in my life at the moment, although they certainly haven't always been that way. I can't even recall all of the strange things I've heard second-hand have been said about me (supposedly) behind my back over the years -- frankly, don't want to either. They were nothing but lies to begin with, the people who originated them were liars, and those who repeated them were not much better. "Lying, slime-eating, scum-sucking sons-of-bitches" one of my more venerable colleagues would have called them, although I think "Christ-hating" fit somewhere into that description as well.

Meanwhile, honesty, integrity, humility, truthfulness, trustworthiness, compassion, gratitude, generosity, fidelity, service, and so many other "old-fashioned" classical/Christian virtues (including honor, duty, and sacrifice): these are the values that allow Truth to put lies and liars in their place. Which is also why the worst lies of all are those which cynically insult those values in the process of spreading their own falsehood. But now I sense myself in danger of turning this into a full-blown rant. When actually I'm just a little annoyed by the bizarre treatment being given our new "Commander in Leash," and the legitimacy of his credentials as a "rescue" dog. I mean, really people... Really.

According to The Daily Show's Jon Stewart, "Bo" Obama is America's first openly gay First Dog.

But apparently he still likes a good romp through the Halls of Power, just like any other dog would.

Dreamcatcher

2009-04-13T21:03:00.007-04:00

-

And another small joy I forgot to mention about Easter -- my homeless Navajo friend Walter was in church yesterday, along with another friend of his from the shelter...it had been several weeks since I'd seen him, and I was actually starting to get a little worried about him I'm not really sure if I can accurately describe how or why Walter and I became friends. He pretty much started out like anyone else who might wander in off the street to get warm and have a little free coffee and food on a Sunday morning, or to touch me for twenty bucks for food or a bus ticket or whatever. But for some reason we connected; he started coming to church more and more often, sitting off in the back corner but eventually making a few other friends at church as well.

When I got sick myself I'm told he disappeared for awhile, but he was back again this last autumn, selling these Navajo "Dreamcatchers" to tourists on the street in order to make a little money, and occasionally even putting a little of it in the plate. Then HE got sick, and spent six weeks up at Maine Med -- got himself detoxed, and linked up with a caseworker, and the next thing you know he's been admitted to college to study art and (of course) nervous as hell about it, although he understands what a great opportunity it is for him. Anyway, next task is to take him out shopping for school clothes, which I know will be a big adventure too, since right now pretty much all he wears is all-weather camo, which is what he got used to in the military.

I suspect Walter appreciates me because I befriended him at church (just as I would attempt to any other repeat visitor), and went to visit him at the hospital when he was there, even though (as he knows) I was/am seriously ill myself. I like Walter for a lot of reasons, mostly because of his personality and his attitude: his optimism, his resilience, his ingenuity, patience and tenacity. Qualities maybe he doesn't even see in himself, but which I see and believe in. He reminds me a lot of Steve the Sailor in that way, whose spirit still inspires me now months after his death. I enjoy it when Walter brings me a little gift, or prays for me in the Navajo language, which I find strangely inspiring and invigorating. And I really want this college opportunity to work out for him. Which is my prayer. In plain English.

In any event, a few weeks ago Walter dropped off a couple of dreamcatchers for me at the office. Last night I finally opened one up, and hung it over the head of my bed. And guess what? No bad dreams! So maybe there's something to all this after all....

Easter Sunday

2009-04-13T07:44:00.002-04:00

"Lo, the day of days is here...Alleluia...." And I actually had very minimal responsibilities in yesterday's service: welcomed everyone to church (as I do every Sunday), supervised the announcements, lit the chalice, introduced the opening hymn, and then led our unison affirmation before inviting the children up to hear a story and wheeling myself down the ramp to the front row. And yet even that little part I couldn't quite handle correctly. First mistake was that I welcomed everyone to our worship service at the First Parish in Portland Oregon...a mistake I've been able to avoid making for almost two years now, but which eventually caught up with me. Big laugh at my expense as i explained that before moving here I'd lived 14 years in the other Portland, and was moving back again that way soon. There was also a special Easter introit that I nearly skipped over completely; thank God (no, G-D! that Charlie (our minister of music) was there to catch my mistake and pick-up quickly as soon as I had finished the Chalice Lighting, but before I had an opportunity to introduce the first hymn.

The most interesting thing though was that i had prepared a little insert for the bulletin on behalf of the Committee on Ministry, talking about these next two months and the plans we are making to celebrate my intense yet all-too-brief two-year ministry here, and to say our goodbyes in ways that will be meaningful to everyone. And I had what I can only describe as a Mark 13:11 moment -- just opened my mouth and the spirit spoke through me, and afterwards...well, it's been a long time since anything like that has happened to me. It's no wonder I nearly skipped the introit.

In any event, the rest of the service was lovely and inspiring, just as it should have been. Children's Story, Candlesharing, a prayer and the offertory, and a very simple and straightforward message from Will (appropriate to the fact that we still had the children with us) about the "Three Questions" - the answers to which are "Whoever is here, Whatever we can, and Now."

Brother Erik left for Connecticut about 3 pm, while my Father and his wife arrived from California about 5. A smooth changing of the guard, as it were. They'll be here for about three weeks, most of which time I'm going to be spending getting radiation treatment. Started out with a so-so Easter dinner at the Eastland -- slow, expensive, and otherwise unremarkable -- and yet once again, I can't tell you how much I have enjoyed that hotel, and how much I'm going to miss it when I'm gone. And now, it's Monday AM and time for me to be facing yet another week as a cancer survivor. This week, I think, should be a good one.

Good Friday

2009-04-11T07:28:00.007-04:00

The First Parish Seder

And I'm running a little behind here with my posts, having hoped to keep up pretty much in "real" time. But the nice thing about the internet is that it lets you change the time if you like.

Good Friday was also the date of our annual First Parish seder -- a tradition that's been going on here for over a decade now, and has just been passed down to a new leader, since the woman who originated the service here just moved to Portland Oregon. And this was also, I'm told, the best attended seder we have ever held, with over 50 participants. A fun, joyous, convivial time...but also a time for us all to be reminded of the reality of slavery and oppression still in this world, and the important Passover lessons of hospitality, gratitude, compassion....

I was there with my brother and nephew, who had just celebrated their own Seder a few days earlier. Erik converted to Judaism when he married his current wife in 1999, but neither of them are especially observant, and Erik especially I think might best be described as "Jewnitarian" at best. Have some photos I want to post too, but I haven't quite figured out how to get them from my cell phone to the computer to here.

For me though, this Good Friday/Passover Seder truly was a "Last Supper" with these good folk: a reminder again of how much I love them and how much I am going to miss them, and yet also a reminder that my time here among them is nearly finished, and I have other things awaiting me down the road.

One of oUUr Stalwart Cooks, near the end of a long evening

Maundy Thursday

2009-04-09T10:31:00.007-04:00

Went in to see the Radiation Oncologist again yesterday for more tattoos -- (c.f. Saturday March 29, 2008 in the left sidebar), since Monday I start another 15 days of radiation treatment, this time on my right lung to see whether they can re-open the airway into that upper lobe and get it re-inflated. April seems to be becoming radiation month for me. Always a helluva way to begin the Spring.

Yesterday was also my exit interview with the District Executive, which was another big step forward in helping me to put everything in context here. If I could still count on living for another 20-25 years, I would have happily invested half of my remaining lifetime here at First Parish. They truly are a remarkable group of people, as well as everything anyone could ever ask for in a faith community, and I felt SO PROUD to have been called to serve as their minister. But knowing that even now, as a year-long cancer survivor, I only have a 25% chance of being alive five years from now, helps me see how maybe two years really was all the time I could afford to spend here. But hey? -- look how much Jesus got done in only three! And yes, there are a lot more things I would have liked to have accomplished here before I go...but I also have a lot of OTHER things I would like to accomplish before I REALLY go, and I think this is what a lot of people have been trying to tell me all along, and that it was really only my own misplaced sense of duty and obligation that was keeping me from seeing that clearly.

As for accomplishments here (one of the interview questions), I don't really know that I've accomplished anything that will last much beyond my departure, but I think the thing I'm most pleased about is what we've done with Sunday morning -- the way we've attempted to embody this notion of Radical Hospitality in everything we do, from the moment we meet people at the front steps to the time they exit the coffee hour. We truly have taken seriously this mission of becoming "A Warm & Welcoming Place in the Heart of the City," as well as "Portland's Original Faith Community (est. 1674)." I love the way that the Worship Service itself has come together around that vision as well -- especially last year, culminating with Easter Sunday (which I now realize could have easily been my "Swan Song" and a worthy one at that). A service which is easy to follow and welcoming to newcomers, but which still honors and respects the traditional worship space of our historic meeting house, and expresses those core values of Gratitude, Generosity, Humility, Service and Sacrifice (in the sense of "making sacred") Sunday after Sunday. The people here have heard this good news and embraced it, even embodied it -- which is as much as any minister might ask for.

I'm also proud of the way the Finance Council has come together, although I can't really claim any credit for that, other than getting all of the key players together in the same room (the central lounge at the Seaside Rehabilitation Center) on a pleasant summer evening. What a fantastic group of talented, intelligent, devoted, committed and hard-working souls! And what a blessing to know that I DON'T have to be involved in the day-to-day management of any of this, because it is all in much better hands than mine.

Talked a bit too about both the blessings and the trials of our "ministerial team" -- and how it somehow mysteriously morphed from a ministerial "support" team into a de facto ministerial replacement team. And how an abundance of good will helped to counterbalance a pretty significant diversity of vision and opinion, and how we made it all appear to work seamlessly despite of that, because of our respect for one another and our shared commitment to the good of the church.

And finally a lot of detailed information about various boards and committees, our "growing edges," and the like. And the truth is that I AM going to miss this place and these people very much, along with all the "lost possibilities" that leaving here represents. So many things I've had to sacrifice to this cancer now, and will never have a chance to do again. My wonderful West End walk-up apartment. Driving my car (and the independence that driving represents). My adorable little "Boston Terrorist" Parker. Binga's Wingas. Regular access to my study at the Eastland. My dream of spending a summer sailing "down east." The Sea Dogs. Working at the hospitals, the Historical Society, and the local seminary...working with local theological students, and perhaps even a resident intern. Becoming more actively involved in the local political scene, and watching this church grow, a few dozen members at a time, from the one hundred or so households it is today to whatever its full potential turns out to be.

That was the vision which brought me here, and was sustaining me here too -- along with the fantastic press we were getting the Portland Press Herald, about how this congregation had rallied around me to support me in my recovery from this illness and return to work. So many "George Bailey moments" in the past twelve months. And so much for the people who had already written me off for dead! I just wish that I knew I could count on having another decade here, or even another twelve good months. But I can't. I can't count on any of that. All I can do is act on faith, and trust that whatever God still has in mind for me to do, She will also provide me with the resources I need to do it.

Amen.

And Blessed Be...

Palm Sunday/Holy Week

2009-04-06T11:11:00.001-04:00

Preached yesterday on "...the things that are God's" to a pretty full house; 22 new members received into fellowship as well, but the bad news is that I didn't actually get up into the pulpit to start preaching until about five minutes of the hour. That just seems to be the way it goes these days: about 12 minutes worth of announcements before the service even started (hey, busy church = lots of announcements), plus a special element of the service to welcome the new members...still, I thought we were pretty much caught up by the time the kids left for their classes. But then the candlesharing just went on and on and on -- lots of candles, and lots of long-winded candles too, and for some reason my colleague (who was still down on the lower chancel and supposedly monitoring these things) just let it go, without any of those little indicators to the speakers (like a discrete touch of the shoulder, etc) to clue them in that they were going too long. And the subsequent prayer might have been a little more succinct as well, especially the "moment of silence." A few months ago I'd issued an Edict that although the strategic use of silence was an important (even essential) component of our worship service, that we should try to avoid saying the word "silence" out loud, since it kind of defeats the purpose. But what can I say? With only a few more months here (including just two remaining sermons, on Mother's Day and Memorial Day weekend) I've pretty much given up the authority to make those kind of Edicts stick. And so the service ended up going an extra 20-25 minutes longer than it should have. Bad news for our Sunday School teachers, and for anyone (especially newcomers) who were counting on a "hard stop" right at the hour. But for the most part I think the congregation was pretty well engaged, and happy to sacrifice that extra half-hour for the full experience of the service. I know it's naive and idealistic, but I still like to believe that somehow when those inner doors to the sanctuary swing closed that we have entered "sacred space," where time and the demands of the rest of the world stand still while we take care of our sacred business within those four walls. Naive. Idealistic. But, thank God, more often than not still true.

Meanwhile, back in the real world it's starting to look like I'm going to be receiving a 15 day course of radiation therapy to try to alleviate some of this problem in the upper lobe of my right lung. This is where my primary tumor originally got started, and with the exception of the one distant bone metastasis to my L-3 vertebra (which has cause ALL of these mobility problems) the entire cancer is still localized there, and in a few spots lower down but also in my right lung. The nice thing about the radiation is that it's not very likely to do me any harm, and there's about a 50/50 chance that it will give me some relief. It's going to destroy some lung tissue, but it will also destroy a certain portion of the tumor, and with any luck will open up those airways again and give that lobe a chance to re-inflate. If not, I guess I'm going to still be short of breath...but this probably isn't going to affect my life span one way or another anyway. It's just an opportunity to breath a little easier.

Even if the problem isn't being caused by cancer at all, but is simply the result of a mucus plug. Now doesn't THAT sound appetizing? If you could see the bloody things I've been blowing out of my nose these past several weeks, you would know EXACTLY what I'm talking about. And yes. It's disgusting.... (Hummm... maybe we should all just now observe a "moment of silence....")

Medical Update 3/30/2009

2009-03-30T12:48:00.004-04:00

And it's really a day of mixed news, unfortunately. The good news is abundant: no sign of any additional metastatic cancer anywhere in my body, my appetite is good, my weight remains steady, I have effective pain control and am becoming more and more mobile all the time. I walk now with great ease and balance; only my stamina is in need of dramatic improvement. And that's the start of the other side of the coin. One of the reasons, apparently, that I'm so short of breath is that my primary tumor has started to expand, while the rest of the upper lobe is collapsing around it, and obstructing the easy flow of air in and out of my afflicted right lung. So now it looks like another round of consultations with my pulmonologist and my radiation oncologist to see what kind of treatments they may have available to help relieve those symptoms, and get me back on the right track again.

And I don't want the good news to get lost in this disappointment. The tumor appears to have expanded, but it's not really clear whether it's actually growing or has just changed shape. The blockage could also be being caused by something else, including accumulated mucus in my lung which is trapped there by the tumor and contributing to the problem. And if THAT'S the case, it's probably no more coffee ice cream for me! The more important news by far is that the cancer is staying where it belongs, in my right lung, and not running rampant through the rest of my body. With the exception of the one distant bone metastasis in my L-3 vertebra, this would basically still be a stage two cancer, at least the way I read the diagnostic criteria. But what do I know? I'm a Doctor of Philosophy, not a Doctor of Medicine.

What I DO know is that I'm feeling better all the time, notwithstanding the shortness of breath, the dry mouth, the occasional hoarseness and difficulty swallowing, and routine "fuzziness" and fatigue that follow me around much of the day. These are (not to put too fine a point on it) all things I can live with without (too much) complaining. The day I learn (and I hope it never comes) that the cancer has metastasized to my brain will be the day I may let my discouragement out of box for an hour or two. How did they put it? If you see Kay this cancer. Hell, ALL Cancer.

Anyway, more consultations, probably followed by more treatments, and another round of calendar shuffling to try to fit in everything I want (and need) to do before moving back to the West Coast in July. And who knows? This may actually turn out to be a two-part move, with a quick July visit to the Pacific Northwest and then a return trip back here in August to finish up any unfinished business before moving the rest of my life to California. The really tricky part -- which is also the most important part -- is the hand-off of both medical insurance carriers and my medical treatment team from here in Maine to the folks in California. Retired at 52. How many people dream of that? I just need to learn to embrace the opportunity that's been offered to me, rather than lamenting the lose of "what might have been."

A life lived out of order (part one)...

2009-03-26T15:05:00.004-04:00

Another great thing about meeting up with Gary and Bruce this past week is that we had a chance Monday night to stay up late like young seminarians and talk about "big ideas" -- or rather, to reminisce about the days when we WERE young and could sit up late and talk about big ideas.... well, you get the picture. Neither of them had actually realized just how young I was when I started at Harvard...right out of college and still 21; they are both a few years older than me, although not so much that you'd really notice. Still, I've always looked up to both of them. Gary is one of the smartest people I've ever met, and I've often said that I've only had three good ideas in my life...and two of them started as Gary's! (since then I've had a few more good ideas, and some of those were Gary's too). Bruce has a depth of intellectual curiosity that far surpasses mine, especially when it comes to things theological. He reads books by European authors with strange-sounding names whose titles make me shudder with fear. I'm more of a Marcus Borg/Sallie McFague kinda guy, who likes those big ideas spelled out in bite-sized words.

But to get back to my current idea -- one of the things about my life that both of them have noticed too is that I haven't really lived it in the "usual order." Started seminary as a youngster, but then after my graduation and ordination (at age 24) spent another two years in graduate school and a third year as an intern assistant minister before finally being called to my first church (in Midland Texas) at the age of 29. Was married that same year to a woman with two half-grown children (10 and 7 years old), and became instantly middle-aged: a mortgage, two car payments a dog, orthodontics, and all the rest...both Bruce and Gary (along with Steve Kendrick) were present for THAT event as well, and apparently quite amazed that I would take on so much so young. But then, a decade later, both kids are out of the house and I'm back in school again myself during my late 30's and mid-40's. Divorced and single again (after an 18 year marriage) at the age of 46, at 50 I finally felt like I'd caught up with myself, here serving this church in Portland -- a magnificent congregation in a marvelous community, both of which I came to love very quickly, and where I sincerely believed I would continue to work and live until I retired.

Which I have. At age 52, in order to battle a life-threatening disease . And yet I still kind of feel that this isn't quite the end; that I still have at least one more chapter to write in this book of life. But what could it be?

Gary had the answer. "What about meeting your soulmate and falling head-over-heels in love?"

There you have it. Another great idea that started with Gary. God bless you Brother Kowalski (and you too, Brother Johnson). More on this in a subsequent post...

The Raible Rules

2009-03-25T23:16:00.001-04:00

Just got home from a three-day ministers' retreat at Crawford's Notch, New Hampshire. The "business" of the meeting was to finalize the consolidation of the Maine Unitarian Universalist Ministers Association chapter with the chapter in New Hampshire and Vermont, in order to reflect the consolidation of the two denominational districts comprised of the churches our two UUMA chapters serve. So basically a lot of bureaucratic legalese and mumbo-jumbo as folks dotted all the "i's" and crossed all the "t's," but in the meantime I had a great opportunity to catch up with two of my Harvard classmates, Bruce Johnson and Gary Kowalski, and also to say goodbye to all of the other ministers in the two chapters, many of whom I was just getting to know when I got sick last February. It's a good group though, especially our little "cluster" here in Southern Maine...although it would be natural of me to say that since I know them the best. Still, it's not like the Pacific Northwest District, where I had known many of the ministers there for decades. Or even Mass Bay, which was likewise heavily populated with friends and classmates returning home (like salmon?) to "the Neighborhood of Boston.

One thing this retreat reminded me of is something I've come to think of as the "Raible Rules" -- not for Peter Raible (although he was the one who popularized them in the Pacific Northwest), but rather Robert "Daddy Bob" Raible, who was for many, many years the minister of our church in Dallas Texas, and who introduced these rules among the (then) Unitarian ministers of the Southwest Unitarian Conference. The go something like this:

1) the only acceptable excuse for missing one of our ministers' meetings is a funeral: your own.

2) when a fellow minister asks you to do something, the only acceptable response is "yes."

These standards of collegiality (attend every meeting -- ordinations, installations, business meetings and retreats -- and never say "no" to a request) were deeply ingrained in me during my internship and first settlement in Midland, Texas; and then reinforced by my long sojourn back in the PNWD. But I was also a little surprised (and delighted) to see how they have migrated all the way back to Maine, no doubt carried here by other clergy like myself who spent time in those two districts.

Anyway, seeing these colleagues again and spending three days with them eating, working, worshipping, and simply BEING together has reminded me once again how much I cherish this profession that God oddly chose me for three decades ago. In so many ways, I was and still am such an unlikely clergyman. Pastor. Cleric. Minister of the Gospel. Preacher I can live with, I think: in some ways I have always been a preacher. A prophet too, I suppose -- in that I was generally quite willing to say what others could not or would not say. pro phetes -- to speak for another. To speak for God? Maybe I'm not that much of a prophet after all.

And these three days were also another reminder of how much I will miss what I had started here in Portland, and how ambivalent I still feel about giving it all up and going into "retirement." Yet another thing that this cancer has taken from me. I am so SICK of sacrificing things to this cancer!

Holy Hall

2009-03-18T19:58:00.003-04:00

Feel bad for not having blogged here lately. This spotty internet access is driving me crazy, and even now with a new wireless router across the hall, getting on-line is touch and go at best. I'm guessing it must be the amount of steel and concrete between the two of us that keeps the signal from being stronger. But I'm getting a little ahead of myself. My neighbor across the hall is also an ordained minister, with credentials in both the United Methodist Church and the United Church of Christ. She's 80 years old, so one of the "pioneers" in that regard, and she's arrived here feeling a little overwhelmed by all the tasks of getting settled in. And so I've tried to help her out a little, and we've gotten to be friends -- and she's even taken to calling our little segment of the floor "Holy Hall" (we're looking now for a retired Rabbi to rent the third apartment across from hers and next-door to mine). In any event, she's signed-up for the Cable/Telephone/Internet combination service from Time Warner, and agreed to let me plug a wireless router into her cable modem so that I can piggyback off of her signal. But the PROBLEM is that even though she's just across the hall... well, that's where I started, right?

At least now I can go out into the hall itself and get a perfectly good signal...which saves me the bother of dragging my laptop all the way across to the other building, where I rarely go anymore except to check my mail. But the other complication is that the battery in my six year old iBook is now completely shot, which means I also need to drag the power cord with me...another stupid hassle, easily fixed though by the purchase of a new one. A battery, not a computer. Although maybe it's time for a new computer too....

Anyway, how I'm rambling now. Gave away the last of Parker's dog food today, as well as what were left of her treats, and didn't even shed a tear...although now that I write it in black and white I can hardly see the screen. 'effin narcotics. So much this stupid disease has taken from me, but I just keep choking back the tears and plodding along. What else am I going to do? Finished my last round of chemo (for this protocol in any event) the Monday before last, and next Monday is my next CT scan, just before I head off for a three day minister's retreat in Crawford's Notch New Hampshire (near Breton Wood). My Dad arrives the Wednesday I get back; my next appointment with my oncologist is the Monday after that (the day after MFW's birthday and the kick-off of this year's stewardship campaign). I'm not too anxious (yet) about what the results of the tests will show; I'm optimistic that the will continue the trend indicated by the mid-protocol CT, that the tumors are dormant or slightly smaller, and that there are no additional metastases anywhere else in my body.

If that's NOT what they show, then a lot of my plans could be changing in a hurry. But for now I'm looking forward to an emotional Spring of saying good bye to my many friends here in New England (including and especially the members of this congregation, who have done so much for me in my brief two years here, and to whom I will NEVER be able to adequately express my devotion, gratitude, and love), and hopefully my former parishioners in Carlisle and on Nantucket as well, along with my many, many collegial friends (who are still thick as thieves in the Neighborhood of Boston). Then back to the West Coast before Bastille Day, to be with my daughter (and former wife) for the arrival of grandchild numero uno. A little beach time on Camano Island with Brother Kurt and his family at the end of the summer, and finally down to sunny California for the winter, and a chance to read and write outdoors in my shirtsleeves in January.

But until then it's Holy Hall. Two hot meals and a hospital bed, plus free transportation to my medical appointments, and weekly housekeeping. It's a place that's served me very well since I moved here last June after being released from the hospital and rehab. I will certainly miss the people here as well.

The Other Shoe

2009-03-10T10:16:00.001-04:00

For those of you around the country who have been waiting for the other shoe to drop after my February 18th posting “Died in the Ministry,” last week I sent the following letter to every member and friend of the First Parish in Portland:

Wednesday March 4th, 2009

Dear Members and Friends of the First Parish in Portland

After a great deal of reflection and no little soul searching, I have decided not to return in September to the pulpit at First Parish in the role of your settled parish minister.

I realize this announcement will come as a relief to some and as a disappointment to others. But I have known for some time now that I simply incapable of doing 100% of my job 100% of the time, and that I require considerable assistance simply to do the 20% of the job I felt was still delivering 80% of the benefit.

What I have only recently come to appreciate is that I am also no longer capable of giving 100% of my self to this ministry, not because of lack of desire, but because it is simply no longer there. Because of my illness, I am no longer the kind of minister I have always aspired to be, and the emotional burden this has placed on many of the critical lay leaders of this congregation has been considerable.

Your kindness, generosity and support for me these past twelve months have been overwhelming. My gratitude and affection for all of you are equally immense. First Parish deserves a minister who is capable of caring for all of its members, and not one who needs to be cared for himself.

The first week in March may seem like an unusual time to make this kind of announcement, but it was felt that in the interest of transparency this news should be known before the start of our annual Stewardship campaign, so that individual church members might have the opportunity to talk about their feelings with their visiting Stewards. At the very least, it should give us ample opportunity to say our “farewells.” And may we all be blessed in whatever lies ahead.

Faithfully Yours,

The Rev. Dr. Tim W. Jensen,
Parish Minister

As you might imagine, this was a very difficult letter to write. The people of this congregation have been incredibly generous and supportive of me over the past twelve months, and I honestly felt that I owed them everything I had in my effort to recover my health and come back as the “first-string, starting minister” of this team. So when I learned that so many of my most important lay leaders (including both the current and the incoming Governing Board Presidents) felt just the opposite, and that it was time for me to move on so that they could begin to move forward again, it initially came as quite a surprise.

But as I’ve sat with this question over the past few weeks, and meditated in my own heart about what is best both for the church and for me, I’ve come to see the wisdom of this choice. I WISH that I didn’t have to write this letter, and that I was capable of coming back and doing my job the way I have always aspired to do it; I wish that I didn’t have cancer in the first place, and could still estimate my life span in decades rather than a few years more or less. But I am RESIGNED to the fact that this is all just wishful thinking, and that there is a very real danger (if it hasn’t happened already) of my becoming a burden to this congregation, rather than an active and creative leader and contributor.

And when all is said and done, it really is all about what is best for the church. Like all UU ministers, I serve at the pleasure of my people, who enjoy the privilege of calling (and dismissing) whoever they choose as one of the fundamental cornerstones of our congregational polity. The tricky part is discerning what is truly “best.” I’m still not absolutely certain about the best answer to that question myself, and probably never will be. But absolute certainty is another one of those elusive luxuries few of us truly enjoy in this lifetime anyway.

What I do know is that no matter what I personally decide to do next, I will be fine (or as fine as one can be with a terminal cancer diagnosis). What I worry about most is the fate of those sixty-some people who have, will, or were in the process of joining this church during my tenure here, and whose primary “connection” is still with me, and not necessarily with the congregation as a whole. It would be a terrible tragedy for everyone concerned: them, myself, and the congregation at First Parish, if these newcomers were to simply “drift away,” without enjoying all of the benefits that belonging to a faith community like this one can bring. Fortunately, we have an excellent Membership Coordinator at First Parish who truly understands the notion of “radical hospitality,’ and who will do everything in her power to help keep these “lost lambs” in the flock.

For my own part, I haven’t exactly decided yet what to do next, although my basic trajectory is pretty clear. Depending on my medical condition I may stay on here in on here in Portland for a little while, but cancer is expensive, and I really can’t afford to stay here over the long term (at least not “in the manner to which I have grown accustomed”) without the nominal stipend (and generous benefits package!) the church was providing for me. So I fully expect that well before the first winter snowfall I will be back on the West Coast: either with my father in Sacramento, or near my daughter (and new grandchild!) in Portland OR, or (although this is probably just more wishful thinking) by myself back at our family cottage on Camano Island, where my mother and her mother before her spent the last years of their lives surrounded by family and family friends whose friendships go back for generations.

And the truth is that I will probably try out all of these places -- spending the early part of this summer visiting my brother and friends here on the East Coast (and especially my many friends on Nantucket!), who I will no doubt see a lot less of once I move out West again. But by the middle of July I plan to be back in Portland, OR to be present for the birth of my first grandchild, while also spending some time in August (September, October...) at Juniper Beach. And then down to Sacramento for the winter, and more permanent, long-term accommodations.

But again, this all remains to be seen. The first step is simply to bring “healthy closure” to my ministry here, and to say farewell to all these fine people I have grown to love so much these past two years, and who have done so much to support me as I have battled with my illness.

Nose to Toes

2009-03-03T10:25:00.003-05:00

Preached last Sunday the first half of the concluding two-part message of the five-sermon series on "UU-DNA" that I've been preaching all winter, and if that sounds unnecessarily complicated, it's probably because it is. In any event, here is the link to "Mr Jefferson's Prophecy" which I will complete in a couple of weeks with a sermon on "Mr Jefferson's Legacy." Which reminds me -- if you're starting to feel like I'm not posting often enough here, you might also try checking out some of the other blogs I write, all of which can be found by surfing the links on my "Profile" page.

Feels like my calendar is just jammed with medical appointments these days: saw my new PCP last week, who examined me from "nose to toes" -- first trying to help me out with my daily nosebleeds, and then working his way down to the skin on my back and legs, my spine, hips and knees, and ultimately my feet and toes. Ordered oxygen for me to use overnight (which should help my sleep apnea also), as well as a couple of ointments/lotions for my back and legs. Today I saw the podiatrist, tomorrow my new oral surgeon, Thursday is more Physical Therapy, plus a bone scan in the afternoon. Monday more chemo (my last session of this round) and then I'm clear for awhile, at least until the next CT Scan which will tell me how well the chemo worked.

That's the huge irony of this illness. The cancer itself is always a little abstract, like it lives at arm's length. I know I have it, I know it's serious, I know it can be "treated" but that it will never be "cured" -- a diagnostic reality which, by SSI regulation, automatically defines me as "permanently and totally disabled." Yet I also know that by surviving this first year my odds of surviving another five years have increased from less than one in twenty-five to about one in four (and intuitively I feel like they are probably a lot better than that!). But mostly it's a pretty simple reality: I know I have cancer, but it's not going to kill me today, and I'm pretty certain that it's not going to kill me tomorrow (or for that matter, next week). And that's good enough for me. I don't really need to live that much more out in front of myself anyway.

On the other hand, the physical infirmity that has been brought on by this disease, and by the side effects of my medications, really are something that I have to live with every day. And I'm starting to get tired of it! I want to walk again, and better yet, drive again; I want to be able to sail, and climb stairs...Lord, maybe even play a little basketball; I want back the INDEPENDENCE and the simple COMPETENCE I enjoyed before I got sick. Is that so much to ask? Hell, who do I ask anyway? -- it's just something that I have to take back for myself.

Around here I see these old guys in their 80's and 90's, limping around with their canes and their walkers and wincing with every step, and yet they are walking (and in many cases -- gulp -- still driving), but notwithstanding their questionable judgement, their persistence makes them an inspiration to me. And that's really all it takes. Desire. Willfulness. Persistence. Good old-fashions Mule-Headed Stubbornness. I WILL get to where I want to be. Walking, and under my own power.

The Chaos of Transition

2009-02-26T16:39:00.003-05:00

I'm still unpacking in my new apartment, which is overrun with books, boxes, laundry, kitchen gear, and just about everything else you might imagine -- I'm making SLOW progress, but the emphasis really is upon the slow. Worst part is that I can't get a clear WiFi signal there, despite having specifically checked that out before deciding to move! So once again I'm back to unplugging the laptop and taking it with me for the afternoon to the other tower, and setting up camp in one of the public lounges where I can still get a signal. Eventually all these problems will be resolved. But it still takes a very long time, and has pretty much been life-consuming. Did manage to hire a new Director of Religious Education in the process though, who will be introduced to the congregation here next Sunday. And my medical news still seems to be stable as well -- no changes, good indications, and most of my day to day incidentals under control. I am awfully tired a lot of the time, and my emotions are still very close to the surface...but my appetite is good, my pain control is good, and my mobility gets better and better almost by the day. My Physical Therapist still kicks my ass every time we go Wii bowling, (the Wii is a video game which simulates normal athletic activities, like bowling, baseball, golf or tennis), but I'm walking and climbing stairs better than ever. One more chemo session in another couple of weeks, and then another big MRI to see how we're doing. That test represents my next big milestone. So pray and light candles for stable or shrinking tumors.

Had a nice visit with my new Primary Care Physician today as well, who checked me out "from nose to toes" and confirmed some of the things I'd been thinking about this one year milestone -- basically that my five year survival statistics shoot up dramatically, especially given the relatively good state of my health beforehand. And he also prescribed some anti-fungal cremes for me to put on my skin and feet, which happen to be the SAME over-the-counter cremes women use to treat yeast infections. So if you see some strange tubes in my medicine cabinet next time you visit, don't be too shocked! It's all for a good purpose. Of course, hopefully the medicines will do their job and I will be rid of them before too long. My medicine cabinet is already pretty crowded as it is.

"Died in this Ministry...."

2009-02-18T18:25:00.003-05:00

It's all public now, at least the part that needs to be, so I guess it's OK to write a little more about my "weird weekend" the week before last. As I approach the first anniversary of my life as a cancer "survivor," I've also started thinking a little harder about my future plans -- how much longer I intend to keep serving in this ministry, and what I plan to do with myself afterwards. So much of this past year has been consumed by the challenges of getting my disease under control, and recovering enough of my strength and mobility that I could return to work and contribute in a meaningful way...and the progress I've made in both of those areas has really been remarkable. But I'm also acutely aware of how tenuous this all is, and how easily my health could turn bad again in a relatively short time.

And apparently I'm not the only one whose been thinking about these questions. Still, it came as something of a surprise to me when the outgoing President of our Governing Board phoned to ask whether she cold stop by my apartment the Friday before last (thankfully NOT the 13th!) to tell me that she that she'd been reflecting about the future direction of First Parish, and thought that because of the uncertain nature of my health it would be best for the congregation if I announced my intention to resign from my ministry here at the end of this program year.

I say surprise because even though I'm also intimately aware that nothing involving cancer is ever certain (and even been thinking that we need to begin searching for someone to succeed me sooner rather than later), my thoughts were more along the lines of the model used so successfully by First Parish for much of the 18th and 19th centuries, of settling a "colleague" minister who would at first work alongside me before eventually taking over completely once I had "died in this ministry" (or at least determined that I still had a few more things left on my "bucket list" that I wanted to get to too). Not only did I write a doctoral dissertation in which this type of transition in ministerial tenure plays a prominent role, but I am also reminded of it every Sunday, when I wheel into the Meetinghouse and see the memorials which frame both sides of the High Pulpit, and recall how the Reverends Thomas Smith, Samuel Deane, and Ichabod Nichols faithfully served this congregation in sequence from 1724 to 1859, each first serving as a colleague to his predecessor before eventually taking over entirely following their deaths.

As it turned out, after that conversation (and a few other exchanges of phone calls and e-maisl) we ended up sending a joint letter to the entire congregation, signed by myself, the out-going President of the Governing Board, the in-coming President of the Governing Board, and both the Chair and the Treasurer of the Board of Trustees, informing them that we were beginning deliberations about the future course of my ministry here at First Parish, and wanted to hear their thoughts and feelings before making any decisions. And now that I've had a chance to sit with the idea for a little bit, I can begin to see some of the benefits of ending on a high note, BEFORE my declining health eventually forces me to leave. And this alone puts me in complete agreement with those who believe we need to begin searching for the next minister NOW, with the expectation of having them called and settled by autumn, 2010.

Like all UU ministers, I serve at the pleasure of the congregation, who are always free to call and settle whoever pleases them, and to dismiss their clergy as well whenever they cease to please. Furthermore (although I was not aware of this at the time), according to my Letter of Agreement, the moment my Long Term Disability claim was accepted I ceased to be the settled minister at First Parish! So in effect I continue to work here now on a handshake deal, and it will require some sort of pro-active decision on the part of the Congregation (even if it is something so simple as approving a line item in the budget for my continued compensation, benefits and expenses) for me to remain here beyond the end of this fiscal year.

So the real question still resides with the congregation. What kind of on-going relationship (if any) does First Parish desire to maintain with me after June 30, 2009? What does that look like, and how does it influence the kind of search we conduct in order to bring in another new minister in 2010?

For my own part, I am simply trying to stay calm, and keep my own stress levels to a minimum, while I savor every moment of ministry life still gives me, and adjust my own attitude so that I can see all the advantages of each of the alternatives. Knowing that this is no longer really MY decision, but rather God speaking to me through the whirlwind of congregational polity, I am listening carefully for that still, small voice that will explain to me why the decision that eventually emerges will indeed be the right path for us to follow.

It's also important to lift up the points on which we all agree:

• Everyone involved in this process wants what is best for the Church. We may not always see exactly eye-to-eye about what that might look like, but the more we talk with and listen to one another in an honest, safe and trusting manner, the more likely we are to see and appreciate perspectives other than our own.

• We also all agree that we would like to begin searching for my eventual successor sooner rather than later, with a goal of having someone in town and settling in by August, 2010.

• It's flattering for me to read about all of the good things people associate with my ministry here, and humbling to recognize how hard so many people have worked in order to support me in my efforts to return to the pulpit at First Parish. Their great generosity inspires in me a deep sense of gratitude, as well as the desire to reciprocate in whatever way I can, whether that ultimately entails either remaining here or moving on.

No doubt I will have a lot more to say about all this in the days and weeks ahead, as I continue to contemplate what is best for the congregation, and how that fits with my own desires for the future. I have many good options available to me regardless of which path I choose -- a choice that will ultimately be informed by what the congregation tells me is best for them, and my own limitations as a person living with a terminal cancer diagnosis. Having survived now for an entire year, my five year survival prognosis leaps from a scary 3-5% to a whopping 13-33% (depending on whose numbers you use), and there are lots of other things about my demographic profile that make me believe that my own odds are even better than these. Ever since I was a child, I've pretty much been in the 90th percentile in everything I've undertaken; I don't see any reason why cancer should be any different. Then again, I never expected to contract cancer in the first place, despite the approximately quarter of a million cigarettes I foolishly smoked when I was younger (but still old enough to know better!). 250,000 smokes, and not one of them tasted as good as simply a good breath of fresh ocean air first thing in the morning. And still, so much of our lives are in God's hands. And the sooner we realize that, the easier it becomes to live and live well with whatever life may bring us.

A week and a day....

2009-02-11T23:10:00.003-05:00

And this past week has been one of the strangest of my lifetime, although unfortunately I don't really feel like I can go into all of the details at this time. But it has left me flabbergasted, as well as with a whole new perspective on ministry, the church, and my own future in it. But I'll get back to that some other time. Meanwhile, for those of you who are wondering what ELSE I've been up to this past week, preached another strong sermon Sunday about the authority of religious experience, "Mystics, Skeptics, and Dyspeptics," then attended a "Pageant summit" with members of the Worship Committee and the Pageant Committee to discuss the possibility of updating the words of some of the Carols in order to reflect contemporary Unitarian Universalist Beliefs. Finally, I interviewed a prospective candidate for our open Director of Religious Education position, and eventually caught a ride home from church at about 2 pm. Even more exciting news from my daughter later that night, who informed me that I can expect to become a grandfather this August! Here's the link to HER new baby-blog, Little Sullivan-Bowen along with a photo of the little "Mexican Jumping Bean" at 11 weeks.

Anyway, Monday and Tuesday were pretty much taken up dealing with the on-going weirdness I mentioned earlier, but Wednesday was really remarkable. Left the wheelchair at home, and equipped only with my trusty "Rollater" (a fancy walker with a seat and wheels) rode with my colleague Kitsy Winthrop to the Minister's meeting in Saco -- only the third time I've been able to attend one of these meetings in the past 12 months. It felt very liberating to be out of the chair for such a long time (basically, the entire day), and also reassuring to see so many other colleagues, and to reconnect with them for mutual support and encouragement. These are hard times in a lot of churches -- budgets are tight at precisely the moment that people seem to need the church most, and are flocking to them in ever greater numbers. I just hope we are up to meeting the challenge both here in the short term, and over the long run as well.

After the meeting Kitsy and I decided to have lunch out. My first thought was the vegetarian restaurant on Congress Street, but Kitsy was concerned about that parking...so we actually ended up going somewhere very different: Wild Willy's Burgers, a western-themed hamburger place where Kitsy had the Bison Burger, and I enjoyed the original "Wild Willy" -- basically your standard high-quality bacon cheeseburger with lettuce, tomatoes, red onions and such. Hand-cut fries, batter-dipped rings, Raspberry Lime Rickeys, a real grease-feast...so out of character for Kitsy, and these days more and more a rarity for me as well.

And then after THAT, since we were already out, we stopped by the hospital to visit one of our parishioners who has been there now for two weeks, and is expected to be there for at least three more. A full-blooded Navajo Indian and US Army vet, he had been living on the street (or actually, in people's gardens) in a tent and sleeping bag, but has also attended church fairly regularly (when he's in town) for over a year. Last year he broke his leg after being hit by a car, and after they removed the metal rod last October his leg gradually became infected until he was no longer able to walk, which is what precipitated this hospitalization. In any event, it was good to be able to see him face to face; he's clearly feeling restless being confined like this, but he also appreciates that he needs to heal, and is working with a caseworker about better housing and the like when he is finally discharged. So I'm hoping for a happy ending, but I'm still not sure what that would really look like.

Tomorrow is Lincoln's 200th birthday, as well as the 200th birthday of Charles Darwin...pretty amazing, when you stop to think about it. And a week from that, Thursday February 19th, will be both the one-year anniversary of my cancer diagnosis, and also "moving day" for me, when I will leaving this small suite of rooms I've been living in since last summer, and moving into a similar-sized apartment where I will no longer have a balcony, but will enjoy both a full kitchen and in-unit laundry. So I'm pretty excited about that. I'm not certain how much surviving a year improves my own statistical long-term survival rate, but I imagine it's pretty significant. Not that I really care -- I've always assumed that I'm going to be in the 90th percentile anyway, and am hoping to live another 15-20 years. Why not? Somebody has to live that long....

Thank God for Prescription Drug Benefits

2009-02-04T00:26:00.002-05:00

And for the third month in a row now, my Pharmacy has screwed up my scripts. This time fortunately it's not nearly so complicated as it was the previous times, and I should be able to get it cleared up with a phone call -- gave me the wrong amount of one of my meds, and then filled a script which my oncologist phoned in but that I didn't need to have filled because I already had the same pills available from a previous chemo treatment. But what the hell -- now I'll have them for next month, and won't need to worry about it then. Still, it concerns me -- I'm not sure whether it's miscommunication between my Doc and the Pharmacy, or if the Pharmacy is doing this all on there own, but I'm starting to feel like I'm going to have to start counting every pill now, rather than just counting on them to get it right and catching only their most egregious mistakes.

Admittedly, I take a lot of pills -- nine different drugs routinely, plus some over-the-counter laxatives and vitamins, and a few extra anti-nauseals at chemo-time. 21 pills a day, not counting any breakthrough painkillers or my nausea meds. Price tag for these drugs every month? Approximately $1765, of which I pay only 228.63 in co-pays (not counting the OTCs, which are really inconsequential in the greater scheme of things). And let me tell you, I sure am happy not to have to spend that extra $1550 every month. Now I just wish I actually had that money in my pocket!

Meanwhile, I feel more than a little uncomfortable basking in my own good fortune when I think about the situations of so many others within my little church "community." Like any urban church, we have people in the congregation every Sunday who are homeless, or maybe just one paycheck (or welfare check or disability check) away from being homeless, who also have serious other needs, some of them medical... And I/we (because I think most of the congregation feels the same way) want to help them as best we can -- and not just with a warm welcoming place on a Sunday morning where they can come in out of the weather and worship with us, then get a bite to eat and some hot coffee afterwards before heading back out into the winter; or even with the twenty or fifty or perhaps sometimes even a few hundred dollars I can come up with out of my discretionary fund in order to help out with a pressing bill or two, or to get them in to see a medical provider for some long-overdue treatment. Something both substantial and empowering, which leaves them in control of their own life but makes a small but significant difference in their own spiritual journey from where there are now to where God wants them to be.

Is that naive? Presumptive and patronizing? It's a little different situation from those folks who just go around from church to church hitting up the soft touches like me for a hand out. The policy now in those situations is simply to give them a $20 gift card to our local supermarket (which has already been designated to exclude alcohol and tobacco), and to have just enough red tape in place to discourage abuse -- ID if they have it, plus they have to sign for the card and perhaps even be photographed for our digital database (an extra step that was still under discussion when we decided on the rest). But I'm not in the office often enough these days to know whether this policy has even been implemented yet, much less evaluate whether it is working.

But these other folks are different. For all intents and purposes, they are members of the congregation just like the rest of us: they attended services regularly, sing the hymns and listen to the sermon, participate appropriately in the candlesharing, and sometimes even contribute to the collection. And that's part of what makes our Meetinghouse Sacred Space -- that fact that ANYONE can show up and for that hour at least put all of the differences of race and class, income, educational background, what-have-you in the background, and just BE together. Sure, it's an illusion and it doesn't last. But with a little gentle practice, maybe it will find a toehold OUTSIDE the Meetinghouse as well. And if we dare dream it, it might even usher in the Kingdom of Heaven....

Oh boy, it's getting well past my bedtime. Sweet Dreams!

So how many years do I need to eat Vegan...

2009-02-02T18:14:00.005-05:00

in order to make up for the veal? Stop smirking; this is serious. I want to be an ethical eater, and the demands of my new 'cancer diet' create all sorts of fresh opportunities for me to integrate more healthy eating practices into my daily meals. But there are limitations too. So long as I'm living where I live, for example, I'm pretty much stuck eating whatever it is that the nutritionist has decided is healthy, and the chef has decided to prepare. There are choices, of course, but I don't know that "vegan" is really among them). Kosher, maybe. Diabetic almost certainly.

If I had my own kitchen, that would change a little, although probably not a whole lot right from the start. There's a place like that available here now, for only a few hundred dollars a month more than I'm paying right now, and I would still be able to eat one meal a day in the common dining area. Of course, it adds in all of the additional complications of grocery shopping, and meal planning, and the like...but there is also a built-in dishwasher and in-unit laundry which I suspect will make a huge difference in my sense of independence and quality of life. Nice walk-in shower with a built-in shower seat...it really is beautiful. But as they also say here in Maine, "Two hundred dollahs' is two hundred dollahs..."

Speaking of meals, strange STRANGE encounter in the elevator today after supper...was waiting patiently to get on the car, the car arrived, the door opened, the woman in front of me got in, and then REFUSED to slide over in order to make enough room for me to get on too. I was flabbergasted! Wheeled my chair halfway into the car, and was basically going to refuse to let the elevator go until she made room for me to get on...then my grown-up brain took over and I just let her have her way. Like I said, flabbergasted, especially considering how courteous we typically are in the elevator on my usual side of the building. But I'm also feeling a little like the young monk at the riverbank, still upset that his old companion carried the woman across the river. Need to learn how to set it all down again and let it go. Just let it go....

Oh Deer! Winter is Here!

2009-01-30T10:11:00.004-05:00

whew... And this is how it has felt here in Portland this past week. I feel lucky that I've been able to stay inside the past three days, but still I feel the burden of it. The weight of winter. All that snow, piled everywhere. It's overwhelming. Makes me grateful to have a roof over my head and to be surrounded by four warm walls, one of which has a westerly-facing window, which allows me to nap in the afternoon sunlight like a cat or some sort of lizard.

Meanwhile, I am slowly catching up with my church-work. Wrote a seminary recommendation for my former Director of Religious Education, and now I'm returning to my sermon for this coming Sunday, which I would have preached last Sunday if I'd been feeling up to it. The problem is now that I have too MUCH material, and need to figure out what to leave out. Which shouldn't be too much of a problem. Since nothing is ever TRULY lost...I can always use it again next week.

But maybe I really should try that nap first....

"Sicko"

2009-01-24T14:05:00.002-05:00

Sat down the other night to try to watch the DVD of Michael Moore's award winning film ""Sicko," but had to switch it off after only a few minutes...it was just too depressing and discouraging, especially for someone in my situation. Sure, I know the Health Care system sucks...mostly because it is really more a Health Care INDUSTRY now rather than an actual system for providing effective and affordable Health Care, which of course drives most health care Providers crazy with frustration, requires patients to learn patience, and generates a lot of profit for big pharmecuetical companies, and health insurance companies, and hospital holding companies, and...well, enough of this tired old rant. Turned the movie off, thanked God for the excellent Health Care I'VE received during my year-long (and still going strong) illness, and all the kind, caring, devoted people I've met along the way. I just wish everyone could enjoy the kind of health care I've enjoyed over the past 12 months. And that it was more affordable for everyone.

Also noticed in the elevator that next Thursday we will be holding a "Service of Remembrance" here for the 16 members of this community (14 women, and 2 men) who have passed away in the past 6 months. The gender ratios are somewhat reflective of the general population ratios here; lots of the men have passed away long before their widows found their way here. Still, you have to wonder -- with a general population of 139 residents, what does it mean to a community like with one to lose 10% of its residents every six months? So far for me these are all just the names of strangers, but that won't last forever. I've made friends now in the six months I've lived here, and statistically I know that sooner or later one of them is going to show up on that list. And then another, and another... It's the price we pay for the gift of life itself.

Maybe that's why I'm finally beginning to fear death. Instead of saying "goodbye" to this one or that one, someday I'm going to have to say goodbye to everyone and everything I have ever known. And I'm not looking forward to THAT sense of loss one little bit.

And then there are the more common fears: of losing my lucidity, of simple physical pain, of no longer being in control of my faculties, and being completely dependent upon others until "at last God calls me home." Except that right now I feel perfectly at home right here on earth. hummm....so maybe that's the part I really need to work on now. And thank God I'm in the perfect position to do just that.

Better Days

2009-01-23T09:33:00.006-05:00

And unlike so many of my friends, I've basically been miserable for the first three days of the Obama administration -- sick in bed vomiting, and with diarrhea, nausea, night sweats, fever, chills, and all the other little nasty aches and pains that accompany those nasty winter bugs... Awful. Just Awful. Fortunately, the staff here have been equally wonderful about caring for me and making sure that I have everything that I need and don't expire anonymously in the night. It's really a horrible feeling to be sick and all alone, which makes me feel all the more grateful that in my situation help was only the push of a button away. I did decide to pass my pulpit responsibilities for this Sunday off to my designated "back-up" though -- which was a very hard thing for me to do, even though I felt immediately better the moment I had done it. And finally, this morning, some actual breakfast: cheerios and half an English muffin, plus three different kinds of juices (none of which really agreed with me).

I have no idea what this photo is going to look like here, but I hope it's half as impressive as it was in the paper. [click on image to expand it to full size]

The Content of their Character

2009-01-19T13:07:00.003-05:00

And it looks like I'm evolving into a once-a-week blogger, whether I want to or not. And even at that, I don't feel like I have that much to say. I think I've gotten over whining about having to change Health Insurance providers, at least for the time being; my physical health seems good -- fairly decent energy, relatively free of pain, the Chemo seems to be doing it's job, and I can feel the improvements with my Physical Therapy after practically every session; and life at Church seems to be moving along quite smoothly as well. I enjoy being present to lead the "ordinaries" on the Sundays that I'm not preaching, while this schedule of in and out of the pulpit every other week seems to suit just about everyone, including the people in the pews. I still have a few issues to resolve around my disability insurance, but hope to work that out before the end of the week; and then at the end of the month I'm planning to move into a new apartment here at my current facility. It's in the other tower, and about the same amount of room as I have here -- but I get a full kitchen (instead of just a fridge and a microwave) as well as in-unit laundry, a walk-in shower (with built-in shower seat)...although I do lose my balcony, which I'm sure I'll miss in the spring. And because it's upstairs though I'll be a little more off the "beaten path" as well, which I may or may not enjoy.

I'm also very excited about tomorrow's Inauguration, and everything that it represents about 500+ years of American History. Has me thinking about the illusion of Race and the insidious corrosiveness of Racism - this ideological fiction we've created in order to justify one half of a family owning their brothers and sisters as chattel property. And the problem: how DO we teach ourselves to see beyond it, to that place where skin color is no longer a marker of "other?" An Obama Presidency has got to be a huge step forward in this regard. And it also makes me happy to know that as a child Barack had at least a brief exposure to the Unitarian faith, through his grandparents Stanley and "Toot." The sad part is that I'm probably going to end up missing most of the actual ceremony itself, because of a Physical Therapy appointment and our regular Tuesday staff meeting. But I'm sure there will be plenty of opportunities to watch it later, including the controversial invocation by Purpose-Driven Pastor Rick Warren.

Funny, but I'm feeling very prayerful at the moment. All of the things I've sacrificed to this cancer, and still I'm feeling grateful, almost beyond words. And I honestly don't know whether that is an indication of something wrong with me, or something very, very right....

Monday, another Monday...

2009-01-12T19:37:00.002-05:00

And I'm a little surprised about how much anxiety i was holding inside about the possible results of last week's CT scan, and how good it feels to have that out of the way, and to be back again only to dealing with my usual Sunday post-preaching adreneline crash. And today -- very much outside the box: caught a taxicab over to Sacred Heart Church in South Portland where I attended a funeral mass for my friend Steve, then hitched a ride with Steve's brother back over to the reception at the Holiday Inn and then afterwards caught a ride back to my place (only a few blocks away) from one of the people that I met there. Felt very independent, and also quite connected. The service was good -- very fine eulogy and a nice address as well; the priest (Fr McAllister?) seemed to be a pretty erudite fellow who knew his Greek Testament and caught Steve's "Free Spirit" pretty well. And I enjoyed the unfamiliar "familiar" hymns: "Be Not Afraid" and "On Eagle's Wings," which I almost never hear except outside my own Unitarian Church. And yes, we are all going to miss Steve a lot. But I do feel better knowing just how much of him I still carry with me everywhere i go, and that I can rely on that whenever I choose to reach out and trust it....

Updates sad and glad.

2009-01-09T17:54:00.004-05:00

I've been waiting three days now with barely 'bated breath to learn the results of last Tuesday's CT Scan, and today I heard: no real changes in the size of the tumors, no evidence of growth or metastasis -- in short, about as good of news as I could have hoped or expected to hear, and a nice sense of relieve for myself, the church, and all my friends and family. Yes, it would have been nice to have heard that my cancer was melting away like an open carton of Ben & Jerry's Ice Cream on a hot August afternoon in New England...but that would have been an awful lot to expect, expecially since this isn't August So we just left the Ben & Jerry's at the suppermarket, and came home to celebrate with my favorite local wood fired pizza and some salads.

The sad news is a little harder to sit with. Learned last Wednesday that my friend Steve Lesneski -- Steve the Sailor or "Cap't Steve" -- passed away Wednesday night at the Gosnell Memorial Hospice House in Scarborough, in the company of his brother Paul. Steve and Paul had both come to be friends of mine in the past 18 months, and one of my own deep regrets is that I know that my own illness prevented me from spending as much time as I would have liked to with Steve in the last few days and weeks of his life. But I also know that my friendship with them both has made a huge impression on my own life in that time, and I only hope that those feelings were reciprocated in a way that allowed Steve to draw upon the wisdom and inspiration of "Father Tim" as he needed it in his last days.

Yacht Southerly under sail...

Yacht Southerly careening in Portland Maine

The Spirit is willing...

2009-01-05T08:22:00.002-05:00

but the flesh is weak. And that was certainly my experience at church yesterday morning. One of my colleagues was in the pulpit, preaching on the theme "The Adventurous Spirit;" my only duties were to welcome the visitors and introduce the announcements, and then later to lead the "Moment for All Ages" -- a message directed specifically to our children just before they leave for their Sunday School classes. I knew I was in trouble when I arrived at church and didn't even have the energy or the appetite to enjoy our monthly pancake breakfast -- just a class of orange juice and a cup of coffee felt like too much. Got vested into my robes without too much trouble, but I did ask my colleague to welcome the visitors, which he readily agreed to do. A few moments later my other colleague volunteered to take the children's story off my hands as well, and after thinking that over for half-a-second. Which left me with nothing left to do except sit in the parlor of the Parish House listening to the service over the loudspeaker, and trying to stay awake in my wheelchair.

And now, of course, I'm second-guessing myself. I guess this is just what I'm fated to do. I want my people to see me as strong and committed and devoted to this church, despite my illness and the subsequent disability it has brought about, but at the same time I DONT want to have them witness the opposite when I just can"t get it done, no matter how hard I may try. I feel a lot better today (after having slept, intermittently, from noon until about 6 am this morning) so naturally I'm felling like if I had just gutted it out and soldiered on, I could have gotten it all done. But that's not what my guts were telling me yesterday. My guts were telling me to back off and take it easy, knowing that next week there will be another Sunday.

Next Sunday I AM scheduled to preach, so it's really important that I feel in tip-top shape. And I keep telling myself as well that this could simply have been "that thing that's been going around" -- headache and runny nose, fatigue, body aches, queasiness and loss of appetite. It doesn't HAVE to be the chemotherapy. But it probably is....

NEW YEARS DAY

2009-01-01T21:16:00.002-05:00

And what a lovely New Year's Day it's been. Basically, I have done nothing today but sleep late, talk on the telephone, read, think, and watch the Rose Bowl on TV. Did spend a couple of hours this afternoon with our church webmistress going over our site and thinking of ways that we might make it more useful both to our current members and also to potential visitors who want to check us out -- more and more newcomers are finding churches on-line these days, so it has really become essential to have a top-flight site. And there are lots of things about our site I like quite a bit, but I also know that we can always be better. But a lot of that has to do with content as much as organization, a lot of which falls right back on my shoulders again.

This is also the day that all of my health insurance supposedly shifts over seamlessly from Harvard/Pilgrim to Blue Cross/Blue Shield. Since I was very, VERY satisfied with the service I was receiving from the former, I was really reluctant to change over in the first place, especially since the combination of lower premiums but higher co-pays probably won't end up saving me any money in the long run anyway. But apparently it's a lot better for the rest of the group, and the cost of staying on with H/P as an individual subscriber really was prohibitively expensive. So I just keep telling myself not to sweat the small stuff, and to keep calm and take it easy while everything sorts itself out. The main thing is that I just need to get my new insurance cards and ID numbers right away, so that my treatment can continue uninterrupted. For example, I'm supposed to have a CT scan sometime next week, but I'm reluctant to schedule it until I know it's been approved by my new insurance. Same thing for my prescriptions, new referrals from my PCP to my Oncologist, and (of course) double-checking on my mental health benefits. Think of how much money insurance companies could save there if this all really worked as smoothly as it should!

Watching the Rose Bowl was another real treat. I hardly watch TV at all any more; don't have one in my room, and unlike TV-less times in my past I'm rarely even able to get to a bar any more if there's a game I really want to see. Missed both Oregon and Oregon State's bowl appearances...but knowing that the Pac-10 went 5-0 in bowl appearances this year really makes me proud to have gone to college on the West Coast, as a Dawg as well as a Duck and a Beaver. So it was sweet to be able to see the Huskies new Head Coach Steve Sarkisian in action, and to daydream about how much of that magic he might be able to bring to Husky stadium next year. A lot, I hope. The Dawgs could really use it....

BOXING DAY

2008-12-26T16:35:00.005-05:00

And today (Boxing Day) is the day that the privileged members of the Victorian Bourgeoisie traditionally shared year-end gifts of appreciation with their servants. It's a tradition that survives today, at least here in the US, principally in the form of tips to the paperboy and the doorman, or maybe one's hairdresser, or gardener, or anyone else who provides a personal service. According to Wikipedia, its origins are ultimately found in the Roman tradition of the Saturnalia, a week-long year-end revel where slaves and masters reversed their roles, and large amounts of alcohol were consumed by all.

In the 19th century Frederick Douglass wrote bitterly about how the "holiday" between Christmas and the New Year was used by white slaveholders to degrade African American slaves - first by encouraging widespread drunkenness, and then pointing to the same as "evidence" that slaves were simply not capable of managing what little freedom they were allowed. The modern day African American holiday of Kwanzaa emphasizes the exact opposite values, and especially a reaffirmation of "the communitarian vision and values of African culture and...its restoration among African peoples in the Diaspora, beginning with Africans in America and expanding to include the world African community."

Personally, I still feel a great deal of ambivalence about what to think or do about these awkward seven days that mark the transition from one calendar year to the next, and separate the first half of the church Program Year from the last. I'm glad for the rest, but panicked by expectations, and worried about things I can't control, and will never be able to control But I'm also intrigued by the idea of a seven day holiday that begins with a Celebration of Unity, and ends with a Day of Assessment, and in between lifts up the communitarian values of cooperative effort, shared enterprise, creativity, and self-determination. But mostly I think I just like the colored candles.

from the Official Kwanzaa Website, www.officialkwanzaawebsite.org

CHRISTMAS DAY

2008-12-25T15:19:00.004-05:00

And now that the Christmas Eve service is over, I'm not scheduled to preach again until January 11th. Next Sunday Kitsy and the Worship Committee have something special planned for the end of the year, and the Sunday after that (January 4th) Will will be leading our traditional "Burning Ritual," an alternative service of Joys and Concerns where the participants secretly write their regrets from the previous year on a scrap of paper, and then burn them in a large metal bowl we have set up at the front of the Meetinghouse. So when I'm finally back in the pulpit myself on January 11th, I will hopefully be feeling rested and energetic again, and ready to resume the every-other-Sunday preaching schedule we've mapped out until Easter.

Meanwhile, I still haven't gotten around to writing my annual Holiday Letter either, which seems a little redundant given the amount of blogging I've done this year. Still, it is a tradition I would hate to interrupt, and perhaps just that small and gentle contact...an e-mail with a link to the text of the actual letter itself -- will be sufficient. I sure have enjoyed the cards, letters and e-mails I've received from so many of you. One of my favorites actually contained the suggestion that in light of the recent events of December 14th in Bagdad, we need a new Constitutional Amendment protecting the right to Bare Feet.

Oops! Forgot that I was blogging on One Day Isle. This sort of post is much more worthy of The Eclectic Cleric. Maybe I'll see you over there.

CHRISTMAS EVE

2008-12-25T00:18:00.006-05:00

And this is what I'm using for my new computer "wallpaper." When I see photographs like this, it's easy to reflect back on what a wonderful Dog Parker really was, and the qualities that made her that way. But mostly it was just the time we spend together. Not every waking moment, certainly; in fact, ,if anything, the opposite -- it was the time this little dog spent sleeping in my bed that really imprinted us one to the other. That and the weekend road trips to those small congregations where I was consulting, and there were always so many new and interestng people to meet, and she always had to be on her best behavior.

In any event, an excellent Christmas Eve candlelight service tonight, if I do say so myself. A comfortably-full sanctuary, a half-hour of easy caroling, and then the traditional service of carols and readings, followed by my Annual Christmas Eve Homily -- a little pre-celebration socialism to truly usher in the Spirit of the Season. And I was also able to give our Sexton the Boxing Day gift we had secretly collected for him the previous Sunday. Delighted to say that we surprised him twice: first when he felt the thick envelope, but even more so after he had opened it. So that was a great thing too, all thanks to a simple suggestion at the Staff Meeting from our Church Administrator that we really ought to try to do something a little special for our Sexton this year. So I made the appeal and the people responded...and another George Bailey moment gets "paid forward" by this church.

Here are a few more Parker pictures, just because I had them available. It astonishes me to notice how much she had aged between the time that first photography was taken when she was still a puppy, and the photo taken at the Seaside Rehab, only a few months before I finally was able to let go and say goodbye....

And yet I am also confident that our Spirits will be reunited again, just as depicted on this card my Aunt made -- the two of us sailing off downwind...though whether that represents the sunrise or the sunset really depends on our ultimate destination.... Guess I'll just have to trust my moral compass on that one. And maybe I will have to sail upwind just a little....

THE LONGEST NIGHT OF THE YEAR

2008-12-22T10:04:00.004-05:00

I know it's been way too long since I last posted here; no excuses, really, other than the same old ones I've always used: I'm sick, I'm busy, I've got a lot of other pressing priorities which conflict with spending the time I need to writing here. Big excitement this past week has been learning, literally a day late and a dollar short, that my tiny little Eastern Massachusetts Unitarian Universalist Ministers and Employees Group is going to be changing their Health Insurance carrier from Harvard/Pilgrim to Blue Cross. I'm not at all happy about this, because from my perspective Harvard/Pilgrim has always been an EXCELLENT Health Insurance provider, and with the exception of the out-of-network second opinion I received at Sloane Kettering, I've never had a hassle with them. And who knows? Blue Cross may turn out to be just as good. But changing ANY insurance plan at this point of my life is going to be a hassle: now I'm probably going to have to go back and get all new Primary Care Physician referrals, and re-preauthorizations for my CT scans and other tests...it's just a big pain in the tuckus which frankly I didn't need.

In any event, I still feel very fortunate to have health insurance at all, and am so grateful for the care I have received from my physicians and other health care providers, as well as the support of my friends, family, colleagues and congregation; it makes it easy to feel optimistic, even in the midst of this dark and gloomy season of the year. Delightful Solstice service yesterday, BTW, all planned out by our Minister of Music Charlie Grindle and Ministerial Support Team member Kitsy Winthrop. My contribution was limited to welcoming the visitors at the beginning of the service, and supervising the announcements, as well as assisting with the collection of the offering, which included a "special" offering we were trying to keep secret from someone in the church. I'll know Christmas eve whether or not we actually pulled that one off. I'll be so excited if we do.

People have either been asking how I feel, or commenting on how good I look, and the truth is yes thanks both -- I've been feeling absolutely fantastic these past few weeks, ever since we juggled the meds for controlling the side effects from my first round of chemo, and it makes such a huge improvement in my quality of life. I'm sleeping better too, and having my Dad here to chauffeur me around makes all the difference in the world. Last night almost seemed "normal" -- after church we came back home and kicked back for awhile, then around 4 PM went out for pizza at Bonobos (where I used to spend almost EVERY Sunday evening last winter) where I had a hot cider instead of what would have been my usual cold microbrew, and enjoyed a Pepperoni pizza while my Dad had Caesar salad and a slice of my pie. Outside the blizzard raged, but we were warm, snug and cozy across from the woodburning pizza oven, and were safe home again by 5:30.

It's not really a new lesson, but it's something that I find continually reinforced again and again by my illness, especially in this season of contemplation and renewal. If I can just learn and remember to let Life come to me, rather than constantly striving and grasping for the things I THINK I want or need, but which eventually prove hollow and disappointing... like I said, it's not a new lesson. It's probably the oldest lesson in the book. But it's an important lesson nonetheless, which brings together all those conflicting yet complimentary virtues: patience, persistence, tenacity, ambition, desire, gratitude, generosity, forgiveness, hope, aspiration, trust and confidence....Faith in its most pure and unadulterated form...Hey! -- what did you expect from a preacher anyway? Faith in its most pure and unadulterated form. No wonder I'm looking and feeling so good.

EAT, SLEEP, READ

2008-12-16T16:43:00.005-05:00

This was the sign in the window of the Longfellow Bookstore here in Portland, which I parked in front of this afternoon while my Dad (who had just picked me up from church after the weekly staff meeting) ran into the bank to deposit a check. And the irony of it impressed me immensely -- because I HAVE a lifestyle now that is pretty much "eat, sleep, read" but such simple things such as getting to church, shopping for groceries, or going to the bank are essentially impossible for me without the assistance of someone like my Dad. Without my Dad (or the assistance of someone) I am essentially housebound, and when not eating or sleeping am either reading or writing, or getting ready to travel to a medical appointment -- the one destination where the assisted/independent living center provides transportation for me if I need it.

There are work-arounds I could hire an attendant, and doubtlessly will sometime after my Dad goes home at the end of the month; but the one excellent candidate I had identified to the job folded his tent and moved to Montana for the winter (which caused me to question his judgment just a little, even if he does have family there!). My fantastic neighbor has been, well, fantastic about carting me back and forth to church, and to various other essential errands too...but she has a life of her own which is incredibly busy in its own right, and I'm always a little concerned that the time she spends helping me is lost to her completion of her own activities. And I suppose I could always call a cab, or draw upon other willing church volunteers (as I occasionally have) to help me get from point A to point B.

But the irony has to do with the nature of freedom and "independence." How many of us have daydreamed about having a life where we are free to devote ourselves almost exclusively to reading -- to the comfortable chair, and the pot of warm tea on a rainy afternoon under a bright reading light. There's nothing better in the world! Except when that's the ONLY activity that you can do by yourself, and your "independence" is dependent upon the kindness of others....

One Day Isle?

2008-12-15T10:22:00.003-05:00

No, these are not UFOs, or a picture of what awaits us on the other side of the rainbow bridge, the terminus of that "bright tunnel of light" so routinely reported by those who have undergone a "near-death" experience. Rather, it is a photograph of the lithograph that hangs on the wall of the waiting room at my Physical Therapist's office, with the two banks of overhead florescent lights reflected in the framed glass. But it COULD be that other place, at least in my imagination... with the moored boat, and the lighthouse, lots of lawn for Parker to run on, and a waterfront cottage filled with books. It could be that place....

Not that I'm planning to visit that place anything soon. The imagination is a wonderful thing. Yes, it allows us to see things that aren't really there: to view images of realities that exist only in our minds, and then (perhaps) to make those things real. "If you have built castles in the air," Thoreau writes, "your work need not be lost; that is where they should be. Now put the foundations under them." These days, a good portion of my time is devoted by necessity to that first endeavor. But I still have hopes of building a solid foundation as well, so that these bold visions might have a solid base to sustain them. Then I really will feel like I have accomplished something important with my life.

Good Mourning, Good Grief!

2008-12-11T21:15:00.000-05:00

And I've been thinking a little about all the things I've "lost" as a result of this cancer, and grieving them as i would any loss. Although the irony is that the two things I miss and grieve most were not "things" at all, but actually living beings, and their loss had nothing really to do with my cancer at all. The first of these is my mom, who actually passed away on June 10th, 2007 - yet who I will always associate with this place and this ministry since she held back word of her diagnosis until after I had completed my first candidating sermon here (on Mother's Day that same year), and because I have missed her just about every waking moment since, espcially after being diagnosed with cancer myself. And my second great grief is the loss of my beloved companion animal of 13 years, "The Adorable Parker," who I sent ahead to wait for me at the Rainbow Bridge this past October 4th, and who I also continue to grieve almost every day, although not nearly so intensely as I do my mom.

But between these more profound sources of grief, I continue to mourn a small handful of more mundane losses, which are far more closely related to my cancer itself.

I mourn the loss of my ability to walk, and the corresponding lack of mobility that goes with being confined to a wheelchair pretty much every waking moment of the day. This may not be forever; God knows I'm doing what I can in Physical Therapy to build up the supporting muscles around my back, and hopefully to figure out ways to minimize the pain and increase my endurance. But at this point it sure seems like an awfully long road to walk (with plenty of annoying stairsteps along the way) Grief comes easily in comparison. Especially since it is something I have to live with every single day of my life.

I mourn the loss of my ability to drive my car, and the corresponding lack of mobility that goes with THAT! This is a very different kind of lost freedom - to have to depend on others simply to get to church, get to the store, get to my study at the Eastland or to a Restaurant or the Hospital. The irony here is that physically I am probably capable of operating my car now, even with the clutch and the standard shift. But the amount of narcotics I need to take in order to keep my pain under control really prohibit me from safely operating a motor vehicle, not to mention the question of how do I get to the car in the first place, get the wheelchair in the trunk where it belongs, get myself back behind the wheel, drive to where I'm going, get the chair BACK out of the truck for me to sit in again, and.... Again, not entirely outside the realm of possibility. But a pretty long road to go....

I mourn the loss of my old apartment, and more specifically the joy and the freedom I experienced living there my first year here in Portland. I loved my West End neighborhood, the local restaurants, the easy walks to church and to the Eastland, and just being able to get out and around. And then suddenly I'm in the hospital and that whole part of my life is over. I continued to lease that place from April though July in the hope of being able to return, but finally gave it up when the lease was up. A pretty expensive storage locker, even if "hope" was the most important thing I stored there after all....

I mourn the gym, and those days not so long ago playing pick-up hoops with the over-35's in Concord, or at Nantucket High School, and even the undergraduates at the University of Oregon. Most of all I mourn the Boston Sports Club in Waltham, where I could go in the late afternoon and enjoy a circuit through the resistance training machines, a half-hour's worth of basketball shoot-around, a quick jacuzzi and sauna, and still be home in time for dinner and whatever evening meeting awaited me at church. Never really did make that kind of connection here in Porland. Thought about the "Y" (which was both affordable and convenient), but kept procrastinating and procrastinating...and now it's just another thing to mourn. Somehow I doubt that I will ever be playing even modestly-competitive basketball again...but a sauna and a jacuzzi every now and again would be nice! And my real ambition now is to get fit enough to sail.

There are other things I mourn as well of course, but these four activities (and the freedoms they represent) are the ones I miss the most. And at the same time, I'm also quite grateful for the things I CAN still do....

I'm grateful that I am still able to preach as often as I do -- that I can climb those half-dozen stairs into the high pulpit every other week, and share with the congregation whatever small wisdom I may have to impart that Sunday.

I'm grateful for the support of my friends, my family, and especially the members of this church, who have made it so easy to fight this disease without growing discouraged, and who have done so much for me personally to keep my spirits high, and to help me hold body and soul together.

I'm just grateful to the Mysterious and Sacred Powers of the Universe itself, the Spirit of Life, our Loving and Benevolent Creator, Chance, Luck, Opportunity, Good Fortune -- whatever it is that has given me this highly unlikely (at least statistically) shot of self-reflective consciousness: this all-too-brief "dual reality" of "being alive and having to die." Like every one of you who are reading this blog, I am a small part of the Universe becoming conscious of itself, and thus speculating about what it all means, and my own purpose and meaning within this grand (and perhaps accidental) design. Good God, what a Mystery! Are our minds even remotely equal to the task? Yet if we start out small by learning to Know Ourselves, and then gradually expand outwards from there: always authentically, always faithful to the things we have learned, yet open-minded enough to encounter other learnings....

Is it any wonder that gratitude always trumps grief in my experience, and that optimism rather than mourning remains the principal mood of the day....

How Time Flies!

2008-12-10T07:30:00.004-05:00

And i can hardly believe that it's been over a week since I last posted here. No excuses, really; just a "normal" week where I got a little carried away with outside activities, and never really got around to things like this. I did have a nice visit frow some freinds from Nantucket over the weekend, and I also preached on Sunday, a sermon titled "Naughty or Nice" {LINK} which did take up a little of my time and attention. I know a lot of people get a little worried when I don't post, but this time it's actually GOOD news -- I'm feeling a lot better, rather than worse.

I'm also struck from time to time by how closely my living experience here at the Senior Assisted/Independent Living Center resembles that of living in a college dormitory. I've certainly had plenty of experience of the latter, where the days also tended to revolve around meals, the mail, afternoon naps and staying up WAY beyond my bedtime. But here, in place of classes, we have medical appointments instead, and apart from that there just isn't that much time left over. Plenty of activities scheduled though, from daily Bingo and a variety of exercise classes to old movies in the theater and shopping trips out to the Mall or Wal-Mart. We often get school or scout groups coming through the building this time of year as well, here to perform community service, or sometimes simply to perform. And it's certainly been an interesting experience for me so far.

We all take our meals each day at our assigned tables: my three "messmates" include two retired postal workers (both now in their nineties), who grew up here in Portland, have been retired longer than I've been in the workforce, and (in one instance at least) still have fairly large extended families in the area. My third companion (isn't that what the word literally means? - someone with whom we share bread) is another man about my own age (early fifties), who also has some sort of disability, but continues to hold down a job (as a dishwasher in a nearby reastaurant).

That's another interesting thing about living here, which is that median age is probably somewhere in the eighties, and the women tend to outnumber the men by a ratio of almost 3:1. Yet for the most part we sit at "same-sex" tables. Part of the reason for that I suspect is just that there aren't enough men to go around, but I'm also beginning to wonder whether or not we all just prefer it that way. Not that the conversation around our table tends to be that lively; mostly (when we talk at all) we talk about the food, the weather, what the doctor had to say, democratic politics (the two retired postal workers are both very loyal Democrats), or the latest program on the History Channel. If we're lucky one of the postal workers will sometimes share anecdotes from his service in the Second World War delivering the mail in France. They're all about cultural interaction; nothing "shoot 'em up" at all. But still they changed his life in a life-defining kind of way.

These guys are an inspiration to me. They wake up every morning in pain, limp through their daily activities, eat their meals, read follow the political scene, visit with their families, all the time knowing that most of their life is now behind them, But even so, each new day is also a gift from the universe, to be savored in all its intensity and brightness for as long as god continues to give them.

And it just tickles me so

2008-12-02T21:27:00.002-05:00

...when they call me "Father." It's doesn't happen that often, so that when it does it's still a bit of a surprise; but it happens often enough now that I'm kind of learning to like the sound of it. Father, Brother, Sister...such familiar, familial language in an attempt to capture and express a profound commitment to a very special kind of relationship...although mostly I suspect it just happens out of childhood habit, an unforgotten token of reverence and respect.

Much more rarely am I addressed as "rabbi," although in many ways that is a title I would much more proudly embrace. I honestly don't feel like I'm smart enough to be a real rabbi, although now that I'm into my third decade as a UU minister and with a PhD in hand, I'm starting to feel like maybe I could sit in the same room and listen attentively. The Hebrew alone would kill me, although I suppose If I'd been raised with it, it would be different. And no doubt I romanticize the role, just as I'm sure many people romanticize my job: a room full of books, and a life not only devoted to scholarship, but a lifestyle of Devotion AND Scholarship -- and study itself as a form of devotion, or even prayer. I'm drawn as well to the idea of a true Sabbath, with no work of any kind...not even to light a fire. How different from the "Day of Football" so many Americans observe on Sundays in this season, with its associated gambling, drinking and snacking, and hours squandered in front of a television.

Brother & Sister have so many other connotations: the monastic life, or an hermetic one; or perhaps simply participation in an "unprogramed" silent Quaker-style meeting. What does it say about me that the kinds of religious life that appeal to me most (besides the one I've already chosen for myself) are ones that would put me out of a job? Can't explain it, and don't want to try.

In any event, HERE is an amusing little something that I found on another site, filled out for myself and posted over at The Eclectic Cleric, which was my original blog when I first got started doing all this back in 2006. Wasn't all that sure of what I was doing way back then, and I'm still not all that sure now. But since then I've started and stopped perhaps a dozen blogs, including ones for my mom's memorial service and an archive of my letters from Denmark, sermon-blogs for Nantucket, Carlisle, and here at First Parish, a pick-up basketball blog (Obi Wannabe Kobe) which I described as "Old School reflections on the Meaning of Life, Popular Culture, and the Essential Wisdom of Pick-Up Basketball," and of course now this cancer blog, which has accumulated both more readers and more posts than any of the others in so much shorter a time. But I guess there's nothing like a real human interest aspect to gather attention. And this blog certainly has both....

A Red Christmas Cardinal

2008-12-01T10:29:00.004-05:00

From time to time I need to remind myself that I don't really need to publish an entire dissertation here each time I post; that sometimes it's enough just to make a quick observation and pass on. For example, lovely service yesterday for the first Sunday in Advent: a comfortably full house, a frisky spirit, fantastic music, and a guest speaker too, Karen Foley, who we invited in at the last minute because people were worried after last weekend about whether or not I was going to be physically up to preaching yesterday. As it turned out, I was feeling fine, and am now looking forward to next Sunday with eager anticipation. Meanwhile, yesterday I helped lead the rest of the service (and especially the Announcements, Candlesharing, and Offertory), while Karen carried the more liturgical/"spiritual" elements (the prayer, lesson and message...plus invocation and benediction) and contributed yet another voice to the expanding chorus of colleagues who have come forward to support me during my illness

I also received a very nice gift yesterday, inspired by a sermon I preached a year ago. Here's the manuscript LINK -- see if you can figure out what the gift might have been....

Food, Family, Football II

2008-11-30T13:24:00.002-05:00

Well, Oregon State's Rose Bowl aspirations are not to be satisfied -- or at least not by their own hand. The Ducks came into the Heart of the Valley and gave the poor Beavs a 65-38 spanking right there in their own back yard. Ouch! The Beavers can still play in Pasadena on New Year's Day if UCLA manages to upset USC next week, but odds are that the Beavers will be playing in El Paso's Sun Bowl next month, USC will meet Penn State in the Rose Bowl, and Oregon is probably now bowl-bound as well, although I haven't the slightest idea where.

But enough sports. It was great to see my family for the holiday, to share that special holiday meal and even to share the four hours in the Verizon store on what I thought would be a 45 minute errand. But I finally think I have all my phone and internet problems resolved...at least for now...assuming I can find the time on Monday to do all the actual software installation and synchronization. But I will. No Worries.

And for those of you who missed it yesterday, here is the bird's-eye view of Husky Stadium and (more accurately) Union Bay where the boats raft out on game day starting from the small marina on the left-hand side of the photograph.

Food, Family, Football

2008-11-29T13:38:00.006-05:00

[Earlier this week, I posted this comment to a friend's much more popular (and therefore more widely read) blog, "Beauty Tips for Ministers:]

...[my family and]...I have been going “holiday lite” (as opposed to Holiday Lights!) for years. I’m bothered by how the individual holidays have lost their religious distinctiveness, and instead become kind of a stinky amalgam of shopping, consumption, gluttony, overindulgence, and other such nonsense. An annual Holiday letter, two or three gettogethers with friends and family, and the traditional Xmas/UU holiday services such as I find them: here a Cider & Cornbread Communion, an annnual pageant (created by Vincent Silliman, a former minister of this church, and now in its 80th+ year), a candlelight service, and an annual New Year’s burning of regrets. In years past I’ve bought food baskets for my relatives, buts, but may do something different this year reflecting my disease.

The one thing I miss is a good annual Holiday football rivalry! Whether it’s been Harvard - Yale,or the Ducks and the Beavers, or the Cougars and the Dawgs, for me Thanksgiving in particular has traditionally been about food, family, and football…a trinity deeply grounded (if you read up on these things) in the historical evolution of the holiday itself.

Comment by The Eclectic Cleric — November 26, 2008 #

Last week's "Apple Cup" did little to feed the hunger. Apparently this was only the fifth time anywhere that two college football teams with a combination of 20 losses have met since the formation of the NCAA, and the fact that it took overtime for the two teams to settle the result (since neither seemed capable of losing it outright in just four quarters) simply seemed like "par for the course." And the Seahawks v. Cowboys Thanksgiving Day showdown wasn't much help in taking the edge off either. But at least I could tell it was a football game going on, which was some comfort.

The best thing about Washington football has always been the opportunity to "tailgate on the poop-deck," which is to say take your boat to Portage Bay, raft on to the huge FLEET of boats that assemble there on game day, then make your way across the raft at gametime and enjoy. Hell, now that I think about it, I wonder whether you even have to ATTEND - just join the raft, enjoy the party, and then when the games starts put on the radio and go down in the cabin and write. Something to think about, in the HIGHLY unlikely possibility that I ever move back to Seattle, am living on a boat, still serving a church, and decide to become a local Husky football fan again. I mean, once you were actually PART of the raft, it would be awfully hard to get you out again...

THE Game last Saturday, which featured Harvard's 10-0 domination of Yale (on what I believe was the 125th iteration of their competition) was apparently respectable enough. But still, it had none of the makings of the classic 1968 game featured in a recent documentary on the subject, where a til-then undefeated home team (Harvard) came from way behind to score two touchdowns and two two-point conversions, which eventually lead to the headlines: "Harvard Beats Yale 29-29" and "Old Schools Tie." And don't get me wrong. I really enjoy Ivy League football, and if I could have simply disciplined myself to get my sermons written before Saturday I would have bought season tickets and enjoyed EVERY game the Crimson played (Hoop too. Probably even Women's Hoop.). But now it's a little late for that.

The real problem with IVY league sports (not that it's really a "problem") is that very few of those kids have ever really played on a field like this. This is Ratliff Stadium in Odessa Texas, home of the Permian Panthers MOJO and scene of the book, film and (presumably) television series "Friday Night Lights." Below is the empty parking lot as you see it in the daytime, just to give you a little different sense of the place. A lot of these Texas Schoolboy Football teams could blow undefeated through the Ivy League without breaking a sweat (OK, they would sweat. That is, perspire.).

I recently saw an interesting article by a former Harvard student who was talking about how difficult it is to get in to Harvard (in terms of the competitive admissions ratio, at least), and wonder what was he going to do with his life now that he had already accomplished the most difficult thing the most difficult thing in it at the age of nineteen...only to discover that admission to Harvard merely opened the door to all SORTS of other interesting and even more difficult challenges.

But many of these West Texas High School football players really HAVE seen the best years of their lives by the time they turn nineteen. That was the whole point of the book (Friday Night Lights) -- how do you BACK to being an oil roughneck after you've been worshipped like a God?

At least this year's Oregon/Oregon State game (I can't bear calling it "the Civil War." Maybe "Warfare on the Willamette?") has some meaning. The Beavers are undefeated this year at home, and if they can beat the Ducks there in Corvallis they will be going to the Rose Bowl for the first time in a long time (1965: Michigan 34, Oregon St 7). If they don't, then USC is playing in Pasadena (yawn. just another home game), and both the Ducks and the Beavers are bargaining for bowl bids somewhere else. So sorry Mike Belotti -- I'm pulling this year for the kids from the Heart of the Valley. And since I have degrees from both schools, I can't be wrong in that either. I know it's been a long time for the Ducks too (1995: Penn St 38, Oregon 20). But at least that's more recently than New Years Day, 1920, which was the year Harvard handed the Ducks their tailfeathers, 7-6.

Vintage Gas (from the UK)

2008-11-29T05:48:00.008-05:00

I'm not sure whether this guy is trying to tell her that her money's no good here, or that she needs a ration coupon before he'll fill her tank, but until I found the Germans he seemed like a strong candidate for the other Gas Post. Of course, the dialog doesn't really come across in translation. Just what would the German for "fill-in" BE anyway, and would the homonym still work? One would probably have to make up an entirely new word, which would change the joke. (Just like the image did anyway, although it also helped me find it. Still: "Ich will Ihren Benzinmeister sein?" I don't think so....)

These other photos are also all from the UK, only current times. Just in case you happen to be living overseas, and want to enjoy a little meaningless recreational driving, as so many of us STILL do here in the States....

A filling station in Wales, with two great vintage gas pumps right out front.

This vintage pump is located in Cornwall. Just what is a "Gig Club" anyway? Anything to do with small boats?

This Filling Station is in North Yorkshire. You can almost see the Scottish influence, in the location of the American-style "Picnic table" around the corner to the left as you exit the shop to return to the motorway....

Happy Motoring, Everyone!

GAS SPOTTED FOR UNDER TWO DOLLARS IN PORTLAND MAINE

2008-11-29T05:24:00.007-05:00

"Good Morning! Welcome to The Filling Station. My name's Phil, and I'll be your fill-in today. Fill 'er up?"

My Haunted Home

2008-11-27T13:50:00.005-05:00

And it's starting to happen, just as I always knew it would. I can hear her rustling dogtags tags as though she were right in the next room, shaking her collar. Or hear what seems to be her heavy breathing as she sleeps, and sometimes I even think that I've just caught a gimpse of her in the corner of my eye as I'm entering or leaving a room. And ALWAYS my left eye, it seems; never the other.

Sometimes I just wake up in the middle of the night, and feel her presence nearby.

And for thirteen years it always was....

And then, of course, two months ago now we finally had to say goodbye. She waits for me now at the foot of the Rainbow Bridge, and someday sooner or later we shall join each other there, and once again be united in the Spirit as we cross over together into whatever awaits us next.

Does that sound too conventional? Almost naive and childish, like pie in the sky when we die? A boy and his dog, frolicking again on a sundrenched meadow, running and playing fetch on an endless summer day, and feeling young and happy and alive again....

Or maybe it's a beach, and the muddy tideflats of a place like Camano Island? A boy and his dog in the bathtub, watching the dirt stream off of her and leaving me only with a pouting, but clean-smelling pooch with shampooed, fluffy fur and dog-tired from her romp?

What does it matter? I am so thankful for those years, and if that's the most comforting measure of eternity I can summon up, why should I criticize or judge it?

Instead I thank God for the great gift of this animal. As I have written here before, I am a better person now as a result of my relationship with this dog, and my decision to bring her into my life and care for her. To feed her, shelter her, groom her and take her to and from the vet: to be her "master" (or perhaps, more accurately, the leader of the "pack"), no matter how childlike it may seem.

Happy Thanksgiving everyone!

a note on the photo -- this picture was taken in 2001 while I was on my way from Nantucket to my first Thanksgiving with my brother in Connecticut. It was seven years ago, ten weeks after 9/11....half a lifetime for Parker, as well as the year my nephew was born. How much water has flown under the bridge since then....

The good news is, the fire station is just across the street

2008-11-24T15:45:00.007-05:00

Long time readers of this blog will immediately know why this front page story from the Portlaned Press Herald (albeit below the fold) is upsetting to me. Just before my illness, Monday night "Stump Trivia" at Bingas Wingas had become a fixture in my life, and once I was released from the hospital I continued to play as often as I could...which meant basically whenever I could get a few friends to play along. My brother got to be so infatuated with it that he even started to stay over a day on his weekend visits when he could, so that we could play together.

In fact, most of my friends who experienced Trivia started to feel a little enthusiastic about it. When my good friend Chris was here last summer visiting from Seattle with his family, we played together two weeks in a row (the second week with his daughters), and actually won prized of hats and tee shirts for them to take back to the west coast with them. But my best experience was playing with both my brothers and my sister-in-law when they were here visiting in June. It was amazing to me how quickly they recognized the strategy of the game, and how easily we settled into a working routine of play with each of us understanding our roles in processing the questions and generating either the right answer (or on occasion a correct guess). It was like we'd been playing together for months, even if it was only the first time any of them had played at all.

More recently I've been playing with a small group of church members, either with or without my brother. And I've lost track now of how many times I've won prizes playing this silly game. My favorite prizes were always free Portland Sea Dogs tickets, followed by "Binga's Bucks" and Bingas gear (i.e. hats and shirts). There often seemed to be plenty of beer paraphernalia available from our local breweries as well, but it always somehow seemed to evade me, Likewise, one of the traditions of game is to chose a different, unique, and sometimes a little risque name for the team; may favorite was (and remains) carpe scrotum (which I understand has now been picked up as a permanent moniker by another trivia team playing another night in a different bar) It means exactly what you would think it would mean knowing that carpe diem means "seize the day!"

Bingas has been important in my life in a few other ways as well. I was eating lunch there one day with my father when it occurred to me how annoying it was to have to reach up over my head just to eat a wing, and knowing that I was eventually going to have to climb up on a stool in order to preach from the high pulpit again, I decided to start small and see If I could manage to climb up into a bar stool first. I could, and so you might well say that my return to the ministry started from my decision to sit first at a bar (rather than the other way around).

But the other thing I always appreciated about Bingas (at least before I was diagnosed) was that it was somewhere close to my home where I could always get a quick bite to eat and watch a game without being immediately identified by what I did for a living, rather than simply by the fact that I was a "regular." In Ray Oldenburg's terms, it was a "Great, Good Place" -- a Third Place (apart from home or the office) where I could relax and "be myself" without always needing to be my ENTIRE self. Where I would be recognized with a nod of the head by the other regulars, and enjoy many of the pleasures of being in community -- good company and lively conversation, for instance -- and still go back home in the evening and back to work in the morning without worrying too much about what went on there in my absence. Pubs, cafes, bookstores, even hair salons all share some of these characteristics -- as can urban churches when the "chemistry" is right and the ministry of "Radical Hospitality" is correctly understood. Of course, churches can be much, much more than this as well. But being "a great, good place" for a few hours on a Sunday morning (or perhaps a Wednesday evening) isn't such a bad thing for a church to do well. And at places like Bingas, I also started to learn a little more about what that looked like.

Incommunicado and Aching to feel better

2008-11-23T16:42:00.007-05:00

And if you're wondering why I've been virtually incommunicado for nearly a week, it's because I have been, and I'm not even sure if I can remember all the detail about how it come about. Relatively painless chemo last Monday (I think), and Tuesday and Wednesday were pretty painless as well. But I was starting to feel a little less chipper by the time Thursday rolled around, and Friday I was a basket case. Part of the problem was that at some point my SMTP host stopped recognizing my outgoing mail, but more to the point is that my post-chemo side-effects suddenly shot of the page...so now I have over 152 unread/unanswered emails in my in-box, and none of my temporary "work-arounds" seen to being even close to catching up. So if you have a solution for me, give me a call -- or send me an e-mail in ALL CAPS (so I'll be able to hear it over the "noise" of my box)

Meanwhile though, desperately struggling to get my physical pain under control, which has now become so excruciating that I actually had to drop out of today's service, and have booked a substitute for next Sunday. And believe it or not, his is all I can manage for today. It's funny. When things are going smoothly, life seems so flexible, and I feel like I can go on forever. And when things take a turn for the worse, well...I'm sure you get the point. Now I'm just going to try to find a happy picture to post, and see whether that turns things around...rather than running them further aground.

The Hurrieder I Go...

2008-11-14T19:48:00.007-05:00

the Behinder I get.

And this is really getting to be not much fun at all. The pile of crap on my desk just keeps getting higher and higher, and I feel trapped in this terrible double, triple, quadruple bind of knowing I need (and wanting) to slow down, and to eliminate a lot of the extraneous distraction from my life, yet still feeling like there is so much more that I want and NEED to do, and not being able to keep up...whether by working smarter, or harder, or longer, or by delegating the "non-essential" tasks to others, or even by "dumping" altogether the things in my life which are neither urgent nor important to me.

If anything, I feel like I need to find MORE time in my life: to read, to meditate, to exercise and pursue my physical therapy, or even just to nap and take it easy...something I seem to have been able to do far more easily when I felt healthy than for some strange reason I am able to now.

At least I did have one nice moment of inspiration today though, when I saw a version of this in the newly-released fall "Forum," which is Seventy-Five State Street's Resident magazine. Afterwards found several other variants on the internet, and since no one seems to be willing to claim the original as their own, I tweeked it a little until I got a version that suited me, and have now become "Anonymous" again myself. (Mark my words, this will probably turn out to be another Fulghum "Kindergarten" kind of tale, but until it does....)

[by Anonymous]

If you can start the day without caffeine;
If you can always be cheerful,
ignoring aches and pains.
If you can resist complaining,
and boring people with your troubles.
If you can eat the same food every day
and still be grateful for it.

If you can understand when your loved ones
are too busy to give you any time.
If you can take criticism and blame without resentment,
And overlook those times when those you love
take it out on you when,
through no fault of yours,
something goes amiss.

If you can ignore a friend's limited education
and never correct him,
If you can resist treating a rich friend
better than a poor one,
If you can face the world
without lies and deceit,
If you can conquer tension
without medical help,

If you can relax without liquor,
If you can sleep without the aid of drugs,
If you can honestly say that deep in your heart
you harbor no prejudice
against creed, color, religion or politics....

Then, my friend, you are almost as good a person as your dog!

Warm Beer & Cold Pizza

2008-11-13T09:42:00.007-05:00

Once a month the Activities Department here at the Assisted/Independent Living Center where I currently reside hosts a Social Gathering for men in the South Commons Living Room. There are generally about a dozen of us who show up to eat cold pizza (typically sausage and onion, but sometimes also pepperoni or plain cheese) and drink warm beer (yesterday Bud Light, with a single Silver Bullet tucked in among them...but sometimes also Heinekens or something from one of the local craft breweries: Shipyard Ale, Gearys Winter Ale, or the Long Trail Pale Ale). And then there is always Ginger Ale (and sometimes even Root Beer) for the teetotalers among us, one of whom has been attending AA for over 50 years.

But moving right along, yesterday I attended this pathetic but well-intended effort to create male camaraderie because on Monday I learned that my most recent CT scan shows that the primary tumor in my right lung has once again started to grow, which means that NEXT Monday I begin my second regimen of chemotherapy. This time I'll be taking two drugs named Olympta and Avastin, probably only once every three weeks for a total of 4-6 cycles, which may then be followed by a course of treatment with yet a third drug, Tarceva, which is an oral medicine rather than an IV infusion. But a lot of this is yet to be determined, since what we do next really depends upon how well what we do first actually does.

Even so, this news was obviously a big disappointment. I've always known that there was more chemo waiting for me somewhere down the road, but I'd anticipated it starting up later this spring, and being able to tiptoe through the holidays without letting cancer become too big a factor. But apparently that's not the way it's going to be; instead, it looks like I'm going to be celebrating Thanksgiving and Christmas and Hanukkah, (a.k.a. Feast of Lights, Festival of lights, Feast of Dedication, Chanukah, Chanukkah, Hanukah); Yule; Saturnalia; Shabe-Yalda; Bodhi Day (a.k.a. Rohatsu); and whatever else may happen to stumble along my path with a tube in my chest, rather than painted blue and dancing around a bonfire in praise of the Huntress, the Horned King, and the Lord of Misrule.

Or to put it another way, all I asked for was a little wassail and some figgy pudding, and instead I'm left to make due with warm beer and cold pizza. Bud Light, fer crissakes. I hardly know what to say next. To memories of better Christmases past! And the hope of many Christmases yet to come...

Nominations for First Pooch

2008-11-08T10:41:00.008-05:00

And I'm a little embarrassed to say that I've gotten so carried away with this conversation about what kind of puppy the Obamas should acquire that I've been neglectful of many of my other "duties" -- not the BIG ones, of course, but little things, like keeping up with this blog and answering my routine e-mail. Instead, I've been surfing the internet for photos and other images suitable for posting...even though I know most of you would much rather hear from me in my own words.

Here's an interesting photo, for example, of a Boston Terrier in a stare-down with a Siberian Husky. Looks like it could be a poster for a big football game between Boston University and the University of Washington, or even a more mundane basketball showdown between BU and nearby UConn. But the truth is, it's just a random photo -- significant to me only in the sense that I am indeed a Washington Husky (undergrad), and my very first dog (or perhaps I should say -- my very first "Dog of my Own") was a stray Alaskan Malmute mix (i.e. a "Mutt") who showed up at Juniper Beach the summer after I'd graduated from High School.

We immediately hit it off, and he didn't have to follow me home because we were already there. I named him "Foster" -- in part because he was indeed a "foster" dog, in part because he reminded me of a character in a novel I was reading that summer (Richard Brautigan's The Abortion), but also because he reminded me of a sophmore girl who had likewise followed me around for most of my Senior year hoping, I think, that I would ask her out!
The very first dog our family owned when I was a kid growing up was a dachshund named Gunner. I remember "Gunny" as a mean little dog who barked constantly, slept most of the day (when he wasn't barking), and who didn't care much for little boys who pulled his tail (that was, after all, the safer end of the dog), played too rough, or got between him and his food dish. But my dad adored that little black wiener dog, and he lived with us through most of my childhood, until he finally lost the use of his rear legs and had to be "put to sleep" (as my father so gently put it).

Over the years though, I've developed a whole new respect for Doxies. And critter who is bred and trained to crawl face-first into a badger's den and kill them has my respect, which is EXACTLY why the Dachs ("badger") Hund ('dog" or "hound," - duh) was created in the first place. Of course, nowadays they do all sorts of more creative things, including performing in the The Greatest Show on Earth! They're a lot smarter than you might think, despite their admittedly ridiculous appearance.

I'm not actually suggesting that the Obamas should adopt a dachshund. It actually sounds to me like the Labradoodle (and, more specifically, a Goldendoodle) is both a great choice and the front runner, and who am I to argue with polling data at this point? I'm certain they will be very happy with whatever dog they adopt, regardless of whether it turns out to be a purebred champion or rescued mutt.

On a similar note, people keep asking me about when I'm going to get another dog of my own. And the answer, of course, is I don't know -- although I'm not really in any big hurry to take steps in that direction either. Parker was a fantastic companion to me for over 13 years, and I miss her company more than I can say. But before I commit to another dog, I need to have a little bit better sense of how much longer I'm going to be around to hold up MY end of the covenant. Not to put too fine a point on it. In the meantime though, I am learning to take great pleasure from "other people's dogs," and in sharing memories of Dogs I Have Known and Loved with other like-minded souls. Besides, my new totem animal is now a Giraffe -- and I've decided to take a little time to explore what that means before taking another "non-spiritual" critter into my life. But that's another post. Hope you've all enjoyed this one.

We Can, We Did, and Then Some

2008-11-06T20:40:00.005-05:00

And like just about everyone else I know, I am very excited about the election -- or at least very relieved to have it over. Or ALMOST over -- still waiting to hear whether Al Franken is going to be able to pull out a victory out there in Minnesota, which I sure hope he does. It's a strange coincidence, but it just so happens that Mr. Franken is married to the daughter of one of the sisters of one of the fellows I eat breakfast with every morning, so we keep hearing the updates about Jim's "nephew" every day as we sit down with our coffee (which is nice). Hard to believe though that people are already speculating about whether or not Sarah Palin will be making a run in 2012. Trust me America -- by 2012 Sarah Palin will scarcely be a footnote in a Texas-approved High School History textbook.

Did a very stupid thing today --well, more absent-minded really. But the middle of the day came and went, and for some unknown reason I simply forgot to take my mid-day meds. Forgot about them all the live-long day, until I finally got home from the Membership Committee meeting tonight at a quarter of eight (feeling terribly flush, puny, under the weather, and not quite myself)...discovered my mistake, and took them then instead. Now I'm starting to feel a little better, but still nowhere near as good as I would LIKE to feel...plus I'm dead tired, yet kinda wanting to stay up late enough to get close to back on schedule again.

Meanwhile, here's an image I would like to hold on to for a long, long time. Because I could sure use a little bipartisan peace and quiet for the next couple of years or so....

The Society for Utopian Studies

2008-11-02T22:33:00.003-05:00

And I know this is supposed to be a "cancer" blog, but it really has pretty much evolved into a "life, the universe and everything" kinda blog -- the blog that the original "Eclectic Cleric" was supposed to have been when I first started writing it back in 2006. And I guess that's OK with me for now as well -- my tumors are essentially dormant, and God only knows when they'll decide to wake up. [And as far as I'm concerned, they can stay dormant as long as they like! You know what they say: let sleeping tumors lie] Still, the medical part of my life story is actually pretty boring at the moment. I have relatively good pain control; my fatigue is getting markedly less severe; and my strength and mobility seem to improve almost daily.

So instead I have a panoply of lesser symptoms/side effects which I never really noticed before: dry mouth, hoarseness, and shortness of breath for starters; occasional blurred vision, intermittent ringing in my ears and other hearing difficulties; and finally bruising, edema, and various other little skin things associated with the blood thinner I've been taking to treat my deep vein thrombosis. The weight gain issue, of course, has gone from being mildly humorous and amusing to a pretty serious source of distress and annoyance for me -- taking that weight off is going to be an awful lot harder than putting in on was...but who in their right mind wants to read about that?

Likewise, after Tuesday the Election will be over too. Or at least I HOPE it will be over, and that an unambiguous victory with a powerful electoral mandate will have gone to the first African American President in American History. That would certainly give me plenty to write about..but it might grow tedious for those who do not share my own peculiar political sentiments.

Meanwhile though, I've actually had a pretty full week this week. The Society for Utopian Studies was hosting its 33rd annual conference here in Portland at the Holiday Inn By The Bay, and my friend Diana (who just finished her PhD in Comp Lit at the University of Virginia) was here in town to present a paper in a panel called "Embodying Utopia: Should Utopians Have Perfect Bodies?" Her paper was about "The Immortal Cyborgs in Abre los ojos by Alexandro Amenabar" and was almost completely incomprehensible to me except for a great, off-the-cuff quote from Donna Haraway about how "I'd rather be a Cyborg than a Goddess." I was more taken by some of the broader ideas that emerged in the conversation between the panelists that took place after the presentations about the differences between utopian imagery of "bodies plus" (i.e. eugenic manipulation, or certain cyborg technologies) and "bodies minus" ("virtual" bodies in the forms of avatars, or disembodied consciousness) and their various dystopian varients (Brave New World, Blade Runner, the Matrix).

It was a little easier for me to keep up with the panel on "Transcendentalisms Old and New" which was mostly about Thoreau's "Pocket Utopia" at Walden, except for one paper about utopian imagery of Wilderness in Thoreau and John Muir, and the development of "Eco-Tourism." And there was also a panel on "Geriatopia" and the use of Utopian Imagery in the marketing of Retirement Communities which I found kind of intriguing given my current living situation. But I think what I liked mostly about the conference was how profoundly interdisciplinary the Society is, and how much fun it was to catch up with Diana, who has just started a tenure-track job out in Ohio, and still isn't certain where she belongs in a state that is "High in the Middle and Round at Both Ends."

The Church Service Sunday was Día de los Muertos, and didn't leave much left over for me to do once I had welcomed folks to church and greeted the newcomers. We only do it once a year, and so once again we were all over the place liturgically -- the preacher actually skipped over her sermon in order to get to the Offering, which is almost unimaginable to me! (She did eventually go back and include it, and her message itself was actually quite inspiring). Early in my career I routinely skipped over the offering in order to get right to what I thought was the "main event" (i.e. me preaching), which always made the treasurer a little nervous. But I don't think it ever would have occurred to me to do it the other way around. Taught the first "New UU Inquirers Class" after the coffee hour, with two more sessions to follow on the next two Sundays. Had eight turn out for that as well, not including myself and the other co-facilitator, or one of the participant's Golden Retriever.

Anyway, I guess that's about all for now. I'm very happy to be feeling a little better, but I worry about how quickly that could turn around without warning. I'm trying to pace myself and take it easy, but I'm also trying to push myself a little as well, in the hope of continuing to make progress on my strength and stamina and mobility. And mostly, I'm just trying to make the best of those "good days" that the Goddess gives me, since I'm not really sure I WANT to be, say, a 600 lb cyborg in a motorized chair living "the life of the mind" at the expense of sensation and physical pleasure.

But that's a topic for another day.

Living the dual reality....

2008-10-28T20:16:00.015-04:00

Like a lot of folks in the UUniverse, I imagine, I tuned in yesterday to "Fresh Air" on NPR so that I could listen to Terry Gross interview Forrest Church about his most recent book Love & Death: My Journey Through the Valley of the Shadow. The interview itself was no great shakes, although, in all honesty, I SO admire Forrest and the quality of the work he has done over the years that it would be very difficult for me to be any more impressed than I already am. And there was at least one part of the interview that I liked so much that I jotted it down, although I'm sure I've heard it before and it came almost as an aside -- when he described God as a "life force, that which is greater than all, and yet present in each." To which I would add "and in whose presence we are reminded, and made to realize once again, that we are part of a greater whole, and still whole within ourselves."

Hearing Forrest's interview came at the tail end of a pretty long day that also included my own monthly medical check-up earlier that same morning, and the rather distressing news that I have gained ANOTHER 15 pounds in the past four weeks, and for the first time in my life now tip the scale at over 300 lbs. This is getting ridiculous! Any yet...

Well, part of the problem really is body image. Because unless I really concentrate, when I look in the mirror I don't see this:

or this:

or even this:

What I DO see are these other guys down below -- the guy that I was BEFORE I got cancer, and suddenly had to accept the limitations that life imposes as honest-to-God realities, and not just in the abstract. It was easy to gain this weight: the food is free, it tastes real good, there's plenty of it and not much else going on in my life to keep me entertained at the moment. Add that to the fact that I get virtually no exercise, and...well, four pounds a week is about an extra 1600 calories a day. So I really have been eating for two!

Sitting on my scrawny rear and showing off my youthful curls, c. 1975

Parker was still a puppy, just before my 40th birthday

Helping my nephew Michael figure out Windows (or maybe he was helping me). Michael is now a student at Washington State University, where he plays clarinet in the marching band.

At least I did see the Nutritionist yesterday as well, which was a small help -- although (as I told her) I already KNOW HOW to eat more healthy than I do. So it really is mostly a matter of making up my mind to do it, and then taking that commitment seriously and sticking with it over time. Make, Take, Stick...there's GOT to be a better mantra than THAT!

The Luxury of a Free Saturday

2008-10-25T16:03:00.005-04:00

And it's not the extra free hour on Sunday that makes a week out of the pulpit so refreshing. It's the extra 14 hours+ I get back on Saturday, not to mention the time during the rest of the week when I don't have to think about what I'm going to say on Sunday morning. Try as I might to change the habit over the decades, I have always been a Saturday sermon writer...and no matter how early in the week I begin the task, it seems as though I am almost always still working on my manuscript right up until the last minute anyway. I suppose part of the reason for this is that preaching in my mind is very similar to journalism, and to the daily work of journaling I try to practice as an informal spiritual discipline. Almost all my sermons seem to have their start in my diary anyway. And you certainly wouldn't expect people to sit patiently and listen to someone read to them from a month-old newspaper.

Of course, the other metaphor for preaching is "feeding the flock." And that understanding also lends itself quite conveniently to the understanding of fresh ingredients freshly prepared. But lately I've been working back in the other direction as well. Because good writing is generally the product of diligent re-writing, my writing teachers always told me. The ingredients may be fresh, but the recipe can always be tested and tweaked through practice and experimentation until it is "just right." And what I've realized is that I have a unique opportunity right now to return to some of my favorite material, and give it the kind of polish and scrutiny that the hectic press of preaching every week AND doing all the other things that Parish Ministers are called to do has always prevented me from doing in the past.

Meanwhile, last night I dreamed again of Parker. Not the frail, uncomfortable failing Parker of her final days, but Frisky Parker who chased balls tirelessly and ran flat out with the big dogs across the mud flats at Juniper Beach -- my little Boston Terrorist, who feared nothing, and refused to back down to any other dog no matter how intimidated she should have been. In fact, she often frightened me with her stubborn courage. But the thing I'll miss most about Parker is that she made friends easily, and that almost everyone who met her seemed to love her almost immediately. Or to put it another way, Parker was a babe magnet, who could elicit all sorts of oohs and ahhhs from attractive, desirable strangers who would never give ME a second glance.

Porcupine Balls

2008-10-23T19:01:00.003-04:00

And because of my busy schedule yesterday, I had to delay until today my special birthday meal here at the Assisted Living cafeteria. It's the practice here to cook the birthday boy or girl whatever they want on their birthday -- a policy which (when I first was informed about it a few weeks ago, so I could make a decision about what I wanted to eat) seemed an awful lot like the last meal of a condemned inmate, but is actually a very nice personal touch in an environment that always flirts with the danger of becoming just another impersonal social institution.

And who knows? I don't mean to sound morbid or anything, but around here it is not an entirely unjustified assumption to believe that ANY given birthday might actually be one's last. And this is true even for someone like me, who (yes, counting this birthday) is STILL 41 years younger than BOTH of the gentlemen with whom I share a table at mealtimes! When I realized this, I decided that maybe I wanted to make a little bit bigger deal of celebrating my birthday this year after all. Which means I'm going to KEEP on celebrating it all the way through the weekend, rather than just letting it fade back into obscurity.

Because I know you're curious, the meal I requested was Porcupine Balls, with fresh French cut green beans and a white birthday cake with raspberry filling for dessert. These were a great comfort food from my childhood, and to my great surprise they came out just the way I remembered them. The green beans were a big disappointment though -- actually, they were MIA entirely, and replaced by broccoli that was barely recognizable as such, and had certainly seen much better days. But the cake was magnificent! Good healthy slices for my messmates and myself, and one for my fridge for later -- then I cut what was left into much more manageable pieces, and wheeled myself around the cafeteria serving out slices to whoever wanted one. Worked out a little like the loaves and fishes -- and was able to serve the last person in the room the last piece of cake.

And while I'm on the subject of birthdays, I was reminded again today that I actually share a birthday with another very famous (or should I say Imfamous?) Tim, who celebrated his last birthday over a dozen years ago now. Here's a little something about him that I wrote at the time.

"THE MOST DANGEROUS MAN IN AMERICA"

ENJOY!

Early Dawn

2008-10-22T20:11:00.011-04:00

***

And it always seems to be those first few early moments in the morning, or the last few hours of the day, that give me the most trouble and cause me the most pain, and leave me feeling more isolated, vulnerable and alone than I do at other times of the day. And perhaps it is because I AM more alone, and isolated, and vulnerable in those moments -- so that NOT to feel that way would be out of touch with reality. Life doesn't always need to be that complicated.

Meanwhile, for some reason this painting has come to mean a lot to me over the years -- it's part of the collection of the Art Museum in Portland, Oregon, and I used to drop by to view it whenever I could, although ironically at the moment I can't even conjure up the artist's name. I think what I like best are the expressions on the three faces: the pondering, contemplative gaze of the sleepless man, and the innocent yet trusting vulnerability of his sleeping lover, and of course the trusting innocence of the dog sleeping peacefully at their feet...so perfectly camouflaged by the blanket covering the couple's legs that at first s/he is barely discernable. The dog's loyalty is unconditional: s/he is innocent, s/he is safe, s/he trusts. But the woman's sentiments are a mystery. Who knows how she will feel upon waking? And so her lover watches relentlessly, seeking a clue to her ultimate fidelity, or perhaps even weighing his own. A night of ecstatic passion -- but in the early dawn, how much suffering will follow this experience of standing outside of one's self in order to become at one with the other? No wonder the poor guy can't sleep! Maybe we all should be a little more like our dogs....

The 22nd of October (today) was/is my 52nd birthday. Tried to keep it pretty low-key, and for the most part I've pretty well succeeded. There are some years when I really do feel like making a big deal out of it, and maybe I'm being a little bit selfish not to feel that way more often...because frankly most years I would just as soon spend my birthday by myself, or perhaps in the company of one other special person. But this year that wasn't really an option, so I just kind of went with the flow: breakfast here, 10 am staff meeting at the church, monthly noon lasagna lunch with the ROMEOs (Retired Old Men Eating Out), then a couple of hours in my study at the Eastland with my computer guy, as we updated, upgraded, and backed up some of my old computer equipment there. And then finally, back to church for the first of our new mid-week "Eventide" services. All very nice, every comfortable -- especially the couple of hours in my study surrounded by my books. It inspired me once againto get them cataloged and in order, so that I can read to my heart's content on any subject that catches my eye that day.
This is what it looked like the LAST time I did that.

Meanwhile, if there's anyone out there who is still feeling fortunate after loosing (and gaining and loosing and gaining again) obscene amounts of money (on paper) these last few weeks, and wishes to express their gratitude through a random act of extreme generosity, I still wouldn't mind receiving something like THIS for my birthday.

OK, it was just a thought. A completely random thought....

Hummm. And is that the dawn, or the sunset out there?

A Dog for All Seasons

2008-10-22T00:10:00.000-04:00

The Adorable Parker: Queen of all She Surveys...

She always enjoyed it when I came home from Red Bones after ordering the beef ribs. One of her favorite treats.

Parker on a VERY cold January morning.

She enjoyed this time of year much, much better....
he

Nosy Parker

Cosy Parker

effin clowns...

2008-10-21T18:26:00.009-04:00

***

Another UU cancer blogger, Lizard Eater, posts this poem at her own site.

***

No Comment

I'm tired of feeling scared.

I'm tired of being so effing fragile that the least little thing makes me cry.

I'm tired of losing my temper over small things.

I'm tired of feeling helpless.

I'm tired of weeping.

Tired of crying.

Tired of sobbing.

Tired of holding it in.

Tired of my heart hurting hurting hurting.

We're at the end of it and I'm so full of fear that we're not at the end of it, that this is just another pause before it all starts all over again. Again.

I want ... just once! ... to look at her sleeping and just think, "Awwwww," rather than

"Please God Please God Please God Please God."

I'm tired of being a drain on my friends, my family. Doesn't the universe understand that I'm supposed to be the comforter, not the comforted???

I'm tired of feeling self-centered and self-focused and self-ish.

I'm tired of feeling guilty for not being more appreciative, more thankful.

I just feel so fragile. And it's unfamiliar. And I hate it.

And I'm tired of having to stay up late at night because the only way I can go to sleep is if I push myself to complete exhaustion.

So tired ... but I can't sleep, the clowns will eat me.

***

I know these feeling too, L. E. Not the exact same feelings that you're feeling right now, of course. But close enough: close enough that I recognize in my own gut that same visceral sense that words alone will never be enough, and empathetically suffer an angry, bitter, tired, guilty, helpless, self-conscious fragility of my own...like I've walked over some of this same territory myself in my own bare feet, and am left now with scars that I will never fully be able either to share or to escape. And I'm still not out of the swamp yet either too. Not by a long ways.

But a good night's sleep will help, when it comes. And it will come. Have no doubt about it. So sleep as soundly as you can. We've got your back with the clowns....

Justin Case, from the Ringling Bros. and Barnum & Bailey "Boom a Ring!" circus troupe.

THE GREATEST SHOW ON EARTH

Parker's puppyhood

2008-10-21T00:11:00.005-04:00

Mondays are supposed to be my "day off," so I guess I shouldn't feel so bad that I squandered most of it just trying to get organized enough to know what I still need to do (posting more regularly to this site being close to the top of my list). At least I was able to get my sermon from last Sunday, Here There Be Dragons posted to the web.

People tell me that I'm looking and sounding stronger every Sunday. And now I get three Sundays in a row where I don't have to preach at all. Which should be a great help in getting the rest of my life just a little better organized before the snow flies....

Anyway, the reason I'm up so late tonight is that I drank WAY too many diet Cokes tonight out at Bingas playing trivia with my younger brother and one of my parishioners. We came in third, but tonight that was still good enough to win Erik a ball cap...which was the one prize he said he'd wanted when we went in.

And, of course, I'm still missing Parker -- and both feeling the hole that she has left in my life, while at the same time how much of my own life-energy was expended trying to keep her "whole" when she was no longer really here. And it's strange, even weird -- because there are times when I feel as though I can sense her presence in the next room, or hear her dogtags jingle against one another as she shakes her head before settling back down on the pillow again.

Our new puppy, on one of her first nights in her new home. I hate to admit it, but in many ways this little dog was a lot like the child that MFW and I never had together.

Parker's first bath. It was nice to have a kitchen sink large enough that she could fit in it. Later on, when we had to start bathing her in the tub, it was never quite as satisfactory. This was one of those activities which she learned to tolerate, but never really learned to enjoy. I always appreciated her a little more when she was freshly washed and smelling like a dog, JUST like dog, and ONLY a dog...and not like everything else she'd sniffed and decided to roll in over the past few weeks (or months)....

Parker was often very helpful when I was working as a Graduate Teaching Fellow, and need to mark a lot of papers in a hurry. How many teachers can honestly tell a student that their dog ate YOUR homework?

And she also helped me with my own writing. Mostly sermons though; for some reason she just never seemed to find my more academic writing much to her taste.... (too dry, I'm guessing)

One of Parker's favorite places of all -- walking along Juniper Beach in front of my mom's cabin on Camano Island. If you look very closely, you can see her leaping up off the ground in the proper "heel' position, just to the left of MFW et moi.

Doggie Dharma

2008-10-16T14:41:00.004-04:00

And once again, the outpouring of public support over Parker's passing has been truly overwhelming, and so emotionally gratifying. It certainly takes the edge off of my own grief, and helps me recognized just how truly blessed I was to have this animal in my life.

Buddhism teaches that life is suffering because of our attachment or "thirst" for the things of this world which come into being and pass away. Thus life by it's very nature is on some level destined to frustrate and disappoint us, because of its impermanence and the pain and suffering we experience in loss. But there is a way through this suffering, through a noble 8-fold path of right actions, right attitudes, and right ideas that allows us to navigate through these attachments to a place of enlightenment, "in the world but not of it."

Christianity actually professes a very similar set of doctrines, only they are focused around the idea of "sin" -- essentially misdirected attitudes and actions which lead us astray from the path that leads to reunification with God, our Creator and Loving Parent. At-One-Ment comes through "repentance" or (in Greek) metanoia -- literally a "transformation of mind" in the same dramatic way that metamorphosis is a transformation of shape or form. To "repent of one's sins" sounds very stern and moralistic, but all we are really talking about here is giving up our aimless wandering and returning to a path that leads us toward something both sacred and divine, and infinitely larger than ourselves, yet to which we are intimately connected.

I believe that dogs are "persons" because they clearly have personalities, and I also believe that dogs have souls...because how could they not? What I'm NOT sure about is whether or not dogs are capable of sin. Meanwhile, I've been told that some Buddhists believe that the reason dogs watch us so closely is that their next incarnation is as a human being.

But what if it's not? What if it's really the other way around?