Strawberries Romanov

a.k.a. Dessert in a Pinch

Years ago, when I was in high school in Clinton, Illinois, we'd go to this phenomenal restaurant in St. Louis called Tony's. We used to take long car rides to go to great restaurants - a habit begun long before I was born I'm sure. 

Tony's was old-school Italian. Jacket and tie were required and the maitre d' would escort you up a gracefully curved staircase backwards, so as not to turn his back on you. Once at your table, the ratio of servers to diners was about 1:1. 

How does that relate to dessert in a pinch? Tony's was the first place I ever had Strawberries Romanov. We were seated at a table in the corner of the dining room with a superb view outward of everyone else and quiet behind us. My brother to my right, Dad to my left, and Mom across the table from me. We had a gorgeous dinner, the best part of which was dessert.

Strawberries Romanov is a relatively simple concoction. Sour cream, brown sugar, Brandy or vanilla, and sweetened whipped cream, folded gently together spooned over fresh strawberries. I probably ordered it for the name, which is grand and somewhat mysteriously exotic.

So, tonight, facing a fridge full of leftovers, including strawberries, a little bit of sour cream, and and some whipped cream, the dessert came back to me, floating into my head like a long lost friend. I remember sitting at that table, experiencing the sweet burst of strawberries on my tongue, tempered by the gloss and tang of the brandied cream. 

Dinner was clean-out-the-fridge leftovers: a hamburger and pasta with pesto and spinach. But dessert was sublime.

Seven Quick Takes - Florida

The Adventure Begins

We went to Universal Studios last July - first family trip with all four of us in several years - and long overdue.

1. July is a great time to go, if you're a fan of heat, humidity and rain showers.

2. The rides are awesome. They leave you alternately dizzy, soaked, jazzed, or some combination of the three.

3. The Wizarding World of Harry Potter is really best seen in the evening. The plastic snow on the rooftops looks less plastic at twilight.

4. Stay at the onsite hotels, simply for the express ticket. You may feel a bit bad as you zoom past the people standing in hour-long lines for rides. But you'll get over it quickly, trust me.

5. Breakfast at the Three Broomsticks is awful. However, most folks believe all British food is awful, so perhaps they are just trying to meet expectations.

6. Butterbeer is fabulous. It is the best drink ever. Sorry, Silver Oak, it just is.

7. I know why they make you pay extra for internet at the onsite hotels. It's to get you and your kids off of it. Thanks.

Minnesota - Seven Quick Takes

Lake Vermilion

Minnesota:

1. Cabins in Minnesota do not have air conditioning. In late July or August, when the temperature hits the 80 degree mark, they smell exactly like saunas and are just as hot. Fans are of little help.

2. The restaurants in northern Minnesota have the best blue cheese dressing. Which makes up, a bit, for the aforementioned lack of air conditioning.

3. Ice cream cones come with three scoops. If you ask for a single scoop, you get a raised eyebrow and at least two scoops. Minnesotans take their daily calcium requirements very seriously.

4. Minnesota politics is interesting. It is the land of Jesse Ventura and Al Franken.

5. One of the local restaurants served Tilapia instead of Walleye at its Friday Night Fish Fry. Won't be going there again for that. Tilapia. Really?

6. The Chocolate Moose in Ely is where it's at. Trust me on this one.

7.  Despite what the state website may say, the mosquito is Minnesota's state bird, not the loon. Vying for second place are the horse fly and the deer fly. Bring bug repellent with 100% Deet.  Spray the cabin, the boat, your clothes, your life jacket, even your fishing pole. Bring several cans. You can also spray the bugs themselves - you will come to hate them that much. Just sayin'.

More than Enough for Me

Suscipe Prayer:

Take, Lord, and receive
all my liberty, my memory,
my understanding and my entire will,
All I have and call my own.

You have given all to me.
To you, Lord, I return it.

Everything is yours;
do with it what you will.
Give me only your love and your grace.
That is enough for me.

-St. Ignatius of Loyola

Thanks, Pope Benedict XVI

The news broke early this morning that Pope Benedict XVI is resigning at the end of this month due to ill health.

As a non-card carrying member of the Cardinal Ratzinger Fan Club and an Anglican, I am sorry to see him go. It is my fervent prayer that the next pope will be cut of the same cloth, because B16's service to his Church and mine has been gratefully received, by me, if not by everyone.

May God richly bless the retirement of the Rottweiler of the Faith.

I Am Ann, A Stone

I am part of a wall. It is what I am meant to be and all that I am.

I am a living stone, oddly shaped, planned and placed by God.

I am built upon a foundation whose cornerstone is Christ, whose mortar is the Holy Spirit, and whose owner is our Father God.

I am connected to all the stones of the wall, resting on some, holding up others.

I am strong and weak, sheltering and protected.

I am uniquely created to never be complete or whole alone.

I am in love with what God has created, with my fellow stones.

I am at home in this wall, against which the gates of hell cannot prevail.

I am Ann, a stone.

seven quick takes

One of my favorite bloggers does this thing called seven quick takes. Short, off the cuff thoughts - a snapshot of a day or an hour.

1. President Obama really, really should not have said to Gov. Romney that bit about we have these things called air craft carriers. That was utterly rude. Had I been on the fence, he'd have lost me right there.

2. I got a raise today, I need to work more! It's nice to be edging away from minimum wage, and on toward being a bigger support. And I'm doing it without getting another degree (which had been my interest). Plus I can work in my pjs. It's all good.

3. I'm going on a date with my beloved tonight. Having recently gotten over losing my voice for a week, I'll be too busy talking to eat much. Sorry, honey.

4. A boy from my niece's high school was killed in a joy ride that ended badly yesterday. It hits very close to home, and I am praying that she remains safe through her life. I cannot imagine the pain those parents are in. I'm hoping to spend some time with her this weekend. Hugging will be on the agenda. Much hugging.

5. One of my best friends is in from London for the week - I think she took my profile picture in front of the Whole Foods in Kensington, where she indulged my need to stop in at the British mothership. I'll see her for lunch tomorrow. She's a poet. She's also funny, compassionate, wise and wonderful. I'm grateful for her friendship and so looking forward to wallowing in it in person for a bit.

6. I went to the Diocese of Quincy Synod two weeks ago. The bishop ordered me to keep talking. Within a day, my voice decamped, totally gone. So if you have something you'd like me to stop, or start, email Bishop Morales and ask him to order me to do (or not do) it, and we'll do an episcopal experiment. The worship at Synod was fabulous. Let those of us who know tell those who don't. Very, very mission oriented place to be for anyone who has decided to follow Jesus.

7. And finally, I love Hot and Spicy Cheez-its. I just do. They're not vegan, or organic, or even close to being good for me. But I love them. I will not buy another box, though, because I cannot resist them. Now it's time to brush the crumbs off my shirt and go to get my girl.

Living as the Spanish Do

These pictures were taken during the trip we took with my brother and sister-in-law to Barcelona in March. The four of us were wandering, which we did a lot of while in Barcelona, and happened upon this tapas bar around the corner from the beautiful Santa Maria del Mar. Let me just say, sometimes the best things happen to those who wander.

I'd been wanting to visit the city since I was 20 and drove through it on the way to catch the ferry to Palma. I hung out of the car window, soaking up the sights as my French maman sputtered at the drivers around us under her breath.

So my family indulged me, and dusting off my university Spanish, we rented an elegant flat in the old town, just off the Plaça Sant Jaume. It was beautiful, in the center of everything, and incredibly noisy. People filled the street beneath our balconies, laughing and carousing until the garbage truck came through at 3:00 a.m. and blessedly swept them all away.

We arrived in the afternoon, wading through a marathon to reach our flat, where we rewarded ourselves with a nice glass of Spanish red. We found dinner at a nearby restaurant, crowded with folks from all over, ate dinner and collapsed.

Being good travelers, we decided that while in Spain, we should live as the Spanish do and eat every two or three hours. Some mornings we went to the cafe across the street; some mornings my brave brother struck out alone in search of caffeine, God bless him. The ladies at the cafe didn't love on him, he speaks no Spanish, but hail the conquering hero, he came back victorious with coffee, warmed milk and pastries.

Each day we'd talk about what to do and then sight see until was time for the traditional mid-morning snack of a grilled ham sandwich with a beer. I am, for the record, hugely in favor of that tradition. I found it's really impossible to be a vegetarian in Barcelona, the ham is too good. Is there a classification for vegetarians who eat fish and ham? Yeah, I know, that would be "not vegetarian."

Anyway, a bit more wandering, and it would be lunch time! And lunch was a variety of courses, served with wine, leaving us ready to go back to the flat for a nap. A short nap though, as who would want to miss the 4:00 churros and chocolate? The chocolate is like melted frosting. Mmmm.... And get this, you're supposed to dunk the churro into it. Oh man alive.

All this eating pretty much forced us to walk in order to both ward off a sugar high and work up an appetite for tapas, which are served two hours later. We chose from a selection from the bar, ordered a beer, and continued sampling until we were full. Actually we were only supposed to take a few, to stave off any pre-dinner munchies, but we wanted to try a little of everything while we were there. So we did, paying for our tapas at the bar on our way out.

By this point in the day, we'd have had a beer at 10:30, wine with lunch, a huge dose of sugar, more beer with our tapas and our pace slowed considerably. Which was pretty ideal for popping our heads into churches and finding plaças that were tucked betwixt the buildings, rewarding us just for looking.

In a tiny, oddly-shaped square by the Plaça del Pi, we found a perfectly Spanish restaurant where we ate two of the five dinners we had in Barcelona. They were pleased to talk about wine with us, and we ate stunningly well. Lamb in a jammy, meaty sauce, fresh seafood pasta, and an incredible plate of Spanish ham left us content, but somehow still able to spend the rest of the evening watching street theater with a gelato in hand.

There was an article in the Wall Street Journal last weekend about selling your house and retiring to travel around the world. I'd love to do it for a year, with family and friends visiting as possible. I could happily spend months exploring Barcelona alone. But I'd have to keep wandering. Because the way they eat there, if I were to stop, I'd weigh too much to fit anywhere but in the cargo hold on the flight home.

Galena Vines, Branches and Roots

Every September I go to Galena with eight of my girlfriends. We've been going for years and we do as we like during the day; we shop, walk, or sit around and talk religion and politics.

But we always gather in the late afternoon at the winery, even when it's cold, as it was this year. We sit outside in big wicker chairs, tasting the current year's wines, talking, and petting the big golden retriever who settles by us, knowing we're softies.

This picture is taken from the porch where we sit. On the other side of the tree in the front yard, there is a single row of vines. They mark the start of the winery, separating the vineyards from the cornfields beyond.

For one weekend every year, we sit behind that row of vines, sheltered. We stretch out toward each other, like those branches joining vine to vine. We send fragile tendrils into each other's lives, learning the bits we didn't know before, sympathizing, enjoying, dissecting and knowing. And with each bit of knowing, those tender shoots settle in, find their place and take root.

It strikes me that this is how God wants us, why He plants us as He does, and I am deeply grateful.

The Art of Compliance

Earlier this week I got to chaperone my daughter's AP Art History field trip to the Art Institute and the Oriental Institute. Walked my tootsies off and enjoyed myself thoroughly. I was under orders not to ask a bajillion questions with "child-like wonder" from my girl, and I tried to be compliant. Compliance is not usually my strong suit, but I think I did relatively well. I didn't lose anyone or say much that was embarrassing, at least not that I recall. The cool statue to the left is in the modern wing of the Art Institute if you're contemplating a visit.

Speaking of art history, we're looking at colleges for our girl. Columbia College in Chicago has a lovely campus and exciting programs, so that's on the list - plus it's very close, which perhaps puts it high on my list.

Next up is Juniata in Pennsylvania. Not quite as close, but another cool program and the journey we'll take to look at it in a couple of days coincides neatly with the changing colors - woot! It's about a 10 hour drive, which works out about the same as flying into Philly and renting a car, or slightly more than flying into Pittsburgh and doing the same. In either proposition, this is far less expensive and it's a road trip!

Last two up are in Minnesota and Oregon. One will come to us, the other I don't know about, it's pretty far away.

I'm under strict orders not to talk about such topics as a "job" or "salary" in connection with art history as an undergraduate major. Sigh. And I'm totally trying to be compliant there...but it's an art form, and I'm far better at appreciating art than producing it.

Showing Up

It's been a while - too long, really. But there simply has not been time to write something that wasn't either for pay or to remind myself of what I needed to do next. But I read a post by a writer who said that if you want to write, you need to show up and do it every day.

My last post was at Christmas when I wrote blissfully ignorant of the fun that the next six months would hold.

Mom went into the hospital multiple times for nausea and pain from right after Christmas all the way through to April when they wheeled her into an OR at Rush for back surgery. She came home today, two months and one week later. We've been through two hospitals and three rehab places during that time.

There have been upsides (may she never read this): Dad cleaned out accumulated years worth of papers. I'm waiting for the reaction about that, as Mom's a saver, let's just say. I've found I can have a political conversation with Dad and remain non-committal. I can also tell you that hospital cafeteria food has really gotten better. Rush has Au Bon Pain doing theirs and it's great. Edward Hospital's salad bar is quite good. The guest "beds" in the rooms at the new Rush facility are better than nothing, but not by a whole lot. They are better than the ones at Edwards, however.

And there have been downsides. I've not made my work quotas a couple of times (still employed, thankfully). VBS was a bit harried this time as there's nothing like having three days of Mom having a heart attack two weeks prior to VBS to liven things up.

And there has been joy.

A closer relationship with my family - stress can tear you apart or pull you together.

VBS - largest one ever, almost entirely carried by everyone but me, its director. Seventy-five children and babies, forty plus volunteers and no rain. When I left after the ice cream social last night, people were still hanging around talking.

The care of our church community in prayer and comfort.

The support of friends and wider family.

And the fact that Mom's home, when there were many weeks when we were certain she was not going to make it. Not only home, but planning to go up to the lake next week. Which I still cannot believe I'm typing, or even thinking. Wow.

Today summer starts, as far as I'm concerned. God is good. All the time.

Christmas 2011

Hello from the home of the sniffles, where we have contributed to the profits made by the folks who make Kleenex. You'd think they'd send us thank you notes with dividend checks, even though we don't hold stock in the company. We are sorry for felling so many trees, though.

My beloved has worked very hard this year, including, but not limited to, the four hours he spent on the phone after spending two hours in the ER being diagnosed with bronchitis that morning. He's still coughing a bit, but is getting better. He's been spending his free time on genealogy, turning his efforts to my family after hitting the black hole of Irish records – they gathered parish records together into one central location...and then the central location burned. Makes Irish genealogical research a wee bit difficult. Interestingly, he found that one of my great-great-uncles is buried in the city we live in now.

Our girl is a junior and thinking about colleges. We've visited two, but neither is on the short list. She's still playing flute and went back to flute camp this summer. She's been taking a photography class, so we've been taking her to photograph places and people – most recently people with tattoos for her final project. She missed lots of school this month between strep and bronchitis (see above note on Kleenex), so last Wednesday, trying to get her project done in time, we went to three tattoo parlors, the VFW and a bar. That was interesting. Folks with ink are great, but she's still not getting a tattoo, says her mother, the fun-ruiner. We also went to the Jesus People USA community. Lots of tattoos there. Our kids went there for their mission trip over the summer, so we knew where to go.

Our boy's half way through his sophomore year. He thinks he got either two Bs and three As or vice versa. He has a lot of friends and is having a good time. He's now seeing all his friends who went to other colleges, so the fun continues. Our house is very loud when he's home. He spent the summer working for a landscaping company, which earned him both an appreciation for how hard that work is and some of his own money. Mom liked that. Not the stinky laundry bit, the his own money bit. He'll turn 20 the day after Christmas, which is hard to believe.

I'm doing some freelance writing for an internet-based education company. It's steady, interesting work, and I can work in my pjs from the comfort of my dining room. I'm also enjoying being a church lady, leading bible study, teaching the wee Souls, doing bookkeeping and serving on a diocesan commission. We had our church ornament exchange here Friday and our couples' group white elephant exchange dinner Saturday. I'm now wearing the sock-monkey slippers I got in the white elephant exchange. Score.

In August, I read a book about going on a vegan diet to reverse heart disease and strokes, and it made sense to me. I'd been a veggie in high school, so I joined my girl in her diet. Mostly I'm vegan, except for fish, as giving up sushi was Not. Going. To. Happen. Poor beloved, he says. I still fix him a steak now and again. I went veggie for health reasons, not because I hate meat, so he need not suffer, methinks.

We logged some air miles this year, beginning with a trip to London for me with my friend Kathy to visit our friend Patty. We spent a week talking and seeing the sights. We took a day flight over and got in late and stayed up talking until 3 a.m. Got up six hours later, toured Windsor Castle and stayed for Evensong, which was beautiful. We sat in the Quire, right behind the choir. Under the floor were the graves of Henry VIII, Jane Seymour and Charles I (and his head). We spent the rest of the week staying up til 3, getting up around 9 and onto the tube – saw the clock museum at Greenwich, the Victoria and Albert and the British Museums, had tea at the Orangerie by Kensington Palace, shopped at Harrods and Fortnum and Mason, saw a play, ate fish and chips at pubs, and went to Westminster Abbey and to Evensong at St. Paul's. Just scratched the surface - we need to go back! We never had any problems with jet lag, mostly because we never shut up and thus barely slept. I got home just in time to take my beloved to the airport for his two week trip to Thailand. Then I shut up and slept.

We took our baby to Portland in March – where we visited Reed College, two vineyards, the ocean and tried for Mt. Hood. Just an FYI, Mt. Hood in March is snowy. If you want to see that lovely lake they show in all the pictures – yeah, it doesn't look like that in March and you should wait until summer, otherwise you might hit a blizzard at 2500 feet and have to turn around in an Alpine-like village. The park rangers told us we were smart to have turned around. They were probably thinking we were idiots for trying it, but were glad we'd had the good sense God gave our beagle to turn around before we were the “stupid tourists” featured on the news. The best part was seeing my aunt, uncle and cousins, who kindly drove for hours to see us, as we were in the same state.

In June, while the kids were on their mission trip to JPUSA, we went to Mexico with our traveling friends. We didn't get sunburned this time, only because it was hurricane season...first night we came back to our room and found a note on the door with an update on a storm we hadn't even known existed. But not to worry, the staff were all trained just in case of emergencies! We had a good time anyway; went to a cooking class, took long walks on the beach, lazed around, and read books.

Summer also saw the celebration of my parents' 50th wedding anniversary. After they got back from the lake (where we joined them for a week), we were blessed to have many of the family together. All of my parents' living siblings were there, as were lots of cousins. It was horribly humid, but the resort was lovely and the company even better. My main worry had been political discussions, as we had all ends of the political spectrum represented there, just as the debt-ceiling debate going on. But it all went off without a hitch, and it was truly wonderful to see everyone.

The kids returned to school in August, bringing to an end our summer family travels. I went to Galena with my girlfriends in September; the leaves on the hills were beautiful and the time just flew by, as it always does.

In October, we drove up to western Wisconsin to the Quinns' cemetery to bury Karen's ashes. Next to the Celtic cross marking my brother-in-law's parents' graves, we gathered to raise a glass of Jameson's in her honor. It is still such a surreal thing that she is gone. She rests in a beautiful place, though.

We were with my husband's family again to celebrate Thanksgiving and the finishing of his younger brother's new kitchen - it is a thing of beauty and I have a bad case of kitchen envy. Ah well. Christmas will be spent with my family, at my brother's home. They are hosting friends from Germany and we are looking forward to meeting them and spending the day together.

As always, we hope that the day finds you with those you love, celebrating the birth of the One who loves you.

Grace and Peace.

Of Mice and Mishaps and Mercies

Yesterday was one of those days.

Due to my own stupidity had coffee at bible study on Tuesday evening, went to bed around 1:00 Wednesday morning.

Alarm goes off the same morning five hours later.

Wake my girl up - who makes it as far as the couch and goes back to sleep.

Notice it ten minutes later when the shower wasn't on. Shoo her upstairs. She misses bus.

Get my beloved up at 7:00 for his 8:00 teleconference followed by his 9:30 meeting with the folks who have come in from NY specifically to meet with him.

He doesn't sound good, but I keep going and give my girl the "you're going to school, by God" pep talk.

Beloved comes down, not in work clothes - breathing is shallow and labored, clearly we're heading to the ER.

Go upstairs, inform girl, who's still got her hair in a towel and is now very late.

Order her to get ready in the "I'm taking no crap" mode, as the "you're going to school, by God" talk didn't seem to have lasting effect.

Call beloved's work to tell them that we're heading to the ER and that he won't be on the call, or on email, or just a little late for the meeting. Not bringing the laptop to the hospital.

Tell the girl to get in the freaking car. Have to remember to apologize for tone of voice. Might have been a bit snippy. Hindsight being 20/20, she's sick too.

Drop her off at school which is blessedly on the way to the ER.

Thank you Jesus it's just bronchitis and not pneumonia yet - EKG, Xray, breathing treatment and two hours later we've pulled away from the pharmacy with a paper bag full of prescriptions.

Beloved takes meds and heads upstairs to call into meetings. His boss, hearing his voice, orders him in capital letters on email NOT TO COME IN. Bright man.

Return home and log into work as I have to clock somewhere between 6 and 7 hours to make my time for the biweekly period which ends at midnight.

Write furiously, figure out how to make edits to earlier work (yay!), eat lunch for 3 minutes, write more.

Go to mail box with dog who's refused to pee each of the other four times she's asked to go out. Find a note from school about a low grade. Of course. It's that kind of day. On the bright side, there's a plus rather than a minus after the grade. It's redeemable before finals.

Stop at 5, print off my stuff for teaching, swing through Jewel to pick up the snacks I didn't bake for our classes because of aforementioned fun day.

On the way get a phone call from one of the co-teachers from the other class, who's turning around on the highway on her way to church because she has a counseling client who's homicidal or suicidal. Can't remember which, but anything that ends in "-icidal" is bad.

Get to church, dump supplies, realize I forgot the water (for all 70ish people there to drink - could have gotten it at Jewel, had my brain been engaged). Also forgot the dishtowels I was supposed to have washed and returned.

Try to tell the teacher his partner's not going to be there, only to be interrupted by kids swarming around the ladies' room because there's a mouse in there! Sooo totally exciting - if you're a six year old boy.

Friend traps it with a bowl, so I slide a clear plastic platter under it, and manage not to trip over the swarming children trying to see the mouse through the bottom of the platter on my way to release it. Moral - don't make the platter see-through next time, and there will be a next time - read on:

Release the mouse nowhere near far enough away from the church to not have it return within minutes.

Make myself walk back in the building.

Recognize I probably should be at an ACNA ordination being held a mile away. Wish I was there, briefly.

Have a lovely couple come to talk about working half way around the world as bible translators. Half way around the world in a mud hut is sounding really lovely right now.

Come home, realizing I've forgotten to grab the platter and the bowl that the mouse was in to sterilize, as the church water's not hot enough. And now need to send apologetic emails about the water and dishtowels along with warnings not to use the platter and bowl.

Oh, and forgot to pay the babysitter. Head slap and another apology email to write.

Log back in to upload my last article, re-read it, spend a half an hour editing it, send it in.

Head to bed, too wired to sleep.

The fact that God's mercies are new every day is pretty much the only reason I got up this morning.

To the reality that my baby has a headache, sore throat and stomach ache which is why she was dragging yesterday. When I was snippy.

Call the school and the pediatrician.

Write "I'm sorry" emails, realize I have several more of them to send.

And it's time to be putting together our Christmas letter. Think I'll wait until I'm not going to write "I'm sorry" reflexively at the beginning of each paragraph....

Little Stone Altars

Last month our parish was received into the Diocese of Quincy, at the 134th Synod. The last few years for Quincy have been marked by the fracturing of the Episcopal church, the retirement of a much loved bishop, the separation of the majority of the diocese from the national church, and the lawsuit filed by the Episcopal church against the diocese seeking their parishes, endowment funds, and name.

The threat posed by this lawsuit was discussed at Synod. These new brothers and sisters of ours face being forced from their parish homes by those who have no intention of ever occupying the little churches nestled between the corn and soy bean fields of west central Illinois.

Serving to illustrate the waste of it all, is the fact that if the Episcopal church wins, whatever they might recover won't even make a dent in what they've spent on legal fees. Any proceeds from the sale of these buildings will go into the fund set aside for more lawsuits. A fund which replaced the budget line item previously entitled "Missions."

The pain of what may come is one we know well, because we've been through it. We had a bishop who said we could rewrite the New Testament. In our case, there was no lawsuit, we were a single divided parish, but there was a world of hurt that came with walking out of the church we'd helped to build.

A lot of folks would point out that a church is just bricks and mortar, and that's not what Jesus died for, and they are right. But the pain exists because a church is also infinitely more than just bricks and mortar.

It is the physical place that we have our history and our home. We built it, or our parents or grandparents did, and our memories are there: our baptisms; our weddings; our grandpa's ashes. All there in a place where we came together and trusted that because there were two or more of us gathered in His name, He'd show up.

And that showing up is what makes those bricks and mortar holy ground.

Throughout Scripture, we see that those who went before us built altars made of stone in places that have names that are recorded. They did it as an homage to God. He'd do something amazing on a piece of land and they'd mark the spot. We know that we can never begin to repay God for saving us, and we know that what He requires is the sacrifice of a broken and contrite heart and of praise and thanksgiving...we know all that, but our hands cannot keep still. The awe that compels us to the ground on our knees, compels us to build Him these altars.

Some are small, like the little Baptist box that we worship in in Wheaton. Some are soaring works of stained-glassed glory, like the cathedral at Chartres, built and re-built over a thousand years. Evidence of people who knew that nothing they could do would ever be thanks enough, but whose hands and hearts could not rest.

So is it wrong for them to be sad about possibly losing their parishes? I cannot say that it is. They are being sued by people who have sold former churches to Muslims and nightclub owners rather than allow the parishioners to "buy" back the building their parents or grandparents built.

Frankly, I think some righteous anger is fitting. We are not promised ease, and we know it. But we are to be working toward the Kingdom that is to come, participating in the building of the new earth. We plant altars as outposts, building blocks toward the future. To be required to hand these outposts over to those who are seeking to destroy the faith should bother us.

But it should also strengthen our resolve. The fact is that we built those altars because we know God acts in places. And if He does so in one building, He will do so in another, whether it is a living room holding folks perched on arm chairs to pray while Sunday School is held in the kitchen, or the local school gymnasium. We've lived through that, seen it happen, and are growing.

Against the wisdom of the world, five parishes from outside the state and four from within have come into the diocese. In the face of lawsuits and pain, Quincy is growing.

Because the reality is, too, that we know the end of the story. He will prevail against the powers and principalities of this world. And those little stone altars we built in faith - even though they be handed over to those who don't know how to honor God - will be redeemed.

Thanksgiving Day Proclamation - A. Lincoln

Proclamation Establishing Thanksgiving Day

October 3, 1863


The year that is drawing towards its close, has been filled with the blessings of fruitful fields and healthful skies. To these bounties, which are so constantly enjoyed that we are prone to forget the source from which they come, others have been added, which are of so extraordinary a nature, that they cannot fail to penetrate and soften even the heart which is habitually insensible to the ever watchful providence of Almighty God. In the midst of a civil war of unequalled magnitude and severity, which has sometimes seemed to foreign States to invite and to provoke their aggression, peace has been preserved with all nations, order has been maintained, the laws have been respected and obeyed, and harmony has prevailed everywhere except in the theatre of military conflict; while that theatre has been greatly contracted by the advancing armies and navies of the Union. Needful diversions of wealth and of strength from the fields of peaceful industry to the national defence, have not arrested the plough, the shuttle, or the ship; the axe had enlarged the borders of our settlements, and the mines, as well of iron and coal as of the precious metals, have yielded even more abundantly than heretofore. Population has steadily increased, notwithstanding the waste that has been made in the camp, the siege and the battle-field; and the country, rejoicing in the consciousness of augmented strength and vigor, is permitted to expect continuance of years, with large increase of freedom.

No human counsel hath devised nor hath any mortal hand worked out these great things. They are the gracious gifts of the Most High God, who, while dealing with us in anger for our sins, hath nevertheless remembered mercy.

It has seemed to me fit and proper that they should be solemnly, reverently and gratefully acknowledged as with one heart and voice by the whole American people. I do therefore invite my fellow citizens in every part of the United States, and also those who are at sea and those who are sojourning in foreign lands, to set apart and observe the last Thursday of November next, as a day of Thanksgiving and Praise to our beneficent Father who dwelleth in the Heavens. And I recommend to them that while offering up the ascriptions justly due to Him for such singular deliverances and blessings, they do also, with humble penitence for our national perverseness and disobedience, commend to his tender care all those who have become widows, orphans, mourners or sufferers in the lamentable civil strife in which we are unavoidably engaged, and fervently implore the interposition of the Almighty Hand to heal the wounds of the nation and to restore it as soon as may be consistent with the Divine purposes to the full enjoyment of peace, harmony, tranquillity and Union.

In testimony whereof, I have hereunto set my hand, and caused the seal of the United States to be affixed.

Done at the city of Washington, this third day of October, in the year of our Lord one thousand eight hundred and sixty-three, and of the independence of the United States the eighty-eighth.

A. Lincoln

Still True, Fifty Years Later

Yesterday was the 236th anniversary of the Marine Corps. Begun before our country, protecting it ever since. Started in a tavern and later storming Tripoli to save our interests against the lawlessness of the Barbary Pirates, which is fascinating reading by the way.

We enjoy freedoms we take lightly every day, largely because they are too many to count, because of the men and women who fought for them.

So once a year we have a day set aside to honor those who have fought for us, and to contemplate what their service has done for the existence of the the country we live in and love.

With a tip of my proverbial hat to Rev. Canon Dr. Kendall Harmon, Canon Theologian for the Diocese of South Carolina, for the link, I think this was a wonderful speech to start out a day of remembrance.

Veterans Day Remarks
Remarks by President John F. Kennedy
Veterans Day National Ceremony
Arlington National Cemetery
Arlington, Virginia
November 11, 1961



PRESIDENT KENNEDY: General Gavan, Mr. Gleason, members of the military forces, veterans, fellow Americans:

Today we are here to celebrate and to honor and to commemorate the dead and the living, the young men who in every war since this country began have given testimony to their loyalty to their country and their own great courage.

I do not believe that any nation in the history of the world has buried its soldiers farther from its native soil than we Americans -- or buried them closer to the towns in which they grew up.

We celebrate this Veterans Day for a very few minutes, a few seconds of silence and then this country's life goes on. But I think it most appropriate that we recall on this occasion, and on every other moment when we are faced with great responsibilities, the contribution and the sacrifice which so many men and their families have made in order to permit this country to now occupy its present position of responsibility and freedom, and in order to permit us to gather here together.

Bruce Catton, after totaling the casualties which took place in the battle of Antietam, not so very far from this cemetery, when he looked at statistics which showed that in the short space of a few minutes whole regiments lost 50 to 75 percent of their numbers, then wrote that life perhaps isn't the most precious gift of all, that men died for the possession of a few feet of a corn field or a rocky hill, or for almost nothing at all. But in a very larger sense, they died that this country might be permitted to go on, and that it might permit to be fulfilled the great hopes of its founders.

In a world tormented by tension and the possibilities of conflict, we meet in a quiet commemoration of an historic day of peace. In an age that threatens the survival of freedom, we join together to honor those who made our freedom possible. The resolution of the Congress which first proclaimed Armistice Day, described November 11, 1918, as the end of "the most destructive, sanguinary and far-reaching war in the history of human annals." That resolution expressed the hope that the First World War would be, in truth, the war to end all wars. It suggested that those men who had died had therefore not given their lives in vain.

It is a tragic fact that these hopes have not been fulfilled, that wars still more destructive and still more sanguinary followed, that man's capacity to devise new ways of killing his fellow men have far outstripped his capacity to live in peace with his fellow men.
Some might say, therefore, that this day has lost its meaning, that the shadow of the new and deadly weapons have robbed this day of its great value, that whatever name we now give this day, whatever flags we fly or prayers we utter, it is too late to honor those who died before, and too soon to promise the living an end to organized death.

But let us not forget that November 11, 1918, signified a beginning, as well as an end. "The purpose of all war," said Augustine, "is peace." The First World War produced man's first great effort in recent times to solve by international cooperation the problems of war. That experiment continues in our present day -- still imperfect, still short of its responsibilities, but it does offer a hope that some day nations can live in harmony.

For our part, we shall achieve that peace only with patience and perseverance and courage -- the patience and perseverance necessary to work with allies of diverse interests but common goals, the courage necessary over a long period of time to overcome an adversary skilled in the arts of harassment and obstruction.

There is no way to maintain the frontiers of freedom without cost and commitment and risk. There is no swift and easy path to peace in our generation. No man who witnessed the tragedies of the last war, no man who can imagine the unimaginable possibilities of the next war, can advocate war out of irritability or frustration or impatience.

But let no nation confuse our perseverance and patience with fear of war or unwillingness to meet our responsibilities. We cannot save ourselves by abandoning those who are associated with us, or rejecting our responsibilities.

In the end, the only way to maintain the peace is to be prepared in the final extreme to fight for our country -- and to mean it.

As a nation, we have little capacity for deception. We can convince friend and foe alike that we are in earnest about the defense of freedom only if we are in earnest -- and I can assure the world that we are.

This cemetery was first established 97 years ago. In this hill were first buried men who died in an earlier war, a savage war here in our own country. Ninety-seven years ago today, the men in Gray were retiring from Antietam, where thousands of their comrades had fallen between dawn and dusk in one terrible day. And the men in Blue were moving towards Fredericksburg, where thousands would soon lie by a stone wall in heroic and sometimes miserable death.

It was a crucial moment in our Nation's history, but these memories, sad and proud, these quiet grounds, this Cemetery and others like it all around the world, remind us with pride of our obligation and our opportunity.

On this Veterans Day of 1961, on this day of remembrance, let us pray in the name of those who have fought in this country's wars, and most especially who have fought in the First World War and in the Second World War, that there will be no veterans of any further war -- not because all shall have perished but because all shall have learned to live together in peace.

And to the dead here in this cemetery we say:

They are the race –
they are the race immortal,
Whose beams make broad
the common light of day!
Though Time may dim,
though Death has barred their portal,
These we salute,
which nameless passed away.

The Pain Now is Part of the Happiness Then

C.S. Lewis said in his book about his life with his wife who died of cancer, that "the pain now is part of the happiness then." The play caused me to cry off all my make up when I saw it as a young woman on the stage of a theater in London. I knew that it was true - all happiness is tinged with the sure knowledge that when we choose to love someone, we know that we will lose them at some point and we will be in pain.

My sister-in-law, Karen Marie McCarthy Quinn, went from us, from this life, a year ago, September 19, 2010. She was 55 years old. It was not a choice to love her, you just did.

Karen was charming, intelligent, and funny and she contributed richly to all of our lives. She talked about putting her hand into Jesus' hand before she died, just like her mom had told her to, and she lived the last, most difficult portion of her life with grace. Hers was a life to celebrate having been a part of. To have loved her and to have been loved by her was a sweet thing.

The fact that she was so lovely is the very thing that makes this reality so hard. Particularly this month containing both her birthday and the day she died.

And it's stunning to think it's been a year - because it's all so fresh.

We got a call saying that she was gone and headed over to their apartment to spend some time with her before they moved her body to the funeral home. We stood and prayed over her, thanking God for the time we had with her and feeling pretty stunned. It was surreal to have Karen there, but not there. The hospice folks came in and did their jobs, quietly bringing a level of order into the midst of our sadness.

My brother-in-law's family drove down later that night, which made us not so uncomfortable to leave him alone. We went together for dinner to our youngest brother's home and ate. Trying to figure out conversation and still stumbling. We were exhausted and knew that the days ahead wouldn't get better.

At the end of bible study Monday, when we were talking about our prayer needs, the only thing I could think of was to ask for grace over the trip we'll make to Wisconsin in a few weeks to bury Karen's ashes. It will be another hard day.

We'll look back on this from the end of time with understanding, from a place of unimaginable wonder, and most importantly, we'll look back at it together with Karen. Blessedly do not mourn as those without hope. But we do mourn.

Trying Something New, Again

A couple of weeks ago, former President Clinton was on CNN talking about his diet - a vegan, low fat one, designed by Dr. Caldwell Esselstyn, Jr.. Dr. Esselstyn's bottom line is that there are areas of the world where there is little to no heart disease or cancer, which he attributes to diet, saying that heart disease is a food based illness. And as President Clinton has had heart problems that, despite diet and exercise, were not getting better, he looked to this diet that seemed to be the best chance for those in a position of last resort. He's lost 24 pounds and he's doing much better now.

So I got the book out of the library. I've been reading cookbooks for almost all my life, I go through a couple each month (thanks be to the library), and what they all say - in one form or another, is that we need to treat food with respect. Dr. Esselstyn would say we can treat it as life or as a pathway to an early death.

Given a history of heart related health issues in my family, I decided to give this diet a try - with some tweaks. His idea is no fat, no avocados or nuts if you have any heart disease. Forget the EVOO, butter, and cream that I love. Dairy products are out, almond milk is in.

Like so many things in life, diet is an act of will. You have to tell yourself to look at things differently:

Mayonnaise = glue
Milk = baby cow food, not grown up people food
Red meat = something that will make me too full
Turkey = didn't like it anyway, not an issue
Cheese = not doing so well with that one yet, working on it

The diet says no fish, but I'm not listening to that part, as sushi is on my diet. Period.

I am focusing on what I can eat. Whole grain breads, pastas, all the veggies I want. Fruit - three helpings a day - easy peasy.

What really helps is to say that it's not that I am never going to eat these things again. Sometimes, I will have a steak. If I'm eating at someone's home, I'll eat what they serve and be thankful, because this isn't an allergy thing.

So far, so good. I'm down about eight pounds and feel much better. I still have a long way to go, as the words "well rounded" don't just describe my reading list.

Living Faithfully A Hidden Life

When I was a child, I wanted to be the Queen of England. I lived there and knew that she was important and in charge. When we returned to the States, my goal changed to being President of the United States, because he was the important person in charge.

It was my goal to be in charge. Not because I wanted a bunch of people serving my every whim (although if I'd thought about it much, I'd have liked that part), but rather because I figured no one could make someone in charge eat lima beans or meat with fat on it And there'd definitely be no bed time for me. I could read for as long as I wanted.

I was too little to know that I'd have to have married Prince Charles to achieve the former, or run for office to achieve the latter. And now that I'm an adult, neither is an appealing thought. Further, I can cut the fat off of any meat I eat and not a single lima bean has passed my lips since I left home 26 years ago.

The fact that my childhood dreams didn't come true is fine, partially because becoming a Christian vastly changed my perspective. I was reading Christianity Today magazine, catching upon back issues today, and in one of the articles there was a quote from Middlemarch, where George Eliot reminds us of what we owe "to the number who lived faithfully a hidden life, and rest in unvisited tombs."

Years ago, that would have bothered me, but now it doesn't. Now it seems to me to be an admirable goal.

As I waved good-bye a couple of months ago to a lovely woman who's graced my life, and the lives of those in our parish over the last few years, I was struck by how God works through these hidden lives. He sent her to us, enriched our lives, and then moved her along west to grace the lives of folks unmet in Washington.

She brought depth and joy to our bible study on Monday morning. She ran a beautiful VBS for our kids, some of whom didn't know Christ and were meeting Him for the first time. She made a difference, seeding and watering. And she'll continue that work elsewhere and will fade from the memories of some of our littlest ones here, just as the many women who seeded and watered before all of us have faded from the memories of the little ones they've served and then moved on from.

And what matters is not whether anyone knows or doesn't what we've done in our lives, because we'll be forgotten by men (unless, God forbid, we do something truly awful). But we'll have had the joy of being part of the lives of the saints of God. Whether someone visits our graves or not.

And so my adult dream, I suppose, is to live a faithful, hidden life. I want to serve and be served by those I'm with here and now; living, working, and worshiping together.

Tell Me The Stories Of Jesus

"Tell me the story of Jesus,
Write on my heart every word.
Tell me the story most precious,
Sweetest that ever was heard."

Yesterday at All Souls, we began a series on Jesus in Adult Education, which promises to be great. The beginning of the series,led by Dr. Alan Jacobs, focused on how God is exactly like Jesus.

At one point, Dr. Jacobs asked people to tell what their favorite thing that Jesus said or did was...that wasn't exactly how he phrased the question, but that was the gist.

I love it when people answer questions like that. It gives me a deeper appreciation for Jesus when people say what they love about Him. As people told the stories they love about Jesus, the woman by the well, for example, I sat and thought - Oh yes! I love that one best - right up until the next person spoke and I thought - Oh yes!

It's something we should do more often.

I thought about it a lot after leaving church, and realized that my current favorite reflects the quality of Jesus that I feel is most needed in my life at the moment.

Over the past few months, one of my dearest friends has had some trouble, and there have been times that I have wanted to rush in and put all 5'3" of me physically between her and the trouble. She would do the same for me, which would be better for me, as she's taller. We have years of bearing each other's burdens and sharing each other's joys, and the old maxim applies - "do what you want to me, but don't even think about touching my friend...."

Thus it is the story of Jesus and Saul, meeting on the road to Damascus, that resonates so strongly right now. The voice of Jesus saying "Saul, Saul, why are you persecuting Me?" And Saul's confusion - "who are you, Lord?" And the response - "I am Jesus, whom you are persecuting."

What is appealing is the ferocious love of Jesus for those who follow Him. Saul wasn't in Jerusalem when Jesus was ministering and never met Him while He was alive on Earth. On the face of it, he wasn't touching Jesus. He was, however, terrorizing those who followed Jesus, to which Jesus took exception. So He smacked him down, and then picked him up, and life was never the same for Saul.

Like with most of what I know about Jesus, it's both comforting and discomfiting, because this ferocious love is directed toward me and others. Therein lies the discomfiting bit: I have to look at my own behavior toward those who also love Jesus.

I need Him to bind my tongue (or keyboard) when need be, because persecution takes many forms, and I don't want to be one who persecutes followers of Jesus. Additionally, if I want to be like Jesus, and if I am to have that ferocious love for others, it will spring from a tender love that will push me out of my comfort zone, not just for those I like, but for those Jesus loves. Heaven only knows where that will lead, but I'm sure that "Ann's Comfort Zone" won't be on the signage.

But it's still my favorite story, because I love the demonstration of His protection and love.

Continuing the words of the inimitable Fanny Crosby on telling the stories of Jesus:

"Love in that story so tender,
Clearer than ever I see.
Stay, let me weep while you whisper,
Love paid the ransom for me."