Elvis and other interruptions

Carol and I had agreed that I would stop by for a visit around 4 on a Saturday afternoon. She wasn’t in her apartment when I got there, though, so I followed my ears to the packed activities room where a good crowd, including her, was rocking and rolling with an Elvis impersonator. Foiled again, I groused inwardly, wondering how long I would have to wait.

I am routinely irritated by interruptions, and I guess that’s not unusual. Like many of us, I’m more often than not in a “people to see, places to go” mode. On the other hand, in my maturity, I have realized that what I perceive as an interruption, an undesired stop action, is often quite the opposite.

Wow, I hope Jesus wasn’t the personality type who found interruptions irritating. A quick read of Biblical accounts recording the days of his life can give the impression that he is just strolling around looking to see whassup, utterly available to whomever and whatever appears in his pathway. So, if he was trying to get to the synagogue on time or late for a dinner date, there might have been high stress. Ha! High stress in Jesus’ life? Ya’ think?

In a similar vein, I think of clergy who have to deal with the unplanned when trying to prepare for a funeral, get to the hospital, write a sermon, be on time for a meeting, etc. Out of nowhere, a needy person stands before them. Their vocation, their profession is geared toward serving people just like this one, but…

I was about to begin my writing day a while back when the phone rang and I was needed, if possible, to care for a grandbaby who was not feeling so hot. Oh no, oh dear, my day was interrupted! I wouldn’t meet my goal—but the deadline was unchanged. Boy, did we have fun! He was well enough that we would play for a while, and then he’d stretch out his arms for me to pick him up and nestle on my chest with a sigh. Joy. Peace. And he took an extra long nap, so I did okay with my work, probably even more efficient, seizing the opportunity.

Oh, and the Elvis event worked out fine, too. Of course, I slipped in with the crowd, reveling in the campiness of the moment. The guy really sounded like Elvis, voice as low as you can go and smooth as velvet. I laughed a lot on the fast ones; he really got us swinging! Then, after lovely time with Carol, I moved on wondering why I had even thought that the show was an inconvenient nuisance. After all, I didn’t even have to go to Vegas.

I’ll bet each of us could give a long list of initially irritating interruptions that turned out to be the very stuff of life.

Taming the urban jungle

Taming the urban jungle

A friend of mine is an extreme gardener and asked me to save vines for a rustic weaving project in her ornately interesting yard. Vines? Not a problem, unfortunately. Got plenty of ‘em.

Wisteria vines, magnificently wicked, like clotheslines with knots or fistulas every so often that send out smaller roots in a circle. I used to love wisteria high in the trees with its clusters of purple blossoms, sweet smelling like lilacs. After battling it in my yard for a few years, I see it as a tree-killing, out-of-control monster, one of the woody-vined, invasive exotic plants causing problems in cities as well as undomesticated forests. “My” wisteria comes through my cyclone fence from a mother vine around a big pine tree in the next yard. I take a clippers to the new vines, reaching out like long, lacey tongues, and a few weeks later they’re “eating” my house again, twining into the vinyl siding.

Virginia Creeper vines, much more polite, thin and red and easy to pull up, also climb high into the trees, decorating them with their five-leaved, um, leaves.

And then there are the vines of the Evil Plant, my name since I don’t know the botanical name for this insidious, thorned monstrosity which also moves along under the ground in ropes, popping up in the middle of the grass, the edge of the grass, everywhere! Indiscriminately climbs up fences and trees and garbage cans and poles, making bushy formations with its shiny green leaves. Its vines are big and strong enough for Tarzan to swing on. Oo, ouch, except for the thorn issue.

English Ivy vines, my favorite, a lovely ground cover, but also something to control. Maintenance trimming year by year is important or this vine, too, will cover and destroy. But English Ivy vines behave, they respond to trimming and can be shaped and add beauty and class to flower beds and yard corners.

Poison ivy vines, which I will not pass on for the craft project! Again, these come into my yard from a neighbor’s, and I’ve already had an unpleasant bout with their poison when pulling the new, young ones up early in the spring. Now, I spray them with a vinegar-salt-detergent mixture, which dries up the visible plant but doesn’t seem to eradicate them down to the roots.

Think of all this in my yard when I live a pleasant walk from the state capital building! Good grief. The four yards that adjoin mine are not well-attended, hence…

I’m gaining a great deal as I try to solve the problem: getting to know my neighbors better, talking to “the city” and enlisting their services in the battle, discovering great online resources (controlling wisteria) and learning lots about plant pests. All advice welcome!

Missing Madeleine L'Engle

Madeleine L’Engle died in September of 2007. I still miss her. She has enrichened my spiritual life immeasurably. She was the main presenter at a symposium I attended at Christian Theological Seminary in Indianapolis c. 1997. Being with her and actually meeting her was a thrill. When she was near the end of her life, I checked the obituaries regularly and, on this one day, there she was, gone. Even though expectant, I missed her immediately, with a sense that the universe was changed. But recently, I had something of a reunion with her that was ever so fun and rich. Here’s what happened:

At the end of the Lenten season several weeks ago, an appeal went out a few days prior to my women’s monthly circle meeting for someone to present the program. If nobody responded, the hostess for the evening, a high school math teacher, might have us doing arithmetic. Some responded they’d rather do math than give a program, but I always have a program up my sleeve. Shoot, I was “born in the briar patch” of giving programs. “Sure,” I said. “Be glad to,” confident in the knowledge that the facilitator is only part of what happens; between me and my circle sisters, I knew we’d have something unique and meaningful.

A couple hours before meeting time, I grabbed Madeleine’s The Irrational Season, a treasure of spiritual reflections, original poetry, and rich anecdotes framed by the liturgical church year. I turned to Lent; actually, I think Lent fell out in my hands. The book is my second bible, worn and tattered from using it for studies and classes and personal devotions for over 30 years. Ah, yes, I remembered as I perused the chapter. For Lent, Madeleine used the Beatitudes.

So we started the program by me reading the “Blessed are the…” part, and the group completing, “…for they shall be…” That worked beautifully. Next, we listened to the verses set to music by Sweet Honey in the Rock. Perfect touch. Then, I read a brief excerpt of what Madeleine had written about each one, pausing each time for responses from the group. Great participation, from our hearts, from the day. The final quotation from Madeleine was, “There is the power of life and death in his mercy, and it is good to remember this each time we receive the power of his mercy in the bread and wine.” A short poem by Ann Weems, “Communion,” from Kneeling in Jerusalem, wrapped things up beautifully. Many thanks to all these women for a very cool program!