Time Capsule

 Tonight I had cause to open a storage trunk containing fabric remnants, uncut lengths of cloth, used patterns, cabbage--- all the detritus of a life of sewing that goes back to junior high school. I was looking for some black velvet to eke out a piece I'd found already, as I mean to use it to trim a red plaid flannel nightgown I'm making for myself.

    I didn't find any more black velvet. I found some brown, and some dark blue . . . and something else. I found that that old trunk was a kind of time capsule, and not necessarily one that made me look back on how things used to be. It made me feel they should be as they used to be and seized my heart to protest that they no longer are.

    All those remnants, so bright and unfaded. A lot of the garments I made with them, I still have. Can I fit into them any more? Not for a long time. Are they shabby and worn? Yes. But the smooth, unmarked material in the trunk was calling me back to the days when they were new. 

    What was I doing then? What was I looking forward to? Whom did I know and love, whom I no longer see, and never will again in this world?

    I shook out the uncut lengths of silk, cotton, and wool, and recollected what I'd intended to make of it. Is that all in the past, too? Have I enough future and enough creativity left so it won't go to waste?

    Like a heady and bittersweet perfume, hiraeth rose out of that trunk like a mind-altering drug. I'd never before thought of it as a time capsule, still less as a faulty time machine that could wrench me into the past, while at the same time leaving me here. But that's exactly what it was.

   

Pouring

Raining, raining, raining, raining, raining . . .

And me reminding myself that my first summer in this region, 2003, was very rainy, as was 2004, and, I think, 2006, and so on, and so on.

This is not apocalyptic. This is southwestern Pennsylvania normal.

So buck up, girl, and do something useful.

Early this afternoon I called another nearby car repair shop at a venture and made an appointment to bring my car over at 2:00 PM. They were willing to put on the alternator belt I bought, though it wasn't their usual policy. And would've done it this afternoon. But the mechanic told me there was two belts involved, and the alternator belt is the one on the inside. Since it's so hard to get at them in the PT Cruiser, it'd make much more sense for me also to buy the other one, that goes to the air conditioner, the idler, the generator, and so on, and get it replaced at the same time. And come back Friday to get them installed.

He didn't think I was in danger of the alternator belt breaking, unless it got caught on a pulley. So I can afford to run some errands in the meantime.

The second belt, which I ordered this afternoon, is in at the AutoZone. I'll pick it up tomorrow.

Did some online research on Asperger's Syndrome. Especially wondering about the subject of AS and moral responsibility. Best perspective on that comes from people who have Asperger's themselves.

I'm reminded that as I teach, I have to keep in mind not all misbehaving students do so because they're deliberately being obnoxious. And not all kids with autism disorders or learning disabilities have been diagnosed.

An alarming thought: What if the reason why my Presbytery won't let me go for another solo pastorate is because they think I have some social development or behavioral disability, and they're too scared to tell me so? And that "You did nothing wrong" means "You just couldn't help it?" Whatever "it" was?

No, I don't think I do have that sort of inborn disabiity. But it wouldn't surprise me if they thought so, the way the PC(USA) seems unable to operate in terms of sin, repentance, and forgiveness any more.

What else? Made a cake out of canned pears and their syrup emulsified in the blender. No recipe. Toothpick in the center came out clean after 45 minutes, and the edges had pulled away from the side of the pan. Still, it's mushy and pudding-like. Underbaked, or just the nature of the formula?

Rain, torrential and streaming, from a yellow-gray sky. Then a steady drip, drip, drip from the surfeited gutters. Darkness falls.

I need to go work on stripping the stairs to the third floor.

The pear cake needs more baking.

Wonder if the pan needs regreased.

It's still raining.

Raining.

Raining.

For the Sake of Posting

Maybe a month ago I heard a report on the news about some woman up in Canada who was on disability for depression. Her insurance company was planning to end her payouts because they'd come across photos of her on Facebook, attending a party and engaging in whatever other fun and frivolity. The insurance company said, "See! That proves you can get out and have a good time! You're not depressed at all! So get back to work!" The woman herself says her doctor told her to get out and mix and mingle, for the sake of her emotional health.

I don't know this woman. I haven't even seen the pictures. I don't know if she really is a party girl greasing off her fellow premiums-payers, or if in the midst of the social whirl she painfully maintains a pasted-on smile, in "Tears of a Clown" fashion. But this story aptly illustrates the hang-up I've fought for years over the issue of depression. The idea is, if I'm depressed about something, I'm obliged to go on feeling depressed about it until the problem is Absolutely, Totally, Thoroughly Solved. So if I go showing any signs of cheerfulness, the bad situation can't be real. But I know in myself that it's very, very real, so I must go around feeling as morose as possible.

Happily, at my age I've gained some perspective, not to mention stronger faith, and for the most part I've outgrown this emotional quirk. Nevertheless, it has really operated in keeping me from posting anything on this blog since early October. After all, the problem of my having to put my architecture license on inactive status is a serious, life-affecting matter. And I haven't solved it yet; at least, not in the sense of getting all the required continuing ed in before the end of the year. So how could I write frivolous posts about fall colors or cooking or what-have-you and still have anybody believe that the license quandary is serious to me?

But it's getting to the point where not posting is a problem in itself: I've had readers (well, maybe one) thinking of organizing a virtual search party.

So here's a post for the sake of posting. Maybe one of these days I'll write more about the rigors and joys of substitute teaching. And about what I've been doing to get ready for Christmas. But right now, one of the thrills of subbing is that it induces me to get up very early in the morning and also to get sleepy in the evening ditto. So before I write total gibberish . . .

What Happened

I've met this evening with my Committee on Ministry.

It's been a few years since my Scouting days, but I am yet undergirded by the motto, "Be Prepared."

And I was. A week or two ago I caught a rumor or two of what might be wrong. That maybe they thought I hadn't done some things I was asked to do when my last call ended four years ago. So I got to work and documented that I'd taken care of all but one thing, and that one thing depended upon others, not on me.

I presented this to my executive presbyter before the main meeting, and by the time I was called in, it was no longer an issue.

I was prepared.

But I wasn't prepared for some other things.

I asked for this meeting because one committee member told me, "You're being stymied for some reason, and you need to find out why."

Turned out, I'm not exactly being stymied. At least, not by my presbytery. Tonight I learned they have referred me for Interim Pastor positions-- it was the churches who chose not to ring me up. And as for why I've had only a handful of contacts via our centralized PC(USA) computerized church-pastor dating service in Lullvull, and why Lullvull made me no matches at all from late January to early May-- I should ask Lullvull. My presbytery hasn't been saying unflattering things about me!

Let me tell you, this made me feel like an idiot. But saying, "But Leslie* said I was being stymied!" would not cut it. It would impress no one with my grace and maturity. No.

So I asked what would make them feel able to enthusiastically recommend me if a church did call them for a reference.

Are you prepared for this?-- (I wasn't)-- they said, "Get a job."

Ain't that something to make a girl feel like a pimply twenty-four-year-old drinking beer and watching ESPN on his mother's coach at 3:00 in the afternoon on a weekday!

They said they want something definite to say when inquiring pulpit committees inquire, "What is she doing now?" And, they reminded me, a suitable church position may not come up for me for months still. And no, it wouldn't be rude or unchristian to quit my secular job to follow my dream when one does.

I see. Working on my house (sometimes) and in the garden does not give them a high opinion of my industry. Nor, I suppose, do part time pulpit supply, sending out resumes, and hoping people look at the ads on my blogs cut it for them as great ways to support myself.

Well, I've got this application for a manager trainee position at a grocery store chair, and they're paying more than I've ever made in my life. And I suppose if I'm hungry enough I'll make myself get up in time to open the store and receive shipments and all by 5:00 AM . . .

But I've got a couple of architects to bother as well. If anybody's building anything in this blinking economic climate!

Silence

I want to apologize for not posting lately. I've had some things going on in my life that I need to know more about before I go publishing anything about them. They've taken time and effort to work on, so . . .

In the meantime, here's an assignment for all five of my readers (LOL!): What does it mean to you to be listened to? What does that look like, "walking around"? Does it make a difference if the person you're addressing is someone you have authority over? Or who has authority over you? What about between equals?

I'd be interested to hear!