Promising

Outpatient surgery yesterday went well. And I'm blessed in that I have no trouble with anesthesia, before, during, or after.

And . . . how to say this without TMI . . . ? Let's just say that apparently it's been verified that the symptoms that got me to my gynecologist's in the first place-- the pain and the bleeding-- had nothing whatsoever to do with the mass on my ovary, and were, in themselves, annoying but harmless.

Meaning that it was a happy coincidence, or an act of Providence, rather, that caused this tumor to be discovered at this point.

The cancer surgeon is still pretty confident that it's benign. Hope he's right.

And it still has to come out. Along with everything else in there, what fun. That's in less than three weeks. All sorts of things I gotta do before then!

Exploratory Surgery

Tomorrow at the crack of dawn (6:30 AM) I'm due at the hospital in downtown Pittsburgh for exploratory surgery.

Well, ok, for a D&C. The other day at my first appointment with my gynecological oncologist, he examined me and said, "This doesn't feel like a cancer."

That doesn't mean we get out the bells and trumpets and kick up a celebration. No. But it is hopeful. Better odds than before.

However, says he, "That bleeding you're having. That ovary's not causing that. We need to do a D&C and see what's going on there."

So that's what's happening tomorrow. In and out the same day.

They'll biopsy whatever they find. Whatever it is, I still have to get the whole works out, which will happen March 25th. When that occurs, far as I can tell, best case scenario will be that the mass on my right ovary turns out to be a belated, post-menopausal fibroid and the bleeding was caused by, say, endometriosis.

Worst case would be that the tumor is, after all, a big nasty cancer and it's spread to my uterus. And who knows where else.

Best or worst case, it's all in the hands of God (with some help from the hands of my surgeon), and that's the best place for it. My job is to go get some sleep.

Where I Was Yesterday

I planned to write this post yesterday, but got busy doing other things. Which is good.

Friday, after I got the word about my extremely-possible ovarian cancer, I was strangely free of sensations of fear. No unseen hand viciously squeezing my gut, no leaden weight at the heart, no noose at the throat. I was full of nervous energy, yes, but I channelled that into thinking and planning and letting people know.

Friday night, I actually slept pretty well. But yesterday morning I didn't feel like lying in the way I usually do, and got up at 7:00. This is good-- I can't afford to be a slugabed. What wasn't good was that shortly after I got up, even when I was just greeting my animals and going about my morning routine, it hit.

No, not dire thoughts of fear and panic. No, no wild feelings of Oh My God, O My God! No, I was hit with a sensation of oppression in my upper arms, an annoying, distracting pain that all day tried to keep me from doing what needed to be done.

Weird, really. I know it's hormonal; adrenalin, probably. But it usually takes me in the gut. Why the arms?

I don't know. All I know is that I was tempted to do the flight-avoidance thing. To go back to bed or find some computer card games online to play (I've deleted them from both my computers). But that would be silly!! The thing I most resent about facing my mortality is that I may-- I say, may!-- not have the time to do all the things I've planned and want to. And am I now going to waste a perfectly good day on absurdities? I'll save that for when I'm feeling really grotty and have no choice.

More later, but it's time for me to head to church. Blessings to all!

Baptismal Anniversary

About ten years ago I was Scarred for Life by a psychologist who interpreted my Minnesota Multiphasic results to say that I was a terrible hypochondriac. I was never so insulted in my life-- in fact, I'd laughed at the questions on the MMPI designed to detect an over-attention to one's health. I have no idea how he came to that conclusion, since I'm usually the last one to run to the doctor or automatically to think I'm ill or to make my health the main topic of conversation. What the MMPI should have shown was that I'm too stinking sensitive to what other people say about me, especially authority figures. So his words keep recurring to me and made me eager to disprove them. More than before, I've been reluctant to follow up on random symptoms, or to say much about my state of wellness, unless to my intimate friends.

But that has to change. At least, it's going to, starting today. Because . . .

Well, I'll let the private message I sent this afternoon to a select group of Facebook friends* tell the story for me:

I thank you for praying for me and I ask your continued prayers. I had a sonogram early this afternoon for some gynecological symptoms (sorry, gentlemen, don't mean to embarrass you) and as it turns out, I have a greatly enlarged right ovary. In fact, it's 4 to 5 times the size it was when I had a previous sonogram in June of 2008. They won't know 100% what it is until I have surgery (yes, the whole lot has got to go), but my doctor was frank when he said that he can't think of anything other than a malignancy that would cause such rapid growth in someone my age.

He's referring me to a gynecological oncologist, whom, God willing, I will hear from by this coming Tuesday. After that I'll begin to know when and where and what.

As I said, please continue to pray for me. Some might be thinking, "Well, prayer didn't work that time!" After all, the test didn't come up negative. But you'd be wrong. I've known such a result was possible and the other day I was very angry and upset at the prospect of it. My major risk factor for ovarian cancer is that I've never had a child, and I was thinking, "Blast it, I never got to use these organs for the purpose God gave them and now one of them is going to betray me?" I was afraid I'd have a major hissy fit all over the doctor's office. I don't say I'll never feel like that as the days and weeks go on, but this afternoon I did not. I was able to keep my cool and listen to what my doctor had to say. And I'm able to think clearly about what I need to do now. That, my friends, is God answering prayer.

So please, do keep praying for me.

First, that my faith in my Lord and Savior Jesus Christ will remain strong-- that I'll happily find out just how strong He is.

Second, that I won't use this as an excuse to get depressed and be snippy or obnoxious to those who really do care. And pray I won't be afraid to ask for help whenever I need it.

Third, that I'll get the things done I need to get done and won't mope around, or waste time on Internet forums and so forth.

Fourth, given that I have no insurance and a very NONlucrative job (substitute teaching), that the money will be found from whatever sources both for the medical care and for keeping my household bills paid till I can get back to work again.

Fifth, and most importantly, that I will with God's help successfully come out the other side of this (comparatively) whole and healthy and have many more years to minister and teach and enjoy the fellowship of my good friends.

I'll let my other FB friends know, too, but wanted to make sure that those of you who responded to my earlier status were immediately informed.

Love,
(St. Blogwen)

But what has this to do with baptism? Well, today is the 54th anniversary of the day I was baptised. On that day my parents confessed the faith of Jesus Christ on my behalf and pledged to raise me in the nurture and admonition of the Lord, against the day that I would confirm those promises and make that confession for myself. And on that day, God, through water and the Holy Spirit, applied the blood atonement of His Son to me, to wash away all my sins and unite me with Him forever.

I now face a baptism of a different kind, but I still go through it with my Lord Jesus. It's no coincidence that my Psalm this morning was No. 130-- "Out of the depths I cry to thee, O Lord!" and my Old Testament reading was Isaiah 52:13-53:12, the Song of the Suffering Servant, by Whose wounds we are healed. The fire will get hot at times and the floods deep, but He has promised never to leave me nor forsake me, and He will bring me through.
___________________________
*If you weren't on the list, I beg you, please don't be insulted. It was the people who'd responded to my status post Wednesday night about having a medical test today. I figured they were the ones who'd seen it and would be wondering.

Now for Something Completely Frivolous

My eldest niece, who has just turned 39, has always been a blonde. Not a bottle blonde; not a medium-ash-blonde-verging-on-dishwater-brown like me; but a real blonde, like her father. But a month or so ago, Micki* got a bee in her bonnet and decided to go brunette.

Really dark brunette, actually. Nearly black, with bluish highlights.

I'm not 100% crazy about it . . . not that it's awful . . . it's rather striking, in fact. I just wish she'd picked a warmer shade. The bluish highlights match her gray-blue eyes a little too well. Makes her look monochromatic. The bright red lipstick she's taken to wearing with the look is very effective, however. And overall, Micki carries it off. It's not like I agree with my mom (Micki's grandmother) who has told her categorically to Never Ever Do That Again.

And that's a good thing, or I'm the biggest hypocrite in the Western Hemisphere.

Because when I saw the pictures Micki sent me of her new look, I was impressed with her guts. And I remembered the fantasies I had in high school about me being a mysterious, glamourous brunette, instead of a verging-on-dishwater-brown-medium-ash-blonde. I never had the courage to act on that; indeed, I never colored my hair at all till eight and a half years ago when I saw how dull and greenish-brownish-gray it looked in a video of me preaching at a friend's church. And since then I'd always gone a shade or two lighter than my best summertime natural color.

But now I studied Micki's photos and thought, "If my niece can do it, why can't I? And if not now, when?"

Somebody's fashion blog I read recently said be sure to redo your color when you start seeing a "landing strip" on the top of your head . . . . Yep, there it was. Signal the blue runway lights and the guys with the long red flashlights! And, God willing and nothing getting in the way, I have a preaching audition (we call it a neutral pulpit in the PCUSA) scheduled for the 14th of March. I'd definitely have to redo my color before then . . . but if I redo the ash blonde, I'll probably lose my nerve and never try the brunette. Besides, if the committee meets me as a blonde and I suddenly go darker, won't that look frivolous? And if I did the brunette and didn't like it, there'd be time for my hair to settle down and I could redo the blonde before the 14th.

So . . . A week or so ago, I went to Wally World and bought the Box. Revlon "Colorsilk" No. 30 Dark Brown. Got it home, all ready to use last weekend when everybody was snowed in. But I kept looking at the picture and thought, No . . . bluish-gray highlights. What was it, again, that I thought about the shade my niece used? And I'm about to do the same? No.

So I took it back. And ended up with a (much more expensive) box of Clairol's "Perfect Ten" No. 5 Medium Brown.

And nearly took it back, when I got to wondering if it were dark enough. Maybe I'd not end up brunette, just brown!

But I didn't. And this evening, taking advantage of a choir practice cut short due to the threat of more snow, I took the plunge.

Not sure why, but the Clairol product seemed a lot messier than the Revlon. Maybe because it was for a darker shade? All I know is, I consumed most of the ten minutes you leave it on wiping dark brown splotches off the sink, walls, floor, faucets, and various other surfaces in my bathroom. I still haven't got it all out of the grout.

But how does it look, you ask?

Pretty good, I think. Natural enough on me that when I look in the mirror I think, "Ye gods, I have to do something about those bangs!" rather than "Oh my gosh, my hair's been possessed, That's Not MEEEE!!!!"

No pictures tonight, I'm sorry. I tried, but my camera made them over-light, even without the flash. Going by them, you wouldn't be able to tell much difference at all.

But there is a difference, and we'll wait and see who notices and what people think. And as soon as I get somebody to take some decent photos, I'll post a new profile shot on Facebook. And send some to Micki. Because really, it's all her fault!

Modern Cyber Life, Joyous More Than Ever

I've given in. I'm doing a total reformat of my desktop computer's hard drive.

I finally got the desktop view early this morning, and I verified I had an Internet connection. That was something, but not enough. Still slower than dirt.

So I set it for another Standard Recovery and went to bed. This afternoon, when I came back to it, it was back to the black-background Windows XP logo screen and again, stuck. When finally I gained the desktop, a few clicks of the mouse revealed that most of my data was gone or hiding anyway.

What had I to lose? Out came the recovery disks and I'm feeding them to the PC one by one even now. The next few days will be a parade of software reinstallations. I've saved a list of what I had on it, but I guess that if I forget a program or two, that means I didn't use it that much anyway.

The Joys of Modern Cyber Life

First, some background:

Last summer, I got a feeling the DVD/CD drive in my desktop computer wasn't exactly working right. First it wouldn't play some CDs. Then it refused to burn some tracks I needed to practice for our big Welsh choir concert that was coming up Labor Day weekend.

But . . . that drive was put in only last February. It couldn't be broken already! Maybe the problem was with the CDs. Or with the burning software. Or whatever. Besides, did I have time to spend four-plus hours on the phone with HP working out the problem? No, I did not. And what if they charged me the $99 for out-of-warranty phone tech support even before I could find out if the new drive itself was still in warranty? I had too much to do. I'd deal with it later.

Then this past Christmas, my friend Ruth* sent me a CD version of the Gutenberg Bible on PDF. And I couldn't open it. And it crept upon me that if the "new" drive was still covered by a warranty, it certainly would expire by early February.

Gotta do something. Yes. Then I found out I could do Live Chat on the HP site for free. And yes, it did take several hours. Twice. But regardless of everything the techs and I tried, we came to the fatal conclusion that that optical drive was fried. And guess what-- the warranty only lasted for 112 days (weird, huh?). Meaning it expired just before the time the trouble began. The HP rep offered to direct me immediately to their sales department for a replacement, but I wanted to shop around.

So I did. And found out that TigerDirect.com had the model I needed for about half the price. I emailed a friend who does business servicing computers, and he offered to put my new drive in for free. So I ordered it.

Whereupon, the TigerDirect website transferred me to a catalog page. On it was an ad for an IBM ThinkPad laptop computer.

No, I wasn't immediately in the market for a new laptop. But I currently had no laptop that really worked. I mean, how much can you do with a machine that only runs Windows 3.11? And this was a ThinkPad. With a TrackPoint mouse. Which I had to have on my next laptop, since I hate mice. And the price was really, really, good-- well under $300. Yeah, it was factory reconditioned, but my first laptop was a refurbished model, and it still works, after its fashion.

I consulted my computer geek friend again. And ordered it.

And it's a jolly good thing I did. Because the new optical drive arrived, I took it and my desktop processor over to my friend's, and a couple days later he calls and says, "I"ve got good news and bad news. Good news is, I've got the new drive installed and it's working. But your computer's working reeealllly sloooow. I tried installing some new CD burning software on it and after two hours it timed out and wouldn't finish!"

He thought maybe it was because I had certain programs running in the background and suggested I take them off. Like my Carbonite backup service. Fat chance of that. Carbonite pulled my chestnuts out of the fire last April when I got that trojan horse, and no way I'm going back to external hard drives.

He did what he could, but when I got my machine back it was basically unusable. Don't know what happened or when, but something had messed things up prodigiously. I mean, taking a half hour just to boot up? And I could not get on line. At all.

I've spent the past few days trying just about everything to get my system straightened out. A thorough anti-virus scan (which took nearly three days last weekend) flushed out a trojan horse (Timeo Danaos et ferentes donas), which I disposed of. It improved performance . . . for about ten minutes. Then it was back to cyber molasses.

Meanwhile, I've got the new laptop, and thank God for that. But I couldn't get online from it, either!!

Grrrrrrrrr!!!!! I swear, sometimes I'd like to yank all this computer junk out and just hurl it out my third floor study window!! And forswear the whole IT life entirely!

Except if I did that, I couldn't post on my blog or Facebook about how frustrated I am about it all.

So that meant more tech support, this time on the phone with my Internet service provider. Twice. First guy thought maybe the service was down, even it they had no indication of that on their end. Working with the second guy, a few days later, I found out that the problem on the laptop had to do with a password problem and was purely coincidental. And he got me set up with my home wireless network-- up to then, I had a connection only by the kindness of my neighbors who let me piggyback on theirs.

But the desktop computer is still a big glowing doorstop. I've spent the past few days slowly, painfully, getting files that Carbonite couldn't back up (due to no Internet connection) onto a flash drive and, temporarily, onto the laptop. Tried everything I could to avoid doing a system recovery, but it was inevitable.

As I write, I'm waiting for the Standard Recovery to finish working. That's the kind that's supposed to preserve your data, though not programs you've installed yourself. Technically, it should be done by now. But it seems to be stuck on the Windows welcome screen with a big hourglass and a line saying "Please wait...." Bluddy ick!! I've been waiting at least the past twenty minutes!

Can't be helped . . . Gotta try a hard reboot.

Booting up. Back to the Please Wait window . . .

Nothing's happening . . .

Oh, look, screen's gone black . . .

No, wait . . . Computer setup window. Joy. More to do and it's 2:30 AM already.

Fear not, I won't subject you to the process. Not what I call entertainment for the blog-reading public. I'll get back with you when my computer's working properly again.

Or not.

Well, I'll Think About It

This evening I attended an informational session down near Pittsburgh to learn about a fast-track program for teacher certification here in Pennsylvania.

It's sponsored by a legitimate organization, started a few years back in conjunction with the US Department of Education. Their program is recognized here in the Commonwealth and, so far, in eight other American states. In lieu of two years of college it offers one year (or less, if you work faster) of on-line training, with more rigorous-than-usual tests at the end of it to guarantee the quality of the graduates (the presenter said that countrywide, the pass rate was only 50%). After initial certification, a stint of mentored classroom teaching is required, then the same graduate hours required of graduates of traditional programs, to gain one's Level I and Level II state certifications.

The initial cost isn't too awful: $825 for the training and testing if one signs up before the end of this month, or $975 thereafter. There's the cost of the grad level tuition and fees after that, but presumably one would be working when it came time to do that.

The thing is, do I want to do this? Would this be a departure for me, a resignation of my architectural and pastoral dreams? Or in regard to the ministry end of things, would having a teaching certificate allow me to take on a tent-making position at a church?

But that's not really it. The question really is, do I want to teach in a public school? Things are so messed up today; I can't see how I could do it without putting my foot in things politically. And I'm not just talking national politics, either.

Though I suppose a certificate would make me more attractive to a private or a Christian/parochial school . . .

I don't know. I'm not worried about passing the tests at the end of the course, no. It's just, I don't know, is this something I want to make a commitment to at this time of my life? Or is $825 a "small" enough amount for me to take this on as a What the heck, why not?

I'll have to think about it.

And pray about it. Yes, definitely, pray.

I Find It Works

The January 2010 issue of Modern Reformation kicks off a year-long look at the problem of Biblical illiteracy in America. The article I'm presently reading points out that there's a big difference between mining the Scriptures for quotes and actually reading them for meaning and transformation.

So as my contribution to the cause, I'd like to outline the Bible reading plan I've found valuable the past few years. It isn't a through-the-Bible-in-one-year scheme. You can go with something like that if it appeals to you, but it seems rather forced and artificial to me. I mean, the idea is to get the sense and meaning and life of God's word, right? not to play Beat the Calendar.

My plan is based loosely on the Anglican daily lectionary in that it features a Psalm, Old Testament reading, and New Testament reading morning and evening of each day, but with nothing skipped.

Here's how I work it. I divide the Old Testament up into two basic groups:

OT1:

The Torah/History books; that is, everything from Genesis straight through to
Esther.

OT2:

A. The Wisdom books (minus the Psalms): Job, Proverbs, Ecclesiastes, and Song of
Songs
B. The Major Prophets: Isaiah, Jeremiah-Lamentations (taken together), Ezekiel, and Daniel
C. The Minor Prophets: Twelve books, taken in four groups of three each

Same with the New Testament. Two groups:

NT1:

The Gospels and Acts

NT2:

The apostolic letters and Revelation.

The Psalms stand alone and are read for prayer and praise and preparation as much as for their pure content.

Now, this plan takes advantage of the fact that modern Bible translations customarily divide the text up into sense-units, or pericopes, with a heading for each. Much more fruitful to go with those, rather than the arbitrary chapter divisions as so many plans do.

All right. Here's how it works on its simplest level: Suppose the day you read this, you decide to make a start. In the morning, turn to Psalm 1 and read it. I always conclude with the Gloria Patri, but that's a habit I picked up in theological college and if it's not helpful to you, leave it aside. Then read your OT1 portion, beginning in Genesis. If you're using the New International Version, that would be Gen. 1:1 - 2:3. In the New King James Version, it's Gen. 1:1 - 2:7. Then turn to Matthew for the NT1 reading, Matt. 1:1-17 (NIV & NJKV). Though when I first began I opened with the Gospel of John, for the sheer pleasure of pairing its "In the the beginning" first verses with the Genesis creation story. If you're not concerned about being thrown off, I recommend it.

Then in the evening, read and meditate on Psalm 2. Then for your OT2, read the first portion of Job. Finally, go to Romans 1:1-7, or however it's divided in your translation, for the NT2.

(And, frankly, it should be a translation, and not a paraphrase like The Good News Bible or, heaven forfend, The Message. You want solid food, not dips-n-chips.)

So you read along like that, morning and evening. Long portions or short, you read them. Though I do divide Psalm 119 up into eleven sections of two Hebrew letters each. And some portions of Job and Isaiah, for instance, can use subdividing, too. Whereas portions of Song of Songs simply plead to be conjoined.* Use your discretion.

Anyway, for a month or so things should be uncomplicated. But then you run out of Psalms. What do you do then?

You start over with Psalm 1 and read the book again. But this time, read the odd-numbered Psalms in the evenings and the even-numbered ones in the morning. I find I get different insights depending on the time of day I encounter them. I adjust by bringing in one of the gospel canticles to fill in. You can work out the best way for you.

The histories will last you for a few months and the Gospels with the Acts will keep you occupied for awhile, too. But what happens when you finish the Book of Job?

True, you could keep going with the rest of the Wisdom literature, then tackle the Prophets, major and minor, in book order. But I favor layering my OT2 reading. Like this: Job, then Isaiah, then Hosea-Joel-Amos; Proverbs, then Jeremiah-Lamentations, then Obadiah-Jonah-Micah. And so on.

You'll find you get through the letters of Paul and Peter and so on before you finish the Gospels and Acts. That's fine. Read the Epistles again. That's where the meat of Christian doctrine is, so they bear reviewing.

As you finish each section, you can switch which OT or NT division you read morning and evening. And you could vary things by starting next time with the major prophets, say, then go on to the Wisdom literature. If there is one drawback to this plan, it's that if you do vary the order, after a few repeats you might forget which books you've read that year. So I recommend keeping a calendar of when you start and finish a given book.

The object, though, is to read Psalm, Old Testament, and New Testament together twice a day, in meaningful portions. They balance one another. Prophecy and fulfillment; sin and solution, divine promises made and divine promises kept; types of Christ and Jesus Christ the perfect antitype of them all. If you keep this up, you'll find that you never read the same three Scripture passages together twice. Different passages will be able to shine light on each other and illuminate you to the truth of God's living word. I know I've been amazed at the juxtapositions . . . though maybe I shouldn't be, since the Bible in all its parts has but One True Author.

Happy new year and may the Holy Spirit bless your reading!
______________________________
*Note dry but racy theological joke.

Cold Turkey

I've been thinking of deleting the Games folder and all its contents off my computer.

Ever since my first computer, acquired in my second year of theological college in the autumn of 1993, I've given up computer games for Lent. I don't say this to brag on myself; rather, it shows how addictive I've found them. I needed to wrench myself away for a time each year, and I definitely needed Outside Help to do it.

Back then, it was Tetris. I'd get so engrossed in playing it (instead of working on my essays) that during chapel services, while kneeling for the Intercessions, I'd see tetraminos floating down the screen of my closed eyes.

Later, it was Freecell and Spider Solitaire. I came to understand that seven weeks of abstinance was not enough to give me mastery over my obsession, so four or five years ago I began to fast from playing computer games during the four weeks of Advent as well.

But I've been attending a very reformed Presbyterian church this past year (when I'm not preaching, myself), and they're very big on not being bound by purely man-made rules, like the idea one should give things up for Advent and Lent. So this Advent immediately past, I played Spider Solitaire all I jolly well pleased. And sometimes when I didn't really please. I'd get on and start dealing and redealing and keep going and going . . .

And I'm thinking, this has got to stop. I have too much to do to waste whole half hours two or three or four times a day placing one virtual card on another. Which means radical action: Delete!

But why don't I just make a New Year's resolution to control myself and just play a game a day? Or save the fun for Saturday evenings or whenever?

Because if I had any resolve I wouldn't be frying my brain with these toys the way I do now. I need to go cold turkey and get rid of them.

True, if I do that I would miss the enjoyment I get out of playing them. I'd lose the pleasure of knowing that here, at least, something is going where it belongs and staying there. And how else will I while away the minutes while waiting for files to download? And what will I do to allay the truly visceral desire that seizes me to click on the Spider Solitaire icon and play and play? I know that if I delete that file it's going to drive me crazy.

Which is why I gotta stop. That's physical addiction, and it just ain't right.

Then there's the weird state of mind I get into when I play computer games. Some psychologist should study the phenomenon. I could claim they put me into a very creative state, but nothing ever comes of it.

One part of my consciousness will be focussed on playing the game. But in another part of my mind, I often begin to see . . . scenes. Scenes from a play, or maybe a movie. Nothing I've ever seen or heard or read; something original and new. But always seeming to take place in the past, and always with the exchanges in some sort of dialect. Brooklynese or Yiddish or Irish. Trouble is, even though I can make out the drift of the dialog, I can never make out what the characters are actually saying.

A typical episode: Three people, two men and a woman, in the disorderly kitchen of a cheap apartment, probably somewhere in the Bronx. I see it in black and white. The men, both in shirtsleeves, one with a hat on, sit at the kitchen table, intently discussing something. The woman, a bleached blonde, hovers between the table and the stove, bringing coffee when demanded and putting in her 2 cents whether asked for it or no. She is the wife, I think, of the man without the hat. The men seem to be plotting something, I can't tell what. A bank robbery or a hijacking or whatever. At one point, they nearly come to blows. Not over whether to do the job; rather, over how to pull it off. The woman intervenes. She seems to be saying they're both wrong and should listen to her. She's as deep in it as they are, she simply has a more level head. Her advice may well guarantee the success of their plan. Will they listen to her? Do I want them to listen to her and be successful? Who is the hero of this little play? One of these guys, or a detective somewhere? How can I know? That's all I get!

But more often, the effect of a strong dose of computer games isn't so dramatic. More often, the unoccupied part of my brain sends up . . . old songs. I mean, really old songs. From the first part of the 20th century, or before. Songs I haven't thought of for months or years, songs I have no reason to think of.

Songs like "Hello, Ma Baby" (1899). Yesterday, it was "Zing! Went the Strings of My Heart" (1934). Today, I channelled "I'll Take Romance" (1937).

Where do they come from? Why do they come when I'm trying to decide whether to use the free space to free up that black four to move it to the five, or to shift that red king? Is this some wondrous facility I'll lose if I delete that file?

Yes, maybe. But what about all those other things I'm losing out on now, like balancing my accounts and writing my novel and stripping the hallway floor?

(I'm thinking . . . I'm thinking . . . )

(Excuse me a minute.)

I . . . I . . . did it. At least, I dumped the folder with the shortcuts in it. Which means those games may still be someplace on the machine, but I can't get to them.

Aaaaaagggghhhhhhh!!!!!!

A Happy and Blessed Christmas to You

While I'm waiting for the acorn squash I'm taking to Christmas dinner at my friends' Hannah* and Steve's* house to finish baking, and as I (hopefully!) get my Christmas cards for them and their siblings printed out the right way this time, may I present this year's original carol:



















When armies marched and rulers roared,
When Empire knew its golden age;
When noisy Pride bestrode the stage:
Then softly, softly, came the Lord.

When inns no shelter could afford
And hectic crowds were taxed with fear,
When anguish bound this fallen sphere:
Then peacefully, peacefully, came the Lord.

When angels bright, with one accord,
To shepherds midst their lambs and ewes,
Proclaimed the saving gospel news:
So mercif’ly, mercif’ly came the Lord.

When wise men noble gifts outpoured
And worshipped at His infant feet,
Their Sage and King in Him to greet:
Then humbly, humbly came the Lord.

O Jesus, Son of God adored,
In lowliness Your strength is shown,
That we should worship You alone:
So Gloria, gloria, gloria, Lord!


A blessed day to you all, whatever is going on in your life, for Jesus is the Prince of the peace that confounds all human understanding. He shines in the darkness, and the darkness cannot comprehend Him.

Why It's Nice to Be Reformed

. . . Admitting at the outset that I'm not as Reformed as some people. Whether that's good or bad, I won't pronounce.

But at this season of the year, it's nice to reflect that Christ is assuredly born, and He most certainly died for my sins and rose from the dead, whether or not I have my Christmas cards written and sent or my tree up or any of the cooking projects I planned completed. I don't have to make Christmas, I only have to receive it.

Which is good, because since subbing at Castellcoch* High School day before yesterday I am still exhausted. I highly suspect Mr. Chummy* the new principal was playing games with me. I got called in at the last minute to fill in for a teacher who had to be out in the morning, but when I arrived Mrs. Berlin* the school secretary said that assignment had been given to someone else. I was sent to sit in for one of the Learning Support teachers while she had a meeting with Mr. Chummy . . . then I cooled my heels in her room the next two periods waiting for the office to give me something real to do. A movie was going, but the kids were talking so loud you couldn't hear the dialog, the two LS teachers talked between themselves, and I sat there bored out of my gourd.

Lunch then, then no sitting down the rest of the day. Mrs. Berlin had me supervise three straight lunch periods, with all their noise. Beginning of 8th period, I'm back in the office, asking her if Mr. Chummy had come up with any class he wanted me to cover. There was a party that period for all the kids who'd escaped getting written up all semester, and they needed, I presumed, coverage for the kids who had to remain in the classrooms while the teachers accompanied the "good" kids to the gym.

"Oh!" says Mrs. Berlin. "Mr. Chummy didn't give you anything to do yet? He's in the gym, at the party. Go there and see where he wants you."

I duly went, and found him personally dishing up the ice cream. I repeated what Mrs. Berlin said, asking, "Where do you want me?"

"Here," he replied. "Mingle." All very nice, but it meant another hour on my feet. With doubled noise since they had a DJ blasting out music (not Christmas music, I remarked).

I was grimly amused to see that at least three kids I'd personally written up were there, all three of them Mr. Chummy's former 7th grade Science students and one of them a boy with a very ominous reputation in the teacher's lounge. I said nothing . . . but had to wonder if the reason he wanted me there was so I could see how little seriously he considers my disciplinary efforts.

But I was a good girl. And mingled. And smiled. And when it was over and I returned to the LS room for my coat, I was so drained I about slid down onto the floor and cried.

Crawled under the covers early Tuesday evening for a short nap and didn't get up till 7:30 yesterday morning. Shaky and nervous all day yesterday, and today I'm not much better. Don't think I'm getting the flu; haven't a scintilla of a fever. But I don't feel up to going out and running errands, I don't want to make candy; I'm just going to address the cards that're going to the friends I'll be seeing tomorrow and get to bed early.

And be glad that as nice as all the trimmings of the season are, they aren't some magic I have to perform to make Jesus live for me or in me.

Merry Christmas!