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The View From the Other Side

17 Jan

Our regular organist was away today, and the substitute was somebody we’ve had before. The Squire and I had a chance to visit with him for a while during coffee hour.

Henry came to America from mainland China in 1947, when he was himself just seven years old. He said the most amazing thing to him was – and still is – the amount of meat we consume. “In China, meat is a condiment! In America, you treat the vegetables as condiments.” He still sounded in awe of the entire thing.

When they arrived in America, it was not too long after the war, and Japanese people were not exactly greeted with open arms. Being Oriental, he was automatically treated with suspicion and segregation as the Law of the Land in Virginia, where they settled. “Which bathroom do I use? I’m not white, but I’m not black, either.” His dad guided him toward the “Whites Only” facilities. I admitted that most Caucasians couldn’t tell the difference between  Koreans, Chinese, and Japanese, but I knew they knew the difference. I had been with a girlfriend at a museum and she’d walked over to another family and began chattering away in Korean, but as much of a cliché as it may be, they all look alike to me. Henry laughed and said people had told him that, but he couldn’t see why. “It’s so obvious.” Ah, but can you look at a white face and know that person is German or Irish?

Well, no.

Henry is a chemical engineer, and does all of the cooking in their house. He says he tends to think in terms of reactions and interactions. At least he understands why you shouldn’t put baking soda in the string beans!

He no longer has a permanent job as an organist, so he hops all over the Diocese, playing at various churches. The “highest” churches in Baltimore are St. James, Lafayette Square (former home of Michael Curry, our new Presiding Bishop) and St John’s in the Village. He admitted he’d never been to Grace and St. Peter’s, which was a bit of  a surprise to me, as that is the home church for the Chinese community in Baltimore. For a long time, they even had services, including Sunday School, in both Cantonese and Mandarin. “Well, at least they don’t have to reprint the bulletin.”

We had our first snow of the year today. It flurried almost all day, but honestly didn’t amount to a thing. The temps have been around 40 during the day so the ground was too warm for the snow to stick. Mind you, it’s been in the 20s at night, so maybe we might have gotten a quarter inch if it had fallen after sundown.

 

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Eyes and Ears

14 Jan

I got new glasses in April of 2014, and they have never really been right, so yesterday I wandered off and had a new examination for contacts. This is an entirely new doctor, one I’ve never seen before, and she was quite thorough and very pleasant.

However, we were both in for some surprises.

She asked me if I currently wear contacts and I said Yes.

“Monthly, two weeks, or daily?”

Huh?

I have been wearing contacts since 1976, and NOBODY ever told me I was supposed to replace them once a month. I did have an optician tell me I had worn mine for too long, because the rims were yellow, instead of clear, but he didn’t say anything about changing them any more often than my annual exam.  Nobody ever told me I had an astigmatism, either, although the glasses I got in April were ground to correct said astigmatism. Ya just never know about these things.

So, I now have clear temporary lenses, and I am to return in two weeks for regular ones, which I should dispose of once a month. They are weighted to correct the astigmatism, and it’s odd to put them in and see my vision sort of spin sideways as the heavy part of the lens settles to the bottom of my eye.

The three  pair of contacts I currently have are blue, green and brown, and I select them according to what clothing I have on. I am very, very light-skinned (once compared to a lightbulb in a wig) and at a luncheon date today a friend told me I looked paler than usual. “Even your eyes look washed out.”

After lunch, The Squire and I went to an ear specialist for this ENG thing to see if they can figure out why he has the ringing in his ears and the vertigo. My hearing is particularly acute, and I could hear him tell the technician I whisper all the time. “She thinks it’s unladylike to speak up.” Listen, bub, don’t make me use my teacher voice!

Anyway, they did all sorts of tests, both visual and audio, to try to induce the vertigo, which he said they did “mightily”, and determined there is nothing wrong with his inner ear.

The next stop is an MRI, presumably.

The test took an hour and a half, so I wandered over to Rite-Aid, looking for reading glasses. I had borrowed a pair of The Squire’s, and the heavy brown frames made me resemble Steve Allen. They wanted an average of $25 per pair! Tomorrow I will head over to the Dollar Store, thank you very much.

 

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The Voice of the Lord…

10 Jan

…strips the forest bare.

That was the psalm for this morning, and the lectionary certainly got it right. It has been blowing a gale all day long, rattling the windows and generally acting as if it might be March instead of January.

Right now, it is 45-F, with the wind blowing at 30 mph, and a wind chill of about 30. Tomorrow it’s supposed to be 60.

Pneumonia weather.

Somebody up the street from us must have gotten a machine gun for Christmas. For almost two hours, we were serenaded to the sound of WWIII with almost non-stop automatic weapon fire. It went on from shortly before 4 PM to almost 6 o’clock. Considering the distance those guns can shoot, we can only hope nobody on I-95 was injured.

People are just plain crazy, you know that?

We are going back to church in a few minutes for a bagpipe concert. In spite of the name D’Amario, Fr. M is mostly Irish, and plays the pipes. This started as a Twelfth Night celebration, but is now a Winter Festival. There was a ham dinner at 6, which didn’t interest us, but we will brave the icy blasts to go hear the good father and his teacher play the pipes.

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Now ‘Ear This!

8 Jan

Back in September, The Squire was knocking down a wall and swung the hammer too close to his ear, resulting in some sort of internal damage. He hears what he describes as a “metallic beep” with each word he speaks and every time his left foot hits the ground.

Enough to drive you nuts.

He did go to an audiologist, who pretty much performed the same tests they’d do for  hearing aids (yes, he should wear his more often) but found no other problems. Next up was a trip to an ENT. Many, many years ago I saw a program on television about a man who had a similar problem, which was caused by a tiny hole in one of the arch-shaped bones in his ear. The ENT told him this was so rare a condition as to be almost unheard of, which was, as a matter of fact, the point of the TV show. He suggested a course of steroids and antibiotics to clear up any possible infection and sent us on our way.

No joy. In fact, things are getting worse. The Squire is now totally deaf in his left ear, other than the infernal beeping, and is suffering from bouts of vertigo, which means we’re back to having nearly every trip be a two-person operation. At least he can roll over and not hear me snore, which is one advantage.

Yesterday, we went back to the ENT, and I told him we’d looked for horses, and now it was time to look for zebras. He almost agreed with me, and The Squire has an appointment for an ENG (a sort of nerve conduction study for the ears) on the 14th.

This is all very trying for both of us. The Squire has always told me I am very soft-spoken, which is about as accurate as my considering myself an introvert, and I loathe yelling at him. I know some sign language, but he resists that, which is frustrating. He has his choice, you know – wear the blasted hearing aids, learn ASL, or talk to the local undertaker, ‘coz I’m a-gonna kill him!

 

 

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You Know…

7 Jan

…it’s time to go on a serious diet when the only thing in your closet that comes close to fitting is your bathrobe.

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Happy New Year!

1 Jan

I worked the 18th and 21th, plus the four days this week, and I think it will take me a week to catch up on my sleep. I get home at 6:00, and the Squire has dinner ready, but if I don’t post this before 7, it shows up as the next day, so it doesn’t get done.

We went to bed around 10:30 last night; I was vaguely aware of noise at midnight, but not the sort of full-scale blowout we used to have before the sheriff moved in across the street. The Squire got up this morning at 7 AM, but I didn’t wander down until 9:30. While I was waiting for the kettle to boil, I went out to feed the squirrels, and The Squire followed me out. He joked that I needed to watch out for the “mad squirrel”; he’d brought out some stale muffins and while he was breaking them up to toss across the yard a squirrel had come over, climbed up his pants leg, and grabbed a hunk of muffin right out of his hand, and ran off with it.

“Oh! Did you already fill the feeders, then?”

Blank look. “I never thought of it.” Sometimes I wonder about that man…

By Wednesday, the dog had gotten used to the fact that I wasn’t home during the day, but he was waiting at the kitchen door every night when I came in. We normally feed him three small meals a day, at the end of the dining room table, and he won’t start eating until we have said grace. This evening, we ate at the computer desk, catching up on things that had been done and left undone during the last week or so. Blazer wandered in with his dish in his mouth, so I went out and fed him, then sat back down at the desk. A few moments later, he was back in the den, without the dish, but pawing at our chairs. Once he’d gotten our attention, he went back out and sat at the end of the table, next to his dish, looking back and forth between us and his food.

The Squire turned around and looked at the dog, then raised his hand in blessing, and said, “Lord bless this food to the dog’s use. Amen”

And Blazer settled down to eat.

 

 

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Merry Christmas!

25 Dec

Tuesday afternoon, three of us from the Altar Guild met at church and tried to get things set up for the Christmas Eve services.  We replaced the dry greens around the Advent wreath, put fresh magnolia leaves in the window sills, got the crèche figures out and set them around the base of the font, so they could be handed to the kiddles to carry up to the altar at the early service. We put the poinsettias around the altar, but we knew they needed rearranging, as we couldn’t find the stands normally used to put them at different levels.

There were a number of things that simply didn’t get done. The head of the Altar Guild is very, very, ill and simply didn’t have the energy to do some of the stuff, and there are two new men in charge of the Property Committee (The Squire always did everything alone) and they have rearranged things to a fare-thee-well, without consulting the ladies, so we couldn’t find half the stuff we needed. You’d think any man would have enough sense to keep his hands off things that concern women, but apparently not.

The church has an outdoor Christmas tree of sorts – strings of lights going from the ground to the top of the flag pole – and it wasn’t lit when we got there at 10 PM. The new Property Warden said the timer had been on for six hours, and that seemed to be the end of it as far as he was concerned. The original set-up went on and off by the ambient light, but apparently that is no longer being used.  The new man, poor soul, had also used a ladder to attach the strings of lights to the ring at the top of the flagpole, instead of dropping it down and working from the ground, so we only had six strings instead of sixteen.

Ah, well. I have no room to talk. I was the crucifer cum LEM at the late service and totally forgot to light any of the candles  – not the candelabra behind the altar, not the sconces, and not even the candles ON the altar. For some wondrous reason, I kept tripping over my alb. It’s the same one I’ve worn for years, and the same style shoes I’ve always worn. Beats me. I just seemed to be a half-beat off all night.

The Squire and I slept in this morning until an outrageous hour, and then simply started fixing Christmas dinner, rather that eating breakfast. Afterward, we exchanged our gifts. (see “Try to Act Surprised”, parts 1 and 2) The Squire settled into the recliner with the first book of the Safehold series, Off Armageddon Reef, and I promised not to disturb him until 5:00, as we are leaving at 6, to go up to Eldest Daughter’s for a late supper. I figure if I play my cards right, he’ll be finished in time for me to take the book to work on Monday.

Not as dumb as I look.

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The Bishop is Coming!

20 Dec

Easier said than done, sometimes. Keep Calm

Yesterday, about a half dozen of us from the Altar Guild met at church in the morning and did as much as we could to make the place look festive for the bishop, and still not break the tradition of not decorating the church before Christmas.

We also made swags to be hung from the sconces and roping for here and there, and laid them outside the back door, in the cool air, ready to put up as soon as the coast was clear.

Blazer didn’t get to go, because one of our members is simply terrified of dogs.  I called home before I left the church, to ask if anything needed to be picked up at the store. Since I was not in the house, when The Squire answered the phone, Blazer came into the den, presumably to see if I was calling him. The Squire turned around and told him, “That was Momma. She’s coming home”, and the poor dog immediately raced to the back door and sat there, expectantly, staring at the doorknob. Silly mutt.

Our Altar Guild chair is not any older than I am, but she has numerous health problems and her husband is very ill. I don’t know how she keeps going, I really don’t. She was running the vacuum cleaner around the altar and had to stop and lean against it to catch her breath, she was wheezing so badly. We finally chased her out of the building with a broom, and she was still too ill to come to church this morning. She did show up after the bishop had left, “ready to work”, she said, but we all agreed that we will meet on Tuesday at 4:30 to do what needs to be done.

She had been training somebody else to take over for her, but that person moved away, so we’re back to square one. I used to be head of the Altar Guild, back in the 80s, but somehow I can’t see M+ offering me the job.

So – Bishop Sutton baptized one adult, and confirmed or received five people, including the aforementioned adult. Not bad for such a small parish. Bishop Sutton is a delight. Fantastic sense of humor, and uses it to make his point. He spoke about the word “Behold”, which is not in any of the new translations of the Bible, nor is it used in Rite II. Either the word “see” is substituted, or the thing is ignored completely. This really diminishes the importance of what is being said. The angel told the shepherds, “Behold! I bring you glad tidings”, which is a lot more impressive than “See, this is what happened in Bethlehem”.

There was a couple in the back of the church who had come for the sake of the one of the confirmands and he, at least, was down-home Baptist. It took him a little while to realize that while Episcopalians do laugh in church (especially when Sutton is the celebrant), we don’t generally shout “Preach it, brother”!

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Where Was I?

15 Dec

The Squire and I held our annual Open House on Sunday, the 13th. We’ve done this every year but one since we got married, and that was after Hurricane Floyd dropped a tree on the house.

The Godson came over on Thursday and Saturday to help swing a dust cloth and then acted as our head chef on Sunday.  I baked like a mad woman, gluten-free stuff first and then my more traditional things. The Godson has been helping us for the last four years, so he knows his way around our kitchen, and doesn’t have to be reminded to keep an eye on the trays and so forth. He’s considering a career in culinary arts, so he really enjoys doing this for us.

In between all this, we had a cookie exchange at church and a Christmas dinner with the Daughters of the British Empire, both on Saturday.

Last night I went up to bed at 9:45 and staggered downstairs at 9:30 this morning.  I not only never got out of my robe, but I also took a nap in the afternoon.  Tired? Not a bit.

The Open House was not quite as well attended as it has been in other years, but it was nice. We had a chance to move around and visit with guests, and the weather was warm enough (70!) that we didn’t light the fire.  Eldest daughter came down, bearing oatmeal cookies and crackers; she uses my recipe, but hers are always so much better, and The Squire seemed to think one box of Wheat Thins was enough for the crowd. Sometimes I wonder about that man.  Both of the local grandchildren and their spouses came down, and brought the Little One, who charmed all the guests with her smiles and curly hair.  Blazer wandered from place to place, looking for a handout or a belly rub. We, of course, never feed him, or pay any attention to him.

Somehow, the conversation turned to unwanted phone calls. I don’t answer calls where the name or number is “not available”. If you’re not available, then neither am I. I also don’t speak to entire cities. If I do answer a call with a number I don’t know, I speak Cherokee. One of the guests is from Tanzania and she laughed. “I use Swahili, and just keep saying “no English, no English”.  We have another lady at church who is from Denmark, and she does same thing. Never use French or German, and Heaven forbid you should try Spanish!

The weather here has been incredibly warm. It was 70 on Sunday, and 72 on Thanksgiving day. The cherry blossoms are starting to bloom in Washington D.C., and our forsythia has little buds along the branches. The Squire was joking about  possibly mowing the lawn on more time.  Well, the weatherman is saying we may have snow flurries on Friday.

They were claiming we’d have a hard winter. When it comes, it should be a doozy.

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More Than One Way…

9 Dec

For a solid week, The Squire has been trying to get my files transferred from my old computer to this one.  Windows 10 doesn’t have a “transfer” plan that works, and the new computer was set up to run MSN, rather than Comcast, although my email address remained the same.

Having been raised straddling the Lutheran  and Episcopal churches, and being German to my toenails, I do not take kindly to change, especially when it does not seem to be for any good reason.

There is no mechanism on Windows 10 to set up an address book; all of your email comes from Outlook Express, which, for some reason, this machine won’t see. I just carried my old computer into the dining room and used it instead. Anyway, after much mumbling and cursing on his part, The Squire finally figured out how to get this machine to open in Comcast mode. All of my email addresses are there, my favorites are where I left them, and there  is peace in the valley again.

I still hate Microsoft.

 

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