Learning to Live in England, Part 06

Thursday, 10 June

Demetrios' godson, James (Julia and david's elder son) and his girlfriend, Kim, came over, bringing their smallest television to lend us.  It's a flat-screen, and it's larger than any we've ever had. 

Then they took us to Liverpool for a day out on the town.

My image of Liverpool, which I suppose is widely shared, is of a grim, grimy relic of the Industrial Revolution. That would have been correct 20 years ago. But since then, enormus amounts of money have been spent to refurbish the city, and by now, I must tell you, it's well on its way to becoming a world-class city. No, it will not yet compete with Paris or Rome, but it's getting there. Blocks and blocks of the downtown have been made into pedestrian-only areas, making one giant, outdoor shopping mall. Some of the streets have been glassed-in, too, and within this complex there is at least one American-style, all-indoor mall. Shops range from bargain-hunters' magnets to up-scale, chic places, and so do eateries.

We saw the famous Liver building ('Liver' rhymes with 'driver'.) There are two Liver Birds atop them, about which there are various legends. One of them is that one bird looks out to sea, to welcome people arriving in port, while the other looks over the city, to see if the pubs are open.  (This image courtesy of Wikipedia)

We visited the famous Albert dock and took in a couple of its museums, including the one featuring Titanic and Lusitania exhibits.  Liverpool was the home port for both doomed ships, although Titanic was never here.

We had lunch at a spanish restaurant featuring tappas.  We don't have such places in Richmond.  It was excellent and moderately-priced.

We also passed the Cavern Club, the pub where the Beatles got their start.  (If you remember how they spoke, then you can 'hear' the local accent.)

Didn't get to see St. Nicholas, the Greek Orthodox church, as we weren't sure where it was but it wasn't near.

We did find a bathrobe for Demetrios.  Kim really knows her shops!  She can tell you where to buy anything.

We also saw the Everton home fields, Everton being the other, rival, soccer football club here.  'D'ya notice the smell?' James asked.  He's a supporter of Liverpool.

Back in Ormskirk in time to avoid the Liverpudlian rush hour, james and Kim took us to a store called Pound-Stretchers, to buy two pillows (for our guests) and a basket for Kim';s toletries.  Then on to Argos, a catalogue store, where they very quickly found us what we needed to get the television up and running:  some sort of special cable to connect it with the communal antenna, and a 'digi-box,' to allow this analog set to receive the now all-digital telecasts.  Tomorrow we will purchase a television license, to be able to operate the set legally. 

They plugged everything in and showed us to to work the remote. 

And then they stayed for tea and crumpets.  I made the tea strong this time, the way Julia does.  She uses two teabags per cup of tea!  So I used 8 altogether.  Six will be perfect for next time.  We also had some cookies biscuits, both shortbread and chocolate clusters.

We were so touched by the kindness of these two people, not only lending us a TV and getting it set up for us, not only taking us out for a look at Liverpool, but - just imagine ! - two people still in their twenties, willing to spend the entire day with two old fogeys like us!  And seeming to enjoy it, even.  Amazing.

Learning to Live in England, Part 05

Tuesday, 08 June

While Demetrios stayed home to write, I went to the library to use their computers and do some blogging. I was extra lucky, because while I was there, they had Toddler's Rhyme Time, bunch of small kids singing. It was so charming! I knew most of the songs, but one I didn't know and found especially delightful was this:

The grand old Duke of York
He had ten thousand men,
He marched them up to the top of the hill
And he marched them down again.

And when they were up, they were up,
And when they were down, they were down,
And when they were only halfway up,
They were neither up nor down!

I laughed.

Libarary computers are free to use, but there is a time limit of two hours. So when my time was up, I walked a block or two to the center of town and bought myself a lunch of egg salad egg mayo sandwich, with an adult-sized juicebox containing blackcurrant juice. I found a bench by the clock tower in the square and sat there to eat.

Then on to the yarn shop. I did pick out some yummy yarn, in all the colors of our flat, but I've no idea what I'm going to do with them. I think I may make a tea cozy. Anyway, buying the yarn was secondary; the main objective was to find and join the knitting group that meets there on Tuesday afternoons. Which I did, although only one other knitter showed up today. Her name was Sandra and she is a young grandmother who works at Tesco (supermarket). Myra, the proprietess, joined us, along with a shop clerk named Mark, who began to knit three years ago and says knitting has now 'taken over me life.' (No, I do not know, but I think yes.) So we spent a pleasant afternoon knitting and chatting.  About halfway through, Mark served us tea.

These people are hilarious! I mean, everybody from here is. Demetrios says all the comedians come from this area of the country, and I can well believe it. They never miss a beat with their witticisms.  Mark and Sandra, especially, teased one another mercilessly all afternoon and kept us in stitches in more than one sense!

In the evening, we went to a church discussion group. The church bulletin notices sheet said the group was to discuss the sermon or to deal with any questions regarding the service (meaning especially the contemporary service). Discussion group to meet at such-and-such an address. Where's that? I called the church, but too late; nobody was there. Finally I just started phoning anybody whose telephone number was listed. On the second try, I found a woman who told me how to get to Fairfield Close, and it's very near us, a 5-minute walk.

So we went there and met Stuart, who is to be ordained July 4, and his wife, Angela. then the worship leders showed up, Kirsten and Paul.

We didn't say much. We did make it clear we were Orthodox, and we did ask one or two questions, seeking their point of view. Okay, so let me see if I can present their POV to you. First, there is a concerted effort to bring people in, get them to attend church. There is a theory, probably accurate, that the old services (and even the old buildings, for children) have become 'frightening and off-putting,' in Kirsten's words. The level of ignorance about the Christian Faith, I gather, is staggering in England.

So these people, motivated by love, as Kirsten emphasized, are, well, trying to redesign the whole thing more or less from scratch (my words). The traditions, as I've been suspecting, have become meaningless; nobody knows what they are for, and Angela ventured an opinion that the rules about how things should be done are a form of Pharisaism. Hence, in this parish, there are no rules; Kirsten and Paul design the contemporary services with pretty much a free hand. The Book of common Prayer has been virtually abandoned all over England.

But Angela did recognize the purpose for one tradition, that of having the General Confession at the beginning of the service. (Kirsten had received a number of complaints after having designed a service meant to bring people to the awareness that they needed confession, therefore culminating in confession at the end.) Angela pointed out that the idea of putting it at the beginning (everything is an idea) is that we aren't worthy to worship until we have first repented.

There is was - and Demetrios reinforced it - the idea that a tradition handed down for centuries might actually have survived that long for a good reason, might actually serve some edifying end, and if its function could be rediscovered, one might like to think twice before jettisoning it.

It wasn't until after we came home that we had second thoughts about that. Anglicanism is another too-incomplete reform of Roman Catholicism, so if you trace the function of any tradition all the way back to before King Henry VIII, you will find it bent to bolster the papacy. These people are actually correct in rejecting bent tradition.

Anyway, we met some very good people and enjoyed the evening. 

Wednesday 09 June

We stayed home today and I played house, having a ball cleaning my adorable little Doll House. That's what I call our flat, The Doll House.

This morning as we glanced out the front window, we saw a mallard duck with nine very tiny ducklings trailing her, walking across the garden. The drake that sits on the chimney pot and sometimes even on the TV antenna (HOW does he do that, with his flat feet???) appears less and less frequently.

Learning to Live in England, Part 04

Sunday, 06 June

As we did last Fall, we decided to play Anglican today, not having a car to get to an Orthodox church, and having slept too late to catch a train. We attended the 11:15 service at the Ormskirk Parish Church (of Sts. Peter and Paul), a service branded as 'more traditional' - 'more' [nearly] being the key word. It still did not much resemble the Book of Common Prayer I grew up with. (Do you have to say 'up with which I grew' to avoid putting a preposition at the end of the sentence?' Silly rule, as Winston Churchill said, 'Up with which I will not put!')

We sat in the back, but were not favored with any anonymity; the Rector recognized us, and, walking back to us, said, 'I think I see some visitors from America this morning. Please tell us your names?'

The other visitors were from Germany.

Then Rev. Jones asked if anybody was having any celebrations this week, such as birthdays, anniversaries. The man in front of us said he and his wife were celebrating their 55th and added, 'The first three years of which were happy, too!' and his wife giggled. they look so young they must've married when they were 10. Later, after church, chatting with that man, I said (taking the woman's part, naturally), 'I won't even ask you what you did wrong in the fourth year.'

'I lost command!' was his instant answer.

A man named Keith, who had been confirmed a few days before, stood up during the service and read his 'testimony,' and it was very moving. He spoke of feeling lost and alone and then one day he knelt down and asked God to forgive him and something happened, he could not explain what, but 'Now, with God, I can live.'

It reminded us that the Holy Spirit works wherever He will, meaning as extensively as possible, given man's freedom, which He will never violate, because that by definition would be the very opposite of saving us.  he is never entirely absent from anywhere, and He certainly isn't from here.

The sermon, given by the Linda, the Vicaress (?) who is married to the Vicar (the curate being Ann), picked up on the theme, 'With God, we can live.'

The other thing that impressed us greatly was that perhaps the reason these people are throwing out all their traditions is that they no longer know what they mean. That is, the traditions no longer have any function for them, no longer serve any edifying purpose.  People have forgotten what they were for, if anything; they suppose tradition is for its own sake, and see no point in that.

In the afternoon, David and Julia's son James came with his girlfriend, Kim, to take us to his parents' house for a barbeque. James is Demetrios' godson. He is 6'4" tall and has the deepest blue eyes I ever saw. (His father's are bright blue, but James' are saturated, as though God had dished out a triple dose of pigment when He made James.) Kim has reddish brown hair in one of those cuts that is jaw-length in front and shorter in back.  Both are very amiable and easy to be with.

The Bates have a sunken garden out behind their house and conservatory, with a summerhouse beside it. The summerhouse has two rooms, a kitchen and a very small sitting room. We all crowded into the latter and were very comfortable there, seven of us including the younger son, Nick. Nick is very gregarious and has sandy-colored, curly hair.

'Your father had hair just like that when I first met him,' Demetrios remarked, prompting James to quip, 'That's a bit worrisome, ain't it, Nicky?'

David is a chef par excellence. I've always heard of his cooking, and now I know why. We had beef and lamb and potatoes and grilled vegetables, all exquisite. Julia crowned all these with a homemade tiramisu. I could have eaten the whole, large bowl.

David opened a theological discussion, prompted by reading my blog, which for him is too religious. His comments reminded us that yes, it is right and proper when one way or the other we grow out of the baby religion we were taught as children; as David put it, all that stuff about God waking up in the morning and being entertained by angels playing harps. Or as I would add, God requiring a bloody human sacrifice in payment for our sins.

Outgrowing that 'folk religion', as we might call it, can of course take at least two forms. One is simply to reject it and another is to acquire a more adult understanding of God.

Another thing of which the conversation reminded us is that True Religion does have to be logical! Christ, after all, is the Logos of God, God's logic, incarnate. More accurately, He is the Principle of Truth, from which all true logic and reason flow.   A religion that is illogical is not His, and therefore is not true.

On the other hand, we aren't speaking of secular logic, either. David pointed out repeatedly that this gets us approximately nowhere.

So what's the difference between secular logic and spiritual logic? Is it the topic of the discussion? No! You can discuss theology in perfectly secular ways and too many so-called theologians do just that; or you can discuss, say, deer hunting in perfectly spiritual terms.

The difference is that spiritual logic is rooted in faith in the God Who is Love. It all begins there. So, for example, it is not logical to believe that a man could rise from the dead. UNLESS you have seen Him die and have met Him alive afterwards! And have put your hands into His wounds and have seen Him eat before you, and have heard Him conversing with you, and others have seen Him alive, too, up to 500 people all at the same time. Then (and only then) the illogical, indeed the insane thing would be not to believe!

We came home with increased gratitude for Holy Orthodoxy, which leads her children into personal experience of all these things, making each generation into firsthand witnesses of them. Do Holy Week and Pascha with the Orthodox Church and then when anybody asks you, 'Were You There When They Crucified My Lord?' you'll answer, 'Yes! Yes, and when He trampled down death by death, too, and when He burst its bonds!  I was there!'  And you were, in a way that leaves those who were there historically with no spiritual advantage over you.

P.S.)

David kindly lent me his birdbook! Yes, the black fellow with the impressive volcabulary is indeed a blackbird. And yes, we have Wood Doves here, and Collared Doves. And the birds on the pond in the park are Mute Swans and Mallards and Coots and something I haven't found yet.

And the guy sitting on the TV ariel across the street from us is only sometimes the Mallard Drake. A Wood Dove likes to there, too, just to make it more confusing.

Learning to Live in England, Part 03

Saturday, 05 June

Saturday morning, another gorgeous day, and we had just finished a leisurely, late breakfast, I in my nightgown and Demetrios in his skivvies, when he glanced out the window and shouted, 'OH!' I looked out the window in time to catch sight of what he meant, just as he said, 'Here come David and Julia!' So we raced into the bedroom and threw on some clothes in time to answer when they rang the outside bell. We only had to make them wait a few moments.

They had come to lend us David's mobile phone! He says he only uses it on shoots (when he goes pheasant shooting). How thoughtful! And what a relief, not to feel totally incommunicado. Our new phone won't be put in, and we won't even know its number, until the 17th. (I don't know the number of this phone, either, so don't ask. I'm not using it for any international calls, either.) It took David quite a while to teach us how to use it...

The other purpose for David and Julia's visit was to invite us to a fête later this afternoon. Of course we gladly accepted.

The fête, Julia assured us, was a typical English event. You could sit out in a garden and be served tea with a strawberry cream scone. You could buy homemade cakes and jams; we bought raspberry jam. there was an exhibit of paintings by local artists. We didn't see one we wanted, but now that I think of it, when we do get ready to put something on our blank walls, a local subject by a local artist would be perfect.

At the fête, we encountered some of Demetrios' Old Friends, the Rev. Michael Smout and his wife, Valerie. Michael was the Rector of St. Michael's Church, directly adjacent to where the fête was. He is also the one who married David and Julia.

While we were there, we took a peek into St. Michael's Church, which is lovely inside. Its oldest partes are Norman, dating to the early 1100s. There is even some evidence (part of a Saxon stone cross) of a wooden church haveing been here earlier; the cross is from the late 800s. The list of Rectors goes all the way back to Robert Blundell, who served until 1246; that's before Marco Polo journied to China.

After the fête, David and Julia had another party to attend, so they dropped us home.

In the evening, during an exploratory walk around the neighborhood, we solved the mystery of the bird that sits on the TV ariel across the street from us. This time, we got a sideways view of him, and he is, of all things, a duck! Yes, an ordinary, Mallard duck drake - who thinks he's a perching bird. It's evolution, you see, happening before our eyes: the bird is adapting to a new environmental niche.

Demetrios showed me the small creek I'd never noticed before that runs right beside our block of apartments.

Learning to Live in England, 2010, Part II

Thursday, 03 June

We woke up to find the carpeting in the bathroom has a large stain - around the toilet.

Furthermore, the coffee pot, refrigerator, and radio are not working. There must be an electrical box somewhere around here, but we can't find it, to reset the breakers. Or replace the fuses, perhaps?

We have the name of the plumber the previous owner used; she very helpfully left us a list of such services. However, we have no phone...so, downtown we hiked, to the phone just off the main square by the Post Office.

The plumber wasn't at his phone. No use leaving a message, as there is no way he can return our call.

How to find another plumber? We asked strangers on the street, and were directed to Jackson's, a retail store selling bathroom stuff. The lady there was on lunch break, but unlocked the door to let us look around for fifteen minutes until her break was over. We did find some bathroom cabinets there, but they're very expensive, as in £200-400. Not for us, thank you very much.

After 15 minutes, the lady returned and gave us the name of a plumber who installs sinks and showers and toilets and so forth for Jackson's.

Back at the Post Office, the clerk who had sold us the telephone service let us use his mobile phone (as they're called here, not 'cell phones') to call the plumber. He can't come until tomorrow. But what can we do? At least we have an appointment for tomorrow at 1:00. That's a relief.

We also used his mobile phone to resolve the issue with the water company. They had shut down our (brand-new!) account last October, which is why they no longer have the direct debit from our bank activated. so how is it that, with us gone and the account closed, we accumulated £60 pounds worth of charges? Because the amount they had charged us earlier was only estimated. When they actually read the meter, it was more. For one week's worth of water? Anyway, I had TOLD them what the meter reading was. So I think we are going to dispute the charge, but not today. Not on somebody else's mobile phone minutes. For now, we're re-instating the automatic debit. And arranging never again to be charged on the basis of estimated use, but only actual meter readings.

The feeling of 'I can't believe we own this adorable flat!' has evaporated. We own it, complete with leaks, electrical problems, and bills. There's no manager to call to take care of it all for us, no landlord, no front desk. All the issues are ours to solve.

With with the major ones resolved, however, we began to feel relatively free and easy, and ready to start having some fun. So, as it is another perfect day, wandered through the market. Thursday is market day here, where you can buy everything from shoes to fresh produce to meats from vendors under white tents. We stopped at the Mediterranian stall and bought over-priced kalamata olives, feta cheese, and loukoumi, that sweet, gelatinous, sugar-coated candy Demetrios likes, otherwise known as Turkish Delight. We won't buy any more from that vendor, though, as the supermarket has it all at more reasonable prices. Food here, in general, is quite dear ('dear,' not 'expensive').

We also found some gorgeous rhubarb, which I bought and took home to make into a pie.

We strolled through the park on our way home. It has playground equipment I've never seen before, as well as a place for skateboarding.

At the pond, three or four mallard duck families have ducklings of various ages, some of them no more than two days old. And the swans have seven grey (not gray) cygnets. When I stopped to admire them, Mother Swan (I don't know where Mother Goose was) reared up out of the water, flapping her wings and squawking at me.

'What's she doing?' asked a small child on a nearby bench.

'Greeting me,' I fibbed.

'Warning her away,' said the child's father.

There are gulls here, too, even though we're about 7 miles from the ocean. I think they're herring gulls, because they look the same as our herring gulls in North Carolina. Must acquire a bird book!

In the evening, we encountered our neighbor, Linda, and asked her where the electrical panels are with the circuit breakers.  She said hers were in her coat closet by the front door.  We opened ours, and yes, there was a box with buttons and lights, but it was the security system.  We had already looked there, and everywhere else, earlier.  Still, as I stood there near the front door, I seemed to have a vague memory of having seen those breakers somewhere nearby.  Then I happened to glance up, and there they were above and to the right of the front door.  Sure enough, one of the handles was pointing downward.  We flipped it up like all the rest, and the fridge began to hum.  Another problem solved.  We breathed huge sighs.

Friday, 04 June

The plumber showed up, half an hour late but still most welcome, and did his bit. The good news is that the water was coming from the tank of the toilet, not the bowl. Which means it isn't sewerage ('sewerage', not sewage'). In fact, it was coming from a leak in the pipe leading to the tank. So it's just water! Clean water. Thank heaven. However, the carpet and the rubber underlayment are saturated. Plumber ripped them back for us to help them dry. It will take some days. He charged us £45, not bad.

We found a space heater that had been left for us in one of the bedroom closets. It puts out a prodigious amount of very hot air. So later, at night when electrical rates are lower, we plugged it in and left it on a couple of hours to try to speed the process, to prevent mold and/or mildew.

As soon as the plumber had left, we went out to enjoy the town and the still-perfect weather.

Stores and pubs and automobiles around here are all sporting the English flag. Not the Union Jack, which represents the whole United Kingdom, but the white flag with red cross that represents just England. From this, we have deduced that the World Cup soccer championships are about to be played and that England is in the competition. We inquired, and were told the matches begin Saturday of next week. England is to play the United States. I suppose that means we'd better not show up in any pubs to watch it on their television!

Late in the afternoon took the bus to nearby Burscough, where we had heard there is a shop that rents televisions. We found the shop, but it was already closed. We shall try again early next week.

On our way home, we again spotted the mysterious bird that sits on the chimney across the street from our flat. But again we couldn't see him well enough to tell what he is. He seems bigger than a crow.

There are hours more daylight here than in Richmond! I don't know what time the sun rises because I'm never awake, but it doesn't set until around 9:30, and what I call 'deep dusk' doesn't really set in until 10:00. It's hard to realize when bedtime comes. All this glorious light is the Brits' reward for suffering through the long, dark winters.

Learning to Live in England, 2010

Tuesday, 01 June

We returned Elizabeth to her father, who met us at their house and got us to the airport in plenty of time.

Elizabeth finished her embroidery ('stitchery,' she called it) while she was at our house. It was the head of an orange and white cat she had drawn on burlap with crayons.

So then she took up knitting. She already knew how to knit, but I had the great joy of showing her how to cast on, how to purl, how to do selvedges, and how to change colors at the end of a row. We found her some yarn from my stash. ('Oh, you have twice as much as Mom, and she has a huge box!' said Elizabeth. Good for you, Barbara, having a whole huge box!) She's working on a green and blue scarf with a seed stitch texture and doing very well on it.

Daniel looked well and is dating a woman he describes as very nice ('That's the first requirement,' I said...) and 'very smart' ('And for you, that's the second.').

We arrived in England after a miserable flight. USAirways packs you in like sardines. The seatbelt barely fit me and the tray table wouldn't lie flat. And the woman in the seat next to me weighed twice as much as I do.

The weather was rainy - no surprise there, eh? - and cold. That was a surprise: the high temp for the day was 54, and that's Fahrenheit! Ah, we're going to love it here, escaping the sweltering days of a Richmond (or Greek) summer.

Julia and David greeted us at the airport, to our great joy, and they both looked well. The first place they took us was home. HOME! This little dollhouse in England is ours. We can hardly believe it. We brought in our luggage (after a bit of a do on account of all the mail that had been dropped through the slot in the front door, making the door a bit tricky to open) and then Julia and David took us to the supermarket to pick up a few essentials. We dropped those back at home and plugged in the refrigerator and put away the perishables.

Then on to the Saracen's Head for lunch. I think David and Julia expected it to look as it used to when they used to frequent it: a typical, cozy, warm-feeling English pub. It has been modernized, however, and now sports and open, airy look. No problem at all. I had a sandwich of goat cheese, beet roots, and rocket, and it was delicious. (Rocket is a salad green that looks like dandelion leaf and I love it.)

Then, home again. Julia and David, who besides being very kind, are very understanding people, said goodbye and left us to settle in and rest. We unpacked and put everything in its place, all mostly in an effort to stay awake. We tried reading through our mail, but our eyes glazed over and we succumbed to a sound afternoon nap.

Wednesday, 02 June

It's still late springtime here. Lilacs and laburnum and hedges are still in bloom, having disappeared from Richmond a month ago. Rhododendron is blossoming, too. In Richmond, it comes out right about the first of May.

There are also quite a few birds I can't identify, including a black fellow with an extensive vocabulary. He has a yellow beak. In the States, you'd see that yellow beak and immediately say, 'Starling!' (wouldn't you?) but this bird, unlike a starling, has a long tail and no speckles. Also, there's a bird that loves to perch on a chimney across the street from us. He has a small head, which always makes me think of doves, but if this is a dove, it's a humongous one. Haven't yet seen him in profile, only straight on.

The weather is perfect today: very warm but not hot sunshine, cool breeze, blue skies, temperature in the mid-70s.

We had a leisurely breakfast and sorted through our mail. The water comapny thinks we owe them £60. How can that be, when we set up an automatic debit with them at our bank?

Then we made a list of issues and prioritized them. First necessity: a telephone. It's blankety-blank inconvenient without one! Can't call the water company or the bank or Julia and David.

We went downtown and rather to our surprise, almost immediately found and bought the bed we were looking for. It's a single bed with a trundle underneath that can be jacked up to the same height as the other bed, so you can make them up as one big bed or as two singles, or even put one in the other room. This was the main thing we needed to prepare for Nick and Sharyn's visit at the end of this month. Still a few more items, like towels and facecloths, but this was the biggie. And, because we didn't have to buy a double bed, we can still use the same duvet on the new one. As I love it and as it matches the curtains, this is no small consideration.

At a pay phone, we called a couple of telephone companies. Nobody has a pay as you go plan; they're all a one-year contract. Except the Post Office; they offer a phone service with no contract. We went with that. The phone won't be connected for another 10-14 days, however. Still, it's a big relief to have it arranged. (Cell phones are what we tried last year, but they only worked outside of our flat; inside it, nobody could call us and we couldn't call out. So we took them back to America, hoping there might be a way to use them there. And then forgot, until now, we had done it!)

We can't seem to reach the water company. We get cut off within two minutes every time we start to speak with them. Well, their £60 will have to wait.

We're Off!

...God willing and the volcano don't blow (in our direction)

It's seven o'clock in the morning and so far, I'm the only one awake here. I'll wake up Demetrios and Lizzie in another hour, and we'll eat breakfast and change the beds and depart to meet Elizabeth's dad. He will drive us to the airport and keep our car until our return. Tonight, we'll be heading out over the Atlantic.

I'll try to write in my travel journal every day, but it will be a few days before my laptop has Internet access.

Two of my Sweeties

Last night my Number One Sweetie came home from New Orleans. Overall, he enjoyed his trip and his conference. And though he didn't care for Bourbon Street or gumbo, he did enjoy having Bananas Foster in the restaurant where they were invented; said they were the best Bs.F. he ever ate.

This morning I went up to my mother's place to meet Daniel, who had brought me my niece Elizabeth for the weekend. She's going to turn 10 on June 2. Daniel is going to take his older daughter, Madison, to a volleyball tournament at Penn State. Lizzie didn't want to go; she becomes bored with so many volleyball games.

We had lunch with Mom and then departed.

On our way home, I told Elizabeth all about the Battle of Fredericksburg and then asked whether she might share my interest in stopping by the Fredericksburg Battlefield, and she said yes.   So we did.

I think I may have recounted that story before in this blog, but here's the gist of it. Fredericksburg is halfway between Washington and Richmond, the two warring capitals during the Civil War. It was a major transportation hub, sitting on the Rappahannock River and having a major railroad junction nearby. So here came the Army of the Potomac, in December, camping out on the east side of the River.  On the west side was the town. Past the town, a small, open field affording no cover. In the middle of the open field, a deep ditch. On the far (west) side of the field, a sunken road bordered by a stone wall facing the field. Above the sunken road, a ridgeline called Marye's Heights.  (You can enlarge this map by clicking on it if you have that much interest in the American Civil War.)

General Lee rushed his army to the defense, situating heavy artillery along the ridge line and infantry behind the stone wall. As one confederate put it, "Not even a chicken could have lived on that field" once the Rebels opened fire, The Rebs had 10 days in which to reinforce their position and dig in, because due to someone's horrendous mistake, that's how long it took for the Union pontoons to arrive, allowing the Northerners to construct from them a bridge over the river. This they did under heavy fire and with high casualties.

Then Gen. Burnside ordered the first attack. Predictably enough, the Union soldiers were mowed down. Burnside ordered a second attack, with the same result, and a third, and a fourth and a fifth. Men were dying at the rate of 1,000 per hour. My reference book I'm pretty sure said there were 14 such doomed assaults in all, but the film we watched said 18. Burnside's junior officers had to talk him out of ordering more the next day.

President Lincoln, when he heard of this insantiy, fired Gen. Burnside.

I thought the battlefield itself was disappointing.  The open field has largely disappeared from new construction; we never located the ditch; and Marye's Heights were not nearly as high as I had imagined.  Elizabeth showed more interest than I did.  She wanted to stop and read the plaques and to walk through the cemetery, and in general, to see the whole thing, whereas I would've been happy to walk half as far.

This is supposed to be a hill? Well, it is a bit higher, in places, than it looks.

Afterward, back in the car, I said, "Well, that hill wasn't even high enough to make me out of breath when I got to the top of it.  Well, maybe just a little bit.  Were you even out of breath at all?"

And dear, sweet, wonderful Lizzie replied:  "I was maybe a little out of breath, but not enough to get the tears out."

Pentecost Homily of Pope Benedict

Kontakion of Pentecost, Tone 8
When the Most High came down and confused the tongues, He divided the nations; but when He distributed the tongues of fire, He called all to unity. Therefore, with one voice, we glorify the all-holy Spirit.

Here is Pope Benedict’s remarkable Pentecost homily for this year. Until I read this, I shared with many of my fellow Orthodox Christians the impression that this pope might be a pretty good theologian.

The Spirit triggers a process of reunification of the divided and dispersed parts of the human family; persons, often reduced to individuals in competition or in conflict with each other, reached by the Spirit of Christ, open themselves to the experience of communion, can involve them to such an extent as to make of them a new organism, a new subject: the Church. This is the effect of God’s work: unity; thus unity is the sign of recognition, the “business card” of the Church in the course of her universal history. From the very beginning, from the day of Pentecost, she speaks all languages.

The universal Church precedes the particular Churches, and the latter must always conform to the former according to a criterion of unity and universality. The Church never remains a prisoner within political, racial and cultural confines; she cannot be confused with states nor with federations of states, because her unity is of a different type and aspires to transcend every human frontier.

From this, dear brothers, there derives a practical criterion of discernment for Christian life: When a person or a community, limits itself to its own way of thinking and acting, it is a sign that it has distanced itself from the Holy Spirit. The path of Christians and of the particular Churches must always confront itself with the path of the one and catholic Church, and harmonize with it.

This does not mean that the unity created by the Holy Spirit is a kind of homogenization. On the contrary, that is rather the model of Babel, that is, the imposition of a culture of unity that we could call “technological.” The Bible, in fact, tells us (cf. Genesis 11:1-9) that in Babel everyone spoke the same language. At Pentecost, however, the Apostles speak different languages in such a way that everyone understands the message in his own tongue. The unity of the Spirit is manifested in the plurality of understanding. The Church is one and multiple by her nature, destined as she is to live among all nations, all peoples, and in the most diverse social contexts. She responds to her vocation to be a sign and instrument of unity of the human race (cf. “Lumen Gentium,” 1) only if she remains free from every state and every particular culture. Always and in every place the Church must truly be catholic and universal, the house of all in which each one can find a place.

“The universal Church precedes the particular Churches, and the latter must always conform to the former according to a criterion of unity and universality.” Notice how this diverges from the ancient and Orthodox doctrine, in which the entire Church is fully present in each local church, and therefore no "universal Church" can preceed a local one in any sense. I’m not sure, but it even sounds as though Pope Benedict may be contradicting his own Catechism, as well. The latter is too vague, as usual, to be sure of this, but here is a relevant section of it:

832 "The Church of Christ is really present in all legitimately organized local groups of the faithful, which, in so far as they are united to their pastors, are also quite appropriately called Churches in the New Testament. . . . In them the faithful are gathered together through the preaching of the Gospel of Christ, and the mystery of the Lord's Supper is celebrated. . . . In these communities, though they may often be small and poor, or existing in the diaspora, Christ is present, through whose power and influence the One, Holy, Catholic, and Apostolic Church is constituted."312

833 The phrase "particular Church," which is first of all the diocese (or eparchy), refers to a community of the Christian faithful in communion of faith and sacraments with their bishop ordained in apostolic succession.313 These particular Churches "are constituted after the model of the universal Church; it is in these and formed out of them that the one and unique Catholic Church exists."314

834 Particular Churches are fully catholic through their communion with one of them, the Church of Rome "which presides in charity."315 "For with this church, by reason of its pre-eminence, the whole Church, that is the faithful everywhere, must necessarily be in accord."316 Indeed, "from the incarnate Word's descent to us, all Christian churches everywhere have held and hold the great Church that is here [at Rome] to be their only basis and foundation since, according to the Savior's promise, the gates of hell have never prevailed against her."317

835 "Let us be very careful not to conceive of the universal Church as the simple sum, or . . . the more or less anomalous federation of essentially different particular churches. In the mind of the Lord the Church is universal by vocation and mission, but when she put down her roots in a variety of cultural, social, and human terrains, she takes on different external expressions and appearances in each part of the world."318 The rich variety of ecclesiastical disciplines, liturgical rites, and theological and spiritual heritages proper to the local churches "unified in a common effort, shows all the more resplendently the catholicity of the undivided Church."319

“From this, dear brothers, there derives a practical criterion of discernment for Christian life: When a person or a community, limits itself to its own way of thinking and acting, it is a sign that it has distanced itself from the Holy Spirit.” Well, how about our own way of thinking about, say, abortion? Or homosexuality?  Diversity is good in many things, but not in Christian doctrine or ways of life.  St. Peter says (Galatians 1:8,) “But though we, or an angel from heaven, preach any other gospel to you than that which we have preached to you, let him be accursed.”

Now - most remarkably of all - notice how the Pope has completely reversed the biblical and o/Orthodox meaning of Babel in relation to Pentecost. In the Scriptures, the confusion of tongues was a punishment, a chastisement, for man’s arrogance; and Pentecost was the healing of that confusion and division, when the Apostles spoke in ONE tongue, which was nevertheless understood by each person in his own language. “The unity of the Spirit” is not “manifested in the plurality of understanding”, but in oneness of mind and heart and doctrine; see Romans 15;6, II Corinthians 1: 10 and 13:11, Philippians 1:27 and 2:2, I Peter 3:8, and multitudes of other biblical passages. To an oft-burned, more than twice suspicious person such as me, the pope is sounding very much as if he meant, “Believe in your own way, so long as you are subject to me.”

“[The Church] responds to her vocation to be a sign and instrument of unity of the human race (cf. “Lumen Gentium,” 1) only if she remains free from every state and every particular culture. Always and in every place the Church must truly be catholic and universal, the house of all in which each one can find a place.”  This would sound pretty good, in parts, if it weren’t coming from a pope. That is, yes, the Church must never be defined by nor subject to any state or any particular culture. Phyletism is a curse, and one to which the Orthodox are prone. But one can only find it strange when the pope, himself head of a state, says the Church must be free from every state. Again, the homily sounds like a speech in support of One World Religion, where “each one can find a place,” meaning each person, retaining his own culture and his own understandings of things, can find some agreeable way of submitting to the pope. 

This pope, my dear Orthodox brothers and sisters, is not showing himself to be who we had hoped he was.

Bits of News

Demetrios is off in New Orleans attending the annual APA Meeting (American Psychiatric Association). He is not impressed by the local cuisine. Last night finally resorted to a MacDonald's.

He has received some very positive feedback on the theory he has spent his life working on, and some encouragement to get it published. We've made more than one false start on his book, but for about 10 days now he's had the outline that seems to work, that so far stands up to scrutiny. I'm so scared something may happen to him before he can get this stuff written that I am going to "interview" him about his theory, starting on the plane ride Monday, and I'm going to write down all the basics of it.

I keep telling him if he publishes this, then, just as Freud is the Father of Psychiatry, Demetrios will be the Father of Modern Psychiatry, which I believe is absolutely true.

"And if I don't?" he asks.

"Then you'll still be the Father of Modern Psychiatry, but nobody will know it!"

I've been all caught up getting us and the house ready to leave for England next Monday. That's God willing and the cloud of volcanic ash stays out of our way. Literally, it all depends upon which way the wind is blowing.

It seems there are hundreds of errands.  Cancel trash pick-up.  Put cars into "storage status" with auto insurance company.  Have cable cut off; have telephone and internet service pared down to the "basic" level until further notice.  Take stuff for dry cleaning.  Arrange for neighborhood kid to mow lawn and water the new grass in the back yard and get the mail.  Arrange for medical insurance to allow us extra amounts of all our prescription medicines.  Get mammogram.  Clean out fridge and freezer. 

In the past few days, I've TWICE received a Blast from the Past. One was from my old friend Gloria. (Type her name in the search box I've added to the top of my sidebar to read about our adventures together.)   She reminded me of a very silly incident, among the many we had.  It was the time she came over to keep me company once when my husband was out of town.  We had to share a bed, and "because of that whole gay thing," as she put it, referring to one of our pranks, story here), we were each afraid of giving the other the wrong impression.  So each tried very hard to stay on her own side of the bed, with the result that we got no sleep at all and were miserable by morning.  Served us right, I suppose.

The other Blast from the Even More Distant Past was Cathy, a friend from my college days. I think I was only 20 last time I saw her, and she was 22. Here she is as a grandma; so hard to believe. We shared an apartment for one, highly eventful summer.

"Do you remember the time you had Gordie [guy I was dating] lie down on the side of the road and we poured ketchup all over him to look like blood?" Well, no, I don't remember, but it has to be true; it sounds too like me in those days not to be.

"Do you remember the time we went to hear Martin Luther King speak?" Oh, yes. There were big crowds there in Raleigh, so we thought we'd be safe, which meant anonymous, but no such luck. Obviously the event drew the press, and those cameras zoomed right in on the white faces and blonde hair, picking us out of that crowd, and there we were on the front page of the Raleigh News and Observer.  Cathy's father, publicly humiliated, threw her out of the house, which is how she came to live with me in the first place.

"Do you remember when we went to the Ku Klux Klan rally?" I certainly do. The Klan came to town and Father Kendall had organized a counter-march. The Klan marched down one street and we marched up the other side of it with "Love Thy Brother" signs. And after that, we thought it would be of some interest to see what the KKK did in public rallies. "We should be safe," said Cathy. "Lots of police here."

I said, "Look again. Not police. Klan toughies in security guard uniforms." We did not stay long.

"And do you remember the time we had an intruder in the middle of the night?" she asked.   "I heard glass breaking, and came running into your room, and you grabbed your hairspray.  And you whispered, "When he steps on the heating grate in the hallway, we'll hear it squeak and we'll know where he is and we'll aim at his face."

"And it turned out to be some sort of mistake, didn't it?"

"Yes, just our landlady's fiance, who didn't realize we were still there and needed to come get something.  But he did get a big faceful of hairspray."

I don't know what would have happened had it been a real burglar, but I do remember having an inflated opinion of hairspray as a weapon.

And so it went, sharing tons more memories from that wild summer, two crazy young girls out on their own for the first time... very silly!  Which is what makes it extra fun to remember.

Knitting Humor

I received this ad today and thought it was so funny others might enjoy it, too.  The ad is real.

Start your day with knitting wit and wisdom from Franklin Habit

The calendar for knitters!

Missed Worldwide Knit in Public Day last year? Intended to celebrate Elizabeth Zimmermann's birthday but forgot? [Anastasia's note: Zimmermann is a celebrated designer of knitting patterns, especially lace.)

Make sure you don't miss out on these important dates again, with Franklin Habit's Stash of Knitting Cartoons 2011 calendar! Keep track of all the noteworthy dates in the knitter's year, from festivals and retreats to the birthdays of knitting luminaries. And of course, plan out your holiday and gift knitting in advance, all on one calendar.

With wit as sharp as The New Yorker, Franklin affectionately tunes into the knitter's sense of humor, presenting thirteen hilarious, favorite cartoons from It Itches. Knitters will easily relate to the situations and characteristics of knitters that Franklin illustrates, be it from the compulsive yarn buyer to the mottephobic (fear of moths), to missing the holiday knitting deadline and the constant conundrum of just where to stash all that yarn.

Franklin Habit's Stash of Knitting Cartoons 2011 Calendar will not only help you keep your knitting organized for the year, it will also keep you laughing every month.


* * *

Oh, and while we're at it, I found another knitting cartoon I love.

Multiculturalism (With a Sigh...)

This year's Good Humor Man isn't from anywhere within a thousand miles of here. He has no idea what his little truck is going around playing over its loudspeaker:   Joy to the World, Deck the Halls, and O Tannenbaum, mixed right in with Yankee Doodle and Turkey in the Straw.

On "Enemies"

Many years ago, I met a wonderful woman from Beirut, Lebanon, named Houda, who has since (I am told) become an abbess. Back then, she told me over lunch, she was the catechist for her parish, what we would probably call the director of Christian education. So, as the civil war in the Lebanon was then raging, I asked her, somewhat sardonically, "So when people's homes are bombed and their daughters raped, do you teach them to love their enemies?" (I can't remember why I felt I should take such an attitude about it.)

"No," she said.

"NO?"

"No. I teach them that the Christian has no enemies."

I gasped in amazement as she went on: "It's all about love, isn't it? That's the whole thing, love. How can we regard anyone as an enemy?"

Well, yes... But -

"I tell the children to be brave and not to worry, because somewhere, someone is praying for us."

By this time my soup was being salted by my tears; this was one of those defining moments in my life, at a time when I had only recently resolved to become Orthodox. The words that came out of my mouth amazed us both: "I want to come to Beirut with you and share in your work there!"

She stared at me long and hard and finally said, "Your destiny awaits you back in Washington." Which was true, my destiny being Demetrios, to whom I was not yet married, nor even engaged.

I've been praying for Houda and her people ever since, and hoping to have the huge blessing of meeting this saint again before I die.

And yes, hers most definitely is the Christian attitude toward "enemies": To love all, and in equal measure. More precisely, to love without measure, for true love has no measure.

However, this remains: it is stupid and dangerous to fail to recognize when people are moving against you. And pointing it out is a good thing; never mind it may not be politically correct. You can't know how to proceed, other than keeping on loving, if you are blissfully unaware where danger lies. Jesus exhorted us not simply to be "harmless as doves", but also "wise as serpents".   And all this applies even if the one setting himself against you is the pope, as in approving the bombing of Kosovo, or certain Muslims, as in killing Christian priests.

Out of the Ballpark

Margaret has hit another home run, bases loaded, with her latest post on modesty (and Islam) here.  It's on the subject of what modesty really means, and whether it involves looking like a Muslim woman.

A couple of tidbits to whet your appetite:

Christian women are endlessly told to be modest so that we don’t incite our brothers to lust but no-one ever tells a Christian woman not to dress like a walking laundry basket because she’ll incite her sister to derision.

Muslims are Christ-deniers and that’s all that matters about Islam and sadly also about Judaism which I love; the part of Jewry that didn’t accept Him developed in to Judaism which can be yet strangely beautiful and evocative because despite every effort Christ will not be expunged; no-one can read the Jewish service books and not see Christ, no Christian that is. Islam is different. The Jews say Christ was a charlatan, a rebel, a madman, yes, but it’s not in the Torah; the Muslims say he was an ordinary human being, not God, no more than a prophet, that he did not die for our sins, that he did not die at all, that he made another man die a gruesome death in his stead and married Mary Magdalene. I have more time for a Jew who says that Christ was a rebel who went too far and that His followers were heretics than I have for a Muslim who says He was a liar, a coward and a murderer.

There is not a country in the world where Islam has the upper hand that Christians are not persecuted. [Anastasia's note:  and never has been.]  Look at Egypt and the ‘marriage by rape’ of Christian girls to Muslim men (according to various Coptic websites it is relatively common for teenage Christian girls to be kidnapped and then raped, perhaps even gang raped, and for it to be filmed whereupon the girl has a choice between the film being sent to her family/church or marrying one of the rapists), crucifixion of priests on church doors, martyrdom of children ... and then say Islam respects Christ. I saw on a blog a while back the suggestion that the ‘hijab look’ might be particularly appropriate for middle-eastern Christian women but oddly enough hijaberie isn’t too common amongst those whose sisters and daughters are the target of rapists because no-one in their right mind wants to look like the women who raise these men.

A Delicate Legal Matter

The following remarkable correspondence has come into my possession from a never-to-be named source; and as it appears to be nearly two decades old, I think no harm will come from my sharing it with you.  Here it is, with minor editing to protect the parties concerned, assuming they may still be alive.

Henry R. Roote
1000 Kabrich Street
Blacksburg, VA 24060
December 12, 1992

Mr.  Phineas Flopadopoulos, Esq., P.A.
Law Firm of Flopadopoulos & Flopadopoulos
P.O. Box 7336
Richmond, VA 23204

Dear Mr. Flopadopoulos:

Here's five dollars toward the cost of having you represent my former - and hopefully, future- friend, Mr. Jason Quincy Limpett, who wants to sue me.

The dispute concerns an unsolicited so-called poem he submitted to me, which I refused to publish in the monthly community newspaper of which I am editor and publisher.

To give you an idea, he rhymed "Clinton" with "badminton," "Perot" with "afterglow," and "Bush" with "tush." 

Also included in his envelope, together with the poem, was an invoice for $100.00, if you can imagine.

I told him it was trash.  Of course I didn't actually say "trash."  I simply wrote, "It is no good."  Then I added, "In cold type, it would make the angels weep and the immortal gods go out into the woods and kick themselves."

Obviously, he could not take the hint.  He threatened to sue me for the $100.  When I heard that, I was so mad I published a few choice words about him in the next issue, which I admit was an inadvisable thing to do, and now he wants damages as well as a hundred dollars.

A mutual friend, hearing of all this, told me that the best thing for me would be to get you, Mr. Phineas Flopadopoulos, and none other, to represent Mr. Jason Quincy Limpett.  He therefore kindly recommended you to Quince, without mentioning me.

One thing I should confide to you from the outset, Mr. Flopadopoulos, is that I am a blunt man.  So to come to the point without further ado, what I want you to do in representing that skunk, Jason Quincy Limpett, is absolutely nothing.  Listen to him with apparent concern, take notes if you like, and then stall, stall, stall!  You have been recommended to me as an expert and if you succeed in stringing him along for a sufficient period of time, I feel confident that Mr. Limpett eventually will give up, admit he was wrong, beg my forgiveness, and we shall once more be fast friends.  And if people call you "the do-nothing lawyer," so what?  You will have gotten paid, and by helping heal this rift, will have done a good deed, too.

Speaking of pay, I understand of course that a mere five dollars is but a tiny fraction of the actual cost of retaining you.  Mr. Limpett will bring the rest when he stops by your office next Tuesday or Wednesday.  Meanwhile, I heard somewhere than even one dollar is enough to "seal the deal" legally, and that is why I enclose the fiver.  Quince, by the way, is swimming in money, so don't hesitate to sock it to him.  After all, you'll have to listen to his snivelling for heaven knows how long, and will have to read his doggerel besides.

You can also bill me a reasonable amount over and above what you charge him, since you are representing the bests interests of both of us.  Plus, I figure this deal will save me hiring a separate lawyer.  Of course, since what I'm hiring you to do is nothing, I don't expect that will cost me very much!

Thank you, Mr. Flopadopoulos, for helping two old friends end this sorry dispute.  I already feel easier in my soul.  Should you fail to grasp any of these instructions, do not hesitate to write me at the above address.

Yours very truly,

Henry R. Roote

P.S.  Do not mention to Mr. Limpett anything about this arrangement between you and me.

Mr. Jason Quincy Limpett III, Director

Institute for the Advancement of Virginia Poetry

Shenandoah, Virginia 25031
03 January, 1993

Mr. Phineas Flopadopoulos, Esq., P.A.
Law Firm of Flopadopoulos & Flopadopoulos
P.O. Box 7336
Richmond, VA 23204

Dear Mr. Flopadopoulos:

Say it ain't so!  Did you really accept a bribe from Henry Roote to submarine my case?  That's what he told everybody at the New Year's party.  He even admitted it to me when I cornered him.  Which means he is in even worse trouble now.

And just as I had instructed my secretary to make an appointment with you. 

Well, the clock is ticking and I've got to start kicking ass before the Statue of L. runs out for slander.  So here's what I need to know from you:  is the guy lying, as usual, or not?  He says he can prove you did accept his bribe.  Please let me hear from you pronto.

Sincerely yours,

J. Quincy Limpett, III
Poet