Last week, I took a really good day off. I was pretty worn out from a hectic weekend, which included the first Family Day I ever had to facilitate without Olivia. Everything went great, actually, except somehow we finished an hour early. How did I lose an hour? What did I leave out? What would Olivia do? (WWOD.)
So last Monday, I slept late, and slouched around in sweats for quite awhile. Then I decided to go for a walk. We had had another snow, but it was starting to melt in some intermittent rain. I went tromping around in the woods and had a great time. At one point, strolling across the failing sheet of ice by the volleyball net I noticed something. A five dollar bill frozen in the ice! Cold cash! I smacked the ice with my heel and fished it out. I tucked it in the chest pocket of my denim coat and continued my journey. Lucky me!
I encountered several brooks sluicing loudly through the woods as all the snow up Town Hill melted and made its way through our property down to the creek at the bottom of the hill. In the midst of this idyllic scene, it began to rain. But I mean really rain. Oh well. I was quite soaked by the time I made it out of the woods and back into the main house. But hey, I was five bucks richer!
This weekend I went to our Motherhouse for a pre-chapter meeting. I wore my pink sweater, and many were the compliments I received. Mostly with a tone of surprise. "Wow, I've never seen you in pink before!" Who notices these things? I sure don't. I could not tell you what colors my friends wear or don't wear if my life depended on it. Well. Sarah likes black. Barb likes purple. Maybe I notice a little bit. But it's just as well my life in fact does not depend on it.
Last night was my last night in Philly before returning to Trinita today. First, Christine took me out for pizza at Joseph's, a traditional MSBT haunt with many happy memories. It was so very good to see her in person after two years of webcam contact. She is at our mission in Jamaica. Then, Olivia needed some fresh air so we went to a remote Baskin Robbins for ice cream.
She had a sundae. I had a nice big scoop of Jamoca Almond Fudge. My favorite. I paid for it with the five dollar bill I fished out of the ice last week. It was still in my coat pocket! We sat and talked in the Baskin Robbins for two hours, until the manager apologetically threw us out so he could lock up. It does not get any better than this. That is the best five bucks I ever spent.
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
Clothes Karma
When I was a young summer volunteer here in the dim mists of antiquity, we used to talk about clothes karma. Attire here in the summer is necessarily casual given both the summer weather and the kinds of chores that must be done. We wear things during the summer program we might never wear in public ordinarily. Running shoes with the soles coming off, t-shirts from 5K's run ten years ago, jeans with a mere suggestion of fabric over the knees, and of course whatever you wore when you painted the porch three summers ago.
We judged that an item of clothing that told a story of what it had done in the past had karma--e.g. paint or stains. Clothing that was visibly frayed and faded yet retained some kind of dignity had more karma. The highest marks for karma were given for clothes that had a history, signs of wear, plus has once belonged to someone else. This became a running joke all summer, as volunteers began trading clothes in order to increase their karma. I had the most wonderful red cotton shirt. It had belonged to my sister's ex-boyfriend. I wore that thing until the karmic value became so intense that the very fabric disintegrated under the strain of trying to contain it. That is why clothes start to wear out--too much karma.
I find these kinds of games amusing, but what interests me is that underneath the humor is some kind of truth trying to come out. A lot of life has been lived here at Trinita. So many memories for so many people for so many years. We had a meeting of Moms tonight as we continue to plan for the summer program. Little memories of previous summers popped out throughout the brainstorming session. All of the past seems to be a little bit still in the present at times like this. All one big Now. We may be getting older and grayer, but it is only because we are carrying so much life in us, all these memories that are still somehow a little bit in the Now. So much life, we really can't hold it all. It spills out of our hands. It overflows the cup. I think this is what Psalm 23 might be getting at. Goodness and mercy pursue us all our days.
We judged that an item of clothing that told a story of what it had done in the past had karma--e.g. paint or stains. Clothing that was visibly frayed and faded yet retained some kind of dignity had more karma. The highest marks for karma were given for clothes that had a history, signs of wear, plus has once belonged to someone else. This became a running joke all summer, as volunteers began trading clothes in order to increase their karma. I had the most wonderful red cotton shirt. It had belonged to my sister's ex-boyfriend. I wore that thing until the karmic value became so intense that the very fabric disintegrated under the strain of trying to contain it. That is why clothes start to wear out--too much karma.
I find these kinds of games amusing, but what interests me is that underneath the humor is some kind of truth trying to come out. A lot of life has been lived here at Trinita. So many memories for so many people for so many years. We had a meeting of Moms tonight as we continue to plan for the summer program. Little memories of previous summers popped out throughout the brainstorming session. All of the past seems to be a little bit still in the present at times like this. All one big Now. We may be getting older and grayer, but it is only because we are carrying so much life in us, all these memories that are still somehow a little bit in the Now. So much life, we really can't hold it all. It spills out of our hands. It overflows the cup. I think this is what Psalm 23 might be getting at. Goodness and mercy pursue us all our days.
Monday, February 11, 2008
Bad Pie
I am working very hard these past few weeks to handle several new developments which are challenging my ability to maintain a good attitude. You know, the Happy Me vs. Sad Me volleyball match is still in progress. I have had good role models about how to maintain balance and enjoy life, and so I have been practiced certain disciplines more attentively than usual. I am praying regularly, getting exercise, taking a break during the day instead of staying rooted at my desk, and I am trying to get to bed a little earlier than usual. This only takes me so far, however. So I been listening to more music, writing letters, wearing pink, and cooking for fun.
I wanted to make some special pies. I did everything right I knew to do. I got up at 6:00 AM (and I a night person!) instead of making them the night before, which would have rendered them day-old before they could be delivered. I followed cookbook advice and used three varieties of apples instead of one. I used a storebought crust. I used an oven thermometer. I rotated the pies in the oven half-way through the baking process. They came out looking a nice golden brown color. I was relieved and sent 2 of them on to our Motherhouse in Philadelphia. Then I tried the third one.
Horror. I made bad pie! And they were already halfway to Philly, no calling them back! They were runny, the crust was soggy underneath that deceiving golden brown, and the apples were still a little crunchy! I was sorely distressed. My friends are so polite, they ate some and told me "yes, a little runny but tastes fine!" Uh-huh. So I have been reflecting on bad pie. Those fine fresh apples wasted. Were all those good intentions wasted? All that love? No I guess not. At a minimum, I am determined to try again. Baking keeps me out of trouble. And Happy Me is winning while I am cooking for fun, even if what I am baking turns out to be Bad Pie. It's just pie, after all. I think my mistake with that last batch of pies was that I was trying way too hard.
I wanted to make some special pies. I did everything right I knew to do. I got up at 6:00 AM (and I a night person!) instead of making them the night before, which would have rendered them day-old before they could be delivered. I followed cookbook advice and used three varieties of apples instead of one. I used a storebought crust. I used an oven thermometer. I rotated the pies in the oven half-way through the baking process. They came out looking a nice golden brown color. I was relieved and sent 2 of them on to our Motherhouse in Philadelphia. Then I tried the third one.
Horror. I made bad pie! And they were already halfway to Philly, no calling them back! They were runny, the crust was soggy underneath that deceiving golden brown, and the apples were still a little crunchy! I was sorely distressed. My friends are so polite, they ate some and told me "yes, a little runny but tastes fine!" Uh-huh. So I have been reflecting on bad pie. Those fine fresh apples wasted. Were all those good intentions wasted? All that love? No I guess not. At a minimum, I am determined to try again. Baking keeps me out of trouble. And Happy Me is winning while I am cooking for fun, even if what I am baking turns out to be Bad Pie. It's just pie, after all. I think my mistake with that last batch of pies was that I was trying way too hard.
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
Ice
The parking lot of Trinita is an unpaved, sloping patch of ground between the Main House and the highway. We've had snow on the ground for days now, but the parking lot has been clean and safe. This morning it started raining and the weather was practically balmy. So I was pretty amazed when some Moms came in for the meeting and told me the parking lot was iced over. Confused, and perhaps even a little skeptical, I went out to see.
Yes. It was iced over. How?? Why?? I do not want to list all the things that have come up in my life in just a few short days that have blindsided me, but the parking lot being iced over in above-freezing weather is a great metaphor for all those things. Something that is a serious problem that I Need To Take Care Of Right Now. That kind of problem. (We had a little car accident, in fact. A little one.)
I actually wanted to cry. Not because of that, but because of everything, the ice being just, uh, the icing on the... cake. But I didn't cry. Because, in the words of one of my seven-year-old friends, I am one of the bosses of Trinita. And the only boss in town at the moment. I think bosses are not supposed to cry in public. This is a day that did get better. I made a friend. But then it got worse. And then it got a little better. And then it got worse again. If the past three days were a volleyball game between Happy Me and Sad Me, Sad Me would be ahead one point at this moment. But it's been a close match and the game ain't over.
Think I am gonna bake a pie. Not tonight, although I considered it. Tomorrow. And maybe I am gonna buy me another pink shirt.
Yes. It was iced over. How?? Why?? I do not want to list all the things that have come up in my life in just a few short days that have blindsided me, but the parking lot being iced over in above-freezing weather is a great metaphor for all those things. Something that is a serious problem that I Need To Take Care Of Right Now. That kind of problem. (We had a little car accident, in fact. A little one.)
I actually wanted to cry. Not because of that, but because of everything, the ice being just, uh, the icing on the... cake. But I didn't cry. Because, in the words of one of my seven-year-old friends, I am one of the bosses of Trinita. And the only boss in town at the moment. I think bosses are not supposed to cry in public. This is a day that did get better. I made a friend. But then it got worse. And then it got a little better. And then it got worse again. If the past three days were a volleyball game between Happy Me and Sad Me, Sad Me would be ahead one point at this moment. But it's been a close match and the game ain't over.
Think I am gonna bake a pie. Not tonight, although I considered it. Tomorrow. And maybe I am gonna buy me another pink shirt.
Saturday, January 12, 2008
Pink
When I worked at our mission of St. Patrick School in Phenix City, Alabama, Christmas time was pretty hectic. I remember lots of special activities, and I was really glad I was only an aide and not a teacher. But being an aide was hard enough. We borrowed a videocamera from someone's dad, and I was assigned to record everything for a few days. Don't picture one of them cute little hand-sized things everybody has now. This was back in the day. The thing weighed a ton, was the size of a breadbox, and my shoulder ached for days.
When I worked at our mission of Catholic Social Services in Fort Walton Beach, Florida, Christmas time was pretty hectic. We had lists, long lists of families we had served during the year who needed gifts for their kids. Because one big donor backed out at the very last minute, we had to do some emergency overtime to cover a few dozen families. I have a very clear memory of winding through the decimated aisles of some department store, stupid with fatigue since it was nearly midnight, looking for women's gloves or something lame like that. Lists and lists.
When I was on the Formation team, I spent a few Christmases at our novitiate in Temascalapa, Mexico. Our sisters were immersed in planning, coordinating, and executing various Christmas activities in the eight or so chapels surrounding the main town, and I helped out a little. Somehow it became my job to prepare a Christmas meal for about 25 Missionary Servants, men and women who gathered to finally relax after a marathon of liturgies and activities.
So the Christmas season here has to rate as perhaps the least stressful December I have had yet. We did a lot of baking and then we got to deliver baskets all over the northwest corner of the state. It was great fun.
Now it's January of a new year. There will be much new this year. In a few days, I am driving Olivia to her new ministry at our Motherhouse in Philadelphia. Then, we all have to adjust to our shifted responsibilities. And we'll be adjusting again whenever a new sister is assigned here.
We'll cope somehow. Perhaps I will develop a new part of myself as I adjust to all these changes. In my vow formula, I included the words from Paul's prayer at the end of chapter 3 of Ephesians. That part about letting your hidden self grow strong, that has always sounded like something I should strive for. I think this year maybe I will really break out and start wearing pink. Yeah, that's it. That will say change like nothing else. I never wear pink. But I got a pink sweater for Christmas, and I bought myself a pink shirt with my Christmas money. And I wear it, too. Yup, this is going to be a very different year for me. The signs are all there.
When I worked at our mission of Catholic Social Services in Fort Walton Beach, Florida, Christmas time was pretty hectic. We had lists, long lists of families we had served during the year who needed gifts for their kids. Because one big donor backed out at the very last minute, we had to do some emergency overtime to cover a few dozen families. I have a very clear memory of winding through the decimated aisles of some department store, stupid with fatigue since it was nearly midnight, looking for women's gloves or something lame like that. Lists and lists.
When I was on the Formation team, I spent a few Christmases at our novitiate in Temascalapa, Mexico. Our sisters were immersed in planning, coordinating, and executing various Christmas activities in the eight or so chapels surrounding the main town, and I helped out a little. Somehow it became my job to prepare a Christmas meal for about 25 Missionary Servants, men and women who gathered to finally relax after a marathon of liturgies and activities.
So the Christmas season here has to rate as perhaps the least stressful December I have had yet. We did a lot of baking and then we got to deliver baskets all over the northwest corner of the state. It was great fun.
Now it's January of a new year. There will be much new this year. In a few days, I am driving Olivia to her new ministry at our Motherhouse in Philadelphia. Then, we all have to adjust to our shifted responsibilities. And we'll be adjusting again whenever a new sister is assigned here.
We'll cope somehow. Perhaps I will develop a new part of myself as I adjust to all these changes. In my vow formula, I included the words from Paul's prayer at the end of chapter 3 of Ephesians. That part about letting your hidden self grow strong, that has always sounded like something I should strive for. I think this year maybe I will really break out and start wearing pink. Yeah, that's it. That will say change like nothing else. I never wear pink. But I got a pink sweater for Christmas, and I bought myself a pink shirt with my Christmas money. And I wear it, too. Yup, this is going to be a very different year for me. The signs are all there.
Tuesday, December 25, 2007
Home
My lifestyle makes no sense.
I woke up this morning because the cat was ready for breakfast. When it is below freezing, his little 14-year-old bones are kept warm in my bedroom, but even though we still have several inches of snow on the ground, it is above freezing today, so I kicked his furry little behind outside this morning to feed him. He'll be back in by suppertime.
So after booting Francisco out into the harsh winter of Christmas Morning In Connecticut, I sat and drank my first cup of coffee and looked out my bedroom window, watching the crows ambling around the playground equipment and reflecting on my crazy life.
What is crazy is that I love my life and I am very happy here, happy to be in this congregation and happy to be a part of this particular mission and to live in this particular missionary cenacle ... and, at the very same time, I am so homesick. I want to be drinking coffee right now with Mama, and I want to see my Aunt Mary, and I miss my sisters and my brother and my nieces.... you get the idea. And more. I miss Maria and Maia and Jeff and Nikki and Adam from Dayton, and I miss Denise in Chicago and Sarah in Massachusetts.... And more. I miss christmases in Pensacola and the Lower East Side and Temascalapa.... I think the full moon on the snow on this rural New England landscape put me into this sentimental mode last night as we drove to midnight mass. I usually miss my family at Christmastime, who doesn't? But perhaps it's a bit over the top today.
I am homesick, but for a missionary this is a way of life. I get home when I can, which is never often enough, but it is what I have said Yes to, when I made my vows. But what I think I did not understand when I first said Yes was that I would begin to feel homesick for so many other places besides home. The day will come when I will be looking out of another window drinking my Christmas morning coffee and I will be missing life at Trinita. It is hard to hold so many places loosely, hard to know I can't keep it all, to know I can't (well, I mean I won't) say "I am staying here."
It is hard, but it is also a richness I could never have imagined when I first professed my vows. I carry in my heart like precious treasure the experiences of love and friendship and home of so many other places. It is crazy. This lifestyle makes no sense. People have told me to my face they think it's a crazy way to live. It's hard to argue the point, since I ultimately must concur with that conclusion. And yet, here I am. Looking out my office window on the snow and the mission cross, missing my mama and many others, and I would do this all over again in a flash. I am glad to be alive. I am very homesick, but I am also home.
I woke up this morning because the cat was ready for breakfast. When it is below freezing, his little 14-year-old bones are kept warm in my bedroom, but even though we still have several inches of snow on the ground, it is above freezing today, so I kicked his furry little behind outside this morning to feed him. He'll be back in by suppertime.
So after booting Francisco out into the harsh winter of Christmas Morning In Connecticut, I sat and drank my first cup of coffee and looked out my bedroom window, watching the crows ambling around the playground equipment and reflecting on my crazy life.
What is crazy is that I love my life and I am very happy here, happy to be in this congregation and happy to be a part of this particular mission and to live in this particular missionary cenacle ... and, at the very same time, I am so homesick. I want to be drinking coffee right now with Mama, and I want to see my Aunt Mary, and I miss my sisters and my brother and my nieces.... you get the idea. And more. I miss Maria and Maia and Jeff and Nikki and Adam from Dayton, and I miss Denise in Chicago and Sarah in Massachusetts.... And more. I miss christmases in Pensacola and the Lower East Side and Temascalapa.... I think the full moon on the snow on this rural New England landscape put me into this sentimental mode last night as we drove to midnight mass. I usually miss my family at Christmastime, who doesn't? But perhaps it's a bit over the top today.
I am homesick, but for a missionary this is a way of life. I get home when I can, which is never often enough, but it is what I have said Yes to, when I made my vows. But what I think I did not understand when I first said Yes was that I would begin to feel homesick for so many other places besides home. The day will come when I will be looking out of another window drinking my Christmas morning coffee and I will be missing life at Trinita. It is hard to hold so many places loosely, hard to know I can't keep it all, to know I can't (well, I mean I won't) say "I am staying here."
It is hard, but it is also a richness I could never have imagined when I first professed my vows. I carry in my heart like precious treasure the experiences of love and friendship and home of so many other places. It is crazy. This lifestyle makes no sense. People have told me to my face they think it's a crazy way to live. It's hard to argue the point, since I ultimately must concur with that conclusion. And yet, here I am. Looking out my office window on the snow and the mission cross, missing my mama and many others, and I would do this all over again in a flash. I am glad to be alive. I am very homesick, but I am also home.
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
Family Day
Some people wonder what goes on here when it's not the summer. We just had our fifth Family day of 2007 this past weekend. Wouldn't you like to know what we did with 65 people of all ages crammed into this old house for an entire afternoon?
The theme was "The Holy Family." We started with a gathering in the Meeting Room, which can comfortably seat about 30 and uncomfortably seat about 50. We sang a few classic Trinita songs to warm the crowd up, including the ever-popular "I am a Pizza." Then Sr. Olivia gave a little presentation on various roles in society and in the family. To practice for her presentation earlier in the week, she handcuffed me to a lamp. But I was relieved that for the actual presentation, she only waved the handcuffs around and talked about policemen.
Then it was time for Peer Group. Sr. Joan took the babies and a few teen volunteers down into the Cenacle for babysitting. The Littles had storytime in one of the dorms upstairs, the middle kids got the dining room (there were about 20 or so of them) and the adults were divided by language. One group got the Meeting room, the other got the middle room. That left me with the smallest group of all (as usual), the teens. We sat on stools around the big steel table in the kitchen. Over the noise of the kids, and the freezer and refrigerator and oven exhaust fan, we practically had to read lips. It's ok, because the teens don't usually have that much to say. Instead, we do stuff. This time, we made muffins for our families. All during the Peer Group time, for over an hour, I am not sure what Sr. Olivia was doing. I think she was in her office drinking diet coke and listening to Linda Ronstadt. Or something.
Snacks. For the first time ever, we asked the families to bring snacks. We supplemented it with cheese and crackers and fresh fruit. That turned out to be more popular than most of what people brought to share. Usually snack time is about 30 minutes and the kids get to go out and blow off some steam on the playground. But it was cold and icy, so no going out. (We did have a few escapees make it to the slide but that did not last long.) Anyway, we were stuck inside this time. All 65 of us.
Games. I learned a valuable lesson. Six year olds do not see the humor of smearing vaseline on your face and sticking on cotton balls to make a santa beard. The other games went well enough. But man did the crowd get rowdy. I guess all that snack food and no running outside, and then the games, it was inevitable.
The family activity was making ornaments by stringing beads and Holy Family charms. We expected people to take their bags and go, since snow was impending, but no. They actually stayed and did the activity right there. We had families scattered all over the place, including offices and the dorms. They had a great time! It is always clear that the people have a great time, you can feel it at the goodbye time as they collect themselves and leave. We have a great time too. It is very very hard work. When they leave, we undertake the extensive clean-up. Then we have the traditional collapse on the couch, eat some easy meal (this time it was hummus, bean dip and taquitos) and watch a DVD. "Chronicles of Narnia."
That is Life at Trinita on a wintry Sunday in December.
The theme was "The Holy Family." We started with a gathering in the Meeting Room, which can comfortably seat about 30 and uncomfortably seat about 50. We sang a few classic Trinita songs to warm the crowd up, including the ever-popular "I am a Pizza." Then Sr. Olivia gave a little presentation on various roles in society and in the family. To practice for her presentation earlier in the week, she handcuffed me to a lamp. But I was relieved that for the actual presentation, she only waved the handcuffs around and talked about policemen.
Then it was time for Peer Group. Sr. Joan took the babies and a few teen volunteers down into the Cenacle for babysitting. The Littles had storytime in one of the dorms upstairs, the middle kids got the dining room (there were about 20 or so of them) and the adults were divided by language. One group got the Meeting room, the other got the middle room. That left me with the smallest group of all (as usual), the teens. We sat on stools around the big steel table in the kitchen. Over the noise of the kids, and the freezer and refrigerator and oven exhaust fan, we practically had to read lips. It's ok, because the teens don't usually have that much to say. Instead, we do stuff. This time, we made muffins for our families. All during the Peer Group time, for over an hour, I am not sure what Sr. Olivia was doing. I think she was in her office drinking diet coke and listening to Linda Ronstadt. Or something.
Snacks. For the first time ever, we asked the families to bring snacks. We supplemented it with cheese and crackers and fresh fruit. That turned out to be more popular than most of what people brought to share. Usually snack time is about 30 minutes and the kids get to go out and blow off some steam on the playground. But it was cold and icy, so no going out. (We did have a few escapees make it to the slide but that did not last long.) Anyway, we were stuck inside this time. All 65 of us.
Games. I learned a valuable lesson. Six year olds do not see the humor of smearing vaseline on your face and sticking on cotton balls to make a santa beard. The other games went well enough. But man did the crowd get rowdy. I guess all that snack food and no running outside, and then the games, it was inevitable.
The family activity was making ornaments by stringing beads and Holy Family charms. We expected people to take their bags and go, since snow was impending, but no. They actually stayed and did the activity right there. We had families scattered all over the place, including offices and the dorms. They had a great time! It is always clear that the people have a great time, you can feel it at the goodbye time as they collect themselves and leave. We have a great time too. It is very very hard work. When they leave, we undertake the extensive clean-up. Then we have the traditional collapse on the couch, eat some easy meal (this time it was hummus, bean dip and taquitos) and watch a DVD. "Chronicles of Narnia."
That is Life at Trinita on a wintry Sunday in December.
Tuesday, December 4, 2007
Tourist
I have been here for a year, but I still feel like a new arrival. It snowed a few weeks ago, less than an inch but enough to make everything turn white, enough for me to get excited and continually look out the window. We got some more winter weather this weekend, and I still find it amazing. Ooh, looky, everything is white! Look, there are icicles on the rock faces on the sides of the Interstate! Look, look, there are flakes of snow blowing around in the air even though there are no clouds!
My friend from Massachusetts came for a visit this weekend, because we had a last-minute cancellation of a retreat group so I had unexpected free time. We went for lunch at the Speckled Hen Pub in Norfolk. I spotted this place in October as I was driving to Canaan. I'm not accustomed to popping in to new places, but it looked so cool and has such a cool name, I determined at a glance that I would take my friend there next time she came. That was a glorious fall day, with the best colors you can imagine and a beautiful blue sky. This time the sky was just as blue, but it was 20 degrees and there was snow on the ground.
As we sat by the window and ate our sandwiches I looked out at the shops and the snow (looky, there is ice on the branches!) and realized I am probably never going to get used to living in New England. Or anywhere outside of Louisiana, I suppose. I think part of why being a missionary sister works for me so well has nothing to do with my Catholic faith. Deep down, I have the heart of a tourist. I do enjoy the exotic locales I have been missioned to. People talk funny, and cook interesting foods, and have different ethnic roots, and adapt to their climates in interesting ways. The grass smells different when you mow the lawn up here in the north. If you have a lawn. I do not actually enjoy it all, but I do at least find it all interesting.
Well, I have to go now, I want to go make a snow angel on the front lawn before the Ladies Guild arrives.
My friend from Massachusetts came for a visit this weekend, because we had a last-minute cancellation of a retreat group so I had unexpected free time. We went for lunch at the Speckled Hen Pub in Norfolk. I spotted this place in October as I was driving to Canaan. I'm not accustomed to popping in to new places, but it looked so cool and has such a cool name, I determined at a glance that I would take my friend there next time she came. That was a glorious fall day, with the best colors you can imagine and a beautiful blue sky. This time the sky was just as blue, but it was 20 degrees and there was snow on the ground.
As we sat by the window and ate our sandwiches I looked out at the shops and the snow (looky, there is ice on the branches!) and realized I am probably never going to get used to living in New England. Or anywhere outside of Louisiana, I suppose. I think part of why being a missionary sister works for me so well has nothing to do with my Catholic faith. Deep down, I have the heart of a tourist. I do enjoy the exotic locales I have been missioned to. People talk funny, and cook interesting foods, and have different ethnic roots, and adapt to their climates in interesting ways. The grass smells different when you mow the lawn up here in the north. If you have a lawn. I do not actually enjoy it all, but I do at least find it all interesting.
Well, I have to go now, I want to go make a snow angel on the front lawn before the Ladies Guild arrives.
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
Christ The King
My computer troubles have continued, but after its third trip to a facility in California, I think my Presario is back to normal. In the meantime, fall has come and winter is almost here. We've already had nights in the teens and a dusting of snow. Now when I look out of my office window, I see a nicely raked lawn, grass fading from green to brown, and a forest of bare branches.
The lectionary readings this week are kind of scary. The end times. But so much of my experiences in recent months have provided with me a lens to see signs of hope and new life rather than signs of dying. We had a gathering of Cenacle Family here this Sunday and I was surprised at not only how many, and who, showed up, but at the energy in the group. What a power for good! Someone actually said, "These are exciting times for the MCA!" I think we can't know and act on the signs of hope unless we gather like this and share what energy we have.
Our Christ the King celebration was a practice shot, prepared and executed without any committee meetings or extensive planning. Now that we've done it, it's clear that it is wanted and needed and must be continued. Imagine what it could look like if we did approach the event with a bit more organization and planning. I continue to be haunted by the words from Father Judge's conference which Margaret Flanagan presented to us this Sunday. The fire in us must be communicated, and it will be. "Because the Holy Spirit wants it communicated!" So no more lame excuses.
The lectionary readings this week are kind of scary. The end times. But so much of my experiences in recent months have provided with me a lens to see signs of hope and new life rather than signs of dying. We had a gathering of Cenacle Family here this Sunday and I was surprised at not only how many, and who, showed up, but at the energy in the group. What a power for good! Someone actually said, "These are exciting times for the MCA!" I think we can't know and act on the signs of hope unless we gather like this and share what energy we have.
Our Christ the King celebration was a practice shot, prepared and executed without any committee meetings or extensive planning. Now that we've done it, it's clear that it is wanted and needed and must be continued. Imagine what it could look like if we did approach the event with a bit more organization and planning. I continue to be haunted by the words from Father Judge's conference which Margaret Flanagan presented to us this Sunday. The fire in us must be communicated, and it will be. "Because the Holy Spirit wants it communicated!" So no more lame excuses.
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
Stone Age
I have been catapulted through a time warp into a computerless existence, and only just tonight have I managed to crawl back up into normalcy. My hard drive intersected an interdimensional phase variance and the resulting anomaly sucked all data from the platters. In laymen's terms, my hard drive died. Dang.
This transpired mere days after the summer program ended. I have only just plugged my repaired machine back in and cranked it up. I will try to provide an update on what life at Trinita is like after the summer program is over, but for now, I am just saying hello. I am back from the Stone Age. And I have two pies in the oven, so I have to go.
This transpired mere days after the summer program ended. I have only just plugged my repaired machine back in and cranked it up. I will try to provide an update on what life at Trinita is like after the summer program is over, but for now, I am just saying hello. I am back from the Stone Age. And I have two pies in the oven, so I have to go.
Monday, August 6, 2007
The Big Draw
We are in Week 6 now--the last week of the summer program. I've had a chance to read some evaluations from departing volunteers. There have been "issues" this summer, there always are. Personality issues, and space usage issues, and food issues, and so on. This is hard work. We get up for breakfast and eat in a big room full of relative strangers morning after morning, then on to peer group, arts and crafts, lunch set-up, lunch dishes, pool duty, blanket time, supper dishes, evening meeting, lodge duty........ ending by bed in a cabin you share with several others. No privacy, no luxuries, no maids or butlers. No air conditioning. This place is an old farm that has been variously upgraded (or not) over the years. I can't even stand up straight in the volunteer shower room, I hit my head on the fluorescent lights. That made scrubbing it out this Saturday a bit of a challenge.
So, why do so many who come here become so .... captured by this place?
We've had a large retinue of local teen volunteers all summer. On any given week I have had a squad of them for many jobs big and small. We had eleven babies last week, so it was all hands on deck for babysitting during peer group time. This week, the youngest child is four, so I am finding jobs for the teens that are related to closing down the program for this year. Things like scrubbing and storing our baby supplies, or testing all our school scissors to see if they can actually cut anything. (Turns out, a large percentage could not. I think they may be the original school scissors purchased by Mother Boniface in 1924.)
Why do they come? Why would someone leave their comfortable home to sweat all day here, washing dishes and so on, and in the case of the local teens, test a gross of school scissors? It does not make any kind of sense. And the families: granted, they do not have to work the way the full-time and local volunteers do, but they are essentially trapped here for a week, eating food not of their culture, sleeping in dorms with people they may not have met before arriving here, going along with our schedule and our program and our silly songs with motions. What is the big draw?
Even now, when I am tired and frankly ready to shut things down and move on, I am simultaneously sad to realize that next week they will all be gone and it will be very, very quiet here. There is something about this place, even at its most difficult, that pulls us in. We cannot explain it to our friends, we cannot show it in pictures or capture it in video. We come, we live life here, and some of us just keep coming back, ruined forever, captured. It is no real explanation to say this is holy ground, and yet it is the only explanation. All ground is holy, but here.... it is just easier to recognize.
So, why do so many who come here become so .... captured by this place?
We've had a large retinue of local teen volunteers all summer. On any given week I have had a squad of them for many jobs big and small. We had eleven babies last week, so it was all hands on deck for babysitting during peer group time. This week, the youngest child is four, so I am finding jobs for the teens that are related to closing down the program for this year. Things like scrubbing and storing our baby supplies, or testing all our school scissors to see if they can actually cut anything. (Turns out, a large percentage could not. I think they may be the original school scissors purchased by Mother Boniface in 1924.)
Why do they come? Why would someone leave their comfortable home to sweat all day here, washing dishes and so on, and in the case of the local teens, test a gross of school scissors? It does not make any kind of sense. And the families: granted, they do not have to work the way the full-time and local volunteers do, but they are essentially trapped here for a week, eating food not of their culture, sleeping in dorms with people they may not have met before arriving here, going along with our schedule and our program and our silly songs with motions. What is the big draw?
Even now, when I am tired and frankly ready to shut things down and move on, I am simultaneously sad to realize that next week they will all be gone and it will be very, very quiet here. There is something about this place, even at its most difficult, that pulls us in. We cannot explain it to our friends, we cannot show it in pictures or capture it in video. We come, we live life here, and some of us just keep coming back, ruined forever, captured. It is no real explanation to say this is holy ground, and yet it is the only explanation. All ground is holy, but here.... it is just easier to recognize.
Friday, August 3, 2007
Apples
What does the expression "easy as pie" really mean? In the text game I play on my brother's website, I have created a character noted for pie-baking, and since coming to Trinita I have begun to take up the art in real life. During Week 3, more as a stress-reliever than as an act of generosity, I baked lemon pies for our volunteers. The hardest part was finding lemons buried deep within the inner recesses of our industrial refrigerator.
But alas, some do not like lemon pie. So last week (Week 4), I was feeling generous and baked chocolate pies. That was somewhat more effort, as I had to stir it over a double boiler and it took a long time to set. But during Week 4 we received a donation of two boxes of almost bad apples. Sister Florence, the Queen of Arts and Crafts at the time, helped me peel and slice enough for six pies, and we froze it. I was eager to bake apples pies for Week 5.
Week 4 was like a dream it was so easy. Sr. Maria Lauren brought Mexican families from her parish in Philadelphia, and we had a great time with them. Lots of babies to hold, little ones to play with, and teens who all went along with everything and enjoyed themselves. In the lodge the teens and adults played a game called Apples to Apples. The title to the game was another sign to me that I must bake apple pies. Apples returned on Friday when our cook Diane was reaching for a gallon container of applesauce in the fridge and it slipped. It was like an explosion of applesauce which covered everything, including Diane. But it seemed only funny rather than distressing--perhaps because the week was so easy.
Easy as pie. Not. This week, Week 5, I baked two apple pies for our dear volunteers. Not to say they aren't worth it, but it was not so easy. Some unexpected things came up and I could not start baking until late. I could not find any lemons anywhere this time--not even a bottle of juice. I made the crust by hand. I did not get them into the oven until almost 11:30. And they took forever to bake! Why? I can't figure out why they took so long. I did not get to bed until 2:00 AM.
They came out good though. The lemon juice we had added to prevent browning was apparently enough. But I've done enough pie for now. I think next week the dear volunteers will get Mama's chocolate cake pudding instead.
But alas, some do not like lemon pie. So last week (Week 4), I was feeling generous and baked chocolate pies. That was somewhat more effort, as I had to stir it over a double boiler and it took a long time to set. But during Week 4 we received a donation of two boxes of almost bad apples. Sister Florence, the Queen of Arts and Crafts at the time, helped me peel and slice enough for six pies, and we froze it. I was eager to bake apples pies for Week 5.
Week 4 was like a dream it was so easy. Sr. Maria Lauren brought Mexican families from her parish in Philadelphia, and we had a great time with them. Lots of babies to hold, little ones to play with, and teens who all went along with everything and enjoyed themselves. In the lodge the teens and adults played a game called Apples to Apples. The title to the game was another sign to me that I must bake apple pies. Apples returned on Friday when our cook Diane was reaching for a gallon container of applesauce in the fridge and it slipped. It was like an explosion of applesauce which covered everything, including Diane. But it seemed only funny rather than distressing--perhaps because the week was so easy.
Easy as pie. Not. This week, Week 5, I baked two apple pies for our dear volunteers. Not to say they aren't worth it, but it was not so easy. Some unexpected things came up and I could not start baking until late. I could not find any lemons anywhere this time--not even a bottle of juice. I made the crust by hand. I did not get them into the oven until almost 11:30. And they took forever to bake! Why? I can't figure out why they took so long. I did not get to bed until 2:00 AM.
They came out good though. The lemon juice we had added to prevent browning was apparently enough. But I've done enough pie for now. I think next week the dear volunteers will get Mama's chocolate cake pudding instead.
Thursday, July 19, 2007
Week Three
Not a very imaginative title for this post. But it can't pass unmentioned. This has been quite a challenging week. If I were going to be a big whiny baby, I would have a lot to say. But of course, I am not! I am a missionary, we can handle a few "issues," right?
On the bright side, the Missionary Cenacle Volunteers have been on deck and quite supportive, not to mention fun to be with. So, despite a lot of rain, the resignation of our groundskeeper, the destruction of some recreational supplies, and ... but I said I was not going to whine! Anyway, we are sustained by the grace of God, and life at Trinita continues full speed ahead. The most we had to handle was yesterday, and things are improving by now. We watched a Jackie Chan movie after we closed the pool due to heavy rain, and many of the kids fell asleep. And tonight, the lodge is closed yet it is fairly quiet out there. I think folks just are worn out at this point. I have had some great games of Candyland this week, and I even had time to hang out some with my friend who is serving here this week. Because she is my friend, I am giving her all the hard jobs.
But not Arts and Crafts. I would not do that to her. That would be just wrong.
On the bright side, the Missionary Cenacle Volunteers have been on deck and quite supportive, not to mention fun to be with. So, despite a lot of rain, the resignation of our groundskeeper, the destruction of some recreational supplies, and ... but I said I was not going to whine! Anyway, we are sustained by the grace of God, and life at Trinita continues full speed ahead. The most we had to handle was yesterday, and things are improving by now. We watched a Jackie Chan movie after we closed the pool due to heavy rain, and many of the kids fell asleep. And tonight, the lodge is closed yet it is fairly quiet out there. I think folks just are worn out at this point. I have had some great games of Candyland this week, and I even had time to hang out some with my friend who is serving here this week. Because she is my friend, I am giving her all the hard jobs.
But not Arts and Crafts. I would not do that to her. That would be just wrong.
Saturday, July 14, 2007
No Whining
I had an interesting birthday. I actually have had a number of birthdays here, but it's been a while, and this one was particularly full. As I mentioned before, Wednesdays are hard because Olivia (the boss at least of the summer program) is off on Wednesdays, and also Diane, the cook. So this Wednesday of Week Two, I rolled out of bed early and set to work cooking scrambled eggs and grits. A local volunteer and two MSBTs were on hand to help so I was not too stressed. The food delivery truck arrived at 7:30 and I had to leave Lucy stirring the eggs while I ran around showing him where to stack the food. And so on. As soon as breakfast was over, morning circle. Mama called while I was in circle so I missed the call.
I spent peer group time running up and down the hill as usual. Four babies this week, and three of them tend to cry, and only one of the babysitters has any real experience with babies, so the teen volunteer helpers need a little minding. The teen volunteers have proven to be very helpful but the new ones need a lot of direction and to complicate things many of them show up almost randomly. We simply never know when they are going to appear, and I can't always drop everything and find them work to do. As soon as peer group was over, I had to start preparing lunch. Grilled cheese. Again, I had plenty of help, but I also had plenty of interruptions. Without Olivia, people tend to come to me with their questions. Well, I do it to Olivia myself, I confess. Mama called me at lunchtime but I missed the call. As soon as lunch was over, the mothers began preparing food for supper. Lucky for me Lucy was there. I had to help them find things for awhile but eventually I moved on to other things. Like pool duty. I was also taking a lot of pictures. No one seems much interested in taking pictures so I have been doing it. We give a slide show on Fridays before supper.
The story lady was late. Patty came and spread her blanket under a tree, and by then I was so tired I went and laid on the blanket for a bit. OK, I admit it. I whined a little. I said I was tired because I had not had a minute of rest and had to cook breakfast and lunch.
After pool duty I came up to be present for afternoon snacks. At this stage I was not feeling very chatty--I just kind of sat there and drank water. Finally the crowd dispersed and I went up to clean the middle room and refresh the volunteer snack table. This week that room has really been hard to keep clean. Why would anyone throw their trash on the floor instead in the trash can? Why am I picking up trash off the floor two and three times a day? I am whining now (because this unexpected problem has persisted) but at the time I just cleaned it all up without much thinking about it. So I did not whine then.
And so things continued. Start to do one thing, get interrupted and end up doing three other things. That interlude on Patty's blanket was the only peace I got. I did the meeting, dragged around a big bag of rocks for everyone's entertainment, and ended up in the lodge playing Candyland. Finally, I got back up here to my office and I got Mama on the phone, who had also called at suppertime but I had missed the call. After we talked, I got to work editing and printing the blanket time pictures of all the families. So, at 11:30, my day was over and I spent the last half hour of my birthday relaxing.
Life is good. But I was really glad when the boss of Trinita was back on deck Thursday morning.
I spent peer group time running up and down the hill as usual. Four babies this week, and three of them tend to cry, and only one of the babysitters has any real experience with babies, so the teen volunteer helpers need a little minding. The teen volunteers have proven to be very helpful but the new ones need a lot of direction and to complicate things many of them show up almost randomly. We simply never know when they are going to appear, and I can't always drop everything and find them work to do. As soon as peer group was over, I had to start preparing lunch. Grilled cheese. Again, I had plenty of help, but I also had plenty of interruptions. Without Olivia, people tend to come to me with their questions. Well, I do it to Olivia myself, I confess. Mama called me at lunchtime but I missed the call. As soon as lunch was over, the mothers began preparing food for supper. Lucky for me Lucy was there. I had to help them find things for awhile but eventually I moved on to other things. Like pool duty. I was also taking a lot of pictures. No one seems much interested in taking pictures so I have been doing it. We give a slide show on Fridays before supper.
The story lady was late. Patty came and spread her blanket under a tree, and by then I was so tired I went and laid on the blanket for a bit. OK, I admit it. I whined a little. I said I was tired because I had not had a minute of rest and had to cook breakfast and lunch.
After pool duty I came up to be present for afternoon snacks. At this stage I was not feeling very chatty--I just kind of sat there and drank water. Finally the crowd dispersed and I went up to clean the middle room and refresh the volunteer snack table. This week that room has really been hard to keep clean. Why would anyone throw their trash on the floor instead in the trash can? Why am I picking up trash off the floor two and three times a day? I am whining now (because this unexpected problem has persisted) but at the time I just cleaned it all up without much thinking about it. So I did not whine then.
And so things continued. Start to do one thing, get interrupted and end up doing three other things. That interlude on Patty's blanket was the only peace I got. I did the meeting, dragged around a big bag of rocks for everyone's entertainment, and ended up in the lodge playing Candyland. Finally, I got back up here to my office and I got Mama on the phone, who had also called at suppertime but I had missed the call. After we talked, I got to work editing and printing the blanket time pictures of all the families. So, at 11:30, my day was over and I spent the last half hour of my birthday relaxing.
Life is good. But I was really glad when the boss of Trinita was back on deck Thursday morning.
Friday, July 6, 2007
Wet Blanket
Week One is almost over. This means all of us are now veterans. My big hope is that I can reduce the number of times a day I have to ask Olivia how to do something, if I should do something, or where something is. She has the patience of a saint.
I managed to get attached to some of these kids. It happens. I played Candyland and Sorry in the lodge this week and was thoroughly defeated at both. Well, I have five more weeks to practice my skill at board games.
It has been a great week, but it's really strange how it seems like it's been a month since we started. Someone once made the observation that a day at Trinita is like three normal days, and I often quote that, because it is so true. I wish I could convey how much life happens in between breaking down cardboard boxes and carrying them to the recycling bin out front. You could have three conversations and two trips down the hill to the lodge before getting that cardboard into the bin. Nothing happens directly.
It rained a lot these past few days. We had such poor attendance at one of the nightly gatherings we just sang a bunch of songs instead. We had to have blanket time indoors yesterday, and again today because the ground was too wet to lay a blanket on. The pool was even closed. But we got through it all, and had fun anyway. It is our mission to have fun, and to help others have fun. Our theme this summer is "Be a power for good," but maybe we are also a power for fun. I remember years ago when we were told never to call this place a camp, and it has never comfortably fit into the category of retreat center, some of us began calling it Trinita Fun Center. We can handle wet blankets and parades that have been rained on. Mere rain cannot stop us. Jelitza told Olivia and me the other night, "You are the bosses of Trinita, and the bosses of Trinita never give up!" Wow. I guess after that, we better not cave in just because we ran out of whipped cream.
I managed to get attached to some of these kids. It happens. I played Candyland and Sorry in the lodge this week and was thoroughly defeated at both. Well, I have five more weeks to practice my skill at board games.
It has been a great week, but it's really strange how it seems like it's been a month since we started. Someone once made the observation that a day at Trinita is like three normal days, and I often quote that, because it is so true. I wish I could convey how much life happens in between breaking down cardboard boxes and carrying them to the recycling bin out front. You could have three conversations and two trips down the hill to the lodge before getting that cardboard into the bin. Nothing happens directly.
It rained a lot these past few days. We had such poor attendance at one of the nightly gatherings we just sang a bunch of songs instead. We had to have blanket time indoors yesterday, and again today because the ground was too wet to lay a blanket on. The pool was even closed. But we got through it all, and had fun anyway. It is our mission to have fun, and to help others have fun. Our theme this summer is "Be a power for good," but maybe we are also a power for fun. I remember years ago when we were told never to call this place a camp, and it has never comfortably fit into the category of retreat center, some of us began calling it Trinita Fun Center. We can handle wet blankets and parades that have been rained on. Mere rain cannot stop us. Jelitza told Olivia and me the other night, "You are the bosses of Trinita, and the bosses of Trinita never give up!" Wow. I guess after that, we better not cave in just because we ran out of whipped cream.
Saturday, June 30, 2007
We Need Bananas
We completed the week of training for new volunteers this morning. I have been impressed by the general "personality" of this year's group. No cliques. There is remarkable ethnic diversity and quite an age range as well. Yet our dear volunteers are quite inclusive and easy-going. They take things as they come, starting from Day One when our cook did not show up and suddenly we had to prepare supper ourselves. It turned out to be fun instead of stressful.
Another shining moment in adaptability: on Wednesday morning, a teen volunteer entered the meeting room just as Rosa was about to begin her session, which includes a series of interactive games and challenges. I took his paperwork from him and introduced him quickly, then left him with the rest and went on about my business. I learned later he had just wandered into the room looking for someone to give his papers to, and in fact had never had any kind of orientation or preparation for what goes on here. I watched him from my office window as Rosa had the group walk on four-by-fours and scream at balloons and other inexplicable activities. He just went along with it, even started smiling after awhile. Wow. I am pretty sure I would have slipped out at the first bathroom break if that had been my introduction to Trinita.
I have started keeping a little spiral notepad and pen in my pocket. I have to write everything down right when it comes up, because I absolutely cannot remember anything if it leaves my visual field. There is definitely too much coming in. Let's look at a few entries:
I am keeping an eye on special snacks for the volunteers. It's kind of a fun job, looking for ways to keep people happy. Not too hard with this group either. I just realized, however, that we have not had bananas available in days. Angel loves bananas. This is a simple pleasure and he should not be denied. But I did not write it in my notebook. Maybe someone will spontaneously drop off bananas tomorrow. It's sort of how things seem to work here. You need something, and the next thing you know, someone just shows up with it. So, we need bananas. Let's see what tomorrow brings.
Another shining moment in adaptability: on Wednesday morning, a teen volunteer entered the meeting room just as Rosa was about to begin her session, which includes a series of interactive games and challenges. I took his paperwork from him and introduced him quickly, then left him with the rest and went on about my business. I learned later he had just wandered into the room looking for someone to give his papers to, and in fact had never had any kind of orientation or preparation for what goes on here. I watched him from my office window as Rosa had the group walk on four-by-fours and scream at balloons and other inexplicable activities. He just went along with it, even started smiling after awhile. Wow. I am pretty sure I would have slipped out at the first bathroom break if that had been my introduction to Trinita.
I have started keeping a little spiral notepad and pen in my pocket. I have to write everything down right when it comes up, because I absolutely cannot remember anything if it leaves my visual field. There is definitely too much coming in. Let's look at a few entries:
- get string for messagebook
- Claire Xavier died Nov 28 2005
- lighter for chapel
- clean pear juice
- call Mama
- poem, 3 stanzas
- can we cover the bathroom floor vent in Cabin 4?
- announce move garbage in dumpster to back
I am keeping an eye on special snacks for the volunteers. It's kind of a fun job, looking for ways to keep people happy. Not too hard with this group either. I just realized, however, that we have not had bananas available in days. Angel loves bananas. This is a simple pleasure and he should not be denied. But I did not write it in my notebook. Maybe someone will spontaneously drop off bananas tomorrow. It's sort of how things seem to work here. You need something, and the next thing you know, someone just shows up with it. So, we need bananas. Let's see what tomorrow brings.
Saturday, June 23, 2007
The Night Before
Tomorrow the summer program begins. I have an airport run in the morning and will bring back the first Missionary Cenacle Volunteer to arrive for the summer program.
Is it any use trying to describe what Trinita is like while the summer program is in progress? You definitely have to be here and experience it to understand. It sort of engages you completely. Well, it's true not everyone who has served here has that experience. But many do.
What I did not know until now was how the time BEFORE the program begins is just as demanding in its own way. There have been uncountable numbers of local friends coming by to help us get ready. Yesterday I discovered Annette hard at work at our copy machine preparing the booklets used for family blanket time. Years ago, she showed up here as a young mother to join a Wednesday morning MOMs group. Now she, and many others like her, are practically members of the staff. They have become missionaries, and Trinita is their mission. I thought about this as I watched her explain what she had put on the pages of the booklet.
She could have come and gone. Some do. But many come and.... they pick up on something. Something about this place. It is on the surface just an old farmhouse with a few rustic outbuildings. But if that were all it was, just a retreat center, why would so many people come and stay, and become part of this place? These people are not simply benefactors or friends of ours, they actually help us run the mission. I wonder if Annette realizes she is a missionary while she stands there cranking out copies of blanket time booklets?
Is it any use trying to describe what Trinita is like while the summer program is in progress? You definitely have to be here and experience it to understand. It sort of engages you completely. Well, it's true not everyone who has served here has that experience. But many do.
What I did not know until now was how the time BEFORE the program begins is just as demanding in its own way. There have been uncountable numbers of local friends coming by to help us get ready. Yesterday I discovered Annette hard at work at our copy machine preparing the booklets used for family blanket time. Years ago, she showed up here as a young mother to join a Wednesday morning MOMs group. Now she, and many others like her, are practically members of the staff. They have become missionaries, and Trinita is their mission. I thought about this as I watched her explain what she had put on the pages of the booklet.
She could have come and gone. Some do. But many come and.... they pick up on something. Something about this place. It is on the surface just an old farmhouse with a few rustic outbuildings. But if that were all it was, just a retreat center, why would so many people come and stay, and become part of this place? These people are not simply benefactors or friends of ours, they actually help us run the mission. I wonder if Annette realizes she is a missionary while she stands there cranking out copies of blanket time booklets?
Monday, June 11, 2007
Twigs
Maybe I should rename this blog. It seems like I have not been at Trinita much lately. Life at Trinita would be nice, insofar as I would be sleeping in my own bed at night. I like my bed.
I have been in this sort of interdimensional time/space vortex for weeks now. The drug I was taking for poison ivy disrupted my sleep and I am still not back in rhythm. The upside of this is that I have been really quite productive lately. The downside is that I have been living life in a kind of fugue state for weeks. It's not all from taking pills of course--I have been traveling and dealing with a number of diverse and demanding situations from Orlando to Louisiana to Philadelphia to Connecticut. Stupid with fatigue, I have been making dumb mistakes, forgetting things, and generally smiling and nodding my way through conversations. But having lost my edge, I find my tolerance for annoyances is higher. I am observing life from a detached, "big picture" point of view instead of being caught up in the details of the moment. This has led to some unexpected spiritual moments which stand out in the wash of weariness I have been living in lately.
I am on a committee with other lay and religious members of my spiritual family who have been charged to prepare us all for our upcoming centennial celebration in 2009 We have been working together for a year already, and this weekend we ran a training for recruits from five geographic areas who will be responsible to plan and execute area celebrations. I've been tech support for this, meaning wires and websites and photo-editing. This weekend was really a lot of listening and sharing and taking counsel on our hopes for the future, and it all went on bilingually. Whenever our faithful recruits took time at their tables for sharing and working, we committee members likewise would continue our work at our own table.
In my detached, bemused state of mind, I was perhaps less than helpful in these sessions, but I was nevertheless strongly engaged on another level. I could not focus well on what we were talking about half the time, but I remained acutely aware of who we are in this moment. Eight men and women, from three different countries, from many cultures, single, married, vowed religious--all of us strongly bound by our consecration to the Holy and Blessed Trinity through our membership in the Missionary Cenacle Family. At one moment I felt almost giddy with an awareness of how in this very moment, this Here and Now, we are fulfilling the charism entrusted to us by the Holy Spirit to be Church in a very incarnational, relational, Trinitarian way.
There was a moment when Gerardo was straining to express himself, and as he shifted back and forth from Spanish to English multiple times in every sentence, I lost his point but I grasped his meaning--I grasped the greater meaning of the moment. We together are straining, with groans too deep for words, to express the Incarnation. We absolutely, positively, cannot do it any other way apart from this grounding as family. No more than a pile of twigs and leaves can be a tree, can I fulfill my vocation as a Missionary Servant without being grounded deeply in the Missionary Cenacle Family.
I have been in this sort of interdimensional time/space vortex for weeks now. The drug I was taking for poison ivy disrupted my sleep and I am still not back in rhythm. The upside of this is that I have been really quite productive lately. The downside is that I have been living life in a kind of fugue state for weeks. It's not all from taking pills of course--I have been traveling and dealing with a number of diverse and demanding situations from Orlando to Louisiana to Philadelphia to Connecticut. Stupid with fatigue, I have been making dumb mistakes, forgetting things, and generally smiling and nodding my way through conversations. But having lost my edge, I find my tolerance for annoyances is higher. I am observing life from a detached, "big picture" point of view instead of being caught up in the details of the moment. This has led to some unexpected spiritual moments which stand out in the wash of weariness I have been living in lately.
I am on a committee with other lay and religious members of my spiritual family who have been charged to prepare us all for our upcoming centennial celebration in 2009 We have been working together for a year already, and this weekend we ran a training for recruits from five geographic areas who will be responsible to plan and execute area celebrations. I've been tech support for this, meaning wires and websites and photo-editing. This weekend was really a lot of listening and sharing and taking counsel on our hopes for the future, and it all went on bilingually. Whenever our faithful recruits took time at their tables for sharing and working, we committee members likewise would continue our work at our own table.
In my detached, bemused state of mind, I was perhaps less than helpful in these sessions, but I was nevertheless strongly engaged on another level. I could not focus well on what we were talking about half the time, but I remained acutely aware of who we are in this moment. Eight men and women, from three different countries, from many cultures, single, married, vowed religious--all of us strongly bound by our consecration to the Holy and Blessed Trinity through our membership in the Missionary Cenacle Family. At one moment I felt almost giddy with an awareness of how in this very moment, this Here and Now, we are fulfilling the charism entrusted to us by the Holy Spirit to be Church in a very incarnational, relational, Trinitarian way.
There was a moment when Gerardo was straining to express himself, and as he shifted back and forth from Spanish to English multiple times in every sentence, I lost his point but I grasped his meaning--I grasped the greater meaning of the moment. We together are straining, with groans too deep for words, to express the Incarnation. We absolutely, positively, cannot do it any other way apart from this grounding as family. No more than a pile of twigs and leaves can be a tree, can I fulfill my vocation as a Missionary Servant without being grounded deeply in the Missionary Cenacle Family.
Wednesday, May 30, 2007
Home
Weird month.
I am in Louisiana. I am spending my vacation with my brother, helping my mother pack up her home and move into a small apartment for senior citizens. I was here only weeks ago, when my aunt died. This is a lot of transition in my family. We moved to this house when I was 4. But nevertheless, it's good to be home. Big sky.....
Last weekend, I had to coordinate the annual Work Day at Trinita on Saturday, and on Sunday I had to facilitate two different groups. It all went fine, but it's new territory for me and I was stressed about it. Monday, I took the day off, and I went and planted some pine trees near the Lodge, in what I now know must have been a patch of poison ivy.
So, even though I am home and involved in a rather big family project, I am thinking frequently about a lovely spring day last week in Trinita. Life at Trinita sort of follows me around! I have poison ivy all over, and it reached a peak of itchiness yesterday during the 12 hour road trip from my brother's home in Sanford to Lafayette. Lucky me.
What is home? That's a question I am pondering now, as I sit among stacks of cardboard boxes. As a Missionary Servant, I have lived in many places and thus have a lot of places where I really feel at home. Unfortunately, feeling at home is not quite the same as being at home. When you travel a lot, you need to know there is a place where you are going back to, where your stuff is. When I was a student, I felt kind of homeless for holidays. I was between cenacles. But it was good I had a number of places I could go where I felt at home.
Soon after I got to Trinita, a teenager at a confirmation retreat declared that Trinita was a place where he and his classmates felt at home. That is one of the very special gifts Trinita offers-- so many people can come and feel at home. Now it really is home. My stuff is there and I am going back. But this is home, too. I have been feeling kind of sorry for myself, I admit. But as I sit here and try to keep myself from scratching my skin off, I must admit, against all odds, that I am actually pretty lucky. I can feel at home, I can be at home, in a lot of places. Saying goodbye is hard, but I have a lot to fall back on. I gotta watch out for the poison ivy, however.
I am in Louisiana. I am spending my vacation with my brother, helping my mother pack up her home and move into a small apartment for senior citizens. I was here only weeks ago, when my aunt died. This is a lot of transition in my family. We moved to this house when I was 4. But nevertheless, it's good to be home. Big sky.....
Last weekend, I had to coordinate the annual Work Day at Trinita on Saturday, and on Sunday I had to facilitate two different groups. It all went fine, but it's new territory for me and I was stressed about it. Monday, I took the day off, and I went and planted some pine trees near the Lodge, in what I now know must have been a patch of poison ivy.
So, even though I am home and involved in a rather big family project, I am thinking frequently about a lovely spring day last week in Trinita. Life at Trinita sort of follows me around! I have poison ivy all over, and it reached a peak of itchiness yesterday during the 12 hour road trip from my brother's home in Sanford to Lafayette. Lucky me.
What is home? That's a question I am pondering now, as I sit among stacks of cardboard boxes. As a Missionary Servant, I have lived in many places and thus have a lot of places where I really feel at home. Unfortunately, feeling at home is not quite the same as being at home. When you travel a lot, you need to know there is a place where you are going back to, where your stuff is. When I was a student, I felt kind of homeless for holidays. I was between cenacles. But it was good I had a number of places I could go where I felt at home.
Soon after I got to Trinita, a teenager at a confirmation retreat declared that Trinita was a place where he and his classmates felt at home. That is one of the very special gifts Trinita offers-- so many people can come and feel at home. Now it really is home. My stuff is there and I am going back. But this is home, too. I have been feeling kind of sorry for myself, I admit. But as I sit here and try to keep myself from scratching my skin off, I must admit, against all odds, that I am actually pretty lucky. I can feel at home, I can be at home, in a lot of places. Saying goodbye is hard, but I have a lot to fall back on. I gotta watch out for the poison ivy, however.
Saturday, May 12, 2007
Time Warp
I recently had to do some work at our Archives at the Motherhouse in Philadelphia. While there, I took the opportunity to scan a stack of old pictures of Trinita, We acquired this property in 1923, and I found old photos dating back to 1925, before there was even the wing added to the main house. There is what looks to be a Model T parked in the front yard in one shot. (Someone who knows cars could probably correct me on the make of the car.)
I prepared a slideshow of the pictures after I had enhanced them as best I could, and I've showed them to everyone here. It's fascinating. Like seeing pictures of a friend you thought you knew, doing something unexpected like juggling or hydroponics. It seems Trinita has lived a full and interesting life.
I got so into this, that on my day off I went around with a printout of the contact sheet of photos and tried to get in the exact position to take the same shot. It was a gorgeous spring afternoon, and the leaves were only just beginning to come back (they are mostly out by now) so it was a lot of fun. I realized that Mother Boniface once stood right where the little garden fountain is. Trees have gone and new ones have grown up tall. The whole area must have been clear cut early on, since you can see the horizon in some photos where now you just see the tree line.
But a funny thing started to happen to my mind. I got so immersed, I actually would be startled by reality instead of by the pictures. In my defense, I stared at those pictures a very long and tedious time the night before, doing scratch removal and fade correction and so on, long into the night. At one point, I got in the right spot to reproduce a picture of the cabins, then when I turned to try for the shot of the lodge, I realized that the two shots had almost certainly been taken on the same day from essentially the same spot. I was not simply standing in the spot of the original photographer, I was actually retracing her footsteps. Once I got into the lodge, I realized that she was quite short, or else held the camera at waist level, because the only way I could get the correct angle was from my knees.
The oddest experience was shooting the back porch, which has changed the most over the years. This required repeated glances back and forth from photo to reality, until at one point I gave a start because I had expected to see Sr. Mary Peter when I looked up and she had vanished! Yeah, she teleported 60 years into the future and a few hundred miles south, since she's at the Motherhouse now.
I still have the lingering sense of our sisters from decades past, going about their business out on the grounds. The ministry here has changed over the years, and will no doubt continue to change, but there is a presence here that persists no matter where the trees are growing at any given moment.
I prepared a slideshow of the pictures after I had enhanced them as best I could, and I've showed them to everyone here. It's fascinating. Like seeing pictures of a friend you thought you knew, doing something unexpected like juggling or hydroponics. It seems Trinita has lived a full and interesting life.
I got so into this, that on my day off I went around with a printout of the contact sheet of photos and tried to get in the exact position to take the same shot. It was a gorgeous spring afternoon, and the leaves were only just beginning to come back (they are mostly out by now) so it was a lot of fun. I realized that Mother Boniface once stood right where the little garden fountain is. Trees have gone and new ones have grown up tall. The whole area must have been clear cut early on, since you can see the horizon in some photos where now you just see the tree line.
But a funny thing started to happen to my mind. I got so immersed, I actually would be startled by reality instead of by the pictures. In my defense, I stared at those pictures a very long and tedious time the night before, doing scratch removal and fade correction and so on, long into the night. At one point, I got in the right spot to reproduce a picture of the cabins, then when I turned to try for the shot of the lodge, I realized that the two shots had almost certainly been taken on the same day from essentially the same spot. I was not simply standing in the spot of the original photographer, I was actually retracing her footsteps. Once I got into the lodge, I realized that she was quite short, or else held the camera at waist level, because the only way I could get the correct angle was from my knees.
The oddest experience was shooting the back porch, which has changed the most over the years. This required repeated glances back and forth from photo to reality, until at one point I gave a start because I had expected to see Sr. Mary Peter when I looked up and she had vanished! Yeah, she teleported 60 years into the future and a few hundred miles south, since she's at the Motherhouse now.
I still have the lingering sense of our sisters from decades past, going about their business out on the grounds. The ministry here has changed over the years, and will no doubt continue to change, but there is a presence here that persists no matter where the trees are growing at any given moment.
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