Larry Picard: A Life in the Musical Theater

Come Sunday

larrypicard@earthlink.net — Sat, 6 Sep 08 13:21:00 UT

Tomorrow I preach at church. First, come the readings I chose and then my sermon. The sermon's title is "Namaste."
- Elder Picard

Romans 15 1:7
Now we who are strong ought to bear the weaknesses of those without strength and not just please ourselves. Each of us is to please his neighbor for his good, to his edification. For even Christ did not please Himself; but as it is written, "the reproaches of those who reproached you fell on me." For whatever was written in earlier times was written for our instruction, so that through perseverance and the encouragement of the Scriptures we might have hope. Now may the God who gives perseverance and encouragement grant you to be of the same mind with one another according to Christ Jesus, so that with one accord you may with one voice glorify the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ. Therefore, accept one another, just as Christ also accepted us to the glory of God.

From an article written by Nitin Kumar
The word nama [the first of 2 words in Namaste] is split into two: na and ma. Na signifies negation and ma represents mine. The meaning would then be 'not mine'. The import being that the individual soul belongs entirely to the Supreme soul, which is identified as residing in the individual towards whom the namaste is directed. Indeed there is nothing that the soul can claim as its own. Namaste is thus the necessary rejection of "I" and the associated phenomena of egotism. It is said that 'ma' in nama means death (spiritual), and when this is negated (na-ma), it signifies immortality.

* * * * * * *

Namaste.
When Buddhists or Hindus greet each other with that word and gesture, they are saying:
"The Divinity within me perceives and adores the Divinity within you."
Or
"I salute the God within you."
Or even
"I honor the place in you in which the entire Universe dwells, I honor the place in you which is of Love, of Integrity, of Wisdom and of Peace. When you are in that place in you, and I am in that place in me, we are One.â
When Reverend Cari sends you an email, her signature contains this sentence:
âThere is nothing more sacred than to recognize the face of God and to honor the presence of God in yourself and in others.â

So, Namaste.

Iâd like to take some time to talk about my work on the PNC. Please donât expect any big announcements regarding results, by the way. Weâre coming along as well as we should. And thatâs fine. Thatâs all Iâm going to say. However, if you have any questions, please feel more than welcome to submit them to the PNC via the PNC Box in the Narthex. Weâve provided lined 3x5 cards and golf pencils. Ask and you shall receive.

Instead, Iâd like to talk about the current state of the committee: the members of the PNC. (Please stand up when I say your name.) Ardythe Williams, Uda Bradford, Dick Turmail, Keren Murumba, Chester Lee, Ellen Oler, Mario Adorno and myself.

One thing that I can say about myself that I know can be said of all the PNC is that I know each of these individuals a lot more than I did a year ago. Ardythe, I wouldnât have known who you were talking about if you had mentioned her name to me a year ago. Now, weâre Netflix Buddies. She rated âI Think I Love My Wifeâ only 1 star. Chris Rock in a 1-star movie? I donât think so! Ardythe chairs the PNC with me and is my perfect cohort. If sheâs the paper, Iâm the glue; if Iâm the right brain, sheâs the left. We usually agree and often compliment each otherâs choices and decisions. Lately, sheâs also been picking up my slack and Iâm extremely grateful.

Dick Turmail has a beautiful home (with Dotti) and an antique tool collection. He played Mr. Goodwrench on television and when he leads us in prayer, I hear the Stage Manager character from the play, âOur Town.â (Though he has some spiritual convictions that are on the edge of the theological charts.) Heâs smart, wise and convincing and also very able to see anotherâs point of view. Heâs also very funny and tells a story better than almost anyone I know.

Now, Uda, Iâve known from the choir for some years now. Uda was a Social Worker. Sheâs always been the quiet one (and Iâve used that quality as a reason to lovingly pick on her); now I know she has strong and thoroughly thought-out opinions and will convincingly express them when she sees fit. Sheâs Jamaican by birth, you know, though I never would have guessed from speaking with her.

Keren has many opinions, but keeps them to herself and metes them out only when necessary. She does what she has to do when she has to do it and does it thoroughly. For instance, Keren is our Prayer Meister and will quietly mention it from her place on the couch when we begin or end a meeting without prayer or from a prayerful perspective. She is extremely reflective and speaks her mind with only the words necessary.

Chester Lee is a puzzle to me. Often when I anticipate his opinion he states the opposite of my guess. Heâs a by-the-book guy (though sometimes Iâm not sure which book) and is not easily swayed by opinions and argument. He can be very serious and yet, has an odd, zany side that I find outrageous and entertaining. Chester is very dependable and computer savvy. He recently raised a ton of money for Chinese elderly in a walk from Cadman Plaza to Chinatown.

Ellen Oler has a huge coffee cup. Itâs always on the side table next to her chair in the Thurman Study. Ellen and I will often share opinions, though we part occasionally at interesting times. I personally use Ellenâs different opinion as a way to look at my own opinions and the thought behind them. Ellen will not commit to something that sheâs not entirely sure she will accomplish and complete.

Mario and I usually sit on opposite sides of the church on Sundays. I remember him from when I first joined the choir in 2000 because he was one of the two Amening in the congregation. Mario has a strong spiritual leaning and at-the-ready tears. And a great, white tractor trailer that he drives hundreds of miles every week. Marioâs work as a truck driver must reflect his love for the road because since we started with the PNC, his most often repeated phrase is âroad trip.â

These are just my opinions and observations. We on the PNC are going through a process. And itâs a process that is requiring us to reach deep. To venture into those deep waters that Pastor Paul has spoken about so often.

Before any member of the PNC decided to volunteer to do this work, we were told how long it will take and how difficult it will be. And we accepted this responsibility pretty much with that as the only recommendation. We werenât told what it would be like to listen to and read about pastorsâ spiritual journeys (some of the most beautiful stories Iâve ever heard). To listen to answers to difficult questions, both given from the heart. To meet, usually every week and listen to each other speak passionately about who we want to lead us. To express strongly held opinions and listen to othersâ strongly held opinions as neutrally as possible and learn from the differences. To share a meal every now and then and share details of our lives with each other. And to pray and to pray and to pray.

We pray for our process. We pray for Godâs guidance. We pray for discernment. We pray for stamina. We pray for each other. We pray for our church. We pray for those who are being called to apply for a position at our church.

The PNC Experience is more than Iâm relating to you and itâs not all pleasant. We each have our moments of weakness and doubt and frustration. We disagree. And we keep some thoughts to ourselves. And thatâs probably good. But, weâre doing it together. And weâre doing it with love for each other, love for First Presbyterian Church and love for God.

Itâs not always that easy to greet the God within. For instance, a couple of weeks ago, my partner, Sam and I went to a vegan health spa in Florida. The weather was just fine, thank you, and the food was really good. Anyway, we met and shared stories and journeys with about a half-dozen others (women) over meals, on the beach, during exercise classes, and so on. On about the third day, while we were enjoying one of our after-lunch conversations, laughing and having a great time, some new comers who took their place across the small dining room shushed us. I donât respond well to being shushed. I think shushing has to be much more annoying than whatever is being shushed. Iâve thought this way for many years and have yet to really come up with a good way â a âChristianâ way â of dealing with it, and so I usually just take their hint (as strongly as I resent it) and quiet down. The best that I can do at this point is to not lash out at them or behave in a way that is equally offensive. Iâm not saying that this is the best approach, but at this point in my life, itâs the best I can do to honor the God within the shusher. Itâs not the ultimate answer, but Iâm just a sinner and, as one of my Spiritual Advisorâs told me recently, âthatâs why we go to church at least once a week.â I do my best to carry what I learn and experience in church into the rest of my life outside of church.

And, speaking for myself, my Pastor Nominating Committee church-work is one of the most profoundly spiritual experiences Iâve ever had. God is, surely, in every one of our meetings. Also, in each of us as we go through this process. Because, as we go through this process, to the best of our abilities, we greet God in each other. All that is best and highest in Ardythe greets all that is best and highest in Dick. All that is best and highest in Dick greets all that is best and highest in Uda. All that is best and highest in Uda greets all that is best and highest in Chester. All that is best and highest in Chester greets all that is best and highest in Ellen. All that is best and highest in Ellen greets all that is best and highest in Mario and all that is best and highest in Mario greets all that is best and highest in me.

I believe that God is present in all that we do in church, not just on Sundays. God is present at the Fellowship Hour, in the Narthex as you enter, in the nursery, in the Sunday school, at the 10 oâclock hour, in the Choir, in the Social Action Committee, in the Womenâs and Menâs groups, in preparing for Communion, collecting and counting the Offering, in our Office, in the broom closet, in the garden.

God is in each and every one of us. And I believe the more we enter into a relationship with each other, greeting the Divine within each of us, the more weâll be able to experience the Divine in ourselves.

Thereâs that clichÃ© about judging a book by its cover. Well, in some ways, involving oneself in church only on Sundays is like reading the flyleaf of a book. (Itâs more than that of course, but letâs just keep with this thought for another minute.) When I was asked to become an Elder, I was frightened. I was afraid of seeing the dark underbelly of First Presbyterian Church. I was afraid of being part of those workings of the church in which the âgoodness and lightâ arenât immediate apparent. But I did it anyway. I became an Elder and joined Session for what I believe was a deeper experience of who we are as a church community. And I was right. The more I work with people in the church the more it becomes my home. The more I keep my home clean and flourishing, the better I feel about myself, about church and about my relationship with God. And when problems arise or disagreements occur, we deal with them as best we can with Godâs help and greet all that is best and highest in each other. The more I greet all that is best and highest in others, the more I become aware of all that is best and highest in myself. I find that when Godâs light shines from me, it reflects othersâ light.

And I feel Godâs blessings on our community. As Paul says in his letter to the Romans, âthe God who gives perseverance and encouragement grants us to be of the same mind with one another according to Christ Jesus, so that with one accord we may with one voice glorify the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ.â

By seeing God in others and glorifying that God, no matter what work or play we have before us, the more blessed the work becomes.

What easier place to practice sharing Godâs light, than in church? At Fellowship Hour, in the Narthex as you enter, in the nursery, in Sunday school, at the 10 oâclock hour, in the Choir, in a Social Action Committee meeting, in the Womenâs and Menâs groups, in preparing for Communion, in collecting and counting the Offering, in the Church Office, in the garden.

And what better way to live it than every day, with everyone, everywhere?

Namaste and Amen.

Azucar!

larrypicard@earthlink.net — Wed, 3 Sep 08 21:26:00 UT

What We Did On Our Summer Vacation Part Four and Final:

larrypicard@earthlink.net — Sun, 24 Aug 08 16:55:00 UT

DeToxic Avenger.

The Final Day was spent outdoors, either in the ocean or on the patio. No walking. No delightful Persian guy. We did spend an hour and a half with Kathi Angeli, a wonderful older woman whose business card reads, âTranspersonal Counseling: Regression, Self Mastery, Energy Balancing, Transformational Programs.â Alright. I can buy that. She was great to listen to. Another one of those people you just want to hang out with and drink herbal tea, Teechino or Protein Broth with. Otherwise, it was all outside. No exercise. None. Nada. Nunca.

I did help Mercedes with her water aerobics classes. I walked along in the ocean with everyone and provided helpful suggestions. The same with the pool aerobics; I donât know how she could have done it without me, really.

You see, I have this lower backache.

I woke up with it on Thursday and the only rest I get from it is when Iâm asleep or in the hot tub. It was the hottest hot tub ever. I think the reason the hot tub provided relief was that all my nerves were screaming, âHot. Hot. Hot. Hothothothothothot.â That was some hot tub.

Early evening we went for a dip in the ocean with Diana. Diana is an 88 year old woman from Ottowa. She told me of an exercise class in the ocean in which the trainer lead "five old ladies" in a walk across the shoreline and suddenly the trainer beat a path to the shore. The women were left standing there wondering what was happening. Finally, one of the five went ashore and asked the trainer what she wanted them to do. Were they still having class? Should they join her on the beach? It turned out she felt something in the water she thought was a shark. "Well, why didn't you tell us?" Well, can't you see I'm still upset? I'm shaking! If that's going to be your attitude, I'm going home! Diana said that the trainer wasn't there the next year when she returned.

Later that evening, Sam's old Bar Mitzvah friend, Howie, picked us up for his usual Saturday night dinner with his friends. The car was packed with us. We were going to a deli in the area. In a mall that's impossible to get to the first time from the highway. In a part of the strip mall that was numbered counterintuitively. It turns out, the deli had gone out of business. Little wonder. We opted for Olive Garden. I had the whole wheat pasta alternative withe marinara sauce. It worked.

For dessert I had a Percoset that one of the friends slipped me for my backache. It wasn't organic; but it wasn't animal-based as far as I could tell.

When I checked out this morning, our bill was a couple of hundred dollars more than it originally was. That wasn't bad. The room was worth it. What a view.

Sam swam; I packed. The plane departed on time. We're home.

What did I take from this. I relaxed some. Not enough. Four nights is not enough. That aside, I heard some great stories from people I may not think twice about if I met them in the street last week. I'm clarifying my taste for "soulful" hotels where the people and the philosophy and, I think, love sustain them.

And also, I remember the gratitude with which I accepted each meal. Each dinner course. Dessert. We were served fresh fruit and vegetables, mostly raw and cut, for breakfast and lunch. Dinner included a hot entree prepared from these ingredients. Dessert was not always offered. So, by the time each meal was made available to us, we greeted it with pleasure and thanks. When a soup was added to the meal, it was a delight. And if something sweet was offered at the end of dinner, it was the best birthday party ever. It's a gift to give thanks for a meal and mean it. To be really thankful and express it in the company of friends is a gift. And that's what we did on our summer vacation.

What We Did On Our Summer Vacation Part Three:

larrypicard@earthlink.net — Fri, 22 Aug 08 21:16:00 UT

Ay. Aerobics.

We woke up at 6:15 this morning. I had lower back pain and a small fever. Detoxing, no doubt. "Why don't you go on the 7:00 o'clock walk?" "Enough with the 7:00 o'clock walk." Guess which one was me and which one was Sam. We turned over and went to sleep after of 15th trip to the bathroom in 24 hours. At 6:45 Sam was looking at the sunrise. "I wish you'd come look at this." Oh lovely. I'll take a picture of it. And now I'm going to quickly get ready for the 7:00 o'clock walk. I'll join you.

It's not easy power walking on a boardwalk with flip-flops. And so, we strolled. At the end of the walk, we were met by a smiling Persian guy about Sam's age. He led us in a Qi-kong/Tai Chi Warm Down that was inspirational. He's one of those people I just want to hang around with. The fever lowered and back pain subsided some.

Returned for breakfast which included a cup of Duncan Donuts coffee one of my new friends smuggled in for me to help relieve the caffeine withdrawal I was experiencing. "You should try a massage with Veronica; she uses this crazy oil and does a manual lymph node draining massage." Breakfast, swim and then Aqua Aerobics. Mercedes again. She played latin music that had absolutely nothing to do with the speed we were moving through the water. No matter. We all had fun and my upper torso got a real workout. Yeah.

We were having animated post-lunch conversation when we were shushed by some crabby lady who just arrived with her equally unpleasant-seeming friends. "Madam, there are more friendly ways to make a request than by spitting venom across the room. I'm holding a communications seminar in the Regency Room if you'd like to join it," I wish I said.

Afternoon Aqua Aerobics class with Maria was ended 15 minutes after it started by black clouds, lightening and Charlie the Pool Guy announcing big storms in the area. Up to the room to water color the ocean and storm.

Let's just say I need help with my water coloring.

Cooking class with Chef John. Winning recipe of the day was the Quinoa Nut Pudding with Satin Tofu. Really scrumptious.

Then Yoga. I am the opposite of the person who takes yoga class. After about a half-hour of excruciating poses I couldn't come close to creating ("You only need go as far as you are comfortably able." Yeah, right.), we were given a water break. Time to commiserate with friends. "This time isn't about conversation. You'll lose the energy we just created." You just did, sister. Thanks. Lower back pain.

It was Caribbean Barbecue night and not only was there a live band (a guitarist/lead singer and a bass player--the drummer didn't show), but we had Boca burgers and were allowed a beverage with our meal! Sweet.

Today was aerobic. I plan on relaxing as much as possible tomorrow. This detoxifying can really drain my lymph nodes.

Tomorrow Part Four: DeToxic Avenger

What We Did On Our Summer Vacation Part Two:

larrypicard@earthlink.net — Thu, 21 Aug 08 21:35:00 UT

A Day At the Regency Health Spa

I needed to not make a lot of decisions for a little while this summer, so I suggested we go to the Regency Health Spa, a vegan spa in south Florida. "I wouldn't be caught dead in Florida in the Summer," you might exclaim. Well, we wouldn't. Exclaim, that is. South Florida is a common destination for us in the Summer, usually with our friend, Alan. Alan would not like a vegan health spa, however, so he's probably at the Jersey Shore.

We do like a vegan health spa. In fact, it's almost perfect for us. Planned activities throughout the day, if we choose and meals served to us 3 times a day. Entree already chosen. We only need to decide if we want the "Potassium Broth" beforehand. "It's a great detoxifie," we're told. If I lose any more toxins, I'll turn inside out. And did I mention that we were the only two male guests in a place of mostly middle-aged, overweight woman? We've found a niche.

The minute we arrived, we got our room (after a brief orientation), changed into bathing suits and hit the ocean. Really nice. Not warm as it has been in the past. Fay saw to that. Water not quite the aqua blue we're used to, but no matter. It was lovely, if a little choppy. Finished hanging out in the ocean, changed our room to an ocean-view (I think we'll be paying more for that come Saturday) and got ready for dinner. A bean/tofu burrito with shredded beet and daikon salad. Very nice.

At dinner, we sat with Margie, a world champion bridge player, also a small quiet woman whose name I still don't know and a woman accompanying her best friend whose daughter was murdered recently. We were in the middle of after-dinner conversation when I realized that this woman had just described her daughter's murder to me. Chilling and very sad.

Florida Summer Vacation Rule: When you have the opportunity to swim in the morning, swim. No matter what. Chances are, especially if a hurricane is still hanging around just north of you, you'll have a big rain in the afternoon. And so, we swam in the morning. Not swim: just kind of bounce with the waves, face the ocean and gab. Sam practices his water aerobics (that he learned here 5 years ago). We swam, ate and met women and talked. After dinner we took a "Salsa Class" with Mercedes. A wild Argentinean woman who doesn't really differentiate between "Salsa Class" and "Aerobics Class With Salsa Movements." Ay. Aerobics.

Tomorrow: Ay. Aerobics.

What We Did On Our Summer Vacation Part One:

larrypicard@earthlink.net — Wed, 20 Aug 08 15:48:00 UT

First Class All the Way

âThank you Dr. Diamond and Citibank,â Sam exclaimed as we clinked our glasses of Sauvignon Blanc at 11:30 this morning. Samâs paying for his tooth implants with his American Airlines Citicard allowed him (us) to fly First Class to our Vegan Spa in Florida.

Gosh, it was fun as We 22 (how we in First Class refer to ourselves) chuckled together as they announced that a cookie or potato chips were on sale for $3 in the main cabin while we were being served our choice of luncheon. âMore of that lovely white, please?â

And with the meal, came a show in the form of a mother entertaining her baby with more animation Iâve seen since Spiderman 3. She was worthy of major UTube coverage. Like, major. She was highly entertaining to both baby and me, across the aisle. Anything to keep the others on the plane free of baby wailing. Which was only intermittent. Very cute baby.

Sam was happy listening to classical music with the Bose noise-cancelling ear buds that they provided free-of-charge to each First Class Passenger (slight exaggeration).

It was nice that our flight was delayed about a half-hour after we had boarded. It allowed us to fully enjoy The Life Of The Rich And Famous (which I think the woman in front of us was because many people stared at her when they were invading our privacy to get to their coach class. Also, she behaved as though she was used to having people wait on her)*.

Tomorrow: âA Day At The Regency Health Spaâ

* Actually, everyone was staring at her adorable dog that she kept in a dog caddy underneath the seat in front of her.

Real Live Presbyterian

larrypicard@earthlink.net — Tue, 12 Aug 08 04:57:00 UT

Friday evening Sam and I crashed a party of mostly gay ministers. Mostly of a certain age. Like Sam's age. We didn't exactly crash. We were invited through our Pagan Friend. He and his partner, Who Retreats With Fellow Followers Of A Beloved Guru, Sam The Jew and I, The Presbyterian arrived just after the first round of burgers had been served.

People were sitting on the porch. On the porch. In Brooklyn. No, not the stoop. The wooden porch. With a porch swing. It's attached to a free standing wood frame home in Midwood, Brooklyn. Wow. Surrounded by others like it, mostly owned by Orthodox Jews.

Anyway, there were a few interesting aspects to this party, but what stands out most to me was that at least once during the course of the evening, Pagan Friend, (He) Who Retreats With Fellow Followers Of A Beloved Guru and Sam The Jew all indicated me and said, "oh Larry's involved in church." As if these guys had never met anyone who went to church. And that's when I felt the awkwardness of being an amateur in the world of professionals.

Even after this 60-something minister finished telling me about his sexual exploits in the great outdoors of the Pioneer Valley (wherein lies Holyoke) and asked me what's important to me and please tell him about it, I mumbled something like "I sing and act. And, um, go to church. Church is important to me." He actually got out of his chair and walked away within, maybe, a minute of my saying that. I guess when a minister finishes telling you about having sex with some guy (who he guessed might have been Buddhist!) in a Rest Stop in Massachusetts, the last thing he wants to know about the listener is that he's a good, churchgoing man. As I said, awkward.

But I felt pressured, dang it! My 3 non-organized-religion-identified friends (or "disciples" as I like to call them) expected me to perform acts of lovingkindness as a divertissement or something. But that's like going to a party of ER doctors with a 2x4 sticking out of your head. They feel obligated to remove the 2x4 when all they want to do is party. Even Outdoor Sex Guy probably only wanted to know what I like to do with parts of my body; he just didn't have the vocabulary to ask it properly. He probably did, but his praydar (oy.) sensed he had a Follower sitting across from him and he went into automatic without really meaning to.

I don't know. And that's the point. Better we should have gone to this party as gay men. That's that. "Oh, and what's important to yooooouuuuu?" Judy Garland and Levitra. Oh, and a cure for AIDS. "Well, hello gorgeous!"

Bike Meme

larrypicard@earthlink.net — Sun, 27 Jul 08 19:28:00 UT

Tagged by Keith. I thought he was my friend.

This is a meme. I was tagged. That means I'm supposed to answer these questions. It's a thing bloggers do, I guess. It's like a writing exercise. Except people read it. It's like that list of questions about your favorite color and flavor of ice-cream and favorite childhood sitcom a friend mass-emails until someone makes a disparaging comment. And that's that.

I'm not sure what "meme" means. I think of it as "me-me" because that's who it's about. Or the French, "meme" which means "same."

I'll dedicate this to my maternal grandmother who we called "Mem," short for Memere. A French-Canadian way of saying grandmother, I guess.

Anyway,

If you could have any oneâand only oneâbike in the world, what would it be?

A green Dahon Speed 7. It's the only one in my universe.

Do you already have that coveted dream bike? If so, is it everything you hoped it would be? If not, are you working toward getting it? If youâre not working toward getting it, why not?

I own that dream bike (I thought I was supposed to always call it a bicycle, now that I'm a cyclist). I will own another dream bike after my current dream bike collapses from the weight of all the peripherals I buy for it. My latest thought is a bottle cage. You know, the cage you put your water bottle in? I want that because I learned the name was "bottle cage" and noticed that my bicycle is outfitted with 2 holes into which I screw my bottle cage bolts. That seems reason enough for me.

If you had to choose oneâand only oneâbike route to do every day for the rest of your life, what would it be, and why?

It would be from NYC to Hawai'i. Why? Pfff.
I would probably meet Sponge Bob Square Pants on my way and that would be fun. And if my crotch didn't fall off from riding for so long, I would be in Hawai'i. And even though we've been there a number of times, it's still an absolute favorite place to be. Or at least reminisce about.

Do you ride both road and mountain bikes? If both, which do you prefer and why? If only one or the other, why are you so narrowminded?

I own my little folding bike. And I'm not the narrowminded one here. I didn't compose a meme asking questions only about bicycles. Yeesh.

Have you ever ridden a recumbent? If so, why? If not, describe the circumstances under which you would ride a recumbent.

I have never ridden a recumbent. I would ride one when I would feel like struggling to mount a bicycle and fall over a lot. Yesterday at Meryl and John's house I was sitting on their tire swing (redesigned in the shape of a horse) and I was talking on my cell phone, when the rope snapped and I fell forward onto the ground. And the 2x4 that held the 2 ropes apart above the swing fell on my head. Now I have a big scab on my head that no one asks me about. Maybe I'll compose a head scab meme.

Have you ever raced a triathlon? If so, have you also ever tried strangling yourself with dental floss?

I would have to look a lot better in spandex before I started racing a triathlon. Once I sliced my face in half with dental floss, trying to stimulate my molar gums.

Suppose you were forced to either give up ice cream or bicycles for the rest of your life. Which would you give up, and why?

What is this, "Sophie's Choice"? Forget it! I sobbed for 1/2 hour after that movie.

What is a question you think this questionnaire should have asked, but has not? Also, answer it.

Q: When will Stella and Maggie have their own bicycles?

A: As soon as I can figure out how to attach one of these to the back of my bike, they won't need to have their own bicycles.

Youâre riding your bike in the wilderness (if youâre a roadie, youâre on a road, but otherwise the surroundings are quite wilderness-like) and you see a bear. The bear sees you. What do you do?

Pull out my mini-umbrella and offer it and the bike to the bear. They look so cute riding bicycles and holding a mini-umbrella. Oh gosh, and I had an extra tutu, I would offer that, too.

Now, tag three biking bloggers. List them below.

I only know 3 bloggers: Keith, Rachel and Gordon. One of them rides a bike. And he did one of these already.

Doctor Horrible Lives

larrypicard@earthlink.net — Sun, 20 Jul 08 13:56:00 UT

Despite the misnomer in my first Dr. Horrible entry and Rachel's cool review (she's since had a change of heart) of Act I, I'm here to let you know that Doctor Horrible's Sing-Along Blog is well worth a watch. So, please do.

Captain Horrible's Sing-along Blog

larrypicard@earthlink.net — Mon, 14 Jul 08 08:15:00 UT

I like being a part of cool, new things because that makes me cool, too. And younger. And that's doubly true with the internet. So here's something so happening it hasn't happened yet (if you read this before July 15). To be a young cool person, go directly to Captain Horrible's Sing-Along Blog.

Hazard Ahead

larrypicard@earthlink.net — Wed, 9 Jul 08 20:52:00 UT

This week I've been able to ride my bicycle three times in a row without the tire deflating. Good news. I guess it was the Mr. Tuffy that the very close cycle shop (On the Move) put on my wheel (or somewhere) when they repaired my most recent flat back tire. It looks like I'll be able to ride to work tomorrow as well. Yippee!

All this riding has made me think about bicycle riding. One conclusion I've reached is that I'm a hazard on a bicycle. Not on purpose, of course. No one is, I think. But, I believe my riding can be a hazard to others using the road. I try to follow all the rules.

But, truth be told, I don't know many of the rules.

Like, should I pass another cyclist on the right or the left? Is it permissible to ride against traffic if I'm on a bicycle path? Is it really o.k. to ride through a red light if I carefully look both ways? These are a few that come to mind.

As I was driving Keith from Covenant Baptist to his motel somewhere else in San Antonio, he mentioned to me that I was an unsure driver. "At least on roads you haven't driven on before" (the only kind he's traveled with me). He's right. I believe that quality is reflected in my cycling as well. I don't have the confidence to boldly pull out into the middle of Atlantic Avenue on my bicycle against the red light. When I've ridden through the red light on smaller, less-traveled streets, my eyes are like blinkers: looking at possible oncoming cars with my right, switching my focus to the left to see what's ahead of me (pedestrians? someone else on a bicycle?). Back and forth several times in the course of the crossing.

So, maybe I shouldn't do that. Or maybe I can because I'm so cautious. Maybe the hazard doesn't come from my caution, but those moments when, no matter how focused I am on my path (across the Brooklyn Bridge, let's say), I space out for a moment and another cyclist momentarily unnerves me as he breezes by me and into the distance. I'm not "The Night Train" streamlining up to the North Pole; I'm "The Little Engine That Could" chugging and chugging to his destination. (How can it be that both ways, to and from work, are uphill?) Maybe I'm not a hazard; maybe I only feel like a hazard.

Now, I'm not the only hazard, mind you. And, I guess, that's why I'm so cautious. The pedestrian walking directly in front of me, the bicyclist riding right toward me, against traffic, the guy who opened the driver's-side door of his parked car at the top of Union Street right in my path (luckily, I was traveling so slowly, there was no drama or injury; "Sorry. I didn't seen you," was his only reaction. I hope he didn't see me. That would have added a whole other, disturbing wrinkle to his opening the car door): these are a few of my daily mini-conflicts that prevent me from enjoying a worry-free ride.

You might say, "hey, if you don't want to deal with that stuff, ride a stationary bike twice a day." "Watch yourself," I might respond, "on your right," "I mean, your left," "I mean your right."

Now Sings My Soul

larrypicard@earthlink.net — Mon, 30 Jun 08 20:49:00 UT

After Samuel Bartos played the entire Goldberg Variations (including all the repeats) on our little Yamaha grand piano some years ago, the piano glowed for about 2 weeks. Really. There was an energy in the room, emanating from the piano that you could feel. Just like after the AIDS-educating, South African group of singers and dancers, Siyaya, performed at First Presbyterian Church a few weeks ago. The air was electric. It just was.

And so is my heart. My chest is actually tingling. Ummm. Just take my word for it.

This is, of course, my post-spiritual-retreat blog entry. It's taking me a while to put this together because I want to describe the actual experience of it and I know I really can't. One of those you've-got-to-be-me-there kind of stories. And already my world is returning to its pre-retreat state. If I can (and I will) retain a portion of what I've learned and felt this past weekend, I'll be lucky indeed.

I've been reading Gordon Atkinson's thoughts and reflections and stories about Covenant for some years through his blog, reallivepreacher.com. And actually meeting the folk from his ongoing narrative was more satisfying than the casting of the Harry Potter movies. But, that's just the surface stuff. That's what made it easy for me to be drawn into this community of real, live and loving people.

On only a few occasions, have I received such warm and generous hospitality. Delicious, homemade meals, warm, comfortable bedding, easy, meaningful conversation and rolling humor. Providing for our comfort as though we were old friends.

Standing around the kitchen. "She thinks she's my psychiatrist," Paul said. "He thinks I'm not," Cynthia countered.

And this is another tie that binds the hearts and minds in Christian love. (That's a hymn quote, more or less.) In Tim, Gordon, Ben, Paul, Lexie, Cynthia and Jeanene (the friends from Covenant who facilitated the weekend) I experienced a love of life, for the scripture, for service and for the services we participated in throughout the weekend. Vespers at 8pm, Compline at 10pm, Matins at 3am (I soloed at 2am), Lauds at 5am, Terce at 9am, Sext at 12pm and finally None at 3pm. Yes. Baptists. Services that began with the gentle ringing of handbells. Then Chants Psalms and finally, during None, Communion unlike any I've experienced since and including my First Holy Communion in 1964. Not because of the ritual per se, but the attention and love that infused it.

This was a profound weekend for me and, I believe, healing for some of the other pilgrims who found their way to San Antonio after experiencing pain and devastating disappointment from their experiences with their various churches. People, who are so connected to God, through Jesus, that they want to get beyond their painful experiences and find their way back to the source of their love. Looking, maybe, to Gordon for some Truth and finding Love (what some call God, others, Jesus) in all the people of and around Covenant Baptist.

The Desire for Hermitage

larrypicard@earthlink.net — Thu, 26 Jun 08 16:50:00 UT

Ah! To be all alone in a little cell
with nobody near me;
beloved that pilgrimage before the last pilgrimage to death.
Singing the passing hours to cloudy Heaven;
Feeding upon dry bread and water from the cold spring.
That will be an end to evil when I am alone
in a lovely little corner among tombs
far from the houses of the great.
Ah! To be all alone in a little cell,
to be alone,
all alone:
Alone I came into the world
alone I shall go from it.

That's what some monk wrote somewhere and then Samuel Barber found it and included it in a goooooorrrrrgeous cycle of songs titled, "The Hermit Songs." But that's only the introduction.

Early tomorrow morning I leave for San Antonio, Texas to participate in a Franciscan Retreat at Covenant Baptist Church. I learned about it from reallivepreacher.com. I've never really been on a religious retreat before. I've been on musical retreats and musical theater retreats and performance workshop retreats and, of course, Hawaiian retreats and family retreats. Sometimes, I spend so much time at church, that might be considered a religious retreat. Any time I spend away from the everyday doing something I love, I consider a retreat.

I'm really excited about this.

Accessaride

larrypicard@earthlink.net — Tue, 24 Jun 08 22:02:00 UT

Yesterday, Keith met me after work to show me how to repair the handlebars on my bike. Bless him, he brought me a tool with 3 little differently sized Allen wrenches on it. It proved immediately helpful in adjusting my saddle (what we cyclists call the seat). "You can store this in your saddle bag ... Next you should buy gloves. Really."

The "Really" is what drove it home. After retrieving my wallet in the church office (I thought I'd leave it there and pray, then pick it up after God added another $100 to it), I went to my cycle shop and bought a saddle bag (which I still can't figure out how to put on) and my gloves (the padding does make a difference, thank you).

While I was shopping (telling the sales assistant what I wanted while standing between someone's bike that was just repaired, the counter and 5 other waiting customers), I kept glancing outside to check that my bicycle wasn't stolen. So, I bought a chain lock, too. I guess I'll use that whenever I go to the cycle shop. (I look very bike-messenger when I wear it across my chest.) Otherwise, I'll just fold up the bicycle and schlepp it inside.

You should have seen me hoist it with one hand over the turnstile at the office. Even I was impressed. My lower back is still in spasm.

Walking my Bicycle Back Home

larrypicard@earthlink.net — Sat, 21 Jun 08 19:25:00 UT

Friday was a bit of an achievement. I rode my bicycle from home to work and back again. Work is now Wall Street and not midtown, but still. And when you consider that for the three weeks I've owned my little Dahon I've had three flat tires, well, making it over the Brooklyn Bridge twice without having to take the train is quite an achievement.

My first trip was from home to Brooklyn Heights. A practice run, testing out the journey with no time limit. There and back and arriving in Park Slope to find my back tire was flat. Back to R&A Cycles to repair the flat--change the tire tube.

Last Saturday I took a test ride to Wall Street. Or, rather, over the Brooklyn Bridge. I got over the bridge, stopped for traffic and felt my back tire. Flat. Really, really flat. Walked the bike to the nearest 4,5 train (the R wasn't running) and brought it back to R&A. "It's not the bike; it's you," the guy at R&A said. He changed his tune when the hole appeared on the side of the tube. "It's the bike; not you." Tire repaired and inflated, off I went.

The next day I rode to church in Brooklyn Heights. Got home. Flat. Flat flat flat. No time (or desire in the rain) to go back across the neighborhood to A&R, so Monday I rushed home from work, put the bike in the trunk of a car service and got there before it closed. There was a piece of glass in the tire. Now there isn't.

I think I need crustier tires. Something that can withstand NYC streets. I also need to find a good route from Wall Street to the Brooklyn Bridge. I was a hazard Friday evening. A hazard. But a thoughtful one. I was a thoughtful hazard.