A dream, but it's true: I am not the same since I met you
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[Today's subject line is from Catie Curtis's Magnolia Street]
Lots going on:
Nashville-area folk: Tomorrow is the soft opening of Imogene + Willie, a boutique on 12 South (near The Frothy Monkey. One of the sections of the store will be devoted to perfume, and my friend Anne is in charge of it. She's planning on offering classes as well.
...and the mas tacos truck will be in that 'hood around 5 p.m.
Yesterday morning, I went to a service celebrating St. Ann's Episcopal 150th anniversary.
It was above 90 F (my clothes were drenched in sweat by the time I got home), but the members of the clergy were dressed in full regalia -- robes, mitres, the works. Nobody does pageantry better than the Episcopalians, even under a white tent with folding chairs and fans blasting, and this service was one of the best-organized I've seen: the ushers handed out bottled water as guests signed the book, and there was a video set-up inside for those who needed to watch in cooler comfort. There was incense (the thurifer was a friend and neighbor of mine, and she swung that incense-ball on its chain in full 360-degree loops) both during the procession/recession and at other points in the service, a choir, and a chamber orchestra. (There were some glitches with the mics, but that's to be expected for that kind of service, in my experience.)
I am a unabashed fangirl of the current Presiding Bishop, Katharine Jefferts Schori -- before becoming a priest, she was an oceanographer, and she's still a pilot. Terrific presence, and a fine sermon as well -- she quoted Charles Quintard (a physician and the second Bishop of Tennessee), who had urged his fellow Episcopals to shake off "fossilism," which she characterized as a "chronic disease of the Church," and urged the parishioners of St. Ann's to "imagine a city where children and elders can thrive in the streets. ... imagine a city where no one has to sleep under bridges." She offered a definition of sin: when we turn away from the image of God because it's too much for our minds to accept. At the end of the sermon, she said, "Be bold. Be creative. Be brave and faithful, and you will bless many in this place" as well as in the community beyond.
Other highlights of the service for me included listening to and singing Ye Watchers and Ye Holy Ones (lovely, lovely arrangement for congregation and orchestra) and "O God, our help in ages past"; chatting with several folks afterwards (including a member of the vestry and the current rector); and actually being able to participate in the Communion ritual: I do not take Communion, but St. Ann's has a custom where one can walk up and receive a blessing instead (indicating this preference by placing arms across the chest instead of holding out one's hands to receive the bread).
The BYM and some friends roasted a 200+ pound hog in a pit in Leiper's Fork over Friday night. Saturday night, a college friend and I set out to join them, but because the directions were less than adequate ("That's not a road, that's a freaking hiking path!"), it took us several hours to find the place. (It wasn't just my legendary navigational impairment this time -- another guest got within 100 feet of the party and turned around because he thought he'd taken a wrong turn.) On the plus side, as my friend put it, "I'm in an air-conditioned space and I'm getting extra time with you. Hell no, I'm not complaining."
When we did finally reach the camp, there was fresh-pulled pork, chess pies, Murray County moonshine ("Are those holes on top of the jar for ventilation?" "No, it's trying to get out." And he wasn't kidding...), and other treats. Another girlfriend brought two bottles of bourbon, but I behaved myself and stayed away from those, since I was due to preach this morning.
This morning's services were well-received -- they consisted of three church members from different generations speaking about our spiritual journeys (Shirley is in her 90s, Jan is in her 60s, and I'm in my 30s). I'll post my text in a day or two.
Last week was a good one for catching up with folks: some attempts at planning/scheduling didn't work out, but I managed a lunch with a former boss, another with Joanne, and a third with three of the gals from Rancho Lesbiano. (And there was a fourth lunch related to church matters, and brunch with the BYM and another friend this morning -- no wonder my friend Tony refuses to believe I'm an introvert.)
I've been following Wimbledon primarily via BBC live texts and Wimbledon Radio. I haven't paid this much attention to tennis since the 1980s, back when I had a major crush on Ivan Lendl (I was actually in front of the tv when he finally won his first Slam); it's a bit unsettling, being now a decade older than the top players instead of a decade younger, but it's not like being a sports fan is a rational endeavor to begin with, so why should there be any pattern to when my brain gets hijacked by a particular variation of hitting a ball with a stick? ... In the Tennis World forums, there's a poster named "Grant" who is especially gifted at memorably-worded observations. In response to another participant statement about relative definitions of failure ("Failure for Novak would be not making the SF, and similarly, Murray for not making the F"), he wrote, "I'm pretty sure failure for Murray is not winning and then single-handedly recapturing the British Empire before going back in time and beating up Guy Fawkes with a cricket bat"; elsewhere in the thread, he opined that "Federer at his best plays tennis as art, Rafa at his best plays tennis as war, and Murray at his best plays tennis as The Art of War," which is the most brilliant comment on the various rivalries I've read to date.
Lots going on:
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| From Nashville |
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| From Nashville |
It was above 90 F (my clothes were drenched in sweat by the time I got home), but the members of the clergy were dressed in full regalia -- robes, mitres, the works. Nobody does pageantry better than the Episcopalians, even under a white tent with folding chairs and fans blasting, and this service was one of the best-organized I've seen: the ushers handed out bottled water as guests signed the book, and there was a video set-up inside for those who needed to watch in cooler comfort. There was incense (the thurifer was a friend and neighbor of mine, and she swung that incense-ball on its chain in full 360-degree loops) both during the procession/recession and at other points in the service, a choir, and a chamber orchestra. (There were some glitches with the mics, but that's to be expected for that kind of service, in my experience.)
I am a unabashed fangirl of the current Presiding Bishop, Katharine Jefferts Schori -- before becoming a priest, she was an oceanographer, and she's still a pilot. Terrific presence, and a fine sermon as well -- she quoted Charles Quintard (a physician and the second Bishop of Tennessee), who had urged his fellow Episcopals to shake off "fossilism," which she characterized as a "chronic disease of the Church," and urged the parishioners of St. Ann's to "imagine a city where children and elders can thrive in the streets. ... imagine a city where no one has to sleep under bridges." She offered a definition of sin: when we turn away from the image of God because it's too much for our minds to accept. At the end of the sermon, she said, "Be bold. Be creative. Be brave and faithful, and you will bless many in this place" as well as in the community beyond.
Other highlights of the service for me included listening to and singing Ye Watchers and Ye Holy Ones (lovely, lovely arrangement for congregation and orchestra) and "O God, our help in ages past"; chatting with several folks afterwards (including a member of the vestry and the current rector); and actually being able to participate in the Communion ritual: I do not take Communion, but St. Ann's has a custom where one can walk up and receive a blessing instead (indicating this preference by placing arms across the chest instead of holding out one's hands to receive the bread).
When we did finally reach the camp, there was fresh-pulled pork, chess pies, Murray County moonshine ("Are those holes on top of the jar for ventilation?" "No, it's trying to get out." And he wasn't kidding...), and other treats. Another girlfriend brought two bottles of bourbon, but I behaved myself and stayed away from those, since I was due to preach this morning.
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