last night

Tonight is the last night of the Church calendar. Tomorrow is Advent I. New beginnings ahead.

I got some leaves mulched this morning. I am hopeful to finish the rest tomorrow.

Mostly a busy day, but did get to see a movie, Love Actually, the chick-flick by the guy who wrote Four Weddings and a Funeral and Notting Hill.

A very trifle of a movie. Too many characters, not much investment in any of the characters, except of course, the marvelous Emma Thompson, who could truly bring joy to reading a list, and the probably marvelous Laura Linney (among other very good to watch actors in this multiple story movie).

A good cold autumn day, not too cold.

walk

Took a late walk around the townlet with partner and the dog. Franklin was delighted and didn't seem to notice the cold white flecks falling intermittently from the sky. He runs ahead on his leash, fearless of weather. The idea of the walk, the joy of the walk, this excites him.

bounty

This morning, the blue skies of Dallas. This afternoon, the cold gray skies of Indy.

I return to Indy bringing lots of canna lily bulbs and irises. No reaction at the airport security gauntlet about my rolled up sack of goodies. I'll plant the irises, and store the canna's, planting them in the spring in the backyard. Left in the ground, they won't survive our cold winters, so I will have to dig them up at the end of next year's growing season.

big d

Texans have opinions about their cities. I favor living in Austin. San Antonio has its own uniqueness. I cannot deny the cultural pleasures found inside the loop Houston or in Fort Worth.

Dallas is itself easy to poke fun at, so proud and anxious at the same time. I always find myself amazed at its shopping culture, its vast displays of stuff that one can buy, a mercantile capital where some have enough imagination to offer all this stuff, and and so many others have the money to buy it.

This is a place where people don't buy old houses but thirst for the new. It has been, for some time, a place of asymmetrical hip roofs that swallow the brick houses upon which they sit, thousands of them, multiplying each day, spreading out across the prairie, each varied only slightly, but presented as the latest and best version of how one should live.

This Dallas is creeping closer to Oklahoma, and I wonder if all the effort and motion that it takes to create this more than a city but much less than city is now so ingrained, that people just do it (build the houses, market them, buy them, move up quickly to better ones) much the way worker ants create intricate, interconnected work, without question.

But driving along some of its freeways, past the outlets and chain stores, I get a little dizzy and have to remind myself that I am there, not any other American city that exactly replicates these stores along similar roads.

keeping up

A holiday week ahead of us.

Somewhere I read a report that most blogs start out in a flurry of postings, but then the person loses touch and quits posting.

I've tried to keep this one alive, so to speak, with daily postings.

But I am going to be in and out this week, mostly out, without a computer.

Yes, isn't that a sad thought.

Or maybe it is a healthy one.

Anyway, if I don't get to post, happy thanksgiving!
And to non-American readers, good cheer for you as well.

so it didn't rain today

But I had to work in the afternoon, briefly, finishing up a report before the holiday.

And then I got a tire to replace the one that blew out Friday night. That was a bit of tame excitement, fortunately happening not on the freeway but on a city road. I discovered after reading through the manual and uncovering the secret hiding place where the jack is supposed to reside, that somehow it wasn't there. Two years after buying the car, I have a blowout and no jack. The manufacturer must have misplaced it. The garage guy shows up thirty minutes later, but his jack doesn't work. Another hour later, all was well. Now I have a new tire, as well as the new tire that was the spare, and one of the old tires is now the spare. A little tire shuffling.

So, I didn't get anytime in the garden today.

That's ok. Gardening is not about perfection, but about hoping for perfection. I do what I can. I might get another break before Christmas. We'll see.

Now it is raining. Early winter weather, they tell us.

christ the king

We recessed with the traditional Diadem tune of All Hail the Power of Jesus Name. The sopranos and choristers sang the descant on the fifth verse. At this point, the choir is bunched in the aisles at the west end of the church, under the tower, and the congregation hears us from behind and in the middle.

Little mistakes here and there, during the service. Lots of froggy voices among the clergy. And still, the service held together, through a baptism and eucharist.

Mother F. said that this feast day at the end of ordinary time in the church calendar was set in 1925, to counter the horrors of human kingdoms in the early 20th century (i.e., the Great War).

Perhaps it was meant as a summing up of all those kingdom parables often read in the Sundays after Pentecost.

The gospel was Pilate's questioning if Jesus thought he was the king. Jesus questioned him back. It is before his death.

If Jesus comforts us, he also unsettles us. The gospel is more than a challenge. It questions our intuitive assumptions, our basic nature, the way we see the world, in the sort of way that a change in location or elevation changes the way we see a landscape. This kingdom, this king, so different from the worldly models we know by heart.

weekend

The parish choir did a bus trip to Chicago and back on Saturday, one unique attempt among many in our fundraising efforts to support our trip to England in 2005. It was a group in and out deal.

I saw Leo Sowerby's organ at St. James Cathedral. That is to say, the organ which he played for many years.

Bought a few books at Borders and the Newberry Library bookstore and we got a great deal on a calphalon no-stick skillet at Crate & Barrel. Visited the Terra Museum of American Art. Borders and C&B pretty much maxed out my tolerance for seasonal shopping crowds.

Ate a long and delicious meal at Frontera Grill and got home by ten p.m.

friday

No snow showers today. They're coming on Sunday. Alas, I have a day full of commitments tomorrow. I am bummed. No gardening.

king jesus

Speaking of kingships, Jane Freeman has the commentary this week at Thinking Anglicans about the triumphal nature of this part of the liturgical year -- Sunday, we celebrate Christ the King.

Watching President Bush's state visit to the UK, Freeman contrasts secular symbols of power and might with our understanding of God's kingdom as it is described in the Gospels.

Virginia reminded me that at Winchester Cathedral, they have altered the responses used in Evensong, taking out the old phrase, Because there is none other that fighteth for us, but only thou, O God. and have inserted the words ...there is none other that ruleth the world....

Our parish choir learned about the change when we sang at the Cathedral in 2002, and have continued to use those words when we have choral evensong.

season

They're putting up Christmas decorations and I am already feeling my annual grumpiness coming on. I hate the cheap sentiment and the contrived experiences connected to snow and family and meals. Not that snow, family and meals are a bad thing.

I tell myself, take a deep breath.

In the church's liturgical calendar, we don't put up our decorations, so to speak, till Christmas week. Advent is a season of anticipation and reflection, more akin in spirit to Lent than to what we see and experience in the secular world during this period called the holiday season.

We await the coming of the King, but the king is not what Central Casting would have ordered up. Nor is he a Coca Cola calendar icon (a marketing ploy that has made their Santa the god of the secular season).

blue sky

This morning Franklin and I walked in the dark, and the sharpness of the stars was clear. It was a brisk coolness, almost perfect.

Now there is a blue sky outside. A perfect day to dig in the ground. The weather guy on the radio said that we might have snow showers on Friday.

hormel product

Will we have it with us always? The number of unwanted emails continue to pile in each day. I assume everybody else gets the same stuff.

I suppose this is the price of a free and unregulated internet system, but I find myself hating those folk who, like vermin, try to come in very crack possible to peddle septic tanks, pornography, lower mortgage payments, and Christian debt management.

Not to mention a jillion other crappy promotional get-something-quick schemes represented by these unwanted emails.

I used to check my bulk folder before clearing it. Sometimes wanted email gets in there. But I've given up. I nuke it without looking.

trees

In all the townlet squables about enforcing codes on tree limbs that are intruding into the public easement, neighbors often say that of course they don't want to hurt public safety.

I believe them.

But an event in Indy yesterday did draw into relief the importance of keeping public right-of-way clear. A sixteen year old boy was killed when his bus on Monday came too close to a tree in the morning fog. The kid was hanging out the window of the bus, and the impact killed him.

Most of us who are baby boomers went through our infant and toddler years without the benefit of car safety seats. And growing up in Texas, I often rode in the back of a pick-up truck. I survived, but if I had a child today I'd do what I could to keep them safe.

It's one of those things adults say to kids, don't hang out the window of a moving vehicle. Don't do it. This kid did and it lost him his life.

Supposedly the city had planned for this particular killer tree to be removed. Very sad story.

gardening .... not

I haven't had a opportunity to get into the dirt, nor have I written much about it lately.

I blame the weather. We have had several days of rain, mist, wind, rain and mist. Oh, and fog on one day.

Today, the sun is shining and I am itching to get out there. But work and choir keep me inside. Maybe this weekend.

marriage, day two

It is ironic that Andrew Sullivan was out of pocket yesterday, travelling in Western Massachusetts to talk about same sex marriage rights.

Today he is back at a computer. See his remarks here.

One excerpt:

You have an inviolable right to marry, the U.S. Supreme Court has upheld, even if you are mentally incompetent, have divorced twenty times already, have failed to provide for children from previous marriages, are on death row, or in jail, or a foreigner who is simply passing through the United States en route elsewhere. No government can take it away from you. It's that basic - prior even to the right to vote. Yet millions of citizens, simply because of their involuntary sexual orientation, are still deemed beneath it. If gay people were denied the right to vote, would it be judicial tyranny to strike that law down? So how can it be wrong to strike down a ban on their having an even more fundamental right?

what I don't know

I sometimes go for long periods when I forget that I live on a planet, that there are stars in the sky, that the moon is more than either a metaphorical symbol or a physical white dot in the sky. I am not a physicist or an astronomist, so my understanding of what it means to live on a planet is limited.

I am much more adept at living in a city. An American city.

I understand streets and home and family and work. I understand gardening, or at least have an intuitive feel for it. With each explanation of the theory of relativity, I come closer to understanding that time is a concept, a practical shorthand, good for this reality, this world in which I inhabit, but that there are bigger things, forces, understandings about what Douglas Adams humorously called life, the universe and everything, of which I don't really comprehend. Bending space. Gravity. The speed of light. Orbits and suns.

Planet stuff should interest me more, but it does not. And even acquiring knowledge about this planet, or other planets, what would I do with it?

I forget about Iraq.

In the days before the invasion, we all thought about Iraq. We talked about it. It was on television. Embedded reporters gave us pictures from the dust mists of the desert.

Now I wake up to NPR and they say that two American soldiers died there yesterday, but because our day and Iraq's day are not in sync, I don't know if I may have heard this information yesterday, or last night before I went to bed. I hear the words "two soldiers died" and I feel sadness, but I do not know these soldiers, and possibly go through the day without thinking about them again.

Then I see a news story about wives and parents grieving. These folk are interviewed on the Today show, and I see them via satelite link sitting on their living room couch, perhaps holding each others hands, and either Katy or Matt ask them about their lost child, or spouse, or parent, and we see a picture of when the dead person was alive, grinning.

Sometimes the survivor's language betrays the rapidity of time between death and morning television interview. We see their slowness at comprehending that the dead person, this loved one, is gone forever. As they talk, they use the present tense to describe the person who is now dead. They say, Joe likes to bowl and he is always .... And I, watching the television silently, edit their language in my head, and think, poor thing, they meant 'liked to bowl"....

I don't know any American soldiers. Or Iraqis. Or Palestinians. Or Israelis. The categories of people who are dying regularly on the news. I think it odd that I hear about deaths and war and I live as if there are no wars.

I heard on the radio today that perhaps 100,000 people will gather in London to protest President Bush's visit. A few days ago, I read or heard that this was the first official state visit to Britain for a sitting American president. Today they are saying that it is the first state visit since Woodrow Wilson in 1919.

War. Occupation. Protest.

I continue to read and think about this. There are sides drawn, in America, where people are very confident about what should be done or undone.

This I believe: it would be heartless to not celebrate the end of Sadam Hussein's reign of terror.

This president doesn't give me a lot of confidence that he has any idea what to do next.

marriage

Andrew Sullivan has an entry on the Massachusetts Supreme Court decision today telling the state legislature that they have 180 days to craft a law that gives full marriage rights to same sex couples.

Usually, he is loquacious on the topic of same-sex marriage, but this morning, he mostly cites the judges' opinion in Thank God Almighty, We're Free at Last.

The governor of Massachussetts is calling for a state constitutional ban on gay marriage.

thick fog

We had more fog this morning than one could experience in back to back performances of the musical Jekyll and Hyde on matinee day.

I saw the original production in Houston at the Alley Theater, years before it made its way to Broadway. It was awful. Best line I heard that night was from an older gentleman who sat next to us. On our way out the door, he said to his wife, "This is almost as good as Cats."

Several years ago Emma Thompson and Jeff Goldblum did a satire on this type of musical theater in a movie (The Tall Guy). Their overwrought musical was based on The Elephant Man.

Anyway, it is a foggy morning.

Franklin and I walked this morning through the gray, and I was more alert than normal in looking for speeding cars tearing through the townlet. We only encountered one car, a local, who left and then came back during our walk, both times at speeds that made me nervous.

The dog, on the other hand, didn't seem to mind. I get in a good mood from his joy at being out walking, his checking all the smell spots that he usually checks, his keeping an eye out for squirrels, rabbits and cats.

gray sunday

The lectionary readings for today, were, at best, not light-hearted or easy words of comfort.

Appropriately, the choir sang Jackson's awe sounding Lo, God is here and Howell's Eyes Pine for Beauty. Karen preached on hope in times of trial, looking at the desperate feelings of the Hebrews in exile in Daniel's time.

The sun came out this afternoon for a short time, and then everything turned back to gray mush outside.

last night

There really was a blue drink. At the third stop.

And it was a great opportunity to meet folks that I've not met before.

At the fourth and final stop, there were fireworks in the backyard. Big, light up the sky fireworks.

A lot of folk were there. And I didn't see anybody with lampshades on their head.

amish

There is an interesting story in the New York Times this morning, No Wiggle Room in a Window War. It's about a community of very strict Amish in upstate New York who are threatened by that state's new building code requirements.

According to the story, because of a recent revision of the codes, their traditional sizing of windows for their bedrooms are about an inch and a half too small on each side. The intent of the law was to make it easier for firemen to squeeze folk in and out of the bedroom of a burning house.

But as the article states: Given the rural location of the Amish houses and the lack of phones with which to dial 911, "there is not going to be much left standing" anyway, Mr. Willcockson added.

This new code means that any new Amish houses can't pass zoning inspection. The village of Chautauqua are supporting the Amish, but the state is not happy about that.

I leave you with this quote:

To the outsider, the solution is obvious: enlarge the windows by a smidgen. "It sounds easy to someone who isn't Amish, but if you're Old Order Amish it's not easy," said Mose Byler, the bishop of one of the two Amish districts in Chautauqua, clad in the traditional male uniform of a navy denim jacket fastened by hooks and eyes. "If you break a tradition, where's the tradition? You're not a faithful member."

blue drinks

Tonight is the townlet's annual progressive cocktail party. Three or four sites. You spend 45 minutes at each home where the hosts provide a special drink and snacks. No driving.

This is the third year and it already looks like it will be an established tradition. What's nice about it is the opportunity to meet neighbors on the other side of our little loop that I don't get to talk to very often.

The downside is the obvious problem of some folk drinking too much.

weather

Drizzle, rain. Not too cold

The question is whether it will dry out enough to garden today. So far, it doesn't look like it.

I haven't paid close attention to the weather forecasts this week, but I was hoping for a respite, a one day opportunity to plunge into the garden.

but gallileo, we've never thought that way before ...

So the gay person says, we're baptized.

And the non-gay person huffs, some murderers are baptized.

And the gay person thinks, first of all, I never murdered anybody. And second of all, that commandment did make the top ten. And thirdly, the murderer for whatever reason chose that action to hurt somebody. And the gay person, or at least this gay person and my experience is that many others feel the same way, discovered one day that their attraction was to the same sex. It is who we are -- essential, like the color of hair, our eyes or our physical make-up.

Most of those who reject us never get to the essence idea. For them, it is just a choice. And of course, we always want to know if they chose their straightness, was it on their menu of options for life, did they pick a over b, even though that was a tough one. They wanted b, but they were good and chose a.

Here are some of our choices: Electric shock therapy, zapping the genitals to make you think gay = painful, straight = I don't get zapped. Accusing our parents of not being good parents (too indifferent, too controlling - pick one). Gather at AA like meetings where we learn proper gender behavior and admit our faulty ways (this almost never works and when they make poster boys from participants of these groups, they often have to pull the posters back down because the boys fall off the wagon so to speak -- but it is often used as an example of what we could do if we just would). Be celibate and fast and pray, hoping that it will go away (do straight people even imagine what that would be like for them trying to not be straight?). Lie, marry someone from the other sex, and sneak around on the side (for most, the pre-1969 choice, still time honored though). Deny that Christ loves us and gave himself for us, skip out on the church and live a faithless life. Kill ourselves.

This is not an exhaustive list. But it covers a lot of what folk I know have experienced in their dealing with being gay and being Christian. It doesn't include a young friend in college who had the demon of homosexuality cast out of him by his pastor and the deacons of his church. Years later, I read the headline in a statewide Texas newspaper Waco Pastor's Homosexuality Rocks City. It was the pastor who prayed over my friend. He got caught for a second time having an affair with a male college student. I don't know whatever happened to my friend, we lost touch after college, but the day I read that newspaper I hoped he had survived all that drama and gotten on with his life.

Finally some of us believe it when Christ tells us that he has come so that we might have life, and have it more abundantly.

There is nothing virtuous inherent in being gay. There is nothing virtuous inherent in being straight. (It's not like you guys worked very hard to acquire your straightness).

As Christians, we understand virtue as part of grace, the gift of God's love in Christ. We are responsible for our actions, for our choices, for living with integrity.

On reflection I am grateful for this past year. As awful as the pain and anger is around all of us who are in the Anglican Communion, and as threatening as it feels for the Episcopal Church (of which I am grateful for the place it has provided for me for much of my adult life), I am hopeful that this is one of those moments when people, gay and straight, are dealing with what it means to be Christian, here and now. I read and I listen. I've already admitted to wringing my hands a few times.

I believe that gay or straight, we will all be different when its over.

the real story about where gay people come from ...

As folk discuss the issue, here are a few reactions from a gay Christian (me) that I hope you will keep in mind:

Whether it is toward a theological argument, or merely a cultural judgment, I hope you remember that we are in the room and that you are talking about our lives and our faith as much as your own. We are not mushrooms grown up magically in the middle of the night. We've been a part of the church for some time and will continue to be a part of it.

All the gay people that I know (and I've met a few) were born and raised by heterosexual parents. I am sure that is not true across the board for all gay people, but it is true of my own experience and those I have known or met. If we did a poll, I think the percentage would be quite high on this fact. I don't think such a distinction is necessary but straight people are often talking about the dangers of children being raised by gay people, so the orientation of parents must be important to them. This is where we come from -- straight parents.

Most of the gay Christians I know were raised within the church. For me, it was within Southern Baptist churches (revivals, bus ministries, Sunday School, Training Union, Vacation Bible School, Royal Ambassadors, pack the pew night, "every head bowed and every eye closed while the choir hums Just as I am). I don't mock that experience, it's just a quick way to say that during the 1960s I wasn't dropping acid nor following the teachings of Bishop Pike. I was too young to do either, but I was very good at Bible sword drill. And the Bible is something that has been a major part of my life and thinking since that time.

When I was a child my mother used to quote Proverbs 22:6 -- Bring up a child
in the way he should go: and when he is old, he will not depart from it. Every time I hear an argument against gay marriage or gay participation in the church, I think of that scripture.

Many of us seek companionship, commitment, and integrity in our relationships because it is how we were raised. This is the model that we know. There is some irony in the attacks on these relationships. Most gay people I know sense that irony and find ourselves cutting off the people who make those attacks. Maybe it's the old casting your pearls before the swine. But it is hard to take people who say we are the most promiscuous group of people on the planet and in the same breath say that all of our efforts at love and faithfulness are wrong and blame our commitment relationships for making it harder for straight people to stay in relationships. (Yes, I am still sore about the Defense of Marriage Act, how it was named, not to mention the current push to make this a constitutional amendment).

Many of us worship God, express our faith in Jesus Christ, show up in parishes all over because we were raised and baptized in the Church, and either never left it or heeding the call of the gospel, return to it. (as opposed to a bunch of gay people sitting around on a Saturday night discussing the gay agenda, deciding that some of us should show up at church on Sunday to make things difficult for theologians and church leaders).

debate

More debate about gay people in the church. Sometimes it feels less like a debate and more like a political campaign being waged in the news media. (See Dallas in October, and the politically staged event there)

For an example of a debate, though, see AMKA's Random Thoughts here, here and previously linked here). Don't skip the comments on these posts. These people are serious. They seriously disagree. And so far, nobody has called the other side dishonorable names. Or made ad hominem attacks.

out damn spot

Congressman Barney Franks used to joke that gay people didn't even make it into the top ten (commandments).

According to this story (first linked at Simon Sarmiento's blog from the Kampala Monitor) the outgoing archbishop of the Anglican Church in Uganda says that gay folk in the church are really bad.

Here are two brief excerpts:

Outgoing Archbishop of the Church of Uganda, Livingstone Mpalanyi Nkoyoyo has reiterated his stern position on homosexuality, saying gays have no room in the Anglican Church.

... He said homosexuality and lesbianism are the highest forms of immorality that the church is facing today.

Do the others who disagree with Bishop Robinson's confirmation agree with Archbishop Nkoyoyo on these two statements? I hope that they don't.

But I would hate to be a gay person in Uganda when the head of the church equates him or her in these terms.

There has been a lot of talk about threats to Christians from Muslims and others who have a vicious hatred of homosexuality/homosexuals. As an American in Indiana, it is incredibly wrong for me to ignore cultural as well as theological reasons why many of the African primates are so strongly anti-gay.

But I would hope that these bishops understand that their words may encourage violence against gay folk. And as these discussions or debate go on, I think they ought to understand the theological and cultural reasons why many within the ECUSA disagree with them.

anniversary

Josh Marshall celebrates the third year of his Talking Points Memo blog. Congratulations.

He's a brainy guy who is often found reporting for Washington Monthly or writing a column for the DC legislative newspaper The Hill.

His blog reports must be read by newspaper assignment editors, because often a few days after he lets his readers in on a tidbit, stories follow. He is a liberal Democrat, but in the best sense of that word, in that he is rational and is not afraid to argue what he thinks on the merits rather than any pre-programmed point of view.

To put it another way, if he is a hack, he is a thinking hack.

spines

Of course, for garden designers, this is the season when we see the spine of the garden, the hardware of rock or brick paths, edging, sculpture (or birdbaths or sundials), ceramic pots. Evergreens or woody branches and stems of deciduous plants all provide the punctuation, cutting up into the air. This is the lay of the garden, what we see now.

If we think in multiple layers as we plot out the garden, we can provide something of interest, something to break the plane of sight, something to frame or lead our eyes toward. All this is more interesting than nothing.

Even with snow on the ground, given shape by plants or hardware, along with evergreens like a yew or boxwood, the garden in winter can be visually interesting.

planet

The sky is clear today, and with last night's gusting winds, the only leaves left on the trees are the clinging ones that will stay attached all winter. It was a harsh wind. I noticed a couple of fallen tree trunks while out this morning.

With all the leaves gone, much is exposed outside: the structure and frame of trees, shrubs and flower beds. In architecture, the frame of a building can be more interesting than the final shape. That is certainly true of old barns. I saw one restored last year, that happened to be near where I walked each day at lunch. The final product is just a barn. But before it was covered up, it was an amazing network of wood, the details of the building where some say that God resides, or at least the architect's judgment and the builder's handiwork. The barn was over 125 years old and had been moved, rescued, really, from where a suburban big box store was being built in what had been a rural farm setting. Seeing the large hewn beams being lifted up, I tried to imagine the day when the original barn builder first lifted it up into place.

Which brings me to that point when I start looking at tree trunks and branches, thinking about how oddly interesting they are, wandering what I would think about them if I had never seen a tree barren of its leaves before.

I have words and mental images of trees, part of the matrix of language, culture and experience that helps me as a human navigate through the day, but if I didn't, how queer they would look, sort of the way one would think about humans if we only saw skeletons instead of the flesh, clothes and hair covering us. There is a scripture in the gospels where Jesus healed a blind man in parts, and after the first part he responds, I see men as trees walking.

The morning sun is much more severe now, at sharp brilliant angles, and there is little to filter it or soften its glowing. I saw an almost full moon amid the blue sky, after the sun had risen, lingering like those still attached leaves.

Cutting between tree branches, the light and shadows are striped on the road, finely and multiple, like the codes on packages that are scanned at a cash register.

season

Hugh, at Three bed two bath, is planning on marking the Advent season with references to specific music, another way to reflect during the season. Perfect idea for advent, which is supposed to be all about reflection as well as anticipation. I look forward to reading it.

howl

Finally, this afternoon, the sun came out, but with it came a harsh, howling wind.

Driving home after choir practice tonight, the leaves hurl through space, lit by car lights. Tree limbs shake. At home, I hear a noise from the outside, alternating between the bursts of wind gusts and the sound of things banging against other things.

I start listing what I want to do outside before fall ends. I want to build a small retaining ledge in the front garden, with steps. Plant bulbs. Clean up old debris, cuttings of shrubs and trees. Finish mulching leaves. Work more compost into the beds. Get horse manure for the vegetable garden.

oh, that book about ...

A morning car conversation about a string quartet, with colleagues after a meeting, reminded me of Vikram Seth's novel An Equal Music.

There are two tracks to this novel. One is about a love affair that ended, and the two main characters' attempts to revive it.

But the more interesting track is Seth's ability to recreate for the reader the world of the professional musician, and in this case, one who is part of a string quartet.

I've often wondered what is going on in a dog's world, one made up less of sight, certainly devoid of the visual that I experience, but that is full of smells and sounds unknown to me. Spend a little time with a dog twice a day on walks, and you will understand that their language, their efforts to communicate, is hardly summed up by the vocal sounds of their barks. To me, that's an invisible world, or a nearly invisible world.

In An Equal Music, Seth writes about the world of musicians working together, each individual artists, highly trained, putting aside their individual quirks to make music. For us lesser mortals who are not musicians, or who only know such a little as to make this work, both technical and intuitive, at best an unknown tongue, we sit and listen to the result, hearing the power and beauty or dissonance of the work being performed.

His novel gives us a peak at what maybe happening in their world.

gray

At least it was warm outside. But all day the sky, the air, was filled with tiny bubbles of gray, wet mist, in a world of stark tree branches, their leaves plastered all over the ground.

And driving home tonight in the rain, traffic was slowed down. Fog or low clouds rolled over the road.

A day without sunshine.

update

While I am updating, I would be remiss not to point out Jane's reporting from Mississippi. Part of her seminary experience at Seabury is to spend a few weeks out there in the real world.

new links

I've been adding new links tonight, and wanted to particularly mention The Heretic's Corner, a well-written on-line blog by a seminarian at the Church Divinity School of the Pacific.

I hope someday somebody documents the creating of a blogging community within the Episcopal Church. There are an amazing number of seminarians using blogs, mostly out of Seabury-Western, and I think that eventually we will see others beyond the seminary use the form as a way of dialogue, sharing and debate. The head-poohbah in this has been Professor AMKA, who has encouraged many to blog.

I've also added San Francisco's Grace Cathedral to the links. I am curious to try out the streaming audio of their sung eucharists and choral evensong.

all dolled up

We saw Dame Edna this weekend at the Murat Theater, a garish Shriner auditorium, very appropriate for Barry Humphries' creation. She called it "a curious theater in this tucked away little city."

It's a great drag act based on mocking everybody. I enjoyed it as did the other possums.

over

At some point last night, I took my shoes off, and my tired feet, legs and back appreciated it. But I wasn't thinking much about these body parts, because I still had a head full of Mozart.

Making music in a choir, particularly lots of music, is sort of like a group of people making a quilt or textile piece together. The individuals can look at the micro level, stitches that that they have made, but the pleasure comes from experiencing the whole. Two big differences. In live choral singing, the finished product is temporal, and the listeners are experiencing it only once, and immediately. Secondly, instead of making stitches, singers are the thread that gets woven into the total experience. Of course, we are far from passive in our work. But the choices that we make, our actions, include using our voice.

It was a full house, over 600 folk in St. Richard's School gym. I espied two sets of townlet neighbors, as well as people from Trinity parish. St. Paul's had quite a number of people. Our concert was part of Spirit and Place, an Indy festival of the arts, humanities and religion.

I must confess that during Veniti populi, the Choir II basses lost three measures. I am not sure what happened. We talked about it afterwards and couldn't figure it out. This piece was written by the adolescent Mozarat, and is somewhat of a trifle. But singing it does get one up for the singing in the Mass.

The two parishes will join again in February for the Two Parish Choir Festival, singing a Sunday eucharist service at St. Paul's, and a choral evensong that evening at Trinity. Patrick Wedd, director of music at Montreal's Christ Church Cathedral will conduct the joint choir.

tools

Yesterday I also bought a new shovel. I've had cheap shovels. I've had expensive shovels. They've had wooden handles and fiberglass handles.

Handles break.

This time I bought a cheap shovel. I need it for putting out my last big batch of spring bulbs. I also have a couple of bulb tools that pull a round core of dirt out. I got those when I was younger and idealistic about bulb planting. Given that bulbs need mass, and that the easiest way to plant mass is to dig out spots, or patches, or small trenches, I don't have time for cute little plugging devices.

The most essential tool for me is my spading fork. I use it to work in organic materials, to weed, to loosen soil, or the roots of volunteer trees that sprout in difficult places. It is excellent in loosening up sod for weeding and new bed preparation.

The other essential tools include a hand pruner, a limb pruner or lopper, a hoe ( -- my $3.00 Martha Stewart hoe from K-Mart has a smooth wooden handle, and the metal head is a color of sage green that Martha used a lot in the 1990s. I've weeded a lot of beds with that hoe and am getting a little sentimental about it). And a wooden handle trowel. A wheel barrel or cart is nice, too.

handwringing

I surprise myself at how I can worry about something, while have an uncanny ability to not worry about lots of things that should at least make me a bit nervous.

Lately, as perhaps reflected in this blog, I've been worrying about the Episcopal Church USA, and the dramatic battles that appear to be taking place, within the ECUSA and the wider Anglican Communion, a struggle that at least in my mind, appears to have the inevitability of the American Civil War or Europe's World War I.

Maybe these current struggles are not a war, but it has the feel of competing sides, strategies, lines crossed, territory occupied, threats of future retaliation.

As someone who grew up Southern Baptist but who joined the ECUSA as a young adult, I worry about our church that I love and appreciate, a place where because lines haven't been drawn so closely folk could worship together even if they didn't always agree or think alike on a number of issues, but who found community in working out our faith together, in liturgy and worship. Having grown up in a system where one could easily learn everything one needed to know about God, worship and faith, reciting any aspect of it back at the drop of a hat, I appreciated a church where one lived with some ambiguity.

Since the vote at General Convention affirming the election of Gene Robinson as bishop in New Hampshire, the people who are mad at the ECUSA have been speaking long and loud, at General Convention, at the meeting in Dallas, after the primates gathering in London, and after Bishop Robinson's consecration last Sunday.

But are there other discussions? Voices?

Understandably, our bishops, outside of pastoral letters, are gingerly walking through this time of troubles in some silence. If there is an Episcopalian stereotype, for me it is the nervousness to call much attention to that which is unsettling.

And then I worry about each of the arguments being bandied about. Do I take them seriously? Should I? What am I missing? What am I overlooking because of my own biases and experiences?

AKMA has some reactions after the Diocese of Chicago's annual convention, and I found them encouraging, particularly his linking to a Dominican brother's sermon at Yale in the 1990s on the topic of a university community's ideal of seeking the truth. There are similarities to those of us in the church, laity and clergy, students and non-students, who are wrestling with these issues, as well as other issues that are less controversial, but essential to our lives and faith.

rehearsal

We sang yesterday for about three hours, with combined choir, orchestra and soloists. Probably one thing about Indy that most people don't know is that this a community full of musicians, as well as people who love music.

This is probably because Indiana University's School of Music is only 40 miles away, but for whatever reasons there are an incredible number of trained musicians here, and those interests are reflected in numerous organizations of orchestral and choral presenters.

There are moments in the Mozart C Minor Mass where the soloists could be on an opera stage. Their at times leisurely music contrasts with the confident and somewhat complicated work of the choirs, which for much of tonight's music is split into side-by-side choirs of four sections each, vollying back and forth Mozart's music.

a lively faith

Andrew Spurr has a reflection on dealing with the current controversies within the Anglican Communion, but from the perspective of a priest discussing it with students. (This is part of the Just Thinking commentaries on the Thinking Anglican site).

He writes:

We can consult scripture, but we cannot set up camp there, even if we could. Like the gospel writers, we have to take what we have heard and seen and go and live Christ’s world in this one, by living in peace and justice with my neighbours on this earth, whatever amount of confrontation, struggle, recognition and surrender that may involve.

Spurr remarks that his students are much more at ease at discussing gay people in the church than his generation.

credo, credo

We had our first rehearsal with orchestra tonight, both parish choirs, and both parish choristers. After weeks of rehearsals, it's finally coming together. We're performing Mozart's Mass in C minor.

One more big rehearsal on Saturday, and then performance on Sunday.

These yearly joint efforts between the two parish choirs is an interesting comparison in two groups of people who do pretty much the same kinds of music, and yet personalities are somewhat different.

At least, after years of doing this, we are starting to warm to each other as individuals. And the choirs, when we sing together, is becoming the choir. Nice to lose the parish distinction when we're making music together.

tough week

Nagging little things:

dreary weather
allergies
two major appliance repairs (kerching, kerching)
a poor cat with a spot on his back, where he's lost a big patch of fur

Is this what they mean when they describe seasonal disorders?

falling down

I looked around this morning and noticed that my giant sweetgum tree (info about sweetgums) has less than 20% of its leaves left. The maple dumped all its leaves within two or three days. Not the sweetgum, a quite majestic tree. It takes its time in releasing its star shaped leaves. But since we are down to the last small amount, I think that this weekend will be the end of major leaf mulching for the season.

Of course, sweetgum will then start unloading its spiked seed pods by the hundreds. It will take three weeks or so for them to fall and for me to rake them up. I sometimes put them on beds as a mulch (which works -- two years ago I waited until December to plant some bulbs. The ground was already frozen solid, except in the beds where I had layered the sweetgum balls). Some use them around hostas with the hope that the balls jagged edges will tear the mucus lining of slugs, menace to hosta leaves. Next year, I will take spray coffee on my hostas. A study indicates that slugs don't like caffeine.

toxic

In the backyard, in our communal vegetable garden, neighbors have already started stacking piles of leaves and cut grass. A neighbor and I are planning a trip to a local horse stables to get piles of manure, mixed in sawdust. We'll mix that with the leaves, somewhat shredded, the cut grass, and strips of newspaper. This should make a nice compost for our garden. We've puts lots of bags into the soil, but it is still extremely hard.

The important thing to remember about using leaves for compost is to avoid black walnut tree leaves. Black walnuts put a toxic substance in the soil through their roots and through their decomposing leaves. Once the toxic stuff is in the dirt, it won't just wash away, but will remain.

One effect of the substance is that it retards seed germination and plant growth of several different plants, particularly vegetable plants. It's very hard to grow tomatoes around black walnut trees. Your local agricultural extension service should have a list of plants affected by black walnuts. But here's a nifty two page article from Purdue (PDF) that outlines all you need to know about black walnut toxicity.

wolfie

Regardless of the election outcome, it was a gloomy cold day. We sang through much of the Mozart tonight, on risers. Risers are incredibly painful. This is probably more true for the older among us. Tomorrow it is two hours with the orchestra, and with about 40 choristers, making it all a tight squeeze. And then we have a long rehearsal on Saturday. We're just now starting to get up to performance tempo.

We're now moved rehearsal's from St. Paul's to the gym at St. Richard's where we are doing the concert. The school is attached to Trinity.

dewey wins

Just call me the Chicago Tribune. I already called the Dems winning a majority in the City-County Council. But due to a lot of things, the chief county election clerk is having all absentee ballots in Marion County aka Indianapolis counted by hand. This means the city-county council may or may not be led by one party or the other. Democrats have never had a majority before. The Rs have led by one seat for the past four years.

Right now, Dems are leading in 15 races, and Rs are leading in 13, and there is a dead-heat tie in one. Because the leads in some of these races are so close, the absentee ballots will determine what actually happens.

The election clerk says she needs two days to do this. This what we call excitment in Indy.

the dark side

I try not to spend a lot of energy worrying about what people do who don't agree with me. The operative word in that sentence is try.

Two recent articles, however, have given me some pause. The first is cited today on Andrew Sullivan, and is from the Boston Globe. It's an article about far-right Catholics and what they are thinking about politics in general, and church politics. A Father John McCloskey is quoted as saying he would like to see [edit: he thinks that we will see] the American church stripped down to the folk who believe more closely with conservative Catholicism. He says it is intolerable for the church to include people who disagree on abortion, or who can accept two gay people living together in a relationship. And that while he doesn't support it, this kind of intolerable situation could leave to violence. Sullivan calls it hyperbole, and he is probably right, but it was a disturbing story. Perhaps I feel that way given the current push to change the Episcopal church into what feels like an Anglican version of the Wisconsin Synod Lutheran Church.

The second article is from Harper's Magazine, and it is called Jesus Plus Nothing. I don't know anything about the author, but he describes a sort of evangelical Skull and Bones fraternity-like organization in DC for high-minded youngsters. What is a little unsettling is not what these young people believe, although I interpret Jesus differently than they do, nor is it the sort of ambitious networking aspect of it, because DC is all about networking, but it is the secretive nature of what they are doing. Perhaps the author is making it sound more sinister.

In fact, that may be what was bothering me about both of these articles. The folks involved aren't being very public about what they are doing, but they want to tie their faith to change public policy.

Again, everybody in Washington wants to tie whatever they support to public policy. Certainly liberal and left-wing Christians want to do this. Any thoughts?

repeaters

In writing about irises below, I mentioned my white repeaters.

As I explained, I got them on a whim, and I really didn't know that they were repeaters. The first year, they didn't put on blooms in the spring. Given the tempermental nature of irises and their cycles, I could live with that.

But in the fall, they put out flowering stalks. At I first, I didn't believe it. Bearded irises get a leaf that starts to swell, giving it a pregnant look. The stalk bursts out of this leaf. And that's what happened. As I drove around town, I saw a few others blooming, too. Hmmm. Maybe it was an unusual year, weatherwise, I thought. Or maybe mine were just catching up with the seasonal cycle. A fluke.

I also didn't know they were white. The package showed a pink iris. They have a thin purple edge to the petals. In fact, before the petals open, it looks like a pale lilac. Once opened, there is a little yellow, but it is truly a solid white flower. The year before, I had a conversation with a local woman who winters in California. She talked about her grove of white irises and how they illuminated the yard at dusk, catching any reflection of light possible. So I was actually pleased to find that mine were white.

This spring, they bloomed. And then this fall, actually quite late, they started blooming. I still have blooms. A hard freeze is coming Friday and that will end it unless I protect them. I've covered them once this fall, but like Rilke, I think it's time.

We had our one or two warm days -- yesterday was incredibly beautiful. Today, we are back to gloomy, misty weather, the stuff of autumn. At least the multi-covered leaves can cheer us, putting an array of muted and brilliant oranges and yellows in places that have been solidly green till now, amusing us with their brilliance and oddity until we get a little more acclimated to the cold of late fall and winter, with the starkness of bare tree trunks, perennial beds that empty of anything alive and green, and the periodic blanketing of snow.

indy politics

The townlet had a election yesterday. One of the old time members on the town council lost fairly significantly. Because these are volunteer positions, we should all be thankful for the service these neighbors provide in running our very small townlet government, one part of the larger metropolitan unigov in Indianapolis.

I did not get involved in the politicking, but offer these observations:

1) As Gov. Richards used to emphasis to her staff, government service and politics are a high calling. To work in government is to be a public servant. I think that holds for even volunteer positions. One's attitude about the public should reflect that sense of calling. You may disagree with the public. You don't have to take abuse from them. You have to uphold the law. But you also have to listen to folks and treat them, the citizenry, with respect. That's how democracies work.

2) People do things for their own reasons, not yours or mine. So when you want them to do something, it pays to figure out what's on their mind, particularly when it's a project or an enforcement that affects their property. This takes time. It means explaining yourself. It means listening to their concerns.

3) It's best not to arbitrarily cut your neighbor's tree limbs, giving them only two or three days notice that your are doing it, or get into a fight with them about it, particularly two weeks before an election.

In other news ... Mayor Peterson was re-elected overwhelmingly (63%). He is the first Democratic mayor here in a jillion years, and is very much a good government kind of fellow. He also has a passion for supporting the arts and cultural community. I am delighted he will continue in office.

The city-county council, our municipal legislature, just changed political leadership. For the past four years, the Republicans have had a one vote majority. They pretty much isolated the Democrats out of the decision-making process. Looks like the Democrats won a majority yesterday.

I think the Republicans could have perhaps survived one more time, but about a year or two ago, they split up into what is really two parties, the establishment civic-minded party, and the true-believer no compromise party. That probably took the wind out of their sails.

Their big effort this year was to put a label on the ballot that called themselves, the Rs, the A Team. A Republican judge overruled this in court. Nobody would have cared, but after all the publicity over the ballot law suit, it probably had a reverse effect on the Dems, motivating them to work harder.

That's another little lesson in politics. Don't enflame supporters of the other side right before an election. (see point three above) In the four years I've lived here, it seems like the Rs do that a lot. They've done it twice in campaigning against our U.S. Representative, Julia Carson. And they did it in the Sheriff's race last year. It's backfired each time.

day after

Elections are over. In my younger days, election days meant more because I was more involved in the process. I was a hack, and at heart, I probably still am one. But I am no longer so emotionally involved in elections.

Conversations with family or friends often followed this line:

So, if your boss loses the election, you no longer have a job?

Yes, I would reply.

Oh, they would say.

And then someone would immediately change the subject.

But election day always meant getting up at 4:00 am, meeting other kindred souls, and going to polling places and putting up yard signs. Once, in 1984, I went with some college kids in Waco to put out signs in rural precincts. The kid who was driving hit a cow. I can still see the look on the cow's face as it moved away from the car after he stepped on his brakes. It was a black cow, on a dark morning, on an unlit road.

Because farmers are liable for loose cows, and I mean that in the unpenned up sense, they often don't go and claim cattle that is road kill. That poor boy's car was really torn up. A bad omen for a bad election day. The cow must have had similar thoughts.

ode to iris

Irises are among my favorite plants. In Texas, the smaller ones, singular in colors of purple, white or yellow, are sometimes called flags. We always had plenty of them in my mother's garden, and they endured without a lot of watering, taking heat and abuse, giving a mass of color during blooming.

The flowers are stunningly beautiful, and on the bearded iris, complex and unlike most other flowers. The iris flower has three standard petals on top, and three drooping petals, or falls, on bottom. One flower stalk may have multiple flowers, making them top heavy. I often stake them so they don't fall over. This is particularly true if you are pushing the sunlight demands just a little. As one flower fades away, I deadhead the old bloom, keeping the stalk tidy so that eyes look at the glory of the newly opened bloom.

I cannot imagine having a garden without some type of iris within its beds. Here in Indy, I have three clumps: a Siberian iris that puts out a white and purple flower, as well as white bearded irises that are repeaters (more on this later).

And a smaller bearded iris that I've only seen in Indy, a violet and yellow mix that strikes me as being some earlier, old fashioned cultivar. I've seen it in a couple of older gardens here. I found it in the edge of the yard, in a very shady area. The leaves were very tiny, and I had missed seeing it the during the first year, when I didn't garden, in part to grieve over leaving my garden in DC, and more importantly, to try and get some handle on gardening in zone 5 in the midwest, and to see what plants I actually had.

When I finally found it, I dug up the rhizomes, the yam or tuber like roots that store up the food for the plant, and in which the flower begins forming long before it shoots out on its stalk, so proud and regally, and I put it in a sunnier spot, and then decided to let it build itself up. Disturb an iris and you can often lose a bloom the next year. But given the years of neglect in a shady spot, this plant needed a recovery period.

That's why it is important to divide them shortly after they bloom -- the conventional wisdom is to do this in late summer. In dividing them, I cut the old, dead parts of the rhizome off, looking for a crown with leaves. I cut the foilage back to about three or four inches. After I divide them, I soak them in a water solution -- they like the same kind of food as tomatoes, so it's easy to remember what kind of fertilizer to use. After a good soaking, I re-plant them. Rhizomes should not be completely buried, only the bottom half. The temptation is is to bury them all, but irises don't like that. Plant them in a place where they get at least six hours of sun, where the soil drains well, and then leave them alone.

Bearded irises should be divided every 3-4 years, but the repeaters need division every 2-3 years due to their being more prolific growth and expansion.

A few years ago, when I started my Indy garden, I bought some packaged rhizomes at a big box hardware store -- they were supposed to be pink flowers -- and planted them in my well-head bed where the spectacular tulips are. And then I forgot about them, which is often an appropriate response to planting irises.

The flowers are its ecstasy, a gift of beauty that stays in the garden, and by its nature it doesn't lend itself to being a cut flower (unlike the Dutch iris, a spring bulb). But it is the architectural nature of the leaves that I admire most, spiked vertical leaves slash sideways and upward about a foot or two, with grayish green colors, a wonderful contrast to all the other plants. And unlike other kinds of plants, like the century plant, it sits well in the border with other plants as well as en masse by itself.

I have a terrible personal dislike of century plants and yuccas, particularly in gardens that are not in a desert like area. I am sure some good folk make them work, but they defy my ability to imagine them as good choices.

Another dislike. Recently I've seen varigated irises, a silly and perhaps sinful need to re-manufacture a wonderful plant to fit the latest scheme. Silly, because this wonderful statement of a slashing leaf becomes one half striped white, an off-white, and one half striped green, a pale green. It doesn't stir you, it only makes you mutter, why?

But enough of my biases. There is a pest problem. I've had good luck, but Barbara Damrosch suggests dipping the roots in a ten-to-one chlorine solution when dividing them. Keep dead stuff away from the plants, giving them air, and of course, don't bury the rhizome entirely.

The late Henry Mitchell, who wrote about gardens for the Washington Post, wrote that that each flower on the stalk is only good for about two days. In his collection, One Man's Garden, he wrote:

One year I took off two weeks during the peak of my irises, and for some odd reason the weather was flawless and the irises were having one of those exceptional years and I sat there and strolled there morning to night for two weeks. There were two thousand stalks of flowers, with about seven flowers on a stalk, and not one of them opened that I did not see in full head-on focus.

He believed that one should pay homage to great flowers, and not just see them "in passing."

The painter Georgia O'Keefe would have agreed with Mitchell. She once said that the reason she painted flowers so large is because people never take the time to stop and look at them, to admire them because we are too busy.

mold me

Election day. Partner and I went and voted. In Indiana, no alcohol can be served in a public place while the polling booths are open. We vote at a golf course clubhouse, that of course, has a bar. Towards the end of the day, the golfers become increasingly more conscious of this rite of democracy and its importance in their lives. Looked like a light turnout. This is our first time to vote for municipal elections since we moved here in 1999.

Today will be hot -- break a record, according to the easily excitable weather folk on local tv. Mold allergies are starting to get everybody. It's a bad mix: warm temperatures following several days of rain, leaving lots of damp old leaves everywhere. The molds are in bloom now.

Despite my best efforts, my garden is once again covered in leaves.

I bought an allergy mask to wear if I get brave (or dumb) enough to go outside and mulch/rake leaves.

Today is repairman day. Usually I resent waiting, but given how I feel, a somewhat medicated daze, I am not very anxious about it, and frankly, don't feel ambitious enough to plot or plan activity away from the house.

blog, blog, blog...

If you are new to blogs and want to know more, here's a great essay on the phenomenon by d24. It's a sort of Everything you wanted to know about blogs*...


*but were afraid to ask.

Indy

Went downtown this afternoon to go to a matinee theater performance.

I used to work downtown, but I don't get down there much anymore. But when I did work there, I often ate my lunch in one of the parks north of the old Federal courthouse, or take a walk through downtown with one of my work colleagues.

Live here a while and you will learn that with visions of grandeur, assistants who helped Banister and L'Enfant lay out Washington, DC, made their way to Indianapolis to lay out the new state's capital in the 19th century. They created four quadrants, threw in a very few slashing avenues that cut through the grid, and started everything from a large circle in the center. Originally set aside to serve as a spot for the governor's mansion (supposedly an early first lady refused to move there, saying she didn't want her family's laundry hanging out for all to see), the Circle now has a large 19th century obelisk-like monument to Civil War soldiers and sailors.

It is one of those structures that is best looked at in its profile rather than to pay too much attention to the specific details. Soldiers are thrown in with classical allegorical figures, without any unifying sense of scale. At different layers, a mish-mash of weapons are thrown in. I made the mistake one day of looking out the window of a room overlooking the circle during a luncheon. The more I focused on the individual ornamentation, the more ugly it looked.

So, best to not look too closely. It is well loved here, so it is best to not offer an aesthetic opinion, either, to the natives.

There is a broad sidewalk around the Circle, and it should be filled with cafe tables, restaurants and bars. Instead, it is a showplace address for corporate offices, a renovated Vaudeville palace for the symphony, a private club and Christ Church Cathedral, the seat of the bishop of the Diocese of Indianapolis, and perhaps more importantly, the home parish of the late Eli Lilly, Jr., the uber-patron to much of Central Indiana.

Urban renewal efforts tore down deteriorating edge buildings along side the main blocks of downtown, leaving behind endless parking lots and vacant fields on either side of the long and thin rectangle of downtown. Last year, demolition crews imploded Market Square Area, a round 70's domed basketball arena that was distinctive for being the last place Elvis Presley performed in a public concert.

Freeing up this property, the city is setting out plans to develop this area, making downtown more connected to its eastern side. The city-county building is a monument to 1960s dreams of making great buildings in the image of the modern office building (it is a terrible failure), but across the street is City Market, a 19th century brick building that is a pleasant food court during weekdays, and perhaps it will develop further for nights and weekends.

There is a three block mall in the middle of downtown that kept the facades of many of the original buildings. And there is a several block grass mall that includes several additional war memorials and the headquarters of the American Legion and the Paul Cret designed public library (currently getting a new addition).

On the western side of downtown is the State House, made of Indiana limestone, overly ornamented in the late Victorian style, and again with sculpture that is often out of scale and not that pleasing to the eye. But unlike other state capitals who went for cast iron ornamentation inside, the Indiana capitol uses stonework inside as well. Given that many of the ornamental stone buildings in the United States are made up of limestone from the state, it is appropriate to use it here so extravagantly.

The canal is on this side of town, and slowly but surely, it is being integrated into the life of downtown. However, if you are one of the many conventioneers who come downtown, you may never see it. The city powers that be have never figured out how to link the canal with the main part of downtown a few blocks away. And there are no restaurants, cafes or bars along the canal.

The White River State Park on the west side does include the canal, and this urban park includes several campuses of cultural and sports venues, as well as the up and coming, and unfortunately named Indiana University-Purdue University at Indianapolis -- IUPUI or when its adherents are not listening, ooie-poohie. Hoosiers have two areas where they are weak, public sculpture and naming anything. Indianapolis got its name as a last minute (and supposedly temporary) substitution because nobody came up with a good name that anyone could agree on.

Besides the ubiquitous convention visitors, downtown is often filled up with people attending sporting events or large arena concerts. Nice people, but you won't find many metrosexuals in these crowds. More like Hoosiersexuals.

holy smoke

Allergies kept me from singing with the choir today -- a second Sunday in a row where I sat in the pews. The church was full, and I found a seat in the back. Given my distance from the incense on this festive day and the current state of my my allergies, I was glad to not get the wafts of smoke that the choir was getting.

Once when we were singing an anthem, the thurifer stood in the side doorway next to the altar, watching us. It was a struggle not to cough during our singing. The choir gets it anyway during the liturgy on these occasions when we use incense, but this was a moment when it was not required.

But we have switched to an incense that isn't so hard on the nose and throat. A good friend in the choir who is highly allergic bravely participated in a test to see if it made her difficult to breath. Amazingly, it didn't.

a new day

Today is also the day that the Diocese of New Hampshire will consecrate Gene Robinson as its newest bishop.

And there is something to celebrate in that sacred moment. It will be celebration of this man's ministry in that diocese, the trust that the members of the diocose have placed in him by electing him as their bishop, as well as a moment to reflect the long period within the ECUSA where we have struggled as a church about God's relationship to those in the church and in the world who are gay or lesbian. That struggle is not over today. This event will create more struggles, and pain, and handwringing.

But we were not promised a perfect life on this earth, free from struggle and pain.

Here's an article by Stephanie Spellers , a seminarian at Episcopal Divinity School. It is posted on the Every Voice Network site. A good friend emailed it to me and I wanted to share it with you.

for all the saints

Today we celebrate All Saints Day.

I sing in my parish choir. There is some difference in the worship experience from one who sits in the pew and from one who sits in the choir. Neither is more important or spiritual. However, it is easier, in our parish, to see the altar from the choir than from the nave.

But singing in the choir also means focusing on the mechanics of what is going on. I have no idea what it is like for the priests, but in this regard it must be similar, because we all have to be mentally aware of where we are and what is coming next.

Our director often tells us that our worship happens in rehearsal rather than in the service.

But there are moments, when singing in the choir, that one is deeply moved by the words, music and experience in worship. For example: when singing in a funeral; or when the young child's voice starts the procession at the Christ Mass with the words Once in royal David's city stood a lowly cattle shed...; during the chanting of certain Psalms; and especially, for me, as we process into the church on All Saints Day, singing For all the saints, who from their labors rest, who thee by faith before the world confessed, thy Name, O Jesus, be forever blessed.

The odd thing is that it took a few years to realize that this was happening, that I was having an emotional response each year at that moment. This is one of those moments in the journey, during worship, we aknowledge all those who have gone before us, The great cloud of witnesses of the book of Hebrews.

As I get older, I realize much more clearly than I did as a young man that life on this earth has a beginning, a middle, and a definite end. When I think of folk I've known, family members, friends, colleagues, who have already died, I think about how much I miss them, and remember that the parts they've played in my life has not ended.

But All Saints Day is even more special because it's not about the individual. The faith journey is a shared one. When our choir sang at Winchester Cathedral last summer, we were sitting in choir stalls that were carved in the 13th century. The cathedral was built in the 1080s, and it replaced a Saxon cathedral on the same spot that had dated back to the 800s. Today, each day, some gather to pray and worship where prayers have continued for much of the Common Era. While a bit younger, the same could be said for the other Cathedral where we sang, Chichester. To work and worship in a cathedral is to understand visually the notion of the great cloud of witnesses.

So we will process this morning into the church building, singing of the Church, past present and future, fellow travelers, muddling through in hope and faith, and love.

For a much more articulate sermon, see AKMA's sermon given at Seabury on Friday. The good board of Seabury Western has promoted AKMA to a full professor. Congratulations to him.

muddles

Over two hours of mulching fall leaves with my lawnmower yesterday has left me with with a sore throat -- probably allergy related.

A neighbor offered me a nice sized tulip poplar and a redbud from his yard.

They are added to the fall work list.

Certain appliances have faltered, leading to a lot of time dealing with them. And a nice neighbor has shared with us theater tickets for a production of Turn of the Screw.

I must go and make some hot tea.