History

History has fascinated me for as long as I can remember. Maybe it's genetic; my father taught history. My to read pile usually contains at least one history book. Lately the pile has included books on the Titanic and World War Two.

The Titanic captured my imagination when I first read Walter Lord's A Night to Remember for a book report in third grade. So it came as no surprise to see the myriad of books about the Titanic start to hit the shelves late last year. Next month marks the 100th anniversary of the ship's sinking. Given the bouts of Titanic fever that occurred during my lifetime, it surprises me how little frenzy there is. Or maybe I'm just focused on other things right now (32 days!).

Or maybe it's because World War Two is being looked at from a perspective of 70 years. I've seen several new books on Hitler and other notable figures of the Third Reich. There's also a book by Kurt Schussnig, Jr., son of the Austrian Prime Minister who held office when the Nazis annexed Austria. I find my interest captured more by these personal stories and those of lesser known events, like the rescue of the Danish Jews, which will mark its 70th anniversary next year.

Of course, we also have the marking of 150 years since the Civil War. Although as a child I often picked up my father's book of photographs from the Civil War, I rarely read about it. In fact, I don't think we ever visited any of the Civil War battlefields during our family vacations of my childhood and youth. And then there's the 200th anniversary of the War of 1812, which seems to not to have excited much interest at all. I've seen only one new book on the shelves of the local Barnes & Noble, Mr. and Mrs. Madison's War. I will probably look for it in my new local library after I've moved and settled in.

And what an area I'm moving to in terms of history. Jamestown, Colonial Williamsburg, Mount Vernon, Alexandria (my soon-to-be new home), Washington, DC, Fredericksburg, Bull Run... I'll be able to visit places I've only read about. Granted, some of these, well, many of these, will be more than day trips. Virginia is quite a bit larger than Connecticut, a state you can drive across at its widest point in about two hours. Even so, the number of historical sites within day trip range, or even less,is astounding for a history buff like me.

Not that my current home lacks in history. Just a few blocks from my childhood home stands a house built in the 1690's. Louse Hall Tharp's first novel, Tory Hole tells the story of events that took place in Darien during the American Revolution (although it was still part of Stamford then). Norwalk had a significant artists colony, which included the Johnny Gurelle, the creator of Raggedy Ann and Andy. But because I grew up here, most of this simply just is. It's a part of the fabric of my childhood, my home, and my identity.

At times people don't believe I come from New England. During my freshman year at Moorhead State University (now Minnesota State University Moorhead) members of my freshman English class didn't believe I was from New England because I didn't sound like either a Bostonian or the characters of a play we were reading that was written in one of the regional dialects--or the author's idea of the dialect. There was no use explaining to them that there are a myriad of variations across New England. Or the fact that being a town close enough to New York City to commute, corporate executives from all over the country moved into Darien when they were transferred offices in the City. Or that my mother grew up in Chicago.

My family history here in the Americas spreads across the Northeast quadrant of the United States and into Canada. But I was born and raised in this little corner of Connecticut, steeped in its 400 plus years of Anglo-European history and a smattering of the longer Native American history. (The oldest Reservation, the Pequot's, is in eastern Connecticut.) No matter where I go, I will always be a New Englander. It's my history.

And Give Me A Month to Get Ready

Shane will preach on his last two Sundays with us, so yesterday Lois asked me if I'd like to preach on my last Sunday. My last Sunday falls on our bilingual last Sunday of the month when we hold joint worship with Iglesia Betania. That means I get to say farewell to the entire community at the same time. It also means figuring out how to prepare and deliver my sermon in both English and Spanish. Lois said I don't have to, but I feel I should at least make the effort.

I have several options, but each of them means completing the writing process well before the last Saturday in April. Most likely packing a moving van happens that day, so I can't pull one of my last-minute all-nighter revisions.

So this afternoon I looked at the lectionary and discovered that the last Sunday in April is the Fourth Sunday of Easter. Just my luck, I get to preach on Good Shepherd Sunday for my last sermon at Betania/Grace. Ugh.

My last. How many times will I say that over the next month? New lasts seem to crop up every day, but right now I don't find them as daunting as I did a week ago. I have too many firsts to look forward to.

Thirty-two days.

Spring Is A New Beginning

My grandparents gave me this book almost 50 years ago. It traveled with me to college and has graced the bookshelves of every place I've lived. Its whimsical illustrations and simple poetry bring Spring alive every time I open it. When I pulled it off the shelf while packing books the other day, I paused to read through it again. I haven't packed it yet.

It is a gentle farewell
to yesterday
and the birth of new hope.

Today at church the congregation learned that we will be saying farewell to four members of our community next month. One couple, members for 55 years, will be moving upstate to an assisted living residence the week before Easter. Our seminarian Shane's last Sunday will be April 22, and mine April 29.

The speed of all of this has our heads spinning. While we've known since Shane arrived that he'd be leaving us at the end of the school year, my new job and relocation has been sudden, but today's news of our long-time members caught us all up short. Suddenly the congregation finds itself preparing for not one, not two, but three farewell celebrations.

Saying farewell is something Grace Church has become accustomed to over the last few years. In many ways it has become their focus. And the focus of those on the periphery of the community. Any time there's a hint that the parish may be closing, the pews are filled with folks who come to say good bye.

Yet new and exciting things are on the horizon for the church. Of course, things start to fall into place just as I leave. This Spring is a new beginning not just for those of us leaving but also for the congregation we are taking our leave of. Hopefully, as they move into the future, they will learn to say welcome as easily as they say farewell.

As I move into the future I will be saying welcome to many people in my role as Guest House Manager. And I will also be saying hello to friends old, new, and not yet met when I move to Alexandria.

Spring IS a new beginning.

Oh, and for my brother Scott: Thirty-Six Days!

Thirty-Seven Days

Reality sets in.

Yesterday I didn't leave the apartment. That was probably a mistake. Well, I did go for a walk, but that is definitely a solitary a activity. I read. I packed some boxes. I read. I started filling a third big garbage bag. I read. I added to the Goodwill pile. Do you detect a pattern here?

I looked at next week's To Do List:

• Inform the management company I'm vacating the apartment at the end of April
• Notify gas company to disconnect at the end of April
• Notify electric company to disconnect at the end of April

This particular list consists of concrete steps involved in shutting down one home in order to move to a new one. It really brought me up short. I am really leaving Connecticut. I am really leaving family, friends, church, and everything familiar behind. Maybe it's been the the excitement of starting something new. Or perhaps the time I've spent dealing with other people's emotional reactions to my leaving. Or worrying about the finances of the last couple of months of unemployment. Or all of the above.

I should have gone out yesterday, even if only to spend an hour or so at the nearby Starbucks. Change of scenery, people to watch, and no stack of boxes staring me in the face. By evening I was highly emotional. You know that emotional place where TV commercials make you teary? I hate being in that place. I'd have turned off the TV, but I needed the distraction.

Today's distraction consisted of Rachel and I having breakfast together and then looking at new chairs for her deck. We also stopped at a paint store for a preliminary look at colors for the new apartment. Another twilight zone moment.

Thirty-Eight Days

Yesterday for my "get out of the apartment" excursion, I went again to the Barnes & Noble in Westport. I spent a lot of time there a few years ago during the months between apartments when I camped out on sofas at a couple of friends' houses. I've also been there frequently during my 15 months of unemployment. Yesterday I had a mission. I went to the travel section and started looking through travel guides for the DC area.

I have a new list: Places I want to visit once I'm settled in. Some of them are places I've read about for years, like Mount Vernon. Others are places I've been once or twice, like the Smithsonian. Some are close to Alexandria, and others, like Williamsburg and Jamestown, are further afield.

In the midst of all the turmoil associated with relocating and preparing for a new job, this is where my mind has gone. A whole new regional history to learn and explore. A Connecticut Yankee in Robert E. Lee's back yard!

While I looked at guidebooks, I didn't buy any. I knew what faced me at home. Three two-shelf bookcases of books, some of the shelves with two rows of books. Last night Rachel gave me some boxes, bubble wrap, and clean newsprint sheets, so I could start packing. This morning I filled three copy paper boxes with books. No matter how much I purge the bookshelves, I always seem to accumulate more books. But there are still a lot fewer for this move than I've had in the past both because I've continued to give away books and because what would have been an additional shelf of books are e-books stored on my Kindle.

I don't know what it is about me and books. I suppose it's because I've been reading since I was five, and we made weekly family trips to the library when I was growing up. Or because I'm a lifelong learner, and books are a source of information on almost any subject one can imagine. Or because they provide short escapes from the everyday.

So I have about a third of my books packed. That means six or seven more copy paper boxes just for books. How many will I need for my depression glass and ceramic mug collections...

Thirty-Nine Days

The speed at which all of this is happening has my head spinning!

This morning I learned that my apartment will probably be ready by May 1 or shortly thereafter. They've even told me to pick paint colors. And my soon-to-be new boss sent me an update on the progress of work being done on the Guest Houses. We are planning for me to go down for a day or so Easter Week.

So now my "vacate the apartment" list really has moved up a month on the schedule. Give notice to landlord and utilities. START PACKING!!!!

Purging and packing.

Last night I went through a box of mementos from my office at the Church Center. Some things I tossed, but most of them I kept. Some were put in a pile to be packed with other like things. And I added some mementos from around the apartment to the box. These are physical touchstones of memory. Each of them has a story. Each of them will go with me as I journey into a new place. There will be lots of memories as I pack for that journey. Some good, some bad, but all of them a part of who I am.

They are reminders of continuity in the midst of this rapid transition.

Forty Days

This morning I spoke on the phone with my soon-to-be new boss. Pre-employment checks are done, and my official start date is May 1.

Forty days to make decisions about what to take and what to leave behind and to pack it all up. I've already started making lists. Boxes will soon be arriving from various sources.

Forty days suspended in the twilight zone. Just a shade under six weeks to take my leave of friends, church, neighborhood...

Forty days.

Isn't there something in the Bible about forty days?

The Twilight Zone

As many of you who read this blog already know from Facebook and other sources, yesterday morning I accepted the position of Guest House Manager at Virginia Theological Seminary in Alexandria, Virginia. It means moving from this little corner of Connecticut where I have lived my entire 52+ years, with the exception of college. I have been many places, but I've never really lived anywhere else.

Even before I formally accepted the job, the world around me has been tinged with a heightened sense of clarity and an extreme sense of unreality. Or maybe it's extreme clarity and heightened unreality. Several times during the past few days I've found myself thinking or saying, "Not my issue any more." Over and over again I find myself thinking, "This may be the last time I..."

At the same time I am making lists, collecting boxes, and beginning the purge. Sunday I filled a large garbage bag with stuff and tossed it in the dumpster. I started sorting books to be given away or kept. I worried about moving somewhere warmer as I contemplated the winter garments in my closet. When would I get up this way for Dance Camp again? I keep reminding myself to stay focused on the immediate next steps.

Plan ahead, but stay focused.

As part of the purge, which I usually do at this time of year anyway, I went through my files. Clearly, there are things I will have no need for at the new job. Just as clearly, there are things to hang on to, for a little while longer anyway. One of the papers I came across was a liturgy from last month's NAECED (now Forma) conference, which took place before this job was even on the horizon. I'd just finished my term as both the board secretary and as a voting board member. I was beginning my year as a board advisor. On the sheet I'd written a note: "This is the beginning of the long good bye."

Little did I know.

So here I sit at the edge of something new. In the midst of the familiar, things are not the same. Like a summer twilight at the start of a new school year.

I Tremble on the Edge of a Maybe

Tuesday one of my EfM group shared this with us as our evening worship. She brought it because of my recent set of interviews for a job which would mean relocating if it were offered, and I accepted. It also fit in with our theological reflection for the day. It's from Ted Loder's Guerrillas of Grace.

I Tremble on the Edge of a Maybe

O God of beginnings,
as your Spirit moved
      over the face of the deep
              on the first day of creation,
move with me now
       in my time of beginnings,
             when the air is rain-washed,
                   the bloom is on the bush,
                         and the world seems fresh
                                and full of possibilities,
                                       and I feel ready and full.

I tremble on the edge of a maybe,
        a first time,
                a new thing,
                       a tentative start,
and the wonder of it lays its finger on my lips

In silence, Lord,
I share now my eagerness
        and my uneasiness
               about this something different
                      I would be or do;
and I listen for your leading
      to help me separate the light
             from the darkness
                     in the change I seek to shape
                           and which is shaping me.