Thoughts and Words Ill-Sorted

I just read a post on my college roommate’s blog that sparked the following thoughts. Thanks, Sarah, for reminding me to speak up for silence, strange as that sounds.

In our church we do all sorts of things to try to connect with each other and with God. There’s a time of sharing, when many wage private wars within themselves (“shall I speak? what if someone announces a death in the family right after I offer thanks for the lovely weather?”) and the person up front attempts to figure out how long he should wait before moving on with the service. I’m not meaning to sound flippant, but I didn’t grow up with that element in church, and I’m having a hard time seeing how it is supposed to work. Sometimes it does, and we can celebrate and mourn with those who share events in their lives, but with a church as full of visitors as ours is (academic towns are full of migrants these days), I think we lack the sense of community that makes those times as meaningful as they should be. And yes, as a regular member of that church, on days when there aren’t a lot of speakers and the regulars are absent, I feel the need to stand up simply to fill in the vacant spot, to show the new people how it is supposed to work. Something tells me that’s not quite what is supposed to happen. You do that in theatre productions, not in church services.

But I think the part I find both most and least comprehensible in church is the time of confession. Before we read a communal confession of sin aloud, there is a time of silence for personal prayer and reflection. Yes, time for devotion, for the “quieting of hearts” that is so frequently stressed, and, in my opinion, one of the more spiritual times of the service. Overall, I think this a very good thing–but:

Once, when he was apparently focusing on things other than those intended, Sydney kept track of how long that time of silence lasted: 50 seconds. And that was a longer stretch than many. In 50 seconds I have barely warmed to my theme. I’m still working through the small stuff, and you all probably know by now that I’m not particularly bashful; I talk fast, think fast, and generally frustrate Sydney by not slowing down. I can cover a lot of ground in 50 seconds, but I’m always feeling as if I’ve really just gotten through the introduction. It’s just about the time that I feel a twinge of “yeah, umhmm, I’m there with you” that I’m jolted out of prayer, thought, and mind by the voice of the guy up front, resuming the service. So often I feel dragged along, not ready to move forward, wondering where the time is for spiritual stuff.

And yet, as a person whose brain is usually leapfrogging through the days of the week, sketching in my schedule, I’m admittedly far too aware of the time myself. Sunday, as my students know all too well, is a time of stress at a college. Having relaxed on Saturday, Sunday is often the hardest-working day of the week. If I’m racing to get home, to get lunch down us and into our textbooks, who can really settle into the time of silence in the way that is intended?

The tug of the clock even during church is what got me to ask Sydney if we could institute some kind of Sabbath time on Sundays. Time to garden, to reach out to friends, to have talks and care for each other, to read literature on Christianity that I have had on the shelf for a long time without actually opening it. That means bucking the academic calendar, and it will probably need tweaking, but it has really taken the pressure off time at church. Now, if we could only get the rest of the church to follow suit, I could really get into the time of silence and actually begin to think I’m getting somewhere.

Erin

Here’s what I learned today: ‘This is what scholarship is for: to hide ignorance’.

Sydney

I’m having a lot of fun with this: I’m assigned to read a whole bunch of stuff that will help to answer some of the looming questions about my field.  But in the process I need to compile an annotated bibliography.  Part of me think that this is great; real, scholarly work!  But another part of me feels like I’m back in sixth grade 🙂

Erin

Last week or so I remember thinking, “You know, I really could stand to clean out the fridge and wipe it down before my mom comes for a visit later this month.  But I don’t want to.”  Well, this past week our fridge made it pretty clear that it would need to be defrosted–or else.  It was positively balmy in the fridge part and the freezer had a solid sheet of ice all the way around.  So Sydney and I spent most of last night hauling food out of the fridge, ramming knives up the wall of the fridge to knock out ice chunks, and using my hairdryer to melt it all out of there.  Now our fridge is clean, tidy, and much cleaned-out (we’re good about keeping our fridge cleaned out, since it’s so very small, but there were a couple of items that needed to be thrown out).  But oh my.  I think every towel in the house was soaked in the defrosting process.  I guess I’m ready for you now, Mom!

Erin

Okay . . . ?  This is what I hear from Sydney as he starts hauling in produce from the garden.  When I plunk the scale down (since we keep it stashed away for weighing suitcases, digging it out took some doing), Sydney put a gigantic squash on it.  And it weighed 30 pounds.  You know, when he promised to care for me and provide for me and such things at our wedding, I think he was primarily talking about feeding me.  A lot.

Erin

A note on table manners:

“She oozes; she chortles; and she half blew her rather red nose in her table napkin.  Then she poured the cream–oh the blackberries were divine–into her beer; and I had rather dine with a dog.  But you can tell people they are murderers; you cannot tell them that they eat like hogs.”

* * *

A note, closer to home, about academics:

“But why teach English? . . . all one can do is to herd books into groups, and then these submissive young, who are far too frightened and callow to have a bone in their backs, swallow it down; and tie it up; and thus we get English literature into A B C; one, two, three; and lose all sense of what its about [sic].”

From Virginia Woolf’s diaries and letters.

Erin

Just kidding.  But Sydney has started taking tomatoes to school to give to his advisors. If he gets a good job from helpful hints on their part, we may have the tomatoes to thank.

There are lots and lots of tomatoes in our garden right now. Read this how you will: a wonderful showering of produce or a huge task ahead of us. Usually it’s a bit of both: yesterday I spent hours chopping something like 40 cups of tomatoes for our freezer (which is now full, very full) and still had some left over.  Sydney has spent multiple days canning tomato juice in big batches.  But we’ve had delicious tomatoes for sandwiches and salads, and tomorrow I’ll be making bruschetta out of exquisite little yellow pear tomatoes, which I think will look and taste fabulous.

Erin

Some friends decided to walk down to the beach between wedding and reception this past weekend. On our stroll through the grass, Sydney stooped down and picked up what soon appeared to be a (gigantic!) praying mantis! She really seemed to like Sydney; when he handed her over to another friend, she took one look at the new guy and flew back over to Sydney. She then walked up his jacket (yes, praying mantis on a suit, quite a vision), up his neck, in his hair, and onto his forehead. Apparently Sydney couldn’t really feel what he was doing, so he walked around for about ten minutes with her perched up high on his head. Really, she seemed quite attached. The camera phones were going for this one, I have to tell you. At the thought of bringing such a “present” back to the wedding party and offering it to the bride, Sydney laughed more delightedly than I’d have thought possible for him at a wedding. Thankfully, he didn’t think it appropriate to act on his evil thoughts, and his admirer eventually flew off. Some guys bond at a wedding by swapping stories. My husband picks up a bug and shows her off . . .

Erin

Then again, I suppose it’s difficult to resist the look of adoration in those (multi-faceted) eyes.

We apparently forgot to leave time for parades during our drive home.  When we were nearing Ithaca this morning, about 30 minutes from home, we realized that traffic was stopped in the small town for a Labor Day parade.  After sitting still for a few minutes, we were waved through, only to discover that we had been ushered into parade traffic.  Sydney told me to start waving.  These poor spectators were probably hoping for something a little more interesting to watch on their day off!  Fortunately, that only lasted about two blocks, and then we were released into an unknown part of town to find our way back to the main road.

Erin

We’re back, and there was much smashing of plate and glass.  Sydney drove 12 hours in 24 hours, and the other hours were spent socializing–his favorite thing.  Oh yes, and I think I remember a tiny bit of sleeping in a hotel.  I think he’s tired.

I had a great time: I got 12 hours of undivided attention from my husband (lovely conversations) and many hugs from my political party friends.  It was nice to be back in the group, although strange to be surrounded by doctors and lawyers, rather than academics 🙂  And I got to deck out, which I don’t normally get the opportunity to do (no fun cocktail dresses for my teaching days).

More later.  Must go teach in about ten minutes.  Got home about twenty minutes ago.  Whew.

Erin