NEWSLETTER

I had forgotten what an angst this was. I edited the church newsletter for a few years several years ago. It got to be a tremendous burden, caused me all sort of agita, and became a dull and lifeless publication. It has gone through a couple editors in the time that has passed and here I am again.

This has added in yet another learning curve. I did some research and discovered that newsletters can be done with text boxes and columns and imported graphics and pictures and all kinds of new stuff. Fortunately, I am keeping it simple this first time around. Also, fortunately, people are getting their copy into me on time. Unfortunately, the deadline looms.

A newsletter is really an important communication piece for a church. Also good evangelism. It is also a very heavy responsibility. But, I really wanted to relieve our priest from such a time consuming task. I feel that her time is more productively spent in other pursuits. This is something that I can do -- for now.

The goal is to get the newsletter in such a format that I will be able to teach the church secretary how to manage it. I have projected six to twelve months to accomplish this. This is the first month. The format is going pretty well. I am learning about those quirky little text boxes and relearning the idiosyncrasies of columns. I can do this.

HIATUS

I seem to have been on a hiatus from exercise, dietary regime, housework, church work, dog grooming, maybe even life. So what is going on here? Could be that my "self" needed a rest from my "self." Let the body and the brain have a break, get outside of my routine. And all of this is okay if the consequences are not dire. But dire was beginning to happen.

When I noticed that my right hand was reach around to support my lower back every time I got up from a sitting position, I realized that something wrong was developing. Two causes, actually. Lifting things that are too heavy and not doing the back exercises. Secondly the digital numbers on the scale were beginning to increase. The accumulating dust was beginning to be noticeable. The pile of church related necessaries was growing. And Gabriel was a yukky mess.

Back to basics. Sanoma Diet Wave 1and plan the meals ahead. Morning treadmill for thirty minutes and then floor exercises for back. Vacuum a little -- very little, this is a very boring job. Get Gabriel's coat brushed and eyes cleaned. Finish up the Vestry Minutes and get them e-mailed.

I became sluggish and introspective during the hiatus. Introspection is good if it produces new insight. Sluggish is not good. The routine of healthy and productive living seems to energize me.

SURPLUS

It is October. This is the traditional "stewardship" month in the Episcopal Church. We cajole and plead, quote scripture, relate our individual faith stories, and hold up the needs to maintain the physical plant that "God" has given us to care for and protect. And then we hope for the best as we Vestry members struggle to form a budget around what has been pledged. In these days of dwindling membership, dwindling interest in the church property, and even dwindling interest in the church mission, it is a struggle. Some of us get it. Some of us do not.

I would suggest for those of us who do NOT, that we should look at out surplus. It was pointed out in today's sermon that self storage units are popping up all over the place. And why? Because we do not have room to house all of our belongings. Not all of our NEEDS, all of our belongings. We have so much that we have to pay to store it someplace other than where we live. One wonders why we need it then. One wonders why. Why do we have "stuff" that isn't necessary daily, isn't necessary to be in our home. Why? Think of your attic as the storage place. Same questions. Why?

Then there is this word "abundance" that church people like to throw out at us. Giving from "abundance." Is that the same as surplus? Somehow it seems different to me. I tell myself that I give from abundance. Do I? Surplus seem to me like excess. What is left over in great amounts after what has been necessarily used. Abundance seems to me an amount that is enough to satisfy the immediate needs. Surplus goes way beyond that. I want to give from abundance. So what do I do with the surplus?

THE ROAD

I have just finished reading Cormac McCarthy's "The Road" -- for the second time. I read it the first time because is was recommended by a member of our Book Club. I just finished reading it again because same Book Club decided to use it as our October discussion.

It is tortuous reading. Especially if one has a beloved son. Also tortuous because it is so bleak and hopeless. But even in that there is love, a love beyond comprehension. And trust, a tust that comes from nowhere and everywhere. And God? Is God here? A long ago remembrance that, yes, there was a belief in a God who cared. Where is that God on the road?

Reading the book has kept me in a glum almost depressed mood for some days. Bill is not happy with this mood, but there it is. I become inordinately immersed in the books that I read and this one has effected me more than any in a very long time. I am now very much aware of the food that I discard. When I remove the leaves and core pieces of my cauliflower, that by the way are going onto the compost pile, I am thinking how much nourishment there is and how much the boy and the man would have derived from it. And so I cut sparingly and eat more of the core and the stem. The inside pith and seeds of my red peppers are becoming acceptable too. Banana peels? -- compost. But there must be a lot of nourishment there too. We are a wasteful people.

The water that goes down the drain is also a despair. And the clothes that I have in abundance, the shoes, sweaters. And blankets. Surplus. So much surplus. We want more closet space to hold our surplus. If we had to carry the necessities on our backs, what would we pack. Similar to the question of what one book would you choose to have on a deserted island. But in this case, no book would do. If subjected to the lowest of basics, what would we really choose?

BELLY ACHE

I have a "green apple" belly ache. Actually it is NOT a green apple belly ache, it is a raw cauliflower belly ache. And this is opposed to the raw broccoli belly ache. All are painful. All result in a lot of gas -- translate that as pain in the gut and shshsh... "farts." Could that be farts, or fasts or whatever. Pain nonetheless.

The Sonoma Diet is big on these raw first tier vegetables. Free food. Eat as much/many as you like. Great fiber. Low calorie. Broccoli, cauliflower, lettuce, celery, Nothing is ever said about the abdominal gas OR the abdominal pain. The pain is almost unbearable. Doubling over pain. Hard to get through the afternoon at work. Hard to get through the evening at home. What is going on? Don't know. Just know that there is pain, there is gas, and maybe, luckily tomorrow the scale will register minus at least a pound. Maybe.

STASH

I have always thought of the word "stash" as a noun. As in the fabric stash of a quilter -- piles of rich wonderful fabric in all colors and patterns just waiting to become part of the next quilt, or at least some future quilt. OR the yarn stash of a knitter -- groups of wooly threads in a variety of textures and hues begging to become the next sweater or hat or mittens or at least some soothing, warm garment in future.

Now I am looking at the word as a verb -- as in "to stash." The dictionary tells me that it is a putting away into a secret place for some future time/use. Hmmmm. Today's declutter was just such a stash. A heart wrenching, meandering into the past. The newspaper used to line the box was dated November 19, 1963, two days before the assassination of President Kennedy and two days before the closing for this house I still inhabit. Forty four years. Doesn't even look like the box was ever opened, or if it was, just to peek in and then put away again.

Inside the box there are three tiny shoe boxes: one contains the soft, delicate, white, leather shoes from my husband's infancy. Just think, his mother kept them for all her memory years and now here I am opening them up again, the memories having died with her too many years ago. And yet I have the shoes. The two other boxes seem to be the first and second pair of shoes from our first son. The sales slips remain in the boxes with the well worn, high topped, many times polished, white, lace ups. All those memories of first steps and first falls.

A white sweater, still new, in its original wrapping. Kimonos made by my grandmother and her sister for this first grandchild. Stained, but neatly pressed and folded before being packed away. First birthday outfits. Buntings, some well worn, one still new and unworn. Bankies. A hand embroidered quilt done by my mother when she was awaiting my birth. Embroidered carriage robes done by my mother-in-law for her first born.

I keep the shoes, the quilt from my mother, first birthday outfits. The rest can go to babies who really need them. They certainly are not very serviceable stashed away in box on a shelf to be opened one day when all the memories have passed on with me.

THE 24 HOUR RULE

Once learned, the 24 hour rule has served me well. I'm not going into the embarrassing/hurtful experiences that taught me this rule; suffice it to say I have learned. Well....for the most part....I can be pretty hostile and vehement with words and it is easy for me to get carried away with myself

Following the rule was pretty easy when I was dealing with snail mail. Just don't put a stamp on the envelope for the waiting period, then if it's a go, apply stamp and mail. With the onset of e-mail I had to learn the lesson all over again. Hitting that "send" button can be automatic. Now I do not put in the address of the recipient for the 24 hour wait period. It has been a live and learn experience and thankfully most of the people on the butt end of my indiscretions have been forgiving.

Now that I am sorting and tossing through this DEcluttering process, the 24 hour rule is serving me well again. The bag "to go" needs to sit for the wait period. I have changed my mind about a few of the items that were going to be tossed. They may be tossed the next time around, but not this time.