"How happy is the blameless vestal's lot!
The world forgetting, by the world forgot.
Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind!"
- Alexander Pope, "Eloisa to Abelard"
Eternal torment of the spotless mind is more like it. . .
I went to visit a parishioner today who is losing their mind to Alzheimer's. There has been some mild confusion over the last few years, but now we are descending into a fairly rapid decline, and for their own safety, they have moved to a locked unit in a care facility. Though not generally in the habit of wearing a collar (unless I am preaching, presiding, or visiting the ICU), I wore one on purpose today, hoping that even if P did not recognize me, they might at least make a connection to and draw some comfort from this symbol around my neck.
To my surprise, P did recognize me right away, never calling me by name, but definitely knowing my role and purpose. I was greeted with a hug and words of gratitude for stopping by, then invited to come in and sit down - all in the same pattern of welcome when I would visit P at home. So at first I thought maybe the decline wasn't as bad as I was expecting.
But then it became obvious fairly quickly that P can no longer track conversation for more than a few minutes at a time, and is roaming pretty freely through the whole scope of their memory - one minute they are in the present, the next minute they are "present" 50 years ago (still talking to me but talking about people or a situation deep in their past as if it's a present reality). Time and memory are collapsing in on each other, so that P is mixing up what experiences and conversations have been had with whom when, and what was actually said, resulting in P feeling very confused, frightened, sad, and alone.
Add to this the fact that fellow residents, whose minds are even more far gone and have no boundaries left whatsoever, barge into P's room without permission, rummage through their things, and try to abscond with them before the nursing staff become apprised of the situation and escort them out. Our conversation was interrupted by the same resident three different times in the hour I was there. After the third time P looked at me with despairing resignation in their eyes and sighed "It's like this all day long."
Such are the hard realities of this disease. Pastorally, it's a great challenge to find ways and words to comfort someone who can't stay with you very long and who is no longer processing the world and their experiences in a way that's coherent - even when you do stumble into something that speaks volumes of grace in the moment, it's truly only for a moment, and then another thought or memory comes flooding in, the attention shifts, and the giant boulder goes running back down the hill. By the time it hits the bottom, the gracious moment is gone, and you can do nothing more but put your shoulder back to the rock and stumble your way toward another peak, fully knowing that it, too, will be but a minor and temporary victory.
I was glad for this visit with P, though for the rest of the day I have been plagued by a kind of sober sadness that I haven't felt since my chaplaincy rotation, which I did at a nursing home in Minneapolis. I spent a lot of time with people in P's situation that summer, and happened to see the movie Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind at the $2 theater in Roseville the last week of the rotation. I found the movie particularly powerful after a summer spent among those living with varying degrees of memory loss, and what I found most poignantly true and comforting was the power of love to call us back from the abyss. I had seen such love at work in many of the residents, helping to ground them among the swirling and fading of their lives. But I had also seen others who, for whatever reasons, had become untethered and stepped completely over the edge into oblivion.
Here's praying that the love of their family, and the love of our Christian community, will hold and ground P for a while longer. . .
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
Monday, February 18, 2008
Making Stock and Taking Stock
Yesterday after church I roasted the whole chicken that I bought on Friday. After carving off what I would use for sandwiches and other meals this week, I boiled what was left to make stock.
I bought the chicken directly from the farmer who raised it locally in a sustainable and humane fashion. The local butcher who processes the birds is in the habit of leaving the neck and (inexplicably) the kidneys attached. My point in sharing this being: whenever I purchase and prepare one of these birds, I am always overwhelmed by how close I feel to the source of my food. And I don't just mean that it's local. I mean, somehow (maybe it's the attached neck, which, admittedly, kinda creeps me out), these birds just _look_ closer to the real, living creature than the chicken you buy in the store (they taste a lot better, too).
And in the process of rinsing, roasting, carving, boiling, and picking, I am also overwhelmed by how close I feel to my grandmothers, who have prepared countless chickens in this way as a course of habit and necessity.
Feeling so close to your food, and to those who regularly have (or had) to put this much effort into preparing food, sure makes one excessively grateful. As I was picking the boiled meat off the neck last night (a task which makes me particularly sqeamish), I started thinking about Grandma Louise's stories of Tante Janz, who could kill a chicken by stepping on its neck, grabbing its legs and pulling up, all without ever losing a beat or batting an eye. I shuddered and said a prayer of thanks that I do not live in a time or place where I routinely have to kill and butcher my own food, nor do I have a job that requires me to do so on behalf of others. I also said a prayer of thanks for those who _do_ do the hard, sometimes disgusting, often thankless work that puts so many foods so conveniently on my table.
I think it's good, it's important, to get this kind of reality check on a regular basis - it keeps me mindful of how much I waste, of how much I take for granted. And though I hate handling raw meat and mostly avoid it whenever possible, the sense of connection I feel - to other people, to my community, to the whole of God's good creation - whenever I have a chicken cooking day like this, far outweighs the gross factor. Plus, like I said, the end result tastes a lot better than anything you'll buy in the store!
Peace,
Catrina
I bought the chicken directly from the farmer who raised it locally in a sustainable and humane fashion. The local butcher who processes the birds is in the habit of leaving the neck and (inexplicably) the kidneys attached. My point in sharing this being: whenever I purchase and prepare one of these birds, I am always overwhelmed by how close I feel to the source of my food. And I don't just mean that it's local. I mean, somehow (maybe it's the attached neck, which, admittedly, kinda creeps me out), these birds just _look_ closer to the real, living creature than the chicken you buy in the store (they taste a lot better, too).
And in the process of rinsing, roasting, carving, boiling, and picking, I am also overwhelmed by how close I feel to my grandmothers, who have prepared countless chickens in this way as a course of habit and necessity.
Feeling so close to your food, and to those who regularly have (or had) to put this much effort into preparing food, sure makes one excessively grateful. As I was picking the boiled meat off the neck last night (a task which makes me particularly sqeamish), I started thinking about Grandma Louise's stories of Tante Janz, who could kill a chicken by stepping on its neck, grabbing its legs and pulling up, all without ever losing a beat or batting an eye. I shuddered and said a prayer of thanks that I do not live in a time or place where I routinely have to kill and butcher my own food, nor do I have a job that requires me to do so on behalf of others. I also said a prayer of thanks for those who _do_ do the hard, sometimes disgusting, often thankless work that puts so many foods so conveniently on my table.
I think it's good, it's important, to get this kind of reality check on a regular basis - it keeps me mindful of how much I waste, of how much I take for granted. And though I hate handling raw meat and mostly avoid it whenever possible, the sense of connection I feel - to other people, to my community, to the whole of God's good creation - whenever I have a chicken cooking day like this, far outweighs the gross factor. Plus, like I said, the end result tastes a lot better than anything you'll buy in the store!
Peace,
Catrina
Thursday, February 14, 2008
Paris Je T'aime, Once
A rash of bad weather that cancelled both Chorale rehearsal on Tuesday and Lenten Wednesday night activities at the church left me with not one, but count 'em, TWO free evenings in a row (normally unheard of this time of year!). I took this blessing as an opportunity to watch more movies (what else are you gonna do when everything is iced over?).
On Tuesday I watched Paris Je T'aime, an incredible little concept film where many famous directors were each assigned a different arrondissement, then asked to write and direct a five minute love story that takes place in that section of Paris (and they each had only two days to shoot their short film). Some of the stories were rather bizarre, some quite poignant, some had a surprising twist at the end - it was fascinating to see what each director chose to do both in terms of content and style, and the overall film had a rather Altman-esque flavor to it. Huge thumbs up, though word to the wise, if you don't speak French, you need to turn on the subtitle function - the subtitles didn't pop up automatically (perhaps because the dialogue throughout is a mixture of English and French?).
Then last night I watched Once, another independent film that flew under most people's radars, but is also highly worth experiencing. It traces the story of a couple of heartbroken musicians who are sort of stuck in their lives, each in their own way. What begins as a chance encounter on the streets of Dublin blossoms into a beautiful friendship and creative musical partnership, with each acting as a catalyst for change in the other's life, helping them both to get unstuck, as it were. The music is a powerful presence in the film (to the point you might call it the third leading character), and most of it was actually written by the two leads (Glen Hansard and Marketa Irglova), who are songwriters, musicians, and friends in real life. It's gorgeous stuff, so now I'm coveting the soundtrack. . .big thumbs up for this one as well.
On Tuesday I watched Paris Je T'aime, an incredible little concept film where many famous directors were each assigned a different arrondissement, then asked to write and direct a five minute love story that takes place in that section of Paris (and they each had only two days to shoot their short film). Some of the stories were rather bizarre, some quite poignant, some had a surprising twist at the end - it was fascinating to see what each director chose to do both in terms of content and style, and the overall film had a rather Altman-esque flavor to it. Huge thumbs up, though word to the wise, if you don't speak French, you need to turn on the subtitle function - the subtitles didn't pop up automatically (perhaps because the dialogue throughout is a mixture of English and French?).
Then last night I watched Once, another independent film that flew under most people's radars, but is also highly worth experiencing. It traces the story of a couple of heartbroken musicians who are sort of stuck in their lives, each in their own way. What begins as a chance encounter on the streets of Dublin blossoms into a beautiful friendship and creative musical partnership, with each acting as a catalyst for change in the other's life, helping them both to get unstuck, as it were. The music is a powerful presence in the film (to the point you might call it the third leading character), and most of it was actually written by the two leads (Glen Hansard and Marketa Irglova), who are songwriters, musicians, and friends in real life. It's gorgeous stuff, so now I'm coveting the soundtrack. . .big thumbs up for this one as well.
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
10 Songs About God
Picking up on the meme Mary posted in the Tensegrities blog, here is my own list of "10 Songs About God":
1. Where Are You Going? - Dave Matthews Band (Busted Stuff)
(I know it was quickly co-opted as a love song, but I hear it as a post-9/11 God's-eye view of Psalm 139)
2. Grace - U2 (All That You Can't Leave Behind)
3. Ordinary Town - Dave Carter and Tracy Grammer (drum hat buddha)
4. Kingdom Come - Coldplay (X&Y)
5. Family - Dar Williams (Mortal City)
6. I Hear Them All - Old Crow Medicine Show (Big Iron World)
7. The Ballad of Love and Hate - The Avett Brothers (Emotionalism)
8. Gentle Arms of Eden - Dave Carter and Tracy Grammer (drum hat buddha)
9. Love Will Find You - Storyhill (Storyhill)
10. Bartender - Dave Matthews Band (Busted Stuff)
Honorable mention:
Come to Jesus - Mindy Smith (One Moment More)
(seemed a little obvious - I was trying to stick with songs about God that didn't name God directly, per se)
The Story - Brandi Carlile (The Story)
(a bit of a stretch because of vs. 2, but fits my obsession with interlocking narratives, immersive story worlds, and their implications for our God talk)
Adrian - Mason Jennings (Century Spring)
(again, a bit of a stretch, but not too much I hope, to think of the voice of the narrator being Christ in, with, and under that of a lynching victim)
I'd be curious to hear what Jeni would put in the mix.
Happy listening,
Catrina
1. Where Are You Going? - Dave Matthews Band (Busted Stuff)
(I know it was quickly co-opted as a love song, but I hear it as a post-9/11 God's-eye view of Psalm 139)
2. Grace - U2 (All That You Can't Leave Behind)
3. Ordinary Town - Dave Carter and Tracy Grammer (drum hat buddha)
4. Kingdom Come - Coldplay (X&Y)
5. Family - Dar Williams (Mortal City)
6. I Hear Them All - Old Crow Medicine Show (Big Iron World)
7. The Ballad of Love and Hate - The Avett Brothers (Emotionalism)
8. Gentle Arms of Eden - Dave Carter and Tracy Grammer (drum hat buddha)
9. Love Will Find You - Storyhill (Storyhill)
10. Bartender - Dave Matthews Band (Busted Stuff)
Honorable mention:
Come to Jesus - Mindy Smith (One Moment More)
(seemed a little obvious - I was trying to stick with songs about God that didn't name God directly, per se)
The Story - Brandi Carlile (The Story)
(a bit of a stretch because of vs. 2, but fits my obsession with interlocking narratives, immersive story worlds, and their implications for our God talk)
Adrian - Mason Jennings (Century Spring)
(again, a bit of a stretch, but not too much I hope, to think of the voice of the narrator being Christ in, with, and under that of a lynching victim)
I'd be curious to hear what Jeni would put in the mix.
Happy listening,
Catrina
Thursday, February 7, 2008
Atonement
I just saw Atonement at The Campus, and, WOW - it is beautifully and brilliantly filmed, powerfully scored - if you haven't yet seen it, you need to. Soon. I feel like I need to watch it again, just because it was so rich in imagery and language and symbolism - I'm sure I'll pick up more with repeated viewings.
But tonight I'll attempt to process a bit of the first time through. If you haven't seen it yet, and you don't like knowing anything about movies before you see them, quit reading now.
I'm serious, I'm going to talk in some detail about the film - don't say you weren't warned. . .
Where to begin? It's a tragedy, but it's a very odd sort of tragedy, for Briony's tragic flaw is her wild imagination, which sets off a chain of events that brings those around her down in typical tragic fashion, and it brings Briony down, in a sense, but not in the typical tragic fashion, for she has lived to tell the tale, and the survivor's guilt obviously weighs on her, there has been a "death" of the old Briony in that sense, but the tragic flaw didn't kill her outright as it normally does, and in fact, the untold story is that the tragic flaw is also the source of her comedy, of her rising, as we find out in the end that she is a successful writer. A haunted, yet successful, writer.
There is also a lot of playing with the truth in this story - this is a film of brutal honesty and brutal dishonesty. . .the whole tragic turn of events is set off by Briony's unreliable narration in the beginning, and it comes full circle as we discover that Briony is just as unreliable a narrator in the end - and yet, the story that plays in between is brutally honest as to the consequences of her dishonesty. It minces no words or images as to the grotesqueness of war, of separation, of estrangement. And Briony is at least fully honest about her dishonesty, both times, in the end.
Her dishonesty in the end is her attempt at atonement, of making the amends she was unable to make in her life, giving her sister Cecelia and C's paramour Robbie the happiness which they longed for, which she stole from them with her original dishonesty, by reuniting them and apologizing to them in the context of her final, autobiographical, piece of fiction. I would say this is Briony's attempt to redeem her story and her error, normally I would use the terms redemption and atonement rather interchangably, and yet, in the film it is clear, there is no redemption here, there was no resolution to the pain Briony has caused, there is only her atonement for what she has done, only this small gesture of kindness, offered too late in one sense, though offered before it's too late in another (before a condition that will cause her inevitable mental demise robs her completely of the memory).
Here again, the interplay of the tragedy and the comedy is fascinating, for it was through Briony's tragic flaw that Cecelia and Robbie met their deaths, and yet through this same imagination, in the end, she gives them life - in telling their story, their love lives on, their story continues every time it is read or told.
There is some rich religious imagery in the movie as well - some significant scenes involving immersion in water, as well as a confessional scene and a footwashing that are somewhat surreal oasis' in the midst of the brutal honesty - in retrospect, I'm thinking these latter two in particular are more of Briony's imaginative embellishments, but I'd need to go back and watch again to process what they might mean in the larger story.
Well, I think that's about as much traction as I'm going to get on this film tonight. If anyone else has seen it, comment or send me an e-mail, I'd love to hear your thoughts.
Peace,
Catrina
But tonight I'll attempt to process a bit of the first time through. If you haven't seen it yet, and you don't like knowing anything about movies before you see them, quit reading now.
I'm serious, I'm going to talk in some detail about the film - don't say you weren't warned. . .
Where to begin? It's a tragedy, but it's a very odd sort of tragedy, for Briony's tragic flaw is her wild imagination, which sets off a chain of events that brings those around her down in typical tragic fashion, and it brings Briony down, in a sense, but not in the typical tragic fashion, for she has lived to tell the tale, and the survivor's guilt obviously weighs on her, there has been a "death" of the old Briony in that sense, but the tragic flaw didn't kill her outright as it normally does, and in fact, the untold story is that the tragic flaw is also the source of her comedy, of her rising, as we find out in the end that she is a successful writer. A haunted, yet successful, writer.
There is also a lot of playing with the truth in this story - this is a film of brutal honesty and brutal dishonesty. . .the whole tragic turn of events is set off by Briony's unreliable narration in the beginning, and it comes full circle as we discover that Briony is just as unreliable a narrator in the end - and yet, the story that plays in between is brutally honest as to the consequences of her dishonesty. It minces no words or images as to the grotesqueness of war, of separation, of estrangement. And Briony is at least fully honest about her dishonesty, both times, in the end.
Her dishonesty in the end is her attempt at atonement, of making the amends she was unable to make in her life, giving her sister Cecelia and C's paramour Robbie the happiness which they longed for, which she stole from them with her original dishonesty, by reuniting them and apologizing to them in the context of her final, autobiographical, piece of fiction. I would say this is Briony's attempt to redeem her story and her error, normally I would use the terms redemption and atonement rather interchangably, and yet, in the film it is clear, there is no redemption here, there was no resolution to the pain Briony has caused, there is only her atonement for what she has done, only this small gesture of kindness, offered too late in one sense, though offered before it's too late in another (before a condition that will cause her inevitable mental demise robs her completely of the memory).
Here again, the interplay of the tragedy and the comedy is fascinating, for it was through Briony's tragic flaw that Cecelia and Robbie met their deaths, and yet through this same imagination, in the end, she gives them life - in telling their story, their love lives on, their story continues every time it is read or told.
There is some rich religious imagery in the movie as well - some significant scenes involving immersion in water, as well as a confessional scene and a footwashing that are somewhat surreal oasis' in the midst of the brutal honesty - in retrospect, I'm thinking these latter two in particular are more of Briony's imaginative embellishments, but I'd need to go back and watch again to process what they might mean in the larger story.
Well, I think that's about as much traction as I'm going to get on this film tonight. If anyone else has seen it, comment or send me an e-mail, I'd love to hear your thoughts.
Peace,
Catrina
Friday, February 1, 2008
Winter Weather Blues
People around here complain about the cold (though our "cold" is Minnesota's "warm-up"), and they freak out every time it snows, but personally speaking, I will gladly take +10 F with fluffy snow falling, or even a crisp, dry -10 F, over our current 33 F with freezing rain, any day of the week.
Snow is pretty and you can play in it. Cold dry air is both invigorating and purifying (and is usually accompanied by a gorgeously sunny day). The weather PA has right now (our second round for the week) make the roads a giant slip'n'slide and is the stuff from which Jane Austen characters are always contracting near-deathly illnesses.
And yet the local weatherman is always "happy to report" we'll be staying on the warmer edge of the system and will only see rain, not snow.
I say, drop the temp and bring on the snow!
Snow is pretty and you can play in it. Cold dry air is both invigorating and purifying (and is usually accompanied by a gorgeously sunny day). The weather PA has right now (our second round for the week) make the roads a giant slip'n'slide and is the stuff from which Jane Austen characters are always contracting near-deathly illnesses.
And yet the local weatherman is always "happy to report" we'll be staying on the warmer edge of the system and will only see rain, not snow.
I say, drop the temp and bring on the snow!
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