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Monthly Archives: April 2015

Summer teenager tanager

17 Friday Apr 2015

Posted by chaplines2014 in Forest, Nature, Seasons

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park bench in springA colorful bird, a little smaller than a cardinal, landed in the oak tree near the bee’s nest. Bright red and round-headed, shading to orange then to yellow on its back and underside, its wings were definitely green mixed with gray. His bill was light colored, almost white, concave underneath, and he used it effectively to snag bees. If not for the standard bird shape, I would have thought he was a parrot escaped from the tropics.

He ate his fill before he left, and I proceeded to consult the books. A juvenile summer tanager, they said. When he will reach his full growth, his coat will be bright red with black wings. That I would have recognized, though I would have had to look carefully to distinguish him from his scarlet tanager cousin.

I thought I had seen the last of him, but he made several more visits. Later that day, when I had backed the car from the garage, he flew down in all of his glory and sat on the ground next to the car. I rolled my window down and heard him say, Pik-i-tuk, very quietly, so I tried to say the same thing back to him. Pik-i-tuk-i-tuk, he said, and so did I. Then, quite a bit louder, as if freed by having an audience, he said, Pik-i-tuk-i-tuk-i-tuk-i-tuk-i-tuk-i-tuk-i-tuk-i-tuk. He didn’t seem to mind that I lost track of how many i-tuks he spoke, so we continued talking for a while. He and I had reached an understanding. Day by day he continued to visit, though our conversations dwindled; they never had quite the spark of the first one. Still he seemed to be glad for the contact and the meal.

Perching on a branch near the hive, he practiced his craft, measuring the flight of bees, their speeds and trajectories. First he would dive and miss, or sit with his beak bobbing back and forth in time with the passing bees. Soon his fluttering wings would create “Z” and “W” patterns in the air as he managed to outfly the bees and catch up with them. You could see him learning to strategize his approaches.

I appreciate any friendly contact with an adolescent, and it seemed that having a readiness to listen and try to stay abreast–  so to speak–  with his willingness to talk, or not, was something he appreciated too.

Day by day his color seemed to change, more red, less orange and yellow and green, and darker wings. We watch respectfully the maturation and experience and, we hope, the gaining of appropriate confidence to match the needs of the day. At points we can remember when we’ve been in the same place; at others we understand that they have been where we never have been, and we learn as children from them.

This was more than a bright spot in these days, when other moments were not soright or encouraging. Thank you, God, that you find ways to refresh the spirit! Such grace that a visit from a young summer tanager can fill a person up.

A good walk spoiled and “The Bagger”

17 Friday Apr 2015

Posted by chaplines2014 in People

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cropped-circledance.jpgI suppose I should apologize to all of our golfers for my denigrating comments, including the Mark Twain quote about golf as a good walk spoiled. Those who choose to live close to golf courses as I have should be careful about making fun of it. I learned a when we rented the movie “The Legend of Bagger Vance.” Golf movies can be amusing, like “Tin Cup,” or poignant and inspiring like “The Babe” [Didrickson Zaharias], but they don’t necessarily make you want to play the game.  “The Legend” is downright spiritual, that is s-p-i-r-i-t-u-a-l. It makes me want to take back everything I said about golf.

I learned from the character Hardy Greaves that golf is “the only game I know where you can call a penalty on yourself, if you’re honest.” This the hero does, to his own disadvantage and credit. This the person of integrity does, in the honesty and integrity of regular self-examination and confession. No one will know, all of the sympathetic admirers say, as if one can hide from truth oneself and still be satisfied to win.

Or as Bagger Vance said, it is “a game that can’t be won, only played.” So the objective is to find your true swing and to become fully aware of the landscape. Such goals amount to a vocation, a calling. They amount to life itself., the race to be run, the path to be walked, the play to be acted, the game to be played. And the purpose is not to win, as if winning is a final achievement that can be possessed, but a certain quality to be experienced and shared with a good measure of consistency and submission along the way.

We do like to exaggerate the meanings of the things we invent and invest in, don’t we? Golf, baseball, etc. And yet in everything we do, when we do it with concentration and diligence, we do find meanings that surprise and enlighten us. Play golf then, or some other pastime that can become an obsession or a deliverance. Or watch movies, read, run, boat, play cards, dance, sing… and all those other things that have been denigrated from time to time, because they can get one “carried away.” Look inside at what happens inside when you do. And remember that “Bagger” will always be there, watching.

The Wait and See Method of Balancing the Checkbook

16 Thursday Apr 2015

Posted by chaplines2014 in House

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Monkeys see, hear, speak no evil, Bangra.comEvery month we have some things that have to be done, which include reconciling the checkbook with the bank statement. The process has been helped somewhat by Quicken. Quicken automatically fills in the regular bills and makes the unique purchases easier to record. Also Quicken includes a calculator that adds and subtracts more quickly and accurately than I do.  So reconciliation with the bank statement should be a simple matter.

Even with these helpful tools it happens that the bank statement and my computer and my checkbook do not always agree. Three out of four times they do agree, which is better than it used to be, when I was always hunting for that penny or that ten cents or that dollar or that ten dollars or that multiple of those single digit errors that represented my mistakes in calculation along the way. Now the errors that creep into the statement are inscrutable odd numbers that come and go seemingly of their own accord.

Sometimes I can look back and find an odd check that Jan or I wrote to someone who did not cash it in a timely way, or a check that one of us failed to record. There may have been electronic fund transfers that came at an unexpected time and in an unexpected amount. The computer made its financial entry according to the prearranged pattern that had been disrupted through that circumstance beyond its or my control. Even when these matters are taken into account, there shows up a puzzling figure that I cannot explain, but which often disappears on the next bank statement.

Why should I worry if everything balances out eventually? Why should I worry if the amount is insignificant and I am able to carry a balance sufficient to provide for our needs beyond it? So I wait for the next month to see, usually, that the amounts have corrected themselves mysteriously with no intervention on my part.  I have grown so used to that over the years that I routinely just wait it out.

Finding the appropriate balance in many other things that seem wrong, full of errors, and suspicious may fall under the same principle. Let’s wait and see if “things that go around come around,” if “this too will pass,” if “the answer will appear some day.” Surely we can’t wait it out in all things. Some demand our immediate and sincere efforts. As Reinhold Niebuhr advised us, there are some things that we can change, with sufficient courage, and some things that we cannot change and must wait them out with patience, and God can be the source of the wisdom to tell the difference between them.

My Recipe for Curried Something

14 Tuesday Apr 2015

Posted by chaplines2014 in House

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Monkeys see, hear, speak no evil, Bangra.com

My inspiration for cooking are the recipes that came from Great-great-grandma Gee, Great-grandma Coen, and Grandma Warfel, which say a pinch of this, a handful of that, and season to taste for a pound or so. As far as I am concerned what is fresh and available or in season dictates a lot of the ingredients, and what is on allowed on the low-fat, low carb list dictates the rest.

G-g-g-ma Gee bequeathed to us a recipe for “Pickled Beets” or “Pickled Anything” which depends on large quantities of any kind of vinegar (white, apple cider, or wine) and large quantities of anything sweet (sugar, molasses, maple syrup, sorgum). With those two basics for a start you can add anything from the herb garden that is available (garlic, coriander, tarragon, thyme, sage, bay, dill, onion, parsley, rosemary, savory, chives, basil, peppers, cardamom, oregano). I’ve used her recipe several times, and of course it’s turned out differently every time, but it’s always good, in my humble opinion. Thank you, G-g-g-ma Gee!

I first ate Curried Beef prepared by my friend Tim, who grew up in Thailand, when we were seminary neighbors. It was so spicy hot that the only way to survive was to keep eating it, and wiping away the tears. Promptly after the meal my colon emptied, but going in it tasted wonderful. It doesn’t have to be that hot. You are in control. You make the decision. The next time I asked to help Tim prepare the meal, and I found out how he did it, and I began to develop a tolerance that removed the untoward side effects.

Two things are essential. If one starts with essential ingredients, you can go anywhere from there. This applies to many things in life. For this recipe it is onion and ginger, at least one whole fresh onion and about three inches of fresh ginger root, both chopped fine and sauteed in oil (olive oil, canola oil, or any oil). Of course I have substituted onion flakes and onion powder, and ground ginger from the can, but I don’t like to. I don’t know what the upper limit on quantity for these two ingredients is. I’ve never found it yet. But one onion and about four ounces of ginger will take care of a pound of something.

At this point you can add a curry powder of choice, or the ingredients of any fresh curry that you choose to make from any of the ingredients that G-g-g-ma Gee suggested for her pickle. In fact if you want to wait until later and make this curry sweet and sour, you can just add her prepared pickle to the mix. Or you can just add any peppers you like, finely chopped, from green, white or black ground pepper to chopped jalapeno, habanero, or Thai peppers. There you may need to be a little careful.

Add a pound of ½ inch cubed beef or chicken or pork or soy substitute stuff, or ground meat, and brown at medium high.  If you’re not going to cook this for a few hours, then you can add hard vegetables like potatoes or carrots now or soon. And to hurry the process you may want to tenderize the meat. Or you can just fix the curry sauce and leave out meat, adding fish or vegetables later, after the herbs and spices have cooked through the sauce.

Add water to cover and simmer for at least an hour, if not in a hurry, it may be a couple of hours. But you can also fix a hurried version in about fifteen minutes. Or if you prefer a creamier flavor and texture, substitute coconut milk, half and half, cream, skim milk, or evaporated milk instead of water. Most of these are not allowed on my diet.

If you have found a curry paste from India, Thailand, or Vietnam that you would like to use, you can add at least a tablespoon of it, or follow directions on the package if you can find someone to translate them, after the mixture has simmered for a while. Or just live dangerously. It will usually take the place of most of the other seasonings added after the onion and ginger. And it will thicken the curry without needing to add much other thickener.

After the long simmer, add a thickener to the mix, corn starch or flour as needed. Then add any precooked meat, fish  or vegetables that you do not want to turn to mush. If you want some of these to remain crisp then you will be ready to serve it in a minute.

Serve on a bed of rice, white or brown or wild or seasoned or fried, or on noodles or on toast or on steamed vegetables. You can add or subtract any ingredient, as far as I am concerned, except the original two. You can even add some salt if your blood pressure allows it, but I don’t think it is necessary. Usually this dish will serve at least four people, but since it is better on the second and third days, I usually double or triple the recipe, and enjoy the leftovers, if there are any. There usually aren’t. Jan says she will stay married to me if I continue to prepare this occasionally.

Bread from Heaven

14 Tuesday Apr 2015

Posted by chaplines2014 in House, People

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IMG_0002My mother collected recipes and recipe books. I have not tried to count them all. She did not discriminate. The oldest recipes from the 19th Century and the early part of the 20th give only a hint at quantities, temperatures and times, but there are many of them, and she had fun trying to use them. There are Jewish, German, and Greek recipes, Swedish and Southern, Native American and Afro-American, East Indian and Thai, Chinese and Polynesian.

There are collections of recipes for special needs– diabetic, weight loss, heart disease, busy people with no time to cook, people cooking alone for themselves, cooking for large groups, cooking for huge groups, cooking for dainty delicate affairs. There are collections of recipes for special people– what old Nels Petersen liked, what neighbor Sara Mae liked, what sisters Bernice and Dorothy and Fiana liked, what sons David or Ernie liked (Gary liked everything). There are privileged recipes, bound with promises to guard them as a secret.

There are collections of recipes from every church and organization that ever sold a recipe book within earshot. There are collections for hunters with their wild game and scavengers with their wild plants, rich tastes from the Ritz, the Waldorf and the White House and tastes from the poor making do with what was available, from Shoo-fly pie to Hardscrabble pudding. What do you do with animal brains, livers, kidneys, feet, gizzards or blood? Here there are lots of different and conflicting answers!

Dozens of dedicated cooks could start now and cook all day for the rest of their lives and not even prepare a fraction of the  foods that are represented in that collection. What can I do with them all?

They are a monument to a passion, a devotion, a desire to serve and a record of accomplishment. Recipes record history, but they plead for the future. No other person can contain so many, even if an exceptional person did gather and succeed with many.

Scatter them! Send them every direction! Let the variety of people who receive them mirror the variety who made them. So much abundance and so much pleasure has to be shared. And one person still stands behind them all.

Why is it that the food I miss the most and find irreplaceable is her simple yeast bread?

Ten Words and the debate about where to put them

12 Sunday Apr 2015

Posted by chaplines2014 in Words

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Monkeys see, hear, speak no evil, Bangra.com   Arkansas is the latest state to join the ones who have decided to place a monument to the Ten Commandments on their state capitol grounds. 

Luther put the Ten Commandments in his Little Catechism. Many churches still include them in their Confirmation teaching, since they are a part of the covenant between God and God’s people. Some commands address the uniqueness of Israel’s God and God’s demands, one preserves the reciprocal care of one generation for the other, four address the essential duties of neighbor to neighbor, and the last one or two, depending on who is counting, go to the heart of neighbor-to-neighbor meanness in human greed. 

The numbering and the translations of these Commandments vary. I usually taught them from the simple Hebrew root words, which have no “Thou shalts” but do have definite “No, No’s!” or “Lo, Lo’s!” if we’re going to be literal in the original Hebrew language. We do not need to honor one set of versions above another—two versions from Exodus, one from Leviticus and one from Deuteronomy—but we can see a similar core to all four, and to the various prophets’ applications of them. Chief among the prophetic applications for us come from Jesus, who did not discount the Ten Commandments but reinterpreted them by going to the heart of each one, especially the five neighbor commands, in the Sermon on the Mount found in Matthew 5-7. 

Jesus went further, recognizing the chief commandments are not the Ten “No’s” but the two “Yes’s” also from the Torah—“Love the Lord your God with all your heart, mind, soul and strength,” and “love your neighbor as yourself.” Every other command and every application of them, even the great Ten, are judged according to these two, according to Jesus.  

These are special teachings, unique to the tradition of Israel, but they have echoes and parallels to a some extent in several other religions. These teachings are not built into Western jurisprudence. They are not quoted or mentioned in the Constitution. They are not referred to in the Declaration of Independence, though “God” is mentioned there a few times, defined as the source of human liberty. When built into the lives of believers they can influence the direction we should go in law and public life, especially the “love neighbor as self” rule and the “Golden” interpretation of it, “acting toward others as you want them to act toward you.” 

None of the founders of this nation, Washington, Franklin, Jefferson, Madison, Adams, or anyone else insisted that any particular biblical law or quotation be a motto or basis for our public life. If they had, they would have spent a great deal of time arguing with each other about what it should be. Today we will still argue about which version and which laws should be used to influence public life. It is a good argument, as long as someone does not insist that his or her own particular version should be enshrined in stone and required of every citizen to be honored above all else. 

I would hope that judges and other politicians would teach and preach and study their own positions and versions of faith openly in their communities and houses of worship, but not in their courtrooms nor in their legislative chambers. Let them learn from their Hebrew roots if they have them, and not build idols of things they do not yet understand. Let them testify in court and legislature without bearing false witness.

The Jaws of Life…and Death

11 Saturday Apr 2015

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The Volunteer Fire and Rescue Squad

IMG_0002

How would one describe the jaws of life? When I first saw this device demonstrated at the fire station, I thought it was a handy dandy all-purpose tool, the super-achieving version of something you’d see advertised on late night TV by Ronco. A hydraulic set of jacks that can slip into a small space or crevice and move in just about any direction to open it up, spread it apart, or even to cut and tear it apart, or simply to ram or bust it. A small robotic dinosaur on steroids, akin to one of those velociraptors portrayed in Jurassic Park.

The point being, that if you were trapped in something like a crushed steel container, then the jaws of life could get you out. I looked forward  to rescuing people from vehicle wrecks when the doors were jammed and they needed a jaws of life to let them walk free again.

Unfortunately, in that era between 1973 and 1978, when I had an opportunity to put this marvelous instrument of liberation to work, the use of safety devices in vehicles was just emerging. Seat belts were the only standard equipment on new cars, and many of the cars or trucks on the road did not have them, and people generally were exercising their right to be stupid and not use them, “taking their chances,” as people put it. The chances were not good in vehicles made of heavy gauge steel.

Our town was designed to lie, like a hot dog bun, along a very busy curve of an Interstate highway, where traffic from factories, long-distance truckers, eager local drivers, and speedsters miles away from home, regularly collided with each other. Though not so many people lived in our town, fifty times as many drove through it daily on their way to somewhere else they wanted to reach in a hurry.

In every accident when I was called, the people had already been ejected from the vehicle quite forcefully and awkwardly through the windshield or some other torn-apart portion of a vehicle, or they had been encased coffin-like in a steel cocoon with no regard for their functioning organs. The jaws of life were necessary, but they were more appropriately called the jaws of death.

It didn’t have to be that way; it just happened to be. Having a wonderful life-saving tool does not mean that you get to use it to save lives. Sometimes you just get to extricate bodies or portions of bodies.

As a minister I had the opportunity to be with many people when they died. Usually it was a quiet drawn-out process at the end, even if along the way there had been more pain or struggle than anyone wanted to experience. These prepared me in no way to face sudden, catastrophic, bloody death. The jaws were always useful, and the work had to be done, for someone else’s benefit, but the images did not erase from one’s mind or dreams, ever.

Still, when you have the right equipment, you can always hope for a chance to use it, when it really does help a person survive and live. We do like our toys.

What some call weeds, I call volunteers

10 Friday Apr 2015

Posted by chaplines2014 in Yard

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park bench in springIn gardening some people call volunteers “weeds.” Not me. The way I garden, or do not garden, uses a lot of mulch and groundcovers, the reduction of lawn since it demands attention that I find hard to schedule, and many volunteers.

Volunteers can be surprising. Plants show up that I never planted and some in places better than I had chosen. My volunteers  include cotoneaster, Virginia bluebells, wild ginger, Virginia creeper, two kinds of milkweed, porcelain berry, and spiderwort– all of whom I welcomed and encouraged.

Some volunteers do the job in spite of changing circumstances. The purple coneflower, thoroughly invaded by four different colors in two species of flox, still does the hard work of late, hot summer. The brown-eyed susans have fled the spot where I originally put them, which turned from sunny to shady as the tulip tree grew, and showed up in neat sunny patches elsewhere. The Mexican hats have gained more variety each year. The hostas thrive in seveal areas where sun and shade compete for supremacy.

I have reservations about some of the volunteers who tend to get out of control. Carpet bugle has erupted in spots which suspiciously suggest a takeover plot. The graceful and intriguing Oriental Sumac persists in showing up where it is unwelcome. The trumpet vine continually disappoints in its purpose of attracting hummingbirds, but lives up to its reputation as an intruder. And what are those ants doing in the tansy? It is supposed to repel them! The poison ivy always shows up somewhere, usually as a very small sprig masquerading as a maple sprout or something else.

I have waged full-out war against some volunteers whom I consider nuisances. On this year’s list is morning glory. Where do those seeds come from? And my battle with ground ivy, the well-named “Creeping Charlie,” has more defeats than victories. I have drawn the line in the sand against a further advance by apple mint and lemon balm. In every case they keep me alert and going, so I accept my enemies. Maybe someday I will even learn to love them.

Volunteers are wonderful, inspiring, challenging, exasperating, demanding. They require attention sometimes and being left alone at others. They are at the heart of my garden and everywhere else. I celebrate them. There would be no garden or community without them.

A mysterious package from outer space

10 Friday Apr 2015

Posted by chaplines2014 in Farm, Growing up, Learning from mistakes

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Monkeys see, hear, speak no evil, Bangra.comA small white box with odd cone shapes attached to it had landed in the field a quarter mile from our farmhouse; this was sixty years ago. It was easy for a nine-year old boy to imagine that this discovery was from “outer space,” even with the remnants of a balloon attached. But there were clear instructions to return it to the weather survey of the University of Illinois, so the budding scientist could understand its purpose.

Curiosity got the best of the boy. What could be inside it?  The boy was already keeping charts of temperature, wind directions, barometric pressure and humidity on a daily basis, as if his record would somehow add to the inscrutable science of meteorology. What kind of information did this unusual box contain? Opening the box was a challenge. As he pried it open its contents came out in pieces, none of which made sense. He had no way to understand the apparatus that was inside, or to make use of its pieces. There was no obvious barometer, thermometer, hygrometer or anemometer. Having opened the box whatever information it contained was lost. The effort that some faraway alien had put into this instrument and its scientific payload was lost.

The next time he found such a box a few years later he returned the “weather balloon” to the Post Office as instructed, feeling remorse for the earlier trespass.

We may treat the payload of history and cultural tradition in a similar way, tearing into it and making no sense of its contents, or returning it to a place of expertise where someone behind closed doors can deal with it as they want. Neither is very helpful. When we give up trying to make sense of our heritage and leave the process of learning behind, or when we turn it over to others, we cheat ourselves out of the most precious gifts that life sends our way

When we became foreigners and the children of wandering Arameans

09 Thursday Apr 2015

Posted by chaplines2014 in People, Racial Prejudice, Words

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cropped-circledance.jpg

When we lived in Minonk, Illinois, which is smack in the middle of… nowhere, and all the work of Sunday morning was done, Jan and I sometimes took our two teenagers for a get-away lunch to the nearest fast food stop, which was ten miles south at Dairy Queen, El Paso. On this particular Sunday, I got in line with the orders in mind, and stood behind a man who became increasingly disgruntled, as the famiIy in front of him tried to decipher the menu and communicate their food orders with their broken English.

Ironic, I thought, that a place named El Paso could not handle Spanish. The menu design did not help much, as the pictures did not correspond with anything printed nearby, so the process was taking awhile. Sunday mornings were usually uplifting, peaceful, and energizing, so I was in no hurry, enjoying the children’s interplay with their parents, and their struggle understanding what they were actually ordering.

Mr. Impatience Next-in-line would have none of it. His muttering under his breath grew louder and soon his swearing was loud enough for everyone nearby to hear. He turned back to me, plainly seeking support for evicting the blank, blank “foreigners, Mexicans.” “Where do they get these people, anyway?”

I put on my blank face and said what first came to mind, “Mah atah rotzeh? Ani lo yodeah,” in my best conversational Hebrew (which is to say, “What do you expect? I have no idea.”). The man turned red, turned around, and didn’t say another word. It wasn’t long before he got to place his order, and after a few moments, he had it in hand and left the restaurant.

We ate in peace, enjoying each other and the lovely family nearby who were discovering their strange and not particularly healthy or appetizing new foods.

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