by jphilo | Jun 17, 2008 | Current Events
Iowa’s in the national spotlight for the second time in one calendar year. Our first brush with fame came in January, when the state was flooded with presidential wannabes. Now, record-breaking floods have focused the eyes of the nation upon us.
So far I haven’t heard any discussions about which kind of flooding leaves a bigger mess. But along our little gravel road, the flood waters have been pretty destructive. In fact, the rain has washed away the gravel at the bottom of the driveway. Water erosion has created a miniature Grand Canyon along the entire length of road that borders our property.
The road’s so bad we’ve become anti-social. We tell visitors not to come unless they and their vehicles are tougher than the potholes and ravines. It’s so bad the neighbor kid screams bloody murder when he rides his bicycle across the ruts formed by streams of running water cutting across the road. A significant amount of daylight can be seen between his backside and the unpadded bike seat. No wonder he screams every time the two make contact. It’s so bad someone’s front tire got caught in our Grand Canyonette the other night. Before the vehicle stopped, the neighbor’s mailbox was gone and a decorative boulder was several feet east of it’s original location. Can you believe it? The consequences of flooding include hit and run landscape architecture crime.
As of this writing, the government has not lifted a finger to clean up the mess. Phone calls to the city public works department remain unanswered. Mr. Obama has offered no hope for our road, and Mr. McCain has proposed no maverick solution to our wash-out dilemma. So Hiram, my very own Pa Ingalls of a husband, took matters into his own hands. He spent the morning rebuilding the end of the driveway, filling it in with a load of gravel.
So I think we’re done being anti-social. You can visit us again. Unless you’re a politician. We just finished cleaning up one mess. We don’t need another.
by jphilo | Jun 15, 2008 | Current Events
I’m back from four days in Cedar Falls. Floods threatened the city the day before the writers’ conference began. But our meeting was headquartered at a campground high above the rain-swollen river. By the time I arrived Wednesday morning, electrical service had been restored and most of the fallen trees were cleaned up. After rain on Wednesday afternoon and Thursday morning, the days were sunny and the nights were cool.
During a break on Friday, I grabbed my camera and walked over to the cliff above the river. Through a break in the trees, the high water surrounded summer cabins on the other bank. The Cedar River had crested a few days earlier, and I couldn’t imagine how high the water must have been then.
The conference ended Saturday at noon. Another ugly storm gathered in the south as I sped home. Later, it dumped more rain on Cedar Falls, and the tornado sirens went on several times in the night. By then, I was safe in my bed. Why, I wonder, did my life proceed normally while floods destroyed and disrupted the lives of others? Why was I granted such grace?
I can’t answer that question. But when I wake up tomorrow and face the month’s worth of writing I need to finish this week, I’ll be grateful for such a small problem in a dry house. And I’ll get busy.
by jphilo | Jun 2, 2008 | Current Events
A few days ago my favorite comedian, Harvey Korman, died. What do you say when someone who impacted your formative years leaves? I think my sister, who asked if she could guest blog about this man who made us smile, says it perfectly.
Dear Harvey and Carol,
Thursday, May 29 was my fifteenth wedding anniversary. On my drive home from work while I was thinking about my lovely husband, I heard a distressing news clip: Harvey Korman of the Carol Burnett Show had passed away from an aortic aneurism at the age of 81. It was a difficult week. First our Uncle Bud on Sunday, and then you, one of my favorite entertainers.
Several Christmases ago my son Ben got me one of the best gifts I have ever received: two DVD’s of old Carol Burnett shows, including Went with the Wind, the movie parody of Gone with the Wind including the funniest sight gag I’ve ever seen. (I take these DVD’s with me to parties by request of friends). This skit left us weak with laughter.
Ben gave me these DVD’s remembering an incident from his slacker teen days when he nearly got in trouble with me for watching TV instead of doing a required chore. I came charging up the stairs ready to skewer him only to find him doubled over in laughter in front of the TV. He was watching a clip of Went with the Wind. I was helpless–we laughed together. He was off the hook and I told him about the role of The Carol Burnett Show and you, Harvey Korman, in our family.
Your show provided blessed comic relief once a week for our family. The chemistry among the cast—you, Vicki Lawrence, Carol Burnett, Tim Conway, Lyle Waggoner–was exquisite, the sketch writing cutting and witty. We would watch you and Carol in Mama’s Family, you and Carol on an executive date, Tim Conway and you alone on an island executing a military parade, Tim cutting up and making you laugh. My sister Jolene, my brother John, and I would spend the week acting out some of the skits, repeating the punch lines, waiting for the next show.
I heard you say once that no one was as unselfish on a show with time and the spotlight as Carol Burnett. She seemed to know that when those around her were at their best and had a chance to demonstrate that, she was at her best, too. There is nothing like it on TV now. Only Garrison Keillor’s skit writing and performance on the radio show Prairie Home Companion comes close to what you did.
Thanks, Man. You made me laugh when I needed a laugh so much. Thanks for your wonderful show, Carol Burnett! I hope I do my job as well as you guys did yours.
Much Love,
Jolene’s Sis
by jphilo | May 26, 2008 | Current Events
On Sunday, the swiftness of death and the uncertainty of life touched me twice. Mom called after lunch with the news of her brother’s death. His son had called Saturday and said Ralph was failing. “Within a week,” he said. We thought we had a few days.
But Ralph didn’t mess around. He died like he lived – fast and full-steam ahead. The swiftness of his passing surprised but didn’t shock us. After all, he was in his late eighties and had lived a good life. Once we received funeral details, we crowded a trip to Minnesota into the upcoming week’s plans and moved on.
In the evening, my husband and I helped at a graduation party for our friends’ daughter. During the festivities, word came that a tornado had destroyed a high school in Parkersburg, where the uncle and aunt of the graduate teach. Next we heard seven people had died in the storm. Then word spread that some of the deaths occurred at graduation parties. No one said the words, but we read them in one another’s eyes. It could have been here. It could have been us.
This morning I walked down our road. The grass glittered, washed clean by gentle rain in the night. The birds sang. The trees swayed gently in the breeze. The first iris bloomed in the ditch. The lilac branches drooped under the weight of blossoms at the height of beauty. Tomorrow, they’ll begin to fade. If the wind comes up, they’ll be gone.
I did the only thing I could in the face of the fading beauty of this life and the swiftness of death to come. Today, I smelled the lilacs.
by jphilo | Apr 15, 2008 | Current Events
Two weeks ago, on April 1, a carpenter friend called to tell me he was sending me an end table made of salvaged doors. Yesterday, the table arrived I can no longer accuse the carpenter, Scott Newport, of perpetrating a bad April Fool’s Day joke.
Scott’s one of the people I’ve met on the way to writing my book for parents of critically and chronically ill children. We met through Shelly Beach, author of Precious Lord, Take My Hand, a devotional book for caregivers. I met her at an Iowa writing conference she conducts in Iowa each year. Since she heard about my book idea, she’s been my biggest cheerleader in the publishing world. Scott met her at a conference she conducts in Michigan. When Shelly heard about their son Evan, she encouraged me to contact Scott. Since he heard about my book, he’s been my second biggest cheerleader in the publishing world.
This summer, I’m attending a conference near where Shelly lives and not far from where Scott lives. When Shelly heard I was coming she insisted on hosting me. When Scott heard I was coming, he suggested I meet his family. I suggested I interview him and his wife for my book. I can hardly believe this is all happening.
Two and a half years ago, my book was a germ of an idea. Next year it will be a reality. Already, I’ve made two great new friends and been given an end table. If that’s any indication of what comes from obeying God’s command to share the hard bits of life and the hope in Christ with strangers, I’m in for the count. I may need to invest in a bigger address book to keep track of my new friends. Maybe I should talk to Hiram about adding some rooms to the house for all the new furniture.
But for now, all I can say is thank you, Scott, and thank you, Shelly, for cheering me on. Your kindness has blessed my life.
by jphilo | Mar 25, 2008 | Current Events
Our son, the monk, called on the Saturday before Easter. (That’s not him in the picture, but one of the other monks at the Hermitage.) I asked Allen when they would celebrate Easter, or as the Orthodox call it, Pascha. April twenty-seventh, he told me. And then there was a pause. “I wish you could be here and see how we do it. I tell you, Mom, you Protestants are missing out, not paying attention to Lent and Holy Week.”
He’s probably right. We descendants of northern European Protestants approach Easter in the buttoned up traditions of our ancestors. No need to get carried away, don’t ya know? Somebody might be watchin’ you go a little crazy about God bein’ raised from the dead, and then where would ya be?
On the other hand, the northern European buttoned up blood was pretty thin by the time it got to our son. He’s always been, to put it mildly, a flamboyant dresser. In fourth grade, he had me make him a tunic and robe for Halloween. He was King David, a perennial costume favorite for ten-year-old, Christian white boys in Iowa. When he left for the monastery his assurance to his grandmother was, “I’ll wear a robe every day, Grandma. You know how much I like to dress up.” So I’m not surprised that our son loves the pageantry and processions, the robes and the rhinestones that are part of the faith tradition he has chosen.
Still, I’ve been thinking about what he said. We Protestants don’t pay much attention to Lent and Holy Week. Perhaps that’s why our holiday is more about the Easter bunny than the celebration of the empty tomb. I’ll be mulling that over a while. And if I think it’s true, I may volunteer to spearhead Lenten and Holy Week observances at our church next year.
If you go to my church and you’re reading this, don’t start hyperventilating yet. I’ll try not to get too crazy, don’t ya know? Though come to think of it, the King David costume is in a box in the attic somewhere. Let me know if you’re interested.
