A Nice Discount

While waiting for my plane to leave the San Jose airport recently, I arrived earlier than usual and found myself with an hour to spare and the need to acquire some small gift to take to the staff at our San Antonio branch, to which I was traveling. So, I dropped into the Discover store at the new and improved Terminal A. (It really is improved: wi-fi is available for free throughout the airport, and every seat has a plug. You can tell you are in Silicon Valley. I like it!)

At the Discover store, I found products from an interesting new firm: Tom Ranch. At least, it is new to me, and I am fairly familiar with companies that sell California souvenirs since I am always needing souvenirs for our distant branch personnel. There were some suitable gifts: chocolate-covered cherries, chocolate pistachios, and wine-infused chocolates in pill-box-shaped containers. Intriguing. I settled for tea chocolates in an eyeglass-holder-shaped tin.

As I was browsing, the sales clerk, who had recently transferred to this store, struck up a conversation. I had time, and there were no other customers. So, we chatted a bit. When I had selected the gifts I wanted, he asked if I were military. I told him that I am no longer a member of the Armed Forces but do work with the military and shared that I was actually on my way to an air base, which housed our organization's local branch.

When he rang up my order, he proudly announced that he was giving me a 33% discount, which made the cost of my few gifts very affordable.

"Do you want to see my government I.D.?" I asked him.

"No," he answered. "I am not giving you a military discount. I am giving you a higher discount -- for being nice."

Cool!

7 Quick Takes Friday #65

See more 7 Quick Takes Friday contributions at Jennifer Fulwiler's Conversion Diary.

This has been a much better week than last week. I spent most of it visiting our Georgia site, where I could visit with daughter Lizzie; then today, I got to go to my deputy's retirement ceremony and after that to share dinner with a friend from Uzbekistan.

More important, though, were the God moments that pervaded this week. Seven of them are shared below.

1. This week as I have traveled to and from Georgia, I have been reading an interesting book: The Overcomer's Anointing by Barbara Yoder. In spite of the strangeness (to me) of the title, the book has turned out to be enlightening. I purchased it in order to learn more about spiritual warfare in order to help a friehttp://www.blogger.com/img/blank.gifnd who is in the throes of a dark night of the soul. Yoder's take on the dark night is that this is a period of transformation, that God uses such a period before transforming many things, including the creation of the earth. Although this is indeed in keeping with the works of St. John of the Cross, Yoder's book is more accessible than Dark Night of the Soul.



2. I was accompanied to/from Georgia by a colleague, Sue. We were a little concerned that she did not have a confirmed seat on the flight back. Apparently, the plane had been oversold by seven people. It was important that we travel together because Donnie was picking us up in San Francisco (more than an hour away), and Sue, who lives yet another hour south, was planning to come home with me and stay overnight, then continue home. Not arriving with me would really complicate matters. Luckily, volunteers appeared to give up seats, and she got the third one. Whew! We happily clambered into the plane where I found that my seat, alas, was non-reclining, in the last row (aisle, at least), and right in front of the toilet. I figured it was going to be a long 5.5 hours, but had accepted the reality of the situation, telling myself that someone had to be in that seat and it might as well be me, when the person in the middle seat appeared and asked if I would change seats with his friend who was seated in a B seat in row 20. I concurred -- after all, who wants to separate friends? I figured a middle (B) reclining seat was no worse than an aisle non-reclining seat. Imagine my surprise when I found out that 20B was in the exit row -- and there was no A seat. Was God rewarding me for accepting my lot to begin with and being willing to help out a stranger in the second place? I wonder... (In any event, it was a late evening flight, and I reclined the seat, donned an attitude of gratitude, stretched out, and slept the whole way home!)



3. Once home, it was nearly morning, but I got a few hours of sleep, then quickly looked through the mail that had arrived during the week. One was a note from the new formation director at the Secular Franciscan Order (SFO). He will be replacing Goliath. Yes! His note revealed that there would be a place now for God in our formation. Yes!




4. When Sue arose in morning, she took one look out our window at the view of our town and valley and remarked that we are close to heaven here. We are indeed. She agreed that not only the house was a blessing but also that there is likely a reason we are supposed to have it because everything was so "right" about getting it, including the price, which was considerably lower than the house is worth and exactly in the price range that we could afford and were looking for. For that reason, we had no trouble getting a VA loan, and I had, surprisingly, no trouble finding my 1978 (!!) VA certificate of eligibility.



5. I always go to Mass on Friday -- well, almost always. Sometimes events intervene. Today I was going to be late, so I decided to skip Mass. At that point, my admin assistant appeared in my office, reminding me that Mass was starting. I commented that I did not have time to arrive before Mass began, and she commented, "God understands if you are late." I was briefly contemplating whether or not to go when a colleague's admin assistant popped in and made the same comment! Considering that God might be sending me a message, I decided to go. I am glad I did. The rest of the day is always better when I do.




6. My deputy retired today. I will miss him. He brought a spiritual flavor to all our interactions. (A Roman Catholic like me, he wants to study theology in his retirement, and when he showed up three years ago, I knew God had sent him to me.) True to style, his parting remarks left us spiritually rejuvenated -- this in an organization that insists on the separation of church and state.




7. This week I had another go-round with God's credit card. I had not intended to use it for a personal purchase, but I really got stuck two weeks ago. We had to get a special bed for Donnie, who has been unable to sleep in our current bed because of his sleep apnea, gout, and infected leg. He needed an adjustable bed, and those are very expensive, especially one that we can share. We found an appropriate bed in San Jose. I assumed that we would be able to get the bed on credit, but the cost of the bed was such that the company would only allow half the cost to be put on its credit. Stuck there and having God's credit card with me that would easily handle the other half, I hesitated, sighed, then handed it over. Well, as in the past when I have used the card, God changed matters. The company sent a second credit account in the mail this week. Donnie called today and asked what that meant and was told that we can transfer the amount we put on God's credit card to this second credit account and there would be no interest charged as long as we paid off the account on time (in three years). Wow! It seems quite clear that God intends to keep God's credit card open for God's needs, not mine. This is the second time I have been given a new credit card to which to transfer a balance. Unreal!




I wish you a pleasant weekend!

Not First-Class Material

Because I am a very, very frequent flyer (nearly 150,000 miles a year), I am often provided complimentary upgrades to first class, which, of course, I immensely appreciate although first class is often lost one me: I fit easily into economy seats, not knowing what to do with the extra space in first-class seats, and I generally sleep for the duration of the flight, losing out on enjoying the various amenities offered. On a recent flight on which I had, once again, been upgraded, as I stood in line to use the toilet in the plane's first-class cabin, where I was seated, one of the stewardesses approached me and said, "Please use the toilet in your class."

Dutifully, I began to move toward the rear of the plane until I realized that she thought I was in economy class. I pointed out my seat in the corner of the first-class cabin, and she apologized, "I did not realize that you were so short."

Hm, is there a height requirement for first class? Obviously (or at least, it seemed obvious to me at the time), it was not a matter of my being short but rather that I did not look like I belonged in first class. I was offended, not because I personally had been regarded as not belonging in first class but rather because I live in a society without social classes -- or so I tell people in other countries when I visit. The stewardess's comment revealed openly what I try to hide even from myself: we are not a classless society in the United States any more than Soviet Russia was a classless society. The political propaganda says one thing; the behavior of the people say another.

I suppose I can understand why I was considered not first-class material by that particular stewardess. I travel comfortably, in jeans and tees. I look like a farmer's daughter. Stop! I am a farmer's daughter.

That intellectually gifted but highly impoverished farmer helped develop my mind as much or more than any of my college professors. Without the room in our old drafty farmhouse miles from town that he turned into a library, replete with a large number of the classics taught in college courses, bought at times at the expense even of daily necessities, and debates and philosophical discussions that we had on the way to and from high school in a nearby city, to which he had to drive me and my siblings since our farming community had no high school, I would not have been able to hold my own in college and graduate school and in increasingly responsible positions in the workplace.

So, get used to it, first-class attendants! A farmer's daughter may be on your next flight!

7 Quick Takes Friday #48

See more 7 Quick Takes Contributions at Jennifer Fulwiler's Conversion Diary.

Sitting here in Linthicum, Maryland, looking back on the past week, I have two adjectives to use: busy (as usual), peaceful (although I traveled, not without incident). A (somewhat) typical week for those times that I spend outside my California office.

1. Friday was such a great day. I took annual leave. After all, it was the day after Thanksgiving, and few people were planning to be at work, anyway. I have recently been in contact with Fr. Terry, who had, until he was reassigned to another city in February, been my de facto spiritual advisor and certainly a good friend and mentor. I missed him and never did find a "replacement." I don't believe that we can ever "replace" people. They are what they are and they are who they are to us. Finally, after the passage of many months, I decided to press some electrons to paper, print out the resultant letter, and mail it. After a couple of backs-and-forths, Fr. Terry offered to come to San Ignatio for lunch. Friday was the day. He celebrated Mass in his new community, and I attended Mass in San Ignatio. After the Masses, we met at my favorite restaurant, Jardines, and had a long and leisurely lunch, for the most part playing catch-up. Fr. Terry has a way of making one feel special, and certainly his willingness to drive two hours (one each way) just for lunch made me feel very special on Friday. Of course, he is very special to me. (I bet he knows that.)

2. The weekend was quiet. I attended Mass on Saturday with Doah and did some chores. That left Sunday to prepare for an upcoming conference, pay bills, and, yes!, stay inside on an unusually cold day. (We don't know what to do in and with cold weather in California). The smallest pleasures in life are sometimes the greatest. For me, it is getting all the little things done: bill paying, phone calls, mail, laundry -- the things that I seem never to have time for until they reach critical mass. That is just what I did on Sunday.

3. Monday flashed by. At work, it was like Sunday had been at home -- catching up the little stuff. That felt good. I was leaving the next day, and I was excited to be able to finish the day with a clean desk. (It is indeed the smallest pleasures in life that are sometimes the greatest.) After work, I drove to the home of the wife of our Bible Studies director who died a couple of weeks ago. She had expressed an interest in coming to our Monday night prayer group, and I did not want to leave her sitting alone if there was something comforting she could do. It took some time and a few wrong turns, even with a GPS, to find her house, but eventually I arrived -- only to find out that her grandson was supposed to have brought her a dinner and had not done so yet. She was hungry and wanted to wait for him. A wasted trip? Perhaps. Nonetheless, I would rather be the one making the useless trip than the one in need of assistance.

4. Tuesday was a half-&-half day. In the morning, I attended no less than three meetings, fortunately, all by being tied in telephonically to my conference room. What a marvel to live in a technological age. I packed and printed out my ticket while I talked. Then, Donnie drove me to San Francisco where I caught a non-stop flight to the Baltimore-Washington airport. Piece of cake, or so it seemed. I had already printed my ticket, checked my baggage curbside, and made it quickly through the 1K United line inside. The flight was easy; I sat beside a chatty computer scientist about Shane's age and interested in the same things as Shane. Piece of cake, or so it seemed. The plane arrived early, and I called my employee who was meeting me to tell him that I would just grab my suitcase and we could speed off to the hotel. Still a piece of cake, or so I thought. Everything was too smooth, though, so there had to be a glitch. There was. No suitcase. Having been through this scenario before, I made my claim and went to the hotel to await the delivery of my suitcase. No suitcase. My suitcase made its own trip; it went to Chicago. You can read its story here: the errant suitcase. My sister asked if, since my suitcase takes trips all by itself (this is not the first time), might United give it frequent flyer miles. Dunno. Good question to ask.

5. Wednesday was a nondescript day. It was cold outside, but I had a warm coat. I worked all day at various tasks together with the local office director. My suitcase arrived, and I had a very leisurely (unplanned so) lunch with the office director -- for hours. Literally. I learned a good lesson over lunch: if the restaurant is totally empty at noon, there is probably a reason for it. Moe's Seafood sounded like a good place to eat. The tables looked nice. The menu looked even better. The waitress was sweet. So, we thought we would grab something quick and be back for a 1:00 meeting. The waitress took our order and returned 30 minutes later with some bread. Another 30 minutes passed, and then our meal arrived. By the time we finished, we were not late for the 1:00 meeting; we completely missed it.

6. Wednesday evening was much better. I had dinner with my administrative assistant from the time days when I worked in Jordan. She was visiting relatives in the USA as she does every December, and we had our annual dinner together. Since I attend a December conference every year in the Linthicum, Maryland area, our dinner has turned into a tradition. We went to a safe bet: Ruby Tuesday. We talked about family and acquaintances, Jordan and Bahrain (where she now lives and where I also used to work), and a dozen more things. Much happens in a year -- except that we do not change (or, at least, we think we do not. Even better, when I returned to the hotel after dinner, there was my suitcase. We had a joyful reunion. Just think! Two reunions in one day.

7. Thursday I was "on" to review our local programs. I have never seen our office director (who is new to this particular position but whom I have known in other positions for a long time) so nervous. Everything was perfect, starting with the bagels and juice that had been set up for everyone. The review went smoothly: the director and assistant director were well prepared, and the work is clearly being done well. I was pleased. They were pleased. The day ended, and I headed to dinner with another Jordanian, this one a friend and member of the Board of Directors for the conference that would take place the next day. After dinner, I stopped by the airport to pick up a friend who would be participating on my panel at the conference on Saturday -- yet another Jordan. The week for Jordan!

And now it is nearly bedtime, and I have to get my beauty rest so that I can moderate the panel well tomorrow morning at the conference, before heading home. Oh, yeah, gotta pack, too! I hope you all have a great weekend -- relaxing, good weather, and whatever else you might want.

The Errant Suitcase

I thought I might share a tad of a touch of what I experience from the travel part of my travels. Perhaps it will lighten someone's sense of what a bad day might actually be.

My day today was spent alternating between running between buildings at work and making phone calls to track down my wayward luggage. You see, yesterday I flew non-stop from San Francisco to Baltimore. My luggage, however, went to Chicago and seemed to have taken up residency there. United Airlines originally thought it had hitched a ride on a plane Wednesday morning. Not so. Later in the day, United was certain that it had stowed away on some plane headed East and would be knocking on my door some time. Date, time, and other specifics were not available.

My bag finally showed up this evening. I have no idea where it spent its time as a stowaway and how it was directed homeward. Perhaps that is one of those things one does not want to know.

Once American Airlines lost my bag, and a janitor at the airport found it and called me, using the 800# for Stuffbak. I use Stuffbak labels, which mean I usually do get my stuff back. Except for the time that luggage going to Moscow through Helsinki disappeared into Finnair forever.

Too frequently, though, my luggage takes trips separately from me. I arrived recently in Dubai, running to catch a plane, while my luggage spent a leisurely overnight in Washington. Similarly, once, in returning from Prague, my luggage and I parted company in Frankfurt, with me coming home to Monterey while my luggage took an excursion to Moscow, perhaps a matter of habit since I was spending a lot of time in Moscow in those days.

In essence, my luggage just seems to have a life of its own, too often apart from me. My sister asks a good question: "Can you get frequent flyer miles for your luggage since it takes extra trips all by itself?" Dunno. Maybe I should ask!

Years ago when I was traveling more than now (yes, that is possible), I simply maintained a spare wardrobe in the closets of friends around the world in those cities to which I flew most often. Those clothes, which would have been available here in Baltimore in an early era, unfortunately were not available today because they have since all moved home.

In any event, the errant suitcase has found its way to my hotel room. It was a joyful reunion!

Double-posted on 100th Lamb and Clan of Mahlou.

Thankful Thursday #16

Traveling yields gratitude for the simple pleasures in life. Since I travel almost constantly, I find myself constantly being thankful for oh so many things. For example:

1. One of the things I am most grateful for while traveling is hot water, the hotter the better, in rest rooms. All too often travelers end up having to clean their hands after a flight with water that is at best tepid. I love the feel of hot water running over my hands. It is warming and refreshing. Absolute gratitude!

2. Likewise, I am oh so grateful for hot baths in hotel rooms after a long trip. What luxury! Sometimes there is even a jacuzzi. Oh, those simple things of life are not always accessible to a frequent traveler, and when I have them, I really enjoy them. One does not need expensive or complex luxuries to feel gratitude while away from home. No, those things that make one feel at home call forth the most gratitude in me, and what is more at home than being able to take a hot bath?

3.I love having someone to meet me. I have been stranded in many US cities and in many countries, or, at least, left on my own to find my way somewhere. I often can. Sometimes, it becomes very complicated, as in the time that I was abandoned in Sao Paolo, Brazil and needed to go to Campinas, where I would be working for the next couple of weeks. So, I took a bus, called a newly made acquaintance, had dinner with him and his family, and then depended upon him to help me track down the director of the institution where I was supposed to be working. It all worked out, thanks to some creative problem-solving and a whole lot of divine intervention. So, there are good reasons why I am grateful when someone cares enough to pick me up.

4. I am grateful for a warm coat in a cold climate. Since I live in sunny California, I sometimes forget to grab a coat as I head out the door for the airport. I have arrived in Siberia without gloves and had a Siberia friend take the gloves off her own hands and give them to me - typical for the warm-hearted people who populate the cold Siberian steppe (I still have the gloves because my friend would not let me return them, and they have since come in handy. Likewise, I have sometimes ended up in cold places in shirt sleeves. In Oregon one winter, I arrived in a light blouse and had to head off immediately to a store to buy a coat. That was not the first such experience, and, alas, it will probably not be the last. Therefore, I am, indeed, thankful for those times I end up in a cold area and can immediately stuff myself inside a thick coat, feeling warmth on the inside as it protects me from the wonderfully brisk and fresh cold air outside. Great combination!

5. Oh, for a seat that reclines on an airplane! Especially on a flight where not everyone is packed in like sardines but can stretch out a bit. For some reason, I too often get one of those last row seats that do not recline. Worse still is when that unreclining seat is right across from the toilet. Yuck! Fortunately, those flights where that has happened have been short. Barring a reclining seat, I am really happy to have an aisle seat so I do not have to crawl over someone to get out for a stretch or bathroom trip, something that is difficult for short people like me. Two days ago, I spilled water over the man seated beside me; two years ago, I covered the while uniform of a pilot flying next to me on his free time with purple grape juice. Both were very understanding, but I really am grateful for an aisle seat and even more so for an aisle seat that reclines. Heaven!

6. And finally, I am very, very grateful for those flights on which First Class does not fill. In those cases, I often get a free upgrade because I am such a frequent flyer. I feel like a princesse for a day. (I also feel like an intruder. I guess the stewardesses must feel the same way because on the flight yesterday, when I was waiting to use the bathroom, the stewardess told me to go use the bathroom in my own cabin. When I pointed out where I was seated, in First Class, she was rather embarrassed. She did not need to be; I know I don't look the part of the wealthy and mighty. Come to think of it, I am neither, and I don't necessarily want to be either. I am, therefore, especially grateful to experience for a day something that I know I don't want for a lifetime -- just to remind me of what is really important. Human privilege does not qualify.


More information about one of the Thankful Thursday memes can be found at the website of Women Taking a Stand. This meme host is shared with other blogs so you will need to check to see which one is hosting any given month. This month the host is Lynn at Spiritually Unequal Marriage.

Link up with Greg's and Daryl's Thankful Thursday at Greg's General Store.

7 Quick Takes Friday #43

See more 7 Quick Takes Contributions at Jennifer Fulwiler's Conversion Diary.

Since I spent most of the week sleeping -- well, at least evening and night and even an extra hour most days into the morning -- I am not certain that I have seven "events" to report, but I shall "dig" a little and see what I can come up with. Actually, I will make them short because I feel like sleeping already. It is this darn cold/flu/virus; I could sleep it off a lot more easily if I did not have to go to work every day! As for the seven takes, here goes:

1. Dinner with Shane and Lemony. This week was Lemony's birthday, so Donnie and I took her, Shane, and the grandkids to dinner at her favorite restaurant, Dona Ester's, in our little town of San Ignatio. We had quite a choice of authentic Merxican foods. If not anything else, this town is indeed authentic Mexican in many respects, not just in its food choices. Nathaniel sat beside me and chatted non-stop about bakugans, about which Grandma Beth knew very little and still knows very little (I cannot quite get my head wrapped around these newfangled toys) and battle plans, the latter of which he sketched out on a napkin for me. When it was time to leave, he mugged for my camera. Nikolina meanwhile slept and slept and slept, did not wake up at all during the entire meal (hm, seems she inherited that sleeping thing from her grandmother). Pleasant evening.

2. Tripping to San Diego. The next day Donnie and I left for San Diego. Padre Julio, a priest from Colombia, about whom I have blogged on this site earlier (see posts on Fr. Julio) had asked us to come see him in San Diego, where he had moved recently. When Padre Julio was a priest in our diocese, I had taught him English so that he could celebrate the English Masses. (I originally met him when he was celebrating our Spanish Masses, which is the Mass I usually attended on Sundays -- still do.) I was able to get free tickets to San Diego from all my frequent flying. Off we went, having obtained rather nice seats right by the door, or so I thought. It was freezing there, and so I was glad I had brought a warm hoodie sweatshirt for keeping warm! Cold aside, pleasant flight.

3. Dinner with Padre Julio. Once we reached San Diego, I called Padre Julio, who suggested that we meet at Anthony's Restaurant, a popular seafood restaurant on the harbor -- well, on land in the harbor. Thanks to the GPS we had brought with us and installed in our rental car, a Mazda that we quite enjoyed driving, we easily found Anthony's. Finding parking near Anthony's, however, was not nearly as easy a feat. It was clearly a popular restaurant. After several swings through the parking lot, we lucked out. Someone was leaving as we were approaching, and we were able to pull into the only open spot. I have no idea how Padre Julio found a space, but he did and, to our surprise, was already waiting for us inside. There were some interesting dishes on the menu but somehow we all felt like fish. So fish it was. That and some lively conversation, filling in the missing gaps in our information base since we had last seen each other. Please conversation.

4. Mass with Padre Julio. On Sunday, we put the GPS to good use again as we wended our way through San Diego to the church where Padre Julio was celebrating Mass, Cristo el Rey (Christ the King Church). We quickly realized that we were the only Anglos in the entire church -- gringoes, I suppose, would be the better term. Padre Julio was very happy to see us there and introduced me to his congregation as his teacher and us as "good gringoes" -- we were not quite sure how to take that except in the best of intentions as was meant by Padre Julio. After Mass, we parted wtih Padre Julio as he had to leave for Guadelajara and we got to spend a relaxing evening at our hotel. We had contemplated spending an evening on the town, but we know San Diego well from the days when three of our children were attending college there, so opted for a kick-back evening, instead. Pleasant rest.

5. It hit. On Monday, it -- the cold, flu, virus, whatever it is -- hit me, and it hit hard. I was wiped out before we even made it back from the airport. When I get sick, I crave sleep, something that I otherwise often get very little of. I was suddenly very tired, and it seemed like the long trip from San Francisco had never been longer. I am not sure if it seemed longer because I was not driving or would have seemed longer had I been driving; in either case, all I wanted to do was sleep. And so as soon as I reached home, I slept. All afternoon. All evening. All night. Pleasant dreams.

6. A week of work. I had grand thoughts of perhaps sleeping through the rest of the week as well, but that was not to be. Every day filled up with appointments before I left for home the previous day. No complaints will you hear from me about them for most were quite interesting appointments. Many people just wanted to talk about one thing or another. Several junior managers stopped in, wanting guidance on one or another topic or mentoring or just to talk. All the senior managers were out of town, so it seems that with the echelon of management between the junior managers and me gone, interaction between us took place on a several-times-a-day basis. (I will relate a joke about management and talking tomorrow; I am out of time for today.) Pleasant week.

7. Afghanis. The Afghanis who work in our organization, especially the Pashtuns, are delighted with the fact that I have now spent time in their country and that I have learned to speak some Pashto. They go out of their way to find opportunities to give me a chance to practice Pashto. For some reason today, I felt like an ice cream cone at lunchtime and stopped into Burger King where I had heard ice cream had just been added to the menu. The BK is across the street from my office, so it is often a gathering place at lunch for my colleagues. Sure enough, there were a few there today, too. Two of them were Pashtuns, and they immediately approached me, speaking Pashto. We ended up sharing lunch although I had not originally planned to eat lunch at all. These two are relatively new employees, so I got a chance to learn more about them. Pleasant company.

And now it is indeed night time. So, I will wish you all pleasant dreams.

7 Quick Takes Friday #36

See more 7 Quick Takes Contributions at Jennifer Fulwiler's Conversion Diary.

Well, first of all, I have to say that this has been a week of nudity, or at least possibilities for nudity, as you will see. Then, there were the travel snafus, but that is par for the course. Finally, there were some enjoyable moments with great people. All in a week's work!

So, then, here are my quick takes, with emphasis on quick since I have to get to bed tonight in order to get to the airport tomorrow to take the trip back to where I came from and get set up to do it all over again to a new location in a couple of weeks, in other words: business as usual.

1. Sunday. Well, I have blogged about Sunday, at least the part of it when I ended up late for Mass and nearly had no clothes to wear. At least, some okay-but-could-be-more-appropriate things-to-wear fell under my hand at the last minute as I was dashing out the door. (See post, On Being Worthy.) The immediate post-Mass part of Sunday was spent entertaining friends at a BBQ in our yard. Donnie cooked, of course. No knowledgeable person would ever agree to eat something I had made. (As Doah wrote in his book, Mommy Poisoned Our House Guest, "my mommy is a very nice mommy but she is a very bad cook." With Donnie behind the grill tongs, a delicious time was had by all.

2. Sunday again. After our BBQ, Donnie and I had to dash to Casa Maria, the restaurant/community center building at Old Mission, where Fr. Ed had made arrangements for all of us who had helped out with the annual fiesta (I was nearly the sole clean-up person for more than 8 hours for a crowd of hundreds) to have a special meal together. Oh, oh! Two big meals in one day! Good-bye, diet! Sunday's activities added up to a two-pound gain, so eating will be removed from my activity list for this coming week.

3. Monday. Our prayer group met on Monday, as usual, but the meeting was far from business as usual. My co-director had stumbled into big trouble: after moving and having taken on a brand-new mortgage, his overtime was eliminated and his wife lost her job. Stage right, enter panic. Stage left, enter depression. While they have been able to build stability into their financial lives beginning in 6-8 weeks and their mortgage had been taken care of up-front before moving, everyday living and ongoing bill payment looked hopeless. But, never fear, there is always hope when God's credit card is near! Everyone contributed a little bit (total $70), and I charged to God's credit card the remaining amount needed to purchase a $500 visa card for them. (See Sometimes It's Our Own for details of that decision and issues of trust related to it.) So, we met at one of the member's house to give my co-director and his wife a housewarming party and, unknown-in-advance to them, the visa card. Overwhelmed, they told us that the amount was just what they needed to make the bridge to the period of stability that lay a few weeks ahead of them. It was an emotional meeting, and as for that trust, well, the following day, I was able to get airline tickets, using my free miles, for the abused sister of a friend and her two young daughters. My friend, who also belongs to our prayer group, had only been able to raise $200, which was not enough for the tickets. When I was able to get the tickets for free, she donated the collected $200 to helping pay off God's credit card. I have no doubt that the other $210 will appear before the payment is due to the credit card company; it always does. After the meeting, I ran past Shane's house to take in his garbage cans since he, Lemony, and kids had gone fishing. (Nathaniel caught his first fish.) From the sublime to the simple! All in a day's work!

4. Tuesday. As not uncommonly happens, my trip to Georgia became instantly complicated when I arrived at the airport and learned that my plane was delayed. That created a domino effect, and I ended up stranded part-way, in Phoenix. The airline put me up at a hotel overnight, but I did not have access to my luggage, i.e. no pajamas. So, I enjoyed an evening of prancing about nude, except for some moments on the balcony when I did discreetly wrap myself in a towel. Some naughty moments in one's life can be nice.

5. Wednesday. The day had an inauspicious start. On the heels of the plane fiasco, one might think I had had my share of troubles for one trip, but that was not to be the case. Having received the bill under my door, I did not have to check out at the desk, so I left the key in my room, closed my door which locked it, then headed to the elevator, only to find out that I needed the key that was in yh room to open the door from the hallway to the lobby. Catch-22, a real gotcha! After wandering in a few circles, thinking that perhaps I would need to call the front desk and be released from my self-created prison, I discovered that there was another elevator. I tried that, and it dumped out into the lobby, no key needed. Whew! However, my wanderings resulted in missing breakfast. No big deal; I needed to give up eating anyway. With a major dash between the closely connecting flights once I arrived in Charlottesville, I made the final leg to August, Georgia without any difficulties. Lizzie picked me up at the airport, which always amazes me in that it looks more like a villa than an airport (probably it was at one time) and brought me to her house. I unpacked. Oh, oh! No clothes for work the next day. Ah! I remember putting them next to the suitcase but not in it, and Donnie had apparently zipped the suitcase, as it was, and put it int the car. So, the day had an inauspicious finish to match its start. I borrowed some university-professor-style clothes from Lizzie, not at all like my normal business attire, and somewhat oversized for me, and deciding that it was the best I could do, went to bed.

6. Thursday. What a lovely day! After leaving Lizzie's country home in South Carolina (see photo), I headed for the Georgia border and our office, where I made several presentations to the people in our Georgia office, met with clients, and spent some time with our director and assistant director. I only come once a year, so people are always happy to see me. It is like a reunion. Everyone had brought in their specialties for lunch, and we had a buffet together in the office. Yummy! Too yummy! So much for not eathing this week! I will stop eating next week!

7. Thursday again. For dinner, the director and assistant director took Lizzie and me to dinner at the Bonefish Grill, a local chain restaurant with yummy seafood. Oops! Too much food again! I checked my weight as bedtime neared. Yep, weight gain in lieu of the weight loss hoped for this week. Well, let's see, there is always next week...

Wishing you a great next week! (I won't be eating, but I hope you will be!)

About That Lamb...

I don't know where the words came from. I could hardly believe they came from my mouth, yet I heard them as they slid out. "I don't think you are taking this project seriously," I said to the recently assigned project manager of a subcontractor at our Washington DC branch. She cringed and averred differently. I only shook my head unkindly and walked off to begin the presentation I had come to deliver.

I can explain how I got to the point of saying those words. In preparing for an all-day briefing to be conducted in DC together with a specialist from one of our subdivisions, I discovered that the concept papers we were to use were so poorly done that we could not use them. So, I had to re-do the work of several employees, whose supervisor had assumed that the work was fine. To worsen matters, the computers had been down (server outage) for the two days prior to my departure for DC. I had only one day to get everything done once the computers were back on line. That day I had several meetings, and during the time available in and around the meetings, one after another employee came into my office on small issues (well, important issues to them but ones I considered minor at the moment). Although I had closed my door, no one had seemed to notice. My open-door policy had been turned into an open-the-door policy. Too much to re-do, too little time to re-do it, and too many distractions from doing it! I was annoyed.

Add to that annoyance the fact that everyone around me seemed to be falling apart. I had one senior manager undergoing emergency surgery and another in the hospital with internal bleeding, cause undetermined. An employee had gone into the hospital for routine knee surgery and ended up comatose and packed in ice (we were waiting to here whether and when heroic measures would cease), and a junior manager had been diagnosed with a tumor and had to be brought back from his field assignment. This was all in the space of two days. Our senior leadership at the annual BBQ the day before I left for DC was decimated. I was stressed.

I did not escape any drama by leaving. As the plane was taxiing into Dulles International Airport, I quickly checked my Blackberry and learned two disturbing pieces of information. First, a project that I was to have been involved in had been downsized; much of the physical risk had been removed from it (that part was good -- while I was unconcerned for my own safety, my prayer group had been praying that something like this would happen), and the performance date had been moved to September, interfering with my need to be in Korea at that time. Second, my supervisor had overturned my appointment on an assignment I had promised to an employee. (She deserved it, and later in the day he recanted.) However these things work out and worked out, I arrived disappointed.

Following a night of only five hours of sleep after cleaning up from the BBQ, which had been at my house, and having had to go to work earlier than normal to begin that day of meetings and interrupted work, I had to jump onto a redeye from San Franciso to DC. Of all times, the pilot raced across the continental skies, arriving 30 minutes ahead of schedule, leaving me with a mere four hours of sleep. I was tired.

When I arrived at ground transportation, I blackberried the supervisor of our DC branch for an address to give to the taxi driver. She gave me the office address. I showed up there only to find out that the briefing was taking place at the premises of the subcontractor in another part of town. Now I would be late. I learned that the mistaken address was deliberate: the supervisor wanted to discuss the project with me alone. That meant that the specialist, who did not have the briefing powerpoints (I had them) would have to do with the first presentation without them and without me. I was angry.

Annoyance, stress, fatigue, disappointment, and anger combined to evoke my caustic remark when, having finally arrived at the subcontractor's location in time for the second presentation, I was informed by the project manager that two key personnel would come only after lunch. Any one of those conditions would have served as an excuse for my remarks, I initially tried to justify to myself. However, no justification exists for arrogance, and it was certainly arrogance that lay behind my words: whatever I had to say was more important than anything they had to do, and obviously that was not true.

I apologized to the project manager later. However, words don't dissolve; they don't run away; taking them back is nothing more than a vacuous expression.

While I know that I have not lost God's love, I was not thinking of God's presence when I made my unkind remark, and so I did not feel God's presence. The worst part? I lost an entire morning with God. That time will never be regained.

Clearly, I needed some time with God alone. After finishing the day of presentations, I ran to the nearby metro station where I knew there would be a line of cabs to assist me in my cab-plane-car dash to our Georgia branch. I grabbed a cab, driven by a courteous and calm middle-aged man from Pakistan. We chatted casually, and while the conversation was calming, it permitted no opportunity for time alone with God, as there had been none all day. I missed San Ignatio with its quiet spirituality.

Having swiftly picked up my ticket and passed through security without incident except for my typical random search, I took the airport train to the Delta terminal and made my way to Gate 76, keeping my eye out for any place at all for quiet prayer. There was none at all, just masses of people moving in cohorts to and from gates, into and out of restrooms and restaurants, and along the corridors. I missed even more San Ignatio's quiet spirituality where nearly every nook and cranny provides an opportunity for prayer.

I had more than an hour to wait for a now-delayed plane. I opted for a yogurt cone and seated myself at a table near a large potted plant, surrounded, of course, by other travelers.

My thoughts turned to my increasing unease. From whence these feelings? A change in the equilibrium of my life! I realized that I spend most of my time helping others, sometimes because I have been given a divine task, sometimes just because I stumble across someone in need (which may not always be accidental), and most often because those in need are people who work for me. My last few days, however, had been focused on me: the just-completed presentations in DC and the upcoming one in Georgia. I had moved away from helping others for lack of time (the employees to whom I had shut my door), lack of authority (the overturning of my decision by my supervisor), and lack of ability (the sick folk). I missed helping others, being God's helper. I missed time with God. It would be two more days before I would return to San Ignatio.

Even though I had no sense of God's presence while I waited for the plane, I wailed a silent prayer, spilling out those emotions and desires. I knew God would hear, understand, and forgive.

And then everything changed. Delta cancelled the flight. There were no other flights on Delta that night. I would miss the Georgia presentation, scheduled for early in the morning the next day. I called my admin assistant to inform the folks in Georgia, as Delta set about rescheduling all its passengers.

"Does anyone speak Russian?" one of the gate agents called out loudly, then a few seconds later, appealed "we really need someone who speaks Russian."

"I'll call you back," I told my admin assistant. Then I stood up and raised my hand, "I speak Russian."

The gate agent was visibly relieved. So were the mother and daughter who were trying to get back to Moscow via Atlanta. We very easily settled everything for them, and as their stress level eased, so did mine. (I find that happens a lot -- if you help someone who is stressed out, it eases your own feeling of stress.)

The grateful Delta agent offered to take me out of turn, but I waved off the offer, telling her that my office could handle my situation. It did. I ended up coming back to San Ignatio early! On a United non-stop flight direct to San Francisco. What could be better? How about a surprise complimentary upgrade to first class? Another redeye, but one on which I could sleep very comfortably.

All was right with the world. I was on my way back to San Ignatio. I wondered how much of this occurred because of my plaintive prayer about missing my quiet time with God. Ah, for any part of it -- and every part of it -- I am grateful.

All the way back home I could not sleep in spite of two short-sleep nights. The excitement of nearing San Ignatio overpowered every thought and emotion. God no longer has any need to look for this lost lamb. This lamb knows where to find the rest of her flock and her Shepherd!

What happened next? Unbelievable!

Looking back on that awful day and what I had done and felt, I should have been punished. Instead, a loving God brought me home to San Ignatio, back to Him in every meaning of that phrase, back to where I belong, where nothing of the material world matters. Now, too, I could look forward to being on time two days later for the retreat being led by Fr. Kevin, who also leads a contemplative-prayer-for-busy-people group in San Jose that I have participated in for nearly two years now. I would have had to arrive late because of returning from out of state.

I took the next day off from work -- I was owed comp time -- to be with God now that I was back in a spiritual environment. What a marvelous day that turned out to be!

The first thing after I arose (later than normal, yes!) I checked my email. Astonished, I read one note twice. It was the cancellation of a mandatory meeting on Friday, the second day of the retreat. I had worked it out with Fr. Kevin that it would be okay to miss Friday because of that meeting. Now I would have no distractions during the retreat!

A short while later, I attended noon Mass in the little chapel, celebrated by Fr. Paul on his last day in our community before returning home to Nigeria. Still reeling perhaps from my out-of-control behavior on Monday, I felt so very unworthy to be there and at the same time so loved. As I stood in line for communion, I could not keep the tears from pooling in my eyes, and I did not care if anyone saw them; we are all friends and all God's children.

Following Mass, two friends (one of them the person who assisted the priest in my RCIA class) asked me to join them for the rosary, after which we went out for cookies and milk. (I admit it; milk has always been my favorite drink.)

During our milk-and-cookie fest, I told my friends about my plaintive prayer, in which I bemoaned my separation from San Ignatio and loss of a sense of God's presence in the past few day's tumult, and how everything had suddenly worked out for me to spend the entire rest of the week with Him. One of my friends reiterated what a Sufi friend told me several years ago, word for word: "God spoils you."

Indeed, He does! And I am so very grateful!

(I posted the above story in two parts on my Modern Mysticism blog, but because of the title of this new, replacement-for-Blest-Atheist blog, it seemed apropros to include it here, as well.)

Beyond Why Not Me

Fr. Christian Mathis (Blessed Is the Kingdom) has made the suggestion that we "rest" on the Sabbath by taking a break from our normal blogging and sharing an older post of which we are particularly fond. Rest? Gladly! I don't get to do that very often, but now, thanks to Fr. Christian, I get to do it at least once a week -- and it gives me more time to spend with God, which is a wonderful gift.

For this week's post, I chose When God Says No, God Means No, a story of a clash of wills: mine and God's. God won. The story seems appropriate for a Sunday. (The priest in that story, by the way, went into cancer remission for three years, but now he needs prayers again because the cancer has returned.)

The Stories of Everyday People

Stuck at home today with a foreign germ picked up recently on travels that I had seemed to tame enough yesterday for my one-day commute to Omaha from California but that raged back full-force this morning after a sufficient amount of sleep to reconstitute my entire body (I went to bed significantly earlier than usual), I have found my mind doing the traveling, instead of my body. So many stories I have accumulated through my travels that I could probably write a multi-volume compendium of them, but I have no time for that. Therefore, I will share just one of those stories, one of many like it that keep me collecting them.

On a recent flight out of the San Jose airport, which is undergoing extensive remodeling, I found myself the only person in line at security. Now, there’s a disconcerting feeling! Where had everyone gone, and if everyone had gone somewhere else, why was I here? I smiled at the TSA agents, who smiled back. (I had my choice of three!) I have often said hello to TSA agents, and they always seem surprised. Not so in San Jose where almost all of them are very friendly.

“Hi,” I said, “Where is everyone?”

“We’re all here just for you,” he responded with a grin. Then he went on to explain the empty airport. They had just that morning moved about 90% of the flights to the newly re-built Terminal A and were in the process of shutting down Terminal C, where I was. My flight was one of the few still flying out of Terminal C, and I had come a bit early, hence, my isolated status.

An incurable extrovert, I talk to all who cross my path —- the guards, the homeless, the janitors. I smile at them all. Maybe that makes me weak-minded. The Russians would say that. In Russian culture, anyone who smiles at a stranger or smiles without cause is considered “legkomyslennyj” (weak-minded, or lit. light-thoughted). Weak-minded or not, I have met some interesting people that way.

Nearly two decades ago, I was waiting for Donnie to pick me up at the small airport near to where we live (not the San Jose International Airport, which is a bit farther down the road), and, learning that he had forgotten about my return, as was his wont at the time, I called a friend to while away the time that I would have to wait for Donnie. My friend being a Russian immigrant, I chatted with her in Russian. As I talked, a janitor remained not far away, sweeping an already clean floor. When I finally hung up, he walked over to me and said in Russian, “Excuse me, I did not mean to eavesdrop, but I could not help doing so. I was wondering when you moved here.”

“In 1989,” I told him.

“Ah-hah, from where?”

I started to see where this might be going, but not quite sure, I answered, “Well, I have lived many places, but I grew up in Maine.”

He looked a little surprised at that and then asked where my parents had come from. Now I was sure that I knew where this was going.

“I am not Russian,” I told him. “I just happen to speak Russian.”

Well, we talked for the remaining 20 minutes until Donnie finally showed up. I learned that his name was Volodya (nickname for Vladimir), that he had a family, and that he had been working as a janitor at the airport for a few months. At the time, I was traveling internationally on a frequent basis (as in every week) to provide consultation on various innovations and problem-solving strategies to ministers of education in a couple dozen countries. Every week upon departure and arrival, I would run into Volodya, and we would chat.

Volodya’s jobs changed at the airport periodically. He was promoted from janitor to baggage handler to ticket agent. Through it all, over the years, our relationship, too, changed. At some point – I don’t recall when – we moved from the “vy” (formal form of address) to “ty” (informal form of address). (In Russian, one is said to be “on vy” or “on ty,” indicating the closeness of the relationship and the amount of impersonality or friendship.)

Then Donnie and I moved to Jordan for 2.5 years, and I did not see Volodya again. Not until Donnie flew home through that same airport. His flight was delayed, and as I was waiting for him, Volodya, now a bigger whig (if one can say that), walked up to me, surprised to see me. I explained where I had been, and we sat down and chatted for the 45 minutes until Donnie showed up.

When I told Volodya that I was traveling less (although one look at my current travel schedule might make one think that this could not possibly be the case), he asked where I was working. When I answered, he gasped, “My wife works there.”

“Well, it is a pretty big place,” I said. “There are nearly 2000 people working there, and only a few hundred work for me. I doubt that I would know her.”

“She works in a special program,” he answered, and named one of the myriad programs I supervise.

“That is in my division,” I responded, somewhat flabbergasted. “What is your last name?” In the ten years that I had been talking to Volodya, I had never thought to ask his last name.

The next day I went to the program office and asked for his wife. I told her that I had known Volodya for ten years and was curious to meet her.

She smiled and said, “Yes, he told me. In fact, he has been telling me for ten years that he knows this American who speaks Russian like a Russian. Now I know who you are.” Then she added, “He is tickled that he is on ty with my boss. He said to me, ‘you two are on vy, but we two are on ty!” We both laughed.

So, I will continue to talk to all who cross my path. They all have stories.

God's Lesson on Impatience and Irritation

Yesterday, one of my British friends wrote the following on her Facebook page: "In connection with the dust cloud that has closed UK airports, I have been arrested as police discovered I cleaned my house last week." I can relate to that, considering how poorly adept I am at housework!

I can also relate to the long lines that are going to face all of us who will at one point soon need to travel to Europe and through Europe. I seem to have gotten out of the trip to Jordan next week, but I will be going there in May and others from my office will, for certain, be traveling there this weekend...well, for certain, if the airports in Germany and Amsterdam are open again. One hears that the volcano eruption may continue for weeks, disturbing air traffic for even longer.

So, in anticipation of some jammed planes and resultant long lines, I will try to remember the lesson I was taught recently about impatience and irritation, two emotions that generally accompany long lines, especially in connection with disrupted plane traffic. It came as a result of having to disembark from a plane that had just loaded due to a mechanical problem. The plane was destined for Phoenix, and from there I was to catch another plane to Baltimore-Washington International Airport. Everyone had to be rescheduled, and most of us were making connections that we would miss, so the line was long and slow, a couple of hours (!) slow.

A Vietnamese couple in line several people behind me kept pushing, trying to get ahead of those in front of them. “How not American,” I thought, determined to make them take their turn in good American style and sense of rightness.

There were three of them, actually, the elderly couple and a young woman, whom I assumed to be their granddaughter. They chatted away in an Asian language that I did not recognize but later learned was Vietnamese.

As they pushed forward, the elderly man actually elbowed me aside, trying to slide around me as the line began to inch around the twists and turns leading to the ticket counter. I had watched him use this maneuver to leapfrog successfully in front of about a dozen people, one at a time. Now I separated him from his wife and the young woman, and, having stood in line for close to 90 minutes already, knowing that each passing minute lowered the chances of finding a flight from Phoenix to the East Coast, I was decidedly impatient with the process and irritated with someone who felt he deserved to go first. (Of course, I did realize that this was simply his culture; he probably had no idea how Americans, who are raised to take turns, are annoyed by what was a normal jockeying for position in his own land.) Still, having spent time in countries where one must jockey for position or never make it to the counter, I was determined to hold my own place and did, continuing to separate him from the two who were with him.

Feeling uncomfortable about the whole situation, I did what extroverts always do. I struck up a conversation. The elderly couple did not speak English. However, Twi, the young woman, who, it turns out was not their granddaughter but just another line-stander, did, albeit almost unintelligibly. She spoke to the couple in Vietnamese and me in bad English and slowly a picture of each other emerged.

The elderly couple stopped pushing. The four of us were now a group and could proceed through the line together until we were separated into two groups at the ticket counter. The elderly couple took the first open ticket agent. Twi, who had asked me to interpret for her, and I took the second. It is not the first time that someone whose language I do not speak has asked me to interpret. You see, if you work with foreigners a lot, you learn how to speak broken English in a way that they can understand when they cannot understand grammatically correct and well enunciated English, and you learn how to understand what they are trying to say when they know only 1-2 words out of the dozen that they need. So, I interpreted for Twi and got her all set up for her new flight. Since she would have a 6-hour wait, she called her husband to meet for lunch. He would meet her at the baggage claim, where all our bags had been sent.

As for me, I had to go pick up my bag, as well, because my new flight was leaving from another terminal. San Jose Airport is easy to navigate, but Twi was new both to the airport and to the English language, so I offered to walk her over to the baggage claim area and get her on the right curb to meet her husband. After that, I could catch the bus to the other terminal.

As we left the ticket counter, I saw the elderly couple standing by, looking confused. They had just received their new tickets but clearly had not understood anything about what their next step should be. I looked at their tickets; they were on my flight. Twi explained to them that they would have to get their luggage and take a bus to the other terminal. They panicked until they understood that I was on their flight and would accompany them the whole way.

Having crossed the overpass, obtained our luggage, and dropped Twi at the right curb, the couple and I were ready to clamber on the shuttle bus. I stepped up first and threw my bag onto the shelving. Then, I noticed the elderly, stereotypically small, Asian man struggling to lift his bag. Equally small but a farm-raised girl with eight years of military duty under her belt, today I can lift and swing heavy suitcases much the same way as I used to life and swing bales of hay. I hopped back out and grabbed the two suitcases and swung them onto the rack.

We stayed together, minimally communicating, given the lack of a common language, until flight time. They got off first in Phoenix and were muddling through an interpretation of the airport signs when I disembarked, being rewarded with a second chance to help them.

I am sure that day I received a heaven-sent lesson: be kind, be helpful; irritation & impatience are not traits to be developed. I was given a chance to become acquainted with two people whom otherwise would have been only faces in a crowd. How interesting that once we know someone, our attitude dramatically changes for the better. As for them, they were very grateful. “Thank you” was the one American expression they did know, and they used it over and over with me. In spite of the aggravation of disrupted travel, I arrived cheerful, thanks to two people I did not know and whose language I did not speak.

Next time, when faced with long lines at the airport, as is sure to happen in the upcoming weeks, I will try to remember this lesson. I have often been the recipient of the kindness of strangers when I travel. I like it when the shoe is on the other foot, when I can be the stranger who shows kindness. At the end of the day, we are all God's children; we should work together and play together in ways that evidence that we know this to be true.