Over The Edge

This was a crazy personal challenge--rappelling down the side of a 10-story building.  I'm sure for extreme sports enthusiasts, adrenaline junkies and regular practitioners of rappelling, 10 stories would be considered the "bunny slope."  But for someone who isn't any of the above, who never so much as zipped on a zip line, who loves amusements parks but doesn't ride the rides, it was a big deal.  A really big deal.

So why did I take a big leap 'way out of my comfort zone?  There were just too many reasons not to ...  First and foremost, my Girl Scout Council asked me to.  Well, not just me, of course--hopefully all of our adult members considered it a little.  I'm a real believer in the mission and goals of the Girl Scouts of Northern New Jersey.  I've been volunteering as a leader and in a variety of other positions for about 20 years.  I've learned so much, had so many fabulous opportunities, made so many friends, that when presented with the chance to help raise some money for our programs, it wasn't a hard sell.  I'd love for more girls to get the chance to challenge themselves, make lots of new friends and participate in exciting programs while learning all about themselves.  That's why I did it.

I understood that this rappel in the hands of a professional company that does nothing but travel the country helping non profits raise money in this unique way would be safe and controlled.  I'm not really afraid of heights but I have a healthy respect for edges, cliffs and slopes.  The company, Over the Edge has a great reputation (more about them later).  It was safe; I felt good about it.  That's why I did it.

I was ready for a personal challenge.  For lots of personal reasons.  It came at the right time for me and I was ready.  That's why I did it.

I have a troop of high school girls.  This is my second troop, my first troop having graduated high school in 2009.  So I'm a middle-aged leader of some pretty exceptional young women who are all such interesting individuals and spectacular as a group.  I thought it would be good for them to know that you're never too old to try something new.  That's why I did it.

Too many reasons not to go for it so and so I did.  But first, I had to raise a minimum of $1,000.  Because first and foremost, this was a fundraiser and an ambitious one at that.  But thanks to my family and very generous friends, within a couple of months, my first goal was achieved.  It's not easy for me to ask for money, no matter how good the cause, so fundraising also became a part of my challenge.  I'm so grateful to all the people who took the time to visit my little webpage and donate.  Every donation meant the world to me and I was truly humbled by the number of people who contributed.  It was exciting to watch the total grow.

Saturday morning dawned and I followed the rules getting dressed even though it was hot day:  long pants, long sleeved shirt.  No wall burns, please!  It was a short drive to the office building in Woodland Park where the rappelling and family festival was going on.  I checked in and was whisked away to the staging area where a confident person from Over the Edge got me all suited up with harness and carabiners, helmet, gloves and walkie talkie.  There were multiple check points and the equipment was scrutinized for anything that might be amiss--nothing was; the folks from Over the Edge know what they're doing.

The elevator ride to the roof was too short!  When the doors opened we walked through some of the building's HVAC equipment and out into the brilliant sun with miles of views of the gorgeous rolling hills of northern New Jersey.  It was breathtaking.  I have no pictures of the rooftop and the astounding panorama since we weren't allowed to bring phones or cameras with us.  There were four people working with Adam, the training guy.  I watched them learning how the apparatus works while standing on the roof and then a few feet off the ground, using a ladder.  While chatting with my fellow edgers, I realized I was very early for my assigned time slot.  Without my phone I had no idea if my family and friends had arrived yet so back down I went to wait until it was closer to my time.

Back in the staging area, the first people started arriving off the wall.  They were excited and exhilarated.  There were all types of people.  Some leaders and some Girl Scout supporters, all amazing people with great stories.  One woman spoke of the brain surgery she was to have within a couple of weeks.  I mean, how could I be scared of this adventure after hearing that?  Talk about brave.  Everyone was in the spirit of the day--adventurous, daring, happy to be there.

Soon it was time to head up to the roof again.  I was in a group of four people that Adam trained.  I went last and had the hardest time.  It took me a while to understand that I didn't have to hold my weight up, that the equipment would do that for me.  But Adam was really patient and caring.  He gave me a lot of confidence.  The people ahead of me and the people behind me in line were all making the descent as pairs.  I stood there waiting my turn and realized I'd be alone on that wall.  It occurred to me that I've done a lot of "firsts" by myself these last few years.  But those adventures weren't like this one.  This one was in a league of its own.

Photo credit:  GSNNJ

Then it was my turn.  Derek got me all attached to the rope I would travel down as well as a safety rope that was the backup and also prevent me from going too fast.  That wasn't a worry for me.  I was more afraid I'd be the slowest one they'd ever seen.  Getting over the wall that edged the roof proved to be the hardest part of the whole procedure.  I have a little trouble with arthritis and stepping up on the wall backwards just wasn't happening.  My hips would not cooperate with that big step.  So Derek said I would use the "getting in the pool" method.  I sat on the wall and swung my legs over.  He sort of caught me and got me in position, all the while reassuring me that I could do this.  I really wasn't afraid.  The height didn't bother me as I was literally "hanging out" there at the top.  It was more that I was worried I wouldn't remember all the things they'd so briefly taught me, that I wouldn't remember how to unlock the safety apparatus if it locked up, that I was by myself out there.  I kept asking Derek his name.  I'm really bad with names but I wanted to remember him.  Just before I started down, Derek said "You're why I really love my job."  I knew he meant he liked helping people get outside of their own boxes, facing a fear or achieving a goal.  Or, in my case, all of the above.

As I started my descent, another person from the Over the Edge team leaned over [the edge] and said "You're going to encounter some level changes as you go; it's okay."  What?  Well, it turned out the building was exactly straight.  The architecture had pockets for the windows.  Deep pockets.  Even though I wasn't on the "window" route the spaces between the windows, the route that I was traveling, were indented and angled so that each floor had a challenge I hadn't expected.  I'd thought I'd just walk down.  Like spiderman.  But I'd release the gadget (I'm sure there's a fancy rappelling term for that thing) that allowed me to travel down the rope with my feet against the wall and then the wall would disappear and I'd be bouncing around in the air.  I figured out how to grab the ledges with my toes and get stabilized on the wall again.  So there I was releasing myself down the rope, bouncing around my route on the wall and  wondering how the heck I'd gotten myself into this position in the first place.  I could hear people calling my name but little else.  I think someone was giving me instructions through the walkie but I couldn't make them out.  I was wearing a GoPro camera on my helmet but I didn't look around.  It took all my concentration to remember how to do what I was doing and limit my bouncing on the uneven wall.

Eventually I could tell I was getting close to the bottom.  I couldn't see it.  Because I really, really didn't take my eyes off that wall.  But the concrete of the top nine floors turned to brick when I hit the first floor and I soon felt someone holding on to help me find the solid ground again.  I turned around to see my son running over and got a big hug while they unhooked me.  More hugs and some official pictures for the Council and then I went back to the staging area to return the gear.  I was shaking.  I'm not sure why.  I really wasn't scared.  Honestly.  I knew how safe and controlled it was.  I can't say it was physically demanding because the harness did all the work of holding me up.  So it wasn't that.  I guess I was just relieved.  And happy.  A doctor came over and nonchalantly took my pulse, as if I wasn't paying attention.  He urged me to sit down and have some water.  And my friends who work for GSNNJ made sure that I did.  They thought of everything to make sure this was a safe process for everyone.

A bottle of water a cookie and a bagel later, I was feeling better but was still shaking.  I'm not exactly sure when I stopped but it was a while.  I was so grateful that my son and his girlfriend and my best friend were there.  I may have made the trip down the wall by myself but there were people waiting for me when I reached the destination.  And that's always a great feeling after a hard journey.

Everyone has been asking me if I'd do it again.  My initial reaction was a solid no.  It wasn't easy for me ... not the fundraising nor the rappel.  But a lot of worthwhile things aren't easy.  And this was so worthwhile.  I actually think I would do it again.  Now that I understand the engineering behind the gear, now that I trust how the whole thing really works, I'd like to do it again.  I'll look around.  I'll try to relax.  I think I'll enjoy the journey more the next time.

Photo credit:  GSNNJ

I want to send massive amounts of thanks to my friends at Girl Scouts of Northern New Jersey for providing yet another opportunity to try something new.  Thank you to the staff from Over the Edge who were phenomenal.  My family and friends who supported the GSNNJ fundraiser and me blew me away.  I can't really properly express how much that meant to me.

Photo credit:  GSNNJ

Of Snowballs

See that snow-covered little tree next to the already white arbor?  That's my favorite plant.  That's why it's next to the back gate.  It's my personal welcome home every day and the last thing I see whenever I leave.  It's hard to see in this picture, between the snow, the fence and the trees across the street.  But trust me, it's special.  And what is it, you might be asking.  I'll tell you.

It's Viburnum Macrocephalum.  It's a deciduous shrub (in my area) that can grow to ten feet.  It doesn't mind shade and it blooms in the spring.  The viburnum family is pretty large and I like a lot of them.  I have two others, which I also am terribly fond of, but this one, Macrocephalum, is my favorite.

Common name:  Chinese Snowball.

Chinese because it is a native of China.  Snowball because in the spring, it is covered in bright white 8-inch round clusters of florets.

While out shoveling (yet again) today, I was struck by the humor or perhaps, irony, of my snowball bush up to its midsection in snow.  In a more typical March, I'd soon be noticing that the flower buds, that had already formed last year, beginning to swell, change color from dark to pale green to bright white.  It's stunning in full bloom.  I've actually had people come up to me when I'm out working in the garden to talk about it, admire it, ask for cuttings to take home.  Even though they aren't a suitable cut flower and it kills me to do it, I do share.  It's nice.  Someone knocked on my door once to tell me how much she loved seeing my Snowball in bloom--it reminded her of her grandmother's house.

An aside ... this is one of the benefits of living "downtown" and close to the street ... people interactions and chance conversations.

There was a Snowball in my Mom's garden at our first house in Windsor.  It was in a corner of the perennial borders that outlined our backyard.  Because it's such a large shrub with more of a tree-like shape to it, I remember I used to squeeze in behind it, hiding out (or so I thought) between the branches and the fence.  It was my little hiding spot.  In the spring, when the air is slightly damp and heady with all sorts of fragrances from spring blooms to fresh mulch, there was nowhere else I'd rather be than out in our backyard.  I remember once as my Mom was making her way around the garden doing the constant chores that all gardeners are familiar with, she shook the branches and the Snowball actually "snowed" its flowers down all around and on me.  It was entrancing ... magical.

My grandmother (from whom, I suspect, both my mom and I inherited our gardening genes) had a Snowball also.  She had a really large yard compared to her neighbors' yards and it was filled with roses, hydrangeas, vegetables and two cherry trees.  She also had a real "little house" in her backyard but that's a story for another time.  The snowball was in a side bed and somewhat overshadowed by the large old cherry trees.  Her well-established and carefully tended garden had that effortless look of having been there for ages.  My mom's place has that look too.  And maybe mine will too, one day.  It has pretty good bones.

I know this seemingly never-ending winter will, indeed, actually end one day soon.  And things will turn green again.  I will see the grass that has been hidden since early January.  And my Snowball will bloom along with the other viburnums and azaleas and peonies and daffodils and tulips and irises.  It's just a little hard to picture it today.  But I do have these to help me:

Viburnum Macrocephalum, May 24, 2014

Snowball "snow," June 4, 2014

Rink

For John.

I was a French major in college.  I was also a Music major.  I don't recommend double majoring to anyone; I'm not sure I got really good at either thing.  That's a story for another time ... And I digress.  Again.

One of the classics we read, of course, was Marcel Proust's À la recherche du temps perdu, or In Search of Lost Time.  It's not the easiest book to tackle in English, let alone in French.  I'm pretty sure there were Cliff Notes involved back then.  About the only thing I remember is the iconic passage of the book, that sets the stage for the rest of the storytelling, when the narrator indulges in the simple act of enjoying a madeleine (a cake-like cookie) and tea.  This prompts a flood of memories that unfold in the rest of the book.  Or something like that.  The madeleine was the trigger for a cascade of memories for him.


It was Saturday and I went for a walk in the cold but brilliant afternoon.  It was really a beautiful day and I opted for a slightly longer route than I'd been doing lately.  I headed over to Cedar Lake.  As the road turned toward the water, I could see boys skating behind the houses.  One sat on a dock, donning his skates.  There were nets and hockey sticks.  That was my "madeleine."

I grew up in Canada in a typical post-war subdivision neighborhood of mostly small ranch houses.  They were good times with lots of children and our most immediate neighbors were all families with similarly aged kids.  We grew up together until my family moved to New Jersey.  We played complicated games outside, using our imaginations to act out stories and we had lots of traditional outdoor toys.  We'd jump rope for hours.  There was a cherry tree in our back yard and in the summer, we'd move the jungle gym to beneath it and sit up high and eat enough cherries to spoil our dinners.  And in the winter, we skated.

It would have to snow enough and stay cold enough but if the conditions were right, our parents would bank up the snow in our backyards and use the hose to spray the area.  It took several night of spraying to build up ice thick enough to skate on.  

As I walked along with my thoughts shooting back over the decades, I came upon another space on the ice, cleared for skating.  I would pass by several more on my long walk through the lake.  It occurred to me how easy these parents had it.  The lakes here in town are small.  Many are man-made so not very deep.  They freeze pretty well all the way across.  We threw a fun skating party one New Year's Day when my ex-husband and I lived on one of them, many moons ago, before kids.  When the conditions are right, the ice is smooth and glassy without the need for hoses.

Now I wonder ... how did our parents stand out there, in the freezing cold, many nights in a row tending to those little rinks.  Because after a half a dozen or so kids skate on the little ovals, they'd need to sprayed down again.  No such thing as a backyard Zamboni.  Just dads in boots and hats with the hose in their gloved hands.  I think my mom took a lot of those shifts too and I'm sure it was she who shoveled the lawn into the shape of an ice rink and banked up the sides while my dad was at work.

I walked along, remembering all the fun we had.  I can recall playing "crack the whip" with the strongest skater at the front of the line, pulling the rest of us behind.  He'd take a sudden, sharp turn and we'd all let go and let the force of the turn send us flying across the ice.  There must have been some hockey going on but I can't picture it.  But hockey was played year 'round, ice or no ice, so there must have been.

Our parents took turns hosting these skating evenings.  That way, the ice that wasn't being used could be undergoing the respraying process.  The moms would make pitchers and pitchers of hot chocolate.  They would sit together in conversation, watching us whirl around.  I'm sure we must have been out there on school nights.  You wouldn't know how long the ice would last.  A huge snowfall or a couple warmish days in a row would doom your smooth sheets of  glassiness to pocked and cracked messes that were really impossible to bring back to their former usefulness.   You had to skate while the skating was good.

I bet we were actually not out there all that long--especially if it was a school night.  Our moms bundled us up to the enth degree, laced up our skates tightly, put mittens over mittens and tied our scarves in the back.  Then they'd make the hot chocolate.  It seems in my childhood memories as if we were out under the stars for a long time.  But I bet it was only an hour (or maybe even less).  What a lot of work it must have been for our folks.  

How idyllic were those winters ... Where I lived in southern Ontario, there could be a lot of snow ... or not.  My lakes (Erie and St. Clair) didn't really freeze--maybe in patches along the shoreline.  But those are lakes.  Real lakes.  The Detroit River used to freeze all the way across back when my parents were children.  That was before the river was deepened for the freighters that carry every sort of cargo you can imagine from Lake Superior all the way out through the St. Lawrence River.  I remember skating to school on one day after it rained and froze over the snow.  We skated there in the morning but walked home for lunch after the sun warmed up the lawns.  

There was no such thing as a "snow day."  We went to school in every kind of weather.  One year, there was so much snow on the roof of the gym that it collapsed under the weight.  No one was in it at the time, thank goodness.  But no one closed the school either.  We didn't have gym class while we waited for the repairs to be made.  We just went along with whatever the weather dealt us.

All these thoughts came rushing up from some deep well as I walked along under the brilliant blue sky.  How lucky we were ... simpler times with simple pleasures that our parents made happen.  We were blissfully secure in our neighborhood of families who were up for hours of frozen fun in the winter and porch sitting and catching fire flies in the summer.  Talk about being privileged.  It was pretty close to perfect.

The ice.  Those rinks.  Madeleines. 

O.P.

O.P.  On Program.

That what they called it when I attended Weight Watchers meetings during this slow journey (with ever so many detours) back to healthy living.  On Program.  Working the Program.  In other words, following the guidelines, journaling your food and exercise, making good decisions and being accountable for what you eat.

 O.P.

It also mean Off Program.

So essentially I've been O.P. or  O.P. for about 10 years, I think.  I lost 40 pounds the first go 'round on program.  I can't recall now what caused me to go off program but in the ensuing 5 years or so I'd go back On and Off and lose a few, gain a lot.  Classic.  Then I put myself in the care of a bariatric doctor but that involved shakes twice a day which didn't work for me at all--I need real food--plus she was quite ... well, mean.  Eventually I went back to WW but when my preferred meeting shut down and I'd heard everything they teach for the third time, I switched over to the electronic version where I've been either O.P. or O.P. for the last five years.  And yes, you still pay even when you don't attend meetings.  You're still getting the program.

In 2014 I struggled to stay on program.  Having been within 7 pounds of my goal (read: having lost over 100 pounds), a variety of circumstances (read: excuses) caused me to gain about half of that back, most in the last six months.  You see, intellectually I know how to work the program to stay on program and I'm really, really good at it when I'm on.  But when I'm off, I revert to the excuse-making, fast food junkie that let herself go in the first, second and third places.

It's hard to stay On Program.  I'm pretty busy ... cooking for one isn't always fun ... a bunch of arthritis crept in my joints, seemingly overnight, making exercise shaky.  Then there's stress.  I'm one of those people who can revert to "eating" or "feeding" the stress in a nano second.   I understand all my triggers; I know how I feel when living O.P., either way:  sluggish, depressed, temporarily fed or energetic, light-hearted and fully fed.  And both are choices.

The key is choosing.

And so, like many of you, this new year month of January, I'm choosing to live On Program again.  And, as I've experienced before, it's already working.  I'm as determined or more as I've ever been.  I wish I knew for sure whether I'm going to be able to go all the way this time.  I don't.  Just as with other addictions, the only thing I can do is take each day, one at a time.  But if I keep that in mind, that the only thing I have to do each day is stay On Program for that day or that meal, it seems doable.  Measurable goals.  Small steps.  Realizing that this continual struggle of my adulthood is likely to be life-long feels insurmountable; but recognizing that I don't have to deal with anything other than the day (or meal) before me makes the struggle somehow, not easier really, but less scary.

So, if, like me, you're resolving to get be your best self this year, I wish all success for you; be gentle with yourself and realize that every subsequent choice is a chance to get it right, whatever that means for you.  We've got this.  One day, one meal, at a time.

~~~

My go-to On Program playlist (because I couldn't do this without music):

Gavin DeGraw - Everything Will Change
Sara Bareilles - Brave
NKOTB - Remix (I Like The) ... don't judge me ... she owns it in this video and I love that.
Andry Grammer - Lunatic

Weight Watchers.  Your own real food, not out of a box or packet.  Check eTools here.

New Year With Friends

So ... sometimes rhymes just pop into my head ... almost always they have a Seuss-like cadence to them.  Or maybe it's Hallmarkish?

For those for whom I had addresses, I sent this in a card.  But I wanted to share it with all my new friends ... Happy new year; I'm so glad we've met.  You all know who you are.  And if this expresses a sentiment you can identify with and we've not yet connected, I hope we do some day.  Soon.

On Making New Friends

The year comes to a close,

I don’t want it to end.

So many memories,

So many friends.

We’ve loved all the music

From Cape Cod to Cali

And points in between;

Too many to tally.

It’s Gavin we know

Who brings us together

In long lines and front rows

In all kinds of weather.

I treasure you all

And the times that we’ve had

Whether in person, on twitter

On facebook, IG just a tad.

I wish you health and happiness

In the year just ahead.

I wish us all music,

I wish our souls fed.

I thank Gavin DeGraw,

His band and his crew.

I’m forever grateful;

Through him, I’ve met you.

Lessons, Carols and More Lessons

There is a beautiful traditional in churches that associate as members of the Anglican Communion (in my case, the Episcopal church).  It is a once-a-year service known as Lessons and Carols.

It's not old as Anglican Services go, having been first offered in 1880 on Christmas Eve by the then Bishop of Truro (who'd later become the Archbishop of Canterbury).  But the most famous Lessons and Carols are offered today, still on Christmas Eve, by King's College in Cambridge (England).  The College first held Lessons and Carols in 1918 and began broadcasting the service throughout the world in 1928.  The Dean of the Cathedral in 1918 was Eric Milner-White.  He'd been an army chaplain and thought that the Church of England could use some "more imaginative worship."  It was King's College that first began opening the service with the iconic "Once in Royal David's City."

The altar at St. Peter's.

My church's celebration of Lessons and Carols is deeply rooted in this standard.  This year's service, however, was truly an amazing gift to our community and, I believe, filled everyone in attendance with a hopefulness and sense of peace that can only come from an acceptance and understanding of how grace has moved through time.  It is, after all, a celebration of grace.

At first I was a bit put off by the date ... December 20.  Although I've previously blogged how I'm perfectly comfortable these days with the blurring of Advent and Christmas seasons in my life, I'd rather expected my church (St. Peter's Episcopal Church, Morristown, NJ) to hold more strictly to the calendar.  At St. Peter's we'd traditionally done these Lessons and Carols on the first Sunday after Christmas Day, usually a couple of days into the short Christmas season.  Of course, it was not well attended, people being either exhausted from the hustle and bustle of the times, traveling to visit friends and relatives or simply, "churched out."  When I finally arrived in the Narthex of our beautiful building after a stressful hunt for parking in downtown Morristown where the restaurants were overflowing and the Nutcracker was being performed across the street, I was amazed and thrilled to find the Nave full of worshippers.  The choir had already begun the first Carol and was in procession, lighting the candles of the congregation as they passed by each pew.  The dimmed lights, dark red poinsettias everywhere and incense that floated through the air all combined to set the stage for the deep and holy mystery that is the story of God's saving grace in salvation.  And I was completely over my hesitation in the choice of dates ....

Another tradition that, over the years, has attached itself to Lessons and Carols is the choice of asking members of the parish staff to read the lessons (we did seven this year).  I was told by a past organist this was regularly done in English churches.  I was always thrilled to read, when I was on staff.  Because I was late (due to the aforementioned parking problems), I didn't see the beautiful procession down the aisle which included the people who were slated to read the lessons we would hear.  When I flipped to the back of my service leaflet, I was amazed to see the names of representatives from all ranks of leadership in our community.  The Reverend Janet Broderick had invited the Mayor, a congressman, a state senator, a school principal and clergy from neighboring churches of different denominations.  How wonderful, I thought.  Here is a living example of how people in the community can come together, despite their differing ideologies and paths in life, to create something of profound beauty.  It's no secret I've lately been pretty disillusioned by people with power and the opportunity to make decisions that affect us all.  I felt a little ray of hope begin to swell at the symbolism of the guests.

After that first hymn in procession and a few prayers, the alternating of carols and lessons began.  Some were anthems sung by our outstanding choir made up of both young children and adults.  Some were carols that were sung by all with soaring descants contributed by the choir.  I've listed the music and the lessons below if you're interested in knowing what exactly was sung and read.

After the fourth lesson, after Jesus had been born again in a manger, we knelt and sang Silent Night by candlelight.  We actually do this every Christmas Eve too.  In the stillness and hush of the darkened church, this simple song and the simple act of kneeling cause me to catch my breath every time.  " ... love's pure light ..."; " ... with the dawn of redeeming grace ..."  It's impossible not to realize how very blessed we are.

Lesson after lesson we heard again about that grace:  that love that came down at Christmas; that love, all lovely; that love, divine.*  The musical choices were spot on; our Director of Music, Joshua Stafford has a gift for choosing the right piece for each moment.  Our choir is made up of very talented musicians, some professional and some for whom this is their contribution to our ministry.  The children, under Josh, are sounding terrific.  These children are getting a brilliant music education and the opportunity to sing some challenging and important works at a very young age.  My own two children passed through this program years ago.  It was a very formative part of their childhoods and gave them many opportunities to be of service to our church and the wider community.  They traveled up and down the East Coast, to Canada and the United Kingdom.  They speak of their experiences in choir often and with great love.

The service moves through the story of Christ's birth until finally we come to the concluding lesson from John ... "In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God."  It concludes by telling us the Word was born a man and lived among us, "... full of grace and truth."  Grace and truth.  As Janet would say, this is an astounding gift.

I think I floated out of the church on a wave of goodwill and anticipation.  I felt hopeful and at peace.  My mom and I drove back to her house chatting excitedly about the service.  

And then we were struck with another lesson.  We'd barely walked through the door when my brother, home for the holidays announced that two police officers had been shot at point blank range in Brooklyn, New York.  All the joy and euphoria from having been so uplifted, so filled with grace was immediately dashed by this stark truth:  there is evil in the world and we haven't banished it yet.  Details were sketchy at that point but over the next day we learned along with everyone else that he was a man with a police record a mile long and the desire to commit a purely heinous act.  He took his own life as well so there will always be unanswered questions with only detective work and best guesses to fill in the blanks.  There are bigger questions too.  Like why he was allowed to own a gun.  Shouldn't his arrest record have precluded his purchasing a firearm?  The answer seems rather obvious to me and I wonder why it isn't to those with the power to prevent (or at least know they tried to) tragedies like this.

Such a tragic last lesson of the night and a grim reminder of the harsh reality that despite the grace and truth that came to show us all a better path through life, we continue to reject the gift every time we strike out against a fellow human being whether it is with words or weapons, each time we don't acknowledge the poverty and pain we could alleviate if we could learn to work together.  

But for me there was a saving grace ... I was able to relive much of the promise of Lessons and Carols on Christmas Eve when the age-old story was repeated once again (with more brilliant music, I might add).  Perhaps if we keep revisiting that story and other stories that point us on whatever path to truth we choose to walk, one day we'll wake up to a world like Longfellow yearned for when he wrote:

Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:
"God is not dead nor doth He sleep;
The wrong shall fail; the right prevail,
With peace on earth good will to men."**

~~~~~~

Christmas Lessons and Carols, December 20, 2014
St. Peter's Episcopal Church, Morristown, New Jersey

Carol:  Once In Royal David's City
Anthem:  What sweeter musick (William Bradley Roberts, Robert Herrick)
The First Lesson from Genesis in which God announces that the seed of woman shall bruise the serpent's head.
Anthem:  Adam lay ybounden (Carson Cooman)
The Second Lesson from Isaiah in which the peace that Christ will bring is foreshown.
Anthem:  Lo, how a Rose e're blooming (Dale Adelmann)
The Third Lesson from Luke in which the angel Gabriel visits the Virgin Mary.
Carol:  Ye who claim the faith of Jesus
Anthem:  Tell Out My Soul (David Hurd, Timothy Dudley Smith)
The Fourth Lesson from Luke in which Jesus is born.
Anthem:  As I walked down the road at set of sun (Michael Head, Margaret Rose)
Carol:  Silent Night
The Fifth Lesson from Luke in which the shepherds go to the manger.
Carol:  While Shepherds Watched Their Flocks by Night
Anthem:  In the bleak mid-winter (Harold Darke, Christina Rossetti)
The Sixth Lesson from Matthew in which the wise men are led by a star.
Anthem:  A babe is born all of a may (William Mathias)
Carol:  We Three Kings
The Seventh Lesson from John in which he unfolds the great mystery of the Incarnation
Carol:  O Come, All Ye Faithful
Carol:  Hark the Herald Angels Sing


*Love Came Down At Christmas
~ Christina Rossetti, 1885

Love came down at Christmas,
Love all lovely, Love Divine,
Love was born at Christmas,
Star and Angels gave the sign.

Worship we the Godhead,
Love Incarnate, Love Divine,
Worship we our Jesus,
But wherewith for sacred sign?

Love shall be our token,
Love shall be yours and love be mine,
Love to God and all men,
Love for plea and gift and sign.

** I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day
William Wadsworth Longfellow, Christmas Day 1863 

I heard the bells on Christmas Day

Their old, familiar carols play,

and wild and sweet

The words repeat

Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

And thought how, as the day had come,
The belfries of all Christendom

Had rolled along

The unbroken song

Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

Till ringing, singing on its way,
The world revolved from night to day,

A voice, a chime,

A chant sublime

Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

Then from each black, accursed mouth
The cannon thundered in the South,

And with the sound

The carols drowned

Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

It was as if an earthquake rent
The hearth-stones of a continent,

And made forlorn

The households born

Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

And in despair I bowed my head;
"There is no peace on earth," I said;

"For hate is strong,

And mocks the song

Of peace on earth, good-will to men!"

Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:
"God is not dead, nor doth He sleep;

The Wrong shall fail,

The Right prevail,

With peace on earth, good-will to men."

St. Peter's Church
At the corner of South Street and Miller Road in Morristown.

Concert Diaries: The Holiday Chapter

I'm big on measuring the passage of time by the seasons and I don't necessarily mean spring, summer, fall, winter.  In my head I still see things through that liturgical seasonal lens that became ingrained in me when I directed children's programming at a church.  Those seasons are what many people call holidays along with those segments of time that connect them.  That lens is layered with my personal seasons ... the season of youth, of marrying, divorcing, single parenting, this season of finding my life and enjoying  it.

The "holiday" season, or for me, Advent/Christmas has so many aspects that are important to me and help to both punctuate the year and open the next chapter that I consider it the most important time in my life.  Years ago Advent would have been filled with children's activities at church with the obligatory culminating Christmas pageant.  Christmas was completely family time with people gathering from several corners of the world.

A couple of years ago my life became more completely my own (grown children don't need me as much these days and I have one job instead of two).  I discovered the extraordinary musician, Gavin DeGraw and a whole new world opened up.  I've written about it many times in this space.  The music provided the impetus I needed to get on the path to healthier (in every sense) living.  His songs enabled me to dream again.  And the connections I made with other fans have enriched my life in innumerable ways.

Each of the last three years I've seen Gavin perform at least twice in December.  A headlining show, every year at The Paramount Theater in Huntington, Long Island and one or two radio shows whether in New York or elsewhere like Connecticut or Massachusetts.  Each of these shows have been shared with the friends I've made at concerts or through Twitter.  "The Paramount shows," as we call them, in particular attract fans from far and wide and feel like some sort of annual gathering of the clan as we meet up in New York, take pictures with "the tree" (Rockefeller Center's famous icon), eat, drink and make merry.  Then we all head out to Long Island and stand in line for hours and hours in order to get to the coveted front row.

This year a few of my friends are staying with me for a 4-day round of music and merry-making.  Our agenda for Wednesday through Saturday consists of seeing Gavin DeGraw at the Beacon Theater on Wednesday night (one of several guests at Fresh 102.7's Holiday Jam), the annual gathering at the the Paramount Theater on Long Island on Thursday, a little R&R on Friday and a day in the the City on Saturday with an Ernie Halter show at the Rockwood Music Hall on Saturday.

Brenda and I drive into New York around noonish on Wednesday.  Phyllis and Victoria will meet us closer to showtime.  It's a rainy slushy yucky sort of day and I'm immediately thrown off when there is no parking at Port Authority.  Finding parking in New York on matinee day in December wasn't something that I'd figured into the plan but after a couple (panicky) trips around several blocks we happened on a 24-hour lot (which turned out to be a wonderful thing--more later) not too far away, still in midtown.

We make our way to Bryant Park, our third Christmastime visit there and head for Celsius, the pop-up restaurant that has returned to our great delight.  Delicious lunch followed by shopping and then a walk up Fifth Avenue to Rockefeller Center help pass the afternoon until concert time.  We visit St. Patrick's Cathedral and Grand Central Station before walking back to Port Authority to pick up Victoria.  Hailing a cab proved a nightmare but eventually we managed to get our ride uptown to the beautiful Beacon Theater.  A quick dinner and then time to head over to the show.  We met up with Teri and Jen, two more of our friends from out of town.  Phyllis arrives just in time.

Brenda and I have seats in the balconey for this show.  Usually we're much closer but this allowed us a different perspective and was a good way to appreciate the lovely interior of the Beacon.  American Authors was the first band to play and I thought they were fantastic.  High energy and incorporating some drum circle aspects, they were entertaining while their musicality was impressive.  Echosmith sang next.  Four really young siblings with a hit single currently playing on radio, I was less excited about seeing them--until they brought Train's Pat Monahan out to join them for a song.

Not used to being this far away...

Gavin DeGraw performed third.  Thank goodness all around me finally got on their feet.  It's impossible for me sit when Gavin is on stage.  Even for a shorter set like these radio shows often turn out to be--the energy is high and I cannot remain still.  As expected, he was lovely as always and gave us the perfect mix of newer songs and his greatest hits.  Having not seen him since August, I could feel his unique voice replenishing whatever that tank is that I have acquired that depends on him for the special fuel that gets me through ... everything.  It was over too fast--much too fast.

Joey DeGraw, The Bitter End

We'd found out a day or two earlier that Gavin's brother Joey DeGraw was going to perform again at The Bitter End tonight.  So we bailed out of the rest of the show (Daughtry--oh well--and Train--that was a hard decision) to head down to the Village for Joey.  We were joined by our friend Kim and Jen and Teri opted out of the radio show too.  Joey's set was comprised of many of my favorites from his catalog and a surprise guest--Chris Barron of the Spin Doctors.  We stayed until closing, chatting with the performers afterwards for a while.

It was after 1 AM when we retrieved the car and nearly 3:30 when we got back home.  Snacking and a drink while we talked over the evening and then some sleep just as the sun was rising.  And then we set out to do it all again.

The trip to Long Island should have taken about an hour and a half but we met a delay of about an hour due to an accident.  I'm a planner and I get stressed when the plan doesn't work according to plan ... The Paramount is not a seated show so to insure front row you need to line up early.  Each year we've been getting there earlier and earlier.  I needn't have worried--there were only five people in front of us when we got there--with about five hours of waiting ahead of us; five really cold hours.  The oddest thing about this annual frigid feet experience is that although we're completely frozen by the time the doors open, we pass the time so amiably in line (this year nearly 5 hours) ... catching up with each other and making new friends, taking pictures and going for food ... it goes by really quickly.  At least it does for me.  Jen and Teri are already there.  Soon we were joined by more fan friends from Long Island, New Jersey and Pennsylvania.  There we were from Denver to Buffalo to Long Island--this year's gathering at the Paramount.

The Paramount is a pretty small venue actually.  But when the doors open, there is still territory to be covered and territory to be claimed.  Once inside, there is the bottleneck while we are bracelet-ed by venue staff.  Then a race up the stairs on either the right or the left.  This is where you need to know where you want to land in front of the stage.  Right stairs to land on the bass/drums side.  Left stairs to be near the guitarist and keys.  A lucky few will land right in the middle (like I did last year).  This year I'm on the right, the James side, as we say.

Having attained the coveted front row--all of us--we settled in for the last hour of waiting.  The opening act was Gavin's brother Joey who we'd just seen the previous night.  He and his band sounded even better in this bigger venue.  The set was tight and exciting and too short.  I'd have loved more.  I think everyone would have--the audience was very appreciative of his talent.

I love being this close (i.e., nothing between me and the stage) for Gavin's shows.  You cannot see the whole band altogether this way; that's the trade-off.  But the immediacy and the ability to close out the rest of the room and become totally immersed in the moment and the music is more than worth it.  Gavin covers the whole stage when he performs and doesn't stay in one place too long--except for at his his piano.  We are all this close tonight ... spread across the front of the stage.

From the opening Leading Man through all of his biggest hits and more recent tunes like Heartbreak and Finest Hour, it was an evening of music that we love like no other.  Unlike last year, the crowd was mostly respectful; there was no pushing around us, no (well, not much) screaming in our ears.  It was a joy to hear the reprise of U2's Where the Streets Have No Name that leads into Everything Will Change.  He gives such an emotionally charged performance of each of these and Everything Will Change has meant so much to me so it's always a thrill to hear it live.  I remember being in the audience the first time he sang it for "out" for the first time--another magical day.  He brought back Who's Gonna Save Us too.  Another beautiful song that gives me a chill every time I see him perform it.  The encores tonight were the newest single, Fire, and as always, Not Over You.  Not over yet--that's what I was thinking.  Please don't let this be over yet.

Michael Baker - high energy.

But it was.  We hung around for a while, chatting with the friends we knew we wouldn't be seeing for a while.  There were a couple of group photos and then down the street for a drink.  We didn't linger too long at the bar and soon were on the road for home.  It was yet another late night.  We dropped Victoria off at her house since she had to work later that day.  I think we got home around 2 or 3 AM after fruitlessly searching my neighborhood for an all-night diner.  There are 5 within minutes of my house and not one was open.  We settled for Dunkin Donuts egg sandwiches--not quite the same but we hadn't eaten since 2 PM so we settled.

Friday was time for some much needed R&R.  Sleeping in, a little mall madness, driving around to see the local crazy light shows and a Christmas movie filled the day.  Good times and laughter in abundance made for some lovely memories.  Again, I'm acutely aware of these blessings in the form of friendships that have come my way through Gavin DeGraw and his music.

Santas at the ATM

Carousel, Bryant Park

On Saturday we headed back into New York, this time by bus.  We met Victoria at Port Authority and headed over to Macy's to see the windows.  It was the day of the annual "Santa Con" in the City.  All types and manner of Santas and elves filled Manhattan.  We saw hundreds.  The windows at Macy's were lovely as was the lunch we had.  There was a 3-hour wait to see the real Santa Claus so we opted out of that experience and headed back to Bryant Park to walk around.  We enjoyed the best hot chocolate that I'd ever experienced before heading up to Rockefeller Center for a look at the tree.  It's glorious in the evening light and we lingered there in the massive crowd for a long time.  The rink was crowded with skaters including a couple who shared a special moment with the world when the young man got down on one knee in the center of the ice.  There was a loud cheer as she apparently said yes. We wandered through midtown a little longer before returning Victoria to the bus.

Ernie Halter at the Rockwood
(Photo courtesy of Brenda Emerson)

Phyllis and Brenda and I had tickets to see Ernie Halter on the lower east side at the Rockwood Music Hall.  We finally found our diner opportunity at the corner of Houston and Allen where the food was wonderful.  Ernie was at Stage 3 of the Rockwood (my least favorite room there) but he was his usual honest, earnest self, bouncing between songs he'd planned to sing and taking requests from the audience.  More friends from my twitter circle were there and it was so nice to see them in person.  It was another fun night of live music in the company of good friends.  Perfect combination.

It was hard to say good bye on Sunday as real life and reality began to creep back in.  Our brief New York music vacation was over.  It had been four days of reminiscing over past concerts, renewing friendships and strengthening others, great food and the best music we know.  The backdrop of New York at Christmas made it seem like a dream.  And I will dream of it again ... until next year.

Set List, Paramount 2014