Renewed

Some people may well think I am crazy to say that by going to El Salvador, I come back renewed, but that is always the case. Even though I may come back tired (and with a cold, thanks to flying), I am energised from the culture, the music, the food and, most of all, the people. This trip was no different from others.

Sunday the 18th, the bishop of El Salvador and I concelebrated at a congregation who was celebrating its patronal feast day of Saint Joseph. The following Sunday, I presided at the Eucharist in the small chapel in the diocesan office building. It was so restorative to be able to be a priest again in community after this long desert time.

I led a day-long Lenten retreat for the clergy and a half-day conference on Holy Week for the laity, participated in an interfaith event to commemorate Msr Oscar Romero, walked in the candlelight procession down Avenida Roosevelt from Salvador del Mundo to El Rosario (since Catedral has been occupied since 10 January with no sign of the occupiers leaving) and visited and met with my Salvadoran sisters and brothers.

One never knows whom one will meet... in this case, Gaspar Romero, Oscar Romero's brother, who spoke at an event sponsored by the Attorney General's Office on Human Rights.

Down memory lane

Well, since I referenced my trip across the Atlantic on the QE2 and since the album of photos I took happens to be out, I snagged some shots. They are not high quality partially because the originals are not and partly because I took them with my iPhone. But they will give an idea of what it was to sail across the sea in 1977.

Comme j'étais jeune... this was the telegram that announced I had been booked passage on the ship for the student fare.

Blurry shot of the QE2, looking miniscule compared to the recent shipwrecked liner.

View of the QE2 before embarking (somewhere between 34-45th Streets, NYC).

The former WTC as we left NY harbor on 1 September 1977.

Looking toward Hoboken.

Our cabin somewhere way below. It was on the outside of the ship so we did have a porthole.

This photo makes the cabin look bigger than it was... but it was perfectly adequate for two people.

Above deck on the one sunny day.

Hoowhee, look at that exhaust.

Looking at the stern.

Somewhere inside...!

Our dinner table (we were assigned a table and ate with the same people every night). As you can see, this trip catered to the 20-something crowd.

Meanwhile, outside... this had to have been our safety drill. I do remember the watertight doors shutting behind us as we went to our muster station.

One of the better moments at sea when it was not pouring rain or going sideways.

I would go out just for the sake of going out, even though it was wet. I felt like some Hollywood movie star in this film of crossing the ocean to new adventures... and that is where the James Taylor song would come into play.

Tugboats greeted us as we approached Cherbourg, France.

All of a sudden, after five days at sea, we had disembarked and now were standing in France. My sea-legs stuck with me for several days; I was more dizzy on land than at sea.

Looking back at the good ship that had safely carried us across the Atlantic.

Last view of the QE2 before descending into la gare, and chaos.

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Surely it is because of this trip that I so appreciated working at the Seamen's Church Institute and visiting seafarers. They are the unsung heros in all this; cruise lines tend to treat seafarers as indentured slaves — I did not know that at the time but came to learn of it when I worked at SCI. I have far greater appreciation and respect for the stewards and cabin attendants than I did at the time.

So prayers for those who lost their lives while at work on the Costa Concordia.

Au sujet des naufrages

I have been trying to figure out why the Costa Concordia shipwreck has grabbed my attention so. It has to be more than disaster porn... finally, tonight I got it (I think).

In September 1977 two college classmates and I crossed the Atlantic on the QE2. Cunard wisely had a sale on fares for college-age students and so the ship was packed with 20-somethings, many of whom, myself included, were going to 'spend a year abroad'. What better way to get my grandmother's trunk from her cruises across the ocean for $400 than to take the QE2. Since my mother's mother had travelled the seas, I figured I could, too. Likewise, my French teacher's father had worked on the United States and she talked about crossing the sea many times, so seeing the seas intrigued me.

We left on 1 September 1977 at about 6.00 PM. Back in those days, it was saying goodbye to one's family for a year and so I left my parents, said grandmother and college friend at the quai. I had chosen the QE2 because my cousins crossed the Atlantic on one of its early trips in August 1970 when they were moving to the Netherlands. As we steamed out of New York, with the sun setting, we passed the newly-finished Twin Towers.

Our first night at sea was gentle; it was probably about four hours into the voyage that we no longer could see the shore. And, like the folks on the Costa Concordia, we had a late dinner and then went above deck to take it all in. Bedtime had us waaaay down; I don't remember what deck it was but a far way from the fancy parts of the ship.

The rest of the crossing was rough, very rough. It was September, after all, when there are many storms on the Atlantic. On top of it all, something was awry with the stabilisers so the ship yawed ever more than it should have.

We had our lifeboat drill the morning after we got on board when it was still sunny out. [Maybe my memory is faulty here and we had it as soon as we got on board but, in that case, I would not have been able to photograph the WTC and Hoboken and I know we had the drill in daylight so I honestly think it was the next morning.]

My sound track for the crossing was James Taylor's Terra Nova (lyrics below)*. Most fitting.

So I look at the QE2 in comparison with the Costa Concordia and think, 'How quaint... how puny!' But the ship was plenty big, I assure you. I cannot imagine being on such a gigantic ship as the Concordia. Yikes.

I remember how hard it was to go down the long, long, long hallways to get to the stairs (it was not wise to take the elevators when it was really rough). I can't imagine trying to do it in a badly-listing ship and in the dark.

So, having been on an ocean liner, I have a sense of what it is like to walk around inside, get above deck. What I cannot imagine is the chaos. And so my heart goes out to the people who were affected by this. (And, yes, I realise they had to have had money to be on this thing, but nonetheless, their lives have been changed by this event.)

* Oh end this day show me the ocean
When shall I see the sea

May this day set me in emotion
I ought to be on my way

We were there
We were sailing on the terra nova
Sailing for the setting sun
Sailing for the new horizon

May this day show me an ocean
I ought to be on my way

Ought to be on my way right now
Stepping on the boat
With a lump in my throat
On my way right now

I got a letter from a dear friend of mine
The story of a spiritual awakening
She spoke of her love
Returning in kind
She let me know that
She'd be waiting

And I should be on my way by now
Walking across the floor
Reaching for the door
On my way by now

But here I sit country fool that I am
My elbow on my knee
And my chin in my hand

And my eye on the street
Holed up in a cave of concrete

And I ought to be on my way right now
Packing my things
While the telephone rings
On my way right now

I miss my lovely mother
And I love my lonely father
I know I owe my brothers
One thing and another
I hear my sister singing

And I ought to be on my way right now
Moving across the land
With my heart in my hand
On my way by now
Ought to be on my way by now

Oh end this day set me in motion
Ought to be on my way

Out of the west of lambert's cove
There's a sail out in the sun
And I'm on board though very small
I've come home to stop yearning

Burn off the haze around the shore
Turn off the crazy way I feel
I'll stay away from you no more
I've come home to stop yearning

The indignities

Wonderful comment over at the NYT about the indignities of flying (for all our grousing, there are many who could never afford to fly; they can't even get out of their local community):

I've never enjoyed flying to start with—not because of a fear of crashing, but just because of the protracted periods spent strapped inside a metal tube with screaming babies, and food that appears to have come out of an Easy-Bake oven.

Since 9-11, I can now get from Montreal to Toronto at least an hour sooner by train than by plane, what with the traffic to and from both airports, and the ludicrous "security" measures. The prospect of enjoying a public sexual assault only put the final nail in the coffin of my flying career. That, and the fact that airlines are now slapping extra charges on everything they can think of, so that the quoted price of a ticket presupposes that you will be flying naked with no luggage.

...

I'm dreading the day when my only relative in Europe gets married; I'm currently researching the viability of kayaking to France.

Forty years later

My heart goes out to the people of Norway tonight as they contend with the shock that comes from having suffered an attack on their well-being and people. They, too, have entered this world of utter insanity where people shoot others because of some internal dissonance.

As I read the sad news of what transpired today in Oslo, I remember how as a 14 year-old I went to Norway with my aunt and uncle (they lived in the Netherlands and he was a travelling salesman so our trip also included Sweden and Denmark). Needless to say, as a fourteen year-old I did not know a whole lot but even then was aware of Norway being a 'neutral' country.

My aunt and I wandered around Oslo while my uncle did his business. It was all so civilised.

And, today, Norway has its sad day, 22-7-2011... I doubt the person responsible had any idea that he has sullied the Feast of Mary Magdalene.

May God have mercy on us all (even as the US Congress shows itself to be increasingly dysfunctional).

Wistful

It has been thirty years since I have been to London. My father lived there three years in the late 70s, early 80s and I would go visit whenever I could.

He lived in on the third floor of a four storey flat on Upper Devonshire Place (purple dot). From the bedroom and bathroom, one could see and hear Saint Marylebone Church... not that we ever went there, oddly. He rented the flat from the father of a colleague from work and it was all he needed: a front living room/kitchen that looked out on Upper Devonshire Place, a front hallway that led out to the stairs, and then said bedroom and bath. When I would visit, I would sleep on an inflatable mattress in the living room. He and I went out the summer he moved over there and purchased a receiver and turntable so he could listen to his music.

I no longer remember exactly how far down the street the flat was (red dot) other than it was about halfway and a long walk from the Regents Park tube station when arriving with a suitcase. While he would go off to work, I would walk all over London, miles in a day. After my first spring break there, I had done so much walking that I ended up with tendonitis in my foot.

So, to hear all the fuss about the royal wedding in a matter of just over an hour, I am wistful because I have very fond memories of my summers and March breaks in London. There are so many other places to travel that I have not gotten back there since 1981 and I wonder if I ever will. Besides, without my pied-à-terre, it won't be the same.

Round and round and round we go...

So finally tomorrow I will get to go home, just in time for vestry. Meanwhile, I will have been out to California, back to New York City, zipped off to Indianapolis and finally by way of Philly will get back to Vermont.

This little missive is being posted from the hotel lobby... a place where, should I be re-elected as deputy, I may be occupying in 2012 during General Convention!

My brain has been challenged by the past three days of intense meetings on disparate matters — the final Anglican Covenant and what TEC's response might be to it and today, working with a stellar and impressive team of five preparing for a CREDO-Church Pension Group-sponsored program, Strength for the Journey, being offered for the clergy and lay leaders of the Eglise Episcopale d'Haiti. We will meet in Santo Domingo for the simple reason that there is no place in Haiti that can handle the group and because we want them to go to a place where they won't fear the buildings will come down on them and there is running water, electricity and less chaos.

Meanwhile, assorted photos of the past several days...


Remember Trans World Airlines, aka, Toughest Way Across? Their terminal at JFK, NYC was award-winning but hopelessly antiquated as the security measures kicked in -- the pods were never designed to be blocked off; hence, there were no places to sit or eat because they were in the open main part (that you see). The original building was lovely in its own right — we took my sister there in the 1960s for her to fly off to Spain. But by the late 1980s, 1988 to be exact when I flew to Spain, the place was cramped and dingy. When Jet Blue put up their new terminal, rather than tear the TWA building down, they simply surrounded it. One sees the old building as one walks from the main Jet Blue terminal to the Air Train (finally!!!! Yes, there is public transportation from downtown Manhattan to JFK).

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The old stomping grounds in NYC, the General Theological Seminary, have also changed greatly. The old front building, which was falling apart, was torn down in 2008, and a new condo building built in its place. If you have $2.5M you can buy a two-BR condo that looks over the Close. I think the penthouse apartment is $4M. Seminarians can no longer enter from Ninth Avenue; they must walk halfway down 21st Street to get in a side gate. This is a huge change to the 'hood (and the seminary took a lot of flack from the Chelsea Preservation folks).


The back end of the Close, on Tenth Avenue, is a lot spiffier than in my days. It used to be that the faculty parking garage was off Tenth — a dismal affair. The dorm, Eigenbrodt on the left and faculty apartments on the right, looked over a somewhat decayed neighbourhood. Chelsea has gentrified and Eigenbrodt is now a fancy hotel, called the Tutu Center. (It also serves as a meeting place.)


The old rail tracks on an elevated line have been converted into the Highline and it is a very pleasant walk. From it, one sees the seminary and the Empire State Building. This past Sunday was a gorgeous night and walking up there was a polyglot experience.


From above ground tracks, one descends down into the subway, a noisy but eminently practical means of transportation. This photo is from my old station, 23rd on Eighth.


Times Square is a lot better than it used to be though it is just as crowded. To get to Grand Central Station from Eighth, one has to wander up and down long corridors until one arrives at the Shuttle that runs between 42nd Street and Grand Central.


And then one arrives at Grand Central (GCT), spared by the 1960s wrecking ball that took down Penn Station. When GCT was restored a decade or so ago, they uncovered the constellations on the ceiling of the main room. I love this station for its size (it also is the main headquarters in Planet of the Apes). It is hard to believe that my father went in and out of this place twice a day for nearly thirty years.


The white onyx clock is the largest onyx clock in the world (that is, the faces are the largest), if I remember correctly. It is worth a pretty penny.


Little did we realise that four out of the six people on the D020 Task Force are Mac users. It was a mini Mac-convention on the third floor of 815.

Here endeth your mini-tour of NYC.

Just a simple drive home

What caused the massive traffic jam we saw from the northbound lane of I-91, so thankful we were not headed south! People were camped out all over the highway and the backup went on for miles. We went through about 5.00 just after they had opened one lane of traffic but for a while, there was no southbound traffic, just a very quiet four-lane highway.

From the Hartford Courant (newspaper my paternal grandmother always got for the crossword puzzles)

ROCKY HILL
Southbound I-91 reopened fully about 6:30 p.m, Friday, about two and a half hours after a Peter Pan tour bus caught fire, causing state police and firefighters to close the highway and bring the homebound commute to a halt for people headed to communities south of Hartford.

About 40 people were aboard the bus when it pulled off the highway near exit 24 in Rocky Hill about 3:50 p.m.. The approximately 40 passengers headed from Boston to New York City got off the bus before fire consumed much of it. No injuries were reported and the company sent buses to continue the passengers on their journey.

Firefighters from Rocky Hill and Wethersfield used water and foam to extinguish the blaze. All southbound lanes were closed for about 90 minutes because fire hoses were all over the roadway. Two lanes were opened about 5:30 p.m.

The fire's cause is under investigation. The buses tires and engine compartment were consumed by fire, as was much of the passenger compartment, said Rocky Hill fire department Capt. Henry Vasel.

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I once was on a bus that caught on fire. I was going from Denver up to Winter Park on a 'San Jose Bus Tours' bus. I was the only New Englander with a bunch of Pan-Handle Texan Christians. They could not understand me nor I them. They also were exceedingly polite such that it took them coming to the front of the bus three times saying, 'Mr Bus Driver, the back of the bus is on fire,' before the driver took them seriously and pulled off the highway out in the middle of nowhere. This was 1979 so there were no cell phones and where we were, I doubt there would be a signal anyway. There was a gas station, a small restaurant and a little gift store. Wait we did... three and a half hours for another bus to come get us. The fire was the radiator going.

So glad I am not flying anywhere... right now

Joe Sharkey, who writes in the business section of the New York Times (he has a regular column on Tuesdays), also has a blog, High Anxiety. Read his thoughts on the latest TSA reaction to the bungled attempt on the Delta flight from Amsterdam to Detroit. It is worth pondering. Here is a snippet.

T.S.A. has been drifting along without a director for a year because a right-wing Republican from South Carolina has surveyed the situation and identified the real terrorist threat to America:

Union bosses.

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I am so glad I am not travelling anywhere via airplane until February... maybe I will take the train from here to Nebraska... nah, that will mean getting stuck in a snowstorm somewhere.

Watch out

A woman armed with a thurible can be dangerous.

In fact, I am censing the newly blessed antiphonal division in the gallery at Evensong last night at which we rededicated the rebuilt organ (Vermont's largest Skinner) and dedicated the new division.

The travel gods cooperated and I got back from Memphis (despite warnings of thunderstorms and tornadoes) in time to officiate at evensong.

The organ project took at least five years and, at that, it still will require constant monitoring since the larger the instrument, the more delicate it can be.

Nonetheless, it is worth all the trouble. Tomorrow we will have an inaugural recital.

Cinéma realité

I just finished watching Le Grand Silence, Die Große Stille, Into Great Silence, a beautiful film on the monastery, La Grande Chartreuse, 25 kms outside of Grenoble, France. The film isn't for everyone — there is very little talk, almost no music (other than the Chartreusian plainsong chants), and no narrative voice-over to explain what is going on. Instead, one enters into the deep silence of this incredibly ascetical order devoted to silent contemplation, where a monk's cell becomes his desert and where he spends most of his time as a hermit within community. Watching this film is almost like seeing Andrew Wyeth still-life paintings put to video. It helps knowing the rhythm of the daily office hours and basics of monastic life.

Way back in 1976 with my French 'family' I went to La Grande Chartreuse. Given the solitary nature of the order, visitors do not enter the actual monastery; instead, they visit a museum that has a miniature monastery in which a monk's cell is replicated and where one can hear their music. Beyond the museum is seeing the sheer severity and beauty of the site with cliffs rising high behind the monastery.


Although I was underage at the time, I did manage to bring back two bottles of Chartreusian cognac for my father.

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This is the first film I have downloaded from iTunes and I can't say I am 100% pleased: it is awfully grainy in places and there are even spots in the film that made me think I was watching an old reel to reel film (little spots and streaks). I think I may buy the CD from the distributor; I'll only be out $10.00.

Everyone can fly

Kind of an incongruous photo.

These horses were flying to BWI and then onto the Preakness.

Easter Sunday

Sermons and all the rest will follow.

I have to fly out in the morning to California for a church-related meeting so am still packing despite wanting to settle in for a long spring nap (though with the snow flurries today, I felt like it should be a long winter's nap).

Happy Easter.

Photos from my new toy

So here's what I captured with my iPhone this week. I drove down to my parents in Connecticut, spent the night, took MetroNorth into New York City, went to a meeting at 815, landed on a meeting of the CSW with the US delegation, took the train back out and then drove back up to Vermont. It was a whirlwind trip. And then last night, I took some sillies of Young Guy because I couldn't find my regular camera. Lastly, there is a photo of my office.


My father's cat now sits in front of the fireplace, waiting for him to make a fire. Then she settles down on her Iranian carpet and enjoys the fire. She will turn 19 this week.


She is thin but actually in better health than a year ago at this time.


After my meeting (which was very helpful), I went to the noonday eucharist that is held every day in the Chapel of Christ the Lord. It has been completely redone since 2006 when I last really stuck my nose in there. It now is oriented toward the stained glass windows on Second Avenue (facing due east) rather than facing the south wall. The cross behind the table/altar is one that has been used at General Convention, made at Cooke's Forge in Weare, NH. Likewise, the stoop at the entrance is the one we use at General Convention, made at Simon Pearce, Quichee, Vermont.


The credence table is to the right of the altar. The icons come from Presiding Bishop Frank Griswold's time.


I like the juxtaposition between the Ethiopian processional cross and the replica of a Romaneseque Madonna and Child from Chartres, France. My candle burns in sand that resides in a bowl from Ethiopia.


Back at my parents', I had to take this photo of one of their stone walls, covered in wonderfully goopy snow.


Back in Vermont, I took this photo of a mandela of peace, Saint Francis and Tigger, just given to me by a parishioner.


I was trying out a borrowed LED projector. When the image of a vista from the Camino de Santiago went up on the wall, Young Guy just couldn't figure out what it was so he had to investigate by jumping up on the antique French secretary (verboten).


He momentarily stopped trying to figure it out.