Grab bag of various and sundry:
Was at a UU event this Sunday and a UU theologian was leading us in a very simple exercise in being in the moment, and feeling what we're feeling. The third thing to do was to place your forefinger of one hand on your opposite hand, then sit with that, and examine how the hand felt, how the finger felt, where they connected.
One participant was incensed with this and when it was time for people to comment on their observations, she spoke of her anger at an authority making her do this, and she didn't know why, and then Hitler and the Brown Shirts were brought into it. (No, really.) At the end of all this, she slightly admitted that maybe she had issues with authority, but was proud she wasn't a sheep.
I consider her to be a particular kind of angel (that I'll explain when I have more time) but feel that the fact I didn't run out screaming and immediately quit seminary is perhaps a good sign. Was this a test? "Smile, you're on MFC camera!"
Sunday brought a great gift! Two, actually.
I'd gone to my home church (this is my year of "traveling" -- I'm usually either preaching at another church, or visiting a church) because a friend of mine was in the pulpit for the first time.
There was a couple seated in front of me, visitors. During the "greet your neighbor" time, we introduced ourselves to each other. They both seemed vaguely familiar. She leaned forward and asked, "Are you a seminarian?" Um, yes. (It shows?) She then asked, sotto voce, "Lizard Eater?" Shocked, "Yes!"
Well, what do you know, we already knew each other. It was Liz Hill, co-author of Singing Meditation, whom I'd worked with (online) on other UU stuff.
I also knew her husband, through the blog-o-verse, though I hadn't connected that they were partners.
I had a fabulous time chatting with them after the service. I committed the hopefully forgivable sin of outing Matt as a UU minister and dragging Liz to several people so she could tell them more about Singing Meditation and the workshop she'll be giving at GA.
I didn't get as much time to talk with Matt and Liz as I would have liked, as I had an important date with ...
Chuck E. Cheese.
Chucky and I have quite a history. When The Boy (now 14) was little, I was in a playgroup that would occasionally meet there. It's not so bad on a weekday. Back then, you could buy beer there. I don't think I ever did, but just knowing it was there made the experience more bearable.
Over the years, we'd go, usually for classmates' birthdays. And then cancer came, and Chuck E. Cheese became the symbol. For the kids, he was the symbol of all sacrifice, because for Mama and Daddy, he was the symbol of all things germy. A kid on chemo means nobody can go to Chuck E. Cheese. No to the parties, no to the visits. No, no, no.
During LW's recurrence, we watched a lot of PBS in the hospital, which is sponsored by Chuck E. Cheese. No ads, just those little things at the ends of programs: "Chuck E. Cheese, where a kid can be a kid."
My kid couldn't be a kid.
So, this year comes, and LW has been pestering me for months. Could we go there on her birthday?
We went yesterday. Divided up the tokens amongst our 4, got a special sticker designating LW as the birthday girl. They climbed the tubes, played the games, ate the pizza, got the prizes.
I tossed a basketball into a hoop multiple times and remembered how much I enjoyed the game. I think The Boy and I'll be playing a lot of HORSE this summer.
Today, Little Warrior is five. It is an incredible milestone for her parents, her grandparents, aunts, uncle, and friends. We didn't know if we'd ever see this day. That night when she was 6 months old, when we found ourselves placed on the pediatric oncology floor ... we couldn't see this day.
For her, it is an incredible milestone, because Mom let her polish her fingernails all by herself.
And that's how it should be.