Eternal Clout

In the old days, if you had clout you were a mover and a shaker, and probably you were more powerful than a speeding locomotive (but not more powerful than Superman). When you spoke, people listened or sometimes asked “How high?” when you needed someone to jump.

Now everyone has clout and it can be measured. According to the online company Klout (http://klout.com/understand/klout), everyone has influence. As long as you’re online, that is. And tweeting, blogging, posting, retweeting, commenting on blogs and posts…basically running your mouth via your fingers. No more “Let Your Fingers Do The Walking”; now it’s “Let Your Fingers Do The Talkin’”.

Clout – whether you have it or not, how you use it or abuse it – is as old as the earth. Just ask Adam when you get to heaven. Or, hearken back to childhood to hear those threatening words “Because I said so!” or “Wait until your father gets home!” Usually, the people you associated with having clout were either older and wiser, or just a whole lot bigger than you.

Clout is pretty handy to have in some places. Like advancing your career. Getting a table at a nice restaurant. And, um, getting a table at a nice restaurant.

Sure, it’s great to be someone who can make things happen and it’s nice to know people who can do the same. I would put God (Father, Son and Holy Spirit) in the first category. Other than that, I can’t think of a single person who would, in the eternal long run, have enough clout to set me up for Life.

I do a lot of reading about social media for my job; some days it’s hard to keep up with all the articles about online “do’s” and “don’ts” or social faux pas. I recently saw one (and posted a link on Facebook) about the 12 Things You Should Never Post On Facebook. I took exception to some of the “don’ts” because a) I never did like other people telling me what to do and b) one simply just needs to use common sense and courtesy and c) if you don’t like what you see, then unfriend the uncouth idiots…er, friends.

But then you’d lose clout. Oh well.

Dearly Beloved

This weekend we were back in Pittsburgh for a wedding. The oldest daughter of my own matron of honor (over 30 years ago) was married at St. Paul’s Cathedral in Oakland. Not every church building can be a cathedral. Some are smaller and simpler, like my former church in Pittsburgh; I am sure that when it was built over 50 years ago, it was what the congregation could afford at the time and it probably embraced the architectural trend of the Sixties, but the feelings it evokes are more along the lines of God as friend…familiar, comforting.

There’s just something about a cathedral that puts you squarely in the presence of the majestic, awesome God. Soaring ceilings, long aisles, pulpits that rise above the congregation causing you to crane your head upward and focus your eyes on the cross. The beautiful pipe organ (no, Bill, it will not fit on the boat) is part of the grandeur. It’s easy to get lost in the crowd in a cathedral but more importantly, it’s a place to lose your “self” and let God fill you up.

The reception was held at the Edgeworth Country Club, where our friends Cathy and Charlie Kelly have been members since they moved back to The Burgh in 1987, and where I’ve enjoyed quite a few Kelly daughters' birthday parties and plays.

We were honored to be seated at the same table with the bride’s parents and grandparents and the Jesuit priest who conducted yesterday’s wedding ceremony and that of Cathy and Charlie 32 years ago.


















Caitlin and Bobby also made the New York Times! How about that! The photo used in the article was taken by Cathy last year upon Caitlin's engagement in Naples, Florida.

Sisters Courtney and Erin were co-maids of honor.

One Down...

One year ago today we waved a temporary goodbye to most of our possessions as the moving van carted them away to long-term storage in Pittsburgh. We spent that night (June 16^th, a Thursday), our first on Pure Grace as full-time live-a-boards (or cruisers, as we’re called down South). Our goal was to try it for a year, but by December my husband talked me into a two year trial. Aside from the occasional hurricane and tropical storm, it's no hardship, by any means! I can already see two years stretching into three...

There have been a few trade-offs between our former land-based lifestyle and what floats our boat today. It’s not the lifestyle for everyone, as I recently told a reporter from the suburban monthly newspaper. Her eyes opened wide as she took in our home, and her jaw dropped when I mentioned how little time I spend cleaning. “But my husband can easily put in 16 hours on the weekend washing and waxing the boat,” I cautioned. "It's his idea of fun."

Prior to moving out of our Bradfordwoods townhouse, I spent about 20 hours a month housecleaning, between daily "licks-and-promises" and the bi-weekly top-to-three-floors-bottom cleaning and Bill always had a home improvement project in the works. Then, while living onboard at Fox Chapel Yacht Club in Pittsburgh, although cleaning was reduced to less than an hour a week, my commute ratcheted up to 6 hours each week, and I sacrificed almost an hour’s sleep a night to battle rush-hour traffic. Hats off to anyone who has to drive more than 30 minutes to work; I was really spoiled for 20 years with a 10-minute commute.

Now, a full year later, with a commute no farther than a few steps from stateroom to home office in the pilot house, I’ve gained back that hour’s sleep, and every day is "Bring Your Pet to Work Day" for me! Bill built that nifty worktable; the legs screw off so that it can be stowed away on the weekends and at Christmas shorter legs allow it to double as our tree stand. A printer/scanner/copier sits on the upper ledge and Alfie loves to watch it spit out paper. (Note: The Garmin radar is only there until the new radar arch is installed.)

Bill's commute is just a quick stroll down the dock to the marina office, where he confers with the marina manager and the dockmaster for the day's projects. In any given day he will be a landscaper, electrician, carpenter, cleaner, painter, plumber, groundskeeper and dockhand. He absolutely loves being outdoors and finds chores to do in the condominium on rainy days. The condo was built in 2008 with 8 units and none have sold; the contractor left a lot of work to be done to bring them up to "show" quality; that's high on the marina manager's to-do list for Bill.

Above, Warren (marina manager); Georgette (office manager & accountant); Bruce (dockmaster) at the June Luau.

Our dockage and weekly pump out fees are nearly a trade-off with the annual townhome fees and real estate taxes. But we pay to have barnacles scrapped off the running gear once a month and the hull once a quarter. We’ve had to purchase a chart-plotter for navigating the St. John’s River and the massive radar dome that came with it requires a sturdier radar arch. Stay tuned for a future blog showing the before-and-after photos of that installation.

So, while we're celebrating the first anniversary of being a full-time river liv-er, we still have five more months until we can celebrate our first full year in Jacksonville. We’re looking forward to the marina party the first weekend in November!

Just Call Me Tevye

Some of my favorite memories of growing up were the times my grandparents took us to the movies and to the outdoor theatre, the Muny Opera, in Forest Park (St. Louis). After gazing wide-eyed at performances of My Fair Lady, The Sound of Music, and Fiddler on the Roof, my sisters and I would stage our own versions of the musicals in the basement of the parsonage where we grew up in Arnold, Missouri. Some of my favorite piano pieces came from those movies; I remember my Grandmother Schwab always wanted to hear Edelweiss when she came to visit. I played Sunrise, Sunset until I practically drove my mother out of the house, but as strange as it sounds, I really liked stomping around and flinging my arms out to Tevye’s If I Were a Rich Man. There was just something so satisfying about that.

I don’t know how anyone can not like a musical.

So, in the spirit of Tevye, tradition! Tomorrow, May 20^th, is Confirmation Sunday at my former church in Pittsburgh. It feels odd to miss the first one in nearly 20 years. In the Lutheran church, this rite marks the move from our baptismal faith (bestowed by the Holy Spirit when He called us by name) into the beginning of enlightment and sanctification in the One True Faith that we profess. So it's not an ending at all!

About ten years ago, while participating in an adult Bible study, we were asked if we remembered our Confirmation verse. Sad to say, I did not. Although I did remember my Confirmation hymn – Let Us Ever Walk With Jesus – if that counts for anything!

So they would not do as I did and forget, I decided to create remembrances for the Confirmand class that year and designed plaques with each of their verses, an appropriate image, their names and the date. One year led to another and it soon became a personal tradition to present the plaques on behalf of the congregation. The year there were nine in the class was a real challenge but I found the images (thank you, stock.xchng), mattes and frames and it all came together with a lot of prayer. One year I paired Joshua 1:9 (Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go.) with a photo of a space shuttle just before launch. I found out later that the young man had battled a lot of childhood illnesses but always dreamed of adventure and greatness.

I thought for sure that the class of 2011 would be the last to put up with my creative efforts, but while on a visit back to Pittsburgh just before Christmas dear friends Jim and Cindy Vasil asked me to create a plaque for their son Justin, who will be confirmed tomorrow. Since I also knew the other two young men in Justin’s class, I decided to design one for each of them as well (really, how could I not make one for the pastor’s son?). It turns out that the tradition was going to live on, with or without my help! My apologies to the chairman of the Board of Christian Education, who was handed the baton, but I’ve got your back this year, Mary Lynn!

These are three, unmatted and unframed, plaques I created for the class of 2012. Each matte/frame combination was unique and complemented the plaque; I was particularly happy to find a pebble-textured/colored matte for the last one, and used an oval matte for the one in the middle. Justin loves to fish and his family enjoyed a vacation at the Outer Banks a few years ago so I thought this image was perfect.

Shortly before I was ready to ship, I got word that another person was also being confirmed so I quickly put a fourth plaque together for a young woman:

 

 

 

Tradition!

Good Genes, Jean!

Thirty years ago I received my first Mother’s Day gift. I still carry that silver monogrammed compact mirror that Bill presented to me as a new stepmother to 9-year-old and 7-year-old girls. Now those gals are mothers, and Bill and I are blessed with six grandchildren. Today I got a beautiful, custom-designed Mother’s Day card from my California grandsons, Brogan, Griffin, Hudson and Porter Smith. I love the card. I feel old.

On Mother’s Day, Alexis, the youngest of my four nieces and two nephews, is graduating from college. It just doesn’t seem all that long ago that they were precious little babies and now the oldest two, Shannon and Kelly, have children of their own. I feel really old.

Next month, if my father were still alive, my parents would have celebrated their 57^th anniversary. I was with them when they celebrated their 1^st anniversary in Miami, Florida. (Lest you think anything naughty, I was born 10 months after their wedding!) Yep…I feel really, really old.

But, I come from a line of long-living women on both sides of the family. Great-grandmothers and great-aunts lived into their late 90s, while my father’s mother lived to 92 and my mother’s mom was 89. God willing, I may live as long in good health. All of a sudden, I feel young!

For most of my life I’ve been fairly active, walking, biking, working out at home or at a fitness club. After my most recent club in Pittsburgh closed I became lax about strength workouts and was shocked at how quickly I lost muscle tone. So early this spring I joined a fitness club just a few miles from our marina and have faithfully worked out four days a week, one day with a trainer. Although it would be nice to lose a few pounds, my motivation is to gain bone density through stronger muscles so that if I live another 40 years I won’t be bedridden or wheelchair bound…God willing.

I also worry about Alzheimer’s, although again, many members of my family tree were pretty much of sound mind when they died so I hope genetics again wills out. I read a great deal, work crossword puzzles and jigsaw puzzles, and enjoy Jeopardy, all in an effort to keep the brain cells healthy. I’d say, so far so good…except when I can’t remember something…

This Mother’s Day 2012, I give thanks to God for the blessing of my mother, Jean Rose Schwab Bouman, whose great genes I’ve inherited and who encouraged me, always, to be the best I can be with the gifts God gave me. I love you, Mom!

Insurance, Anyone?

Growing up in Miami, I remember geckos (lizards, we called them then) skittering across the concrete porch and up and down the screens. Our cat, Blackie, was fascinated by them but I don't think he ever caught one. I also remember scorpians in the bathroom, fire ants in the yard, termites in a nearby neighbor's home and webs of freaky large yellow and black spiders in most of the trees. It's any wonder we ever played outdoors, but we did. Miami is where my sisters and I tried to catch a glimpse of the Mafia wife's capuchin monkey next door, where we first went trick-or-treating around the block, had our first birthday parties, and where I learned to ride a bicycle. My father found this secondhand, heavy blue and black bicycle that was just built for crash landings. It moved with us to St. Louis in 1964, where my sisters Patti and Beth learned to ride "Old Blue" too.

We have a lot of geckos here in Jacksonville, too. They are usually too swift for me to get more than a glimpse but I was lucky today to find and get a close-up of one sunning on the top of our dock steps. He didn't bother to ask me if I needed any car insurance.

A pair of white herons, or great white egrets, are daily visitors, usually fishing for breakfast around 8 a.m. and then again in the evening. They are raucous and seem to call for an audience shortly after landing on our slip. Our cat is happy to oblige, chattering back and, were it not for the screen door, would launch himself straight at the big bird.











Bill was recently hired on at the marina where we live and I believe he thinks he'd died and gone to heaven. Although the dockmaster said hiring him was a matter of self-defense. "We had to give Bill a job so he wouldn't clean his boat so often and make the rest of us look like slugs!" And, yes, Bill does complain that he only has weekends now to keep Pure Grace pristine. Although his title is dockhand, thus far Bill has done some landscaping, repaired or replaced dozens of dock lights, is powerwashing all four concrete docks and their fingers, does a daily trash patrol of the grounds, opens and closes all the umbrellas at the pool every day, and not once has he been put on pump-out duty.

This morning while we were getting ready for church (well, Bill hadn't quite started his morning routine yet, enjoying a cup of coffee watching Sunday Morning with Charles Osgood) when I heard a knock on the door. "Is Bill around? A boat is sinking on the dock!" The young man who owns the Boston Whaler had left the seacock open in his bait box yesterday afternoon, in a hurry to get to work. (He and his wife publish a local, suburban newspaper and he had three events to cover for Cinco de Mayo.) The bilge pump struggled all night to keep up but eventually the battery died. Someone out walking a dog at 7:30 this morning discovered the listing boat and sounded the alarm.

After trying to use the marina's sewer pump out and not making much headway, a professional salvage company arrived mid-morning and an hour later, it was dry and ready to be hauled out for a look at the engine. The Ortega River is dark brown due to tannin from cypress trees. Not too many people ski in this river.

Heaven Is A Place On Earth

What’s your idea of heaven? A (boring) eternal lifetime of singing hymns and praise songs? Continual bowing to our Lord and Savior (a good exercise for the abs!)? A literal interpretation of Scripture verses: lions and lambs lying side by side without the slightest bit of salivation on the lion’s part and adrenalin-induced fear from the lamb? Or, streets paved in gold (a la the Emerald City in the Wizard of Oz) and crystal-clear rivers?

I just read an intriguing article in the April 16^th issue of TIME magazine, entitled “Rethinking Heaven” by Jon Meacham. There were a couple of statements in it that I subscribe to:

First, the author asked “What if the authors of the New Testament were actually talking about a bodily resurrection in which God brings together the heavens and the earth in a wholly new, wholly redeemed creation?”

Then, Meacham adds, “It is not paradise in the sky but acts of selflessness and love that bring God’s sacred space and grace to a broken world suffused with tragedy until, in theological terms, the unknown hour when the world we struggle to piece together is made whole again.”

I don’t know about you, but I think this suggests that Jesus’ two commands (Love your neighbor as yourself. and Love God with all your heart, soul and strength.) points to what heaven really is: the place (conceivably, here on earth) where our relationship with Jesus is tightly entwined with how we treat each other.

For many reasons, people view heaven as that final resting place where everything, including themselves, is perfect. No more physical suffering or imperfections. Everyone is rolling in riches and everyone lives a life of leisure.

I’m not sure that “heaven” means there will be an equal distribution of wealth and material goods, sort of like the promises of Communism. Jesus himself said that the poor will always be with us and He also commanded us to feed the hungry, clothe the poor, tend to the sick and visit people in prison. Those of us who reach out and follow that command here on earth today will, undoubtedly, be in the same position in heaven. We, who have been blessed with more, will be expected to give and do more … and that brings us closer to Jesus and the heavenly kingdom He promised. “For whatever you do for the least of these, you do for Me.”

So you can’t quite sing like an angel or play a heavenly harp. You worship Him every time you love your neighbor (next door, under the highway viaduct, in that remote village in a poor country) as you love yourself: with assurances of food to eat, a roof over your head and clothes on your back. I believe that’s true now and in eternity.

From a physical perspective, does heaven mean that we’ll be blemish-free, with the perfect physique and a face of jaw-dropping beauty? Will my body morph into a Barbie-doll, hourglass figure? Will I magically lose all my scars and moles? I think not. I think we will meet Jesus with the bodies we have but the heavenly part is that we won’t care about ourselves and others when it comes to looks. The blemishes that we will lose will be the stains of sin on our souls and that will be heaven on earth, because only then can we meet Him face to face!

* Image courtesy of http://www.picturesofheaven.net/