This was a perfect Christmas.  I can say this because I have (finally!) changed my concept of perfection.  You see, it wasn’t an ideal Christmas, fulfilling the “oughts” and “shoulds” and”fantasies” that dance in my head.  It was a very real and very good Christmas. And I accepted it as it was, in fact, I embraced it and that is perfection.

On Christmas Eve, we attended a candlelight service with our youngest son and his family.  Their being with us that night was the greatest gift they could give us.  That was perfect even though every one of us was a bit harried because of Christmas preparations.

It was a little warmer than usual for Boston this Christmas, and that was good.  In the morning there were a few(someone said, maybe seventeen) snow flakes and that was all.  Leading up to Christmas the TV Weather Forecasters kept acting as if we all wanted a “white Christmas.”  Not me.  Snow makes traveling hard and even dangerous…and, it needs to be shoveled and sometimes plowed.  My perfect Christmas is snowless. I can enjoy a white Christmas in my dreams.

Christmas fell on Sunday this year and since our family is grown up now,  we were not sitting around opening presents,  we were in church.  That was a perfect place to be on Christmas morning.  As we celebrated the birth of the Christ Child, we even had our own new miracle baby in the congregation.  His Mom had been on bed rest for months and we had been praying for a safe delivery.  He is here and beautiful and Mom and Dad, though sleep deprived, are joyful.

Later on Christmas Day we had dinner with some family and friends and then dessert with more family.  One friend was sick and could not come.  Another family member was in a nursing home, missing her first Christmas with us. A dear friend and a cousin had died. Still, we were able to enjoy those who were there and were grateful for one another, those around the table and those with whom we felt connected in other ways.  I was kind of numb and spent after dinner.  I usually am and, of course, that is the way it is, and that is all right.

Some of the presents I gave were less than exactly right. I think those who got them knew there was love behind them and they are gracious. The vegetable I chose for dinner was broccoli rabe, new to me, and on the bitter side. But it was still fine because folks accepted this as one of my experiments. No one complained.  Some of our family members celebrated in their own homes this year.  We connected by phone and we will see them at another time. It is perfect that love travels across miles and is shared with others without being diminished.

Th activity the kids engaged in after dinner was noisy.  I was responsible for that since I bought zhuzhu pets for the occasion. (This because they were on sale, 90% off.)  But it was a good, albeit sometimes silly sound.

As the new year comes, our friends from Brazil will be returning home, our oldest son and family will be moving to Boston, an old friend from Kenya will be showing up.  New tenants will be moving in.  I will be returning to Interim work.  And who knows what else will be happening.  We were aware of all the preparations for these changes going on as we celebrated Christmas.  Life in motion as the end of the year approaches.

These new changes will mean some losses.  People we love leaving or us leaving them.  Friends that we spent time with in the past year, seen much less frequently. We will have to find other ways to connect with old friends, even as we joyfully welcome family who are coming home, and anticipate new connections waiting to be formed.

As the new year approaches, I am committed to embracing a new kind of perfection, one I experienced this year as a Christmas present.  If I let some ideal images slip, engage in much less judgmental behavior (even with myself),  am less anxious about what others think of me, and trust love to shine through and accept it as the gift it is, life is perfect and good. Life may not be exactly as I would have planned it.  But I have to admit that I don’t always (if ever) know best.  Allowing for change and chance and chaos, the strengths and limitations of being human, the gift and finitude of time, and the creating breath and wise ordering of the Spirit in the midst of it all, I give thanks for all that is and all that will be. And I rely on the Christmas baby, now the risen Christ, to accompany us through life’s labyrinth.

This Christmas, as I once again marvel at God’s coming into the world in the vulnerable baby, Jesus, I realize that that is how God always comes. I see God coming in all of us,  at first, each one a vulnerable baby.  The Light that shone in Bethlehem still shines.  That is good,  that is perfect.  And as Charles Wesley might have said, that is ultimately perfectible.  God with us, Emanuel.

The blog that follows has been sitting in my computer for days.  I was unsure about sharing it.  But, since my mind will not move on until I do,  here it is.

In this past month, a long time friend,  Beth Yolton, and my first cousin, Sister Rosemary Budd, died.  My husband and I went to the Mercy Center in Dallas, PA for Rosemary’s service and we officiated at a graveside service for Beth in Concord, MA.

Sister Rosemary was beloved by everyone, was loving, sharp, interested in the world, and had a keen sense of justice inspired by her deep faith.  She was 91.  Her face reminded me of my father and she was my last first-cousin.

Beth was 58 when she died.  She was an intelligent and artistic woman who also had an active faith and a keen sense of justice.  She was troubled by what she called,”‘a physical disorder of my brain,”  which she manged well most of the time.  It was the disorder of spreading cancer that took her life. As a young woman she had been very much a part of our family and had remained a friend until the end.

After these two women died, Diane, Bill, Beth’s father’s second wife, lost her father. We were brought together again with Bill and Diane through experiencing these losses, theirs being much harder than mine. Diane’s father was 91 like Sister Rosemary.

Facing these deaths has turned my attention to living well as a tribute to those who are gone.  And it has caused me to contemplate my own death.

When someone we love dies, it takes time for the fact that they are gone to register. Grieving takes time, and over time,  life invariably shifts.  One of the Mercy Sisters said, “the one we love is in a better place, we are the ones who have to come to terms with their absence.”  What I wish for those I love when my time to die comes, is an easy transition for them as they continue life without me.  Not too many tears and a renewed embrace of their own life and love and work.  This along with happy memories and forgiveness for the difficult memories.

No one who has ever been a part of our lives is ever fully gone.  While each of our lives is our very own to live, we are deeply connected by familial and friendship bonds.  No matter how strong those bonds are, the one who leaves is not looking over our shoulder.  They have moved on and we must move on. Loss is hard for us on so many levels.  Some losses are harder than others. And yet, thankfully, life continues.

Death is, of course, inevitable for all of us.  Rosemary lived life to the fullest to the end and, in the end, died in peace.  And, in her own way, so did Beth, hanging on to independence with a fierceness as long as she could and then dying with a quiet dignity and faith.

When we visited with Rosemary the summer before she died, she talked about her weakening condition and as she matter-of-factly contemplated death, asked me if I would read Scripture in her service.  Then in a twinkling we were off talking about the world and the church and the latest in politics. She was interested in everything and everyone. Even after she lost the use of her legs, she never gave in to self pity nor did she ever seek to run away to the other side, as much as she believed in it.  I could feel the joy and sanctity of life in her presence.

Standing by Beth’s bedside as she was dying, I said, “Beth, the Spirit is with you.”  And this woman who could barely speak, said with clarity,” I know.”  In those moments, Beth ministered to me and strengthened my faith.  The Spirit was with both of us.

In a strange way, losing these two women brings me closer to life and to faith.  I want to enjoy those I love and spend more time with them.  I want to appreciate the ordinary tasks of life.  And I want to use my gifts as I can.  Having faith as a ground of my being seems right and reasonable and true.  And this will follow me even if I am not as with it in the end as they were.

When we lose someone we love, to death, somehow that veil that separates our known world from that unknown realm of resurrection life, can become more transparent, more luminous, less opaque.  And yet, I remain grateful for the fact that that veil continues to mark a clear boundary between earth and what we call heaven. The material world is our home while we are living in this world.

We can experience mystery throughout life but we cannot fully lift the veil until it is our time.  The Bible has the veil separating the Holy of Holies from the rest of the Temple., splitting in two when Jesus dies.

I have heard the phrase “dying with dignity” often during the past few weeks. We don’t always get to say how we die. Maybe those of us who are left behind are challenged to “live with dignity.”  We have more say over that. Death like birth is an Event. Life beyond birth and life beyond death is what matters after the “Event.”  When someone dies, they have completed their time on earth and go on to a realm way beyond our comprehension.  Those who continue to live are still works in process.

A wise man reminded me that no one ever lives to see the last act of the play in which they are involved before they die.  When we die, the play goes on.  We all have to leave before we know what happens in the ongoing lives of those we love or the world at large.   Of course, I bargain to stay in this material world as long as I can, to be with those I love as long as I am able. A friend declared that she going to live long enough to know the person her grandchildren married.  We all have different dreams that we would like to fulfill before passing on. We will realize some of them before we have to slip out before the curtain comes down.

I conclude by reiterating my deepest dream,  that my own death not be hard for those I love and will be, for them, an incentive to live life ever more fully.  Sister Rosemary and Beth gave me that gift of life along with gracing me with the gift of their lives and of knowing and loving them.

Call this a delayed reaction.  I am writing about an interchange between our Senator in Massachusetts, Scott Brown, and Elizabeth Warren, who is challenging him for his seat. My comments are about an exchange that had to do with body image, if you ask me. (And I know you didn’t.)

A quick review of the he said, she said. During a recent debate, a question came to Senatorial candidates, including, Elizabeth Warren. “To help pay for his law school education, Scott Brown posed for Cosmo.  How did you pay for your college education.” Elizabeth Warren quipped, “I kept my clothes on.”

Later, Scott Brown, when asked about her answer said, “Thank God!”   These two comments occupied the press for days of commentary which included words from House Speaker, Nancy Pelosi, in defense of Warren, and various Republican colleagues in defense of Scott. In the midst of the hubbub, no one suggested that the question itself was inappropriate, the “posing” having happened in 1983. We, of course, do not know the shape of Elizabeth Warren’s physique at that point.

What occurs to me now is that the physique of political candidates seems irrelevant, or, should be. Is he handsome or she attractive? Surely we Americans who are so proud of our democracy can see beyond appearance to policy, integrity and leadership -or not!

I have no opinion about whether or not either of their remarks was sexist, though it seems clear that Scott Brown thinks his  body is more attractive than Elizabeth Warren’s. Is this a beauty pageant?  For me, its a wake up call. I better be sure to vote for a candidate based on what I consider good for the country.  Sure, maybe we want someone to look at who is easy on the eye. But we have lived with leaders before whose job performance was more important than their appearance. Maybe TV has lured us into a beautiful people mentality. Its time to end that seduction and ask the Media for more substance.  Addressing our own tendency to fall down the slippery slope of consumer shallowness would help too.

Okay, in my last blog I said that all we had to do was wait until next year when we would recover from the Red Sox’ terrible 2011 season. Its not that simple, it seems, in Red Sox land.  First we have to get through the post-losing trauma. Terry Francona is taking the fall for this season’s abysmal ending and is moving on. How can I love the Red Sox without him?  He belongs in Boston.  His leaving, whether of his own free will or at the owners’ behest, somehow takes the charm of baseball away(at least for now)  and turns it into a hard cold business. Which of course it is. But Francona seemed to humanize it and we needed that.

Well, maybe leaving is best for him. As he said, these last eight years have really aged him.  And given him some health problems too. Of course, we can’t really see behind the scenes. From where I sit it doesn’t look good.

There was talk, even before the Red Sox’ last game, that if they lost, Francona would be gone. (It’s only in theory that we love losers. Get a taste of the penant and after that, nothing else will do.)  Of course, Francona is not the one who was on the field when the Sox blew the season.  Is this a “buck stops here” scenario?

There have not been many times when a sports figure has captured the big bold headlines on the first page of the Boston Globe with several accompanying stories. Right there is evidence of how important Francona has been in Boston as he led our home team to two Series victories.  I hope he got a good severance package and that maybe he really had had enough. Red Sox Nation is reeling and waiting.

Frankly, my love for the Sox has cooled a little. I expect to get over my miff.  But the Front Office has a few things to prove to me before next season.  It is about winning, but it isn’t all about winning.  They should figure out that out in their next hire for Manager.

I ramble along with other fans.

So,  last night the Sox lost and with that loss ended the season.  No play offs.  They started out with high expectations, and went out with a…well, a sigh.  Today, everyone is speculating on how this could have happened.  Poor self esteem.  Focusing on losses instead of victories.  Injuries?

I think we all just have to let it go.  it just didn’t happen this year.  There is always next year.  Every body loves a winner.  We can love losers too  As the old saw goes, “Win some, lose some.” Here’s looking to next year.

I’ve been bitten by the “cleaning up” “sorting out bug.”  As a consequence, I’ve come across a slew of files I have saved from the past.  One of those files contains newspaper clippings from 1980 and 1981. Among them is a cartoon by Jules Feiffer. A woman in leotards is doing a dance to “celebrate conservative answers.”  In consecutive frames, we find these words: “cutting taxes,”  “cutting government handouts to the poor and aged,” “balancing the budget,” “not throwing dollars at problems,”  “freeing the economy of corporate restraints,” “getting government off the back of the people.”  Then in the last frame, our woman in standing in a line saying” dance to spring.”  She is holding a sign with the word “bread” on it.  She is obviously in a bread line.

Good grief.  Have today’s Republicans been reading Jules Feiffer from 1981?  Couldn’t they get some ideas of their own? Didn’t they read Feiffer’s last frame?  Where do they think their policies will end?  Its back to the future.

The other articles and cartoons in that file are interesting too.  There was then President Reagan’s threat to send troops to the Sinai to protect the peace agreement between Israel and Egypt.  Worries and debates about Iran. There were articles about Central America and the threat of communism. A report on the Pope’s visit to Central America during which time he told priests and women religious to keep their noses out of politics and concentrate on prayer and the poor. (How does one concentrate on the poor and keep one’s nose out of politics?)  Several op-ed pieces on women’s status and society’s response.  And an article on the fashionability of comfortable shoes.

Well, thinking about these things, its not all back to the future. We worry less about communism these days than terrorism. And the creators of fashion don’t seem to be into comfortable shoes. And women’s status seems ho-hum.

But it is thirty years since 1981. Back to Feiffer. Do we have to keep recycling old political rhetoric? Doesn’t anyone have any new ideas?  And when will the American public catch on to the fact that when we run around in circles we don’t get anywhere. In addition, we are in danger of boring ourselves to death.

I went away for a month’s vacation in Pennsylvania to relax.  I admit that I also went with a bit of an agenda.  Pennsylvania is my home state and I have a vested interest in it.  To be specific, I have an interest in the Hershey Company and the issue of Hydro-fracking for gas. I also have a more personal interest, concern for the Cemetery in the Woods in Williamstown, PA where some of my relatives are buried with other early citizens of the town

First, the Hershey Company.  It seems that chocolate companies get most of their cocao from West African farms, many of which employ child labor. ( Someone called this to my attention before we left for vacation.)  So while we were next door to Hershey, I called an executive at the Company. I asked what they are doing about the issue of child labor. I love Hershey chocolate and want to be assured that my enjoyment is not on the backs of young children.  I was told to check out their Web-Site and their report on Social Responsibility.  I did this and they are invovled in addressing this concern. But, are they taking the lead among other companies? They are the largest. Since returning home, I have written a follow-up letter. I await a response.

Then there is “fracking.”  It seem that the mountains that once supplied the nation with coal, and central easwtern Pennsylvania with jobs, harbor deep down, under the coal deposits, deposits of natural gas. There are three issues.  The first is how to extract the gas without destroying the environment, specifically, water supplies and rivers. The second is how to insure that the people in these now depressed areas benefit from these operations. The third is, onece the first two have been solved, how to regulate the companies that drill for gas and then hydro-fract to release it from the shale.  Come to think about it, there is a fourth issue.  In Massachuestts, far from the natural gas deposits, we are being told in ads that a wonderful new source of energy has been discovered, gas. We are not told of the environmental hazzards invovled in the process of obtaining it.  W are being prepared with propaganda for the expansion of this industry without being told of the hazzards it poses.

Our Senator, John Kerry, serves on a Senate committee that has before it a bill that would require the companies that are drilling for gas to disclose the chemicals they are injecting into the earth in the process. Simple, but critical.

So far, what I’ve done about this issue is read about it and talk with people who are already being affected. One woman who lives outside of Willkes Barre,  already has black water coming out of her kitchen sink rendering her home worthless. And I have followed the issue in the Pennslyvania Senate.  They are not exactly being transparent with the public about how they are handling this matter. And I am supporting the bill requiring the disclusure of chemicals used.

The people in the area are of two minds. They would like to profit from this enterprise, being in a depressed area since coal ceased to be king. On the other hand, they don’t want the environment destroyed.

Finally, The Cemetery in the Woods. My brother, Harold and his wife, Fran, along with others in the community worked tirelessly to restore it.  They did an incredible job. Bordered by two rivers and surrounded by greenery, this Cemetery was beginning to be a bit of Eden. Flowers, restored tomb stones, benches for reflection. Birds, butterflies, and peace. But then, the Catholic Church which owns the Cemetery called a halt to the work.

My brother has since died. Fran continues to be concerned about the cemetery. She is a member of the Catholic Church and has been told, in very unkind words, to back off. Tom and I ventured past brush and weeds, down an overgrown path, into the heart of the Cemetery.  It was a disgrace!  Stones toppled over. Weeds everywhere. Fences that had been restored, knocked over and pieces missing.

Among those buried there are three Civil War Veterans and a Revolutionary War Veteran. The burial place of many who were founders of this town lies neglected. We have pictures to prove it. It seems that this little town has a poor self image. This doesn’t help. Not only does this town have a proud history, it ccould have an interesting future. It is one of the few places in the United States where people with modest incomes can live well in the midst of considerable natural beauty and natural resources.  I have written to the Priest of Sacred Heart Church to ask that the Cemetery restoration be reinstated.

I will keep you posted.  And, if you have a chance, ask for governmental and corporate accountability in regard to Hyrdo-fracking.

I love hot summer days and long sunlit evenings.  I love the greening of the earth and the flowering of nature. I love open windows and wearing light clothes. I love the changes vacations bring: the travel, the different places, the friends and relatives we share time with.

We have just returned from a vacation in North Carolina and a  visit with our son Tom and wife Grace, and  grandchildren Kieran and Lenora and her friend, Sina.  We have visited there often enough that their home and their surroundings are known and comfortable. Tom and I can relax and enjoy the familiarity of it all.  We even have favorite places to visit.

Again I am filled with gratitude for family.  With family, just watching TV together can be special. We watched a documentary about the life of Gloria Steinem and relived those earlier years together when I was so involved in the Women’s Movement and the family was affected by that connection as they were having their own sixties and seventies experiences.  We could talk about that time and what it meant to us then and what it means to us now.

We shared meals together. We celebrated birthdays,  one past, one coming (though we were not allowed to sing for the one gone by).  When it came time to leave. It was hard.  We would love to live closer to everyone.  Or we would love to extend our vacation and summer for a longer time.

I had not flown for awhile and expected it to be more of a hassle than it was. I think our age is a plus.  People seem to be friendly and helpful.  And the systems work. We were bumped up to first class on the way there.  I must say I liked it though it doesn’t do much for my philosophical opposition to class privilege.  Whenever we arrive home safely from a trip I always whisper “thank you Jesus”… even though I know Jesus has agents, like drivers and pilots who have more direct and material responsibility for a safe trip.  One way or another, the phrase, “Vaya con Dios” applies.

While we were gone, our son, John and friends, Marcio and Bianca took good care of our dog, Miranda, which is not an easy task.  She misses us and keeping her from being sad requires playing with her and giving her special loving care. We can’t thank them enough. She was very glad to see us when we got home. When will it dawn on her that she will not be played with as much or receive such lavish attention now that we are back?

School will soon begin.  The days will shorten. The leaves will turn and we will say “good-bye” to another summer.  Life will get busy again.  We are not quite ready.

And one more thing. Do I think President Obama and his family need a vacation before the fall season heats up?  You bet I do!  It is crazy to expect him to carry the load he does on behalf of all of us, without a break.  I want a rested President to deal with whatever lies ahead.  Well as rested as a President can be.  As his Press Secretary said,  “A President never really takes a vacation.”  Here’s hoping he ekes out as much as he can. Dare I say it,  Donald Trump is an idiot for thinking our President should not take a vacation and ABC is just as bad for letting him express that view on TV.

Have you ever read the children’s book, “City Mouse, Country Mouse”?  In it the advantages of country life and city life are set side-by-side through a daily walk with mice in each setting. As I return from my from country life to my life in ex-urbia, I feel the tug of the experiences of the two mice inside of me.  I am in the city, missing the country. When I am in the country,  I miss the city. I appreciate both.

Returning to urban parts of Massachusetts from rural parts of Pennsylvania, all of the buildings, even streets, seem too big. I feel dwarfed.  The difference in scale between the two settings is remarkable.  The rural town in which we live for a time in summer would be swallowed up by the city of Arlington:  3,000 people to 50,000. But it is more than that. The urban buildings are wider and taller,  there are so many of them with no fast escape into vast, open spaces.

On the other hand, the mountains  that surround our country borough are grand and omnipresent and make the city seem very limited.  We live in a valley surrounded by their protective presence.  And where small towns end, vast fields of grass and corn and other crops spread out before us.  Everything is green.  I could feel small in the presence of this world too, but I don’t.  I somehow feel free.

The difference in economics also reflects the difference in scale.  Homes in our small town are affordable and some are run down. Many are for sale again. Most people live on modest incomes. Increasingly, people on welfare live in our town, and there are at least as many people renting as owning homes. There are no higher educational institutions near-by.  The closest is forty-five minutes away and not many who graduate from high school go on to college. The only places we can walk to in our town are the general store, the churches, the borough hall, and the neighborhood bar.  The library which was once in town is now one town over.

Initially, I felt that there were more drugs in our rural town than in our suburban setting. The town got rid of its one police officer a few years ago. However, when we returned home, the local papers reported a drug bust down the street. Who knows?  Drugs are everywhere; so are those who don’t use them.

What I miss most as we return home to our urban setting is the nature that surrounds us in Pennsylvania.  The open expanses of green dotted with animals and vegetation. The occasional tractor or Amish buggy on the road and the minimal traffic.  I almost said the slower pace, but, for those who work, the pace is much the same as it is here.

What I appreciate when we return home is the diversity in the population here, the more liberal outlook on life, and the cultural and educational  opportunities, which are so abundant that it is sometimes easier to ignore them all than sort them out.

I suppose my point in writing this is to put in print my own country mouse/city mouse experience.  This is a vast country and we can never forget it.  I love being able to actually live in both places even if my time is not equally divided between the two.  I know that my head belongs to the city.  My soul lives in those mountains.  My heart embraces both, along with the streams and rivers which flow through town and country, and the ocean which touches the Massachusetts and Jersey shores. And I love the good people who call both places home.

PS. I do know that in Pennsylvania there are urban places, I grew up in one.  And in New England, there are rural places, our son and family live in one.

This past month, I have spent time with my two sisters and my sister-in-law (wife of my brother who died a few years ago) and marvel at how important they are to me.  We don’t see each other often, making these times ever more important.

We have a unique and special connection. We share a history. Of course, we each have our own as well as our common memories, experiences, and perspectives. After all of these years we still learn things from one another about our parents, our grandparents and extended family, and ourselves: all of which can shed more light on who we are today.

My sister, Thersa and her husband, Norb, had just returned from a trip to our mother’s birthplace, Passau, Germany to connect with her childhood and part of our ancestral past. My sister, Mary, and husband, Bill were married there years ago accompanied by our mother who was going back for the first time since she emigrated at the age of seventeen.

The best part of being together, however, is that we enjoy one another as the women we have become and care about what is happening today with us and our families.

And, it is just plain fun to see and value how different we are in our talents and interests, vocations, avocations, and choice of husbands.  Between the four of us, we have ten sons and seven daughters and a growing number of grandchildren each of  whom is their own unique self.

My husband and I watched the mo who vie,  “Pride and Prejudice,” last night,( five sisters,) which reminded me of “Little Women,”  (four sisters.) We are three birth sisters and one sister by marriage.  What would we look like on the big screen?  Boring probably. Maybe not. We don’t know all of one another’s secrets.  We don’t need to.  We are content to accept whatever is or has been and take one another for granted.  The older we  get, the more important it seems to just be connected.

I celebrate my siblings and I want to pass that celebration of siblings  on to future generations.