She's at her new blog. Which isn't on lj, but there will be fic and interesting convo in the offing, so do check her out:

http://revsarey.wordpress.com

You know, I was worried about this. The whole, 'Can I really keep up two blogs at once? A work blog and a personal blog?' I was right, I can't. Or, I couldn't. But not at all for the reasons I first supposed. Because what has occured was something that I hadn't considered at all: Nothing on either of them.

Now, sure, I go through periods of waxing and waning interest, attention, and energy. So it goes. But there was something else going on there, in and amongst the fact that the last two years of my life have been slightly more stressful and draining that I would have ever imagined, for reasons entirely personal and familial. And I've finally figured out my conundrum on the blogging issue, avoided so long because of my complete lack of energy to be introspective about it, as would be my norm. Anyway, the issue:

Where does work end and personal begin? Where does personal end and work begin? Boundaries. There are people from work (not staff, but members of the community for which I work) who read this blog, and they are welcome to do so. There are people who read this blog who are purely personal friends and compatriots in writerly and ficcly pursuits. Yet my work is a large part of my personal world view. And certainly, I am asked to give quite a bit of what I might otherwise consider something very personal to my work, particularly in preaching and theological reflection, to say nothing of getting to know other people and their stories.

Frankly, the issue reminds me of one of Huw's blogposts on God and Caesar, and my comments therein.

Which is interesting, because as I read the blogpost, I wasn't sure where I fell in that question of violated boundaries, and yet, as I wrote, I thought (behold, the introvert), and by the end of the post comment, I'd come away with a clearer understanding of how I felt about the topic.

And that is exactly what I'd been avoiding in this topic. To think, I must write. I know this. And yet, I avoid it when I am afraid of finding an answer that I think I might not like.

Well, I still don't have an answer, but I think I'm no longer afraid of working it out, in those ways that I do.

Random Sidenote: I need to update my lj icons.

So.

Today is the 25th Wedding Anniversary of one of my co-workers. Yay for Holly & Patrick!

Yay, indeed. And after going upstairs to wish her a happy 25th and hear about her fun evening plans of a fabulous meal and a show, I came back downstairs, ready to start in on Sunday's sermon (don't get your hopes up, oh ye who attend my church - I'm preaching at the early service). But upon approaching my office with the door wide open, I saw the magic 8 ball...

My somewhat hazy thought was, "So, this is going to happen for me, right?" This, even as I thought, "You know, whether or not this happens - this, being happily married to someone I adore - the Magic 8 Ball is unlikely to have the insiders scoop on it."

I received the following response: "My sources say No."

"Second opinion," I muttered, picking up the bright pink Jesus which also functions as a magic 8 ball. I shook him hard and flipped him over, only to be told, "Beware of the lightening."

"Come on, Buddha!" I muttered. I picked up the white plastic Laughing Buddha, rubbed his tummy and flipped him over. "Life is suffering," the Buddha informed me.

I snorted. "Unhelpful!" I informed them all.

But you know, just now I was reading in a scholarly commentary about Aragorn and whats-her-face, sheildmaiden of the house of Eorl. Eowyn, that's it. Anyway, the commentary was discussing love and duty, infatuation and devotion, and pointed out that love, if anything in our world, was inadvertent over intentional. We fall into love, after all, the commentator pointed out.

So it goes. And my track record for falling in love hasn't, so far, been anything like convenient, if by convenient I could be allowed to mean 'a remotely good idea, in any sense of the word'.

So it goes.

(I mean, come on: he only needs to be brilliant, creative, remotely attractive, and at least somewhat aware of the world around him. Honestly, am I asking too much?)

So it goes.

So, my rector preached the best sermon I've heard from him yet. You can find a text copy of it on his blog, here: Cam's Good Friday Sermon .

The following entry will make much more sense if you take five minutes and go read the sermon. I promise you that it will be worth your while.

So, we had a conversation afterwards and after I told him that, in fact, this was the best I'd heard from him, etc, and I talked to him about what I see as my calling, or dharma, if you will. He knows this already, and you probably have put two and two together, but surprise: I write. I need to write. I'm called to write. It's my dharma to write. And I don't do near enough of it. Okay, whinging aside, I mentioned to him that part of what I see that writing is to be is to use my storytelling and my own imagination to write what the world could be like, should we, the human race, make an effort. And while I didn't say it outright, I was thinking: fiction. Novels. SciFi. Romance. Magial Realism. Even fanfic, really. Really, all those things I do when I'm not at work.

And he was thinking: Sermon.

He said as much, and he pointed out that I don't do any storytelling in my sermons. And I realized that I looked at sermons as a genre apart, and one I was none too good at, considering my ability in other genres. He pointed out that I could make the genre into whatever I wanted, and that I really needed to not be him. (Sure, easy to say and easy to agree with, but the truth of the matter is that, of course, some part of me says, "Wow, he does it really well, I want to be like him. He's really inspiring, and I think he's got it right; I want to be like him.")

So, I'm thrown for a loop:

a) the sermon was good and challenging, and hopeful (in that way that hearing it gives me hope for the church as an institution - if we can bust out with stuff like this, there is hope for us yet), and really set me to thinking about what traditions are unhelpful in our church and in our culture, and how deeply ingrained some of the unhelpful stuff is. And what, exactly do I want to do about that? Yes, I'm only one person, and no I feel absolutely NO CALL to be a politician and change the church or the world in that way, but I do feel called to be a storyteller, and so how do I propose to change the world in that way?

b) I think I might need to integrate my storytelling with my preaching. It's the bud of an idea, but beyond it, I'm utterly and completely at a loss. For some reason I find repugnant the idea (a possibly good suggestion of Cam's) to read some Barbara Brown Taylor and see how she does it. Maybe it's just the flush confusion of the moment. ...But I know that I have a tendancy to absorb the voice of another author and then, if I wish, parrot it back with something like precision. That can come in handy if you write fic (not that I've done it in a while with fic, mind you). And I don't want to do that with the Rev. Taylor. (If I'm going to copy someone, dammit, it's going to be Rev. Miller!) But I am, after all, trying to find my own voice. (Erm, I suppose that would be, Rev. Gordy's voice.) I feel like I've done that, to a certain extent, in my fic. Granted, it only took me 15 years to do get to that point. But I wouldn't mind being able to do it over night - to find my voice more or less instantly - with my sermons. Really, I wouldn't.

So, it's Good Friday. And there's pain, there's angst, there's an eyes-wide-open look at ourselves and the world. There is confusion, a broad path, a cross-roads, and provisions for the way forward, though which particular way forward has yet to be discerned.

It's Good Friday. And somehow, it feels like our world has been living in Good Friday since the first Human bashed the second Human with a big rock to steal his fire. And it feels, somehow, like it will remain Good Friday until we can all, somehow, decide to use rocks only for building and not for bashing, whether or not we agree with one another. Only then will Easter be true in the here and now sense, which of course is how we generally celebrate it, either here and now or proleptic and escatalogical (a tiny taste in the here and now that tells something of the after-life experience), neither of which seem true. Only then will Easter not be a false prophet in the truest sense: if the prophesy doesn't come to pass, it wasn't true. Until then, to celebrate Easter like we've done it, we managed it, we've fought the good fight and won, won, won - that seems like vacationing along the banks of Denial and taking a dip when it gets too hot out.

And until then, there is much to think about, and much to be written.


...And I'm still in my cassock. It's a 'paint it black' sort of day. I'm still gonna eat, tho. A food-less Sarey is an unconscious Sarey.

::grins::

Trinity & the Goo Goo Dolls are both winning an award from Compass House at the end of the week.  Compass House is the emergency shelter and resource center for run away teens - the only one of it's kind in Buffalo, and Trinity started it in the 70's.  Naturally, i'm going to the reception dinner.

::grins::

Maybe I'll get to meet Johnny Resnik.  ::swoons::

Heh.

(Of course, I'll be all-dressed-up, which means I'll be looking like a priest. This is the sort of thing that is killing my dating life. Besides, Johnny has a girlfriend. Tho, the Goos are returning to Buffalo to set up shop here... Maybe he has a cute, creative, single friend who'd like to date a cute, savvy, creative and spiritually well-adjusted person such as myself?)

My boss was interviewed by a local news agency and the podcast is online! Yay. I knew about this earlier, but the I just looked at the webstats and saw how many referrals there were from www.buffalorising.com and got very excited. Went to check it out myself.

It's pretty damn nifty, if I do say so my self. Also, my boss rocks, but if you read this regularly, you probably already know I think that way.

Anyway, if you're at all interested, I highly recommend listening to the podcast: www.buffalorising.com/story/trinity

Lemme know what you think, if you do.

It being Halloween and all, I thought I'd pop online and read some stories of my favorite witches and wizards, since I already have vampires and stinky cats in real life. (Not sure what stinky cats, or just the one stinky kitten might have to do with Halloween, other than the fact that his name just happens to be Severus. Severus Septimius Alexander "Grumpypants" Snape Gordy, to be exact. His brother Harry is much nicer on the nose. Yes, that would be Harry James "The Kitten Who Lived" Potter Gordy. Their older brother Zuko, however violent he might be, was never at all anything but perfectly groomed all the time, bless his little furry soul.)

Off to find suitable fic and eat halloween candy that I have purchased for exactly that reason.

I wanted to thank everyone for their support and compassion for me and prayers and well-wishes for my family as my mother underwent cancer treatment these last several months.  I’m happy to report that she is officially in remission, as of yesterday morning.

While remission is not the same as a cure, we're all really happy. Given her health and the agressive and ugly sort of cancer she has had, she has a 50% chance of remaining in remission, but if she does remain in the big R for the next 3-5 years, that percentage increases to something like 95.

So, thank you. We're happy, and we're tired. But mostly, we're happy.

Have had rough day.

Still not quite over food poisoning fiasco.

Had horrible nightmares last night, plus one semi-lovely dream. When boss perkily proclaimed that nightmares were 'really great! A window into the psyche!', did accidentally growl at him.

Had strange and slightly scary character curse out and literally lay a curse on my church as I sat outside in the dark, greeting for the evening service. He started throwing things. So glad was not alone.

Did not like sermon. Liked sermon when i wrote it, but not when i gave it.

Was accused of heresy by wild-eyed fundamentalist christian who managed to wander in to the Obviously and Explicitly Not Christian Service. Now, I'll grant you that in the strictest of senses, going by an orthodoxy that is NOT widely embraced in the Episcopal Church, on the grounds he stated, yes, I was being heretical. (But then, what's new?) But I didn't think that arguing with him would serve any purpose, so I was pastoral instead. Then I went for a walk. Was proud of self for restraint. Didn't point out that Rumi was a muslim, which i'm guessing he didn't realize, and so when Rumi spoke of the one true religion... Erm, not discussing Christianity... Ykno, and I thought he was cute, on the way in. Funny how a crazed adherence to fundamentalism of any sort is off-putting.

Smallest and most adorable kitten continues to poop on himself, thus making himself into a walking Stink Bomb. Does not understand why I won't let him sit in my lap.

Tummy still hurts.

Merp.

So, WTFWJD? I've got an opinion about that, but it includes an obscure parable that would shock and offend, it turns the situation upside down, and gives an obviously clear and decidedly unpopular answer without getting him in any trouble whatsoever.

It is the final death knell of my faithful (er, occasionally functional) iPod, Pelagius. He was spiffy. He was black and red. He had Bono's etched signature on his reverse. He occasionally worked, usually when I wanted him to. He did cart most of my music around in a somewhat predictiable manner. He outlasted his warranty, after a fashion - he was a warranty replacement himiself. And he is, at least at the moment, irreplaceable. (In that way where I cannot at the moment afford to replace him.)

He will be missed. For my two road trips in November, I will be resigned to the use of my cd player. Alas.

And yet, there is the Easter hope of Resurrection. It may be he finds a new home on eBay, where he may be recycled and used for parts. And I will experience the joy and freedom of an iPodless lifestyle, having to sing to myself and pay attention to other people when I walk to meetings at the Cathedral.

At least I still have iTunes. It is some measure of compensation.

EDIT:

On second thought, it was a right pain in the rear not to know if he'd work or not. The last 8 months haven't been all that great, in respect to his iPoddiness. I mean, he's taken up physical and emotional space in my life and I haven't received much audio yumminess in return. So I say a blithe and sincere 'thank you' to all those lovely moments when you fucntioned properly, and now that you don't and you are utterly unfixable, because you are, in fact, a modern gadget, it is time for you to move on to occupy someone else's space. Thank you, and goodbye. Off to eBay with you. Where's my digital camera?

It's amazing what $6.99 can do for your life. Well, I don't know what it can do for yours, but for mine, it purchaced a hefty bottle of cool cat spray stuff that has a lovely citrusy scent, and that, among other things, uses particular enzymes to totally negate many of the unpleasant odors assoicated with having, say, two new kittens in your home.

I went to my knitterly group this afternoon, and when I came back home my house smelled normal for the first time in weeks. I cannot describe the sense of calm and relaxation that this provoked in me. My home feels clean again. Oh, the joy. O, Wondrous Rapture!

And this morning I wrote another section on number 3 in the Spinner's End series - vv angsty, but it'll get better in the next section, which I also worked out this morning, though I didn't write it up. It has a wonderful twist I'm quite proud of - it came right out of my OT classes with the beloved Dr. Judy Fentress-Williams. Who knew the Hebrew Scriptures could be so handy? (You know, besides the obvious uses...) I tell you, anytime you can put a magical twist on something that occurred 5000 years ago, you're doing well - that's my thought.

And this afternoon I made major headway in my most recent knitting project: My Gryffindor House Quidditch jumper. (I know, it should be Slytherin, but you see, I already HAD the yarn for the Gryffie one, remaining from the scarf I knit for Adam, but then couldn't bear to have around and pulled out again. If anything, I'll wear it in happy rememberance of my favorite dead Gryffindor.) Anyway, I'm very excited about this. I finished the front, and I'm almost done with the back. Then there are only the sleeves, the collar and stiching the puppy up left to do. Oh joy!

And the cats themselves are being charming. Zuko is no longer hogging the bed, but sleeping in his own, and the boys (Sev & Harry) are behaving themselves as much as their little kitteny hearts allow in the nursery (read: bathroom).

And I'm chugging right along on my sermon, drinking the loveliest decaf tea. It's called Lemon Cream Pie, and it's much better than it sounds. It's got a Roobios base, which I don't normally care for, but this version is just fabulous. The dearest, lovelist Logan gave it to me for my birthday, and I'm going to ask for a great big bag of it for Christmas.

Okay. So I'd made a decision that in my life I really only want certian musical instruments that I know I'll use. Said musical instruments are as follows: My guitar, my two recorders from grandma, a piano I don't have, and a cello I also don't have.

But you see, I have a bunch of other musical instruments that I've been given that I do not use, do not need to keep for sentimental purposes, and am holding onto them because what I really want is a piano, but they're my substitute (but not a great substitute, as I don't play them).

So, I thought to myself - sell the flute, violin, and harp. You don't use them. You don't even want to use them. What you want is a piano, which you would use, but instead you have the harp you bought in Seminary and the flute and violin from your grandparents that they swore weren't worth anything, etc, and you have no memories associated with those instruments so just put them in the hands of someone who will use them.

So, Craigslist, I thought. And I take pictures. And I poke around with flashlights to find out the maker's mark inside the instruments. And then, mid posting my intuition pipes up and I decide to google the violin.

And my jaw drops.

Just a student's violin, my grandmother told me. Perhaps in 1925 when it was made. (Granma, who went to that highbrow musical adademy in NYC whose name I always forget, but dropped out to get married. Granma who had perfect pitch and could play any instrument she laid her hands on. Granma who wrote and rearranged filing cabinets full of music. Granma who spent her life as a church organist, and when she retired continued to play in bands and at receptions until only the last few years of her life. Granma, who after said hoity-toity academy, put up her violin and never played it again. It hung on her wall for the next 65 or so years, along with a bevy of dulcimers she'd collected from her travels and handful of recorders that had a pretty finish but couldn't keep in tune. Granma, who played the recorder as well as Michela Petri...)

And I'll grant you that it's finish on Granma's old violin isn't as shiney as the ones in the pictures, but it is a Eugen Meikel reproduction of an A. Strad. "Cremona" c. 1725, and they're listing for $4250.

Now, please understand that the minimum payment for my VISA (which admittedly got me through seminary, wisely or foolishly) is more than my rent.

And so I'm left with a few different options, based on both altruism and the fiscal reality of my life.

A) Attempt to sell it myself on ebay or similar, hoping to get at least $3k.
B) Sell it to antique music dealer and potentially get half of whatever they sell it for. (I base this guess on what piano resellers get, so our head musician tells me.)
C) Find a program that provides musical instrumetns to inner city kids and donate it, writing off for my taxes whatever it is, after having it appraised for $30.
D) Seek further advice from people who are more expert at this sort of thing than I am - like, for instance, the head musician at work, and my friend Holly who has more musical connections than God.
E) Keep it.

Hm. Open to suggestion. I think I might email Holly, however. She might even know someone who'd be willing to take pitty on an underpaid priest with a VISA bill the size of NYC, and purchase it.

And the harp.

Ah, well.

( Click here for Sarey's whinge-binge )

Random Fact:

My sister Rose has the darnest time chosing and sticking with a name for her cat. Strange, when all of her other cats had such interesting names: Fat Shakira, Hot Tuna, Fishytwit, Alien Baby, Blanc... The list goes on. But this one? I'm not sure the cat has a name that the rest of the human world is aware of. My favorite name for her cat was Padme II, Queen of Naboo. In a reaction to this, my cats have very definite names. They are as follows:

Zuko, Crown Prince of the Fire Nation, also known as Zumaru, the Panang Kitty, and the Noseless Wonder.

Severus Septimius Alexander "Grumpypants" Snape, also knowing as Sevvy, and by my mother, Slytherin.

Harry James "the kitten who lived" Potter, who has no nicknames, as Harry is one and he's not really mine anyway - he's Sev's litter mate and really, my sister's cat. It's a good thing I named him before she got him, though, or the poor fuzzy guy might never get one.

Hm.

So - do you recall hearing about the IRS investigating an Episcopal church in California because they preached against the war? Well, the IRS dropped the case, but declared that the sermon was 'still illegal'. The church in Pasadena wants an apology.

Check it out here at the Los Angeles Times online.

Ah, the world we live in.

...It's one of those times where I think the question, "what would Jesus do?" is actually rather valid, but also rather obvious. I'd like to point out that he was very much against the Roman Occupying Forces of his own time...

And if you don't understand that title, well, you weren't at Chef's were you?

Welcome to the LJ (er, Live Journal, Joelle). Feel free to poke around.

And for the rest of my dear friends, soon, and very soon, I'll give you the complete story about the Man Who Honestly Thinks He's A Vampire, and Whom I Am Not Dating.

Not Dating.

It really was a WTFWJD? moment.

Am going to live with the monks, soon.

Just for a bit, you understand. I have not decided to become a buddhist monastic afterall. But I am taking the tail end of my wee vacation to spend time in three days of complete silence (other than saying mass, during which actually I don't say much, come to think of it) with those lovey trappists fellows who live just south of me in the Genesee Valley.

I've got my Message translation of the bible, my tiny BCP, a new Thich Nhat Hanh, two new Pema Chodrons, a brand new journal, a zafu and my home communion set. Add some soap and underwear and I'll be good to go.

Now, the real feat for me will not be keeping silence. It will not be getting up early (tho, the monks get up at 2am - I'm not all about that, I don't think). It will not be all that prayer, meditation, or introspection.

It will be: not writing fic.

Eeek. I mean, I am in the middle of three seperate stories, two slightly similar, one really not. Plus, the original story I'm "working" on - if you can call never writing and really thinking of, working.

Eeek. I better just write like the dickens tomorrow, then, huh? Back to Spinner's End for me. I can't wait until Sev finds out that his house has been painted a lovely shade of Lavender. But I have a feeling that a lot is going to happen before he realises this...

::grins::

http://www.prankplace.com/images/jesus/jesus_cu.htm

Do go check it out. It's like the Magic 8 Ball, but Jesus. I've just ordered a matched set: Jesus and Buddha. If you're in the area, stop by my office (also known as the Department of Discontent, as it is so close to the coffee machine) and check them out in the coming weeks.

So, I asked Jesus about this whole disclaiming up front about the priesthood thing whilst dating.

Jesus responded, "Wait for a sign."

I asked Jesus if he was sure.

Jesus responded, "Yes, my child."

So far, Jesus sounds like the pope. I was hoping for something like, "Stop being so narcisitic and go feed the poor." Or perhaps, "This has nothing to do with you, everything to do with God." Or even (my personal favorite), "Get thee behind me, Satan."

::sigh:: I guess you can't win everything. I check with my Magic 8 ball about that, and it agrees.

Gandhi says, "Happiness is when what you think, what you say, and what you do are in harmony."

I've been meditating on that. It's applicable on a lot of levels, I reckon.

::sigh:: But of course, the most recent level would be the dating scene: I've had my first official and obvious rejection (from a cute and interesting guy vaguely reminiscent of my favorite and current head muse, no less) on the basis of my profession and vocation. He posited that we would not get along, and his friends would refuse to speak to me. Clearly in this and any situation, he is in a better posiition to tell me what he wants and does not want, how he would react, how he would feel, etc.

But I can't help but believe that I am not, in fact, your average priest and judging how you would interact with me on the basis of how you would interact with your mother's aging priest, or the angry guy you saw on tv, or in fact, the nasty old pedophiles you hear about in the paper... It makes me sad.

I do not want to date the sort of people who want to date a priest.

The sort of people who do not want to date a priest are precisely who I want to date.

This is a conundrum, and the only current way out I see is to compromise my integrity and not state my profession, which I can't currently see an ethical way around.

I wonder if emailing my old ethics professor might help? Frannie? Do you think I could ask Tim?

Or better yet - Martha?

You'll never guess what my cat did.

4am, Sunday morning. Is my sermon done? No. That is why I am up, eating breakfast, quite perky all things considered. I'd been up for an hour. My laptop was open on my desk because I'd been sitting there just a moment before, drinking some water, reviewing the readings and my notes. Then I got up to make myself a lovely bowl of cereal.

Klunk. Sploosh.

And, I think to myself, Zuko... What are you doing now?

The Klunk was the sound of the pint glass being tipped over by a furry paw.

The Sploosh was the sound of approximately half a pint of water flowing out of the tipped over pint glass and onto the open keyboard of the laptop.

Now, I make it a practice not to call my cat anything in anger like, oh, say, Monster, or Fiend, or even, Little Sh!t. It's a habit of mindfulness that helps to keep me from anthropmorhizing him more than I already do, and it keeps my anger and frustration in check. This incident sorely tested my promise to myself, but I was strong and did not engage in any petty name calling.

He is, however, now something a very expensive cat. Officially.

And I have a spiffy new macbook named Museo (Museo, meet the flist). Am investigating an ebay purchase of microsoft office 2004 for mac, as regular purchase is more than the three year full warranty for Museo. (How do these people think you can get by with spiffy audio/visual stuff, and yet no decent text editor? Does no one write anymore? </i>Heathen.</i>)

Have spiffy new laptop, yes. Have next to none of my old data, also yes. This includes Firebolt Ring, among other things. And the last episode of Avatar that I'd been saving for some seriously rainy day.

I have every hope that some wonderful techie type person will be able to salvage the hard drive and burn me copies. "Didn't you BACK UP?" I can hear you say - well, no, but there was a rather good reason. The CD ROM had stopped working at one point, and I hadn't gotten around to getting it fixed with Dell. Dell can be rather a pain about these things, and there was always something going wrong with Viktor. Poor Viktor - poor, dead Viktor. ::sniff::

So, in addition to some family health stuff that is going on (Mom had her first round of chemo this week, and I took off from work and went with her), it's been a hell of a week. Personally, I'm thrilled that I've met the practice of mindfulness. I think I'd be an absolute wreck otherwise. As it is, I'm hanging in there, thanks.