Days in the "Office"

It has been said that few people at the end of their life say “ I wish I would have spent more time at the office.” Lately, however, I find myself thinking “ I wish I would have spent more time in The Office.” The Daily Office of the Book Of Common Prayer, that is.

I find it a meaningful, yet delightful, way to begin and end the day. There is something special about an early rising with its solitude and quietness to spend some time in prayer and Scripture. Prayers that have served the Church and stood the tests of time. Prayers that do not focus solely on me. Prayers that prompt my own prayers. Scriptures that have been part of the Church Lectionary for probably hundreds of years. One seems to find his place in the grand scheme of things. And it is a wonderful way to fill my mind with things eternal before retiring for the day. (Far better than the news!)

I have to admit that this was a bit of a struggle at first. This old guy likes his ten hours of sleep. And then something began to happen; I began waking up to check the clock. Was it 5:00 yet? Is it that special time to rise? I am anxious to begin these prayers and readings. Of course, I must brew a pot of tea first. (After all, tea is what makes days worth living. With milk, of course, poured in the cup first before adding that delightful hot brown liquid!)

Mid-evening finds me heading back to the Daily Office and my loving spouse knows that I will soon be departing for the bedroom in about an hour and she will wind up her day in solitude.

So I say to myself “it’s good to go back to the Office”.

That’s my story and I’m sticking to it...

When a Luddite Hits the Wall

I love typewriters. They tend to put one in the slow lane of life and have great appeal for us piddler/plodders. They might not be efficient but then 'efficiency' may be greatly overblown. A typewriter makes you think about what you are going to say before you commit it to paper. They are noisy but have do have a certain rhythm about them. Your hands get a bit oily when you change the ribbon. And these are just a few of their wonderful attributes. Need one say more?

Here's the problem. I recently agreed to collaborate on a writing project with a friend who lives about an hour and a half away. We can meet midway at a coffee shop or library and spend some time working together or we can work together on-line with Google Documents and instantly see what the other is doing, all from the comforts of one's own desk (or dining room table or recliner). You can't collaborate using a manual typewriter. But then, coffee shops may not the best place to use a typewriter anyway. Unless you want people to glare at you.

Having to eat my words about using only using typers, I went to Costco and purchased a Chrome Book computer which they had on special. I guess it will work well with Google Docs. Now documents have become almost foolproof. They are much too easy! What can I say?

I miss my white-out? ... Oh well.

That's my story and I sticking to it.

May Day

I was reminded today of a story my father used to tell about May Day when he was young.  To set the scene it is important to know that he and four other children were being raised by a young widowed mother.  Making ends meet took most of her time so the brothers ran pretty much unsupervised.

The tradition on May Day was to knock on an individuals door, leave a May basket of things for them and then high tail it out of there.  Seeing that May baskets left on teacher's doors often contained candies and other goodies, Dad and his brothers would lay low when someone came to leave a basket.  As the person bringing the basket left,  Dad and his brothers would also leave but with the basket in tow.  Treats to be enjoyed!

Delinquents or opportunists?  You decide.

Sigurd and the Nativity

If you were to visit our home this Christmas you might wonder why there is a little Norwegian troll looking at the Christ Child via the back door of our nativity set.  The story goes like this:

I was given a little troll by my wife Nancy while visiting Alexandria, MN several years ago.  After some thought we named him Sigurd.  He usually sits atop our stereo to keep an eye on our apartment when we are not there.

While doing some research on King Harold of Norway I found that his given name was Harold Sigurdson and besides being part of our family tree he played a significant role in establishing Christianity in Norway.  Therefore it is fitting that our little troll be named Sigurd and equally fitting that he should be gazing at the Christ Child in the manger. 

Sigurd is fascinated by the Christ Child and wants to know him more.  Some people today may be interested as to what Christianity is all about.  Perhaps Sigurd can play a role in bringing the Christ Child to our world today.

That's my story and I'm sticking to it!

United States Post Office

I had to go down our local post office to mail an oversized letter today.  The line was nearly out the door and only one clerk was at one of the three windows.  I noticed several others busily doing what was probably 'administrative stuff' to satisfy the 'system'.  My observation is this - most of the postal employees I have met are great people who really want to do a good job.  The problem is they seem to be stuck in a system that does not allow or encourage good customer service.  No wonder there a problems!  Let's hope for a change.

Tea and Toast

In the last years I have developed a habit of waking up in the middle of the night, enjoying a cup of tea and a piece of toast, and reading/thinking in the quietness of the night.  For me there seems to be something special about that time that is hard to describe to sound sleepers.

The Psalmist says 'My eyes are awake before the watches of the night, that I may meditate on your promise.'  I wonder if he had 'tea and toast' also.

Sauntering and Bimbling

Reading 'Walking' by Thoreau made me think back to my youth when I would take long walks through the countryside, often down the railroad tracks and ending up near a small lake at a neighboring farm.  A young man had drowned in that lake so we were made hesitant to swim in it.  There was, yet, a certain pleasure in simply walking around it and absorbing it's stillness.  Perhaps this was true sauntering.  Bimbling at it's best.  Such times are difficult to regain.