Fortunate son

The other half of the new year equation --- and an equation, remember, always presumes the equality of two expressions on either side of that “equals” sign --- is looking back. Men of my age and nature have survived at least two plagues, Vietnam and AIDS; because of that, we’re fortunate to be around to remember at all.

Sitting here in a brightly-lighted room looking at a computer screen before dawn, it’s a little surreal to remember that I was born into a world without electricity. The Rural Electrification Administration, which brought power to the country because commercial utilities wouldn’t, didn’t come along until I was 3 or 4. Was it Quincy Robb I vaguely remember wiring the house? Can’t say for sure.

Both of my grandfathers still farmed with horses, as did my dad to a lesser extent --- he had a tractor, too. We lived down a dirt road, not unusual then, and when that road turned to mud, those big horses sometimes were hitched to the front end of the car to pull it in, or out. Shale from the coal mines was used as often as crushed limestone from the quarries then to surface roads that had any surface at all. Who else remembers pink roads?

I attended three years of country school at Dry Flat. Amazing. More than 50 years later, during the summer now past, we were able to celebrate that school, the neighborhood and the wonderful people in it --- far too many now only memories --- at the Dry Flat reunion. Talk about grace.

There’s been a good deal of attention given to bullying during 2010, and I was --- but not mercilessly and I don’t think my bullies recognized the queer in the kid they were harassing. Still, it had an effect. Adults sometimes dismiss bullying as a harmless rite of passage. It isn’t. Bullies are never forgotten; it’s a type of torment that just goes on tormenting. I could name my four bullies now. One died a few years ago. I thought, “good.” That’s appalling in a way.

None of my grandparents were churchy people and my parents, uncomfortable in situations where there was conflict ( and there often was in the congregations of my childhood), did so only sporadically. But their faith never was in question. There are advantages to that for a kid. I regret the fact so many youngsters nowadays grow up religiously illiterate; I didn’t. On the other hand, I have known too many so scarred by institutional Christianity or made indifferent to faith by indifferent parents that they slam the door on grace. That’s sad.

I don’t believe I ever heard my mother speak unkindly about anyone. Isn’t that amazing? My dad could get aggravated at individuals and do a good deal of sputtering --- but never because of that person’s race, religion, ethnicity, economic situation or sexual orientation. What a gift to grow up in a home like that.

It’s always been a fantasy among heterosexuals that those of us who aren’t choose not to be. I knew who I was by the time I was maybe 3, 4 at the latest --- not that I knew what to call it, and I certainly knew enough not to tell anyone about it --- even in the most loving of family situations. I’ll spare you the circumstances, although they were benign and remain entirely clear in my mind. Even in the most positive of environments, I learned early not to trust too many people --- and still as a rule don’t.

Russell High School was a wonderful place in the 1960s --- before “small” became a perjorative; the 18-member Class of 1964 a family. And wonderful, too, was the University of Iowa in the 1960s, an amazing and hopeful time despite the deepening morass of war. You could begin to be yourself here on many levels.

I’ve written enough for now about Vietnam. But it’s interesting, I think, that I was still in basic training at Fort Polk (if asked, and I quite frankly don’t recall, I certainly didn’t tell) on the 28th of June, 1969, when gay people finally and for the first time stood up for themselves and against government-sanctioned persecution, during riots outside the Stonewall Inn, a bar in Greenwich Village --- the start of the gay rights movement, shots heard around the world.

It’s curious to consider that a bunch of drag queens in New York City led the beginning of a movement that in the long run has accomplished more than a war that claimed 50,000-plus U.S. lives, straight and gay, half a continent away during roughly the same time period. The recent repeal of Don’t Ask Don’t Tell can be traced back, if you care to, to that defining moment. That’s why we love our drag queens, still.

Some of the best years of my life were spent in a tiny Winnebago County town called Thompson --- and I’m still in love with weekly newspapers, where I began, and with small-town life (although both are struggling and diminished). I moved on eventually to larger towns and somewhat larger newspapers --- and promptly lost my faith in print journalism. Weeklies now are the only newspapers I subscribe to or have any particular interest in or hope for. Sorry, but the electronic and digital media are the future.

While there, AIDS forged in fire the community those drag queens launched --- as diverse, sometimes disjointed and scattered as it still is. That happened when it became clear that many if not most heterosexuals would just as leave we’d die --- and I can lead you to a few graves around here and elsewhere where young men were buried quietly by families who certainly mourned but also felt shamed by their offspring and therefore a degree of relief --- then were rarely mentioned again.

I’m still here, however, and remember all of that, and them --- on the raggedy edge of a generation of gay men, the best and brightest of whom are dead.

And now I’m home again --- and loving it. Still hopeful (young people are amazing), faithful (in my way) --- a fortunate son. Everyone else should be so lucky. Remembering that is a good way to begin 2011.

Ham and cheese and Ithaka

Constantine Cavafy, 1863-1933

Well, here it is almost a new year and I’m feeling kind of underwhelmed again, but can’t exactly put my finger on the why.

Used to be I’d go out and buy new yearly planners in December, resolving to keep track of things. That lasted maybe a week. I still have a couple of them --- beautifully bound, pristine, years out of date. Maybe I could turn them into scrapbooks. Maybe I should throw them away. Now there’s a useful thought.

I was visiting with a friend earlier in the week who says he feels more spiritually enlightened now than he did a year ago. I’m happy for him and told him so. But I don’t --- just as muddled as ever. Not unhappy, not confused, not despairing --- just muddled. There’s nothing the matter with muddle. Sometimes it’s more generous than certainty and quite often more hopeful.

Used to make long-term new year resolutions. Those lasted about a week, too.

Now I make short-term resolutions. Like just before going to bed, I resolve to make the bed the next morning and sometimes do. Baby steps.

Earlier this month, I resolved not to waste food and because of that have recently eaten an entire Christmas ham purchased because it was on sale despite the fact I do not especially like naked ham and knew my holiday dinners would be eaten elsewhere. But after consuming baked ham, cold ham, hot ham and cheese sandwiches, ham and cheese omelets, ham and bean soup and escalloped potatoes and ham I was feeling mighty self-righteous.

Until I found something sealed in plastic in the refrigerator I didn’t recognize. DNA testing would be required to figure out what it once had been. And desiccated celery, dead grapes. Whoops. One more new botched beginning, as Stephen Spender wrote. But “beginning” is the key word here. “Botched” goes with the territory.

Some say we should put the old year behind us, start the new as if it were a newly-wiped slate. Don’t buy that. It’s magic thinking and magic thinking leads to crash landings. I’m just not ready to give up on 2010 yet; a few things still to think about --- but looking forward hopefully.

I’m partial to Constantine Cavafy’s 1911 poem entitled “Ithaka.” It soon will be a century old, but speaks to 2011 just as it did to 1911 --- at least to me. Happy new year!

As you set out for Ithaka

hope the voyage is a long one,

full of adventure, full of discovery.

Laistrygonians and Cyclops,

angry Poseidon — don’t be afraid of them:

you’ll never find things like that on your way

as long as you keep your thoughts raised high,

as long as a rare excitement

stirs your spirit and your body.

Laistrygonians and Cyclops,

wild Poseidon — you won’t encounter them

unless you bring them along inside your soul,

unless your soul sets them up in front of you.

Hope the voyage is a long one.

May there be many a summer morning when,

with what pleasure, what joy,

you come into harbors seen for the first time;

may you stop at Phoenician trading stations

to buy fine things,

mother of pearl and coral, amber and ebony,

sensual perfume of every kind —

as many sensual perfumes as you can;

and may you visit many Egyptian cities

to gather stores of knowledge from their scholars.

Keep Ithaka always in your mind.

Arriving there is what you are destined for.

But do not hurry the journey at all.

Better if it lasts for years,

so you are old by the time you reach the island,

wealthy with all you have gained on the way,

not expecting Ithaka to make you rich.

Ithaka gave you the marvelous journey.

Without her you would not have set out.

She has nothing left to give you now.

And if you find her poor, Ithaka won’t have fooled you.

Wise as you will have become, so full of experience,

you will have understood by then what these Ithakas mean.

Translation from the Greek by Edmund Keeley/Philip Sherrard

Expectations, aspirations, hopes, dreams

Seated (from left) are Earl Buck, Jessie Brown and Byron Love. Standing (also from left), Kate and Bud Chaney and Ada McCorkle.

This is a photo that for some reason always grabs my attention and every once in a while I pick it up, look into these young faces frozen in time and wonder what in the world their thoughts, expectations and aspirations were. They look so hopeful, or so it seems to me, and perhaps --- with good reason --- a little sad; and I'd like to know what was going on in their heads.

The photo was taken during 1899 at Superior, Nebraska, down south of Grand Island just a few miles north of the Kansas line. My grandmother, Jessie (Brown) Miller, is seated in the center with her nephew, Byron Love, on her left, and a niece, Ada McCorkle (the youngest in this group) standing just behind him. The other three were friends --- Earl Buck to the far left seated and Kate and Bud Chaney standing at left.

Jessie and  Byron were the same age --- born three months apart during 1875 at Columbia, Iowa, a few miles northeast of here, and were more devoted friends than conventional aunt and nephew. Ada, seven years younger, was born in Columbia, too, but had moved to Nebraska with her parents, Sam and Olive (Prentiss) McCorkle, in the mid-1880s. Olive McCorkle was my grandmother's elder half-sister as was Byron's mother, Laura (Prentiss) Love.

Not long before this photo was taken, Sam McCorkle had been struck and killed by a bolt of lightning while horseback on the range rounding up livestock during May of 1899. His death left Olive with six young daughters, Ada the eldest and Eunice, the youngest, only 3. Byron had come from Columbia to help his aunt with the farm.

Jessie and her mother (my great-grandmother), Chloe, had moved from Columbia to Nebraska by horse and wagon the previous fall because of the deteriorating health of Joe Brown, Jessie's only full brother and Chloe's only son. It was thought at that time that Nebraska's somewhat dryer air would improve his health. So they were there to offer support when Sam was killed, and also when Joe died at age 28 of tuberculosis at Bostwick, near Superior, four months later.

It was these sad circumstances that had brought Jessie and Byron, Ada and Earl and Kate and Bud together during the summer of 1899 --- and as young people often did in those days they decided to to dress in their finest, go into Superior and have this photo taken to commemorate their friendship. No digital cameras and quick snapshots in those days

Soon after, they parted and I don't know what became of Kate, Bud and Earl.

Chloe, Jessie and Joe's widow, Anna, and infant son, Merle, accompanied Joe's body back to Columbia during September of 1899 and Chloe and Jessie then picked up the threads of their life there. Jessie married my grandfather, William Ambrose Miller, in 1905, and they settled down to raise their family on the Miller farm in English Township, Lucas County, where Jessie died during January of 1945, before I was born.

A few years later, Ada married Charles Hilyard and they eventually moved to northeast Washington where she died at Spokane during 1977 at age 94.

Byron moved on from Nebraska to Montana where he met and during 1905 at Bozeman married Maude Dusenberry. They settled on a ranch near Rudyard, Montana, where they raised two sons. After Maude's death in 1954, Byron retired to Greybull, Wyoming, where he died on New Year's Day 1960 at age 84.

Of the six, Byron was the only one I ever met --- and I was too young at the time to remember much about his visits to my grandfather, other than the fact he was as immaculately dressed and groomed then as he had been in the 1899 photograph; always wore a pocket watch; and on the fob of that watch was a gold nugget in the shape of a strawberry.

I'm not quite sure why this old photo caught my attention this morning as I stumbled through the living room toward the coffee pot --- and have already dismissed the idea it has anything to do with the nearing 51st anniversary of Byron's death.

But I still wonder what these young people of a century ago would make of their 21st century counterparts and if there would be any similarities at all in their thoughts, expectations, aspirations and dreams.

Postcard Christmas

I told you that it was a picture-postcard-perfect Christmas here, and still is --- although temperatures are supposed to moderate as the week continues. Highs near 50 are predicted by Friday. That's going to take care of much of this.

This is what the museum campus looked like Monday morning.

Now --- if we can manage warm without getting ice, too, 2010 should end on a high note --- weatherwise at lease. "Without ice" are the key words here.

Everyday Christmas

The bright lights are starting to go out, darn it; and the neighbors just over the crest of the hill to the north already have the carcass of a cast out Christmas tree at the curb. On my side of the hill, the tree in the living room still isn’t quite redecorated after that pre-holiday lighting disaster, however, and I thought seriously yesterday about wrapping the lighted garland around the front steps rail (a chore that didn’t get done) and plugging it in.

That could have been more than the neighbors were prepared to deal with, however, so I took a nap instead. Besides, it was cold --- and I haven’t shoveled the front sidewalk yet.

While running at full speed from before dawn on Dec. 24 until evening Dec. 25, I missed all the best white Christmas photo opportunities. But so it goes.

It really was a living Christmas card here --- just the right amount of snow, no wind, not too cold --- the sort I’m told Californians and Texans dream of. Actually, it looked a lot like last Christmas, but without the undercoating of ice and the fierce wind and cold. The trek around the pond and down the long driveway from Christmas dinner and back into town --- less harrowing this year.

+++

The only snow photo I managed involves the guys from Darrah Garbage Disposal condensing the bags from this half block for pickup on Christmas Eve in the morning. An odd choice, maybe --- but these guys are a gift that just keeps on giving. Doctors, lawyers, dentists and preachers may consider themselves God’s gifts to rest of humanity as the seasons roll around --- but the true gift is a truly efficient refuse removal service. These guys never fail --- always on time, rarely nonplussed by the outrageous piles of stuff we all leave at the curb sometimes. And if my garbage cart happens to be in front of the garage but I’ve forgotten to push it farther --- someone patiently walks up the drive and retrieves the bags still inside it.

We had a beautiful service on Christmas Eve and managed to conclude by singing “Silent Night” in low candlelight without setting either the church or one of us on fire and with only a minimal amount of wax embedded in the carpet runner. Candlelight services always seem like a good idea; occasionally, they turn out to have been one.

And the simple supper afterward was a big hit. Our oldest was there --- now 90; and the youngest, an Epiphany infant named Zander who will turn 1 in a few days (a good deal of time was spent trying to make him laugh; mild amusement was the best anyone could manage). Two of those present looked at each other, started with with “You look familiar --- aren’t you ...?” and then realized that they had graduated from Chariton High School together some 40 years earlier and hadn’t seen each other since. Fortunately, they’d liked each other then, and still did. The tallest among us was a young man who had left his Old Order Amish family and traditions behind some time ago --- and if you know anything about the Amish you’ll know that would be a traumatic and tearing thing to do --- and now is a hired hand for (and surrogate member of) one of our families.

On Christmas Day, the dinner table was surrounded entirely by Democrats. Now that was a gift! We could speculate about the upcoming Republican January jihad under the golden dome in Des Moines and be in total accord.

+++

So it was a good Christmas --- surprising how easy it is to have one of those.

I do realize, since I’m sure we’ve all been there, that there can be barriers --- grief is one, loneliness is another, poverty and war certainly don’t do much to make the spirits light and bright. But for the most part, if we’re ever tempted to be unhappy at Christmas, its seems to be mostly because we’ve shot ourselves in the foot.

I saw the usual “put Christ back in Christmas” bumper stickers and heard the usual grumbling about secularization. But that’s a choice anyone is free to make for themselves --- or not. So why blame someone else? Just see that it doesn’t happen to you or yours if it’s a concern.

I actually read the local newspaper publisher’s Christmas column this year --- such an unhappy man. He was blaming the American Civil Liberties Union this year for ruining it all. From there, he moved into sex education In Chariton and Albia public schools. An odd topic for the season, I thought.

This is the guy who reminds us in print regularly about what a faithful Christian he is (and others aren’t), but the question remains, why is he so consistently distressed? And why does he keep saying those hurtful things about others? If that’s what Christianity is about, who can blame the increasing numbers who want little to do with it, institutionally or otherwise?

+++

And if you happen to be fussing yourself about how secular Christmas has gotten to be, here’s something to keep in mind, too --- Christmas is just beginning; in fact this, the feast day of St. Stephen (hum a few bars of “Good King Wenceslas” here), is just the third day thereof. You’ve got until Epiphany (or in some traditions, Christmastide continues until Candlemas in February) to celebrate.

Although we’ve largely lost track of the fact, the season that has been turned into one long shopping spree and bargain bonanza and that many fuss about isn’t Christmas at all; it’s Advent, historically 40 days of hopeful anticipation of our celebration of the first coming and penitential anticipation of the second --- that inconvenient Christian doctrine that involves the greatest inconvenience of all --- judgment.

So Christmas still is with us, entirely intact, so for heaven’s sake be as happy as circumstances permit. And it’s always possible, too, to keep Christmas in your heart year-around and let it shine out now and then.

Wish I were better at that. Maybe I’ll dust off that garland hanging in the garage, see if the lights still work and wrap it round the front rail anyway. At least it’ll give the neighbors something to talk about.

Jeg er saa glad hver julekveld!

A Christmas card received by Miss Julia Johnson of Thompson, Winnebago County, Iowa, near the turn of the 20th century.

And it came to pass in those days that a call went out from the choir director that we should gather to carol, and so we did --- often in falling snow, from house to house in Thompson then south into the country, first to the Kloppens, then up to the hilltop where Josie Johnson lived in a “grandma house” just next door to Bonnie and Paul.

The Kloppens as I like to remember them were four in number --- Jensine and Melvin, sister and brother, who lived in the big house; and Gordon and Anna Mae, husband and wife, who lived in the tiny house just west across the lawn.

They lived in a grove --- planted, not native to this prairie where John and Sissel (Grytte) Kloppen, Pa and Ma, had settled not too long before the turn of the 20th century after arriving from Norway. John had arrived as a Johnson (John’s son), but had decided there were too many Johnsons in the world and so had opted to use the name of the farm from whence he had come in Norway --- Kloppen --- instead as the family name.

Ma and Pa built the big house, which tiny Jensine now ruled with an iron hand. It was scrubbed annually (if not more often) from the most distant recess of its attic to the most remote corner of its basement. The tiny house next door had been built when Gordon and Anna Mae married rather late in life (there were no children). Gordon and Melvin farmed in partnership.

The senior Kloppens had been instrumental in building West Prairie Lutheran Church, a breath-takingly beautiful but simple wood-frame building with soaring steeple that dominated the prairie a couple of miles northeast. And to here on Christmas Eve they had traveled for years, first by horse and wagon (or bobsled) and then by auto, to gather each Christmas Eve around the Christmas tree --- erected within the curve of the communion rail and before the soaring wedding-cake altar that could be mistaken for nothing other than Lutheran.

By the time these carolers came along, however, West Prairie had fallen victim to declining rural population and its congregation had merged with a smaller congregation in town to form Zion, the “little” (as opposed to big Bethany) or “synod” Lutheran Church.

The Kloppens were by no means poor, but they were above all else prudent. So as we trooped from the snow through the back door and into the kitchen we found a house much as Ma and Pa had left it. Simple furniture, ferns in the dining room fernery, linoleum on the floors.

Through the dining room to the living room we went, where the Kloppens settled into their chairs around the aluminum Christmas tree --- itself a relic from years past. And we sang --- “O Come, All Ye Faithful” (there were none more faithful than the Kloppens), “Silent Night.”

Filing out, we were fed from a tray of holiday treats as we headed for the cars, then on to the next caroling stop.

Some days later, on Christmas Eve, we would gather at Zion. Melvin and Gordon were the greeters and the master ringers of the bell --- it had come into town from West Prairie and was perhaps too large for a small church, but rang beautifully clear and melodic. That bell had two ropes. One rang it joyfully on occasions like Christmas Eve. The other rope was the toll, used only when one of our number had departed --- there were few sounds more stunning than the dull and somber thud of the toll, clapper only moving against the wall of the stationary bell, one toll for each year of the life of the departed.

But Christmas Eve was a happy time, the bell rang joyfully and all were welcome. The candles were alight, the merry organ played and the Christmas tree shone (off to the side now rather than within the communion rail of this newer and smaller building). And before the service closed, primarily for Jensine, we sang in English --- the Norwegian language had faded from the memories of most but not hers --- “I am so glad each Christmas Eve!” (Jeg er saa glad hver julekveld!), another tradition carried in from West Prairie. And then we went forth.

The Kloppens and many others familiar and beloved now sleep out on the prairie near the memory of old  West Prairie Church. And many of the rest of us have scattered.

But I still go back each Christmas to a time that now seems golden --- and was. Glaedelig Jul!

Lessons & Carols: No. 9

LO, HOW A ROSE E'ER BLOOMING

Lo, how a Rose e’er blooming from tender stem hath sprung!

Of Jesse’s lineage coming, as men of old have sung.

It came, a floweret bright, amid the cold of winter,

When half spent was the night.

Isaiah ’twas foretold it, the Rose I have in mind;

With Mary we behold it, the virgin mother kind.

To show God’s love aright, she bore to men a Savior,

When half spent was the night.

This Flower, whose fragrance tender with sweetness fills the air,

Dispels with glorious splendor the darkness everywhere;

True Man, yet very God, from sin and death He saves us,

And lightens every load.

(Traditional German carol, "Er ist ein Ros entsprungen," English translation by Theeodore Baker.)

THE ROSE

Some say love, it is a river

That drowns the tender reed.

Some say love, it is a razor

That leaves your soul to bleed.

Some say love, it is a hunger,

An endless aching need.

I say love, it is a flower,

And you, its only seed.

It's the heart afraid of breaking  

That never learns to dance.

It's the dream afraid of waking  

That never takes the chance.

It's the one who won't be taken

Who cannot seem to give.   

And the soul, afraid of dying

That never learns to live.

When the night has been too lonely

And the road has been too long,

And you think that love is only

for the lucky and the strong,

Just remember in the winter

Far beneath the bitter snow

Lies the seed

That with the sun's love, in the spring

Becomes the rose.

(Amanda McBroom, popularized by Bette Midler in the 1979 film, "The Rose.")

Lessons & Carols: No. 8

Jesus, can you take the time

To throw a drowning man a line?

Peace on Earth.

To tell the ones who hear no sound

Whose sons are living in the ground?

Peace on Earth.

Jesus sing a song you wrote,

The words are sticking in my throat.

Peace on Earth.

Hear it every Christmas time

But hope and history just won't rhyme.

So what's it worth,

This peace on Earth?

 
(From U2's "Peace on Earth," written in response to the August 1998 Omagh bombing in Northern Ireland)
 

Lessons & Carols: No. 7

Upon this holy night,

When God's great star appears,

And floods the earth with brightness,

Birds' voices rise in song,

And warbling all night long,

Express their glad hearts' lightness.

Birds' voices rise in song,

And, warbling all night long,

Express their glad heart's lightness.

The Nightingale is first

To bring his song of cheer,

And tell us of his gladness:

"Jesus, our Lord is born

To free us from all sin,

And banish ev'ry sadness!

"Jesus, our Lord is born

To free us from all sin,

And banish ev'ry sadness!"

The answ'ring Sparrow cries:

"God comes to earth this day

Amid the angels flying."

Trilling in sweetest tones,

The Finch his Lord now owns:

"To Him be all Thanksgiving."

Trilling in sweetest tones,

The Finch his Lord now owns:

"To Him be all Thanksgiving."

The Partridge adds his note:

"To Bethlehem I'll fly,

Where in the stall He's lying.

There, near the manger blest,

I'll build myself a nest,

And sing my love undying.

There, near the manger blest,

I'll build myself a nest,

And sing my love undying.

(Traditional Catalonian, "El Cant dels Ocells"; note that folklorist John Jacob Niles composed an identically entitled carol in the 1940s and this sometimes lead to confusion.)

Not telling, just asking

Don’t get me wrong. I’m glad Don’t Ask Don’t Tell will be relegated to history’s trash heap. But isn’t it odd in this season when we celebrate the birth of that guy sometimes called the Prince of Peace that many of us are celebrating the empowerment of gay men and lesbians to go to war?

Just asking.

Not that very many of us take the Prince of Peace business seriously, but it is a good line to trot out at Christmas.

Saturday’s 65-31 Senate vote that will lead to elimination of DADT wouldn’t have been possible without the few Republicans who signed on, but it never hurts to remember that it was a Democrat initiative aided by Joe Lieberman (who fancies himself an independent) and one Republican woman. And a campaign promise now fulfilled by Barack Obama.

Democrats are far from perfect, but one of life’s little lessons is this: The Republican party is not your friend if you are poor, not white, differently abled or different in any way. “Different” includes conservative Christians and in many instances, women. LGBT people have for the most part known this for years; others will discover it as time passes.

That doesn’t mean there aren’t several fine people in Senate GOP caucus who voted “nay” on Saturday. I’m sure that Iowa’s Republican senator, Chuck Grassley, for example, is neither a fool nor a bigot. He’s just beholden to many who are. Therefore Chuck’s foolishness and bigotry are only virtual.

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It’s not surprising, I suppose, that a majority of those who have said and continue to say absurd things about gays and lesbians in the military are middle-aged to older white guys who may have fantasized about military service, but who haven’t served (with the exception of John McCain, of course).

But it really does seem that the intelligent and committed young women and men who actually serve have for the most part gotten over sexual orientation as an issue, if it ever was one for them, as the Pentagon study that preceded Saturday’s vote suggested. Marines seem to be lagging slightly, but as all of us who served in the other branches already knew, Marines can be a little delicate sometimes. They’ll be fine

Toughness? Heterosexual males occasionally fantasize about how tough they are. But if you really want to experience tough find a truly pissed off faggot --- or woman of any sexual orientation.

Some of those old white straight guys have done a good deal of fantasizing, too, about gay guys eyeing their private parts. But this seems to be less reality and more an expression of two heterosexual male proclivities --- assessing the scale and volume of one’s rivals in group bathing situations and vastly inflating one’s own desirability.

It’s all very strange --- through the old glass darkly.

As I’ve said perhaps too many times before, I’m extremely proud of the company I kept --- heterosexual and homosexual --- in Vietnam.

And everyone’s going to be fine now in the military, despite some hand-wringing among those who still have personal issues to resolve.

But I still find it odd that this issue came up at Christmas as our wars continue to rage and the killing continues.

What if the kingdom we’ve always expected to come in a flash of magic light is already at hand --- and we’ve been ignoring orders all this time, fighting the wrong battles, killing physically and spiritually --- and mistakenly --- in the name of God.

Just asking.

Lessons & Carols: No. 6

Sharon Baptist Church, Wayne County, Iowa

 I wonder as I wander out under the sky,

How Jesus the Savior did come for to die.

For poor on'ry people like you and like I...

I wonder as I wander out under the sky.

When Mary birthed Jesus 'twas in a cow's stall,

With wise men and farmers and shepherds and all.

But high from God's heaven a star's light did fall,

And the promise of ages it then did recall.

If Jesus had wanted for any wee thing,

A star in the sky, or a bird on the wing,

Or all of God's angels in heav'n for to sing,

He surely could have it, 'cause he was the King.

(Words and music by John Jacob Niles, based on a song fragment collected 1933 in Murphy, N.C.)

Lessons & Carols: No. 5

On Christmas night all Christians sing

To hear the news the angels bring.

News of great joy, news of great mirth,

News of our merciful King's birth.

 

 

Then why should men on earth be so sad,

Since our Redeemer made us glad,

When from our sin he set us free,

All for to gain our liberty?

When sin departs before His grace,

Then life and health come in its place.

Angels and men with joy may sing

All for to see the new-born King.

All out of darkness we have light,

Which made the angels sing this night:

"Glory to God and peace to men,

Now and for evermore, Amen!"

(Traditional carol; setting discovered in Sussex and written down by Cecil Sharp and Ralph Vaughan Williams, 1919)

Lessons & Carols: No. 4

The Christ-child lay on Mary's lap,

His hair was like a light.

(O weary, weary were the world,

But here is all aright.)

The Christ-child lay on Mary's breast

His hair was like a star.

(O stern and cunning are the kings,

But here the true hearts are.)

The Christ-child lay on Mary's heart,

His hair was like a fire.

(O weary, weary is the world,

But here the world's desire.)

The Christ-child stood on Mary's knee,

His hair was like a crown,

And all the flowers looked up at Him,

And all the stars looked down.

(G.K. Chesterton) 

Mary Jane Odell, 1923-2010

I practically grew up watching one or another of the Mary Jane Chinn shows on old KRNT (now KCCI) television, out of Des Moines, so her death this week is a personal loss in a distant sort of way. But it's a loss for the state, too, diminishing our supply of strong, progressive women.

Mary Jane was a native of Algona who moved to Des Moines with her first husband, Gerald Chinn, in 1946, and went to work for KRNT in 1955. A skilled journalist, she almost single-handedly paved the route for women broadcasters out of the "Kitchen Klatter" niche they already had established for themselves.

After Gerald Chinn's death in 1966, she married John Odell and they moved to Chicago where she went to work in broadcasting again, earning two Emmy awards and a variety of other honors for her work. They moved back to Des Moines in 1975 and she joined Iowa Public Television where she developed and hosted a nightly half-hour interview show as well as "Assignment Iowa," a weekly documentary filmed on location across the state. That aspect of her career ended in 1979, when IPBN decided to eliminate the daily show.

Gov. Robert D. Ray appointed Odell to fill a vacancy as secretary of state in 1980 and she won a full four-year term in that office as a Republican during 1982, serving until 1987, when she retired. John Odell died in 1984 and in 1987 she married Ralph Siegler, who also predeceased her. Her accurate ruling while secretary of state that Democratic icon Harold Hughes did not meet residency requirements for another gubernatorial run didn't exactly endear her to activists in that party, but she was widely respected by both Republicans and Democrats

She also was active in movements to ensure full equality for women in Iowa, the Iowa Peace Institute and a variety of other progressive causes. Whe was named to the Iowa Women's Hall of Fame in 1979. Memorial services will be next Wednesday at First Unitarian in Des Moines.

One of the best places to read more about Mary Jane Odell is the biography on her Iowa Women's Archives site, which is here. Her obituary will be available for a couple of weeks, too, on The Des Moines Register Web site.

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Lessons & Carols: No. 3

Flocks feed by darkness with a noise of whispers,

In the dry grass of pastures,

And lull the solemn night with their weak bells.

The little towns upon the rocky hills

Look down as meek as children:

Because they have seen come this holy time.

God's glory, now, is kindled gentler than low candlelight

Under the rafters of a barn:

Eternal Peace is sleeping in the hay,

And Wisdom's born in secret in a straw-roofed stable.

And O! Make holy music in the stars, you happy angels.

You shepherds, gather on the hill.

Look up, you timid flocks, where the three kings

Are coming through the wintry trees;

While we unnumbered children of the wicked centuries

Come after with our penances and prayers,

And lay them down in the sweet-smelling hay

Beside the wise men's golden jars.

"Carol," Thomas Merton, 1946

Lessons & Carols: No. 2

South of the Line, inland from far Durban,

A mouldering soldier lies---your countryman.

Awry and doubled up are his gray bones,

And on the breeze his puzzled phantom moans

Nightly to clear Canopus: 'I would know

By whom and when the All-Earth-gladdening Law

Of peace, brought in by that Man Crucified,

Was ruled to be inept, and set aside?

And what of logic or of truth appears

In tacking "Anno Domini" to the years?

Near twenty-hundred liveried thus have hied,

But tarries yet the Cause for which He died.'

Thomas Hardy: A Christmas Ghost Story

Christmas Eve, 1899, during the Boer War

Mike Gronstal's hair

Well, the big news here this week is that I finally got clipped and by the time Margie was done yesterday morning the debris around the barber chair made it look like Old Shep had been sheared.

That’s why I’ve been meditating on Mike Gronstal’s hair (above). Mine should look like that much of the time --- modestly cut, moderate length , nothing fancy but neatly combed. I was born without hair pride, however, and so it usually doesn’t.

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I sure hope Mike, who is Iowa’s Senate majority leader, is able to hang on to that hair during the upcoming legislative season. There’s going to be a whole bunch of Republicans up there at the capitol who will want to run their fingers through it, then grab on and try to yank it out by its roots.

Since Democrats managed to hang on to a slim margin in the Senate, Gronstal will control the agenda there. One thing he’s pledged to do is block any attempt to bring a GOP-proposed constitutional amendment banning same-sex marriage up for a vote. Good for him. He seems sincere in this and there’s relatively little of that going around among politicians.

But a heck of a lot of Republicans have been having sweet dreams lately of restoring the sanctity of heterosexual adultery and divorce, so they’re going to find this annoying.

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Same-sex marriage is a funny thing and I’ve got to admit that my thinking on the subject has changed over the years. Used to be, I thought some sort of civil arrangement would be best --- equal rights for everyone but leave matrimony alone; straight folks --- welcome to it.

That I think was mostly a factor of age and a modest case of heterophobia. Who, after all, would want to be virtually straight?

But it’s become obvious now that same-sex couples are among those most committed to fidelity, life-long commitment and all that kind of stuff. So why not give marriage a chance? Maybe when paired with the slight majority of openly heterosexual people who both preach and practice fidelity we can give the old institution new life.

I still think it would be a good idea to get the itchy fingers of the church out of state-sanctioned marriage entirely, however. Civil unions for all. Then let the church bless or not bless whatever it cares to. But that’s another issue entirely.

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Also in Iowa this week, three lawyers have filed suit attempting to establish as unconstitutional the November vote that ousted three Iowa Supreme Court justices because they had ruled in favor of equal marriage rights. There is a provision in the Iowa Constitution requiring that judicial votes be conducted by a “separate” ballot.

This probably isn’t a suit that going too far, since it hinges on the question of whether a judicial ballot printed on the back of the general election ballot actually is separate. But it’s certainly interesting.

The cool thing about that vote in November is the fact that ballot box adventurousness will turn around and bite those who started it on the ass. I can hardly wait to start figuring out which judges are Republicans so I can vote against them next time around. Heck. Who needs an independent judiciary?

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And finally, out there in Washington, the House passed in quick order Wednesday a free-standing measure that would dismantle Don’t-Ask-Don’t-Tell at the convenience of the military. More than 13,000 gay and lesbian troops have been booted on the basis of sexual orientation during DADT’s 17 years.

New polls suggest that perhaps 80 percent of the general population now thinks it’s time to ditch DADT, but it’s not clear what the Senate will do since partisan wrangling killed a similar effort last week.

We’ll see --- but it never hurts to remember the words of the Good Book: All is politics, saith the preacher.

Lessons & Carols, No. 1

Some say that ever 'gainst that season comes

Wherein our Saviour's birth is celebrated,

The bird of dawning singeth all night long:

And then, they say, no spirit dares stir abroad;

The nights are wholesome; then no planets strike,

No fairy takes, nor witch hath power to charm,

So hallow'd and so gracious is the time.

The Tragedy of Hamlet, Prince of Denmark

Act 1, Scene 1

(Mr. Shakespeare)

The drift that ate my drive ...

... is, as you can see, not that big at all --- by Iowa standards. But it's all mine and I wanted to remember it. Now if it would just melt before the next snow blows through.

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I look occasionally to see what's new in submissions to the "It Gets Better" project and am admiring this beautiful production by the Kurlander Program for GLBC Outreach and Engagement at the Washington, D.C., Jewish Community Center.

Even if you don't need to be reassured that it gets better, the clip is worth watching for the masterful way the lights and symbols and prayers of Chanukkah 2010 (sunset Dec. 1 to sunset Dec. 9), especially lighting of the candles in the Chanukkiyahs, or nine-branched Chanukkah menorahs, were integrated. I think it's the best I've seen from a faith community.

Shoveled out, souped up

Zero before dawn here this morning, but it looks like minus-9 in Mason City (I check conditions there sometimes to remind myself of how glad I am not to live in Cerro Gordo County still in the winter). We might get up to 11 in Lucas County today, but the predicted high up thataway is zero. See what I mean? Brrr.

I've received a couple of phone calls, e-mails and Facebook messages congratulating me on the volume of snow in the front yard (it looks a little like much of what fell in the neighborhood gathered here), but the driveway is clear --- thanks to neighbor Don who came over with his snowblower as I was starting to chip away at it at midmorning. That's an amazing little machine --- took on drifts more than twice its height without wavering.

The big problem with the driveway is that the lawn rises to alley level north of it creating when the wind is just right the effect of living on the wrong side of snow fence. It's nice to think some of this will melt before the next major deposit, but that's a wait-and-see issue. Back in the good old days when I lived in Winnebago County there was the winter when the snow finally got so high on both sides of the drive that new accumulations could neither be shoveled nor blown over it --- had to get a tractor with a blade in to push it way back onto the lawn and that created the look of life in a parking lot.

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I could have taken a photo of the driveway, but that would have involved getting wrapped up and going outside yesterday afternoon. So I took a photo of the soup instead --- one more recipe and then I'll get off this Food Channel kick.

Keep in mind I'm not a foodie and will eat what ever's set (or that I set) before me --- and if it tastes good, don't get bored with repetition. So day after day I eat soup (rarely out of a can) at one meal --- quick, easy and simple to make; stores well; few dishes to wash when it's reheated. This recipe will (and has) fed 10, or keep me in soup for a week.

VEGETABLE BEEF SOUP

1 pound stew meat (bite-sized)

1 chopped onion

3 stalks celery, diced

1 big (or about 10 "baby") carrot, sliced or diced depending

2 potatoes, diced

1 cup frozen corn

1 cup frozen peas

2 14-ounce cans diced tomatoes with juice

2 14-ounce cans beef broth

4 cups water

2 bay leaves

2 teaspoons garlic powder

2 teaspoons hot pepper sauce

Brown the beef in a dutch oven or soup kettle; remove beef and sautee onions and celery in same; add beef and all other ingredients except the peas; bring to a boil, then reduce heat and simmer for an hour; add peas; cook at least a half hour longer.

Personally, I think the soup still is a little watery after an hour and a half and except in emergencies allow it to cook longer. Don't be frightened by the pepper sauce --- it sharpens the flavor but does not make the soup "hot" --- unless you want it to. If you do want it to, add it along with the peas after an hour and you'll get more bite.

Iowa turns red: Blizzard warning

The forecast has changed abruptly overnight and the weather map for nearly all of Iowa, including Lucas County, has turned red --- blizzard warning. The current outlook is for up to eight inches of snow and strong winds into Sunday morning.

Now there's no guarantee any of this will happen --- weather forecasters are like politicians in some respects: Prone to miscalculation and overstatement. We'll see.

But at least I didn't waste Friday --- sunshine and highs in the low 50s. And I had the Cinder Path all to myself at midafternoon.

Pampas grass is not native to Iowa and can be modestly invasive --- but it sure is pretty. Especially when its framing a view of Shelton Marsh (at the top) where the ice actually was melting.

Even foxtail, both invasive and pesky, can look good under some circumstances.

And father along the trail, views off into the distance with the shape of things clearly evident.