On Good Friday, I wandered around the trails of the Barataria Preserve with a few friends. It was a glorious day and I felt lucky to be able to relax and breathe in the air outside the city. We saw some Louisiana irises, turtles, gators, snakes and even an owl. But appropriate to this Easter weekend was a visit from this little swamp bunny. He really was fearless, which makes me worry of his long term survival.
just off the path
just off the path
and a closeup
Part of my concern is because just across the pathway, was this guy…waiting for bunny snacks
On a church-y note, I certainly picked the correct church/service this morning. Today was the last day for an organist doing a temporary residence in New Orleans. He plays the organ at the Strasbourg Cathedral. Man, those Europeans are not timid at blowing out the pipes. The organ at the Episcopal Cathedral in New Orleans isn’t the biggest in town, but it’s a beautiful one and Tomas had it echoing out into the street, especially the improvisation that he did as walk out music. Amazing.
Happy Easter one & all. Hope your week is with fun and joy and no gators on your tail.
As soon as I saw the grooms walking down the aisle, I started tearing up. Then during the homily, given by the Dean of the Episcopal Cathedral in Chicago, I full on started crying. I started crying again today, as I read it to E.
I’m not usually the weepy one at weddings…I remember laughing at one of my brother’s weddings when all the other bridesmaids were crying. (Of course, I was just excited that he was moving out of our parents’ house and we wouldn’t have to share a bathroom any longer.)
But this ceremony…not a wedding but a solemnization, a blessing…was different. (For another view of the evening, read my cousin’s blog post; I was glad to share the evening with her too.)
I’ve known one of the grooms since junior high and we attended school together all the way through college. Proximity and time creating a friendship, especially after he and E met in college and then worked together on Episcopal church activities after. We met the other groom because of the first and what a wonderful man he is. The challenges they have faced over the last decade have been varied and the grace with which they’ve faced them? Inspiring.
Their story is not unique, but has become personal to me because they are in my heart. People who love so beautifully should be able to choose to have all the legal protections/restrictions that marriage offers. It’s that simple.
Meditation labyrinth @ Kanuga
This morning on the occasion of child #24 being christening in my late grandmother’s gown, I am contemplating original sin, baptism and human fallibility.
When you meet a newborn for the first time, you don’t necessarily think about the fact that this tiny new human is stained by the fall of man from God’s grace in the Garden of Eden. What you see is potential-will this tiny person grow up to be president? Or a scientist? Or something else good & wonderful to be proud of?
So maybe baptism is really about reminding us as a community of family and friends who surround a child (in whatever flavor of Christianity you may favor) that we are partially responsible for helping this child reach his or her potential. Any one of us can name a non-parent who guided/nurtured/inspired us to do better/more/good.
We are all human and fallible; we all make mistakes and sometimes they are doozies. But we can still help a child and maybe our failings are just the object lesson that forming adult needs to see what not to do.
So I blame my nonsensical musings on sweet baby Austin who is the 9th of his generation to wear the gown. The exponential growth is interesting. My grandmother and her brother wore the gown in 1907 & 1911. Then my Mom and her siblings, 1939, 1941, and 1946, but not their cousins. Then my generation with my brothers and all my cousins: 1961, 1963, 1965, 1967, 1974, 1974 (twin cousins!), 1978, 1980, 1981, and 1982. My brothers’ and my cousins’ children: 1988, 1993, 1995, 1997, 2005, 2010, and 2011.
The gown is holding up in its 104th year.