Story time

Gentle Reader,

So if there is one thing to know about The Mod Sub, it is that she loves a good story. Always has, and one suspects, she always will. There is no distance too great that she would not search for the elusive yarn. It is why she perennially posts to this blog that is read by a precious few. It is why she interviews guests on her podcast, Well, Don't Tell the Kids!. But for more than these reasons, she has come to discover that, actually, she IS the story. Astounding.

There is a concept that stories follow a common thread. The protagonist in a given initial state is challenged, repulsed by the contradiction to her expectations, expends much energy running away from it, only to be transformed, and returning to the original challenge with a new outlook. We see the pattern with Jonah and Nineveh via the belly of a leviathan; with the prodigal son by way of loose living; with Elizabeth Bennet through the Lake Counties.

The Mod Sub is one for established tradition, security in the mainstream, rising adeptly through the ranks to general good regard. Imagine her dismay and utter surprise when these prejudices were overtly challenged and riotously overturned. One can spend a lifetime running from the astonishing. But the Lord pursues and while not onerous, remains persistent. The Mod Sub attributes the persistence to the character of the original master Storyteller.

As Ever,
The Mod Sub

Port in the Storm

Dear Gentle Reader,

Holiday greetings.

So, I’ve been attending early services at the Cathedral for a while now.  I find the more relaxed, jazz atmosphere in the choir loft to be more manageably sized for me. Sometimes, I do like the all out, high church service an hour later.

                At the 9 o’clock service, there are American Sign Language interpreters for a parishioner and of course, gluten free wafers for those who need them. But there have been two persons in particular who caught my attention.

                Today, the Dean of the Cathedral preached on the concept of ubuntu, without explicitly invoking the word. He said that we are only as well in being as our neighbors are well in their being. He quoted French President E. Macron on the centenary of WWI, that a nation, should it turn inward at the disregard of other nations, risks losing its moral integrity. In the end, Dean Randy was highlighting the building and ushering in of the Kingdom of God.

                So, there are some persons in real need that come to worship, as I’m sure you are well aware. Today, a man dressed in para-military garb sat in the first row. At first, I thought he was conducting the choir; but then he suddenly clasped his hands at his mouth as in prayer. Let’s call him “Dan”. When the congregation laughed politely, at an appropriate level at a turn of phrase from the preacher, Dan laughed louder and a little too long. He walked toward the altar to “instruct” someone during prayers. Upon crossing the midline of the church, Dan dropped to one knee and crossed himself in reverence. Dan picked up a dime off the floor, held it up, and inspected it, before placing it between his feet.

                In prior weeks, there was another gentleman, let’s call him “Patrick”. He wore a giant, green down coat, almost like a sleeping bag with sleeves. He removed his knit cap. Patrick said hello to me. Patrick crossed himself and bowed his head as the cross went by.

                The striking thing to me is that Dan and Patrick clearly are churched, and know what to do and when to get to service on time; they respond to internal cues, even above the din and competing chaos of poverty and perhaps, mental illness.

I once heard a quote that the distance between the greatest saint and the biggest sinner is miniscule from God’s point-of-view. Maybe, even with all our education, training, trappings of first world affluence, we sit metaphysically close to Dan and Patrick--and God shows mercy to all of us?

                                                                                        Peace and thanksgiving,

                                                                                        The ModSub

Advent III

Well, Gentle Reader, fear not, here is my annual post in the season of waiting. These are a couple of quick sketches that have been on my mind the past week. Majestic Mint man is an industrious gentleman who is a regular outside of a coffeeshop that I frequent. He always has a publication in his arms that he politely vends upon request. I asked one day if he needed anything and he said he was all set. Upon further reflection, he asked for a refill of Majestic Mint tea, informing me that it was 55 cents. The next week he greeted me with, "Happy to see you again." So am I.

A Plethora of Posts (or when it snows it blizzards!)

Ski Equipment c. 1970's

     Well Gentle Reader, steady your heart as you read a second post from the ModSub in as many days. What can be said except that the inordinate amount of snow lends itself to either hibernation or creative essays. Witness the latter in this humble offering. The children's skis belonged to my brother and me. My mom and dad took us to the Ski Chalet to acquire proper ski equipment. We were fans of "Ski East", frequenting the icy slopes of Ski Liberty and Blue Knob and Seven Springs. Most of my memories from these adventures center around the ski lifts themselves from the rope lift to the button seat lift to the granddaddy of lifts-- the chair lift. Actually, the precursor to any power driven lift was my dad pulling me up the bunny hill by the end of my ski poles.

      I was instructed to grip the rope lift (where were my poles?), which, as soon as I dutifully grabbed on, I was jerked up the hill with quite sore rope-burned palms. My small sense of payback was when, upon reaching my destination, I kept a hold of the rope until much yelling from others to "let go" caused me to let go. One can imagine the rubber band twanging effect that the other poor saps felt in my wake.

      The button seat lift was even more challenging. Somehow, after straddling the circular "seat" suspended from a rope, I was moved to a higher potential energy point. However, it was a fine balance to counter the pull of the seat and not to actually sit down and be dragged in the snow in utter embarrassment.

       One day, I miraculously found myself ready for the two person chairlift. On my maiden run, I found myself next to my first instructor, my dad. Instructed to "look behind me and have my hand ready to grab the side of the chair", I was startled at the speed at which the chair approached and scooped us up in one fell swoop. Wow! Such exhilaration; such a sense of accomplishment! The bar came down and I was able to rest my booted skis on it and to revel in the safety so far above the skiing ants below. We approached a giant turning horizontal flywheel and my dad lifted the bar. What the.... My dad got up and went down the small debarkation hill. "Very nice," I thought. More yelling; really, why is skiing so vocal? Still in the chair myself and rounded the flywheel to the return side, I had neglected the crucial step of getting out at the top. After the ski lift operator, who was busy earning his minimum wage with me, ground the cable to a halt and put the works in reverse, I was able once again with extreme trepidation to disembark with a modicum of dignity.

Faithfully recounted,

The ModSub

Blizzard Redux!

Winter Oil Painting by my mother, RCK

     Well, gentle reader, it has been a season of frozen posts from the ModSub; but, not to fear, there is a thaw occurring even with the onset of a historic blizzard. We haven't seen snow fall like this since 2010 (Original Blizzard Post  ) and 1978. I do have good memories of rolling large snow boulders with my brothers in the front yard of my home in the late 70's. We used up every available inch of snow to construct Fort Mandan, much to my dad's dismay since the sheer weight was grass killing. The snow battle that ensued with the neighbor's kids was, as my son would put it, epic. The best part of this recollection was the sheer solitude near the oak in the backyard with only the sound of the whipping wind to comfort my pioneer mindset. I read a lot of Laura Ingalls Wilder back then; but didn't everyone? As I was saying, the best, best part was returning inside to the centrally heated home to have hot chocolate and marshmallows with my mom inquiring as to my brothers' whereabouts. My response was invariably, "Dunno" or "Outside". There is something to be said for a childhood before the virtuality and pervasiveness of screens.

The ModSub

Not So Required Reading

Kind Reader:

How long has it been since the ModSub posted anything here? Well, fear no more! Celia (thanks, C!) had a great idea to go book clubbing from the comfort of our own desk/sofa/metro seat. This combines many of my favorite pursuits: reading, photography, blogging, noshing, and cooking (not-so-much), and anything to do with Julia!

So borrow, buy, download this book and let's talk amongst ourselves! We can comment below and let our thoughts be known :)...

Faithfully,
The ModSub

New and Old

It's Advent II and the Modern Suburbanite has turned philosophical as she is sometimes wont to do. We lit the second candle of our Advent wreath calling to mind our tradition. A new skinny frosted tree brings a little glamour into the scene. Now I don't think the birth of the Christ child was to usher in bling and tinsel. But maybe the neo-tree can remind me of Jeremiah saying that the Lord is doing a new thing. Let it be so in our hearts and world.

Blessings,

The ModSub