tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-250826282024-03-07T10:01:09.476-06:00Desert's ChildGrowing up in the desert taught me to look for beauty and wisdom in not-so-obvious people and places. These are my reflections as I try to live into that lesson in my family, in my church, in my politics and in the world.Katie Sherrodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09159503802660122104noreply@blogger.comBlogger406125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25082628.post-23059684120010421882023-08-05T16:58:00.000-05:002023-08-05T16:58:15.131-05:00Can the Fourth of July be an occasion to celebrate, not dread?<div>In recent years, for way too many people, the Fourth of July has become an occasion of dread, not celebration. That's a shame for the holiday that is meant to celebrate the best of this country's aspirations. The cause? Out-of-control fireworks and guns going off in residential neighborhoods and the seeming inability of the City to do anything about it.</div><div><br /></div>The reigniting of the municipal fireworks in much of Texas and the nation was a result of celebrating the Bicentennial in 1976. That national celebration reintroduced large scale fireworks to a nation who largely thought of them as fire crackers and bottle rockets.<div><div class="separator"><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:American_revolution_bicentennial.svg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img height="94" src="https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/0/02/American_revolution_bicentennial.svg/120px-American_revolution_bicentennial.svg.png" width="94" /></a></div><br />Texas went big for the Bicentennial but with many local projects instead of one big state celebration. According to D Magazine, "In all there were 810 projects throughout the state. Among them were 102 new museums, 146 oral history projects, 387 tree-planting projects, 105 new parks, 14 medical facilities, 85 preservations, 227 restorations, 302 historical publications, 66 cookbooks, 195 flagpoles, 41 gazebos, and 90 time capsules."<br /><br />The Bicentennial culminated on Sunday, July 4, 1976, with the 200th anniversary of the adoption of the Declaration of Independence.</div><div><br /></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>AN EXCITING TIME </b> </div><br />It was an exciting time in the United States. Women and African Americans were making visible strides toward full equality under the law. <br /><br />Barbara Jordon became the first African American to keynote a national political convention at the Democratic National Convention and Clifford Alexander Jr. became the first African American to be Secretary of the U. S. Army. On July 6, the first class of women at the United States Naval Academy in Annapolis is inducted. Barbara Walters hosted the final presidential debate. <br /><br />In other news, Jimmy Carter defeated incumbent president Gerald Ford, and two new companies, Apple Computer and Microsoft, incorporated. In Gregg v. Georgia, the Supreme Court ruled that the death penalty is not inherently cruel or unusual and is a constitutionally acceptable form of punishment. A tiny 14-year-old Romanian named Nadia Comaneci scored a historic perfect 10 on the uneven bars at the Montreal Olympics and snagged three gold medals.</div><div><br /><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4nSa1KSF6kqnEXAlPWlEaPeCq9yOkVNCco6NBoipl962VA1CHpCxLvT6pZo1uuzC7gyGFDgl_Ip6F3IAd9Ww_ypqLXNA476dSxpI3WV4Atn0gbg5MGsIiIM_5nHv-rKiwBLnMv6Bji3IYBTf5Jdj8pe3ab8IpPrLP7qj-DPaMKRn3BNj7653G/s422/Screenshot%202023-07-02%20at%205.38.12%20PM.png" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="370" data-original-width="422" height="137" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4nSa1KSF6kqnEXAlPWlEaPeCq9yOkVNCco6NBoipl962VA1CHpCxLvT6pZo1uuzC7gyGFDgl_Ip6F3IAd9Ww_ypqLXNA476dSxpI3WV4Atn0gbg5MGsIiIM_5nHv-rKiwBLnMv6Bji3IYBTf5Jdj8pe3ab8IpPrLP7qj-DPaMKRn3BNj7653G/w156-h137/Screenshot%202023-07-02%20at%205.38.12%20PM.png" width="156" /></a>The Viking 1 landed successfully on Mars and began sending back color photos of the planet's surface, including the famous Face on Mars photo. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><b style="text-align: center;"> THE FOURTH OF JULY, 1976</b></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>On the Fourth itself, the arrival of the Tall Ships in New York Harbor was all over television.</div><div><br />Fort Worth put on a parade in which the local chapter of the National Organization for Women had a float featuring women in American history. It was decorated with a huge head of Liberty carved by our own Nancy Lamb. I was State Representative Chris Miller on the float. <br /><br />And that night, there was a huge fireworks show down by the Trinity River. Prior to this, big municipal fireworks shows weren't really a thing in Texas. People might set off a few fire crackers, but mostly the Fourth was family cookouts, trips to the lake, and swim parties.<br /><br />But since 1976, municipal firework shows have become an annual event in Fort Worth and most other Texas cities.</div><div><br /></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>AN UGLY COROLLARY </b></div><br />However, a sad and ugly corollary has been the steady increase in individuals setting off fireworks in residential neighborhoods, which is illegal in Fort Worth and other cities. Last year, my East Side neighborhood sounded like a war zone for five nights in a row, with commercial grade fireworks being set off in the cul de sac behind my house. These explosions went on well into the early morning hours. The police were largely ineffective.<br /><br />Aside from the danger of setting houses on fire, the impact of all these explosions on veterans and pets is horrific. My dogs and cat hate it, and shutting us all the bedroom with music, the tv, and a white noise machine does little to mask to the noise. Add to the cacophony the idiots who shoot off guns all night and it's a wonder people aren't killed. I have a neighbor who is a veteran and he leaves the city every year to go to a friend's hunting cabin because all the explosions trigger his PTSD so badly that he can't function.<br /><br />One result of the city allowing this to get so out of control has been the number of people who have begun to really really dislike fireworks. I know of so many who have moved from loving the excitement and the beauty of that show in 1976 to a deep dread of and dislike for the Fourth and all the accompanying uproar.<br /><br />So this year, the City of Fort Worth raised the fine for illegal fireworks to $2000.00 and posted this information on signs throughout the city. It seems to have had a impact. While the police still didn't show up when we called them, and it still sounded like a war zone on the Fourth, the nights leading up to and after the Fourth were much quieter.</div><div><br /></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>HOPE FOR QUIET BEAUTY</b></div><br />But there is hope that virtual light shows and drones might overtake fireworks in popularity.<br /><br />In Seattle the New Year of 2021 was run in at the Space Needle with a stunning visual display developed by a Seattle entrepreneur.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /><br /><img />
<iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture; web-share" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/3Ow0ET-ob3E" title="YouTube video player" width="560"></iframe>
<br /><br /></div><div>And drone shows are amazingly lovely.</div><div><br /></div><div><br />
<iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture; web-share" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/pZ-zJ0Vq0FU" title="YouTube video player" width="560"></iframe>
<br /><br /></div><div>This new development of having shows put on using drones or virtual light shows offers hope for a new way to celebrate without the noise and the danger. Of course, for way too many people, the noise and the danger is part of the appeal of fireworks. <br /><br />But one can still hope that the quiet beauty of the drones may win out over the bombastic fireworks. My hope is that the City of Fort Worth will adopt the drones or a virtual light show for the annual Fourth of July show and let the fireworks die in the dust.</div></div>Katie Sherrodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09159503802660122104noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25082628.post-74802778530358786902023-03-29T11:56:00.000-05:002023-03-29T11:56:01.082-05:00Rural Texans, it's time to push back<span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><br />Rural Texans, you have faithfully voted Republican for decades, buying into the Republicans' portrayal of Democrats as unChristian baby killers who want to turn your children gay, make them hate America by teaching them the true racist history of our country, give all your stuff to Black and brown people, inject you with micro chips via vaccine, and other fear mongering tactics that distract you from the fact that they don't give a flying flip about you.</span><div><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><br />Note how Gov. Greg Abbott's refusal to expand Medicaid has devastated rural hospitals. Does your small community even have a hospital any more? Most likely not, as rural hospitals in Texas have closed in droves.<br />Now comes the move on school vouchers - to take money away from your local schools so parents can send their kids to private schools at taxpayers expense.<br />Let's talk about schools in small towns in Texas.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><br />They, along with your churches, are the heartbeat of your town, aren't they? I know, because I grew up in Iraan in Pecos County and went to high school at Odessa Permian. Go Mojo!<br /></span><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a" style="margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word;"><div dir="auto"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv9d6jj5l-cOEFd8zpRWNCdXMzHAdk7LJ3DsEikP95URGKgRZqQZBAwGEsSmriqhCTHc2Cmck7Mo2qJoHsqX1bR_jH-nLZcS1uTbyAwiz3eS1thMEtZisF8hbmxCamy2Kgx62NQ6_A13SI4iLtB_ZRUePamgVz3sRrhcaA_laO_oS_xpLLCA/s678/Screenshot%202023-03-29%20at%2011.36.37%20AM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="482" data-original-width="678" height="227" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv9d6jj5l-cOEFd8zpRWNCdXMzHAdk7LJ3DsEikP95URGKgRZqQZBAwGEsSmriqhCTHc2Cmck7Mo2qJoHsqX1bR_jH-nLZcS1uTbyAwiz3eS1thMEtZisF8hbmxCamy2Kgx62NQ6_A13SI4iLtB_ZRUePamgVz3sRrhcaA_laO_oS_xpLLCA/s320/Screenshot%202023-03-29%20at%2011.36.37%20AM.png" width="320" /></a></div><br /><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div></div><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">The principal and teachers are your neighbors and friends. The coaches are local heroes. The whole town turns out for Friday night football, for all the home basketball and baseball games and then everyone caravans to the away games, often trailing the school buses carrying the team. Certainly you are there at 1 am - and sometimes later in the vast expanses of West Texas -- when the buses return home with either very tired kids who are congratulated on their victory or very tired kids who need to be reminded that they played a great game, even if they didn't win.</span><div><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><br />(I remember once when the bus of one of Permian's fierce rivals broke down about ten miles outside town. Within an hour, Permian parents had organized to pick up all the kids and coaches, drive them all the 80 plus miles home, and then return to Odessa.)<br /><br />Everyone in town supports the PTA bake sales, buying each other's cakes and competing good naturedly on the cake of the town's acknowledged Best Baker. Everyone supports the car washes, scrap metal drives, Christmas wrap sales, and candy sales of the various youth groups. Everyone supports the band and the choir and the pep squad. And of course the football teams. This IS Texas, after all.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><br />You know your schools aren't failing. You know CRT is not being taught there. You know your teachers are trustworthy enough to pick out books for your kids.<br />And here's the thing - all this is true of the schools in Fort Worth and other Texas cities. Because I'm not the only small town product who has moved to a Texas city. <br />Texas. The word Tejas means "friends or allies," which is why "friendship" is our state motto.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><br />What the Republicans are trying to do to your schools is not the act of a friend or ally.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><br />So do what you've always done Stand up for your schools and your teachers and the kids. All the kids.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><br />Don't let them take money from your schools and give it to parents wanting their kids in a private school. Push back.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><br />You're Texans. I know the kindness, the heart for community, the generosity of which you are capable. It's time to remind Republicans that we don't scare easily, we don't appreciate being lied to, we love our kids, and we value fairness, friendship, and fidelity.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><br />It's time to push back.</span></div></div>Katie Sherrodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09159503802660122104noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25082628.post-84401777288818008312023-03-09T15:00:00.001-06:002023-03-13T21:17:43.211-05:00Wolves, serpents, and doves<span style="font-size: medium;"><br /><br /> Please bear with me. This is a bit of inside baseball for Episcopalians, but given what happened with the conservative takeover of the Southern Baptist Convention in 1990, and what's happened in the Methodist Church recently, it's actually about how conservative evangelicals who are convinced they know the mind of God will be -- and are - willing to use any tactic to achieve their goal of patriarchal power over women, people of color, and any man who doesn't fit their masculinity test.</span><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br />I want to try to explain why the story of famed Baptist leader Beth Moore's move to a Anglican Church in North America (ACNA) church is NOT a lesson in evangelism, and NOT a teachable moment for ushers and greeters at Episcopal Churches, contrary to what some leaders in The Episcopal Church seem to think. Ushers and greeters everywhere, I suspect, would greet a famous person with welcoming courtesy. What the Beth Moore story is, is a lesson in how well meaning and loving people can err for far too long on the side of making allowances, and can mistake a common background for common ground, thus leaving themselves and their churches vulnerable to a takeover by ACNA.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br />Because ACNA is playing a long game.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br />For example, see the very recent attempt to take a Diocese of Texas parish church into ACNA, the planting of "mission" ACNA churches in Dioceses of Dallas and Albany, and the as-yet-unexplained behind the scenes effort to resurrect the infamous Lambeth Resolution 1.10 as "the mind of the Church" at the recent Lambeth Conference.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br />ACNA has been counting on this willingness to give the benefit of the doubt, on the preference to appease rather than confront, and on the tendency of straight privileged white male bishops to think their world view is shared by everyone who matters. They have been doing so since the infamous Chapman Memo was issued on 2003, in which they clearly laid out their goal:" 1) Our ultimate goal is a realignment of Anglicanism on North American soil committed to biblical faith and values, and driven by Gospel mission. We believe in the end this should be a “replacement” jurisdiction . . ."</span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br />How did the schismatics predict the leadership of The Episcopal Church would react? They also laid it out in the Memo: "But we think that the political realities are such that American revisionist bishops will be reticent to play 'hardball' for a while." The memo continues, "ECUSA [Episcopal Church in the USA] leaders know well how conservatives could quickly become the 'victims' in the public mind."</span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br />They read the room right -- Episcopal leaders have been willing for far too long to throw LBGTQI Episcopalians/Anglicans and women under the bus to appease conservative evangelical bishops -- and we all know how well appeasing bullies works. Any mom can tell you that. They simply decide you are weak and go for more. We saw it in the years leading up to the 2008 Fort Worth schism, and we've seen it since, as recently as Lambeth 2022.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br />The refusal to play hardball with people who do nothing else is a recipe for failure, and, I believe, a betrayal of what we assert we believe.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br />And now comes the recent story of Beth Moore. Moore, perhaps the most famous Southern Baptist who is a woman, left the Southern Baptist Convention when the disconnect between her call and the edicts of the SBC against "women teaching men" became simply too much for her to bear. She is now identifying as an "American Anglican evangelist, author, and Bible teacher."</span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br />She "found a home" in a church affiliated with the Anglican Church in North America (ACNA). She is positively giddy about her new church home, and why wouldn't she be? She has stepped about one inch outside her comfort zone, essentially moving the tiniest step possible away from the SBC that she could without staying in it.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br />Because ACNA is just the SBC with liturgy, and Moore is a conservative lay straight woman with no aspirations to ordination.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br />About half of ACNA dioceses refuse to ordain women as priests, and all of them refuse to ordain women as bishops. None of them welcome LGBTQI people. They have their own prayer book, one that tellingly has omitted the Baptismal Covenant with its pesky vows to "respect the dignity of every human being" and to "seek and serve Christ in all people." And yes, Jack Iker is STILL working to get rid of women priests in ACNA, stating that he's in "impaired communion" with the ACNA bishops who do ordain and tolerate women priests. Ironically enough, it was to appease Iker that ACNA decided women might be priests, but certainly not bishops.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br />But wait! There's more. . . to the Moore story. The "Anglicans" she is affiliated with are not Anglican at all, in the sense that the definition of Anglican is "being in communion with the Archbishop of Canterbury and the Archbishop of York." ACNA is not. Nor are they part of the Worldwide Anglican Communion.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br />You see the list of member churches at <a href="https://l.facebook.com/l.php?u=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.anglicancommunion.org%2Fstructures%2Fmember-churches.aspx%3Ffbclid%3DIwAR2cgmGnpnsLa4lE3FqZOYxV-CDB_0cGh3YzznNyONgPi1AYqiaRQWQxTeU&h=AT1gEPUi20cdTZUiqsXoNdvIlwc53DFFdo7w3TTtIn8PQoKmFIhACEgm_eXR9y3jQ-DpzRcPlULNyEpZG0x_H7-ya8eeCvXkIg9v0ekzgUsZvHi97UI5djJiBOfkXBpSMeVCYAOIViLObBbHh0x1ApA&__tn__=-UK-R&c[0]=AT3_GiImHqCcogUtElmp8eUgjKysSSEjeRdsRhEWSvlqQz1qPKd_6ZqcFqcxQ2M2Bjz9nyK7OWsa1e_wv1KbAdNt1dxQtOgorniJYlTC8w8KLQp7riEO_0a5XGfG1XZ3PtsY">https://www.anglicancommunion.org/.../member-churches.aspx</a>.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br />ACNA's openly stated and oft-repeated goal is to replace The Episcopal Church and the Anglican Church of Canada as the Anglican presence in North America.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br />They scored a huge victory in Texas in 2021 when the Texas Supreme Court awarded $500 million in Episcopal Church property and the name Episcopal Diocese of Fort Worth to the group who left The Episcopal Church in 2008 and eventually joined with ACNA. When the US Supreme Court refused to hear our appeal, the Texas Supreme Court opinion stood, and it was all given to ACNA.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br />This resulted in the former Episcopal Diocese of Fort Worth becoming The Episcopal Church in North Texas and then reuniting with the Episcopal Diocese of Texas. We lost beloved church buildings, altar goods, icons, trust funds -- everything, essentially.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br />But the loss of those things wasn't as hard as having to come to term with the hardness of heart of the ACNA folk. Even as they refused to follow donor wishes that items stay with the Episcopal congregations, even as they refused to sell us items they had no need for and didn't even want, even as they harassed women priests and trolled them on Facebook, we tried to find good in them.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br />After all, before they left The Episcopal Church, many of them had worshiped with us. Many were family, and friends. But the split that began when The Episcopal Church voted to ordain women to the priesthood and episcopate in 1976, continued to be widened by conservative clergy who saw their hold on power in the church being challenged by those who historically had been on the margins -- Black, Indigenous, people of color; women, and LGBTQIA people.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br />When the diocese of Fort Worth was formed out of the Diocese of Dallas in 1983, much of the impetus for that was reaction against this opening of the life and worship of the church to all people. When The Episcopal Church began seriously exploring what it really meant to seal someone in Baptism as "Christ's own forever," they saw a threat, not a promise.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br />Fear, outraged patriarchy, and schism were in the very DNA of our founding. All three bishops of the diocese -- Donald Davies, Clarence Pope, and Jack Iker -- left The Episcopal Church, Davies to found the Missionary Episcopal Church, Pope to go to the Roman Catholic Church (and then back to us, and then back to Rome, and, well, one loses count), and Iker eventually to ACNA. Iker claimed all Episcopal Church property of the diocese -- and the Texas Supreme Court gave it to him.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br />Iker layered on outrage over the inclusion of LGBTQI in his fuming against The Episcopal Church, but for him it was always -- and remains -- the ordination of women that is at the heart of split here. Notice that he didn't leave when Gene Robinson was elected the first (openly) gay bishop in The Episcopal Church in 2003. After all, even though he was gay, Robinson was at least male.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br />No, Iker left only when Katharine Jefferts Schori was elected presiding bishop. For a man who said that women were no more proper matter for ordination than is a dog, a woman presiding bishop was a bridge too far.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br />She was elected in June 2006. Iker held the first of two (illegal) votes to leave The Episcopal Church in November 2007, and the second in November 2008.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br />But while ordained women are the line in the sand for Iker and others, all of ACNA is united in fighting against the full inclusion of LGBTQIA folk in the life and worship of the church. And they are willing to do just about anything to achieve their goals.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br />So when we see Episcopal Church leaders promoting a Beth Moore book in which she sings the praises of ACNA, it is hard to swallow. When we see priests who have actively worked to undermine The Episcopal Church readmitted into full leadership positions in TEC, it's worrying. When we hear bishops lightly dismiss ACNA as "a few lightweights that they can easily handle," it is alarming.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br />We are told we are overreacting. We are dismissed because, "Oh, they are just speaking out of their woundedness." We are admonished that we are called to love one another. We are told that ACNA is a "gateway" to the Episcopal Church, so play nice with them.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br />This is exactly the kind of gaslighting victims of abuse get when they try to warn others of the dangers of powerful white church men.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br />My point? We are living amid wolves, just as were the disciples when Jesus sent them out in Matthew 10:16: “Behold, I send you forth as sheep in the midst of wolves: be ye therefore wise as serpents, and harmless as doves.”</span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br />Jesus warned them they were being sent out among wolves. And so are we. The fact that wolves are purposefully hostile and intentional about the harm they inflict EVEN AS they abide among other "believers" does not mean we ignore the threat they pose.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br />Jesus told them to be alert, to be careful, to advance the kindom of God but without using the tactics of the wolves -- be wise as a serpent, but gentle as a dove.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br />Because here's the thing -- one can be loving without being complicit in one's own abuse, one can be hospitable without handing a thief the key to one's house, one can be welcoming while maintaining boundaries.</span></div>Katie Sherrodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09159503802660122104noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25082628.post-66394859606432814522022-12-11T23:05:00.000-06:002022-12-11T23:05:19.540-06:00Stir it up<p>I admit, there have been times when I have wailed, WHY did you have to die in December?!? But then, what other time would have been acceptable? There is no season when the loss of you would have been any easier. What I am really crying is<i> WHY did you have to die and leave me alone!</i></p><p>There is nothing rational about this <i>cri du cœur</i>. No rational discussion of the cause of death matters in this case. This is a cry of pure loss, rage, and grief, aimed right at the heart of God in hopes of. . . what? I don't know. I just know it rings out from the throats of bereaved lovers everywhere, in all languages, in all times, as the reality of our enormous loss begins to settle in. </p><p>My reality was altered by your death in ways I am still discovering five years on.</p><p>FIVE YEARS!? How can it be five years, when the loss of you still feels so recent? </p><p>And yet I have managed to cobble together a new reality that living without you made necessary. And most days, it works pretty well. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXmvEsaTYow-qX7vh6scXQ7YUU5afzrF2lf0swozI07YECJteQEYY3gVRZsbSonbaQMBdVwbUeQSbn7AFnTaXmiJPIj1zh7Z0F-QQKfLccXGIYv9TCZsFEizuscTKa0HsJ8UonCs6m4zmVRhInNDFKcw3_RPemm_v2Uc5aDqCoWQW1LXOfmg/s4032/PXL_20221211_204415691.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXmvEsaTYow-qX7vh6scXQ7YUU5afzrF2lf0swozI07YECJteQEYY3gVRZsbSonbaQMBdVwbUeQSbn7AFnTaXmiJPIj1zh7Z0F-QQKfLccXGIYv9TCZsFEizuscTKa0HsJ8UonCs6m4zmVRhInNDFKcw3_RPemm_v2Uc5aDqCoWQW1LXOfmg/w300-h400/PXL_20221211_204415691.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>This year the fifth anniversary of your death also is the third Sunday of Advent -- Stir Up Sunday, so called because the service always begins with the prayer, "Stir up your power, O Lord, and with great might come among us. . ." It made me smile, because you loved to stir things up, didn't you? And you loved Advent.</div><p>I love Advent in a new way now, because it gives me space to move into Christmas slowly, making it over the ordeal of my birthday without you, and then moving through the pain of this horrible anniversary.</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqGsNdjUPOD-4ljSj2TIbvWYgc8zDmNp8zCuKaxBXzASsK7crSS7IFlHihQtVBED7VZBCtSSCIRKVVdB5cUEDmFhQg-bn-BYKEf-K9fFCthSGnvW4bhw9d0uyBkMJruop4vJV6DOiYYFIep3xJja6AJOtOZ5aQU-AM7pnuzUiCOFJz4EhP-A/s4032/PXL_20221211_213107140.MP.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqGsNdjUPOD-4ljSj2TIbvWYgc8zDmNp8zCuKaxBXzASsK7crSS7IFlHihQtVBED7VZBCtSSCIRKVVdB5cUEDmFhQg-bn-BYKEf-K9fFCthSGnvW4bhw9d0uyBkMJruop4vJV6DOiYYFIep3xJja6AJOtOZ5aQU-AM7pnuzUiCOFJz4EhP-A/w300-h400/PXL_20221211_213107140.MP.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><br />This afternoon I hauled out all the boxes of the Nativities we collected throughout our marriage, many brought back from some wonderful trip together - or occasionally trips we each took on our own. Opening each box releases a legion of memories.<p></p><p>The Nativities come from trips to Israel, Italy, Sicily, England, France, Ireland, Kenya, South Africa, Nigeria, Rwanda, as well as some from local artists here at home. </p><p>Some of the Nativities were brought by each of us into the marriage (along with books and pieces of art. Lots of books, lots and lots of books). </p><p>And some were gifts from beloved friends and family. Wherever they come from, they are imbued with love and care and memories of blessed Christmases with you.</p><p>Moving into Christmas involves many conversations with you still. Anyone watching me would think, ok, here's a crazy person, but they would be wrong. I am not crazy, I am continuing a conversation that simply won't just end.<br /><br />And day after day, I am comforted by the knowledge that your sweet sweet spirit isn't gone, that it shows up in funny, mysterious, weird, and loving ways, much as you did when you were here.</p><p>Because here's the most important thing I've learned in the last five years -- love doesn't end just because your physical presence did. </p>Katie Sherrodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09159503802660122104noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25082628.post-18520131181555830242022-11-02T20:15:00.001-05:002022-11-02T20:15:51.002-05:00Thirty-one years, my love<p> Happy anniversary, my love. Thirty-one years to celebrate, the last nearly five of which I've marked alone. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibD7tx24Q15m3SZgnyKOsrUT1iZELqStDfUavCf94tSI_pwYanDHvhufNsSBg0wKRjpqeoUQ-kJ_ZZqMZzSlAH8NDxNf1zHQJ7M_wq5Jrj2OgN72A7XKhtw6cwvDgfA_xkWUePkdiEM5KqkJiDBvThNYxfre62WeN7X8qUaUtBpgXpLVrsOw/s4032/November%202%201991%20wedding%20All%20Saints.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibD7tx24Q15m3SZgnyKOsrUT1iZELqStDfUavCf94tSI_pwYanDHvhufNsSBg0wKRjpqeoUQ-kJ_ZZqMZzSlAH8NDxNf1zHQJ7M_wq5Jrj2OgN72A7XKhtw6cwvDgfA_xkWUePkdiEM5KqkJiDBvThNYxfre62WeN7X8qUaUtBpgXpLVrsOw/s320/November%202%201991%20wedding%20All%20Saints.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>We thought getting married on All Souls' Day was a great idea, because the space between the living and the dead is thin on this day. We figured all the beloved folks who had gone on ahead would be among our clouds of witnesses. <p></p><p>Ironic indeed that the person I want most today is among those witnesses, probably working the room to make sure everyone gets greeted and loved on, just as you did at our wedding -- and everywhere else we went.</p><p>You have been much on my mind today, of course. I woke up thinking of you. The animals and I had to move out of the residence and into the farmhouse for three days while we awaited the pest control guy to come kill the thousands of yellow jackets who took up homesteading in the attic crawl space. After being stung twice I wasn't risking trying to sleep in the same building as those little devils.</p><p>The dogs were okay with the temporary move, because they are happy anywhere I am, but the cats were decidedly not. Sable refused to move off mother's couch and Danny pouted until he discovered the stairs and decided the entire farmhouse was a giant cat toy. At that point, he became a one-cat demolition derby, bouncing off walls and knocking stuff over right and left. </p><p>We all slept upstairs in the space that used to be my office. I turned it into a bedroom when I moved all my office stuff over to the residence. It's good to know first hand that it's a comfortable space for any guests who arrive.</p><p>Still, I kept thinking how much fun it would have been with you there, because you could turn an event like being run out of our house by stinging insects into an adventure. You would have cooked some great meal, we would have pretended we were on vacation, had too much wine to drink, made love, laughed, and read to each other in bed. </p><p>Instead, I took an allergy pill and read until I got sleepy. Then woke up with no voice. Appropriate I guess, because since you died, I am unable to sing. I try, but songs just stick in my throat. So today, as I miss you madly, it seems right that I have no voice at all. Because there are no words I need to say. I said them all to you when you were still here -- told you of my deep abiding love for you, listed all the things about you that tickled me and drove me crazy, all the things you taught me and all the things we learned together, all the things I admired about you and all the ways you made the world so much better because you were in it. </p><p>I didn't know then how huge a presence an absence can be. </p><p>I miss you so much.</p>Katie Sherrodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09159503802660122104noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25082628.post-26201176317611984202022-05-26T20:31:00.006-05:002022-05-28T15:29:20.749-05:00Remembering the Paris Coffee Shop<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /> On Friday, July 25, 1984, I wrote a column entitled "One of Fort Worth's small treasures reopens."<p></p><p>It came to mind as I read stories of the reopening a newly re-done Paris Coffee Shop, the owners of which hope to carry on the legacy of this home town treasure. I have not visited the new Paris yet. But I do remember the old one.</p><p>--------</p><p>Friday, July 25, 1984</p><p>Well, all is right in at least one little part of the world.</p><p>The Paris Coffee Shop on Magnolia is open for business this morning, after being closed all week to repair the damage caused by a fire Saturday night.</p><p>"The firemen did a great job," said owner Mike smith, adding that there was almost no water damage. </p><p>Even through Smith has business interruption insurance, he had been working at top speed to repair the damages so the coffee shop could reopen.</p><p>Why the rush? After all, his insurance would make up the money he would lose while the business was closed for repairs. He could have proceeded at a more leisurely pace. </p><p>Smith hurried because he has a good understanding of what his customers expect of him. They expect him, and his place, to <i>be there.</i></p><p>After all, the Paris Coffee Shop has been there for many of those customers since Smith's father, Gregory, opened it in 1930. Mike Smith has been running it for 21 years.</p><p>When it's closed, its absence makes a major hole in customers' lives. The Paris is part of the daily or weekly routine for hundreds of people. The inexpensive but good food, the friendly service and relaxed ambience have all helped make the Paris a Fort Worth fixture. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg64H9T04H_SMsOVkBhcFuTFXrPXfL8eiK0KKIwyUZLcL_QVMqggvde_sG1bofjG2O_0c_fGiFTJUgWoMfCxs9kKJMTWn_pYYKR9_Mk6QS3KLGTLtrZE-MZdpgg0jP6pJfsCrQRNk20okiz-Yk2L-D5iIlIGrtk0ze2IJ1AXVRDT3J5k82YnA/s926/Screen%20Shot%202022-05-28%20at%203.25.55%20PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="926" data-original-width="704" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg64H9T04H_SMsOVkBhcFuTFXrPXfL8eiK0KKIwyUZLcL_QVMqggvde_sG1bofjG2O_0c_fGiFTJUgWoMfCxs9kKJMTWn_pYYKR9_Mk6QS3KLGTLtrZE-MZdpgg0jP6pJfsCrQRNk20okiz-Yk2L-D5iIlIGrtk0ze2IJ1AXVRDT3J5k82YnA/s320/Screen%20Shot%202022-05-28%20at%203.25.55%20PM.png" width="243" /></a></div><p>But the biggest reason is the customers themselves. They are a motley crew, ranging from construction workers to hospital district employees to businesswomen and men to parents with little babies to retired couples to an occasional street person. </p><p>They come there for more than food. They come to make deals, to explore ideas with friends, to have meetings, to relax on coffee breaks, to meet people, to make decisions, to write letters, to read newspapers, to work puzzles, to plan little personal revolutions, and to warm their hands and hearts overs a cup of coffee.</p><p>They come in groups and they come alone. Some come assuming they'll see someone they know, while others come in hopes that they'll feel slightly less lonely.</p><p>They come in business suits, in jeans and T-shirts, in jogging shorts and in formal dresses. They even come in costume -- and not always just at Halloween. </p><p>This diversity makes for a colorful crowd and interesting mixes of people. It creates an air of friendly equality and unquestioning acceptance. At the Paris, people are assumed to be good unless they prove otherwise. </p><p>In short, the Paris is very much like the city it serves. This coffee shop could, on any average day, serve as a metaphor for Fort Worth. That's why it's a place city leaders should visit often, especially when they start getting ideas about Fort Worth needing an "urban, sophisticated image" in its leaders. </p><p>The Paris isn't the only place like this, of course. There are other such places in Fort Worth, and certainly in Arlington and the Mid-Cities. </p><p>Such places are local treasures. Some are coffee shops and restaurants. Others are small stores or shops. Still others are public places, such as libraries or post offices or parks. </p><p>They can be anywhere, in any structure, in any space. What sets them apart is that they have been made special by the people who congregate there. </p><p>Such places cannot be built. They just sort of grow, getting rubbed into being by the people who use them, who have nudged and prodded and poked at them over the years until they<i> fit</i>, like a comfortable old shoe.</p><p>Sometimes the process is aided by a proprietor who is smart enough to nurture the process, and sometimes it happens in spite of the owner. </p><p>it is important that city officials, business owners, and other community leaders be sensitive to the existence of such places. They should be vigilant about changes that might destroy them and be willing to think creatively about ways to preserve them. </p><p>A case in point is the old Burnett Park. The refurbished park is lovely, but certainly it is not the treasure the old park was, and, I suspect, it never will be. I choose to believe that city officials simply did not understand how special the old park was in the hearts of the people. If they had, they could never have treated its refurbishing as they did, as simply another routine agenda item. They never would have turned it refurbishing over to some out-of-town design group who had no hope of understanding how the people felt about that park. </p><p>The Tandy Foundation got what its generous gift paid for -- an elegant entrance plaza into its office building. But the city lost one of its people-created treasures. </p><p>A city can't afford to lose too many of those. They are what make a city a home, instead of a place to just live in for a while.</p><p><br /></p>Katie Sherrodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09159503802660122104noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25082628.post-47694732919317600532022-04-28T16:54:00.000-05:002022-04-28T16:54:25.259-05:00Happy 85th, my love<p> Saturday, April 23, was Gayland's birthday. He would have been 85. </p><p>He's been gone nearly five years. How can that be? How have I managed to navigate these long months alone? </p><p>I still miss him every minute of every day.</p><p>I still have conversations with him. many beginning, "What were you thinking. . .?" because, well, Gayland.</p><p>Many of those conversations happened when I managed to clean out a storage unit filled with boxes from his move back to Fort Worth from Mexico. I longed for his presence so he could tell me the story of some of what I found. </p><p>LOTS of books, framed art work, office files, kitchen supplies, letters and cards, ash trays -- anyone have ash trays any more? He had stopped smoking by the time we met for the second time -- the first was when I interviewed him when he was the "controversial" Canterbury chaplain at TCU.</p><p>Reading the letters and cards were like peeking over his shoulder into his ministry. Here's a tiny sampling:</p><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><p>"Thank you, Fr. Pool, for you kindness to our family when Nana died."</p><p>"Fr. Pool, I would never have survived the loss of my son without your help and counsel."</p><p>"I'm writing to tell you I got into college. Thank you for helping me make it through high school. I think I'd be dead by now if you hadn't been around to listen and offer advice."</p><p>"Fr. Pool, I am getting MARRIED!!!!!!! And I want you to do the wedding. You baptized me, got me confirmed, and I can't imagine being married by anyone else."</p><p>"Fr. Pool, I wanted to let you know we got moved into the new house and are settled. Thank you again for your help with that terrible landlord. What a nightmare!"</p><p>"Dear Fr. Pool, Please let us know if you are moving back to Fort Worth any time soon. You are missed."</p><p>Dear Gayland, Thanks for your hospitality in Mexico. It was a great visit and I believe I made real progress with my Spanish. Your encouragement gave me the confidence to make the trip -- my first out of the United States."</p><p>Dear Rev. Pool, You don't know me, but you know my son, ______. You helped him more than once when he got into trouble. Well, he got his act together. He's now attending medical school -- can you believe it? As one very relieved mother, I wanted to let you know and to thank you. You helped make this possible."</p></blockquote><p>Every one of this could be the jumping off point for a novel. All reveal his very real love of people and his willingness to walk with them through good times and bad.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm8xpTrTy0ERBGNb6vsGuwBXUK4t1uSAL0C77tWDcQ_9TK9tX0BCaiy89VNVoTavP5Bkt0goCPVvs3M4k-wQcx_MiB9lxBOwoufKKK8OWlmbJi1bFtxkBR_hcdgXGcsdXW7XvaGx8jfQCcsb_qACFIWdjIQ-GmTc9g3IgD-iZAaEPDKrnasQ/s4320/Dan%20and%20Gaylans%202011.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4320" data-original-width="2432" height="356" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm8xpTrTy0ERBGNb6vsGuwBXUK4t1uSAL0C77tWDcQ_9TK9tX0BCaiy89VNVoTavP5Bkt0goCPVvs3M4k-wQcx_MiB9lxBOwoufKKK8OWlmbJi1bFtxkBR_hcdgXGcsdXW7XvaGx8jfQCcsb_qACFIWdjIQ-GmTc9g3IgD-iZAaEPDKrnasQ/w225-h356/Dan%20and%20Gaylans%202011.JPG" width="225" /></a></div><p>I longed for his comfort and counsel when my brother Dan died. Gayland understood grief and loss better than most, having lost his brother and young nephew in a car accident, and then months later, his mother to cancer, all while he was at Canterbury.</p><p>So I hope you had a big party up there, with all the people you loved who preceded you there. </p><p>You are much missed here, my love. Very much missed.</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Katie Sherrodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09159503802660122104noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25082628.post-71286646014783124652022-04-02T20:22:00.000-05:002022-04-02T20:22:27.715-05:00 “All I ask of you is forever to remember me as loving you.” <div><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;">A eulogy for my brother Dan</span></div><div><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;">
Dan Sherrod is the oldest of four children, a fact the rest of us children never let him forget. </span><div><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;">Dan was the “good” child among us. Peter and I did our best to live up to the reputation of middle children, and Mike was, of course, the baby - with
all that entails for good or ill. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;">As the only girl, I was an anomaly in the house, and did my tom boy best to grab as much of the male privilege of the household as I could. But my mom was determined to turn me into a girl. I’m thinking particularly of the Christmas Dan and Pete got Roy Rogers holster sets and I got a Madam Alexander doll. Now, I ask you. . . </span></div><div><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;">But as I got older, I realized that it wasn’t easy being a son of Alan Sherrod, physician, racing car driver, story-teller -- a man who was quite happily idolized by an entire community, indeed, a man who was a legend in his own mind.</span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieUCM2BMRYBIlL8azD12UqARokeGbGGy9JV0VHD45vYftNLZ3t2wiS_eWkRElu-2r_8u0N_j4oRWjGdAPsVf2Hyu_IdqQtcMXAl1Q21F4Z9GkuohEXH6WwYtBg8Kq0hSwVrgPPOjiOJUh9eyKviLk7VjPCXQsoc3K8X_ge7rexqfKNTN_q3g/s2302/Dan%20in%20Lotus%20FF.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1373" data-original-width="2302" height="191" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieUCM2BMRYBIlL8azD12UqARokeGbGGy9JV0VHD45vYftNLZ3t2wiS_eWkRElu-2r_8u0N_j4oRWjGdAPsVf2Hyu_IdqQtcMXAl1Q21F4Z9GkuohEXH6WwYtBg8Kq0hSwVrgPPOjiOJUh9eyKviLk7VjPCXQsoc3K8X_ge7rexqfKNTN_q3g/s320/Dan%20in%20Lotus%20FF.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;">Still, Dan managed to take the best parts of Alan’s legacy and make them even better -- he centered his life on love of his cherished wife and his family. He loved laughter. He loved his Church. He loved racing -- but more, he loved the racing community -- and it loved him back. <br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;">I asked Peter and Mike to share their favorite stories of Dan. Here are two from Peter: </span></div><div><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0 0 0 40px; padding: 0px;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;">One evening several of us were gathered in Dan's dorm room at St. Edward's [High School in Austin]. We were lustily singing a bawdy song when suddenly, Brother Aloysius burst through the door in a state of high dudgeon. Good Catholic boys apparently don't sing bawdy songs at Catholic boarding school. He ordered all of us down to the headmaster's office for summary judgment. As we all left, heads hanging, he slammed the door behind us and marched us ahead. But he had failed to notice young Dan who happened to be standing behind the door when the good brother entered. Dan escaped without consequence. </span></div></blockquote><div><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;">So. Dan was lucky. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0 0 0 40px; padding: 0px;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;">Here's Pete's second story: Dan and I were hanging out with our Illinois cousins during a break from St. Louis U. We were discussing the movie The Exorcist and marveling at the ability of the possessed girl to expectorate large volumes of green ejecta that seemed to fly around the room until landing on one or another of the exorcists in attendance. What nicknames, we wondered, would we apply to a person of such oral abundance and accuracy? Of the several candidates brought up by the cousins, Dan's suggestions put us all on the floor: Y. A. Spittle, or maybe Rasputum. You had to be there. </span></div></blockquote><div><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"><span style="font-size: large;">Dan was funny. </span></span></div><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><div><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"><span style="font-size: large;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_WvxRRHkdXvLXb78Qr2QYTEanL8BW9jKKfKIUF0QvMO4gJ4U8o80YLSyZhEs--lANkF5OS82lFOWynf4TQG314Kj8bYrfRYuJGW_OsJkG1shM4LwCWsG7ggiMyEmoUHePUqulFFhkPtbAeqJmnAg8CzohU3WUPosHmmD7Vq2JzbDI_1tLSw/s1869/Dan's%20racing%20helmet.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1869" data-original-width="1766" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_WvxRRHkdXvLXb78Qr2QYTEanL8BW9jKKfKIUF0QvMO4gJ4U8o80YLSyZhEs--lANkF5OS82lFOWynf4TQG314Kj8bYrfRYuJGW_OsJkG1shM4LwCWsG7ggiMyEmoUHePUqulFFhkPtbAeqJmnAg8CzohU3WUPosHmmD7Vq2JzbDI_1tLSw/s320/Dan's%20racing%20helmet.jpg" width="302" /></a></div><br />Mike’s story comes from the sports car part of Dan’s world: </span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"><span style="font-size: large;">When I was about 13 there was a big rally planned for the Sports Car Club of America from Odessa, Texas to Ruidoso, New Mexico – a long and complicated rally that required a driver and a navigator. Rallies are timed events where you have a list of instructions you have to follow and with each instruction you are to drive at a certain speed for a specified period of time. The team that finishes with the time closest to the official timekeeper wins the rally. </span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"><span style="font-size: large;">I was on the periphery of the drivers and navigators watching who was teaming up with whom. I was 13, overweight, wore big black frame glasses, had a space between my two front teeth and a fantastically unmanageable cowlick on the back of my head. Yes, all of that. My self-esteem was not at its apogee. </span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;">I</span><span style="font-family: trebuchet;">t was then my big brother Dan, 9 years older than me, picked me to be his navigator. I was terrified, overjoyed, immediately had to pee, couldn’t wait to get in the car, and didn’t want to do it. What if I failed? How could my big brother put any confidence in ME? </span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"><span style="font-size: large;">My anxiety level was at about 50 on a scale of 10. Dan leaned over and he said, “You know how to do this. You’ve seen me, mom, Pete or Katie, do this a thousand times for Dad. Don’t worry about it, have fun and do the best you can. We’re going to go fast, see some beautiful countryside, and have a party with our friends at the end.” Then he started the car and we got in line to be flagged on our way by the official timer. </span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"><span style="font-size: large;">We did stop for lunch – that was one of the instructions – but it was timed as well. Dan ordered a hamburger and I ordered 3 BLT’s with chips – the meal I had always wanted to order but knew I would never get. He didn’t say no, he only raised that one eyebrow and said, “Hungry, are we?” </span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"><span style="font-size: large;">It was a long day. When we drove up to the final check-in with the official timer, I was exhausted. The party was already started, as everyone waited for the last of the cars to arrive. </span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"><span style="font-size: large;">Finally all the cars were checked-in and the results tabulated. My dread returned. What if we were last place, so last place they wouldn’t even mention our names?
They started with honorable mentions – and didn’t mention our names. Then they did the joke awards – and didn’t mention our names. Then they said we’re going to announce the winners. Well, that was it, we certainly weren’t winners, but we hadn’t even made the joke awards. I was devastated and shamed and ready to run away. </span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"><span style="font-size: large;">Then I heard, “And in 3rd Place, Dan Sherrod, Driver and Mike Sherrod, Navigator.”</span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"><span style="font-size: large;">Everyone cheered. I think. I don’t really remember anything except Dan grabbing my hand and pushing it up into the air with his own in astounded joy. He let me go up to the Rally Officials Awards Table and get the trophy. </span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"><span style="font-size: large;">That rally came up in our last conversation and I told him how scared I had been, but I also told him how much that long ago rally and his gesture of brotherly generosity meant to me.</span></span></div></blockquote><div><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"><span style="font-size: large;">Dan was generous </span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0 0 0 40px; padding: 0px;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"><span style="font-size: large;">My Dan story is one I don’t actually remember. I was told about it by our mother. When I was about two, Dan and Pete put me in a box in the middle of the street in front of our house. They wanted to see if cars would stop. Lucky for me, they did. </span></span></div></blockquote><div><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"><span style="font-size: large;">Dan was curious. </span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"><span style="font-size: large;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4zQGWetPBZRwvNHNXYBywFe06FlzarkeHCcslVGqkzX03wBhsfl0-bxP440n1TU0zqa8CMa1ba7AzE5Ultp1Ju24nBknPUnG4cXjVpTk5YF4eSOzijVbj9_DWLXsFebNWG8XNG5prJtp46I2Y-BdJjlcTaLhsqbrfZwKY8UHwNveFkcwYaA/s2738/Dan%20victorious.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2738" data-original-width="1589" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4zQGWetPBZRwvNHNXYBywFe06FlzarkeHCcslVGqkzX03wBhsfl0-bxP440n1TU0zqa8CMa1ba7AzE5Ultp1Ju24nBknPUnG4cXjVpTk5YF4eSOzijVbj9_DWLXsFebNWG8XNG5prJtp46I2Y-BdJjlcTaLhsqbrfZwKY8UHwNveFkcwYaA/s320/Dan%20victorious.jpg" width="186" /></a></div><br />I do remember that Dan was the handsome big brother that all my friends had crushes on. He was made even more attractive by being away at school so much of the time. The infrequent sightings coupled with his cool car made him almost irresistible to teenaged girls. They thought he was mysterious. I, on the other hand, found all this adulation of my annoying brother nauseating. </span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"><span style="font-size: large;">And annoying he could be. I remember spending hours getting ready for a date, only to walk out to the family room in all my 17-year-old splendor to have Dan say, “Aren’t you going to get ready?” </span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"><span style="font-size: large;">But then he would relent and tell me I looked nice. </span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"><span style="font-size: large;">So let’s sum up.
Luck, humor, generosity, curiosity, and kindness -- that was Dan. </span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"><span style="font-size: large;">As I was wondering how to wrap all this up, I picked up Gayland’s well-used Book of Common Prayer. Those of you who knew Gayland will not be surprised to hear that it is jammed with notes scribbled on little pieces of paper -- notes on people in the hospital, or people needing prayers, or a special wedding blessing. </span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"><span style="font-size: large;">This time, a piece of paper slipped out as I picked it up.
And there, in Gayland’s handwriting, is the line from a hymn that pretty much sums all this up. Because this is Dan too: </span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"><span style="font-size: large;"><blockquote> “All I ask of you is forever to remember me as loving you.” </blockquote></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"><span style="font-size: large;"> We do, Dan. We do.</span></span></div>Katie Sherrodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09159503802660122104noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25082628.post-27843501250424126952022-03-21T20:21:00.003-05:002022-03-24T10:06:11.117-05:00Losing my big brother<p> Daniel Alan Sherrod was born June 24, 1943, to Judy and Alan Sherrod in Robinson, Il.</p><p>He died before dawn on Saturday, March 19, 2022, at his home in Richardson, TX. He was 78 years old. He is mourned by his wife Patricia, and his children. Christopher, Julianne, Gina, and Margaret, and by his grandchildren, Virginia, Sam, Natalie, and Calliope Rose, by nieces and nephews and their children, and by countless friends in the Roman Catholic Church and in the Sports Car Club of America.</p><p>And he is mourned by his siblings. He was the oldest of four children: Dan, Peter, Kate, and Mike. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEixHpCW6aysYzJcBM3nE5hiWSKCTESO8guA9GdbcVPHWas45HTGLLQA1aBumZTaTtiCWBiuDewPKr45tsH3GSVGWuLZ4haZU7-I-T1_KOtJfc77pbUbwq0QkcOcq47GWw_srYhtAendwb-_dNgLFvy5xWFJXUO-MLm87znDQHW1vbyZiGeYMg=s4112" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3422" data-original-width="4112" height="333" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEixHpCW6aysYzJcBM3nE5hiWSKCTESO8guA9GdbcVPHWas45HTGLLQA1aBumZTaTtiCWBiuDewPKr45tsH3GSVGWuLZ4haZU7-I-T1_KOtJfc77pbUbwq0QkcOcq47GWw_srYhtAendwb-_dNgLFvy5xWFJXUO-MLm87znDQHW1vbyZiGeYMg=w400-h333" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p>Here are Pete, me, and Dan -- Mike wouldn't be born for three more years. This is how I looked when Dan and Pete put me in a box in the middle of the street to see if cars would stop. Both of them were lucky to be alive when our mother found out about that stunt. I mean -- look at those grins. Can't you just SEE the mischief?</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjyNuWmNzQskSaitxBr5KHerHgbuOQ2c1WzSuHQjjIkLx4ZETFN1f5eLnG1SnGj0o74zrqkrPMz_1DAwIxIrVAtkrrPcwONyPgjlGDdYeOMVDKHM-RcHPha4FTl-RXZwleUzf26neZXKE45zjhoV2szKeMAHtkwQHuTeT8ZBKDHYBVXOFTUWw=s538" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="538" data-original-width="292" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjyNuWmNzQskSaitxBr5KHerHgbuOQ2c1WzSuHQjjIkLx4ZETFN1f5eLnG1SnGj0o74zrqkrPMz_1DAwIxIrVAtkrrPcwONyPgjlGDdYeOMVDKHM-RcHPha4FTl-RXZwleUzf26neZXKE45zjhoV2szKeMAHtkwQHuTeT8ZBKDHYBVXOFTUWw=w217-h400" width="217" /></a></div><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p>But my mom was enchanted with her first born, and no wonder. He was a chubby cheeked cutie pie. </p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div>Peter was born 18 months later and I came along two years after that. Our parents had moved to Texas, to the tiny town of Iraan, where our father was the only physician for three counties, and our mom the only nurse. <br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgwmZ5tqVG5EMyVNB5XO4I1tY0t7mLC1UKtNrUPkRcWBTxqKXLsSQ2UQO-Fz6KmugD2GZRT1rsu7XJmK_LscGMh6uHuQ2WMlgcWK4O0obX6xw0u-vPP90LJfsklHqT2k7CIxhOU69Y5ogsWPdVcF3m75Sk5XzmOoVamFYTlkrkvVp1WbO720g=s1792" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1344" data-original-width="1792" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgwmZ5tqVG5EMyVNB5XO4I1tY0t7mLC1UKtNrUPkRcWBTxqKXLsSQ2UQO-Fz6KmugD2GZRT1rsu7XJmK_LscGMh6uHuQ2WMlgcWK4O0obX6xw0u-vPP90LJfsklHqT2k7CIxhOU69Y5ogsWPdVcF3m75Sk5XzmOoVamFYTlkrkvVp1WbO720g=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>We lived in this minuscule house in Iraan, although we didn't know it was so tiny until we went back for a visit many years later. How six people fit into that house remains an unanswered question. </p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>My parents created a full rich life in that little town, with my father racing a Jaguar in Sports Car Club of America road races, and my mom starting a town library and leading Boy Scout and Girl Scout troops in addition to managing our father's medical practice. They loved having friends over to eat and drink and talk -- and they passed this love along to their children. <br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">So no wonder Dan's favorite thing was to gather the people he loved around a table laden with food and drink, and talk. Sherrods love to talk.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjjp0xkSMSrTBIhLiCewYqNun4NUUSJ_OXuHJTRRH00xzffi03Zn8oCBB2dcJix8YK3pgHKsH17OMvdjegFLp64A4YHqIUNAfTXSmzyNnhTkMoEkVS-1Bt1eftsyHj5AN_9T5T2x_NpQ-GzoA6j4ZtPaJSSNHDK7n6Mt2PxxQ4Lkf6st-N2-A=s4320" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3240" data-original-width="4320" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjjp0xkSMSrTBIhLiCewYqNun4NUUSJ_OXuHJTRRH00xzffi03Zn8oCBB2dcJix8YK3pgHKsH17OMvdjegFLp64A4YHqIUNAfTXSmzyNnhTkMoEkVS-1Bt1eftsyHj5AN_9T5T2x_NpQ-GzoA6j4ZtPaJSSNHDK7n6Mt2PxxQ4Lkf6st-N2-A=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div>He loved to read, and when we lived in Iraan, he would beat us all to the Post Office so he could get Life and Look Magazines and the Saturday Evening Post. Then he would sit on two of them while he read the third. Only when he was finished with one could the rest of us kids get a chance at it. <div><br /></div><div>He and Pete got Roy Rogers double holster sets for Christmas one year, and I got a Madam Alexander doll. Boy, was I mad!</div><div><br /></div><div>And then one Christmas the boys got English racing bikes -- beyond cool because they had gears (!) and skinny narrow tires. I was so jealous. My girl bike simply couldn't keep up.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjDpWbJM9c9LCDVwfsAvQBl-21kdsuZ1LefNr0pEx21ulk6hE9mSIe0Hf6guqTeWOdlO12I0TUOmVh2oeMZfw_3wl1JlOdBlPX37aBQjLf1Lav2H9qgTEin-KxXNd1tO6CLNbdV22Nq3CgfL19oHgAmGq4kbqB612Fx0BSLedlV4GlvENMX3w=s4320" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4320" data-original-width="2432" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjDpWbJM9c9LCDVwfsAvQBl-21kdsuZ1LefNr0pEx21ulk6hE9mSIe0Hf6guqTeWOdlO12I0TUOmVh2oeMZfw_3wl1JlOdBlPX37aBQjLf1Lav2H9qgTEin-KxXNd1tO6CLNbdV22Nq3CgfL19oHgAmGq4kbqB612Fx0BSLedlV4GlvENMX3w=w225-h400" width="225" /></a></div>Dan loved a party.<br /><div><br /></div><div>Dan and Gayland shared that hospitality gene, so they got along really well, doing their best to do justice to all of Patty's amazing cooking.</div><div><br /></div><div>He also loved puns, a vice my entire family shares, and his could be truly awful, causing much loud groaning -- while we all thought furiously of ways we might top him.</div><div><br /></div><div>He also loved to play Charades when we all got together, but we never let him and Patty be on the same team. There was just too much fire power in that duo.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Like our Dad, Dan raced fast cars. He and my then-husband-and-still-friend Glenn Brown, formed Brown Sherrod Racing, which we -- of course --shortened to BS Racing. Peter was named the Coarse Physician. We thought we were hysterically funny. We all worked as part of the Pit Crew. Number 23 had been our dad's racing number, so we kept that. This was the Lotus Formula Ford we raced, often at Green Valley Raceway.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjp3CZuXy704P9q69ENJmY3F8BrUbVXC3RTy6GsmfCcMmYkd1tNIpjCJKq7GOm0Sbes9Bk5etjaL1KnZHql1vnROuwsQHnL6ob2pGtIRvDJ16D5s4pKzt6mBtbJt1qxaxGvsRwBNeN9PAiiMQZCfcIQQRSSLF6-13t8zT04vk0ahmUE3SIEIg=s5727" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4536" data-original-width="5727" height="316" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjp3CZuXy704P9q69ENJmY3F8BrUbVXC3RTy6GsmfCcMmYkd1tNIpjCJKq7GOm0Sbes9Bk5etjaL1KnZHql1vnROuwsQHnL6ob2pGtIRvDJ16D5s4pKzt6mBtbJt1qxaxGvsRwBNeN9PAiiMQZCfcIQQRSSLF6-13t8zT04vk0ahmUE3SIEIg=w400-h316" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Glenn was the Chief Mechanic. Our little girl, Daniella, was the team mascot. Before every race, she would toddle up to car and proclaim, "Race, Dan! Race!"</div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgkouDhgw0p3PANgbdI2m2qPPOW0L_RZIK0rtH8QU49aTcv8xct0nw8HgpmnZGpJZupgWBFqndDR9acsSFlTphBlg1wn765T3l5C7djqkhSqNywk3Cv-hYJY9zqv5nICeCtfM0Os_yIO7dpds4MQQWlsE7xECoJied8uCgFURXAFu5_z0l4kw=s888" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="888" data-original-width="604" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgkouDhgw0p3PANgbdI2m2qPPOW0L_RZIK0rtH8QU49aTcv8xct0nw8HgpmnZGpJZupgWBFqndDR9acsSFlTphBlg1wn765T3l5C7djqkhSqNywk3Cv-hYJY9zqv5nICeCtfM0Os_yIO7dpds4MQQWlsE7xECoJied8uCgFURXAFu5_z0l4kw=w436-h640" title="Dan Sherrod and Glenn Ray Brown" width="436" /></a></div><br /><div>Dan kept his love of fast beautiful cars his entire life. He served in many national leadership roles in the Sports Car Clubs of America, traveling to races all over the country. We all knew that Patty seriously loved him when, after three days of honeymoon at the Broadmoor Hotel in Colorado, they joined up with the rest of us at Fort Sumner, New Mexico for a race. </div><div><br /></div><div>All of us were thrilled when our dad bought his long-dreamed-of Ferrari, but none as much as Dan. And yes, driving it was like no other driving experience, but Dan and Daddy were truly smitten.</div><div><br /></div><div>Dan helped organize the first Dallas Grand Prix in the mid-1980s, a huge task and a labor of love.</div><div><br /></div><div>As you can see from the photos, Dan loved to laugh. Well, so do all of us, but Dan's eyes would twinkle and that hearty laugh would erupt and no matter how grumpy you might be, you had to smile. </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgbaQhzCG6H_bvtEBRPCdCZGMhmtXFPDbLpa-vXotZwcTysj8GWKtfuBNx5jYYjeX_TwYOcWVKROWpSbxdMpF6IXlAbHicjbBhadPmAChxPJg9illKHZaHX8uzmV0Q23Lo5tTxBZT9KutpAbO1idbVaxLFXezfEPxxKWyMGYAMgNK0JJS4l-Q=s2048" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgbaQhzCG6H_bvtEBRPCdCZGMhmtXFPDbLpa-vXotZwcTysj8GWKtfuBNx5jYYjeX_TwYOcWVKROWpSbxdMpF6IXlAbHicjbBhadPmAChxPJg9illKHZaHX8uzmV0Q23Lo5tTxBZT9KutpAbO1idbVaxLFXezfEPxxKWyMGYAMgNK0JJS4l-Q=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div>He and Peter were incorrigible together, and were ridiculously proud of themselves when they made us all laugh. </div><div><br /></div><div>Do you know what a Shaggy Dog story is? </div><div><br /></div><div>"In its original sense, a shaggy dog story or yarn is an extremely long-winded story characterized by extensive narration of typically irrelevant incidents and terminated by an anticlimax.<br /><br />"A lengthy shaggy dog story derives its humor from the fact that the joke-teller held the attention of the listeners for a long time (such jokes can take five minutes or more to tell) for no reason at all, as the end resolution is essentially meaningless."</div><div><br /></div><div>Well, Alan Sherrod had mastered this art, and his sons did their best to match him, with little success. They never gave up though.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjEQWQbRaYWTft7NPFtCB2OdTa4p1kUJGIVcjMRYljNcjviJRgKC8BTK2X6ifUAj7lUm0dCGRsk1fjaxQrA4JBJOzsn9n0UmFWzsl35w3Ih6WsjJJAoDHrxVBwsFJTapKWw3WfKkwo0kL-sMRZ33Owzb_M0bPhiYNu5vY4D11QREyKh3AP0vQ=s4320" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3240" data-original-width="4320" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjEQWQbRaYWTft7NPFtCB2OdTa4p1kUJGIVcjMRYljNcjviJRgKC8BTK2X6ifUAj7lUm0dCGRsk1fjaxQrA4JBJOzsn9n0UmFWzsl35w3Ih6WsjJJAoDHrxVBwsFJTapKWw3WfKkwo0kL-sMRZ33Owzb_M0bPhiYNu5vY4D11QREyKh3AP0vQ=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div>Patty was Dan's match, however, and robust discussions were part of what they enjoyed about each other.</div><div><br /></div><div>They were both teachers before Dan went into the insurance business, and they both knew how to debate. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjVvxTxuT772zrPrPLbVqzzKy5uPLn43i-liZwOEtyEQrqGE7R3MmliOcTFnFnC-4JHx9RGOBFVMfiY0G0ulCvYM9FkOQNjEaa5V88rEEW8-sNAPGpX412qWB_f7gT7ugW1cC2pd3w-LzjG0UyXsYwKyUlHrzPUDgDwg8oEuKEd1y6ltYGPqw=s3637" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2433" data-original-width="3637" height="429" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjVvxTxuT772zrPrPLbVqzzKy5uPLn43i-liZwOEtyEQrqGE7R3MmliOcTFnFnC-4JHx9RGOBFVMfiY0G0ulCvYM9FkOQNjEaa5V88rEEW8-sNAPGpX412qWB_f7gT7ugW1cC2pd3w-LzjG0UyXsYwKyUlHrzPUDgDwg8oEuKEd1y6ltYGPqw=w640-h429" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div>Dan was a devout Roman Catholic, and so it was especially meaningful for him and Patty to visit the St. Francis of Assisi Catholic Church in Iraan. My parents had given the climic they built in Iraan to the Catholic Church and we all made a pilgrimage to see it.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhC_vcDKjf54mX_sEQr_HpsSlDR8zuug_AFvFM6MPxq7lb-xPl1MBcuKEtMvRyiJNjnRlr33zPRwgbcAJG5MwXWVhLVcKnY3V0eKk_fbRvaq7Xan2suRQW793sKWD5xkDi-S_SuLfcwFQAYpkLnZaUd2mdtKU2AgVRUKCbAGBiC0AGnXeiTKw=s1792" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1344" data-original-width="1792" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhC_vcDKjf54mX_sEQr_HpsSlDR8zuug_AFvFM6MPxq7lb-xPl1MBcuKEtMvRyiJNjnRlr33zPRwgbcAJG5MwXWVhLVcKnY3V0eKk_fbRvaq7Xan2suRQW793sKWD5xkDi-S_SuLfcwFQAYpkLnZaUd2mdtKU2AgVRUKCbAGBiC0AGnXeiTKw=s320" width="320" /></a></div>We were all amazed at how well the clinic worked as a church, with the big waiting room as the worship space, examining rooms becoming offices and classrooms, and the lab becoming a small kitchen.<div><br /></div><div>I am sure by now you have noticed a theme running through this -- family. </div><div><br /></div><div>Dan's family meant everything to him. <br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEglnegCd6Vqoe_R-du4n7gQyrSzkUqJFyP-vkyHNAO5cM9LoUixgNBDmJ7Oybpts0U4yAFw27puDBM83CspwgV_ehXff2pQv7nznBctVxcczSyzW1uLOXMK2DUvFBmM0pvs4kJ_nOs6CtXcWkwlp1XbjTOOcqC-z8GHx1bSV8IU7dTk9Hy6wg=s960" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEglnegCd6Vqoe_R-du4n7gQyrSzkUqJFyP-vkyHNAO5cM9LoUixgNBDmJ7Oybpts0U4yAFw27puDBM83CspwgV_ehXff2pQv7nznBctVxcczSyzW1uLOXMK2DUvFBmM0pvs4kJ_nOs6CtXcWkwlp1XbjTOOcqC-z8GHx1bSV8IU7dTk9Hy6wg=w480-h640" width="480" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">At their 50th Wedding Anniversary!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div dir="rtl" style="text-align: right;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj8h_rlRLOAYsIK0sFdLCR17FsycItN_qqjiDyN1NHl2UZt0FTzixfKvfz4khAG_bttcUHyRCoUimKoa-cxN9kMPGBkYwxjtcYM1qqUoWbW_DwJ-cjYtKRBdt6mE-dhHszN2IV3IfHXn50kgkmHuuFt3NfG7aM307Qou1AJcJpxii3BqGRZsg=s2493" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1287" data-original-width="2493" height="330" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj8h_rlRLOAYsIK0sFdLCR17FsycItN_qqjiDyN1NHl2UZt0FTzixfKvfz4khAG_bttcUHyRCoUimKoa-cxN9kMPGBkYwxjtcYM1qqUoWbW_DwJ-cjYtKRBdt6mE-dhHszN2IV3IfHXn50kgkmHuuFt3NfG7aM307Qou1AJcJpxii3BqGRZsg=w640-h330" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Here they all are, trying to get organized to take a photo in 2018. And below is a photo from that same day, with Dan telling some story to his daughter Julianne and Patty preparing mimosas for us all. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhBvtZPckl1imMaiIDw5sqIWCXwPsm04DIMBbYhd3IS_JN-oiTRw6I8JMdptuwKQvIXsLH9rZM2QnRmbcm2852XK1pV0OXVh7ah-5yj1FTEXB3A_gM6cnTVHcJ752y6ICgFADH0yMERrgiW-D1w6-GH0muzVSyrB3-lMllvfj6V9KLAxFbglg=s4032" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhBvtZPckl1imMaiIDw5sqIWCXwPsm04DIMBbYhd3IS_JN-oiTRw6I8JMdptuwKQvIXsLH9rZM2QnRmbcm2852XK1pV0OXVh7ah-5yj1FTEXB3A_gM6cnTVHcJ752y6ICgFADH0yMERrgiW-D1w6-GH0muzVSyrB3-lMllvfj6V9KLAxFbglg=w640-h480" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjbxvmUGcLr7aqUrssdViozE3quX_fPYoP6bQJ_8ntQ7lKrX2LV6oms959YKqMgRyYWXCgyx7RzDfMluZ6V-rqJcKimvj3o2ETsCvEkYxHna7jjLXw0HboeI6Lnz9MSuEGDyUhcpartQABIwBjuK7oERDdWex8nP00h3dtDKBUaAFhua2TDWg=s4184" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2952" data-original-width="4184" height="452" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjbxvmUGcLr7aqUrssdViozE3quX_fPYoP6bQJ_8ntQ7lKrX2LV6oms959YKqMgRyYWXCgyx7RzDfMluZ6V-rqJcKimvj3o2ETsCvEkYxHna7jjLXw0HboeI6Lnz9MSuEGDyUhcpartQABIwBjuK7oERDdWex8nP00h3dtDKBUaAFhua2TDWg=w640-h452" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">And here we all are at Julianne and Steve's wedding, which was held in our Chapel Garden, Gayland officiating, with a lovely reception afterward. Dan was so happy that day. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">That's how I will always see Dan, all laughter and love. How we will miss him.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">It's hard to believe all that vitality isn't still with us, so I won't be surprised if evidence of Dan's presence shows up every now and then. A spirit that bright won't just disappear.</div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Love you, Dan. Miss you.</div>Katie Sherrodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09159503802660122104noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25082628.post-27171284288361491902021-04-23T17:33:00.002-05:002022-01-18T09:11:03.606-06:00Happy birthday, my beloved<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijSTr-yi47DBjat2hMFmWzAuypye1dBSjj-q6vEXK5zpbsq1ZT9l1V4wCzXQMlrg-xKhq3XSRrxnJSLNQXJS1WwWsH2-xthBPlC9qKSc3R6WUpx5lzVrSb7cPtHa0uhM_NRGA9/s2048/GP+at+the+Louve+pyramid_0001.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1384" data-original-width="2048" height="270" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijSTr-yi47DBjat2hMFmWzAuypye1dBSjj-q6vEXK5zpbsq1ZT9l1V4wCzXQMlrg-xKhq3XSRrxnJSLNQXJS1WwWsH2-xthBPlC9qKSc3R6WUpx5lzVrSb7cPtHa0uhM_NRGA9/w400-h270/GP+at+the+Louve+pyramid_0001.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /> So it's your birthday again, sweetheart. You've been gone for more than three years, and yet the loss is as fresh as yesterday. <p></p><p>You would be 84 here in this world. I suspect where you are now you are a gloriously handsome young thing -- as you always are in my heart. And I know somewhere you are having a party, you and Sam Hulsey and Richard Chowning and so many others we've lost. Heck, all heaven is there, because you would have invited everyone.</p><p>It's been a rough few months, my love. In addition to the always present sense of your absence, our diocese lost in the litigation about property (filed in 2009 after Bishop Jack Iker and other diocesan leaders left The Episcopal Church but claimed our property).</p><p>Well, the Texas Supreme Court gave it to them.</p><p>So now we have moved out and turned over to them the keys to St. Luke's in the Meadow, St. Christopher, All Saints, St. Elisabeth/Christ the King, and St. Stephen's, Wichita Falls. </p><p>It was terribly painful to leave St. Luke's for the last time, as so much of YOU is wrapped up in my love for that place. So I tried to wrap them up in my heart and walk out with them all, because that's one piece of personal property they can't grab -- although if they could think of a way, they would surely try.</p><p>Their obsessive hatred of The Episcopal Church and all we stand for is astonishing and terribly sad to see, and hard to experience. But I'm not telling you anything you don't already know. You were the target of it for a long long time, so much so that I am convinced the stress caused your heart attacks.</p><p>But we will shake the dust of them off our feet and move on, creating new spaces in which to share the all-inclusive love of the God in whose arms you are surely held. </p><p>You would have been all OVER the hunt for new worship spaces, because you loved few things more than playing with space, creating rooms in which beauty and love and welcome can flourish. You did it at Christ the King, and at St. Luke's and in all your homes over the years, including ours.</p><p>I suspect that's one reason you so loved Karen Calafat, because she shares that gift, and creates much the same kind of holy spaces you did, whether in a church, in a home, or across a dinner table.</p><p>Tonight I will eat alone, celebrating you, missing you, loving you. And I know when tomorrow comes and the work of once again rebuilding resumes, you will be at my back, just as you always have been.</p><p>I miss you, my love.</p>Katie Sherrodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09159503802660122104noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25082628.post-61706475891400073492021-04-03T15:18:00.000-05:002021-04-03T15:18:22.766-05:00Empty<p> I am finally in synch with Holy Week.</p><p>I have been at least a week ahead of everyone else, because we are not worshipping in person due to the Covid 19 pandemic. So we recorded the online worship services for Palm Sunday, Holy Week, and Easter in advance to give us time to edit them, lay down the music and singers, create worship bulletins and get it all uploaded and scheduled to premier at exactly the right time -- God willing and Facebook andYouTube working correctly.</p><p>This meant I left after recording the Easter service to come home to finish editing Good Friday and make sure Maundy Thursday had finally uploaded. This really messes with your head.</p><p>But now it's all done, the last service uploaded late last night, the last bulletins ready for folks to download, the finally checks made.</p><p>How appropriate that it happens to be Holy Saturday -- that sacred time suspended between the bleak grief of Good Friday and the alleluias of Easter Sunday. Quiet reigns. Even the birds seem subdued.</p><p>I feel as if I have been living in a state of suspension for weeks now, caught in the time of the <i>Hosannas</i> [Save us!] of Palm Sunday and unable to reach the <i>Alleluias</i> [Praise the Lord!] of Easter. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmrmDLFvAl43ZW3iiyIRyrFPDNQOAXGq84G8ykwHCtrl9m3WRsGOjFWRAfJwleNENFc8bgsKqqvOOtUu5oFBuutbuWOcJvpWfsHWlv2y-xs3kB-_jL3nhITlOqZW6fqCSHGKnX/s2048/Maundy+Thursday.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="2048" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmrmDLFvAl43ZW3iiyIRyrFPDNQOAXGq84G8ykwHCtrl9m3WRsGOjFWRAfJwleNENFc8bgsKqqvOOtUu5oFBuutbuWOcJvpWfsHWlv2y-xs3kB-_jL3nhITlOqZW6fqCSHGKnX/s320/Maundy+Thursday.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p>Here in our diocese formerly known as the Episcopal Diocese of Fort Worth, we are dealing with the loss of six beloved church buildings and our name, all awarded by the Texas Supreme Court to people who left The Episcopal Church in 2008 but claimed Episcopal Church property. We have to be out of these buildings by April 19, which means this is our last Palm Sunday, the last Maundy Thursday, the last Good Friday, the last Easter Vigil, the last Easter in these buildings.</p><p>Three of these buildings hold a special place in my heart because two are parishes Gayland served and loved (one of which is where I worship regularly) and a third is the church where he and I were married. </p><p>And yes, I know the Church is not the building, the Church is the people, but that's a lot easier to say when it's not your church building that is being handed over to people who refuse to ordain women or openly LGBTQ people as bishops and priests and who call our leadership "unbiblical."</p><p>So it's no wonder I wept through the editing of the Good Friday service, no wonder that the stripping of the altar for Maundy Thursday was like tearing strips off my heart, no wonder that Easter seems unattainable.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtGiqV7cAzhUShTXCEdaeNJy5N889i5ZTzt6oj3RcVzFM9DBYY4jSP2GlnupDBDjKDnYHwPL_Y1NGkrhYC0gYdcB7TWEdshyIHy5kQNDyZrUuZHIOG0tqSw5cV2Bj6p2Yg2d6N/s2048/empty+tabernacle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="2048" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtGiqV7cAzhUShTXCEdaeNJy5N889i5ZTzt6oj3RcVzFM9DBYY4jSP2GlnupDBDjKDnYHwPL_Y1NGkrhYC0gYdcB7TWEdshyIHy5kQNDyZrUuZHIOG0tqSw5cV2Bj6p2Yg2d6N/s320/empty+tabernacle.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>There have been many times in the last 25 years when I questioned whether all the heartbreaking backbreaking work of staying in The Episcopal Church in the face of often daunting odds was worth it. But I've always managed to hang on by my fingernails until either I got stronger or others stepped in to help. And I always had Gayland by my side.</p><p>But he's not here now. The exhaustion of the years of work seems overwhelming. </p><p>I am so tired. And so sad.</p><p><i>Hosanna</i> indeed.</p>Katie Sherrodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09159503802660122104noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25082628.post-85500949279601275682020-12-11T11:55:00.000-06:002020-12-11T11:55:02.381-06:00Beauty from brokenness<p> Three years. Three years ago today you left on your last great adventure, leaving me behind, stunned and bereft. </p><p>Thirty-six months, 156 weeks, 1,095 days of getting out of bed, putting one foot in front of the other, trying to reinvent my life without you in it. </p><p>Except, of course, you ARE in it. Your imprint is everywhere I turn, every room I inhabit, every drawer I open, every inch of space through which I move when I am home, and in many of the spaces in which I move when I am not at home -- church, grocery store, even the gas station where that one employee often walks outside when he sees my car to tell me he still thinks of you often.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ4xaqHi1kX1X4xe9m9eDN2j1SIQJQDTXyhheE6fcHvdgYKGWutigbHbn7JOFX8jcHNTHk_U-kjZA7_RbQ9gK9ZvB3X_gR2vCibo0lzdoJ2WADptDSBfK6oRacPOV9bMVrvm6s/s1184/gayland+laughing.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1184" data-original-width="1080" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ4xaqHi1kX1X4xe9m9eDN2j1SIQJQDTXyhheE6fcHvdgYKGWutigbHbn7JOFX8jcHNTHk_U-kjZA7_RbQ9gK9ZvB3X_gR2vCibo0lzdoJ2WADptDSBfK6oRacPOV9bMVrvm6s/s320/gayland+laughing.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p>Your happy spirit keeps showing up, making me smile even when I get teary. It practically exploded out of the boxes of Christmas decorations Gavin and I pulled out. Yes, we hauled them all out, including the boxes and boxes of fabulous Christmas decor left to you by Tom and the others. Right now, they are filling the front porch room and the morning room of the farmhouse, with artificial trees (yes, plural trees) standing outside. </p><p>There they sit, while I slowly go through them. Gavin thinks we should put it all up in a wild Covid 19 quarantine frenzy of decorating, and I think he may be right. Of course, like you, he has no intention of helping put it all up. He just wants to admire the finished job. Like you, my love. </p><p>But what an admiring appreciator you were. You loved the extravagance of it and wasted no time planning parties to share it with friends. </p><p>Well, no parties this year, as we all hunker down while the pandemic rages. If you were still here, I would have to tie you to a chair to keep you safe. You would have gone nuts without seeing and checking on all your peeps for so long. </p><p>But I have started the decorating -- and yes, I know it's still Advent, but I needed some cheer, knowing this day was approaching and that I would need some bulwarks against the still-fresh grief of losing you. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKb3crFy19EJ-ijU0jL3qKOn3ocmDqJjsdhv_8ge9dOP9ayDs0VZ-nKxyKTuNbGNt__POkO9w7XIognwK5pqrB8rsbw20FKW95oDX_fHVhw3RF6mRqjHVkNvrhQ1CFBe5ImwaQ/s2048/Christmas+tree+2020.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="2048" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKb3crFy19EJ-ijU0jL3qKOn3ocmDqJjsdhv_8ge9dOP9ayDs0VZ-nKxyKTuNbGNt__POkO9w7XIognwK5pqrB8rsbw20FKW95oDX_fHVhw3RF6mRqjHVkNvrhQ1CFBe5ImwaQ/s320/Christmas+tree+2020.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p>The Christmas tree is a real one, a gift from Mike Judge. It is lovely, and so far, Sable Cat has simply admired it. Let's hope her restraint maintains.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9_6504dKs3e4bGfY9P2XCypZGm6YhXrq5msCYBAWbeFmbHxp7TdhgwhDi9lWJtSoUCe0lLovMQepEzKqSxxOc8KHCR5g-_9oaGx5tQ5Pb54AqWxQm8alG_tJK4RTk9ahMqlYG/s2048/Christmas+2020+round+window.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1905" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9_6504dKs3e4bGfY9P2XCypZGm6YhXrq5msCYBAWbeFmbHxp7TdhgwhDi9lWJtSoUCe0lLovMQepEzKqSxxOc8KHCR5g-_9oaGx5tQ5Pb54AqWxQm8alG_tJK4RTk9ahMqlYG/s320/Christmas+2020+round+window.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p>The lights on the garland for the round window still work, which was a pleasant surprise. And you are glad to know, I am sure, that the window has been repaired and is now in great shape, considering it's what, nearly 100 years old?</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3AT_c3v6utt-C0064oiQOU6KqZ9xSRCvKE1X1gXZbbaOtbI4btY7nRjuGptxuhf_F99TNJQ0cIEvk3ZEyTb0-5EkrKBaMr9dFHFJsfTldZ3VZWPWuk0zjmfrqZ1wkP5Qbmqjh/s2048/fireplace+2020.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="2048" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3AT_c3v6utt-C0064oiQOU6KqZ9xSRCvKE1X1gXZbbaOtbI4btY7nRjuGptxuhf_F99TNJQ0cIEvk3ZEyTb0-5EkrKBaMr9dFHFJsfTldZ3VZWPWuk0zjmfrqZ1wkP5Qbmqjh/s320/fireplace+2020.jpg" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>The fireplace, as usual, hosts Santa and his reindeer and my mom's straw Christmas trees. Of course, I never sit in front of it without thanking you again for its design. You were a genius at things like that-- creating beauty out of broken fragments and leftover pieces that others discarded as useless.<div><br /></div><div>In fact, that's what the genius of your ministry was -- taking broken and discarded people and reflecting back to them their real beauty. </div><div><br /></div><div>God, I miss you, my love.</div>Katie Sherrodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09159503802660122104noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25082628.post-10972073616029115932020-04-23T09:01:00.001-05:002021-03-07T14:31:13.316-06:00Happy birthday, my loveToday is Gayland's birthday. He would be 83 years old.<br />
<br />
He would have awakened me with a cup of coffee and said, "Come on, my love, let's walk in the garden to greet my birthday."<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZBrED7zT7vqPDHGHbmn4vmkAg_pti4Wy3AjYCvhyj8BQ1LAiQcS19xDghQosaVgQB059AKU2Q7WxEjlbmwIx3oYuzVJycuq1QlU9bU20eRgmZhePCcw_wWLuEMpQdYgAVLPTo/s1600/orchid+4.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZBrED7zT7vqPDHGHbmn4vmkAg_pti4Wy3AjYCvhyj8BQ1LAiQcS19xDghQosaVgQB059AKU2Q7WxEjlbmwIx3oYuzVJycuq1QlU9bU20eRgmZhePCcw_wWLuEMpQdYgAVLPTo/s320/orchid+4.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
He enjoyed his birthday, and in true Gayland fahion, often used it as an occasion to help others. He would invite people to a party and ask that they not bring gifts, but donations to Planned Parenthood, or to a group working against the death penalty, or to the Humane Society.<br />
<br />
He's been gone more than 800 days, so you'd think some of the rough edges of grief would have worn down.<br />
<br />
Well, no.<br />
<br />
But life does go on.<br />
<br />
Some months ago, when it became clear that my ancient dachshund gentleman Mr. Carson had had a stroke and had to be gently helped into a peaceful death, one of my coworkers sent me a spectacularly beautiful orchid with multiple spikes of blooms. It was a sweet gesture of sympathy from another dachshund lover.<br />
<br />
I enjoyed the blooms for weeks, but resigned myself to the fact that the orchid was doomed, for I have no gift with orchids. But I faithfully followed the directions of more knowledgeable friends, and it stayed alive.<br />
<br />
And then two nubs appeared that began to grow into obvious potential blooms.<br />
<br />
I was astonished, but dubious that these nubs would ever open into full flower. But when I looked at it this morning, one had, just in time for Gayland's birthday. I had to laugh.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF6FRahBv-I_UCxak9HdktLkoeTUFidanAVcCtktEVksNkdwQ9tiAtv4ciSUFrb4Fiu5ad3VpBZRl-cf9Lmo6REenGtO4D8IwOQE4R0VSQlM4B-WtWVxI78S0x4Iw8e0NKkyAU/s1600/orchid+2.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF6FRahBv-I_UCxak9HdktLkoeTUFidanAVcCtktEVksNkdwQ9tiAtv4ciSUFrb4Fiu5ad3VpBZRl-cf9Lmo6REenGtO4D8IwOQE4R0VSQlM4B-WtWVxI78S0x4Iw8e0NKkyAU/s200/orchid+2.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
So, if you choose, please make note of Gayland's birthday by making a donation to the 4Saints Episcopal Food Pantry. This amazing little operation works with the Tarrant Area Food Bank to provide food to the increasing number of families with food insecurity. And the numbers grow each week as more and more people lose their jobs due to the pandemic.<br />
You can donate the old fashioned way by mailing a check to :<br />
4Saints Food Pantry,<br />
4301 Meadowbrook Dr.<br />Fort Worth, Texas 76103<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br />or use the Venmo app @Four-SaintsFood.<br />
<br />
Gayland would love that he might have a part in feeding hungry people.<br />
<br />
Now to get through this day.<br />
<br />
Happy birthday, my love. I miss you so.<br />
</div>
Katie Sherrodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09159503802660122104noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25082628.post-13772891332961512112019-12-11T19:45:00.000-06:002019-12-11T19:45:41.263-06:00Twenty-four months, 730 daysHe’s been gone for twenty-four months. His absence has filled 730 days. The smell of his shampoo has faded from his pillow case. Most of his clothes have been donated. <div>
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA7z45M3GPXZZhpzUpc_PUO1n3r-ALb55KHtFHbFO9G0169OJbUy-VdfJJHQknCylxjqqpfS0dzz9vd7g62nOdhyVCt7luTM12H_FVWPZn84mm7PTJERIxiY-kh9zDm7__I6ja/s1600/At+Giverny+Spring+1991.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1136" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA7z45M3GPXZZhpzUpc_PUO1n3r-ALb55KHtFHbFO9G0169OJbUy-VdfJJHQknCylxjqqpfS0dzz9vd7g62nOdhyVCt7luTM12H_FVWPZn84mm7PTJERIxiY-kh9zDm7__I6ja/s320/At+Giverny+Spring+1991.jpg" width="227" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">At Giverny, in 1991</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div>
<br />And, yet, I still half expect to see him when I walk into our bedroom, or walk past his office, or hear a man’s deep laughter, or glance out the window into the garden. <br /><br />I still find myself thinking, “I need to tell this to Gayland,” when I hear news of an old friend, or see something funny, or learn something new. <br /><br />It still seems somehow wrong to be watching the continuing episodes of <i>The Crown</i> without him – and certainly it’s less fun without my resident historian telling me all the things they got right – or wrong. <br /><br />I am able to listen to music now, something I haven’t been able to do until recently without completely losing it. And while in church I still can’t sing hymns, I can sometimes sing the service music. Who knows why I can manage one and not the other? <br /><br />The problem is, our partnership touched every area of my life. His love and support was a constant presence, no matter what I was doing. <br /><br />On still too many days I am overcome with the feeling that nothing is worth doing without him to share it or applaud it or just enjoy it. There are still so many days when getting out of bed is a damn miracle, much less being focused enough to work. At times the energy it takes to walk through the grief into the day is enormous. Who knew an absence could weigh so much? <br /><br />So when people ask how I am and I say, “I’m here,” I’m not being cute. I am telling the truth. Sometimes it’s a huge achievement to just show up. <br /><br />I miss you so, my love.</div>
Katie Sherrodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09159503802660122104noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25082628.post-6772938157160369622019-11-01T12:36:00.001-05:002019-11-01T15:44:00.290-05:00Where the Spirit dwells and the heart remembers<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:OfficeDocumentSettings> <o:AllowPNG/> </o:OfficeDocumentSettings> </xml><![endif]--> <!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:TrackMoves/> <w:TrackFormatting/> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:DoNotPromoteQF/> <w:LidThemeOther>EN-US</w:LidThemeOther> <w:LidThemeAsian>X-NONE</w:LidThemeAsian> <w:LidThemeComplexScript>X-NONE</w:LidThemeComplexScript> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> <w:SplitPgBreakAndParaMark/> <w:EnableOpenTypeKerning/> <w:DontFlipMirrorIndents/> <w:OverrideTableStyleHps/> </w:Compatibility> <m:mathPr> <m:mathFont m:val="Cambria Math"/> <m:brkBin m:val="before"/> <m:brkBinSub m:val="--"/> <m:smallFrac m:val="off"/> <m:dispDef/> <m:lMargin m:val="0"/> <m:rMargin m:val="0"/> <m:defJc m:val="centerGroup"/> <m:wrapIndent m:val="1440"/> <m:intLim m:val="subSup"/> <m:naryLim m:val="undOvr"/> </m:mathPr></w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" DefUnhideWhenUsed="false"
DefSemiHidden="false" DefQFormat="false" DefPriority="99"
LatentStyleCount="375"> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="0" QFormat="true" Name="Normal"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" QFormat="true" Name="heading 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" QFormat="true" Name="heading 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" QFormat="true" Name="heading 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" QFormat="true" Name="heading 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" QFormat="true" Name="heading 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" QFormat="true" Name="heading 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" QFormat="true" Name="heading 7"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" QFormat="true" Name="heading 8"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" QFormat="true" Name="heading 9"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="index 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="index 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="index 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="index 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="index 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="index 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="index 7"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="index 8"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="index 9"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="toc 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="toc 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="toc 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="toc 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="toc 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="toc 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="toc 7"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="toc 8"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="toc 9"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Normal Indent"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="footnote text"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="annotation text"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="header"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="footer"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="index heading"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="35" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" QFormat="true" Name="caption"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="table of figures"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="envelope address"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="envelope return"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="footnote reference"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="annotation reference"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="line number"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="page number"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="endnote reference"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="endnote text"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="table of authorities"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="macro"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="toa heading"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Bullet"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Number"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Bullet 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Bullet 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Bullet 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Bullet 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Number 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Number 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Number 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Number 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="10" QFormat="true" Name="Title"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Closing"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Signature"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="1" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Default Paragraph Font"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Body Text"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Body Text Indent"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Continue"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Continue 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Continue 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Continue 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Continue 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Message Header"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="11" QFormat="true" Name="Subtitle"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Salutation"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Date"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Body Text First Indent"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Body Text First Indent 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Note Heading"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Body Text 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Body Text 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Body Text Indent 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Body Text Indent 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Block Text"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Hyperlink"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="FollowedHyperlink"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="22" QFormat="true" Name="Strong"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="20" QFormat="true" Name="Emphasis"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Document Map"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Plain Text"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="E-mail Signature"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Top of Form"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Bottom of Form"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Normal (Web)"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Acronym"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Address"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Cite"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Code"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Definition"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Keyboard"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Preformatted"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Sample"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Typewriter"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Variable"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Normal Table"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="annotation subject"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="No List"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Outline List 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Outline List 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Outline List 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Simple 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Simple 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Simple 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Classic 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Classic 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Classic 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Classic 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Colorful 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Colorful 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Colorful 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Columns 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Columns 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Columns 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Columns 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Columns 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Grid 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Grid 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Grid 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Grid 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Grid 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Grid 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Grid 7"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Grid 8"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table List 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table List 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table List 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table List 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table List 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table List 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table List 7"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table List 8"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table 3D effects 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table 3D effects 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table 3D effects 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Contemporary"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Elegant"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Professional"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Subtle 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Subtle 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Web 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Web 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Web 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Balloon Text"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="Table Grid"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Theme"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" Name="Placeholder Text"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="1" QFormat="true" Name="No Spacing"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" Name="Revision"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="34" QFormat="true"
Name="List Paragraph"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="29" QFormat="true" Name="Quote"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="30" QFormat="true"
Name="Intense Quote"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="19" QFormat="true"
Name="Subtle Emphasis"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="21" QFormat="true"
Name="Intense Emphasis"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="31" QFormat="true"
Name="Subtle Reference"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="32" QFormat="true"
Name="Intense Reference"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="33" QFormat="true" Name="Book Title"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="37" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Bibliography"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" QFormat="true" Name="TOC Heading"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="41" Name="Plain Table 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="42" Name="Plain Table 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="43" Name="Plain Table 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="44" Name="Plain Table 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="45" Name="Plain Table 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="40" Name="Grid Table Light"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46" Name="Grid Table 1 Light"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51" Name="Grid Table 6 Colorful"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52" Name="Grid Table 7 Colorful"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="Grid Table 1 Light Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2 Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3 Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4 Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="Grid Table 6 Colorful Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="Grid Table 7 Colorful Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="Grid Table 1 Light Accent 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2 Accent 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3 Accent 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4 Accent 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark Accent 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="Grid Table 6 Colorful Accent 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="Grid Table 7 Colorful Accent 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="Grid Table 1 Light Accent 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2 Accent 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3 Accent 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4 Accent 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark Accent 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="Grid Table 6 Colorful Accent 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="Grid Table 7 Colorful Accent 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="Grid Table 1 Light Accent 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2 Accent 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3 Accent 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4 Accent 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark Accent 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="Grid Table 6 Colorful Accent 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="Grid Table 7 Colorful Accent 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="Grid Table 1 Light Accent 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2 Accent 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3 Accent 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4 Accent 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark Accent 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="Grid Table 6 Colorful Accent 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="Grid Table 7 Colorful Accent 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="Grid Table 1 Light Accent 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2 Accent 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3 Accent 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4 Accent 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark Accent 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="Grid Table 6 Colorful Accent 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="Grid Table 7 Colorful Accent 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46" Name="List Table 1 Light"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="List Table 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="List Table 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="List Table 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="List Table 5 Dark"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51" Name="List Table 6 Colorful"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52" Name="List Table 7 Colorful"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="List Table 1 Light Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="List Table 2 Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="List Table 3 Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="List Table 4 Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="List Table 5 Dark Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="List Table 6 Colorful Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="List Table 7 Colorful Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="List Table 1 Light Accent 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="List Table 2 Accent 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="List Table 3 Accent 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="List Table 4 Accent 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="List Table 5 Dark Accent 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="List Table 6 Colorful Accent 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="List Table 7 Colorful Accent 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="List Table 1 Light Accent 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="List Table 2 Accent 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="List Table 3 Accent 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="List Table 4 Accent 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="List Table 5 Dark Accent 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="List Table 6 Colorful Accent 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="List Table 7 Colorful Accent 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="List Table 1 Light Accent 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="List Table 2 Accent 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="List Table 3 Accent 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="List Table 4 Accent 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="List Table 5 Dark Accent 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="List Table 6 Colorful Accent 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="List Table 7 Colorful Accent 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="List Table 1 Light Accent 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="List Table 2 Accent 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="List Table 3 Accent 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="List Table 4 Accent 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="List Table 5 Dark Accent 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="List Table 6 Colorful Accent 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="List Table 7 Colorful Accent 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="List Table 1 Light Accent 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="List Table 2 Accent 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="List Table 3 Accent 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="List Table 4 Accent 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="List Table 5 Dark Accent 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="List Table 6 Colorful Accent 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="List Table 7 Colorful Accent 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Mention"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Smart Hyperlink"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Hashtag"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Unresolved Mention"/> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--> <style>
<!--
/* Font Definitions */
@font-face
{font-family:"Cambria Math";
panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4;
mso-font-charset:0;
mso-generic-font-family:roman;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:3 0 0 0 1 0;}
@font-face
{font-family:Calibri;
panose-1:2 15 5 2 2 2 4 3 2 4;
mso-font-charset:0;
mso-generic-font-family:swiss;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:-536859905 -1073732485 9 0 511 0;}
@font-face
{font-family:"Goudy Old Style";
panose-1:2 2 5 2 5 3 5 2 3 3;
mso-font-charset:77;
mso-generic-font-family:roman;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:3 0 0 0 1 0;}
/* Style Definitions */
p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal
{mso-style-unhide:no;
mso-style-qformat:yes;
mso-style-parent:"";
margin:0in;
margin-bottom:.0001pt;
mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
font-size:12.0pt;
font-family:"Calibri",sans-serif;
mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri;
mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri;
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri;
mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;}
.MsoChpDefault
{mso-style-type:export-only;
mso-default-props:yes;
font-family:"Calibri",sans-serif;
mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri;
mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri;
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri;
mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;}
@page WordSection1
{size:8.5in 11.0in;
margin:1.0in 1.0in 1.0in 1.0in;
mso-header-margin:.5in;
mso-footer-margin:.5in;
mso-paper-source:0;}
div.WordSection1
{page:WordSection1;}
</style>
I often sit just holding Gayland’s prayer book, lost in memory, prayer, and grief.
I hold it carefully, because the prayer book is falling apart. It’s been falling apart for a long time, because it’s been used a lot.
<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6mhSPVEEYDtrreEtMffBXf5GTVdKIkQibwmEWQR7azLtMHHpHNkZXN17-iHSCJP2yu-XTj0C72qaqvTPCCszjghjYMC41bpQsqvQYRtIM483KR_uCwClKvGqmIN9Yli6BLg3w/s1600/Gayland+BOC+cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6mhSPVEEYDtrreEtMffBXf5GTVdKIkQibwmEWQR7azLtMHHpHNkZXN17-iHSCJP2yu-XTj0C72qaqvTPCCszjghjYMC41bpQsqvQYRtIM483KR_uCwClKvGqmIN9Yli6BLg3w/s320/Gayland+BOC+cover.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
You can tell what it was used for the most -- it falls open at prayers for the sick, prayers for the dying, prayers for those in distress. Pastoral care was Gayland’s great gift. When he walked into a room love walked in with him. I witnessed it countless times in sick rooms, in rooms with grieving families, in rooms with parents who had just lost a child, in rooms with worried people facing a crisis. Old, young, single, gay, straight, white, black, Hispanic, Asian -- his parishioners spanned it all and he loved every one of them. And if you weren’t a parishioner, he loved you too.
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
</div>
The next most often used place in his Book of Common Prayer is the Celebration and Blessing of a Marriage. He loved doing weddings.
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSgW3ZtZOpKCweZBxPb4YPiWZR3crQhTS12Jk7JutdmyPWBFI_LZ_fK7O1J5mzSvzRTr12U9uZMza74qExbVB_A3U3cFSI97rG1Asv62956r7PxlIKwsUEN6-WsggcH-7L2Qm1/s1600/Gayland+with+bride+and+groom+at+CTK.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSgW3ZtZOpKCweZBxPb4YPiWZR3crQhTS12Jk7JutdmyPWBFI_LZ_fK7O1J5mzSvzRTr12U9uZMza74qExbVB_A3U3cFSI97rG1Asv62956r7PxlIKwsUEN6-WsggcH-7L2Qm1/s320/Gayland+with+bride+and+groom+at+CTK.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Here he is at a wedding, holding his prayer book.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
My favorite wedding story is when he was marrying a bride who he had also baptized as a baby. At the rehearsal, the bride confessed she was worried she would cry through the whole service. Gayland said, “Just keep your eye on me and we will get through this.”
So comes the wedding, and Gayland starts to say, “Dearly beloved,” looked at the bride, and . . . started to cry. The bride started laughing, then the whole church started laughing, and sure enough, we got through the wedding with no more tears.
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5e7IpORFzSw6ac6J2qgvPRY7jNSnp8vi_zpcY6MkFDEiJBwKDlwqe92PSTiMYAb7q3aXfvcwaKG9-uZl1wiE6TGhXgn2mbKN_FXAexgrEm5PqD7UmI9SeRYmJXIuTk69z8a6t/s1600/Gaylands+BOC.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5e7IpORFzSw6ac6J2qgvPRY7jNSnp8vi_zpcY6MkFDEiJBwKDlwqe92PSTiMYAb7q3aXfvcwaKG9-uZl1wiE6TGhXgn2mbKN_FXAexgrEm5PqD7UmI9SeRYmJXIuTk69z8a6t/s320/Gaylands+BOC.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white; color: black; font-family: "goudy old style" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<br />
Love was Gayland’s default button. It was the fire burning at the core of his being. It made him a happy person, and it’s what first attracted me to him -- that core of happy fire.
Oh, he was a mess, too, just like the rest of us. He wasn’t perfect, but he was almost never unkind, and he was never, ever, cruel. He had a childlike quality of joy and wonder at the world, and children and animals recognized it in him immediately.<br />
<br />
Saturday, November 2, is All Soul’s Day, the day we remember and honor the dead -- the Day of the Dead in Mexico.
In The Episcopal Church as well as in the Roman Catholic Church, All Souls' Day is a celebration to remember those who have died, in particular one's relatives. It always falls on November 2 and is preceded by Halloween on October 31 and All Saints’ Day on November 1.<br />
<br />
(FYI, the name Halloween (sometimes spelled Hallowe'en) is a contraction of All Hallows' Even(ing), meaning All Saints' Evening, as it is celebrated on the evening before All Saints’ Day, also known as All Hallows' Day. So, Halloween and the Day of the Dead are NOT the same thing.)<br />
<br />
November 2 is also our wedding anniversary.<br />
<br />
Once, as I sat holding his prayer book, I saw the tip of a slip of paper, worn to near transparency, peeking out among the pages. I opened the book and looked at it. On it in Gayland’s handwriting is, “Where the Spirit dwells and the heart remembers, there are no farewells.” It appears to be a quote from his friend Albert Pennybacker, former pastor at University Christian Church.
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white; color: black; font-family: "goudy old style" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkAzWvx2eW1nO3Km3jnsGm_a_XuVkajKamXqY6EUrz-GUe2m9xkyP8j9-1BFWP_PJwGLqLxLUD_DZrGMBTJ467rce2PujuPzlPe92E9EM4p49NLZv5msK5eaDB2tpwC_PvtIGA/s1600/Gayland+note+from+his+prayerbook.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkAzWvx2eW1nO3Km3jnsGm_a_XuVkajKamXqY6EUrz-GUe2m9xkyP8j9-1BFWP_PJwGLqLxLUD_DZrGMBTJ467rce2PujuPzlPe92E9EM4p49NLZv5msK5eaDB2tpwC_PvtIGA/s320/Gayland+note+from+his+prayerbook.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>“Where the Spirit dwells and the heart remembers, there are no farewells.” </i></blockquote>
<br />
Well, yes. I still haven’t said farewell to him, and I never will. But nearly two years on, the presence of his absence remains as immense as ever.
I miss you so much, my love.<br />
<br />
<br />
<i>O God of grace and glory, we remember before you this day
our brother Gayland. We thank you for giving him to us, his
family and friends, to know and to love as a companion on
our earthly pilgrimage. In your boundless compassion,
console us who mourn. Give us faith to see in death the gate
of eternal life, so that in quiet confidence we may continue
our course on earth, until, by your call, we are reunited with
those who have gone before; through Jesus Christ our Lord.
Amen.
</i><!--EndFragment-->
<i>
</i>
Book of Common Prayer, P. 493<br />
<br />
<br />
This was played at our wedding and sung by the All Saints' Choir.<br />
<iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/SJMjSZ2NuGA" width="560"></iframe>Katie Sherrodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09159503802660122104noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25082628.post-54163574088093865452019-05-11T19:17:00.000-05:002019-05-11T20:24:04.290-05:00Dear Heart . . .This rainy Saturday seemed a good time to continue work on my project of turning an unused room into a guest room.<br />
<br />
This has meant sorting through a desk and three crammed book shelves, so it's been time consuming, mostly because my heart keeps stumbling over relics of Gayland.<br />
<br />
Today I was stopped completely by a note he had given to me on Mother's Day, 2000, along with a gift of two joined hearts in Steuben crystal. The hearts sit on a shelf in my living room. The note had been tucked into a drawer.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7OgkaDCGY1bM0kKCgZg-cw9mQT7ngcnJmAV_QNbQLsq3NtWGOTSngmhCGNESRkHtkLbYYj-iz3jxXnHNgFsH8yPSmhZPGkBsIax4r2JARyIdIDVOW2QBHici1uTcDS_6dmPGE/s1600/20190511_181916.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7OgkaDCGY1bM0kKCgZg-cw9mQT7ngcnJmAV_QNbQLsq3NtWGOTSngmhCGNESRkHtkLbYYj-iz3jxXnHNgFsH8yPSmhZPGkBsIax4r2JARyIdIDVOW2QBHici1uTcDS_6dmPGE/s400/20190511_181916.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
<i>Dear Heart,</i><br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>Blessed be you on this Mother's Day - and joy to hold dear the life you give and rejoice to see in fullness.</i></blockquote>
<i>This bit of glass was to have been a Valentine gift -- but it better symbolizes this day and the joined hearts of you and Daniella!</i><br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>So I rejoice to be giver and rejoice to see the joined hearts and share the giving love from your hearts.</i></blockquote>
<i>Much love, </i><i>Gayland</i><br />
<i>May 14, 2000</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<br />
<br />
<br />
If you were ever the recipient of a note from Gayland, you recognize his stream-of-consciousness writing style.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyM7DqlLAeJb5_HAXw6oApDO942IVJV88KThrwoyceQYXmzPysuIyVx0Y0GTemW-fSbAwcr0JgTBb_nOku3PYXuCVPv5VGBxM2-N1iLlyselCQ294NF0RnAj0d-2G-mnYL8kT8/s1600/20190511_181921.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyM7DqlLAeJb5_HAXw6oApDO942IVJV88KThrwoyceQYXmzPysuIyVx0Y0GTemW-fSbAwcr0JgTBb_nOku3PYXuCVPv5VGBxM2-N1iLlyselCQ294NF0RnAj0d-2G-mnYL8kT8/s400/20190511_181921.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
He wrote in full throat, never stinting on emotion or bothering much with punctuation. He loved dashes, and the fact that there are only two in this note is a bit unusual. And while I treasure all notes from him, this one is especially precious, for in it he at last reveals that he has started to understand the relationship between me and my child, a relationship that, early on, had startled him, puzzled him, and, yes, made him jealous.<br />
<br />
He never had children of his own, and inheriting an adult woman as a step-daughter was a step into a totally unknown world. His relationship with his parents had been loving, especially with his mother, but he was taken aback by how very close Daniella and I are.<br />
<br />
He was just plain jealous of the time she and I spent together, and sometimes, he was a bit of a brat about it. He was a world champion pouter, and I called him on it many times when we were visiting Daniella when she lived out of state. He would grumble and deny it and then eventually apologize. I think even he was surprised by his jealousy.<br />
<br />
Eventually he came to understand that my love for him was in no way affected by my love for her. It was odd that a man so gifted in loving others was so worried that, in this one case, there wasn't enough love to go around. He would still have his moments, and Daniella and I would still call him out on it, but he truly did love her and her sons. Seeing her become a mother was amazing to him, and those two baby boys were the absolute light of his life.<br />
<br />
So I watch as the joined hearts catch the light and give it back, much as his heart did every day in so many ways.<br />
<br />
I miss you, dearest man.Katie Sherrodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09159503802660122104noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25082628.post-52494366247349857172019-05-06T21:29:00.002-05:002019-05-06T21:30:29.554-05:00Brightness falls from the air<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXEJzIe0aKBBts6M6XmWudkK_Wv1NJ-ME-WbcLjye7GDVjvSi4akel6oORVaBNGd81b0S-CzIn5VJ_5fMHBl_MI-V1SenETriRTMuGa_cWXmtkzP5Gwec3NgufW3QCLgB6G4z5/s1600/Gayland+having+a+drink+in+the+Chapel+Garden+March+2013.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXEJzIe0aKBBts6M6XmWudkK_Wv1NJ-ME-WbcLjye7GDVjvSi4akel6oORVaBNGd81b0S-CzIn5VJ_5fMHBl_MI-V1SenETriRTMuGa_cWXmtkzP5Gwec3NgufW3QCLgB6G4z5/s320/Gayland+having+a+drink+in+the+Chapel+Garden+March+2013.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
It's a line from a Thomas Nashe poem, <i>A Litany in Time of Plague</i> -- certainly the one line that immortalized Nashe. It's a line in the middle of a stanza that's in the middle of the poem.<br />
<div>
<br />
<div>
<i>Beauty is but a flower</i></div>
<div>
<i>Which wrinkles will devour;</i></div>
<div>
<i>Brightness falls from the air; </i></div>
<div>
<i>Queens have died young and fair; </i></div>
<div>
<i>Dust hath closed Helen’s eye. </i></div>
<div>
<i>I am sick, I must die.</i></div>
<div>
<i>Lord, have mercy on us!</i></div>
<div>
<br />
But oh! How that one line speaks truth to those who have lost someone they love.<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>Brightness falls from the air.</i></blockquote>
</div>
<div>
That's exactly what happens when, in the midst of going about my day, I am blindsided by a vivid memory of my love. Anything can trigger it -- a view, a song, a news story, a flower, a sentence in a book, a TV show. Whatever the trigger, a vivid memory of Gayland springs full blown into my mind's eye, and for a split second, he lives in my mind. Then reality intrudes and -- brightness falls from the air.</div>
<div>
<br />
Any transitory happiness flees, tranquility is gone, laughter fades, courage falters, hope fades, and bleak despair reigns.</div>
<div>
<br />
Sometimes it lasts only a minute, and I am able to recover without anyone noticing that this black cloak of grief just enveloped me. Other times, it lasts for days, this bleak hopelessness. When this happens, I just fake it. Why suck others into my bleakest times? </div>
<div>
<br />
When it hits, the blow of grief has a physical impact. I feel my shoulders drop, my hands fall to my side, my knees weaken. Once in a while -- thank God only when I'm alone -- it has literally knocked me to my knees.</div>
<div>
<br />
When that happens, I just sink down and sit there and let the dogs comfort me, as in their loving doggy concern they nudge me and lick me and lean close to me. When sometimes in the night I rise from my sleeplessness and walk outside, they all come with me, even the cat, and we walk the garden in the post-midnight hours, pacing back and forth between the garden "rooms" he and I created together until I am exhausted enough to go back to bed. </div>
<div>
<br />
And then, as if to make up for the black times, a period of tranquility will arrive, allowing me days of peace when I am allowed to believe I have come to terms with the loss of him. </div>
<div>
<br />
It's a lie.</div>
<div>
<br />
Oh, I am functioning. I am even having fun. I spend time with people I love. I work on projects I care deeply about. </div>
<div>
<br />
But the impact of the loss of Gayland is never far from me.</div>
<div>
<br />
Perhaps one day these moments will elicit only a fond smile. But for now?</div>
<div>
<br />
For now when they come, they take the light with them, and brightness falls from the air.</div>
</div>
Katie Sherrodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09159503802660122104noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25082628.post-80470428388509882052019-04-23T18:32:00.000-05:002019-04-23T18:40:27.563-05:00Happy birthday, my loveToday is Gayland Pool's 82nd birthday. Somewhere he is celebrating, I am sure, because he always liked a party.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMt2YFjSZeYjHiE_-en9E50dafvZrN4WyV2d0WlYNTriJYXM07kFrvPpny4PNYGt5CTRRalOqbbHuGozyq6kOYObcuvxQjOixNdzPJHv9kneGltMZkHPoPF9fVXB_hXbrggmVQ/s1600/Gayland+May+22+2013+Cattle+Country+Clerics.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMt2YFjSZeYjHiE_-en9E50dafvZrN4WyV2d0WlYNTriJYXM07kFrvPpny4PNYGt5CTRRalOqbbHuGozyq6kOYObcuvxQjOixNdzPJHv9kneGltMZkHPoPF9fVXB_hXbrggmVQ/s400/Gayland+May+22+2013+Cattle+Country+Clerics.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
<br />
He loved nothing more than gathering up all the people he loved -- and that was a LOT of people -- and plying them with food and drink and all the hospitality his generous soul could provide.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNwKtKXhmVSlvpU6fOuanCI9MCrUKpSDWFXd_-vp3G4De9z4Rqmk83GLeP0SToXSJr2mXuoSx0iG0UGbFI3Ve0aAsmttHUwlGY30lDNnUvZXmjiaBijZo01DsZz637yzDaH_Ta/s1600/Gayland+with+party+May+2013.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNwKtKXhmVSlvpU6fOuanCI9MCrUKpSDWFXd_-vp3G4De9z4Rqmk83GLeP0SToXSJr2mXuoSx0iG0UGbFI3Ve0aAsmttHUwlGY30lDNnUvZXmjiaBijZo01DsZz637yzDaH_Ta/s400/Gayland+with+party+May+2013.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
Gayland loved using the occasion of his birthday as a way to help others. One year we had a concert to raise money for Sudan. Another year we hosted folks organized against the death penalty in our garden. In other years, we hosted fundraisers for animal shelters, the Women's Center and Women's Haven, and for politicians we supported.<br />
<br />
For someone with such a generous soul, he was really bad at accepting gifts. He felt it was a waste of money, money that could have been used to help someone else. Partly, this was because he didn't hesitate to buy things for himself, particularly books and works of art that spoke to him. He knew what he needed to feed his soul, and if he could figure out how to afford it, he bought it.<br />
<br />
But partly it was, I think, that at some deep level he didn't believe he was worthy of generosity. While I suspect I know the origin of this, I cannot be sure. This reluctance to accept gifts was something we talked about every Christmas and every birthday -- that he loved giving gifts to folks, and that he should allow folks the same pleasure in giving gifts to him.<br />
<br />
"All you have to say is, 'Thank you,'" I would say to him, when he would begin in on how people shouldn't have spent the money, etc. And he would grimace and say, "Thank you."<br />
<br />
Gayland's feeling of unworthiness is common, I believe, among people of his generation. Children of the Depression were raised amid scarcity, hard ground indeed for a theology of abundance to take root. He could be very tight with money. And yet, Gayland epitomized abundant love for others. It was mostly with himself that he was ungenerous.<br />
<br />
To watch him move through a room, smiling, grasping hands, gently touching a child's head, an adult's arm, focusing intently while engaging with each person was to watch a lover of humanity in action. Children knew this instinctively. I can't count the number of times we would be stopped in a store or on the street by the sudden appearance of a small child who had wrapped him or herself around his leg. I soon learned to just stop while Gayland engaged with the child and I scanned the space for an anxious looking parent. Sure enough, here would come an adult, calling the child's name and looking simultaneouly relieved and suspicious. Who were these people with their child? Gayland would greet the parent, and gently unpeel the child, who usually was chatting away with him, and introduce himself and me. Within seconds, the parent relaxed, the child was transferred -- although occasionally one would insist tearfully that he or she needed to go with Gayland - names were exchanged, and off we'd go on our interrupted errand. More than once, the parents and children turned up in church the next Sunday.<br />
<br />
He was a child magnet. I think they recognized something childlike in him, a joy and amazement at being alive that they shared. His grandsons certainly knew they had an unfailing advocate in their Da, who believed they could do no wrong, ever. He was amazed at having grandchildren, and thought they were the most special, handsomest, smartest boys ever -- the Best Boys in the World. And of course, they are.<br />
<br />
Just in time for his birthday, I finished some much needed work in the farmhouse, work that had been put off while we dealt with his illness, and then I dealt with losing him.<br />
<br />
It has been a bittersweet experiece, because it is the kind of project we loved to do together, playing with space with Tino's help. I know he is pleased with the work, because if he wasn't I suspect he would have found ways to let me know.<br />
<br />
So happy birthday, my love. I miss you every day.<br />
<br />
And here's the latest project:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW1yquPdehwvByPypDFOlAJkGRCiDR4L0Qro-f7K3lWlR7keERveD6D5QQB3Y_04ku3lqoYPfa-T5FqySVsHyKB3NgJFHJdzVXQBntHpSs4wIiv5-OtS3CkPFXq0b1YRL0m_Ih/s1600/20190422_101807.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW1yquPdehwvByPypDFOlAJkGRCiDR4L0Qro-f7K3lWlR7keERveD6D5QQB3Y_04ku3lqoYPfa-T5FqySVsHyKB3NgJFHJdzVXQBntHpSs4wIiv5-OtS3CkPFXq0b1YRL0m_Ih/s320/20190422_101807.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<b><<<<< </b>You know the south porch that was falling down? I did as we talked about, my love, and took that wall out to add room to the kitchen.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ7ZtN0pMNoEppPKRWHLbrKQxgVlq3LecMUI1KKFL7EFKZvEypMyMEoDI3Wi9I2XygYf1hbCA2kZWe4CYeoqykTyVT_zXPkuCbfXW_UIpFWKb_EchchA-2PqzERz2NILZBYPkU/s1600/20190422_114803.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ7ZtN0pMNoEppPKRWHLbrKQxgVlq3LecMUI1KKFL7EFKZvEypMyMEoDI3Wi9I2XygYf1hbCA2kZWe4CYeoqykTyVT_zXPkuCbfXW_UIpFWKb_EchchA-2PqzERz2NILZBYPkU/s320/20190422_114803.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
See the new space. <b>>>></b><br />
<br />
You can see we whitewashed the floor like we talked about doing.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8u9OTYSfNdJ8koFEDBPrFZbqyqMH2ilHQsRJUj6S8qthjzY1H1kUHI23ej6UwYaj2gPG89VhXllL_O9arV6PNFPplxsmodGrFXULnjmA3W-ItV6kB-AaWFaFqm3cN4sc3t6_6/s1600/20190422_114436.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8u9OTYSfNdJ8koFEDBPrFZbqyqMH2ilHQsRJUj6S8qthjzY1H1kUHI23ej6UwYaj2gPG89VhXllL_O9arV6PNFPplxsmodGrFXULnjmA3W-ItV6kB-AaWFaFqm3cN4sc3t6_6/s320/20190422_114436.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<b><<<<< </b>I also removed the exposed shelves, and lowered the cabinet to I can reach it -- without my tall person here, I needed to do that. And I put up art where the open shelves were.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZIpjHqSPlvX69l6cMFsPDZaUwvZ9ABoPAz8OpE28-8iK8BK7ein7XV6kg5tMVkguR5sWT2Wxa2oV41brO2QXPkjvIMd0C7qWo7oKrd10taXcAk7Os5kIN0DXnaAZkQhyuPlkD/s1600/20190422_114521.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZIpjHqSPlvX69l6cMFsPDZaUwvZ9ABoPAz8OpE28-8iK8BK7ein7XV6kg5tMVkguR5sWT2Wxa2oV41brO2QXPkjvIMd0C7qWo7oKrd10taXcAk7Os5kIN0DXnaAZkQhyuPlkD/s320/20190422_114521.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
I also took the wall out to expose the stairs and open up the space beneath them as we'd talked about.<b> >>>>></b><br />
<br />
And I took out the appliance center we never used and turned it into a seating area at the bar. <b>>>>>>>></b><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfRsRuqYK_lrmVG1ssO1cUe-QmBeEuZdJCGeEp9937pNANh-XLJr0PK1kLdwWqQuu30ybrswui_65pmhAiawWEgp5Y4KhtiWamsylo7mIyaDebqOqqj-8udJxmqiL8FqddXD9C/s1600/20190422_114500.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfRsRuqYK_lrmVG1ssO1cUe-QmBeEuZdJCGeEp9937pNANh-XLJr0PK1kLdwWqQuu30ybrswui_65pmhAiawWEgp5Y4KhtiWamsylo7mIyaDebqOqqj-8udJxmqiL8FqddXD9C/s320/20190422_114500.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b><br /></b>
<b><br /></b>
<b><br /></b>
<b><br /></b>
<b><<<<<</b> I added lighting to the open space under the stairs and put a bench there to stow purses and things when we have a party.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGbl-bQKZZ9Xkt-ZR8UvjBRawROeR9cv2GVaR125j226N0S_zez4DMqJqHcyOIqf9PrwdxrNbPmQ59mysYaObO-Md0H0A69HW1c2ApjBkY79p9marCPG4m1c27gJKjW_YJ1k00/s1600/20190422_114427.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGbl-bQKZZ9Xkt-ZR8UvjBRawROeR9cv2GVaR125j226N0S_zez4DMqJqHcyOIqf9PrwdxrNbPmQ59mysYaObO-Md0H0A69HW1c2ApjBkY79p9marCPG4m1c27gJKjW_YJ1k00/s320/20190422_114427.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigIu3iGv-K3TLlIaRTQhkAaKdSAOXnkJreHU2bomMyuee6oomjlst0ZI7PWd_LT7ghAR9dOJYVF5SiUxMK3Cf5l1NGHmzXsT9EescqAxYerLpFCESBn8HtdYqfffBtK2ZDcb_c/s1600/20190422_114611.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigIu3iGv-K3TLlIaRTQhkAaKdSAOXnkJreHU2bomMyuee6oomjlst0ZI7PWd_LT7ghAR9dOJYVF5SiUxMK3Cf5l1NGHmzXsT9EescqAxYerLpFCESBn8HtdYqfffBtK2ZDcb_c/s320/20190422_114611.jpg" width="320" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigIu3iGv-K3TLlIaRTQhkAaKdSAOXnkJreHU2bomMyuee6oomjlst0ZI7PWd_LT7ghAR9dOJYVF5SiUxMK3Cf5l1NGHmzXsT9EescqAxYerLpFCESBn8HtdYqfffBtK2ZDcb_c/s1600/20190422_114611.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></a></div>
<b><br /></b>
<b><br /></b>
<b><<<<<<</b> Here's the view into the kitchen from the dining room. You can see the door in the corner has been removed when I opened up the porch. It makes the dining room much lighter. You'd like that.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Katie Sherrodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09159503802660122104noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25082628.post-86822119719316216312018-12-18T18:43:00.001-06:002018-12-18T18:43:49.566-06:00Pierced hearts<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
A couple of weeks ago, I bought myself a potted Amaryllis bulb at Trader Joe's. Gayland used to give me one on or right after my birthday, figuring it would be open for Christmas -- and it nearly always was. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
The Greeks called these beautiful flowers Amarullis, which means “splendor” or “sparkling.” Even the unopened bud is very shiny.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA5tI3fK250IHQ6LhFnIxlBiDUeFyjWGbArQUMuJh9eQNQOLPUyPUNzHKNlcKsO2npPSs8jvXBX9jWDu20pRhaLwqeur44mYSTk3cTgxQ_xW1RhCn6JDSmteJnaR6SVSeu-PkT/s1600/20181204_110505.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA5tI3fK250IHQ6LhFnIxlBiDUeFyjWGbArQUMuJh9eQNQOLPUyPUNzHKNlcKsO2npPSs8jvXBX9jWDu20pRhaLwqeur44mYSTk3cTgxQ_xW1RhCn6JDSmteJnaR6SVSeu-PkT/s320/20181204_110505.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />The Greek poet Virgil wrote that this stunning red flower once was a shy nymph named Amaryllis. She fell deeply in love with Alteo, a shepherd described as having Hercules' strength and Apollo's beauty, but who paid attention only to his plants and flowers. He did not return her affections. Heck, he didn't even notice her existence.<br /><div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_zlhTRRY7RHUQgIzfa_25ZhCGz92CxoTkCVZGFIAQFeu8fCBizS5E5iDOsggmOnWBZfW6UN24q8GUnw1CZlA_DbZ6dVD5MDLTZgEPVNny1hrESo4gTESbbjD4qJhP3-K-OY8v/s1600/20181204_084123.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_zlhTRRY7RHUQgIzfa_25ZhCGz92CxoTkCVZGFIAQFeu8fCBizS5E5iDOsggmOnWBZfW6UN24q8GUnw1CZlA_DbZ6dVD5MDLTZgEPVNny1hrESo4gTESbbjD4qJhP3-K-OY8v/s320/20181204_084123.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Hoping that she could win him over by giving him the thing he desired most - a flower that had never existed in the world before - Amaryllis sought advice from the oracle of Delphi.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb6Ynt0XRqpp_wDO9BdPs2oVJAUHsHxp5Tha_ZFHPpNMv8lhbLdcFKlMQnGYxeaEaLaZpVBuVYR-5JqLSxTNDBY4UMEg7cjjzzL05MEYPNDhqbl2kJ5dcxCYbb05La_fIFUeBK/s1600/20181207_130307.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb6Ynt0XRqpp_wDO9BdPs2oVJAUHsHxp5Tha_ZFHPpNMv8lhbLdcFKlMQnGYxeaEaLaZpVBuVYR-5JqLSxTNDBY4UMEg7cjjzzL05MEYPNDhqbl2kJ5dcxCYbb05La_fIFUeBK/s320/20181207_130307.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Following the oracle's instructions, Amaryllis dressed in maiden's white and appeared at Alteo's door for 30 nights in a row. Each night, outside his door, she pierced her heart with a golden arrow, causing blood to fall to the ground. Finally Alteo opened his door. There he beheld a gorgeous scarlet flower, sprung from the blood of Amaryllis's heart.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYijcW_0f_qu8hlGSsC88hyphenhyphenzAa7PvYhZzwYo4zbBh5nxmvn90ZaS9FYCtsBuybOly77kpRX4l2ByRl9WWsy1GeXZm9wkuejz0KoLpwuEv10TnDZbb4q4NAa_VulAPRwGLNj_1-/s1600/20181208_092024.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYijcW_0f_qu8hlGSsC88hyphenhyphenzAa7PvYhZzwYo4zbBh5nxmvn90ZaS9FYCtsBuybOly77kpRX4l2ByRl9WWsy1GeXZm9wkuejz0KoLpwuEv10TnDZbb4q4NAa_VulAPRwGLNj_1-/s320/20181208_092024.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Well, that got his attention. He got his unique flower, Amaryllis' heart was healed, and she got the object of her desire. One hopes they were happy with the bargain. One also thinks the oracle was a creep.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5ZR2EXaMerx3BR_M-j27ZmFmpJkO6xvrorhyu9m9ojb5DpDz6XB78Ec52kaCgpevcySx7y1MjktA3pGpTJ2g-cmNaMmveK_vgntMUfpMVYCwCmdd34UNUzUxMFFoKoWsJQMan/s1600/20181209_113413.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5ZR2EXaMerx3BR_M-j27ZmFmpJkO6xvrorhyu9m9ojb5DpDz6XB78Ec52kaCgpevcySx7y1MjktA3pGpTJ2g-cmNaMmveK_vgntMUfpMVYCwCmdd34UNUzUxMFFoKoWsJQMan/s320/20181209_113413.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
<br />
Today, the amaryllis symbolizes pride, determination and radiant beauty. Other sources say it symbolizes success, strength, and determination.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLMmlVxcHRuorijs8TCCIioV9IWYOIdgJLypDCxdzegX3feY92lb6y7NLI-rVFKxDERG-wjW6EvN7B4e90MB2xjtGUyxKU2iSYiFj8ZCJ7RhmPF-sG4heqEKGll9ACuqK5LliX/s1600/20181210_105633.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLMmlVxcHRuorijs8TCCIioV9IWYOIdgJLypDCxdzegX3feY92lb6y7NLI-rVFKxDERG-wjW6EvN7B4e90MB2xjtGUyxKU2iSYiFj8ZCJ7RhmPF-sG4heqEKGll9ACuqK5LliX/s320/20181210_105633.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
<br />
I say it should symbolize the lengths to which some besotted young women will go to catch the attention of an oblivious male.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVKsjOUjvKFF3_Ay3Ip5UE__3YEsa4yTxGVFUiMI_8IjZv5Tf88HfZInzG0TggBhjmxykZRfLhA1-_ezlPNWNS534sO88Pm9CVTMv_cqJkb_QZEzWJcQfIbIVHVol6esD8SucY/s1600/20181210_105617.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVKsjOUjvKFF3_Ay3Ip5UE__3YEsa4yTxGVFUiMI_8IjZv5Tf88HfZInzG0TggBhjmxykZRfLhA1-_ezlPNWNS534sO88Pm9CVTMv_cqJkb_QZEzWJcQfIbIVHVol6esD8SucY/s320/20181210_105617.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
<br />
For me, it's a sweet echo of gifts of beauty from my absent love. This particular Amaryllis has put out two shoots, creating an absolute spectacle of itself. Gayland would have loved it.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPFxtVMi9werd2xyk_5kHhBv9Qy-bXh-PEDLWFnKw9afEZ34_3xg3yIRWY3kAXxYoDqNlXOpzYZDtleLlm6hW0D0QaukCF4Ron5Fh1kiZL2rULRD0I8M0Wx7l4fTW3JuoGXp-s/s1600/20181218_085309.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPFxtVMi9werd2xyk_5kHhBv9Qy-bXh-PEDLWFnKw9afEZ34_3xg3yIRWY3kAXxYoDqNlXOpzYZDtleLlm6hW0D0QaukCF4Ron5Fh1kiZL2rULRD0I8M0Wx7l4fTW3JuoGXp-s/s320/20181218_085309.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
<br />
Sable has adopted it as her own personal stage setting, sitting beside at every opportunity because she knows its bright red enhances her sable beauty.<br />
<br />
It IS gorgeous. Looking at it makes me smile through my tears. </div>
Katie Sherrodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09159503802660122104noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25082628.post-69783685018265388922018-12-12T10:54:00.002-06:002018-12-12T15:56:21.929-06:00Rough waysWe humans like to mark time off in significant chunks -- a birthday, a holiday, an anniversary. I guess we think it gives us some control over things -- one of the many things we kid ourselves about in life.<br />
<br />
Yesterday, December 11, was the anniversary of his death. A year. Three hundred sixty five days without him.<br />
<br />
The presence of his absence still is enormous, filling up most of the space in my life. I maneuver through and over and around it, but still, it can suck all the oxygen out of the room in a nanosecond. It ambushes me multiple times a day as I live and work and have my being in this space we created and occupied together. He left his mark on every square inch of this place I call home, so while I love it, and it is indeed a refuge, it also exacts an emotional toll.<br />
<br />
This manifests in seemingly irrational acts, because inanimate objects become sacred holders of memory. Silly things, like two juice glasses in the dishwasher.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-7LxmAbhs2qoL2mA1s88396_Qpke2MPgSnCKsIlgIYxZk_3_Sg0eVJHu8b4lHXn598Gph9eKjiKcgter9f71KJTO_3cZj-LGPr7rM18VKXvo9KXvMhU8Ukqg47BB27n_-6cUp/s1600/20181210_094826.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-7LxmAbhs2qoL2mA1s88396_Qpke2MPgSnCKsIlgIYxZk_3_Sg0eVJHu8b4lHXn598Gph9eKjiKcgter9f71KJTO_3cZj-LGPr7rM18VKXvo9KXvMhU8Ukqg47BB27n_-6cUp/s320/20181210_094826.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilXRizokimvGhv86y7WDup4cI7skKeugSfi5YI9t8NL0Veg2eQM-h4z8bo0NGhp_Ur_BHfN2qoHPNKvGm6gvj7TwQQjOYRJ26GM31FSkEcWotBQqLWtBWV9gBcmudHD4_PN31b/s1600/20181210_094831.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilXRizokimvGhv86y7WDup4cI7skKeugSfi5YI9t8NL0Veg2eQM-h4z8bo0NGhp_Ur_BHfN2qoHPNKvGm6gvj7TwQQjOYRJ26GM31FSkEcWotBQqLWtBWV9gBcmudHD4_PN31b/s320/20181210_094831.jpg" width="320" /></a>There they sit, the two cleanest juice glasses on the planet, because I haven't been able to move them from the place he last put them. Every morning he would pour juice for us, mine in the glass with the red ring, his in the glass with the yellow ring. They were the last glasses remaining from a set of eight that he bought years ago in one of Neiman Marcus' "gifts under $25" sales ( he loved those sales). Every day after breakfast he would rinse them off and put them back in the dishwasher. He did so that last day at home. And there they have remained. Not being used, but getting washed regularly. Silly. Like I said, grief can make you do things like that.<br />
<br />
Earlier this year I wondered what it would be like, a year out from his death. I hoped it would be easier, that the pain would lessen, become more bearable. And I guess that has happened to some degree. But there are times the grief still is so raw it's as if he just died. I find myself angry -- angry that he's gone, angry at the many physicians who failed to diagnose a damn urinary tract infection that eventually became septic and killed him, angry at a medical establishment -- a world -- so ready to write off a man becoming increasingly frail because, hey! he's nearly 80.<br />
<br />
The rage is huge and a little scary, so I try not to inflict it on anyone else. And I try to direct its fire into work that might make the world a little better. God know there's lots of that work around.<br />
<br />
Anger and grief use up a lot of energy, I've discovered. At the end of the day, I am often just done, able to do little more than sit in my chair and hold a book. Sometimes I even read the book. Sometimes I watch TV, although often I discover I have zoned out and missed significant chunks of the show. Thank God for rewind.<br />
<br />
Motion is what gets me through the day. I move from one task to another, one project to another, one hour to another. I am grateful for generous colleagues who have been willing to abide with my distraction, to put up with some missed deadlines, to be flexible on the days I can barely move.<br />
<br />
I am most undone by the kindness of people -- the flowers close friends sent yesterday, the quiet glances, the prayers, the notes.<br />
<br />
Because the grief is still <b><i>right there</i></b>. Right under the surface of my composure, lurking. And the season isn't helping much, calling forth memories with every emotionally laden holiday chore.<br />
<br />
What does help is that The Episcopal Church is in the season of Advent, a time of reflection, preparation and anticipation. Virginia Theological Seminary offers #AdventWord, "a global, online Advent calendar. Each day from the first Sunday of Advent through Christmas Day, #AdventWord offers meditations and images to inspire and connect individuals and a worldwide community of believers to the themes of Advent. You can stay up-to-date by <a href="https://www.adventword.org/sign-up-adventword2018/">signing up to receive #AdventWord emails here</a>, visiting <a href="http://adventword.org/">AdventWord.org</a>, and following the project on <a href="https://www.facebook.com/AdventWordOrg/">Facebook</a> and <a href="https://www.instagram.com/adventword/">Instagram</a>."<br />
<br />
The AdventWord for today is #Rough, a reference to John the Baptizer saying that "'the rough ways will be made smooth' in preparation for the coming of God."<br />
<br />
I am intimately familiar with the rough ways - my very soul has been abraded by the harsh emotional winds of this last year. Grief still resides in my throat, making it impossible to sing, or even say some prayers out loud.<br />
<br />
The #AdventWord for December 11 was #Go.<br />
<br />
But I have no idea what comes next, for grief isn't a tidy linear process. It follows no rules, listens to no rational explanations, heeds no timeline, schedule, or plan. It is the shadow of the Holy Spirit, blowing where it will, when it will, taking no prisoners.<br />
<br />
Oh, my love. I miss you so.Katie Sherrodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09159503802660122104noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25082628.post-35720713717950789892018-11-02T15:05:00.001-05:002018-11-02T21:18:51.425-05:00A wedding anniversary. Alone.Today is our 27th wedding anniversary. And for the first time, I wasn't awakened with a kiss and an "Happy anniversary, my love." There were no flowers with my coffee, no chocolates by my plate, no small package waiting to be unwrapped, no him hovering in happy excitement. He was such a romantic.<br />
<br />
Today also is All Souls Day, the day we pray "for all those whom we love but see no longer."<br />
<br />
It was important to Gayland that on the day we wed we also remember his deceased parents, Mattie and Mart, his brother Larry, and his 8-year-old nephew Jeffrey.<br />
<br />
While the loss of his parents was hard, the untimely deaths of Larry and Jeffrey in an automobile accident was a life changing moment for him. When almost overwhelmed with grief and loss, he determined to live a life centered in joy and love of God, and it shaped his life and his ministry from then on.<br />
<br />
Now that they are all together again, I remember them all, along with my parents, Judy and Alan Sherrod. And while part of me wants to spend the day in bed under the covers, tonight I will be attending the world premiere of a <i>Requiem for the New World</i>, a piece commissioned by Trinity Episcopal Church here in Fort Worth. It is unusual in that it is in Spanish. The young composer, Nico Gutierrez, sang in the Trinity choir when he attended TCU.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdyRYYgq0-xZUuhHtB8asf4RFIJBc-vVHDiy5kAxIqr77qQmegIBzSLp2-sOuej-w-tAmCkaMqr7GKqPoya2HvHhB2GSvFL1oZX1pDLhwXRSFghnbFFRX95AeQyx0Xy99EfvSt/s1600/Requiem+logo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="717" data-original-width="1420" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdyRYYgq0-xZUuhHtB8asf4RFIJBc-vVHDiy5kAxIqr77qQmegIBzSLp2-sOuej-w-tAmCkaMqr7GKqPoya2HvHhB2GSvFL1oZX1pDLhwXRSFghnbFFRX95AeQyx0Xy99EfvSt/s400/Requiem+logo.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
Tonight's Requiem is part of the All Souls Day liturgy. It will be presented again on Sunday as a concert. They are making a recording of it, which is good, because I believe all the tickets for both evenings are gone.<br />
<br />
Music was such an important part of our life together, and I find it unfair that I can barely listen to music any more without it laying waste to my emotions. I have no defenses against lovely music. Whether I make it through this entire evening remains to be seen.<br />
<br />
But still, I am trying, my love. I am trying. I am trying, as the poem below says,<br />
to do what you would have wanted, to give what's left of you away.<br />
<br />
<i>Epitaph</i><br />
By Merrit Malloy<br />
<br />
When I die<br />
Give what’s left of me away<br />
To children<br />
And old men that wait to die.<br />
<br />
And if you need to cry,<br />
Cry for your brother<br />
Walking the street beside you.<br />
And when you need me,<br />
Put your arms<br />
Around anyone<br />
And give them<br />
What you need to give to me.<br />
<br />
I want to leave you something,<br />
Something better<br />
Than words<br />
Or sounds.<br />
<br />
Look for me<br />
In the people I’ve known<br />
Or loved,<br />
And if you cannot give me away,<br />
At least let me live on in your eyes<br />
And not your mind.<br />
<br />
You can love me most<br />
By letting<br />
Hands touch hands,<br />
By letting bodies touch bodies,<br />
And by letting go<br />
Of children<br />
That need to be free.<br />
<br />
Love doesn’t die,<br />
People do.<br />
So, when all that’s left of me<br />
Is love,<br />
Give me away.<span style="background-color: white; color: #002621; font-family: "sonuslight" , "myriad pro" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 15px;"><br /></span>
##<br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #002621; font-family: "sonuslight" , "myriad pro" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 15px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #002621; font-family: "sonuslight" , "myriad pro" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 15px;"><br /></span>Katie Sherrodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09159503802660122104noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25082628.post-41927639824075456142018-08-21T19:01:00.000-05:002018-08-21T19:01:09.842-05:00Eight months and ten days onThe rains came, and the purple sage bloomed. He always loved the sage.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTCrkXKEOICP7lb5EoCBtCHCj7zJXJ6qHLoN6bzRHIP8qmt13PduoTk2LXXlOiPA8FJ63AWcmwwQqTZsh55OUfuPKx2nDDywuR0S94SABpAnQeEpNJBFoaKQHruftrJaK8ZwZY/s1600/purple+sage++2018.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTCrkXKEOICP7lb5EoCBtCHCj7zJXJ6qHLoN6bzRHIP8qmt13PduoTk2LXXlOiPA8FJ63AWcmwwQqTZsh55OUfuPKx2nDDywuR0S94SABpAnQeEpNJBFoaKQHruftrJaK8ZwZY/s320/purple+sage++2018.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
There's so much to talk to him about. The wisteria bloomed! In August!?! A particular former bishop announced his retirement. A hawk landed outside the round window and then drank out of the bird bath, giving tiny heart attacks to every bird in the area. Robert Mueller is getting convictions. And our grandsons are both in high school (!) a fact that would have made him grin ear to ear at those beloved boys.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmp1XhUWzz_5HdF_vLrqXCEKT7ClDSbaPTye4Mu4Mh7MrQefTcM285fq9DKlgJ-2wV5-ZPBbnEojoIs3MfZTSI0aK-O05dMDdKy-RnbqJCwvLO-VzTnMhSOCFmHAJtnMyXC7aD/s1600/curran+junior+in+high+school+2018.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmp1XhUWzz_5HdF_vLrqXCEKT7ClDSbaPTye4Mu4Mh7MrQefTcM285fq9DKlgJ-2wV5-ZPBbnEojoIs3MfZTSI0aK-O05dMDdKy-RnbqJCwvLO-VzTnMhSOCFmHAJtnMyXC7aD/s320/curran+junior+in+high+school+2018.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtQRY77xYCHq7ZgZn_GwrEP6EoCyIyUfwbtCjkcnR3pNXTvinSGIOCDh4HD_n1w8POc4atSy__bwa44qP_bKfpBnENx1gZo9zzOO8WT5igYh7CDNR-i1Ihkkusj1NIeIaAlW0g/s1600/Gavind+freshmand+in+high+school+2018.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; display: inline !important; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtQRY77xYCHq7ZgZn_GwrEP6EoCyIyUfwbtCjkcnR3pNXTvinSGIOCDh4HD_n1w8POc4atSy__bwa44qP_bKfpBnENx1gZo9zzOO8WT5igYh7CDNR-i1Ihkkusj1NIeIaAlW0g/s320/Gavind+freshmand+in+high+school+2018.jpg" width="240" /></a><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
And you know what surprises me? That I can still be caught by surprise when I turn to tell him something. That the grief is still so raw, so painful.<br />
<br />
It's been eight months and 10 days since he died. It feels like it was this afternoon.<br />
<br />
I guess I believed those who said it won't go away but it will get easier. And yet here it sits, hunched just one thought away behind my veil of composure, ready at any moment to take my breath away, fill my eyes with tears, make my chest fill with pain.<br />
<br />
I've gotten really good at disguising these attacks, at turning away or going silent or concentrating really hard on something else until I regain control. But when I'm alone it always wins, leaving me weeping from the force of the longing for him.<br />
<br />
So I just keep moving. I made through General Convention, even though every time I walked out of the House of Deputies and he wasn't there waiting for me, smiling and saying, "Hello my love," my heart hurt. And oh, he should have been there when I was honored by the president of the House of Deputies, Gay Jennings, because the work that was being recognized was made possible by his support, his wisdom, his having my back every minute. He would have loved it!<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVK-tckA4Ol3RJZiify_e4eHYuo0EdsM7LHp5l-aB4kp75vnP2gbx6owHOC5BSZiHURERz9BxwLWfVEcvffaxdiwP5aLLbIqB-G41zWki1XOtAVI3y7egvNVzBi7xeWU3pSxUa/s1600/HOD+medal.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="960" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVK-tckA4Ol3RJZiify_e4eHYuo0EdsM7LHp5l-aB4kp75vnP2gbx6owHOC5BSZiHURERz9BxwLWfVEcvffaxdiwP5aLLbIqB-G41zWki1XOtAVI3y7egvNVzBi7xeWU3pSxUa/s200/HOD+medal.jpg" width="200" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiswbxKVwWT3zdtH3x6GWxiFP2vvs2XLcfNMffZDmTbxdYSbpWjkCt7G8Vy4a6ooCtU81nNOLfcfR08jnzsZmMhtvFmNFQHT7BQmgcbbsBO4QRJLumHGmandWKjBSZ_z6b7HJ8Z/s1600/HOD+medal+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="880" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiswbxKVwWT3zdtH3x6GWxiFP2vvs2XLcfNMffZDmTbxdYSbpWjkCt7G8Vy4a6ooCtU81nNOLfcfR08jnzsZmMhtvFmNFQHT7BQmgcbbsBO4QRJLumHGmandWKjBSZ_z6b7HJ8Z/s200/HOD+medal+2.jpg" width="183" /></a><br />
<br />
I made it through vacation in Hawaii, the vacation he bought and paid for the spring before his death. <br />
<br />
And I am surviving going through his office, although I can only do so much at a time before the emotional toll is simply too much to bear. He and I had talked about other ways to use the building his office is in, because as he got more frail, he worked there less. He always loved playing with ideas for new uses for old spaces.<br />
<br />
But remember, we are talking about a space Gayland Pool occupied for many years, so<b> every</b>. <b>single</b>. <b>cubic</b>. <b>inch</b> is filled with stuff he kept -- books, art work, photos, books, letters, cards from people he helped, people he married, people who loved him (thousands of cards), files, books, prayer cards, prayer books, hymnals, and more unidentifiable things than you can imagine.<br />
<br />
And I have to go through it all, because his filing system was, well, very unusual. I found the title to his car in a file marked "pets." See what I mean?<br />
<br />
And art work! What wasn't on the walls was stacked against the walls.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIQsA7YvlBRjexm3Il4IUr5FEaycENP5gCOqYgoc9ONpj6GpGG3y0aVOsEgsgnQbHvbNJZEykDWIzDDhYX4Jlo5q0A9kgX46Sep8tlbUDt2sN0-Zf2WMxUbLeJv_UBQ89WyZW4/s1600/gayland+art+work+.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIQsA7YvlBRjexm3Il4IUr5FEaycENP5gCOqYgoc9ONpj6GpGG3y0aVOsEgsgnQbHvbNJZEykDWIzDDhYX4Jlo5q0A9kgX46Sep8tlbUDt2sN0-Zf2WMxUbLeJv_UBQ89WyZW4/s320/gayland+art+work+.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXT-rcGM3rW1PDUIJxhRvUWRaQwLAFY01vEIB4GVoE83kC69IL47EOadgOTd8hTrl8-wmo2hoBG05vfFxoikEsVQlKRy72-dxfPZotSABBMP5cDwfhAtXunCGChb40ysmoS03u/s1600/Gayland+art+work+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXT-rcGM3rW1PDUIJxhRvUWRaQwLAFY01vEIB4GVoE83kC69IL47EOadgOTd8hTrl8-wmo2hoBG05vfFxoikEsVQlKRy72-dxfPZotSABBMP5cDwfhAtXunCGChb40ysmoS03u/s320/Gayland+art+work+2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
I found the brochure about the walking tour of historic sacred<br />spaces that he helped create.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ9sEyOlO92ToUd3OqzLELS1mJHx0GICmefUUpaJJqrfMjCG7_mTvRoxLtCCWv01Y6z8_wCZAHHI_4d13p-7EaSave3T9yWke7WyI3qVjIKp6zjttGD5nvbt-UBbH0hHAKWrQG/s1600/Gayland+sacred+spaced+brochure.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ9sEyOlO92ToUd3OqzLELS1mJHx0GICmefUUpaJJqrfMjCG7_mTvRoxLtCCWv01Y6z8_wCZAHHI_4d13p-7EaSave3T9yWke7WyI3qVjIKp6zjttGD5nvbt-UBbH0hHAKWrQG/s320/Gayland+sacred+spaced+brochure.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ36zgpgmlEqUdi7fbz6RQ8kMrWyzkCStVaVwYxE96psRb_lArVgFw-yWdMCflWg9qzO7xNN-MFJHppCDpCWHhsItGJ2AkbjXM2O2XFKiaALNK5_KWxS8zeXfA8J0i-ejRkGCK/s1600/Gayland+sacred+spaces+brochure2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ36zgpgmlEqUdi7fbz6RQ8kMrWyzkCStVaVwYxE96psRb_lArVgFw-yWdMCflWg9qzO7xNN-MFJHppCDpCWHhsItGJ2AkbjXM2O2XFKiaALNK5_KWxS8zeXfA8J0i-ejRkGCK/s320/Gayland+sacred+spaces+brochure2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT5QtD-WmE1HvYh54cfpBPmdaehq25t9KCrF09YII8vnyhyphenhyphenB9C3sELR1lNA8Vhb7g1Yha3XhOw-VcxmSMjvo79GuTwgRo_ieSkWKaa264MIQBKyyUhTtf5UaoMyviAg93Kq9gp/s1600/gayland+sacred+psaces+brochure+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1300" data-original-width="1600" height="260" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT5QtD-WmE1HvYh54cfpBPmdaehq25t9KCrF09YII8vnyhyphenhyphenB9C3sELR1lNA8Vhb7g1Yha3XhOw-VcxmSMjvo79GuTwgRo_ieSkWKaa264MIQBKyyUhTtf5UaoMyviAg93Kq9gp/s320/gayland+sacred+psaces+brochure+3.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
And more political banners, bumper stickers, tote bags, and other items from the causes he supported than you would believe.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD1BT2rGxdO7MkOEp6m4IXWFX85JWHZ6_DVZbg-oP14cMhHIGyLSu-fYeXi8MmMpjslklQhnKlvkq53Qe7YBYqeF98kSfINAqBo7jiQXw4mOCIL7_kyhJg21MdHIvjkHAmy9nq/s1600/Gayland+proud+democrat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="741" data-original-width="1600" height="148" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD1BT2rGxdO7MkOEp6m4IXWFX85JWHZ6_DVZbg-oP14cMhHIGyLSu-fYeXi8MmMpjslklQhnKlvkq53Qe7YBYqeF98kSfINAqBo7jiQXw4mOCIL7_kyhJg21MdHIvjkHAmy9nq/s320/Gayland+proud+democrat.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
He gave money to every progressive cause that helped women, children, minorities, the vulnerable, the environment, and animals. He loved the ACLU. He was a life member of the NAACP.<br />
<br />
And his sermon materials. Oh my. File after file for Year A, B,and C. Fifty years of priesthood wrapped up in notes, sermons, and more notes.<br />
<br />
And that's all in the first room . . .<br />
<br />
So please pray for me. For stamina, for wisdom, for patience, for discernment of what to keep and what to let go, for, well, for making it through to tomorrow without this beloved maddening, funny, wise, smartass, courageous, caring, creative, disorganized, energetic, and loyal man.<br />
<br />
Oh God, my love, how I miss you.Katie Sherrodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09159503802660122104noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25082628.post-53703491728755400822018-07-30T17:03:00.000-05:002018-07-30T17:39:13.227-05:00A vacation gift from my valentineLast year, when Gayland began failing, I kept getting phone calls from Westin Resorts, saying they needed to talk with me about my Westin vacation. It sounded like a sales call, so I would just say, "I don't have time for this now," and hang up.<br />
<br />
This went on for months. Gayland got sicker, and then he died, and my world just shut down to trying to make it from one day to the next. But these calls from Westin kept coming.<br />
<br />
Until finally, on Valentine's Day, I said, "What is it you want?" And the woman told me that in the spring of 2017 Gayland had bought and paid for a 5-night, 6-day stay at a Westin Resort on Maui for two adults and two children under 18 and I needed to schedule it before the time ran out.<br />
<br />
What?<br />
<br />
In a daze I listened to her explain that it came with a rental car and a $75 voucher for use on the resort and I needed to schedule my stay soon. I explained to her what had happened, and she immediately extended the deadline until September. After the shock wore off, I consulted with my daughter and we selected a date.<br />
<br />
So on July 16, my daughter, my two grandsons, and I flew to Maui, courtesy of Gayland's Valentine's Day gift.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-zi5Bmw2yyKgpnzNvmYj21F8GxDodbOhxMXFK-v9IEZq8Qb03yZYLWZ70-wyhpmdMV7vv0OCOrsVFFOWPAYp8AhWWxWyMfnR4msmZ0QiyYkzJ9xNsDAf6HiyGVadH8IgSr7nv/s1600/D+C+%2526+G+on+plane.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-zi5Bmw2yyKgpnzNvmYj21F8GxDodbOhxMXFK-v9IEZq8Qb03yZYLWZ70-wyhpmdMV7vv0OCOrsVFFOWPAYp8AhWWxWyMfnR4msmZ0QiyYkzJ9xNsDAf6HiyGVadH8IgSr7nv/s320/D+C+%2526+G+on+plane.jpg" width="240" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAAGHB_5Gh2rgLn5l4-70NZ1qKhk2c5lI61a0pCoT1mfeaMnUBzV5Fnlb5MI2ypVpnejX_SPSlhiiSEDXX1AfeMcigISDy8zLvR5behOW_FLNJFWboeRk4onJXiKVwzuSemMr1/s1600/on+our+way+2018.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1262" data-original-width="1600" height="251" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAAGHB_5Gh2rgLn5l4-70NZ1qKhk2c5lI61a0pCoT1mfeaMnUBzV5Fnlb5MI2ypVpnejX_SPSlhiiSEDXX1AfeMcigISDy8zLvR5behOW_FLNJFWboeRk4onJXiKVwzuSemMr1/s320/on+our+way+2018.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
It was wonderful. It was heartbreaking.<br />
<br />
He and I had stayed on Maui twice, most recently five years ago. Almost every day, he would say, "We have to bring the boys here." And I would agree. He was especially pleased to find a cafe in Lahaina called Da Kitchen, which he decided was Da's Kitchen (the boys call him Da).<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCronoInOc7sZuJRoqeqcjHPvFGhRq-fjS6HFPUMVhd4MuauHtYQFn4JwrjPkwf78Lg07SjFfE4ktdc-rPlAoQrK0JvMxguuP1OH3RjU1M9A-qArKpTAAX1PpAybboM1W3u5HF/s1600/Gayland+in+Hawaii.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="384" data-original-width="512" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCronoInOc7sZuJRoqeqcjHPvFGhRq-fjS6HFPUMVhd4MuauHtYQFn4JwrjPkwf78Lg07SjFfE4ktdc-rPlAoQrK0JvMxguuP1OH3RjU1M9A-qArKpTAAX1PpAybboM1W3u5HF/s320/Gayland+in+Hawaii.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
When the plane took off I was almost overwhelmed with the sense of loss. His absence was so huge I could hardly breathe. He would have so loved to be there with us. He loved swimming in the ocean and he and the boys would have become waterlogged together. He would have snorkled endlessly with them. He would have loved watching them at the aquarium and urging them to try new foods. He would have loved their reaction to the volcano, to seeing all the new variety of birds and plants and all the colors the ocean can be from one minute to the next.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzZ9dzYpqY7dw0AlwTOSnYqTc9Q71bA8WlPVO12We873dwNwBu81fnMETJqe2utwmLhf1caN6FpQrpOdo3bPXG2WQs0GWgwjwy_eZjsg06lz-LMF68Ia_NzzrdWK9a_IRb8AcX/s1600/DC+%2526G+at+Maui+aquarium.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzZ9dzYpqY7dw0AlwTOSnYqTc9Q71bA8WlPVO12We873dwNwBu81fnMETJqe2utwmLhf1caN6FpQrpOdo3bPXG2WQs0GWgwjwy_eZjsg06lz-LMF68Ia_NzzrdWK9a_IRb8AcX/s320/DC+%2526G+at+Maui+aquarium.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
So I know he was smiling at their antics in the ocean and loving their having this time in a beautiful place. We came home full of new shared adventures and experiences.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEie_XZjBxbBsITufaq42vJBVMNhCMgrwzbvvce6Z_ypay7tNo6BHf1VYtwBJO0yqVdlWW-frv8st-9WOR57T70hb4ei7kl8-0qrbYan6pyU4PNunWfhAz7zO9SA15lLdDrDo_c7/s1600/with+sea+turtle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEie_XZjBxbBsITufaq42vJBVMNhCMgrwzbvvce6Z_ypay7tNo6BHf1VYtwBJO0yqVdlWW-frv8st-9WOR57T70hb4ei7kl8-0qrbYan6pyU4PNunWfhAz7zO9SA15lLdDrDo_c7/s320/with+sea+turtle.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
They did love it, my darling, just as you knew they would. But it would have been so much better with you along.Katie Sherrodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09159503802660122104noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25082628.post-64774356771244841132018-07-01T20:33:00.000-05:002018-07-01T20:54:18.815-05:00What is heaven worth without dogs?When you've lived with someone for 26 years, there is a lot of stuff involved -- and a lot of photos stuck here and there.<br />
<br />
So yesterday, as I was cleaning, doing laundry, and trying to get ready for General Convention in Austin, I happened to open a drawer in Gayland's bedside table.<br />
<br />
And there was this photo.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXAfj3IEFGqPnZiaauBU2wAIk8HsNWYkd2BcgkI6mdO5SFZ8iTKbPD2EsFkbqwuKs1qfQ-LCJ8Ai3ZsNgxuIQrProD0EArvD3ZaiHVlp23rfvcphfiEb5qfXt-OBFxgC1CTjo1/s1600/Gayland+with+Esau.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1209" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXAfj3IEFGqPnZiaauBU2wAIk8HsNWYkd2BcgkI6mdO5SFZ8iTKbPD2EsFkbqwuKs1qfQ-LCJ8Ai3ZsNgxuIQrProD0EArvD3ZaiHVlp23rfvcphfiEb5qfXt-OBFxgC1CTjo1/s320/Gayland+with+Esau.jpg" width="241" /></a></div>
<br />
This is Gayland with his beloved dog Esau. I am convinced it is a photo of their reunion in heaven.<br />
<br />
Esau was a foundling, like all our dogs. Gayland found him lost and wandering on Meadowbrook Drive and brought him home. He left me a cryptic voice message that said, "The little hairy man and I are home, waiting for you." So I arrived home from Channel 13, where I was working at the time, full of curiosity. And fell in love with Esau.<br />
<br />
Esau was indeed a little hairy man. He was -- it turned out -- a loose coated wire-haired dachshund. Who knew that was a thing?<br />
<br />
But what a precious thing. He and Gayland bonded at once. Gayland had never had a dog that was just his. They had had family dogs, but Esau was totally <i>HIS. </i>They adored each other. Oh, Esau loved me too, but it was clear I was a distant second to Gayland.<br />
<br />
In 2012, while we were on a trip to Sicily, someone left a gate open, and Esau and another dog got out and were killed by a car. Another of our dogs was badly injured. We came home to this news, and we were devastated, Gayland especially so. The loss of Esau was huge.<br />
<br />
A few months later, we got two more wire-haired puppies who had gone soft coated, and we loved Ms. Wiggles and Toby, but they weren't Esau. I don't think Gayland ever really got over that loss.<br />
<br />
So I look at this photo, and I smile. I know Esau was waiting for Gayland and greeted him with squeals of joy and wiggles of delight. Rusty was there too, and Molly and all our other beloved dogs who went on ahead.<br />
<br />
Of course they were. For what is heaven worth without dogs?Katie Sherrodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09159503802660122104noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25082628.post-31948454286092865362018-06-25T21:43:00.000-05:002018-06-26T11:05:12.358-05:00TriggersWhen the longing hits, it's a full body experience.<br />
<br />
It can be triggered by driving past a restaurant we liked, walking into church, seeing friends he loved, seeing an art exhibit he would have found interesting, coming home from a party. . .<br />
<br />
The longing is so intense it takes my breath away. Just today I almost had to pull over to the side of road to catch my breath because it was so intense. All from passing a church where he served.<br />
<br />
This weekend I met my new grand nephew for the first time, and as I drove home, all I could think about was how Gayland would have loved him. Gayland loved this baby's mama from the first time he met her as a little girl, and he was overjoyed with the news of her pregnancy. He would have loved seeing this baby boy's beautiful hands, and would have marveled at his composure at being surrounded by all the Sherrods -- something even Gayland found overwhelming at times.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqwq4UH52pNl07CTqSELnWR6Cq2V-kTYVQyMA3dqbb8dzVgZzVtVRtjjPqNbv_OsSH3VTN5i0IRQ39Y4OT2ZjMbTVCmLWnpazdFLvrVeg4d5CAbcv0RbepZodXYoA7oCpEDkdZ/s1600/General+Convention+1997.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1437" data-original-width="1600" height="287" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqwq4UH52pNl07CTqSELnWR6Cq2V-kTYVQyMA3dqbb8dzVgZzVtVRtjjPqNbv_OsSH3VTN5i0IRQ39Y4OT2ZjMbTVCmLWnpazdFLvrVeg4d5CAbcv0RbepZodXYoA7oCpEDkdZ/s320/General+Convention+1997.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Waiting on a vote at General Convention in Philadelphia, 1997</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
This week, as I get ready to go to the General Convention of The Episcopal Church next week -- this is the governing body of our church that meets every three years -- I miss him so much it hurts. For years we went to Convention seeking to change things in this diocese so women could be ordained priests here, and LGBTQ Episcopalians would be loved and welcomed in all orders of ministry. He paid a big price for this advocacy work, forced into early retirement by a bishop who couldn't do anything to me, a lay woman, but could go after my priest husband. The financial hit from that was a big one, one that remains with me, but Gayland never regretted our work.<br />
<br />
Our partnership strengthened both of us, but certainly me. I found the courage to take on the church governance because I knew he had my back, that no matter what happened, he was there with and for me, even if he was back at home taking care of everything there. But he always managed to come for at least part of Convention to be with me. He was my strength and a lantern to my feet. Going to convention alone feels so wrong.<br />
<br />
And now as I look down, I see all the dogs have gathered by my feet, and the cat is curled up next to my keyboard. This always happens when I write things like this. So here we sit, one very lonely human amid five animals, all of us missing him.Katie Sherrodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09159503802660122104noreply@blogger.com1