12th Annual Garland Women's Retreat

I love being a woman. And I love being surrounded by them. I love the way they smell and the sound of their voices. I love listening to them sing and watch them minister to each other.

We started having a retreat for the women in our church twelve years ago. We started out with a little under 40 women but now average around 70. Who could resist it? We have lots of free time to go shopping in town, gifts, crafts, nature hikes, great music and two massage therapists. This is in addition to the bible study and keynote speakers and the whole “not having to wash dishes” part.

It’s also turned into a reunion of sorts. The third year we had the retreat, the theme was ‘Sisters in Christ’ and the opening skit was a sight gag featuring a choir dressed as nuns singing the ‘Sisters” song from the movie White Christmas. I’m not sure we’ve ever been able to top that moment. But from that year came the habit of inviting your sister to come with you and some of the sisters and best friends are now so much a part of the weekend that I would really miss them if they didn’t come. It’s the only time of the year we see Nancy’s friend Tina or Kat’s sister, Patty. We even have women like Renee who’ve moved away and come back for that one weekend. It’s just like a family reunion of women.

Some of these women are especially cherished. Now “cherished” is a female word. I seriously doubt that men use this word very much. One of the dearest women God ever created was able to come and spend some time with us. She moved away from Garland years ago but stayed in touch through friends. Once in a while she and her husband would show up at Christmas or special events. Then her husband died and then she started showing signs of forgetfulness and frailty. So when we heard that her daughter would be able to bring her for the day everyone was thrilled. But the daughter couldn’t stay so two of our other dearest ladies stationed themselves on either side of Dorothy like guards. She didn’t take a step or meet a face without those two there to help her. That gentle and loving touch is what makes being alive and growing old such a special journey. These women know each other well. Some we grew up knowing or have known a time that spans a generation. Our lives would be empty without them. Others, we’ve just met but the weekend provides an atmosphere of such trust that they are instant friends. There is unconditional love. When we needed to light candles for an impromptu Taize worship service Saturday night we knew each other well enough to instantly identify the three women at the retreat who smoke. As one of them handed me the lighter she told me we didn’t have to run back to return it. “See? Sometimes you need the smokers, don’t you?” As much as we worry about each other’s health we try not to be bossy about it.

I am the generation who span the gap between the time before and after women’s liberation. When I was in my twenties the women’s sewing circles of the church were the only established place a women could flex her management skills. Women couldn’t be elders or deacons or pastors until the 1950’s. The administration and management of even the churches were void of women. So we used the circles to exercise these gifts. We created an administrative hierarchy and started building events that weren’t just fun and informative--they gave us a chance to exercise our management skills. Nowadays, it’s harder to get women active in circle because they all work during the day and are bone-tired at night when they get home and manage the family. My congregation doesn’t have a very active circle culture. Instead, we put all our energy into this one weekend a year.

Our men have come to Camp Gilmont for their own retreat for a few years now but, as you might expect, their retreat is nothing like ours. I’m don’t know what all they do because my man doesn’t tell me. I probably don’t want to know. Certainly they don’t award gift bags of coasters and chocolates to each other. The men go to Gilmont to work on the camp facilities. They use the time for work. Only because I’m married to one of these bubbas do I know the weekend exists but not much more. Bubbas, at least my bubba, don’t run off at the mouth about their feelings and experiences the way women do. And that’s why you are reading a blog written by a woman and not by a man.



I didn't get many really good snaps of the weekend, mostly because I was busy retreating myself. But also because it was hard to get this group to be still even for a minute. Scroll down to the two video clips and you'll get a taste of the chaos. I hope your computer will do videos. You might have to wait for it to buffer or whatever. The second video will show how hard it was for Jamye to control us.





Signing off, your faithful reporter, Jane

The Sandwich Life

Spending a long weekend with your grandchildren can really be intimidating. Oh, sure, we started out great; with things I do well like eating ice cream and building great fires out in the field. We roasted hot dogs and marshmallows. Our crowning feat, the ultimate glory in campfire skills, was when our Saturday night fire was still going on Sunday afternoon (not even morning, mind you. I'm talking evening here.) It was still burning and the coals were hot enough that all we had to do to get it to re-blaze again was add a few more logs. AND this fire, I might add, even survived a brief rain Saturday. The best fire will survive a good rain but it has to really be a good one. Trust me, I know my fires.

So we were doing pretty well with the eating and nature appreciation until we moved into the electronics side of life. And when we did that, even Beaven couldn’t keep up with them. And this is the man who built his own TV once.

My first clue that I had been left in the dust was when I realized the girls had managed to get into an argument even though they weren’t even in the same house. My own two daughters usually had to be within hitting distance to have a decent argument when they were growing up. But nowadays you don’t need that. You can get up a pretty good fuss electronically and it doesn’t matter where anyone is.

One granddaughter was outside in the hobby shop Beaven built for his ham radio and various computers. This one was on the computer out there and the other was in the house. Somehow they were playing a game with each other and there was a virtual “place” that the game characters could go to and it was called “headquarters.” So Sarah stormed into the house and told Essie to go to headquarters at once because she was about to time out and she’d have to re-boot if that happened. Most of it was geek to me but seemed very important to Sarah. But Essie wasn’t cooperating so Sarah stormed out and went back outside to the other building to re-boot.

Then Monday morning Essie sent me an email that had little icons and I was supposed to click on them to get pictures. But it wasn’t working and she told me I had to be on yahoo. As she explained it all I was dumbfounded. I asked her where she learned how to do all of this and she looked kind of blank like you didn’t “learn” this stuff, it just happened.

And this isn’t even the nine year old. This is the seven year old who is in SECOND grade. The fourth grader was so far beyond my skills she didn’t even bother to try to teach me anything.

Our week got a lot easier yesterday when Terry and his new wife Betty got here. You remember them—they got married this time last year. Betty is my father’s second wife’s third husband’s third wife. And all of this from only one measly divorce. The rest of the marriages were after the previous spouse’s death. I like to say we are a loyal and loving bunch of people, albeit with a few health issues.

The hardest part of them coming was cleaning up after the girls and bringing the house up to this generation’s standards when Sarah and Essie have virtually no standards. You can imagine the housecleaning to be done.

We went from having pizza for breakfast to coffee, eggs, bacon and biscuits. I really do prefer it this way but haven’t brought the grands into this mindset. We went from communicating by computers in two different buildings to having actual conversation around the kitchen table and talking long into the night.

The one constant to both sets of guests has been the fire that is still going out in the field. The fire has now survived two rains and still goes. I’ve got to get back to the sausage on the stove. I’ll see you all next week.

Valentines Day

I don't feel as funny as I wanted today. Yesterday I went to the funeral for one of my dearest friends. Then I stabbed myself in the hand with a screwdriver and it kind of hurts to type. But I promised something lighthearted today and I'm going to deliver if I have to stab myself with another stupid sharp object.

I discovered a few years ago that men and women don't think alike. You can imagine my surprise when the Nobel prize for Social Insight did not appear at my doorstep the following day. My genius is often overlooked.

Probably the worst argument Beaven and I ever had was over Valentines Day. It seemed to me that EVERY woman in the bank where I worked received flowers that year. Except me. When I got home I let him have it with both barrels. The argument closed with my final shot that "if you'd just send me the damned flowers I'D shut up." How romantic of me.

A few days later the flowers showed up. By now most of my friends at work had forgotten about Valentines Day and couldn't figured our why I got flowers. They asked if we had had an argument or if it was an anniversary or birthday. "What are the flowers for?" Sheepishly, I had to admit "They're for being a bitch."

True to my word, I haven't made an issue out of flowers since. And I don't think I've gotten any more since.

He did score mightily a couple of years ago when he showed up with a brand new red Vespa motorscooter on Valentines Day. Complete with a bunch of red helium balloons. However, I doubt he designed this as a Valentines gift. It wasn't until the sales clerk brought out the red balloons that he realized what day it was.

But I took the balloons and the scooter. I have learned to accept other gestures of love as his equivalent of flowers. Just the other day he backed up all the data on my laptop. What a loving gesture! We are one of very few couples I know who have "His and Hers" chainsaws because I complained it was too hard to use the big one.

You just have to take the romance where you find it, girls.

Now I think I'll go for a ride in the Vespa. Maybe I'll do something really stupid that's good for a laugh next week.

My Boring Life

There is absolutely nothing of interest to report today. We haven’t done anything remotely interesting unless you count catching a mouse in a mousetrap behind the washing machine.

I found out wood will catch fire if you leave it in the microwave long enough. I was trying to dry out some wood from a tree we cut down so I could work with it. I used to do this all the time with wood I turned on the lathe. Green wood is easier to turn but you have to dry it out afterwards or it will warp. It’s really pretty easy to do. You wrap the wood up in paper towels which absorbs the steam as the wood heats up. When one paper towel gets wet you throw it away and use a new dry one. Eventually you can dry out the wood this way. I thought I was drying it at the same level of power and for the same time as before. But, danged if the stuff started smoking and I had to take it outside. Now I wish I had used hickory because elm doesn’t smell nearly as good.

I went into Dallas Saturday morning to help feed the homeless breakfast. That’s always an eye-opener. A few minutes after they opened the doors and the room filled to capacity they had a prayer then announcements. I was a little startled to hear them spend a lot of time describing the weather forecast then had one of those ‘duh’ moments to realize how important the weather is to homeless folks. Then they talked a little about some job openings. I didn’t hear it all but there was one job that you couldn’t have a felony conviction within the last 10 years. It’s a whole different world out there. Then, about half-way through the meal I realized my best friend in high school might come through the line at any minute. She’s been schizophrenic most of the last 40 years and homeless. I lost track of her about five years ago. I didn’t spot her and now wonder if she’s even still alive. Being homeless gives you a shorter lifespan. That’s another topic for another day.

Boy, what a downer. I’ve had so many serious topics lately I really want to leave you laughing today.

Our neighbors across the field where they raise horses are digging a well. They finally sold their house in town and are going to build out here. We’re all so spread out here in paradise that they’ve been drilling this well for two days before we heard it. There’s a pretty dense woods between us is probably why we didn’t hear anything. That’s the woods that everyone was so worried about the time I caught the place on fire twice in one day. Yeah, those neighbors.

I thought maybe I could come up with something interesting by listening to the public service radio Beaven has on all the time. It gets all the fire departments, police and utility radio. Most of what we hear is checking on drivers’ records for speeding tickets. Once in a while you’ll hear a report back on a person who’s had so many violations on their record you have to wonder how they’ve stayed out of jail this long. But a lot of time it’s a police call to go check on a cow that’s gotten out of their pasture. Except sometimes the police can’t figure out which pasture to take the cow back to. It’s hard to visualize when you’re just listening to the radio. But I can tell from their voice that they don’t enjoy herding cows when they would rather be shooting criminals.

God, even that’s boring.

Oh, wait! Did I tell you about the time I bored a friend to death? Actually, that one’s not funny either. Never mind.

OK, I found one that might be fun to read. I wrote about Waving a few years back. If you’re new to this blog you probably haven’t read it. Go to the archives to February 8, 2006 and read about the time I spent waving at cars with the Statue of Liberty.

And I will try desperately to find something funny to write about next week.