Completely Engaged

Awwww.

I never did much speculating about my children's future spouses—all I really cared about was that they be good people. I married a wonderful person, and wanted the same for my kids. It’s just as well I didn’t waste time on guesswork, as every significant other has been a (mostly welcome) surprise. The only married Seyfried so far is our oldest, Sheridan, and he struck pure gold. I adore Ya-Jhu, and sing her praises to all who will listen. What were the odds that happy lightning would strike twice?

Well, it’s taken several years, and more than several boyfriends and girlfriends among them, for the next in line for matrimony to take their place. But Thursday night it happened: Julie, our youngest, got engaged.

The day they met in New York City, Julie’s first impression was that Gil Gavish was kind of a grouch. I know MY response would have been: he obviously doesn’t like me, I’m out. But not my daughter. She told me later that she took it as a challenge, and immediately began a campaign to make him smile. I think it took her a week, but she got that smile.

By the time we met him, he was all smiles—the kind of guy our little Aiden instantly grabbed by the hand and led downstairs to see his truck and car collection. Gil did not emerge for quite a while. Julie went down to “rescue” him, only to be told, “I’m fine. We’re having a good time.” They’ve been best buddies ever since.

Gil is, on the surface, Julie’s opposite: tall, bald, with a few impressive tattoos and a wardrobe featuring T-shirts from rock bands. Gil is not American, or Lutheran, either: he’s a Jewish guy from Israel. Gil also happens to be a brilliant artist who, with his partner Amit, owns a wonderful VFX (Visual Effects) studio, realmotion, in Manhattan. Amit hired Julie as post production coordinator (after Rose introduced them).

Throughout their years of dating, we were consistently struck by Gil’s teddy-bear gentleness and humor. We began to wonder when things would get serious, but Julie had college to finish and a career to begin. She did both of those things, with Gil’s wholehearted support. They eventually moved in together. It may be that their contentment during these past months of quarantine sealed the deal. In any event, on Gil’s birthday, my daughter got her ring. We anticipate a wedding in the US and a big celebration in Israel when the time comes.

Gil said to Jules the other night: “You’re going to have the best life, because of me.” As a mom who tried so hard to give her kids a happy childhood, to hear someone promise to give her daughter "the best life" fills me with joy. It’s all I ever wanted for her, and I truly believe Gil will move heaven and earth to make it happen.

Mazel Tov, dear Julie and Gil. Such a blessing you are to us!

We're going to need a bigger sofa (and Ev isn't even in the picture!)

Aiden's buddy

Sea Fever

With my Aiden: we'll be there soon, buddy!

"When anxious, uneasy and bad thoughts come, I go to the sea, and the sea drowns them out with its great wide sounds, cleanses me with its noise, and imposes a rhythm upon everything in me that is bewildered and confused."

                                                           --Rainer Maria Rilke

It’s the unofficial start of summer! The weather today is rainy and miserable, but that doesn’t matter! It’s Memorial Day weekend! While we rarely leave for the shore before the beginning of July, this weekend always triggers the countdown (this year, nine more weeks) to our arrival at the beach. My usual longing for sand and surf is compounded now by the uncertainty and limitations we will face. Yesterday all cars with out-of-state plates were stopped by state patrol officers on Highway One as they approached Rehoboth; visitors at the moment are asked to self-quarantine for 14 days. The beach and boardwalk are open for walking only (no sitting on benches, no tanning on towels), and the only restaurant option is still take-out. I am optimistic that by July 25^th there will be an easing of these restrictions—it is honestly up to people to be smart, wear masks, wash hands and keep social distancing. I fear that the few protesters will ruin it for the many compliant ones, though. Like children jumping too soon out of their time-out chair, they don’t seem to realize that they may soon be put back on that chair—and for much longer, if the virus cases spike.

Another reason I’m so eager to get to Lewes? Aiden. He remembers the beach vividly, and wants to talk about it almost every day. King’s Ice Cream and Grotto Pizza, the rides at Funland, the sandbar at the bay—he even waxes rhapsodic about the ceiling fans in our condo (we don’t have them here at home; they are a summer novelty). His unbridled enthusiasm reminds me of my little Seyfrieds, who were always so so excited to get to the shore. They’d have their swimsuits on before the car was unpacked. Confession: I would, too. The apples (or, rather, beach plums) didn’t fall far from this tree.

But mostly I just need to see the ocean again. The Rilke quote resonates deeply with me: I rely on the sea to quell my anxiety with its wild beauty, with the soothingly predictable slap of wavelets hitting the sand. While I realize that the water, too, changes, for me it is the apparent sameness and stability of an ocean view that I crave. Every time the sun rises again, dazzling light glistening on the whitecaps, I am reassured that life will go on, with each new day holding a world of promise. Yesterday’s sorrows and dreads recede with the tide. That’s what I need, what we all need I think. That hope. Fresh start, no matter what has happened before.

I am happy to have made it through two months of isolation, and arrived safely at this moment, where summer thoughts comfort me. Though my body may be stuck here in Oreland on this dreary Saturday morning, my heart and soul are nine weeks ahead and 100 miles away. On the beach I love so much, where once again I know that my spirit will be renewed.

Rehoboth Beach sunrise

Green Screen

View from My Window! I swear!

My friend Teresa introduced me to a lovely Facebook group  “View From My Window.” VFMW consists of people who post photos of (wait for it) the views from their windows. I have been enjoying gorgeous pix from Tel Aviv, from sunny Spain, from Cape Town and San Diego and Amsterdam. There are rooftops and mountain peaks and swimming pools and fields of flowers out these various windows. The posters add cheery comments about their necks of the woods, and everyone is super nice and supportive. It does make the world seem a little smaller (and a whole lot more attractive), and gives me some hope that we haven’t lost everything in the pandemic.

I was inspired to join their ranks and post The View from My Window. Alas, the three weeks each year when the view is a pretty one, have ended, with the decline of our azalea bushes and the shedding of the cherry blossoms. Our only foliage is provided by hardy perennials, as we haven’t planted a flower in decades. We use our summers spent at the Delaware shore as our convenient excuse. However, this year we’ll be home until late July, and I will wager we will still not drop a single seed or bulb into the ground. So things outdoors at Seyfrieds’ are heading straight back to humdrum, quickly.

However, all is not lost, thanks to the miracle of technology! My buddies on the endless Zoom meetings I attend often have a changing series of jazzy backgrounds visible behind them, not just the same old print on the wall always featured over MY shoulder. The first time I saw the Golden Gate bridge behind one of my Confirmation students I admit I was very confused, ditto when a friend appeared to be speaking from his snow-covered deck in early May. But now I get it! It’s all a green screen bit of magic!

Maybe I can do the same in my new FB group!! Do you think if I shared a tropical beach scene with swaying palms, that I could get away with labeling this “taken from my front stoop”? Or identifying Notre Dame Cathedral as our local Lutheran church? Who from Jakarta or Timbuktu is likely to actually visit me and learn of my gentle deception? And if anyone does question the real location of my photo of the ambling Irish sheep, or the colorful Florence street scene, I can tell them that I dwell in an enchanted village, where every house has the scenery they dream of. After all, If someone can name a street  “Valley View Court” with no valley to view, or a town “Roseville” when there’s nary a rose in sight, why can’t I have my little fantasy?

I’m off to select my next backdrop! And while I’m at it, no one much has seen me for the past two months…won’t they be amazed by my sudden resemblance to Victoria Beckham? I used my isolation time wisely, what can I say?

My new look

Things Fall Apart, and That's OK Right Now

Happy-Go-Lucky Little Me in the Mess  

Entropy may be defined (very) simply this way: everything in the universe tends to become more and more disordered and random, if energy is not expended to bring order. The author James Clear gives an example: if you dump out a 1000 piece puzzle onto a table (as so many of us are doing these days), it would be extremely unlikely that all the pieces would arrange themselves perfectly. Someone (you) has to make order out of chaos to put the puzzle together. And all things, left on their own, fall apart eventually. Homemaker Elise Seyfried gives another example: a bedroom that was cleaned mere MONTHS ago, is now dusty and messy again! She (the homemaker) or, preferably, he (the homemaker’s husband) must do work to keep that bedroom tidy and dust-free!

My growing-up years were spent in “Entropy Central.” Mom and Dad were quite content to let the chips (and dips, and socks, and newspapers) fall where they may. We moved a lot, and each dwelling slid further into decay the longer we lived in it. This was especially noticeable when we owned houses, because we didn’t have to let you inside, but we couldn’t stop you from seeing our yard. I cringe looking at old photos taken of family members standing in the driveway, with the surrounding tangle of weeds and knee-high grass in full view. Had we no shame? Not much, apparently!

It’s too bad that entropy is a real thing, because wouldn’t it be so great if things just remained perfect? Think of the time saved if we never had to shower or brush our teeth! This, by the way, was actually an experiment attempted by all five of my kids during their pre-teen years. “Did you use soap? Did you put any toothpaste on that brush?” were oft-repeated questions I posed to our young scientists. Eventually they turned 13, and suddenly the Never Bathe camp switched sides to the Always Shower for At Least 45 Minutes Every Morning camp. Energy expended, cleanliness restored!

Many of my writer friends are feeling blocked as the pandemic grinds on. A sort of mental entropy is setting in. Good writing habits are getting harder to keep up, given isolation (or too much togetherness with the same few people) plus a dollop of existential dread. Reminders that Isaac Newton invented calculus during a plague only make them feel worse. Two cheering thoughts, dear writer friends: 1) What has calculus ever done for you, anyway? and 2) Old habits die hard, but that includes the good ones! Your writerly routines will re-emerge at some point, and you’ll probably even feel more inspired after this mandatory break.

I think, in this unsettled world, we may need to embrace a little entropy right now. Things might be falling apart, but perhaps we need a collective breather before we start putting it all together again.

10 hours of old Seinfeld episodes will not get our carpets vacuumed. But they just may save our sanity.

Imposter No More!

With the Christ's Lutheran Confirmation Class of 2008

You’ve heard of “imposter syndrome”? The (usually unwarranted) feeling that you are not qualified to do what you are doing? Rose recently started a big new job, and has been wrestling a bit with this feeling (in her case, it’s totally unwarranted). Ironically, real imposters most often feel no such compunctions. There was a book many years ago called "The Peter Principle," which posited that people tend to rise to their level of incompetence. There are MANY of these folks in management in various fields, blissfully unaware that they are in over their heads.

I have lived most of my life with imposter syndrome. I had a reputation for being super smart in school, but I knew better (so did Mrs. Carter, who gave me a D in Finite Math). Later, I began acting, and became the professional imposter that actors are by nature (“I’m not a doctor, but I play one on TV!”) On another level, though, I was keenly aware that I had zero theatrical training, as opposed to my fellow performers, with their degrees from fancy drama schools. I lived in fear that I would be found out as a fraud and fired from Under The Yum-Yum Tree (which, in retrospect, might have been a blessing, given the abysmal quality of that play).

Eventually I became Spiritual Formation Director at Christ’s Lutheran Church, having never set foot in a seminary. Yesterday marked 18 years in that job. And while there are still times when imposter syndrome creeps into my thoughts, for the most part I feel competent. Hopefully I’m not an example of the “Saint Peter Principle”!

Looking at my first entries in a church planner, dated May, 2002, it seems the opening weeks were filled with meetings—with the pastor, the parents, the Sunday School and Confirmation teachers. I got an earful of what worked, what hadn’t, and what was expected of me in the future. I spent the following months reassuring everybody that everything would be perfect going forward, just perfect! The next 18 years were spent redefining “perfect” as “not that bad, considering.”

I had some newbie company, as both Meg the church secretary and Molly the synod youth ministry specialist began work at the same time as me. Where are they now? Well, Meg left Christ’s years ago, moved to Maine and her career has gone in an entirely different direction since. Molly our youth ministry gal rose rapidly in the ranks, and is now the Director of the National Lutheran Youth Gathering (an immense event for 36,000 high school youth held every three years).

VBS on the Rosebud Reservation, SD 2015

Meanwhile, here I remain. I am now the “old timer” whose tenure is exceeded only by Ken, our music director. I am often relied upon to identify former parishioners, and to explain the way things used to run--which makes me feel like I’ve worked here 81 years, not 18. But I love this faith community, and am still glad I’m at Christ’s Lutheran. Happy Anniversary to me!

With the CLC Puerto Rico Mission Team 2019