Herban Sprawl

I write these things and when I hear from people, I’m really surprised. Interestingly enough, yesterday’s post sparked a lot of mail to my private email address. It seems everyone has an opinion, but no one wanted to comment in this space for fear of being outed.

To summarize, apparently I hit a nerve - again - with the nonprofit employees’ underground. Well, sure. These are the people who go to work, day after day, for less than the amount peers make in corporate offices, doing the job for the organizations that make for a better quality of life. What often happens is that their bosses (aka boards of directors) mess in their day to day work and pretty much keep the offices from running in a businesslike fashion. Having been in that situation, I get it. Since I’m no longer in that situation, I write about it with a fair amount of impunity, and I do it because sooner or later, maybe some well-meaning board person will see him or herself and shape up accordingly. I am quite the optimist, aren’t I?

I got a lot of chatter from opera-goers. It seems they are still miffed that they don’t have my cheery self to talk to when they call for tickets. I didn’t know I had left such a hole, and I thank them for their kind words. Customer service is getting to be a lost art, but in my book, if a company wants return business, no customer is ever treated badly. Sometimes mistakes are made, and I certainly made my fair share of them. But when a customer calls to yell about that mistake, the fair way of dealing with it is to apologize profusely for the mistake and then bend over backwards to make amends.

It took me two years to return a lady to her subscription seats when someone else gypped her out of them. But I did it, and she was very appreciative of my effort. That’s how to handle customers… she knew what I was up against, and with every increment of progress, I assured her I wasn’t going to be happy until I’d fixed the situation. She believed me when I called her and announced we’d had a bonanza of good fortune. Follow-through is key.

That said, I was asked something very pointed about cost-cutting measures for this non-profit. And I do have a little something that always bugged me. It might not translate into huge savings up front, but it would save on labor, which would be helpful. It has to do with the donor list.

In the opera’s program, the donor list covers a period of 18 months of aggregate giving. It is conceivable that the amount shown is an inflated figure because it likely covers two, or possibly, more contributions for any given donor. Every time a program is printed, that list is revised. It takes a lot of time, and it takes a lot of picky detail work. I suggested doing it once a year and having it printed in the permanent part of the program book. I was told that the donors wouldn’t be happy.

Okay, let’s examine that. According to my correspondents, those who contribute think it’s a good idea because it is a more accurate representation of what donors give in any given annum. If a donor chooses to have his/her name in the program book, then they would be acknowledged for their actual generosity, rather than that of an aggregate period of giving. Also, one of my correspondents said, “The only people who fight to keep that 18 month thing are the people who want everyone else to think they give more than they actually do. It’s an ego thing.” It is hard not to agree with that assessment.

Other organizations do this - make up a list of annual giving for the previous year, and print that for the entire season. It sure simplifies the life of the people at the printer’s and it sure keeps things simple in the office, saving a lot of manhours in compiling and proofing those lists. And I do mean a lot. At one point, I was the only person doing it for the opera, and I was keenly aware of what an error could mean to the company. I was more than careful - I was a raging detail nazi. When I had to deal with the dingbattedness of another person messing up my carefully compiled list, I nearly went over the edge. I had to do the whole thing over in order to correct the boo-boos that were created behind me. Oy!

When the employees have those kinds of responsibilities and take them ever so seriously, the board needs to check their egos at the door and take into consideration that when people sign on to work for sub-industry wages, they are doing it for the love of the job. When they make time-saving suggestions, it isn’t because they are being lazy, it’s because they genuinely want to improve how things are done. A single donor list in a two or three person office is a life-saver and would enable those employees to get more work done. Insisting on an ego-driven 18 month list is self-defeating.

Another complaint I got was that people were unhappy about the location for ticket pick-up. It seems the long lines at the door to Jefferson Center weren’t appreciated. One correspondent said he didn’t like picking up tickets at the box office cage, either, because people got clogged by not realizing those were lines they didn’t need to stand in. It was confusing, he pointed out, and the current location is twice as bad. He suggested returning to tables in the atrium where there is space. (Obviously he is a long time patron to remember that system!)

Another writer commented that it was interesting that when Scott gave his pitch for the arts from the stage, he didn’t actually ask the audience to give generously. I thought he was being polite, but my correspondent said he needed to be direct. I’m on the fence and will allow my readers to chime in, as I am sure you will!

The thing I guess I want to stress to those of you who are unfamiliar with the politics of a working for a non-profit is this: there are some donors and board members who do their thing in ways that are helpful and appreciated by the staff. They do their job of setting policy, check with staff to see how it’s working, and then are big enough to allow staff to make adjustments in order to make policy happen. There are others who don’t have a clue, but they insist on interfering. Some of those are easily managed, and others are people who desperately need to throw their weight around. There are board members who not only are never seen, but never heard from, either. At least not until they want to complain about something… The non-profit staff must find ways of working with all of the above, just like in any other setting. The difference is, you always get some people who like to threaten.

Here it is in a nutshell: “That Isidore Cuspidor won’t _____ (fill in the blank with any stupid or unreasonable demand that has no place in that setting), so he has to be fired or I won’t give any more money.” It isn’t limited to the underlings…there are some other executives around town who have fallen thanks to that sort of petulance. The non-profit employees live under that sort of threat no matter how efficient and dedicated they are to the job. A healthy board will decide that it’s more important to keep good people on the staff than undergo the costly process of dumping someone, finding a replacement and then waiting around while that person learns the job, and learns the quirks of the organization. It’s a penny-wise, pound-foolish board that will bow to the threats of the ever-present few who have a goat on every non-profit staff in town.

The opera had a good opportunity to raise their stock in the community when they moved to the Dumas. They were to be responsible for renting out the auditorium, and would have gotten a cut of the rentals. What they didn’t do was thoroughly define who would do what, and at what cost. What they also failed to take into consideration was that the member/tenants of that building had been given certain assurances by the landlord and had every expectation of them being met. When they cut staff that had experience, contacts and enthusiasm for that opportunity, they cut off their nose to spite their collective face. They thought it was cost-cutting, but in reality it cost them a lot more and in ways they didn’t bother to think through.

Luckily for them, Maestro White has remained above the fray and continues to enjoy a very good relationship with all the involved parties. If he didn’t, heaven only knows, the donor list would be a one-pager! Truth to tell, a few of my correspondents alluded to that, one stated it outright, and another said that they still don’t know or appreciate what they have in him!  Needless to say, I loved working for him - he realized I had the ability and the drive to help him carry out his mission, and he was smart enough to capitalize on it. The energy was good, and it helped that he was man enough to admit when something wasn’t working. When his busy career had him out-of-town, it was hard, but we managed.

In many regards, what has happened in that organization is that they have risen to the brink, were about to go to the next level, and then have shot themselves in the foot. Over and over again. This is something one of my readers said, in terms I won’t print because it named names.

So, to those of you who wrote, thanks. To those who have stayed in touch with me, thanks. To those who continue to support the organization, molto grazie. If writing to me helps you vent, then keep them there cards and letters a-comin’, folks! I will do my best to keep your identities secret, because I know you need your jobs!

Big Kitty and I went to Sunday’s Opera Roanoke Concert. Singing were Scott Williamson and his lovely wife, Amy Cofield Williamson. Scott was one of my adoptees when I worked at the Opera, and a more wonderful human is hard to find. That he sings so beautifully makes knowing him all the more of a blessing.

Hearing Amy for the first time, was also a treat, and if I read the program guide well, it looks like she may return to Roanoke next spring for the title role of Lucia di Lammermoor. And, delightfully good soprano, aside, she had on a black and white gown that was just stunning! No wonder he looked like he could eat her up!

The Opera has seen some upheaval of late. The paper had an article about the executive director having been fired. Not to speak ill of the dead, as it were, but it was about time that cord was cut.

I am not given to specifics in this space, but I think it is time to speak out on a few issues that have come to light. I was sitting behind a board member who is nearing the end of her term She is delighted to get off, saying that she was tired of being expected to be a rubber stamp for the executive committee. That pretty much summarizes it for a couple of others who have gone off the board, or who are about to cycle off.

A few years ago, a huge deal was made of the fact that an anonymous “big donor” had ponied up the funds to do a national search for an executive director. The anonymity was a joke, as the big donor turned into a rather big prima donna. Nevertheless, a right fine fellow was hired for the job.

I timed my resignation for a week after the spring opera so that I could do the attendant tasks to ‘close the books’ on a performance. It was also right before the new guy would be moving here. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to work for him - quite the opposite - but rather that the “big donor” had made it abundantly clear that I was no longer welcome under the brave new regime. Well, ya know, I don’t hang around where I’m not wanted, so in spite of really loving the work, really believing in the artistic director’s vision for the company, adoring the cast and crews who came to town like gypsies to create fabulous operas, I took my leave. But not before I made sure all the I’s were dotted and T’s crossed.

The new guy got run off in less than a year - by an all male executive committee who had not seen fit to discuss this with the board as a whole. In fact, at its most recent meeting prior to handing him a resignation letter to sign, there was not one peep relative to their dissatisfaction with his work. The women on the board were understandably miffed. One went so far as to send a letter griping that they were always being hit up for more money, yet when the time came to do their duty as board members, they were shut out of the process.

I grieved for the ladies. There were some really stalwart supporters among them who had not only supported the organization financially, but had lent many hours of volunteerism as well. They were deeply invested in the success of the company, and yet, when it was time for an important decision, they were marginalized.

In this time of financial ruin for so many non-profits, it is so important to have a board that pays attention to business, but without micromanaging the staff. There is a very fine line, and the board of the opera seems not to be able to toe it very well. I don’t like to be critical because I am genuinely fond of several of them, but as I look in the program, I note with dismay the lack of financial support among the board. I also note the conspicuous absence of contributions by past board members.

This tells me that somebodies are not doing a very good job of keeping old board members as valued friends of the organization, and somebodies are not attracting solid supporters to the board. Both are critical in these times of fiscal uncertainty.

I wrote a piece last year that got a huge OMG! from the informal non-profit employees’ underground - it was critical of the way the local non-profit boards operate. I didn’t name names and I didn’t identify the organizations. Anyone who thinks that the above behavior is unique to the opera company is smoking some serious herbs. The problem, as I see it, is that the same people contribute the cash, and that entitles them to a seat at the table. But those same people perpetuate the problems on board after board after board. There are a handful of bad behavers that no one will put on a board, if they can possibly help it, but for the most part, it’s the same bananas off the same bunch recycled all over town.

My thought, for whatever it’s worth, is that maybe it’s time to start cultivating some new board members. Maybe it’s time to forget that old saw about ‘give money, get money, or get off’ because it sure isn’t working for this town’s non-profits. Maybe it’s time to think outside the box and bring in people who truly love whatever it is that the non-profit does. Rubber-stamping is what we do at Ten Cornstalk Studio. Rubber-stamping has no place on boards of directors.

And, once more, as I said last year: send your favorite non-profit a check. It doesn’t have to be large. Every single contribution is gratefully received. Believe me…

I got assailed by a concerned friend about yesterday’s post. Felt bad that it sent him into a little bit of panic about my state of mind, but this morning was able to reassure him that I thought it was the combination of different things in my life that had been on hold for way too long, the weather (rain and chill), and too many red jelly beans. Then I got badgered about where it is that I go - my Tiffany’s - to chase away the mean reds.

Several years ago, when my late father was first in need of 24/7 care and was bucking the system with every fiber in his scrawny body, Uncle Doc showed up. He bellowed at my father that he had something he needed my help with, we were taking his truck, and that he needed to go take a nap or something for the next few hours, and that was that. “Get your purse,” he barked to me.

Uncle Doc at the wheel of Dad’s truck is an experience. Uncle Doc with the foot of lead. (This was before his debilitating strokes, and he was hell on wheels!)

He took me to Hornbaker Gardens near Princeton, Illinois. Uncle Doc was big into hostas. I had perennials and herbs. I was also developing The Detectives’ Garden.  Their site is www.hornbakergardens.com  You can see pictures of the place, and spend some time studying the gazebo….

I wandered around, while he did his thing. I filled a wagon, but it was the wandering. I never gave two figs for hostas, but to see their ravine, planted up and down with hostas and other shade-loving perennials was breathtaking. I sat in the gazebo for quite a while, just soaking in the peace, quiet and noticing how my shoulders had resumed their pre-tension position, my breathing had slowed and deepened, and I felt my spirit being replenished.

Hornbaker’s is like Tiffany’s - you know nothing bad can happen to you.

It’s become an fairly regular annual event for us. We get in the car, and we go along. Uncle Doc rests in a chair now, while I storm the place, buying up hostas and daylilies with interesting names. They finally have added herbs, too, so that’s nice. But it is the time I take to meander down into that ravine, to sit in the gazebo that chases the mean reds like nothing else can.

This morning, I was making a date to go to Walters’ Greenhouse in Cooper’s Cove and it hit me that mean reds don’t have a chance in the herb house. I kind of like that idea. In fact, just thinking about it turned that red to the most beeyootiful shade of vibrant pink….

Holly Golightly: You know those days when you get the mean reds?
Paul Varjak: The mean reds, you mean like the blues?
Holly Golightly: No. The blues are because you’re getting fat and maybe it’s been raining too long, you’re just sad that’s all. The mean reds are horrible. Suddenly you’re afraid and you don’t know what you’re afraid of. Do you ever get that feeling?
Paul Varjak: Sure.
Holly Golightly: Well, when I get it the only thing that does any good is to jump in a cab and go to Tiffany’s. Calms me down right away. The quietness and the proud look of it; nothing very bad could happen to you there. If I could find a real-life place that’d make me feel like Tiffany’s, then - then I’d buy some furniture and give the cat a name!

---

The mean reds. Been fighting them for the past few days. Holly Golightly had it right when she said it’s good to go to a place where you feel like nothing bad can happen to you. For Holly it was Tiffany’s. I have a place like that, but it’s too far away for a quick fix.

Feeling unsettled is difficult and it’s like a leak that wears away an integral support. There is that persistent drip, drip, drip that makes you crazy, and suddenly, when the floor caves in, you realize that drip had damaged the joists and now there is nothing you can do about it that won’t be costly or utterly complicated and frustrating.

Today I engaged in some really serious retail therapy. Unfortunately, due to the issues surrounding middle aged spread, it was long overdue and completely necessary. I should feel better, right? I have one more thing I don’t have to worry about (what to wear), but did it chase the mean reds? Nope. Talbots to me isn’t like Tiffany’s to Holly.

There are inexplicable things in life that happen, and when they do, normally we learn to live with them and go on. When they affect people we love, we offer help and do what we can to alleviate the bad stuff. Sometimes the mean reds set in because somewhere in the world, someone we love is suffering or in pain. We feel this kind of fear, we move along and wonder when it will revealed…when will we learn what is going on that has caused those miserable mean reds?

I have a friend who is ‘talking to grief’ and trying to keep her perspective in a gut-wrenching situation. I have an elder who is becoming very fragile and I am hoping he will hold out until September when I can see him again. Just one more ‘I love you” and one more hug and maybe I can let go. There is another elder who is frail and doesn’t really know what’s going on. I can’t wish away the loss. And yet another elder who is cutting himself off from the pack, which worries me. Helpless from this many miles away, I try to maintain the connections, express the love and care, and hope for the best. Then comes a day when the mean reds grab hold and just will not let go.

I’m thinking I really need a visit to my Tiffany’s…the place where nothing bad can happen to me or mine.

As previously posted in this space, I have been working with the almost 21 daughter of BGF in my specialty: reading. In the very beginning, she made tons of progress, rapidly. It’s like a diet. You lose a lot of water weight really quickly in the beginning. Then comes the hard part. Fat loss and misery as it melts off ever so agonizingly slowly. Well, she’s in the slow gains territory about now, and has been for the better part of six months now. I’m an old pro. I expected it, and I’m not in the least deterred nor flapped. It’s the old plateau and she’s about to come off it and climb a little higher.

Today, though, was one of those days that teachers savor. It’s almost as good as a shot of Woodford’s Reserve in a Waterford tumbler with a splash of branch. It’s nearly as tasty as a garlicky stuffed artichoke and nearly as close to nirvana as the first bite of home grown tomato in summer.

I had been struggling with what I should next present to her for our reading. We’d been bumping along with an old anthology that had been the mainstay of my junior high years. But it was time for a novel and I was stumped. Then I had a flash. By golly, she was ready for A Wrinkle in Time.

We began the book by me reading her the intro from Anna Quindlen, a writer of note who adored the book. And then we shared the reading of Chapter 1. My girl was attentive, and when she reacted to the book - when she sucked in her breath - I had that moment of pedagogical nirvana. She was hooked by the beauty of the literature. The scariness of the dark and stormy night, the appearance of Mrs. Whatsit, the chuckle over Mrs. Whatsit’s clothing - she was there, in the kitchen with the family.

Oh, yeah. THIS is what’s it’s all about.

Following the St. Patrick’s Day cook-off, it was abundantly clear I needed to rethink my crockpot needs. I had a pair of rather small corned beef slabs, but they didn’t hardly fit in my 3 gallon crockpot, given the fact they had to share the space with a lot of spuds, carrots, a turnip and the cabbage. I was in Target, procuring other household necessities, when I wandered down the small appliances aisle and pondered the situation.

I gave in. I bought a white, oval shaped 5.5 quart crockpot with the new kind of temperature and time controls. I didn’t go nuts and get the one with the digital read-out - thinking that was just too many steps up the “things that can go wrong” ladder.

I’m all set now. I can put in a decently sized roast without having to cut it up and squeeze it in. I’m not getting rid of the 3 quart one, though, because it is great for smaller needs.

I was thinking back to those first crockpots of the 1970s. Hare and I were digging around on the reject heap for Western Stoneware in the early 70s, and there were a lot of strange pots that looked like they went to something, but who knew what? When we saw our first crockpot in the K-Mart, we saw the rejects in their intended use. Remember those things? The crock was fixed and even though they weren’t that big, they seemed enormous, especially when it came to cleaning them. Orange, brown, gold… they were UGLY!

Later they came out with the three quart one, but again, the pot was fixed and that one was truly the devil to clean because it was also heavy. My dad gave me his because it was just too frustrating for him to master. I got a lot of use out of it, but when the pots came out with the removable insert, I dumped his and got a new one.

I’ve been happy with it, except, as I’ve stated above, when it was just too small for big batches of food. I’m already planning a turkey breast and some other good things. When I want to spend the day in the yard and still have a really fine dinner on the table for my hardworking spouse, a crockpot is the answer. I’m just old-fashioned enough of a wife-type to like the idea that when he comes up the walk, he can get a whiff of something tasty in the works. I’m already thinking of Marcella Hazan’s roast in red wine - an afternoon of braising turns a very lean (and cheap) cut of beef into a favoloso supper. Giada has one, too, with a killer sauce that is ever so easy to whip up in the food processor.

Yeah - this new pot is going to see heavy use this spring. I have a lot of garden rejuvenating to tackle. Nice to have supper ready when I come in.

Previously I have written about the need for the Star City’s school system to trim its staff in order to present a balanced budget. I also received an anonymous post telling me I didn’t understand the Reduction in Force process, which I wouldn’t publish because the writer never stepped forward and took responsibility for it to me. (I would have protected the writer’s identity from you, my readers, but s/he never came forward, so it’s a dead issue.)

In today’s paper, it became apparent that the rules are in play. To recap a bit, generally speaking, when a school division must effect a Reduction in Force, the idea is to lay off those who were hired most recently, UNLESS they possess skills that are desperately needed. In other words, if there are no veterans available to teach math or special education, then that new hire would be retained. In my previous piece, I opined that this actually gave the powers that be the opportunity, as they closed schools, to unload underperforming veterans. My anonymous correspondent said I didn’t understand the process.

Well, as a matter of fact, I do. Years ago, when I was a reading specialist in Bedford County, they had the penchant for laying off all probationery teachers every year until they decided whether they wanted to keep them. My principal told me not to worry, that he needed me and I’d be coming back. But it put us in a bad spot, because, what if they didn’t send a letter in June or July? I couldn’t wait until I became a continuing contract teacher.

When I went to work in the Star City’s schools, the then-superintendent had embarked upon a massive cleaning campaign, and veteran teachers were under the gun. It was extremely bad for morale and it sure did empty the halls of some really fine teachers. Their biggest sin had been to be vocally critical of some of the changes. (In most cases they were spot on correct in their assessments.) The point is, teachers who are on continuing contract status (people persist in calling it tenure, when it is nothing of the sort), CAN be fired. It just means the school division has to show cause, and that means there have to be circumstances that are well-documented. They can also unload a teacher if they eliminate a position. So, even though one may be under continuing contract status, that job must always be justified by excellent annual evaluations, and certification that is flexible. (E.g. endorsements in multiple areas)

When closing schools, the administration has to find places for the people on continuing contract. Usually this means if there are more teachers than positions, the last in people get laid off. But what about the continuing contract teachers whose classes have not been meeting the annual progress in the big testing sweepstakes? It is likely these teachers are under immense pressure from their principals. It is also likely that their annual performance objectives reflect those pressures.

It is under circumstances such as this that the administration is looking at their lists and wondering if there is an outside chance they can keep that little probationery teacher whose classes have passed the tests in both of her years in the system. (Probation lasts for three years -) It is under circumstances such as these that I remain of the opinion that school administration will indeed address the issue of continuing contract teachers whose classes are not performing up to snuff.

I spent a lot of time as a volunteer in the education association. I even served on a couple of grievance panels, defending the teachers’ rights. I am firm in my belief that when someone has due process rights in his or her job, they must be followed to the letter of the law, and not manipulated just because someone is threatened by that teacher. In one case, I know the teacher who went to the grievance process probably needed to get out of teaching. In the other, the teacher didn’t seem like the type who would fight back, but she did, and the fact is, she was moved into her specialty endorsement, which was a plus for the division. She lost the battle, but everyone concerned won the war, especially the kids.

I don’t like it when probationery teachers are bullied. I don’t like it when veteran teachers are put under impossible “plans of assistance.” But when it is time to reduce the staff, there are going to be some who are let go that should have been kept, and those who stay who should have been shown the door. It’s sad, but true, and inevitable. In a RIF situation, if a veteran teacher is not producing, s/he puts her/himself at risk. The school administration can justify their actions in the due process proceedings. Those teachers should be aware of that and if Dr. Bishop continues to be kind to them, they need to repay that kindness by getting on the stick.

Am I being a hard ass? Yes. Emphatically, I am. I can name half a dozen people with whom I worked who are still in the system, and in my estimation, are drawing a paycheck for no earthly reason other than showing up. When Dr. Bishop was assistant superintendent of instruction, she ramped up the reading program, and I still recall the numbers of people who didn’t have an endorsement in reading, but who were still doing the job - well sorta. They resisted changing their teaching methods and they were resentful of those of us who were already teaching that way. (You could tell who were the people who were followers of The Pied Piper of Reading, the late Edmund Hardcastle Henderson!) It’s people like that who need to be processed out, and it is people like that who CAN be, and need to shape up or risk the consequences.

So, yes, I do understand the process, and I’m in favor of it for the most part. But I am sticking with my opinion that if there are some residual slackers, the school division can easily make a case for unloading them, and they should. Some of that new talent needs to be retained.

Today is a great day for the Irish - and, may I add, those of us who love our corned beef, cabbage, and Belleek.

Growing up in a predominantly Catholic community, I have to admit to a certain prejudice against the “Irish church,” but it’s only because I got told way too many times that “sister says” I was “going to hell because” we weren’t Catholics. Whoever that nun was, I hope her god has rewarded her in that place for all dead nuns who beat on innocent parochial schoolchildren with such nonsense. In any case, the whole Irish “thing” had no meaning for me until I grew up and followed an Irish pipe band around the town of Quimper, France!

Today the corned beef is safely in the crockpot (I have got to get a larger one…), moisturized with a bottle of Guinness, and soon the house will take on an aroma to warm the cockles of the heart on such a wet and wearisome day. The topnotes will be those of my stellar soda bread recipe as it bakes merrily away.

Today I believe is a good day to thank those old maid Irish school teachers who saw to my education. It is thanks to the likes of Miss Moyle, Miss Scanlon, Miss Clark and Miss Houran that I can spell and use the Queen’s English with facility. They did their level best with math, but somehow those lessons didn’t take like the language ones did. Miss Houran deserves credit for teaching me the workings of the color wheel. I still have no color sense, but I sure did love her yummy Irish woolens!

Miss Moyle had a huge crush on my bachelor uncle, the handsome Uncle Joe-Joe. World War II veteran, injured at Guadalcanal, expert bowler and man-about-town - a little blondie like me couldn’t be luckier! She lost out to the school nurse, but my memories of the afternoon class are of the sort I think Froebel, Pestalozzi, and Montessori had in mind for little ones.

Miss Scanlon read to us every day when we returned to school from lunch. It is to her I owe my role in the February school pageant as the voice of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. It is also to her that I owe my ear for good children’s literature. She chose books that had us hanging on every word and groaning when the chapter ended and she marked the place for the next day’s reading. Rabbit Hill, Henry Huggins, Big Red - the list was long and stellar.

Miss Clark, in her Paradise Kittens, was not only the sixth grade teacher, but principal of the school. She was austere, but she drove a red and white Chevy. We had a test coming up in American history. I’d argued a point because the textbook was clearly wrong. She took me aside, and ever so calmly explained that she knew I learned the fine points of the Civil War at the knees of my father and Mr. Niesen (Uncle Cookie), however the test would be on the information in the book, as that was the only thing the other children had to go by. The lesson was huge. I never tested my students on incorrect information.

However, she also shared secret with me. One day, as the school year was drawing to a close and we helped her tidy up the beat up aluminum pitchers that had held massive bouquets of lilacs from Mary Kay Spelich’s back yard, I worked up the courage to ask her if what my dad said was true. That she’d retained him in the fifth grade because he faithfully got to school early and fired up the stove so it would be warm when she got there. Miss Clark, actually cracked a smile and said that my father was bright, but hadn’t applied himself to his lessons with the same industry he had for his paper route and other money-making ventures, and that was why she had the pleasure of a warm classroom for two years! (Miss Clark’s family tipped him ten cents a week for their newspaper delivery, which was a fortune during the twenties.)

This afternoon, I’ll drink my tea from a delicate basket woven Belleek cup, glazed in mother-of-toilet-seat (proper name: lustre), and reflect on those ladies. And, I think we’ll use the Waterford at dinner tonight. Somehow, it seems fitting to be lace curtain Irish tonight, even though we’ll be eating a black Irish dinner.

Thank you, my teachers, for sharing your lives and travels with us peons in the public schools. I’m sure you’ve prayed for our souls, so I have no doubt we’ll be okay. Something tells me the divine being had a far better eternal resting place for those of you who taught us heathens!

Dedicated to those who sought to create a religious community that welcomed differences, would work for social justice in the church’s name, and who genuinely tried. You know who you are. I miss you…

The other day I was having a conversation about the difficulty of starting a new congregation of worshippers. The person with whom I was speaking had some inside knowledge about how things had been perceived when we sought to form a second Unitarian Universalist church in the Star City’s environs. It pretty much validated what we had been hearing, but it also made me think very long and hard about what role our denomination plays in these things.

A few years back, there was a huge push, and a lot of money allocated, to create megachurches in metropolitan areas. The experiment failed. While the UUA was pursuing that, they effectively discouraged the starting of smaller churches. Many of us watched that with dismay, as the small groups are often the ones who provide our denomination with the most committed of members.

In our case, the denomination had long targeted our region as one that could reasonably support at least two churches, so when we saw that our building was overflowing during an interim minister’s tenure, the idea to start a second church began to take root. When the new minister was installed and behaviors that the interims had worked so hard to reverse began to revert, those of us who had worked for change grew disillusioned. We saw members behaving badly toward other members, UUA best practices being not just ignored, but disdained, and an almost instant malaise in fund raising.

We met for a long time, planning carefully, talking a great deal, and purposely, oh so purposefully, taking our sweet time trying to lay the foundation for a church that would allow for differences of opinion without suppression of thought or deed. We pored over the Congregational Handbook, and we went step-by-careful-step. We were careful to listen to each other and we were careful to make sure all ideas were heard and responded to. We didn’t always agree with one another, but we tried very hard to be respectful in our disagreement and we worked to find consensus.

As it happened, we got forced into “going public” long before we were actually ready. In hindsight, we probably should have just said, Yeah, we’re in the talking stages, so what?” But we didn’t and we rushed into holding services. We weren’t big enough for that, but for a tiny group, we were sure busy and we sure tried hard.

I was once asked why we hadn’t sought the support of the established UU church in the area. My response was honest, “We don’t think they appreciate us doing this, and quite frankly, we don’t think they have the resources to share with us. Rather than put them in a bad spot, we chose to go it alone.” Regardless, in an effort to ‘make nice’ with their leadership, and to allay fears that we would mine their membership, we invited them to a service and coffee afterward. Any questions or fears they had might come out, we reasoned. We were cordial, we welcomed them and we were open to discussion. They were polite, and we could tell, confused. But they wouldn’t say why.

These are people we’ve known for years. One was in our wedding, for pete’s sake. You would think they would just say, “Why are you doing this?” if that was what they were thinking. But they did not. They put up a good front and we parted amicably. Or so we thought.

By and by we had members burn out or leave to find other spiritual paths. Some left because they were frustrated. One left because he was on the board of the other church and it was probably causing him no small amount of anxiety that we might succeed. The core who remained decided it might be a good idea to revisit our vision and mission statements since the membership was smaller and lacked the previous issues of the people who had left. In other words, did these two statements still accurately reflect what we, as a church, were all about? We didn’t know and we thought we should go through the process so that our eye stayed on the ball, as it were. At a Thomas Jefferson District meeting, I asked our new district executive if she would consent to come and facilitate that process. I told her all about us and how hard we were working to be in compliance with UUA best practices, and I also pointed out that we had forged a decent relationship with the leadership of the local established church. (N.B.: we initiated it; they didn’t.)

She enthusiastically said yes because she wanted to meet as many congregations in the district as possible. T.J. District has been a rapidly expanding district for a long time. Another new church? What else is new?

It fell to me to settle on a date with her and my emails got no response. When my testy one went to her, I got back a statement that was equivocal, to say the least, and also contained the thought, “we will have to determine if you are in right relations with the other church.” I was outraged and our group was stunned. There was no further communication.

When I discussed this with UU friends from all up and down the Eastern seaboard, the opinion was unanimous: there is something political going on.

Political? When a denomination is small, hankers for more members, and a group is willing to put themselves out there to start another congregation in order to grow the religious movement, because they identify as being devout Unitarian Universalists come what may, politics trump the need for more members of like mind and spirit? I have to admit, I do not get that.

Here it is. Due to our small numbers, we decided to go on indefinite hiatus. We still have money, hymnals, and the need is still there for a second congregation. But we had made a compact not to mine the other church for members, and in sticking with that idea of fairness, we probably prevented ourselves from being able to carry this off when we first began. So we are content to sit it out for a while. It doesn’t mean we aren’t angry as hell that the district executive didn’t come to meet us before making up her own mind. It doesn’t mean that we aren’t upset with the denomination for not being johnny-on-the-spot about offering any assistance whatsoever to new churches. All the money they poured into the failed effort would have paid our rent for ten years!

What it does mean is that in order to provide spiritual benefit, there has to be a core group who believes wholeheartedly in the mission of the church, and that there have to be enough people to share the load. When we identify enough folks to restart, we will. In spite of the district executive and the denomination, in spite of the tight-lipped disapproval of other ministers who are too afraid to listen to congregants who need spiritual guidance: We will restart.

Blessed be.

I’m involved in two organizations. Of one I am a longtime member and can even claim past-president as proof of longevity. (Not that I was very good, mind you -) In the second organization I am a relative newcomer, however thanks to the president who brought me in (”You need to join; give me a check.”), I got active right away.

I’m not a joiner. I even got thrown out of the college sorority I reluctantly pledged because of my reticence to “collect rose petals” and generally engage in what I viewed as infantile activities. So to belong to two organizations that mean something to me is pretty huge - for me. To find myself with conflicting events and having to choose which one to participate in is just not the kind of thing that blows up my skirt!

I had agreed to be on KP duty for the Herb Society’s annual tea party. I’ve been the Kitchen Bitch for two years now, having gotten our clean-up down to a fine art. It goes quickly and smoothly because of the way I organized it. I’m happy with that accomplishment, but unhappy because I have opera tickets from our very expensive season subscription for that afternoon.

As one of four Roanoke Valley Branch of AAUW delegates to our national convention in St. Louis, I will be voting on changes to the national structure and by-laws that will affect all of us. Our members need to know about this stuff and they need to direct how we will vote. The date selected to have the first open forum is also the date of the Herb Society’s other big fund-raiser, Scarborough Fair. I hadn’t done the calendar at the time this was decided, agreed to be at the forum, and unfortunately, they are happening simultaneously.

This can’t be happening to me, I thought…. But it is. I have had to step away from a job in Herb Society because of time conflicts, but now this? Oh, dear.

This is the sort of thing that tests people’s loyalties and their level of commitment. I’ve seen it over and over, but it’s the first time it’s ever happened to me because I have steadfastly been a one organization person - well except for those few years of insanity when I was very active in the education association - Even then, though, I put Herb Society first because it was my mental health anchor.

A few years ago, The Uncles were lobbying me to move back to the hometown. I told them there were three things I absolutely needed in order to live there, because they were the three anchors in my life. One would be an herb group, the other AAUW, and finally, a Unitarian Universalist church. The first two, interestingly enough were easy. The third, they pointed out, could be achieved by driving to Peoria or Joliet. I didn’t like that idea. “But,” Clarence Darrow pointed out, “there has been a local group that has met informally for a long time.” (Clarence Darrow is the nickname The Uncles have for their coffee clatch friend who is a lawyer.) I cringed. I’ve been in the start-up church business. It is time-consuming, especially when the group is committed to doing things according to our denomination’s accepted best practices, which we were (in spite of whatever rot has been conveyed to our district executive who has never bothered to get to know us!).

Nevertheless, it is here that we remain and I now find myself with a series of time collisions that are making me very, very uncomfortable. I have to choose between two organizations that mean a lot to me and between two organizations that need my strange talents. Isn’t that what it’s all about? Being involved in things where one feels needed and appreciated? Isn’t that what feeds us as humans? When it’s time to give back, it’s time to give back. Period.

I have no answers, and as I stare at the calendar pages, I am cursing myself for not staying on top of it. I think I’m going to go to the Wally, sit in Bang & Lilly’s rolling chair, and meditate while I get my toes done. Maybe a flash of brilliance will come to me while the current location of my brains is being soaked!