About Jen

Jen isn't quite sure when she lost her mind, but it is probably documented here on Meditatio. She blogs because the world needs her snark at all hours of the night... and she probably can't sleep anyway.

Friday Five

I like the questions, so I’ll be a sheep this week…

1. What brand of toothpaste do you use?
Whatever is around the house. I think we have Colgate Total right now.

2. What brand of toilet paper do you prefer?
Whatever is cheapest. We buy in bulk.

3. What brand(s) of shoes do you wear?
My hiking boots are Lands’ End; my running shoes are Nike (I think); I have brand-name TEVA’s; and I think the rest of my shoes are no-name brands from Payless.

4. What brand of soda do you drink?
When I drink soda, it’s Coca Cola or Canada Dry (ginger ale). I dislike Pepsi.

5. What brand of gum do you chew?
None. I don’t chew gum.

Irony of Ironies

The doorbell rang this afternoon and since Jon was just getting out of the shower I answered it.

J=me
S=salesman

J: Can I help you?
S: Yes, is your mommy or daddy home?
J: *taken aback* I’m the lady of the house. *thinking “how old does he think I am????”*
S: Oh… I’m sorry. I’m from [some random windows company] and we’re doing free estimates.
J: We’ll pass since this property is actually owned by a church.
S: Oh… so you’re a pastor’s wife? You look too young to be a pastor’s wife.
J: *smiles pretty* Uh… thanks. *mentally growling*

It turns out he’s thinking of doing some seminary work and is working with the homeless at a shelter in Columbus and knows a good seminary friend of mine. He was a nice guy, so I didn’t lose my temper. I *KNOW* I look like I’m 12, but geez… can anyone give me the benefit of the doubt on this???

Of course this *had* to happen the day after my birthday…

A Different Kind of Protest

A Parade of Hearses Protests L.A. Violence. (Article by staff writer Jill Leovy)

They came in white, silver and black hearses. They wore somber suits and starched shirts. They stood in practiced poses of respectful silence, hands behind backs, heads bowed.

They had, in short, the air of people used to staying in the background as they shepherd others through their grief.

But on Saturday, the dozens of Los Angeles funeral directors, embalmers, morticians, florists, escorts and mortuary counselors ï?? most of them black ï?? were doing something else: They were protesting urban homicide.

The demonstration by people in death-related industries had been organized by several Los Angeles funeral home owners and employees ï?? tired, they said, of young gunshot victims passing through their doors.

It was a strange idea, they admitted. But once word got out, more and more of their colleagues joined in, and the result was a column of nearly 20 hearses streaming through the streets of South Los Angeles on Saturday morning.

Many of those who took part said they have long harbored feelings of unease about profiting from an all-too-common source of business: premature deaths due to a plague of street homicides.

“We know that people are going to die,” said Edith Simpson, a counselor at House of Winston Mortuary. “But making money off senseless killing ï?? that is another thing.”

“We want to show we are not just burying people for money,” said Eric Williams, the mortuary’s office manager. “We are human too. We are not just hearse drivers and money mongers.”

Human, and just as likely to suffer as the people they serve, said Elizabeth Floyd, a funeral director at Rucker’s Mortuary in Pacoima. Her son, Howard L. Baker, was gunned down in 1984 at age 23.

She told of how she got home in time to find him lying on the ground, his eyes open, as if looking to her for help. Now, as a funeral director, every time she serves a customer who has lost someone this way, “it breaks my heart,” Floyd said. “If I could just say something, do something The pain is so penetrating. A hole. An emptiness in your stomach. You are never the same.”

The protest was conducted in a manner only funeral directors could perfect: First, the hearses rolled through the streets, drawing waves from onlookers, and a few baffled stares. Next came sermons and hymns at a graveyard amid bunches of black and white balloons. Finally, there was a release of white doves.

The event was originally planned as a “No Service Saturday” ï?? a day without funerals. But it didn’t work out that way, organizers said. Some funerals took place anyway, and police said at least four people were killed in Los Angeles County from Friday afternoon to Saturday afternoon. Two were black men, one was a Latino man and one was a Latina woman.

State Assemblyman Mark Ridley-Thomas (D-Los Angeles), who spoke at the event, called the protest “extraordinary.”

Demonstrations against street killings are commonplace in black communities of Los Angeles. There are regular stop-the-violence rallies and candlelight vigils.

But Saturday’s protest shows that such efforts are gaining new backing, Ridley-Thomas said. “People you don’t expect are saying, ‘Enough is enough,’ ” he said.

The hearses took to the streets in an hour when many stretches of South Los Angeles boulevards were empty. The procession passed quickly through light traffic, drawing little notice.

But at some points, small crowds gathered. Pedestrians waved and motorists honked. A few people flashed peace signs, participants said.

The hearses bore signs carrying the usual exhortations seen at South Los Angeles antiviolence demonstrations ï?? “Stop the Violence,” “Stop the Senseless Killing.” But one car also bore a hand-written sign with a more unusual slogan: “Live a Long Time.”

One of the organizers, funeral director Anthony Felder of Spalding Mortuary, stood on Century Boulevard to cheerlead as the column passed. He began talking about his sister, Michelle Alyce Felder ï?? “my best friend in the world” ï?? who was killed at age 23, randomly gunned down at a bus stop.

“Even though we profit from this, there comes a time that those of us who deal with death every day need to take a stand,” Felder said.

“There they go!” he yelled as the hearses rolled past, their company signs in the windows. “Wake up Los Angeles! Wake up!”

Eric Smith, a Los Angeles County sheriff’s dispatch worker, idled his car nearby, waiting for the column to go by.

Smith is 19 and black, a member of the highest-risk age, race and gender group for violent death. At first, he said, he was confused, thinking that he was watching a funeral. But learning the reason, he beamed. “It’s good,” he said. “I think it’s positive. I hope it does something.”

The column zoomed up and down some of the boulevards most notorious for violence: La Brea, Jefferson, Crenshaw, Slauson, Florence, Manchester and Vermont, ending at the Angeles-Rosedale Cemetery at Normandie and Washington.

Organizers had invited some customers to take part. Stephanie Ross, who lost her only son, Christopher Barrett Hayes, 24, to a shooting last month, came to “call on the community to pinch in and help,” she said.

Protesting with funeral directors might seem out of the ordinary, she said. “But, my goodness, these people are who we are calling to help us,” Ross said.

Participants talked about being emotionally affected by their work.

Simpson of the Winston mortuary told how she felt tears rise in her eyes as she counseled a family that had lost three sons in a series of related shootings. Unable to maintain a professional demeanor, she excused herself.

John Terry, the mortuary’s film director, nodded in agreement as he recalled the funeral for the three brothers. “It was hard to keep my composure My chest was tight,” he said.

At the cemetery, Felder, the embalmer and organizer who had lost his sister, took the microphone. He thanked his fellow funeral parlor workers, and called for an end to the killing.

“Brothers and sisters in our industry, you have come out of the closet and shown that we too live in the community that we too are affected,” he said.

He was holding his slain sister’s picture. As he stepped down from the podium, he glanced at it. “Michelle,” he added quietly, “this is for you.”

Did this protest do any good? Well…

Three teens killed after funeral workers protest gang shootings

Heavenly Father, in your Word you have given us a vision of that holy city to which the nations of the world bring their glory. Look upon and visit the cities of the earth. Renew ties of mutual regard which form our civic life. Send us honest and able leaders. Help us to eliminate poverty, prejudice, and oppression, that peace may prevail with righteousness, and justice with order, and that men and women from various cultures and with differing talents may find with one another the fulfillment of their humanity; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

Lord, listen to your children praying
Lord send your spirit in this place
Lord listen to your children praying
Send us love, send us power, send us grace.

Woohoooo!!!

You're Hobbes!
You’re Hobbes. First of all, the makers of this
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well-loved, and with good cause.

Which famous feline are you?
brought to you by Quizilla

I’ve missed Calvin and Hobbes muchly.

The 23rd Anniversary of My Nativity

(Translation of title: today is my 23rd birthday, yo!)

So far I’ve gotten (in addition to comments) cards/emails from:
-my in-laws
-my aunt and uncle in-law (I didn’t expect them to remember my birthday)
-my seminary friend Jill who is my cheerleader/prayer warrior
-my parents
Tina
Leenie

My boys have been lover cats and haven’t left me alone all day. Jon and I will go to Olive Garden for dinner (thanks Mom for the check covering dinner and groceries) and it’s been a quiet but nice day.

You Know You’re A Lutheran Seminarian/Intern/Pastor When…

  • you have to explain to your fluffball that he cannot collect multiple benefices for his multiple cathedras (chairs). (We refer to Finian as our “bishop”.)
  • you make the sign of the Cross on the “Mary mark” (the “M” tabbies have on their foreheads) on the forehead of your killer attack lemur and notice that it is corrupted with an Om sign along with the yin yang that appears on his side. You then attempt to explain to him that syncretism is not allowed at Casa K-M. (Cullen has a a few intricate designs on his head by virtue of being a tabby.)
  • you explain the yowling cats at 5 a.m. by saying “they’re singing Matins.”
  • you use the rings on a lemurpuss’ tail to count prayers.
  • you marry your spouse for their Greek Bible and Commentaries. (I did this, as did my Systematic Theology professor. Those things are expensive!!!)
  • your spouse is asked to do a funeral/wedding/supply preaching gig and you immediately think “groceries!”
  • you each have to have your own copies of the Lutheran Book of Worship because you don’t trust the other to give yours back if they borrow it.
  • you do LBW Morning Prayer so often that your cats have the sung parts memorized.
  • you know that the marking ribbons in your prayerbook make good cat toys.
  • you compliment your spouse on their form when they make the motion to bless people.
  • you discuss sermon ideas at 3 a.m. with your sleepy spouse when your sermon should already have been written. (Ahem JON…)
  • you show up to class with the last edition of the book your professor assigns with the pertinent passages highlighted and notes in the margin.
  • something from the Small Catechism or other parts of the Book of Concord come up in every discussion.
  • you can translate passages in archaic languages into English but cannot fold a map to save your life.
  • you discuss the pros and cons of the coffeehour at the churches where you supply preach. (Good coffee is a sacrament in the Lutheran Church.)
  • you have certain hymns memorized and they evoke memories of weddings/funerals/hymn sings in your family. (“Children of the Heavenly Father” is sung at every funeral in Jon’s family.)
  • you refer to “A Mighty Fortress is Our God” as the Lutheran fight song and can even sing both versions rhythmically correct.
  • you know how to sing “Amazing Grace” to the Mickey Mouse Club March. (It’s a Prairie Home Companion thing.)
  • you know which dishes to avoid at church suppers and how to tactfully explain to the maker of said dishes that their food will cause a severe allergic reaction/Crohn’s flare-up or violate your strict vegetarian diet. (This is how I avoid lutefisk. You know there’s a problem with the food when the EPA bans its preparation because the ingredients are toxic.)
  • you can tell how long the communion wine has been sitting in the bottle by a small taste.
  • you’ve ever gone to class drunk as a skunk from consuming the elements after the Wednesday Eucharist. (Like my classmates are going to let me live *this* down. Was it my fault that we had too much wine [see above] left over and it was the stuff from the bottom of the bottle?)
  • you can put a worship book together in under 3 minutes.
  • you speak a strange language in which acronyms like ELCA, LCMS, WELS, WOV, LBW, PLTS, TFBF, and WELCA have everyday meanings.
  • you have a roll of duct tape in every closet for the sole purpose of removing fur from your clericals. (I wish peach fur matched Jon’s clericals because Finian likes to sleep on them.)
  • you keep a spare tab in the glove compartment for emergency hospital calls.
  • it shocks you that your church choir is singing “Stand Up Stand Up for Jesus” *STANDING UP*!!! (One of the jokes about being Lutheran is that you always sing it *sitting down* because it’s usually a Communion hymn. We actually stood up to sing it during Communion today.)
  • you have to put a bumper sticker or something unique on your planner because everyone has the same desk planner in class/at cluster meetings. (Thrivent gives them out to all pastors and seminarians. They’re great because they print the lectionary for all the churches in there.)
  • your church conducts services in German/Danish/Swedish/Norwegian/Finnish/Slovak at least once a year.
  • you sing random parts of the liturgy while walking down the street.
  • Ben and Jerry’s Oatmeal Cookie Chunk Ice Cream

    Let the record show that Ben & Jerry’s Oatmeal Cookie Chunk Ice Cream is the most karmically-balanced ice cream on the planet. It has a base of cinnamon ice cream that is perfect for the humongous chunks of oatmeal cookie that sit embedded in it. Ecstasy results upon the addition of the chocolate chunks.

    This is an order: go here and tell them to not just make it a limited batch — make it a permanent part of the Ben & Jerry’s family.

    That is all. (And no, I am not high on anything while writing it. Yes, I know that I profess Christianity while talking about karma. It’s a California thing, OK?)