Church Chimes Day 11, Year 2

View from Campground porch

The hymn “The Church is One Foundation” is chiming from the bell tower of the Methodist Church on the grounds of the Martha’s Vineyard Camp Meeting Association.  I know all the words by heart.  It’s funny how the songs from childhood are preserved in their very own special place in our brains -- melodies and words intact.  The Camp Meeting Association was formerly a religious Association.  All of that has changed with time and the availability of government grants to preserve historic sites.  Many of the strict religious guidelines have disappeared (no alcohol on the property) or become lax (no co-habitation between unmarried people).  There are traditions going back over 150 years here.  Some of them are hard to break.  As home-owners, we sign a yearly lease on our land from the Association. We agree to abide by the guidelines and rules of the Association, even though they can be frustrating.  For example, no power-tools or outside work may be done on homes on Sundays.  Our houses are close - reach out your arm and touch your neighbor’s house close.  It is a life-style choice like few others.  One of the things I do treasure about living on the Campgrounds is that twice each day, the chimes ring.  At noon and 6 p.m., we hear an excerpt from a hymn.  In a time when we are taking lessons in being mindful and present in our everyday lives, these chimes do it for me.  They remind me to stop for the thirty to ninety seconds that the hymn plays. Just stop. Whatever I am doing. Just stop. I let the music, with its familiar refrains, wash over me.  As the last note fades out, I return to pick up my pen, stir the pot, fold the laundry.  However, with these twice daily musical interludes, I claim at least two minutes for nothing more than the uplifting solace of hearing beloved hymns from my childhood.  For those two minutes, I am fully mindful and fully present. 

On YouTube, you can listen to "Rock of Ages."

.http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-FwGFkB6DqE&feature=results_video

One of Those Days

There are days that seem, from that moment of first consciousness until that exhausted heave of breath before you fall asleep, that things go wrong. There seems to be a strong correlation between these events and the weather. The bright days are less likely to be muddied by many of life’s annoyances, frustrations and miscalculations: it’s almost as if it would be an affront to the vast panoply of blue sky stretched taut over those of us living in its umbrage to demean it with tickets, lost keys, mislaid receipts and petty bickering. The grey sky, heavy with precipitation just begs strife. I have a theory about most things. It’s what makes my world work so well. These theories of mine. This particular theory is that on grey, dull days, our happiness isn’t-life-great vibes are dampened by the moisture in the air. What’s more, we are all gravity-bound to earth and continue to pollute our world with negativity. How’s that for a good one? Much of the time that works for me. However, with every rule, there come exceptions. There are days, drizzly, grey, damp, raw days so particularly well-manufactured in New England, that, when a flame-shaped, green tip emerges from a rain-soaked earth in hint that a daffodil is stirring below, the spirit expands. There are days when every layer of clothing is soaked through from a drenching, bone-numbing rain that later include a roaring fire, a cup of hot chocolate, a fuzzy blanket and a good book. Could there be anything much finer? So, try out my theory about grey days, grey outcomes. But keep your eyes open for when it’s the exception rather than the rule. You won’t be disappointed.

Day 11