Larry Picard: A Life in the Musical Theater

David Cawley: The Sickest Man I Know

larrypicard@earthlink.net — Sat, 17 Dec 11 16:08:00 UT

Sam called me at work around 3pm yesterday. "Larry, I have some sad news. David had cardiac arrest and died during his colostomy."

Thank you, God.

David was the sickest man I knew. He had AIDS, witnessed by his huge collection of drugs and kaposi's sarcoma lesions on his legs and feet and his recent bout of Pneumocystis Pneumonia and resulting 3-4 week stay in the hospital. Diabetes. Renal Failure (dialysis, 3 times a week). He was home for only about a week when he fell in the grocery store and went to the emergency room. He was there 3 days to "stabilize." He had colitis. And then the full colostomy.

Really? A full colostomy? Just what David didn't need to get him through the winter of 2012. And so, he died.

Well, done, though good and faithful servant.

David was partners with our friend, John Denaro, who died of AIDS complications several years ago. David looked like hell when we first met him. In fact, "I thought John was going to take care of me until I died and the opposite was true" David once confessed.

After John died, we really got to know David. For many years, most Sundays, David came to the house to brunch with Sam while I was in church. Then, we'd sit for another couple of hours or so just talking. David was great to talk with. He was very insightful and witty. He enjoyed the pun. And many were very clever. Often Friday evenings would find us three at Anthony's, the best Italian restaurant in Brooklyn. Just hanging.

I'll miss David. But, mostly I think, Sam will miss David. David understood Sam. And loved him. I was the +1 in that relationship and that was fine with me. They had each other.

I'll miss Bandit, too. Bandit was David's big black and white cat. He's a big lug and whenever David was in the hospital or on vacation, we got to know and feed Bandit. One of David's biggest concerns about dying was Bandit's care. That's what friends are for, I guess. Anyone want a big, lovable lug?

I'm a little out of practice with the blogging. One-and-a-half years since my last one. But, I wanted something to remember David by besides my quiet crying jags at inopportune times and a few DVD's we hadn't returned to him yet.

Thanks, David, for the DVD's and your friendship and your life.

Get a Whiff of This

larrypicard@earthlink.net — Sun, 25 Jul 10 21:10:00 UT

We're sitting in the parlor outside our bedroom listening to the famous Tom Bopp play old-fashioned favorites on the grand piano brought (kidnapped) to the hotel via a manure truck from Curry Village in Yosemite Valley. Mr. Bopp's fame is second only to El Capitan and Bridle Veil Falls here at the Wawona Hotel. The room is furnished in the style of the time the hotel was built: sturdy Victorian. Tom gets applause after every tune. The least rapt audience member is the guy writing about it on his MacBook. And he's charmed and delighted.

Yesterday, while we were hiking through meadows in Yosemite Valley they switched us from our shower-included room in the Moore Cottage, #87 (right below the haunted room) to a bedroom off the parlor of the lobby. It seemed like very bad luck until Tom explained to us that the room was originally Estella Hill Washburn's, the daughter of Thomas Hill, of Yosemite history, who came to Yosemite to heal his Tuberculosis, paint and die (which he did several years later at 90-something). Estella fell in love with John Washburn, the hotel manager and married him. And now we're sleeping their room. So that's just fine, as long as management doesn't mind us traipsing through the lobby in our hotel-provided bathrobes (or as Sam did this morning at 2:30, in his underwear).

But enough about lodging. Let's talk food. All food seems to cost $20. Except for breakfast, which is free. And Bombay Sapphire Martinis, straight up, cost $7.50. Sweet.

Our first tour of Yosemite was local. Our lodging is in the southern portion of the park where we were able to view Sequoias just a short shuttle ride away. We opted to take the tram up to the upper grove and hike around there: an informative ride that only stops twice for 10 minutes, once on the way up and once on the way down. Most people take that first stop as an opportunity to use the restroom. We used the first stop to leave the tour altogether and get up-close and personal with the trees and hiking trails. Most hikes in Yosemite go up and down and up and up. Sam was exhausted when we got back to the tram stop five hours later. The tram was full and we couldn't get on. So I chatted up a family and the dad wanted to hike down as much as I did and so Sam hopped on, Larry and John hiked down and we were all happy.

Sunday we drove up north and east. Occasionally we got out of the car to hang out and take photos of intensely beautiful and magnificent places: Tuolumne Meadow, Olmstead Point, Sierra Lake, and our destination, Mono Lake, outside the park. It was a day of strangely coincided nature: lakes turning into meadows, lush meadows surrounded by barren ledges, a bright blue salt lake with sandstone towers (tufas) rising from it. And my "secret" dinner destination: the Whoa Nellie Deli. A chef left his restaurant in NYC, bought a Mobil gas station outside Yosemite's East Gate and opened up a fabulous restaurant serving great food, kitschy souvenirs and gasoline. All the while a band plays out front. Fabulous.

Eight-tenths of a mile can sure be long when you're hiking up hill in the blazing heat of Yosemite Valley. We took the Wawona Shuttle to the valley two days in a row to get a good idea of what's down there. And so we did. Not a lot of hiking but a relaxing walk through a beautiful flower-bedecked meadow, a hike up to Vernal Falls. Well, almost all the way up. And an attempt at Lower Yosemite Falls. Beautiful place, Yosemite Valley. And lots and lots of people. We met some of those people on the shuttle into the valley. The ride was a little over an hour each way, so we had time to get to know the history of some folk in nearby seats and trade stories. On our second trip into the valley, we met a quartet from Iowa and another quartet from Ithaca, NY. At one inspiring point, Sam burst into "America, the Beautiful," I joined in as did the two quartets: in 4-part harmony. Needless to say, the ride back was on the wings of song.

There are a couple of aspects of Yosemite that I've never heard mentioned. One is the wild animal hysteria that park personnel create. In our weeklong stay, we saw two deer and a hundred squirrels and chipmunks. No bear and no mountain lion. Yet every day we'd pass signs about how speeding kills bears. "The orange markers denote where a bear was killed," our evening astronomer informed us. We read warnings about feeding bears and instructions on how to scare mountain lions away. One waitress in the dining room replied, after I told her how freaked I am running around the 3.5 mile Wawona Meadow Loop replied, "you don't really have to worry as much about the bears as you do the mountain lions; they don't scare as easily." Thanks for the advice. So, instead of every rock being a bear, every bush became a mountain lion. Yay. Thoughts on how I could stretch out my t-shirt to make myself look as large as possible pervaded my runs. I think park workers tell tourists these tales to add to the thrill factor of the park. And to amuse themselves.

And the smell. No one has ever mentioned the smell of Yosemite. (Maybe Sam and I are the only two people I know who have been there.) It's an acrid smell. And earthy. Like incense. Not unpleasant, it's kind of good, that is if it's the smell of sequoias and earth and nature. But if it's the smell of burning tires or a decomposing bear nearby, that's bad. Kind of like getting the last room available in the hotel and learning that it's historic.

I Can Do That

larrypicard@earthlink.net — Mon, 31 May 10 07:50:00 UT

When I was hiking the Grand Canyon this past March, I met several men and women between the ages of 65 and 75 who were making the same journey. In fact, of the seven of us in our bunkhouse, four men were 65 or older. Mark and I hiked out of the canyon with Glenn, 73, and he was pretty much setting the pace for us, including the grueling final 1.5 miles to the edge.

And I decided that if I want to be like those guys, I'd better take whatever training I did for the Grand Canyon hike and keep it going. And take whatever I learned from that experience and use it. Friends asked me, "so, how was the Grand Canyon? Was it life changing" almost as though it wouldn't have been. My journey with Mark taught me some lessons. One lesson I learned was that once I take my first step on what seems an impossible journey, the rest is only a series of next steps on a well-worn path thatâs already been laid out for me. If I prepare myself properly and approach a challenge with a clear perspective, I'm there.

Also, it taught me that if I want to do anything, I'd better do it now. There is no guarantee about what's to come. So: a marathon. Hey, I never really wanted to run a marathon. But I did always want to be a healthy, active, in-shape adult. And a good way to do that is to surround myself with people who encourage me on the journey. And a better way to do that is to have those people accompany me on my journey. And if I can raise $3,000 for research into Leukemia, Lymphoma and Myeloma while I'm on the journey, what's better really?

Yeah. So the other part of this is that I'm asking my friends and family for money so I can run with Team In Training and raise a ton of money for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society while I overcome my fears, face my challenges and make the best use of my life while doing it. That's a challenge in itself. But, I'm here to live my life to its fullest and help others to do the same.

Isn't that why we're all here?

If you'd like to contribute, here's the link.

DONATE HERE

Favor for a friend of a friend

larrypicard@earthlink.net — Sat, 10 Apr 10 09:25:00 UT

A good mechanic is hard to find. And vice-versa. And so, if you're ever in San Antonio, TX and need some work done on your car, consider Kastis Automotive Repair in San Antonio. He fixes your car. And he has a up-to-date website. Nu?

Grand Grand Canyon

larrypicard@earthlink.net — Tue, 30 Mar 10 09:41:00 UT

Just briefly: all the fear, of course, was backstage jitters. Once we took the first step onto the (icy) South Kaibob Trail we both relaxed. A lot.

There's a lot to say. But, the most striking experience was the little "village" that was our canyon-bottom destination, Phantom Ranch. A tree-covered oasis with a brook, a river, mule deer, plant life and happy villagers. Hardly the stark, red/white sheer rock walls we knew as the Grand Canyon.

The Fear Factor

larrypicard@earthlink.net — Mon, 15 Mar 10 11:33:00 UT

I'm not quite finished with this entry, but I'm actually on the airplane flying to the Grand Canyon right now, so I think I'll just publish it and clean it up later (after I edit all the amazing photos and video).

In less than 2 days I'll be hiking into the Grand Canyon. I'm still not sure about the climbing out part. I've been pretty confident that all will go well, but the shock that friends express when I tell them I'm walking, not riding a mule, is disconcerting. Have you used the stairmaster? No. I hate the stairmaster. The treadmill? I walk to work. How have you been training? I walk. Vigorously with weight on my back up and down the hills in Prospect Park. Walking to and from work, church, wherever. Well, it's a grueling hike out of the canyon. I know. You have to pay for the airlift yourself if you can't get out. I've heard.

Rattlesnakes and scorpions aside. Heat prostration, dehydration and slipping on ice be damned. Hiking 10 miles uphill is daunting. Maybe so daunting I don't even realize how daunted I am.

A few weeks ago, I was out of the office at lunch. I returned and was immediately confronted with, "where were you?" "We needed you!" A fire alarm had gone off without any pre-announcement. That meant that there probably was a fire in the building. Well, everyone stood where they were, looking at each other wondering what they should do. Some ran down the stairs. We had just had a successful drill where everyone efficiently walked to the hallway and waited for further instructions while the Floor Fire Marshall (I'm the Deputy) called down to the Fire Command Station. This time around, it took several moments for everyone to call upon their training and actually do what we were trained to do. Perhaps there was this panic that set in when people realized that this might be the real thing (it wasn't) and that their safety was at stake.

Or like when I was getting off of the A Train after work. Train stops, doors open, I get out. Can't get out. Push. Stuck. Push. Stuck. Look around. Stuck. Push. Pull. Stuck. That was me. The door had closed just as I (the first person to leave) was going through the exit. I couldn't understand what was happening. The doors held me like a mouse in a trap. And I was quietly panicking. Outwardly I looked like a guy struggling with doors. My brain, however, was in full fight or flight mode.

One of my favorite authors, Kate Braestrup, in her new book "Marriage and Other Acts of Charity" describes a conversation she has with a man who is afraid of flying in an airplane. He has a fear that the plane will explode. They chat about it and she finally suggests that he try to do a few mid-air somersaults while he's free-falling (obviously, there's more to this). I'd like to think that I would do that. I've pictured myself clutching to the seat to hold myself steady as the airplane I was on was falling to earth so that I could sit and experience what was actually happening. I don't think I'd have the presence of mind, though.

A couple weeks before I was to begin what was to be a total of ten take-offs and landings in two months, a friend shared an article with me that described how you can live if your airplane explodes mid-air. "Wreckage Surfing" or something like that. Riding a part of the airplane to Earth. And landing just so. It's been done, apparently. It sounds like it would be amazing and so scary. I don't ever want to do it, though.

All I want to do right now is to hike with my friend Mark into the Grand Canyon and happily and confidently climb out.

Two Bits

larrypicard@earthlink.net — Sat, 6 Feb 10 08:39:00 UT

Something's happening on the internet that's affecting the amount of time men spend in the bathroom every morning: retro-shaving. Retro-shaving, as in contemporary shaving when my dad started shaving, then, if the enthusiast continues, shaving like when my grandfather was a boy. So, just as Facebook has expanded my time spent feeding the cats in the morning as I parcel out Maggie's small portions of food between checking friends' statuses and responding, of course and responding to the responses and checking to see if anyone has responded to my response responses, I'm taking time creating a lather in a cup with a brush, smoothing it on my face and scraping an instrument of death across my cheeks, chin and neck.

As I moved closer and closer to purchasing my first safety razor (Merkur), replacement blades (Feather), shaving brush (badger, of course), shaving soap (sandalwood) and after shave (non-alcoholic), I wondered why the hell I was doing this. One reason: Keith was doing it. Keith, as in "let's make a movie starring you!" YEA! "let's make another one!" HUZZAH! "I love my bicycle!" ME TOO! "Battlestar Galactica rocks" FRACKIN' A! "Shaving like they did in the old days is a challenge!" IT SURE IS!

Another reason was this guy. He's like the father who never taught me to shave. Just me and this guy in our t-shirts lathering up the perfect warm, foamy goodness. My own cherished father-son moments were spent going to Friendly's after my piano lesson and listening to the Springfield Symphony together (I still remember when that guy in front of me asked me to please stop tapping my foot). I love this guy's videos (he kind of resemble Sam). And I'm not alone; look at the number of hits he gets. He's loved by a brotherhood of retro-shavers around the world. My safety razor brotherhood and I shaving with, then across, then against the grain together, after we've thoroughly wet and washed our faces with hot water, of course.

And then there's the hobby aspect. When we think of "hobby" we think of something interesting, fun and frivolous to do. That's all true, but spending money is the primary motivation for taking up a hobby. It's nice to buy stuff you've never needed until now. And buy the best you can afford, then long to own the best there is. And discuss why it's the best with those of a like mind. Shaving is a good hobby because I must shave, so I get to touch my hobby tools every day. Every day except yesterday, that is.

My active participation in this hobby began last Saturday when I finally ordered my supplies and continued on Tuesday evening when I received my package in the mail. I somehow thought the box would be bigger. The shaving world I was about to explore felt like such a huge and dangerous place and the box of goodies totaled about $100, so shouldn't the box be about the same size as one that held the Tasmanian Devil?

I hear and read guys who claim that this is a cost-effective way to shave. Blades cost pennies apiece. Yeah, but what about that Best Badger and Briar Wood Handmade Shave Brush as well as the Chamomile and Aloe After-shave Balm? But, the waste is minimal and so much better for the environment, they explain. I know; that's always been a concern of yours. It's a hobby and a connection to other enthusiasts. And a manly way to groom yourself. No other reasons needed.

So, Wednesday morning was my first day using the safety razor ("Here are some alternatives to the Feather blades," Keith handed me a small dispenser with a few assorted blades (Derby, Merkur, Gillette). "Those Feathers are not for beginners.") Pay attention, don't push the blades, don't shave over parts you covered before, finish, rinse, lather, shave another way, rinse, lather, final pass. Done. I don't believe I've ever touched a baby's butt, but my face was probably as smooth as one. Clean and dry the brush, rinse the cup, store the shaver. Shower, apply the balm. Nice.

Thursday morning was head shaving day. Wednesday went so well, why not? The seven scabs on my scalp might give you an idea why not. You know, when you slash your scalp with your new safety razor, it doesn't really hurt. You just sense that you did it. The resultant blood confirms it. In the shower, it hurt. Eeeooowww. So, yesterday I took a break from shaving at all. Today, I'm back. All went well, save for a few minor tangles. I think, maybe, I'll keep the Mach3 for off-days and for my head and see how that goes.

I think this will work as long as I don't try to do it for a living.

Trusting the Darkness

larrypicard@earthlink.net — Sun, 16 Aug 09 18:06:00 UT

I gave the sermon today at church. Here it is in it's entirety.

This is the third in an ongoing series of annual sermons given by me. As I believe everything I do to be absolutely fascinating to those who know and don't know me, I like to think that the congregation is interested in keeping up on my faith journey. As fascinating as my facebook updates are to my followers, my spiritual growth is of the upmost importance to my fellow congregants. I realize this and offer you my third sermon. I know that some of my PNC Updates in the past year have been the length of a sermon, but this is, in fact, only my third.

In the past year I visited our friend Lee Arnot during one of her stays in the Methodist hospital. During my visit, she handed me a collection of Psalms translated by Stephen Mitchell and asked me to read Psalm 4. And she asked me to preach on it. As far as I'm concerned Lee's recent life and trials have been a living testament to Psalm 4. Let's hear it again.

PSALM 4 (Translated by Stephen Mitchell)

Even in the midst of great pain, Lord,
I praise you for that which is.
I will not refuse this grief
or close myself to this anguish.
Let shallow men pray for ease:
"Comfort us; shield us from sorrow."
I pray for whatever you send me,
and I ask to receive it as your gift.
You have put a joy in my heart
greater than all the worldâs riches.
I lie down trusting the darkness,
for I know that even now you are here.

During one visit, Lee confessed to not trusting the darkness. I guess that at that moment she wasn't feeling God's presence. I suppose her grief and fear and despair were overwhelming. We were sitting in the hallway outside her room, right across from the Nurses' Station. Next to her sat an old woman, deep into dementia, clinging to a doll, her baby. Every once in a while, she would look up and see me and take my hand. With furrowed brows and teary eyes, she'd express herself in a flow of sounds that were incomprehensible as words. A few yards away, on the other side of Lee, in his wheelchair, sat a man who was blind. He sat silently and would call out occasionally, breaking the impersonal sounds of the hospital ward with his own, deeply personal cry for comfort. At that time, this was Lee's moment-to-moment, day-to-day existence until a nurse wheeled her into her lonely hospital room.

How could Lee Arnot have come to this? Lee, who in doing God's work, has visited and consoled every sick and sorrowful member of our church? Lee, whose pleas to the congregation have never been for herself, but for others? Lee, who had left tea breads for every choir function last summer? How could she have been brought so low? And, since this is really about all of us, a question that perhaps we can all ask is "from where do we draw our strength when we feel that God has abandoned us? And where is God during our crises of health, finance or faith?"

Let's take a look at John 11 for some insight. In John 9, Jesus had just healed a blind man. The formerly blind man, the formerly blind man's parents and Jesus were all questioned by the Pharisees about the healing. Pharisees, by the way, were the noted, conservative and generally respected scholars and interpreters of religious matters at the time. In John 10, Jesus' conversation with the Pharisees continues. It ends with Jesus escaping a stoning and returning to the place where John the Baptist did his baptizing (and where everyone knew, loved and believed Jesus). John 11 begins with Jesus walking down the street and being told his close friend, Lazarus, is near death. There was some doubt as to whether Jesus should venture to see him as the people in that area were against him and he could be hurt or killed. There is so much in John 11 that could be discussed. So much. But, I'm concerned with the verse that in some translations simply states

"Jesus wept."

Some scholars (Morris) suggest that Jesus' weeping was grief over the misconception of those about him. Others offer that Jesus' tears were triggered by the thought of Lazarus in the tomb: not a personal grief over the loss of a friend (since Lazarus was about to be restored to life) but grief over the effects of sin, death, and the realm of Satan. (It is also possible that Jesus wept at the tomb of Lazarus because he knew there was also a tomb for himself ahead.)

Who knows why Jesus wept, really? And is it important to ask? Well, maybe it's important to ask as a tool or illustration to understand a little more about our relationship with God. Look at the actions and reactions - the arguments, the threats, the flight from harm - that lead up to this point and consider the betrayal, torture and pain that was about to occur (betrayal, torture and pain that we believe Jesus knew about all along) and it isn't difficult to understand why Jesus might have wept. I would have wept. And tried to place blame. And sulk. I know this because I've done this. Have you had a period in your life when nothing was working for you no matter how well you prepared or no matter what actions you took to remedy the situation? ... Yeah. So, Jesus wept. He wept and then he took action. He asked to have the rock that sealed the tomb moved away. And,

"Martha, the sister of the dead man, said to him, 'Lord, already there is a stench because he has been dead for four days.' 40Jesus said to her, 'Did I not tell you that if you believed, you would see the glory of God?' 41So they took away the stone. And Jesus looked upwards and said, 'Father, I thank you for having heard me. 42I knew that you always hear me, but I have said this for the sake of the crowd standing here, so that they may believe that you sent me.' 43When he had said this, he cried with a loud voice, 'Lazarus, come out!' 44The dead man came out..."

Wouldn't it be great if it worked that well for us? Wouldn't it be great if we could say, "God, thank you for healing me of this cancer or financial crisis or split ends" and have it happen. I know that there are some here who believe that it will and for some of you maybe it has and, I don't know, maybe that's the official Presbyterian view (I really need to look that up), but I don't experience God working quite that way in my life. I don't believe God makes us sick (except to have made us mortal and susceptible to illness) and I don't believe God will heal us of our ills if we ask with enough faith. I just don't. Maybe someday I will and if so, I'll thank God with all that I am (and then be sure to tell you). Until then, though, I'm concentrating on looking to where God is in the sorrows and anguish that visit all of us in this Earthly existence.
For instance, I look to Lee Arnot who, sitting among the sorrowful and dispirited of that nursing facility, reached out to those who sat around her to see how she could lift them up. Lee knew the names of those people with whom she sat in the hallway. She spoke to them and tried to engage them in conversation. She did her best to reach them and show God's love even when she was at her lowest. I also look to the 10 men and women of First Presbyterian Church who took a morning and cheerfully and skillfully moved Lee's possessions from her Brooklyn Heights home to her new home in Park Slope and then prayed with Lee in her new home. Healing took place in me during that move when, as I went down to the truck to check to see if we had moved everything up to Lee's new place, I found Paul Austin and Reeves Carter sitting on the truck's back fender. "Two cops stopped us to give tickets for parking illegally (hey - except for the hydrant, it was the ideal parking space) and we talked them out of it." Truly, with the deep gratitude that comes in the presence of God's love, I embraced my brothers. Especially Reeves with whom I hadn't been seeing eye-to-eye in the past few months. Through Reeves, I received God's healing lovingkindness and grace. God was felt on President Street that morning.

A favorite book I return to at least once a year is Kate Braestrup's Here if You Need Me. Kate Braestrup is a journalist and a chaplain working with the Maine Forestry Service. She begins her book with her husband, a State Police Officer, being killed in an automobile accident. An event that, in part, prompted her to go to Seminary and became an important point of reference in her life; one, that serves throughout the book. Toward the final chapters she writes,

My children asked me, "Why did Dad die?"
I told them, "It was an accident. There are small accidents, like knocking over your milk at the dinner table. And there are large accidents, like the one your dad was in. No one meant it to happen. It just happened. And his body was too badly damaged in the accident for his soul to stay in it anymore, and so he died.
"God does not spill milk. God did not bash the truck into your father's car. Nowhere in scripture does it say, 'God is car accident' or 'God is death.' God is justice and kindness, mercy, and always--always--love. So if you want to know where God is in this or in anything, look for love."

Even as I read John 11 and my questions increased and I researched what theologians and scholars had to say so that I could deliver a decent, somewhat intelligent and even slightly authoritative sermon, I return to Psalm 4, the passage that began this whole train of thought and I read that God is in everything as long as I have faith. That no matter what shadows darken my days, God's light will shine through my own faith in God through Jesus Christ. And I'm beginning to understand this. And even if I understand this for a moment once in a while, I cherish that moment because I understand that this is one moment in a series of moments that are becoming more frequent in my life as my faith becomes stronger and my trust in God becomes more of my day-to-day living and not just in the dark days. And, though I'm not quite ready to say to Life's Tragedy "bring it on; I'm ready for it" I will continue to pray to see God in all moments of my life and in all of God's children who share those moments with me.

Thank you for listening.

Julie, Julia, Larry, Sam and Slopers

larrypicard@earthlink.net — Sun, 16 Aug 09 17:54:00 UT

I think it's appropriate to blog about Julie & Julia.

I'm sitting enjoying a lovely glass of Bougogne Blanc while Sam is chopping onions for our bean stew. Today we saw the 2 p.m. show of Julie and Julia and I'm just coming down from the grace of it all. All they had to do was show Meryl as Julia in a Paris Bistro and I started crying. What a delightful film. I thought the Julie character was whiney, but there had to be some contrast to the elegance. Really a joy.

We left the movie theater and there was a line that should have turned the corner. Instead, movie lovers were actually standing in the street. Not on the curb, but standing in line in the middle of the road. The middle of the road in Brooklyn. In the road. Standing. I stood there and faced them and announced "people, I think it would be really great if, instead of standing in the road, we moved the line so that it curved around the corner." And they did. Someone had to tell them.

Wow. And I thought I was self-absorbed.

We've Come This Far By Faith

larrypicard@earthlink.net — Mon, 1 Jun 09 22:48:00 UT

"What I Did Last Summer, Several Months Before and All the Ones In Between."

From October, 2008 until April, 2009 I co-chaired the Pastor Nominating Committee of my church. Seven other people and I spent an evening together usually every week praying, discussing and listening. Then we telephoned and emailed each other in between. When we weren't praying. In all my writing and updates to the church about this process, I mentioned that this was the most profound spiritual journey I had been on until this point. I've mentioned often in church about how weak my faith is. For the first time in my 52 years on Earth, I felt it strengthen just a little as we went through this process.

We read about 150 Personal Information Forms (PIFs we called them) from Pastors who were matched with us and who read our Church Information Form (CIF) and believed it was worth taking a chance applying for the job. Most were way off-base. Some were pretty close. Only a few could have led our congregation. We read the PIFs, discussed them, dismissed them, pursued them. We held telephone interviews, listening while people who felt called by God to become ministers of God's Word told us about their extraordinary journeys of faith.

We continued this process until we had four people that we wanted to meet in person. Four people who we believed were of a similar mind and heart to our church. And so the in-person conversations began. Our first candidate removed herself from the running some time after our meeting. The second just didn't match. That left us with 2 close contenders. That's when the hardest work began.

They both had proven records in social justice, multiculturalism, community leadership, pastoral care, fundraising, written and oral communication, for God's sake. And we had to choose one of them. And after a couple more lengthy, hard-questioning interviews and two more weeks of deliberation and discernment, we nominated a Pastor.

After we announced the candidate to Session, our governing body, some members began a campaign to keep our candidate from becoming Pastor of our church. I believe the Holy Spirit was in our decision. I never have claimed anything like that in my life. The Holy Spirt. Who knew? And people were fighting our decision.

"Don't take it personally, Larry," I was advised. This work was nothing if not personal. I put myself, as did the others, into this work for a year-and-a-half. In doing this work I believe I moved a tiny bit closer to understanding something about God. Something I never felt before. And here were people with whom I break bread and pray and sing, working against me and those who made this journey with me. "With all due respect to the members of the Pastor Nominating Committee," they said. If that was all the respect we were due, we must have done a pretty disrespectful job. But we didn't.

The leaders of the church scrambled to continue the work and balance the drama and promote conversation and understanding. The campaigners continued the fight, trying to turn the candidate's accomplishments into failings. And in the end, a majority of the church voted in favor of the candidate.

But, not enough to invite him to become our Pastor. And so, with a new committee, the process begins again. But this time from a different place. A place where the church has shown some of its truth. A place where some want to explore that truth and see how it compares to what we believed was the truth. And a place where some would rather leave things as they were.

I've been told and I believe that the Holy Spirit was at work in all this. That God is found in the pain, anger, disappointment and sadness I've been feeling since April. I believe and have faith in God, made manifest in Jesus Christ and sent to us through the power of the Holy Spirit.

And now my own faith journey has a new obstacle as I regain my faith in humankind.

The Quest

larrypicard@earthlink.net — Thu, 15 Jan 09 08:14:00 UT

The rain was beating on them as they rode high above the trees on the lightening-white horse. Thunder pealed through the skies as electricity lit up the night.
"Larry Picard! Hold up the Six Signs to keep the Dark from Rising! It is now at it's height and never more powerful!"
- WHAAAAT?
"The Six Signs, Larry Picard: hold them high so that you may stave off the Dark!"
- I'M SORRY! WHAT?
"The Signs! The Signs!"
- I'm sorry! I don't understand! I think it's my tinnitus!

Almost every year at this time, I read "The Dark Is Rising" by Susan Cooper. I love the story of young Will Stanton as he awakens on his 11th birthday to begin a new life as an Old One. Yesterday I was on the 2 Train riding to work from Men's Bible Study ("I'm sorry. What was Ruth's last name? I'm sure I read it here somewhere") reading away and putting myself in 11-year-old Will's place as he speeds across the sky to Hunter's Combe for Herne's Hunt just as all hell is breaking loose, when the above scene came to mind.

My version of Will's adventure definitely reveals a deep sense of inadequacy on my part. Lately, I've been explaining to people why I'm at Citi (instead of in Shrek, the Musical, like Dennis in the Choir who, because he created the role, will receive, like, 3 billion dollars every time a high school does a production, which will supplement his income from the new HBO hit series he'll probably star in, etc.):

"Have you ever sung on stage?" Yup.
"You should do voice overs!" Yup.
"You're so funny. Have you considered stand-up?" Yup.

I'm a big hit at 111 Wall Street, 19th Floor.

Etc.

So, I have this idea that I was born to mature into something that, due to some tragic flaw (mental illness?), I'm unable to attain. So, what else is new? Nothing. That's part of my point. I wish I could just get over it and be happy with Sam, my job, the girls and the condo. And I am. Most of the time. But, when I read about an 11-year-old who plays a major role in keeping the Universe from Eternal Darkness, I can't help but feel less than fulfilled.

"Larry: he's fiction."

I know, I know. I do my part. I spread the love and make people laugh and smile throughout the day. I help make Sam's life worth living. I have a strong community of friends who love me. But, I just can't help dreaming the impossible dream; for, I guess it's my quest to follow that star. The catch is that I'm Sancho Panza, not the tall, skinny geezer.

Bullshit

larrypicard@earthlink.net — Sat, 29 Nov 08 12:47:00 UT

Wal-Mart, in a statement issued at its headquarters in Bentonville, Ark., said: âThe safety and security of our customers and associates is our top priority. Our thoughts and prayers are with them and their families at this tragic time.â

More death at the hands of zealots preparing for their religious holidays.

I am furious and deeply saddened.

The Morning After

larrypicard@earthlink.net — Wed, 5 Nov 08 15:59:00 UT

Today, a co-worker said to me, "Oh, I forgot to wish you a happy Wednesday." Huh? "We're over the hump; happy Wednesday."

You mean, happy Democratic President who's a black guy with the name of Barack Hussein Obama! President Barack Hussein Obama: we are now at the polar opposite of where we have been for 8 years.

You mean, glad to hear that you're feeling better after making yourself sick yesterday worrying about the outcome of the election. I created a high fever for myself yesterday. With 2 Advil and the election results, I began to feel a lot better.

You mean, happy hope hopety hope hope hope.

I have hope that the tremendous effort and cooperation the Obama campaign brought about will continue to influence the country in positive ways.

I have hope that we as a country will make the best of this time we're given with this extraordinary human being.

I have hope that having a powerful black man in the Oval Office will lift my brothers and sisters and me up even higher.

I have hope that we will find solutions to the current messes we're in.

I have hope that our global brothers and sisters can look to the United States of America as a brilliant example of what's good in the world.

Happy New Era, my friends.

Rachel on Fear and Love

larrypicard@earthlink.net — Tue, 4 Nov 08 10:57:00 UT

I know Rachel through Keith. We know each other through subscribing to each other's blogs. This one says it all so completely, I asked her if I could post a link to it. She said yes.

It reflects the bigger picture in such a real way, I have no choice but to share it with you. Please read.

Thanks Rachel.

Larry

Come Sunday

larrypicard@earthlink.net — Sat, 6 Sep 08 13:21:00 UT

Tomorrow I preach at church. First, come the readings I chose and then my sermon. The sermon's title is "Namaste."
- Elder Picard

Romans 15 1:7
Now we who are strong ought to bear the weaknesses of those without strength and not just please ourselves. Each of us is to please his neighbor for his good, to his edification. For even Christ did not please Himself; but as it is written, "the reproaches of those who reproached you fell on me." For whatever was written in earlier times was written for our instruction, so that through perseverance and the encouragement of the Scriptures we might have hope. Now may the God who gives perseverance and encouragement grant you to be of the same mind with one another according to Christ Jesus, so that with one accord you may with one voice glorify the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ. Therefore, accept one another, just as Christ also accepted us to the glory of God.

From an article written by Nitin Kumar
The word nama [the first of 2 words in Namaste] is split into two: na and ma. Na signifies negation and ma represents mine. The meaning would then be 'not mine'. The import being that the individual soul belongs entirely to the Supreme soul, which is identified as residing in the individual towards whom the namaste is directed. Indeed there is nothing that the soul can claim as its own. Namaste is thus the necessary rejection of "I" and the associated phenomena of egotism. It is said that 'ma' in nama means death (spiritual), and when this is negated (na-ma), it signifies immortality.

* * * * * * *

Namaste.
When Buddhists or Hindus greet each other with that word and gesture, they are saying:
"The Divinity within me perceives and adores the Divinity within you."
Or
"I salute the God within you."
Or even
"I honor the place in you in which the entire Universe dwells, I honor the place in you which is of Love, of Integrity, of Wisdom and of Peace. When you are in that place in you, and I am in that place in me, we are One.â
When Reverend Cari sends you an email, her signature contains this sentence:
âThere is nothing more sacred than to recognize the face of God and to honor the presence of God in yourself and in others.â

So, Namaste.

Iâd like to take some time to talk about my work on the PNC. Please donât expect any big announcements regarding results, by the way. Weâre coming along as well as we should. And thatâs fine. Thatâs all Iâm going to say. However, if you have any questions, please feel more than welcome to submit them to the PNC via the PNC Box in the Narthex. Weâve provided lined 3x5 cards and golf pencils. Ask and you shall receive.

Instead, Iâd like to talk about the current state of the committee: the members of the PNC. (Please stand up when I say your name.) Ardythe Williams, Uda Bradford, Dick Turmail, Keren Murumba, Chester Lee, Ellen Oler, Mario Adorno and myself.

One thing that I can say about myself that I know can be said of all the PNC is that I know each of these individuals a lot more than I did a year ago. Ardythe, I wouldnât have known who you were talking about if you had mentioned her name to me a year ago. Now, weâre Netflix Buddies. She rated âI Think I Love My Wifeâ only 1 star. Chris Rock in a 1-star movie? I donât think so! Ardythe chairs the PNC with me and is my perfect cohort. If sheâs the paper, Iâm the glue; if Iâm the right brain, sheâs the left. We usually agree and often compliment each otherâs choices and decisions. Lately, sheâs also been picking up my slack and Iâm extremely grateful.

Dick Turmail has a beautiful home (with Dotti) and an antique tool collection. He played Mr. Goodwrench on television and when he leads us in prayer, I hear the Stage Manager character from the play, âOur Town.â (Though he has some spiritual convictions that are on the edge of the theological charts.) Heâs smart, wise and convincing and also very able to see anotherâs point of view. Heâs also very funny and tells a story better than almost anyone I know.

Now, Uda, Iâve known from the choir for some years now. Uda was a Social Worker. Sheâs always been the quiet one (and Iâve used that quality as a reason to lovingly pick on her); now I know she has strong and thoroughly thought-out opinions and will convincingly express them when she sees fit. Sheâs Jamaican by birth, you know, though I never would have guessed from speaking with her.

Keren has many opinions, but keeps them to herself and metes them out only when necessary. She does what she has to do when she has to do it and does it thoroughly. For instance, Keren is our Prayer Meister and will quietly mention it from her place on the couch when we begin or end a meeting without prayer or from a prayerful perspective. She is extremely reflective and speaks her mind with only the words necessary.

Chester Lee is a puzzle to me. Often when I anticipate his opinion he states the opposite of my guess. Heâs a by-the-book guy (though sometimes Iâm not sure which book) and is not easily swayed by opinions and argument. He can be very serious and yet, has an odd, zany side that I find outrageous and entertaining. Chester is very dependable and computer savvy. He recently raised a ton of money for Chinese elderly in a walk from Cadman Plaza to Chinatown.

Ellen Oler has a huge coffee cup. Itâs always on the side table next to her chair in the Thurman Study. Ellen and I will often share opinions, though we part occasionally at interesting times. I personally use Ellenâs different opinion as a way to look at my own opinions and the thought behind them. Ellen will not commit to something that sheâs not entirely sure she will accomplish and complete.

Mario and I usually sit on opposite sides of the church on Sundays. I remember him from when I first joined the choir in 2000 because he was one of the two Amening in the congregation. Mario has a strong spiritual leaning and at-the-ready tears. And a great, white tractor trailer that he drives hundreds of miles every week. Marioâs work as a truck driver must reflect his love for the road because since we started with the PNC, his most often repeated phrase is âroad trip.â

These are just my opinions and observations. We on the PNC are going through a process. And itâs a process that is requiring us to reach deep. To venture into those deep waters that Pastor Paul has spoken about so often.

Before any member of the PNC decided to volunteer to do this work, we were told how long it will take and how difficult it will be. And we accepted this responsibility pretty much with that as the only recommendation. We werenât told what it would be like to listen to and read about pastorsâ spiritual journeys (some of the most beautiful stories Iâve ever heard). To listen to answers to difficult questions, both given from the heart. To meet, usually every week and listen to each other speak passionately about who we want to lead us. To express strongly held opinions and listen to othersâ strongly held opinions as neutrally as possible and learn from the differences. To share a meal every now and then and share details of our lives with each other. And to pray and to pray and to pray.

We pray for our process. We pray for Godâs guidance. We pray for discernment. We pray for stamina. We pray for each other. We pray for our church. We pray for those who are being called to apply for a position at our church.

The PNC Experience is more than Iâm relating to you and itâs not all pleasant. We each have our moments of weakness and doubt and frustration. We disagree. And we keep some thoughts to ourselves. And thatâs probably good. But, weâre doing it together. And weâre doing it with love for each other, love for First Presbyterian Church and love for God.

Itâs not always that easy to greet the God within. For instance, a couple of weeks ago, my partner, Sam and I went to a vegan health spa in Florida. The weather was just fine, thank you, and the food was really good. Anyway, we met and shared stories and journeys with about a half-dozen others (women) over meals, on the beach, during exercise classes, and so on. On about the third day, while we were enjoying one of our after-lunch conversations, laughing and having a great time, some new comers who took their place across the small dining room shushed us. I donât respond well to being shushed. I think shushing has to be much more annoying than whatever is being shushed. Iâve thought this way for many years and have yet to really come up with a good way â a âChristianâ way â of dealing with it, and so I usually just take their hint (as strongly as I resent it) and quiet down. The best that I can do at this point is to not lash out at them or behave in a way that is equally offensive. Iâm not saying that this is the best approach, but at this point in my life, itâs the best I can do to honor the God within the shusher. Itâs not the ultimate answer, but Iâm just a sinner and, as one of my Spiritual Advisorâs told me recently, âthatâs why we go to church at least once a week.â I do my best to carry what I learn and experience in church into the rest of my life outside of church.

And, speaking for myself, my Pastor Nominating Committee church-work is one of the most profoundly spiritual experiences Iâve ever had. God is, surely, in every one of our meetings. Also, in each of us as we go through this process. Because, as we go through this process, to the best of our abilities, we greet God in each other. All that is best and highest in Ardythe greets all that is best and highest in Dick. All that is best and highest in Dick greets all that is best and highest in Uda. All that is best and highest in Uda greets all that is best and highest in Chester. All that is best and highest in Chester greets all that is best and highest in Ellen. All that is best and highest in Ellen greets all that is best and highest in Mario and all that is best and highest in Mario greets all that is best and highest in me.

I believe that God is present in all that we do in church, not just on Sundays. God is present at the Fellowship Hour, in the Narthex as you enter, in the nursery, in the Sunday school, at the 10 oâclock hour, in the Choir, in the Social Action Committee, in the Womenâs and Menâs groups, in preparing for Communion, collecting and counting the Offering, in our Office, in the broom closet, in the garden.

God is in each and every one of us. And I believe the more we enter into a relationship with each other, greeting the Divine within each of us, the more weâll be able to experience the Divine in ourselves.

Thereâs that clichÃ© about judging a book by its cover. Well, in some ways, involving oneself in church only on Sundays is like reading the flyleaf of a book. (Itâs more than that of course, but letâs just keep with this thought for another minute.) When I was asked to become an Elder, I was frightened. I was afraid of seeing the dark underbelly of First Presbyterian Church. I was afraid of being part of those workings of the church in which the âgoodness and lightâ arenât immediate apparent. But I did it anyway. I became an Elder and joined Session for what I believe was a deeper experience of who we are as a church community. And I was right. The more I work with people in the church the more it becomes my home. The more I keep my home clean and flourishing, the better I feel about myself, about church and about my relationship with God. And when problems arise or disagreements occur, we deal with them as best we can with Godâs help and greet all that is best and highest in each other. The more I greet all that is best and highest in others, the more I become aware of all that is best and highest in myself. I find that when Godâs light shines from me, it reflects othersâ light.

And I feel Godâs blessings on our community. As Paul says in his letter to the Romans, âthe God who gives perseverance and encouragement grants us to be of the same mind with one another according to Christ Jesus, so that with one accord we may with one voice glorify the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ.â

By seeing God in others and glorifying that God, no matter what work or play we have before us, the more blessed the work becomes.

What easier place to practice sharing Godâs light, than in church? At Fellowship Hour, in the Narthex as you enter, in the nursery, in Sunday school, at the 10 oâclock hour, in the Choir, in a Social Action Committee meeting, in the Womenâs and Menâs groups, in preparing for Communion, in collecting and counting the Offering, in the Church Office, in the garden.

And what better way to live it than every day, with everyone, everywhere?

Namaste and Amen.