Easter Vigil Meditation

Posted on 9 April 2023 by Bill Paine

At this year’s Easter Vigil service, I and two others were invited to give testimonies/meditations on what Christ’s death and resurrection meant to us. The following is mine, lightly edited for textual (as opposed to verbal) presentation.

When Mother Broderick asked if I would say a few words at the Easter Vigil, I was both thrilled and concerned.  Thrilled because, as many of you already know, I love to hear myself talk.  Concerned because I envisioned pitchforks and burning stakes being set up on the lawn as I made a hash out of Episcopal Church doctrine.

So, buckle up, folks.  Let’s agree that if I keep this relatively short, you’ll give me a decent head start out the door.

We know that God created us—or allowed us to evolve—or nudged us along the evolutionary path—pick your favorite theory.  How ever it happened, here we are.  Why did He do it?  The answer, I believe, is love.  We say, “God is love,” but what is love without someone to love and to be loved by?

We exist because God wanted a relationship.

But love isn’t love unless it is freely given and freely received.  To be in love, to be in a relationship, is a choice, so God gave us free will to accept or reject His love, to love Him or turn away from Him.

But just having that choice wasn’t good enough.  You see, God is outside of human experience, outside of space and time.  He exists in all places and in all times.  We, however, do not.  We experience space and time as a progression, in a sequence of heres and nows where we can neither go back nor see ahead.  Yesterday is gone, tomorrow is a mystery; we can only be in this place at this time.

Have you ever been in a long-distance relationship?  It’s hard.  Love thrives in intimacy, in closeness.  Love inspires us to know our loved ones, sharing all that we are with each other.  So, to get close to us, to really know us, and for us to really know Him, God chose to step into space and time, and in the person of Jesus Christ become one of us, experiencing a human birth, life, and death.

And what a death.  Crucifixion is a horrible, agonizing, slow death.  You are hung up, naked for all the world to see, humiliated in every way possible.  Passersby heckle you.  The only way to breathe is to put all your weight on a nail driven through your ankle bones. Your struggles are laughed at by your executioners, as exposure, thirst, pain, and blood loss slowly sap you of the strength to push up on that nail.

Jesus did not have to do this.  He did it because He loves us, a love of such unimaginable length, breadth, depth and height that only death on the cross could express it.  A sacrificial offering of God, to God.

But that sacrifice, as awesome and terrifying as it is, is only the beginning.  God’s ultimate act of love is Jesus’ resurrection.  In the physical form of the resurrected Christ that the Apostles saw, touched and heard, we are given an example of our own ultimate fate.  We are shown that our relationship with God does indeed extend beyond space and time.  Through God’s love, we too will escape the limits of space and time.  In the words of priest and poet John Donne, “O Death, be not proud… / One short sleep past, we wake eternally / And death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die.”

In my darkest hours, there were times I looked in the mirror and saw a monster.  I felt unworthy of being loved.  I did not love myself.  But then I considered Christ’s death and resurrection.  Jesus loves me unconditionally, so much so that He died on the cross for me.  For me!  If God loves me that much, who am I not to love myself?  What kind of hubris would it be not to love what God loves?  God’s love is so strong, so all-encompassing, that death itself has no power over it.  Like the Israelites who rose from the divided waters of the Red Sea, saved by God’s love from death at the hands of the Egyptians, I, too, will rise, someday.  You, too, will rise, someday.

“I will sing to the Lord, for he has triumphed gloriously…”

Amen.

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I vow Obedience…

Posted on 27 September 2022 by Bill Paine

In my last two posts I’ve reflected on the vows of poverty and chastity, so today I’m tackling the last of the three:  obedience.  On the surface, this one seems straightforward.  Certainly, a monk or a friar or a nun living in a structured community would need to agree to obey the rules of the order and the directions of the community’s leaders (although for Franciscans “structured” is a somewhat malleable concept).  But the vow of obedience goes far beyond the immediate practical sense of following orders.

The text of my vow is as follows:

I vow obedience, promising to listen deeply so as to act with love and compassion towards myself and others:  To listen as God speaks in my heart, to listen as God speaks through the Christian Community, and to listen as God speaks through the Franciscan Community of Compassion.

“Obedience” is a word with a murky etymology.  It derives from medieval Latin oboedientia, and was used in legal texts to mean “sphere of jurisdiction.”  So, for example, if you were under the obedience of the king, that meant you were within the king’s sphere of jurisdiction in legal terms.  Go further back into the word’s Latin roots, however, and things get more speculative.  The generally accepted (but as yet unproven) theory is that “obey” comes from a portmanteau of ob- (toward, in the direction of) and oedire, a variant of audire (to hear, to listen).

To “listen towards” something is thus at the heart of obedience.  I am called to listen to God speaking to me in three ways:  from within my heart, from the Church, and from my community of brothers and sisters.  The order of those three is important—the Franciscan charism places God’s voice in our hearts first, because that is the most intimate and direct form of listening.  The authority of the FCC and even the authority of the Church must give way to God speaking in my heart.

Heady stuff, and prone to error, because discerning God’s voice in our hearts is a challenge at best.  I can only approach that with due regard for humility, with the understanding that God is far above my understanding in most things, perhaps all things.  The other two obediences I “listen towards”—the teachings of the Church and the guidance of my community—are there to help me refine what God is saying in my heart.  None of the three are sufficient alone for true obedience.

May we all listen towards God with open ears and open hearts.

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I vow Chastity…

Posted on 23 September 2022 by Bill Paine

Last post, I reflected on the vow of poverty.  Today, as is evident from the title, I am reflecting on the vow of chastity.  I imagine that many of you hear the word “chastity” and assume it means celibacy. Indeed, those two words are often used interchangeably. But they are not actually synonymous. Celibacy is abstinence from all sexual intercourse, while chastity is abstinence from unlawful sexual intercourse. One can argue, of course, over what constitutes “unlawful” in this context, but you can see the fundamental difference between the words.

The text of my vow is as follows:

I vow chastity; I seek to live in right relationships with all persons.  I seek not to possess or allow myself to be possessed by another.  I seek to respect every human person knowing that no one can own another through greed, fear, manipulation or guilt.  I am to show compassion to all without exception knowing that the Spark of the Divine resides in every living being.

First and second order Franciscans are celibate, almost without exception.  However, my Franciscan Community of Compassion, like many third order Franciscan communities, has both single and married brothers and sisters, and so we are not asked to lead celibate lives.  And, while “abstention from unlawful sexual intercourse” is certainly part of it, our vow of chastity is more fundamentally a call to be in right relationship with ourselves and others as physical beings.  God created us as physical beings, in His image, and thus our bodies are not separate from our souls.  Yes, bodies change over time and, in due course, return to dust; yet we believe in the resurrection of the body and its reunification with the soul.  Chastity, therefore, is about respecting our bodies, and those of others, in the same way we respect ourselves and others in our spiritual lives.

Jesus, through the miracle of incarnation, experienced what it means to have a physical body, to experience growth, pain, pleasure, and all the things that bodies are subject to—even death.  Tradition says that He was unmarried, although a case can be made that He might have been.  The apostles certainly were married, most of them anyway—the dogma of celibate priesthood was a much later innovation.  Paul’s letters notwithstanding (he was a bit of a prude), God never intended our bodies to be emblems of sin, mere skin-bags of evil desires and urges.  No, God intends us to celebrate our physical being as much as our spiritual being, and to live in right relationship with it.  Sex is not inherently sinful—it is the abuse of sex that is sinful, using it for selfish purposes and seeking to own others through greed, fear, manipulation or guilt.  Chaste sex isn’t an oxymoron, nor is it meant to be passionless, pleasureless or joyless.  God is with us when we love, both spiritually and physically.

May God bless your love, of either kind.

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I vow Poverty…

Posted on 19 September 2022 by Bill Paine
Image of St. Francis
Francis of Assisi

On Friday, September 30th, I will profess my vows as a brother of the Franciscan Community of Compassion.  They are based on the traditional vows of poverty, chastity, and obedience, adapted to the charism of the FCC.  In the time between now and then, I am going to reflect on each of these vows, and share with you some of my thoughts.

Before I begin, however, here is a brief recap of what the FCC is:

The FCC is a “third order” Franciscan community, open to men and women, married or single.  St. Francis established three different branches of Franciscan community:  the first order, consisting of full-time friars who generally lived together in friaries (like monasteries, but not “cloistered,” meaning not cut off from the outside world); the second order, consisting of contemplative sisters living in cloistered monasteries (the Poor Clares); and the third order, consisting of men and women who wished to adopt a Franciscan rule of life but who, for whatever reasons, could not give up their “outside” lives to become full-time religious.  Over time, many different sub-variants of all three orders were created, some of which still exist today, so my description here is only a very general one of the differences between them.  Add to this the English church’s break from Rome, the suppression of the monasteries by Henry VIII, and an eventual revival of Anglican religious orders in the 19th century, and you can see that things can get a bit confusing when it comes to the details of what the FCC is and its place in the Episcopal Church.  For those of you familiar with Franciscan orders in the Roman church, we are closest in general outline to the Third Order Regular.  And no, I’m not going to explain that—look it up for yourself!

Today, I’m reflecting of the vow of poverty.  The vow itself reads:

I … vow Poverty, to live in right relationship with all creation.  Everything of the earth and everything created by human hands comes from God.  As we respect what we are given we work at not being owned by what we own.

Unlike first order friars and second order sisters, I will not give up all my possessions.  I will continue to own property and earn money through my regular work as before.  My vow recognizes, however, that everything in this physical world, including what I possess, is part of creation.  It all comes from God.  I am only a steward of what I possess, and God can just as easily take it away as give it to me.  I am called to live a simple and modest life, to avoid profligacy and waste, and to be generous with time, talent and treasure to those less fortunate than me.  To not be owned by what I own is to let go of attachment to things, and instead strengthen attachment to love.  “Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust consume and where thieves break in and steal; but store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust consumes and where thieves do not break in and steal.  For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also” (Matt. 6:19-21).  Love, of God and of each other, is the real treasure:  more precious, and more fragile, than anything physical I can possess.

May God fill our hearts with such treasure.

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Follow Me

Posted on 17 January 2022 by Bill Paine

In the Episcopal Church liturgical calendar, today is the Feast of Antony, Abbot in Egypt, who died in the year 356. Antony lived in a time of tremendous change for the early church. In 312, Emperor Constantine adopted Christianity (there’s some debate on when, if ever, he was personally baptized) and in 313 officially decriminalized Christian worship. In a matter of decades, Christianity became the state religion of the Roman Empire.

For three centuries, Christianity had been an underground religion, barely tolerated in the best of times and actively persecuted most times. To be a Christian meant living on the margins of society, socially outcast and civilly disadvantaged. One had to give up friends, family connections, opportunities for advancement and wealth—and often it meant giving up life itself. Suddenly, all that was reversed. Christianity was now fashionable, the Emperor was its patron, and people were lining up to be baptized.

This troubled many Christians, who feared that it was now “too easy” to be a follower of Christ, that without the suffering and persecution, the giving up of comfort and safety, they were somehow not truly following the way of Jesus. Antony was one of these, and his answer was to give up his wealth and comforts to live as a hermit in the desert, laboring with his own hands to grow food and produce necessities (by desert, I’m assuming this means deserted lands, not arid land incapable of agriculture). He did not entirely remove himself from society, however, and would preach in towns and do works of charity through his labor. In time, he attracted like-minded Christians, with whom he founded one of the very earliest monastic communities.

The readings for this feast day, as one would expect, are on point with Antony’s desire to truly follow Jesus. In particular, the epistle reading 1 Peter 5:5-10 and the gospel reading Mark 10:17-21.

The gospel reading from Mark recounts the story of the young man who tells Jesus he has followed the commandments and asks what else he must to do inherit eternal life. Jesus tells him to sell all his possessions, give the proceeds to the poor, and “follow me.” This, of course, resonates with me as a Franciscan and is often quoted as a call to live simply and give generously to the needy. Poverty is one of the three traditional vows taken by Franciscan friars (and other religious orders), and my third order Franciscan community calls for living as simply as practical while living in the wider world. What’s omitted, however, is the denouement in verse 22: “When he heard this, [the young man] was shocked and went away grieving, for he had many possessions.”

What we possess—our stuff—is tricky. We believe that we own it, but so often it owns us instead. It’s hard to let stuff go—it has a hold on us to the point where so much of what we do revolves around keeping our stuff, getting more stuff, and, most insidiously, measuring our self-worth by the quantity and quality of our stuff vs. our neighbor’s stuff. No matter if that stuff is clothes, cars, houses, money in the bank, or gold bars in a Swiss vault, we obsess over it and fear losing it. We fear that without our stuff, we lose our identity.

Jesus calls us in a different direction. Stuff is just… stuff. Trust God to provide what you need (and yes, God helps those who help themselves—this isn’t a call to be passive), and do not worry about what you don’t need. As Peter writes in today’s epistle:

Humble yourselves therefore under the mighty hand of God, so that he may exalt you in due time. Cast all you anxiety on him, because he cares for you.

It always boils down to love, doesn’t it? I don’t need stuff to be happy; all I need is God’s love, which is unconditional and infinite.

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Bread for the Body, Bread for the Soul

Posted on 7 January 2022 by Bill Paine

Back when I began blogging here, one of my primary foci was spirituality and, especially, reflections on Daily Office readings. I haven’t done that in a while, and I think it’s about time I did so again. My religious life over time has fluctuated closer to my center and away from it; as I continue my formation as a Franciscan, I intentionally bring it close—even into—my center. For those who haven’t followed me in the past, and for those who may have forgotten, I am an Episcopalian. Our Book of Common Prayer contains daily services called the Daily Office, and prescribes scripture readings for those services in a two year cycle (the Sunday services use a three year cycle). For the most part, the readings I reference in these spirituality posts will be from the Daily Office cycle.

One final note before I dive into today’s readings. All that I write here are my own opinions and musings, and do not represent official teachings of the church. Certainly, what I’ve been taught and what I’ve read influence what I write, but I want to make it clear that if I’ve wandered into theological error, it’s entirely on me.

Yesterday was the Feast of the Epiphany, traditionally celebrated as the day that the three wise men (kings in some traditions) arrived at Jesus’ birthplace to recognize and venerate the new-born messiah. So, today we enter into the Epiphany season, which lasts until Ash Wednesday and the beginning of Lent. Today is also one of the few “open” days in the liturgical calendar, in that we aren’t celebrating a saint’s day or other special occasion. The readings for today are Deuteronomy 8:1-3, Colossians 1:1-14, and John 6:30-33, 48-51.

The aphorism “man does not live by bread alone” originates with this Deuteronomy passage. Here, Moses is lecturing his followers at the very end of their arduous forty-year journey, reminding them that all they’ve been through is to test their readiness, their worthiness, to enter the Promised Land—a privilege, by the way, denied to Moses himself. He specifically reminds them of the gift of manna, the bread from heaven that fed the hungry people when no mundane bread could be made. Our spirits need feeding as much as our bodies do, and God’s miracle to feed His people is as much spiritual relief as it is physical relief.

In the passage from John’s gospel, Jesus extends this further. He reminds his listeners that manna didn’t come from Moses, it came from God. Jesus then points to himself as the bread of life (foreshadowing the last supper) sent from God to feed His people’s hungry spirits. It’s a powerful call to partake of the Eucharist, a reminder that the bread of Communion (questions of transubstantiation notwithstanding) is a physical representation of that spiritual feeding, bringing the substance of Jesus into ourselves. Christ is within each of us; it is in every human being, even those we might call enemies—even those who hate us. To eat of the bread of life is to connect to Christ’s physical presence in the world, to realize that the Incarnation isn’t limited to a 30-odd year period 2000 years ago. Jesus is still here. God still walks among us.

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Life Update

Posted on 27 December 2021 by Bill Paine

A lot of time has passed since my last post, and yet it feels like no time at all. This, I suppose is the nature of life since the COVID pandemic began—days blur into weeks blur into months, and so it goes, until I wake up and it’s Blursday the fortyteenth of Marchtober.

But if I look back, a lot has actually gone on. In personal news, the biggest change is that I’ve joined the Franciscan Community of Compassion as a novice. FCC is a nominally ecumenical (but at present all Episcopalian) “third order” Franciscan community; we are something of a hybrid between what in the Roman world are the Third Order Regular and the Secular Franciscan Order. We do not live in community (meaning at a friary or monastery) like first order Franciscans, nor do we live enclosed (i.e. cloistered) like second order Franciscans—we live out in the world, continuing our usual vocations (clerical or otherwise), but we gather together three times a week for prayer (on Zoom), plus assorted retreats and other meetings that may eventually be done in person once COVID settles down. There is a habit, which is worn on special occasions by brothers and sisters who have taken vows.

I’ve been attracted to Franciscanism for some time. There’s something very elemental about it, and it challenges me in a good way. I tend to overthink and over-intellectualize my spirituality, but the Franciscan way pushes all that to one side and gets me down to the core of my faith—to follow Jesus with complete abandon. Oh, there’s still a place for nuanced consideration of theological trivia, but it’s not at the center of my relationship with God. There, at the core, must be space for spontaneity, for joy, and for deep compassion towards my fellow humans, who are all made in God’s image.

Perhaps less momentous, but still very important: A few months ago, I began a new diet program. My weight has been an ongoing challenge since at least age 30, but in the past few years it became horribly out of control. The new diet consists of prepared microwave meals (three meals a day), sent to me in semi-weekly shipments. It’s a modified keto plan, high in protein with minimal carbohydrates, and so far it’s working very well—I’ve lost over 40 lbs to date, with an eventual goal of losing 100 lbs. Wish me luck!

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Restless

Posted on 26 July 2021 by Bill Paine

No, I’m not getting too little sleep, nor am I sleeping poorly. I’m restless in the sense of being the opposite of at rest. I’m fidgety, filled with a vague sense of incompleteness—something (I don’t know what) is out there waiting for me to finish it, maybe even just begin it. There’s some kind of light cosmic tapping on my shoulder going on, but when I turn around to see what’s demanding my attention, there’s nothing there I can see. Am I seeing nothing, or is there nothing to see? It’s an itch I can’t seem to scratch.

A bit of that itch, perhaps, I can reach: I haven’t written much in the last year or so (including this blog), and I know from past experience that writing helps me focus on what’s important in my life; writing helps me separate and clarify the things that block me from moving forward. So here I am, finally getting around to posting new (-ish) content. My readers may find this post a little light on “what have I been doing this past year or so” updates. For that I apologize; in mitigation, I plead respect of others’ privacy—my doings over the past year often intersected with family and friends in ways that shouldn’t be discussed in an open blog.

The most significant new event I can discuss is my decision to finally get serious about dropping weight. I know—I know!—I’ve done this several times before, so “getting serious” in this context is never guaranteed to be a permanent thing. Nevertheless, I’ve signed up through an outfit called Freshology to receive semi-weekly deliveries of ready-to-heat diet meals. This is a bit of an experimental plan for me. Readers might recall that I did a similar plan about six-seven years ago, but that was a more traditional reduced calorie “balanced” diet plan. This one is a modified keto plan; it uses meals that are high in protein and very low on carbohydrates to force the body into a state called “ketosis,” which supposedly speeds up the body’s consumption of it’s own fat. I’ve been on this new diet for about a month now, and it certainly feels like I’m losing weight—alas, my bathroom scale has died and I’ve yet to replace it, so I have no absolute confirmation. My goal is to lose 100 lbs. Wish me luck!

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COVID-19 Tribulations

Posted on 9 April 2020 by Bill Paine

It’s been a long time (almost four years) since I last posted to this blog. I suppose I could come up with a bunch of plausible excuses, but the truth is I just haven’t been motivated to post. Life over the past four years had settled into a rather predictable (dare I say dull?) routine with few bumps and budges worthy of writing about. Blah, blah, blah.

But now, here we are in the midst of the biggest crisis to hit New York since 9/11, and arguably the biggest crisis to hit nation-wide since World War II. COVID-19 is without argument the biggest pandemic crisis we’ve had since the 1918 Spanish Flu epidemic (itself largely forgotten in history due to World War I’s long shadow), so surely this is worthy of blogging about. Surely now I have something to say since I had nothing to say previously.

The short answer is yes, and I will get to that later in this post. But now that I’m sitting here typing away, I realize that I’ve shortchanged myself and those of you who read the blog when I say nothing has happened worth writing about since 2016. No, I’m not talking about the election nor any of the shenanigans emanating out of Washington ever since. Those of you who know my politics might be surprised by my opinions on the matter–those of you who know me well won’t be surprised at all, and as Forrest Gump would say, “That’s all I have to say about that.”

So perhaps the biggest news of the past four years in my life has been my mother moving out of New York to a senior living community in Florida. In 2017, Mom had some health set-backs that made it less-than-ideal to be living by herself in her apartment on 86th Street, so we began to look at some sort of assisted living situation. Prices on such places in NYC and surrounding areas are insane, so we kept putting it on the back burner and hoping we could get by with some periodic aide assistance–which itself was not inexpensive by any measure.

Meanwhile, recall that my Aunt Jan lives at John Knox Village, a “Life Care” community in south Florida. Life Care communities are essentially one-stop-shopping for seniors looking for medical security as they age: starting off with independent living, residents can transition to assisted living or further to full nursing care all within the same campus. In JKV’s case, once you’ve moved in and paid the initial buy-in, there’s no additional cost to transitioning to/from the various levels of care. As is typical with my Aunt Jan, she got involved in JKV’s governance as soon as she moved down there herself, and by late 2017 was completely plugged into everything going on there.

So towards the end of the year we got a phone call from Jan letting us know about a promotion JKV had going on where they offered a substantial discount on the buy-in price of selected apartments. Having visited Jan at JKV in 2015 (celebrating Mom’s 80th birthday!), we were all familiar with the set-up down there and already had a favorable outlook on it. The reduction in price sealed the deal and Mom decided to sign up. We made the physical move in April of 2018.

There’s good and bad to the change. On the very good side, all of us in the family, including Mom, are much happier that she’s in a situation where help is immediately available and where support systems are in place to make her life easier while still enabling her to live independently. Also on the positive side, her sister lives on the same campus and her nephew, with his wife and kids, live nearby and frequently visit; her niece, whom she’s very close to, comes down from Alaska to visit Jan a couple times a year, usually with her own kids. All this means there’s plenty of family around.

The only real down side is that she misses seeing me and Andrew as often, and she misses seeing her best friend, a neighbor in her old building. And, of course, we all miss seeing her as often. Andrew and I fly down about every four months for a week’s visit, and we keep in touch almost daily by phone (and occasionally, when the tech Gods are smiling, by FaceTime!). It’s still not the same, of course.

Our next scheduled visit in in early June, and that’s where I’m going to transition into talking about COVID-19, because at this point nobody can predict if that trip will happen or not. Currently, maximum “social isolation” protocols are in place, so any travel right now simply isn’t in the cards, and likely won’t be until at least the end of April–I suspect the end of May is more realistic, and even that might be an optimistic target.

New York City is really strange right now. The streets are very quiet compared to a “normal” weekday–the feeling is very much like a Sunday morning on a holiday weekend. I only have one client I’m seeing on a regular basis (twice a week) and she has been kind enough to have her driver pick me up and drop me off at home. Every time I step out of the apartment, I’m gearing up with mask and gloves, and hand washing has reached OCD levels or close to it. So far, Andrew and I haven’t had any trouble getting supplies, although the selection of restaurants still making order-out deliveries is shrinking. Ordering groceries for delivery is nearly impossible–not because FreshDirect or Amazon aren’t doing deliveries, but because delivery slots are snapped up as soon as they’re made available. If you’re not banging the “reserve” button as soon as the new slots pop up as if you were on Ticketmaster for the hottest concert ever, well then just forget it. Bottom line: we have to go out and shop in the local grocery stores, which means that much more possible exposure.

I must admit that this whole social isolation thing brings up mixed feelings. In terms of daily lifestyle, not a lot is different–I’m mostly a stay-at-home kind of guy anyway, so not being able to go out a lot doesn’t make a big difference to me. However, there are some things I enjoy doing that I can’t do, the two biggest of which are going to church services and going to Mankind Project meetings. I also miss the short walks to and from subway stations and my clients’ homes–actually, I miss people-watching on the subway (even if I don’t miss rush-hour crowding!). These are small things, but not having them is like having tiny pin-pricks of life disruption that over time is quite wearing.

Perhaps the most wearing of all is this general feeling of unease, of low-level anxiety about what the future holds. Will I get sick, and if I do what will happen? Will any of my clients get sick? Are more restrictions going to be needed? Will it become more difficult to get food and supplies? All these questions and more rattle around in the brain and all, to greater or lesser degrees, are ultimately unanswerable in the here-and-now. Only time will tell. Physiologically, we can handle flight-or-fight–a lion is chasing me, run away!–but we’re not designed to thrive with a constant low-level threat. I find it draining.

Be well, everyone, and I’ll see you on the other side.

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Patch Sprint 2016

Posted on 1 June 2016 by Bill Paine

As has been our custom for many years now, Andrew and I drove up to Willsboro for the Memorial Day weekend, leaving Friday and returning Monday.  While any visit up there is worth the time and effort regardless of any other purpose, our main excuse for this trip was to again participate in the annual Patch Sprint fundraiser for the Adirondack Scholarship Foundation.  The Foundation provides tuition support for children, who might otherwise be unable to afford it, to go to summer camp at Pok-O-MacCready Camps, where Andrew and I spent many enjoyable summers as kids.

Seymour stretches out before the race assisted by trainer Dr. J. Rayburn

Seymour stretches out before the race assisted by trainer Dr. J. Rayburn

The event itself, held on Saturday, is a road and trail foot race that passes over three mountains (Bear, Rattlesnake and Sugarloaf) and ends at the top of a fourth (Pok-O-Moonshine), a little over 12 miles in total distance.  Don’t get any crazy ideas–neither Andrew nor I actually raced!  Besides donating to the event, we acted as informal event volunteers and ground crew for John Rayburn.  Excuse me—I meant to say for Seymour T. Bear who races with the assistance of his trainer, Dr. J. Rayburn.

This year the weather was unusually hot for so early in the season, so many runners dropped out along the way—even more than in 2013 when it was so cold there were snow flurries on top of Poko!  (Weather in the Adirondacks is definitely a movable feast—if you don’t like it, wait a minute.)  Seymour, urged on by Doctor Johnny, finished the race albeit well over his personal best time.

The next trip up north will be for a sadder occasion: to inter Molly’s ashes at Flat Rock.  That takes place in late June, and then we may go up again a couple weeks later for Great Aunt Frisky’s memorial service.

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