I have a few things to write about today, when all of Pittsburgh and the Steeler nation diaspora is glued to the Steelers-Chargers AFC playoff game. Even now, at Heinz Field, a man is walking along a yard-line spraying snow off it.
I'll start with the hard issue first.
The day after Christmas 2008, my husband and I went to the funeral service for a coworker who had died, at age 54, of lung cancer. He was a kind and gentle man, a runner and nonsmoker and a thorough and compassionate reporter.
The service was at 8 p.m., and Carl and I were to get up the next morning and drive home for an abbreviated Christmas with both of our families. Three former coworkers spoke first after the pastor led a prayer. They were eloquent, tearful and funny. A friend from his church spoke next, briefly and kindly.
Then the pastor got up and began with these words: "I'm a pastor, so forgive me, but I've got an audience so I've got to speak."
He proceeded to talk about my friend's acceptance, some years past, of Jesus Christ as his personal savior, then began wandering all over the proselytizing landscape. He spoke for a half-hour and it was barely about my friend. I could not stand it. My right foot started tapping. My husband and I rolled our eyes at each other. I got the giggles. The woman next to me whispered "This is so inappropriate."
The only good thing is that we were sitting in the back. I felt like Mary Richards at the funeral for Chuckles the Clown, although that is an entirely inadequate comparison.
After the pastor was done trying to win new converts, he led an eloquence-challenged prayer and the service was mercifully over.
Most friends and coworkers there agreed the pastor had gone too far. But his son's father-in-law came up to me and asked how I knew our friend. I explained my relation to him and the others who had stood and spoken for him. What a gentleman he was, but, and I have no idea where he was sitting or if he witnessed my stifled impatience, he merely asked and then thanked me for attending.
Here's the deal. I don't go to church. Organized religion is not for me. I was baptized as a Catholic and still have an affection for the Latin Mass rituals of my childhood. I will duck into church Downtown to pray for my Dad on his birthday, but as I've gotten older, my attitude has been to be thankful for every good day and to try to be kind and generous as much as possible. Just don't preach to me.
So my lesson learned -- and I knew this already -- is to remember that not every situation is about me and to have respect for the beliefs and wishes of others. A week or so after the funeral, I spoke with a coworker who had sung at the funeral. He, too, felt the pastor had gone to far. But he also said that he had no doubt that our friend had planned everything (in fact, he contributed to his own obituary). And that was what I had failed to realize. My friend, I'm sorry.
***
Already the days are getting longer, though still not to the point at which I can walk the dogs in daylight morning or evening. But going out at dusk or before dawn means the owls that live in the park by my home are hooting. I love hearing them call back and forth to each other.
Friday morning, the girls and went out and were serenaded by the familiar "Hoo-hoo-hoo... hoo hoo" being called back and forth. The really cool thing is that last spring, I actually saw a baby owl in the park. That's him/her at the top of the page. To hear that call in the quiet of the evening is quite something.
A few years ago, on Thanksgiving day, I was taking the girls for a long walk before we went over to my brother-in-law's home for dinner. We were actually outside of the park, but I happened to look left into it and saw a huge shape on a tree trunk. It had a crested head, and I saw a flash of red. Before I could get too close, huge wings opened and it flapped off. When I got home, I checked my bird book and realized I had seen a pileated woodpecker. My sister Elizabeth remembers hearing them frequently when she would walk her dog in D.C.'s Rock Creek park. They don't so much peck as they do pound trees. And their call is just as rackety.
We stopped on our way back home tonight so I could listen to the owls. I think the dogs were listening to other things, but we all enjoyed the moment.
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