Beauty Tips for Ministers

PB In Nicaragua

Hello, Poodles!!

I will be in Nicaragua for the next three weeks or so, learning Spanish and resting. Let me tell you my favorite joke about resting:

So, a woman opens her refrigerator to find a mouse brazenly lounging on her butter dish. She is appalled and says to the mouse, “What are you doing in my refrigerator!!?”
The mouse says to her, “Is this a Westinghouse?”
And the woman replies, “Why yes, it is.”
And the mouse says, “Well, I’m westing!”

My grandfather was the best teller of that joke, may he rest in peace.

Get some good questions ready for me while I’m away, because a minister on sabbatical does not have these things so much on her mind!

I will tell you that I recently led a workshop for 35 people on Nurturing a Ministry of Activism wearing a red and grey floral print dress, a denim jacket, a cowboy hat and the biggest, baddest Harley Davidson boots you could ever hope to find for $30 on 6th Avenue (old Route 66) in Amarillo, Texas. Those boots have maybe a three inch wedge and fit tight at the ankles. They weigh about 100 lbs. each and I just felt like “warin’ em.” I explained the hat by saying I was having a bad hair day, and everyone gave permission.

I’m just so tired, y’all. Dressing a bit wild is a great way to give yourself a bit of energy. Go ahead. Break on out.

Kiss of peace to you all this midwinter. Take good care and we’ll talk soon.
xoxox *MWAH!* PB

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Airborne Really Does Work

Jennifer Juniper and I just ran a highly unscientific test on Airborne, the fizzy tablets that you drop into some water and drink when you feel an incipient cold stuffing up your nose and throat.

I awoke on Thursday morning with a very swollen throat. I sucked on a few Zicam lozenges (don’t use them on an empty stomach! Whoa, the nausea!) and went about my day. On Friday I felt much the same and brought out the Airborne. I took three tablets yesterday and one this morning — and I feel no throat or nose swollenness at all. I should add that I slept a lot yesterday, too, which always helps.

This isn’t the first time that I would attribute a miracle healing to Airborne. Juniper, tell the people what happened for you.

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Revlon Colorstay Mineral Lipglaze*

Conversation between guys in marketing department of major ad agency:

Dude A: So, this product has a really sexy name.* Cool, I dig that. It sounds like a donut. But what’s its big selling point?

Dude B: It’s supposed to last a long time.

Dude A: I don’t wear lip gloss or whatever. How long is a long time?

Dude B: The chick in research said it lasted like nine minutes or something.

Dude A: Okay, so we say it lasts for nine HOURS. Are we good on that?

Dude C (who has been pretty much asleep throughout the conversation):
I’m good with it. Let’s roll that over to Creative.

PeaceBang’s verdict:

SAVE YER MONEY!!! This goo doesn’t last for nine hours or even for ONE hour, but the nine bucks you spent on it will scald your conscience for the rest of your life.

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That Call At 3 AM

Aloha, chickadees.

I’m still here in Texas, having a grand time with some truly grand people. Photo uploads are a bit challenging since I don’t have wireless access from where I’m staying for my tiny little Acer computer (which is where I am downloading and storing my photos), but I do hope to share with you some great clergy photos soon from a spectacular MLK event I attended tonight. Piskie Priest Lady was wearing a HUGE cocktail ring and I was thrilled!! When I asked if I could take her photo because I wanted to feature her bling-and-vestments look on here she blushed and laughed and said, “I’ve got to be myself.” That’s right, ma’am, you do, and yourself looks beautiful and elegant as hell.

Until we get those photos up here, let me say that some darling person wrote in a few weeks ago to ask what we wear when we get that 3AM call and need to zoom out of the house and to the hospital, the State Police barracks, the private home, or wherever it is we’re being called to minister to those in crisis.

First let me just say that if it’s 3 AM, it had BETTER be a crisis. If it’s not, you be firm about your boundaries, make an appointment for the morning and get back to sleep, pronto. It’s up to you to decide what constitutes a middle-of-the-night crisis. I’ve known folks to say, “What!? A DOG died and they’re calling me in tears? PUH-leeze!” My feeling is that I might not get out at that hour over a dead dog, but you bet I’d stay on the phone for awhile and help that person figure out what to do next. And if my next day was a light one, I might just climb out of bed and help them dig a grave. Who knows? This is just to say that we all have our boundaries, but we need to be clear, consistent and fair about them. Fair to our people, fair to ourselves, and fair to those who need us to be able to function the next day. Don’t be a martyr, now. I’ve known some Martyr Ministers, and they’re not a life-giving people.

Regarding the question of what to wear at this kind of middle of the night crisis, let’s just say: Keep it neat, keep it simple and keep it comfortable. First things first: go wash your face quick and brush your teeth. Apply some lip balm (guys) or lipstick (gals) if you look like hell on a cracker. I would definitely throw some cream blush on the apples of my cheeks. It doesn’t take but a second to apply and my feeling is that if I show up looking like a corpse, I just don’t project “Awake! Competent! Here For You!” What I project is “Half-Asleep! Dead On My Feet! Can’t Do Much For Ya!”

Go get dressed. When called out in the wee hours, I have usually worn a black sweater with a white collared blouse under it, black pants, a large silver cross, a pair of very small silver hoop earrings and a warm scarf around my neck. Nice boots. I feel that this outfit can carry me through several kinds of settings: if I’m doing a death notification for the State Police, I don’t wear the scarf and I pull out the cross around my neck so that it’s visible. If I’m going to be at the kitchen table with someone waiting for the undertaker to show up, the scarf is cozy and the boots help me feel grounded. I can go to the morgue in this outfit and feel sufficiently neat and respectful to accompany someone who has to identify a body. If it’s winter I top everything with a black coat and black or dark hat and gloves. This isn’t the time to sport your cute new leopard-print winter scarf. Black works. Black, blue or brown. Keep it dark: not to be depressing, but to be neat and respectful. Bright colors can actually be jarring to those in crisis.

If it’s the summer time, I wear a pair of black trousers (light, but still structured and neat) and a dark cotton blouse. I have a short-sleeved black cotton jacket with a seam at the waist that I keep ironed and tucked away so I don’t need to scramble for the iron if I need it. I preserve it just for clergy emergencies and wear it with a dark camisole underneath. I suggest that you prepare an emergency top for yourself as well (if you’re not a clericals-wearer).

In case you were wondering, it does not show that you are more professionally available or pastorally loving if you show up in a half pajamas-half street clothes combo. What that communicates, in fact, is that you’re just as much a scattered mess as the person in crisis. Get your act together before you head out the door. Take slow, deep breaths. Check for your watch, phone, breath mints, Bible and a hankie, plus whatever other elements you may need to perform a necessary ritual (I keep a small vial of water for anointings at the time of death in a basket by my door). Leave a coherent, legible note for your family. Pop a Luna bar or a Power Bar into your bag — you may be gone for awhile. Make sure you have some cash in your wallet (ALWAYS keep some cash in the house for just this sort of thing — and don’t let anyone else in the family know where your small stash is).

Dear people, please promise me that you will never get behind the wheel of the car until you feel fully awake, clear-headed and able to responsibly operate a motor vehicle. Do not speed no matter WHAT.

Be prepared, sweeties, and may God preserve us all from many of these calls.

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Greetings from the Panhandle

Hello mon darlinks,

PeaceBang is on SABBATICAL, y’all, and is in Amarillo, Texas where it is so dry that she actually used Cetaphil (a gooey, petroleum based hand ointment) on the ends of her hair to keep them from flying away in sheer frizz. Works like a charm.

It’s my 43rd birthday today and I’m going to Palo Dura Canyon with one of the wonderful new UU friends I’ve made here (and my host for the past week). I will be wearing a cowboy hat that I bought yesterday even though girls don’t wear them here. I’ll get a lot of second glances but that’s okay — I can plead two things (1) I’m an Easterner who just doesn’t get it and (2) I just love the darned thing and don’t care what anyone thinks.

Yesterday I learned how to load and shoot a pistol and a semi-automatic. Why? It’s a life skill I have always wanted to have, and I figured that Texas was just the place to gain it. I’m a real good shot, as it turns out. Hit the bullseye every time. Later this week I intend to learn how to two-step.

“Life is either a daring adventure or it is nothing.” I think Helen Keller said that.

Go get you some. Kiss, kiss.

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Comment of the Day

Darlings, this seems so important that I highlighted it for you. Hear ye, hear ye what Dawn has to say:

Dawn+

Several years ago, I found myself in front of the dairy case in my pjs and a PolarFleece oversized top top that I convinced myself might render the 40DDD girls apocryphal. As PB describes, I was sick.
Of course I ran into a parishioner.
Of course it was the Ms. PrissPants.
And, by Divine Grace, she taught me. “I have heard you in the pulpit, favoring interdependence and community. Did you imagine that none of us care enough about you to go to grocery store for you when you are sick?”
It took another year or two to figure out how to convince my helpers that I was so highly contagious that–for their own good–they should leave stuff on the front step, rather than coming inside and seeing the horrific state of my housekeeping.

From Sins of the Pajamas, 2009/01/08 at 2:24 AM

Amen to Parishioner PrissPants. She’s absolutely right. Some years ago, PeaceBang lost a beloved uncle and had a whale of a job preparing his memorial service to be held at West Point. She drove the five hours to do the sad business on a Thursday, drove home Friday afternoon, changed clothes and attended a denominational function that evening. She spent Saturday preparing the Sunday morning service for her church and by Sunday afternoon was so sad and exhausted that even ordering a pizza was too much for her to handle. She should have thought ahead and called someone on the Caring Committee to ask for some help that weekend. Why a member of the Caring Committee and not a non-church friend? Because, my doves, does not the church family provide Casseroles At Times Of Death in the Family? Is this not an ancient and sacred function of the parish congregation? It is, and the minister should not be so self-sufficient that she never accepts the ministry of the church in just this way.

Chicken soup in a tupperware container is Love, Rev. Dawn. I know that you know that. But for heaven’s sake, child, open the door and invite the provider of that love into your home for a moment. You’re not fooling a soul by claiming extreme contagion — you have a cold, not the ebola virus. So you’re a terrible housekeeper. More evidence of your humanity. And who keeps a tidy house when they’re feeling lousy, anyway?
(PeaceBang does, actually, only because when she feels she’s coming down with something she cleans, does laundry and tidies the house, knowing that being sick in a cluttered home makes her feel horrible. But that’s just me.)

Even Jesus accepted the caring ministries of his community.

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