Saturday, December 20, 2008
Tuesday, December 9, 2008
Holiday Photos
Here is the first one for the Christmas family pictures. Megan is also using this for her birth announcement to friends and used the caption, "We're tickled pink this Christmas".
Catherine.
Thanks to Rita and Sam for their hospitality on Thanksgiving and for all the work they have done to make the house such a beautiful place. I wish Grandma Ruby had been there to see it. Rita is very talented and it shows.
It was great to see everyone. WE are so fortunate to have such cute great-grandchildren. They really enjoy playing with each other, making life long bonds as their parents did with their cousins.
Marie.
Catherine.
Thanks to Rita and Sam for their hospitality on Thanksgiving and for all the work they have done to make the house such a beautiful place. I wish Grandma Ruby had been there to see it. Rita is very talented and it shows.
It was great to see everyone. WE are so fortunate to have such cute great-grandchildren. They really enjoy playing with each other, making life long bonds as their parents did with their cousins.
Marie.
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
Richmond Marathon
So, as most know, Paul and I (chet) recently ran the Richmond Marathon in Richmond, Va. Although we didn't hit the Boston Marathon qualifying time of 3:10 (7:17 per mile splits), we were on pace for probably the first 17 miles or so. Then the pain sank in. I've never gone through something so physically demanding. With about 4-5 miles to go, Paul shuffled ahead of me and eventually out of sight, finishing in 3:17:03, a 20+ minute PR. I finished in 3:20:26. Knowing Boston was out of reach, it became a mental struggle just to finish, which we did, and that is probably why I'm smiling crossing the finish line.
Rob Byrne, what's the secret to long lasting fresh legs?
Here's some photos that Laura shot during the day.
Happy Thanksgiving.
Rob Byrne, what's the secret to long lasting fresh legs?
Here's some photos that Laura shot during the day.
Happy Thanksgiving.
Monday, November 17, 2008
Shelby
Kelly sent some pictures from what sounds like a very good soccer season for Shelby. Shelby, just a freshman, was the top scorer on both JV and varsity and was 2nd in assists on varsity.
Monday, September 29, 2008
Something from Sis.
At my work, a different hospital chaplain posts every week. This was the posting when Grandma Ruby passed or maybe the week after. I wanted to share it with the family and to honor & thank those who sang. I am proud of all.
The Singers of Life
Rev. Joel Sturtevant, D.Min.
The Dr. William J. Schultz Community Service Chaplain
Norton Healthcare
Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; for thou art with me. Psalm 23:4
Abraham Heschel has said there are three ascending levels of mourning: The first is crying, the second is silence, and the third is song. Perhaps the following incident shows this in the natural world. Anthropologist Loren Eiseley walked into a quiet woodland, sat in the lush grass and dozed off. He continues the story this way…
"When I awoke, dimly aware of some commotion and outcry in the clearing, the light was slanting down through the pines in such a way that the glade was lit like some vast cathedral. I could see the dust motes of wood pollen in the long shaft of light, and there on the extended branch sat an enormous raven with a red and squirming nestling in his beak. The sound that awoke me was the outraged cries of the nestling’s parents, who flew helplessly in circles about the clearing. The sleek black monster was indifferent to them. He gulped, whetted his beak on the dead branch a moment and sat still. Up to that point the little tragedy had followed the usual pattern. But suddenly, out of all that area of woodland, a soft sound of complaint began to rise. Into the glade fluttered small birds of half a dozen varieties drawn by the anguished outcries of the tiny parents.
"None dared to attack the raven. But they cried there in some instinctive common misery. The bereaved and the un-bereaved. The glade filled with their soft rustling and their cries. They fluttered as though to point their wings at the murderer. There was a dim intangible ethic he had violated, that they knew. He was a bird of death. And he, murderer, the black bird at the heart of life, sat on there, glistening in the common light, formidable, unmoving, unperturbed, untouchable.
"Then the sighing died. It was then I saw the judgment.
"It was the judgment of life against death. I will never see it again so forcefully presented. I will never hear it again in notes so tragically prolonged. For in the midst of protest, they forgot the violence. There, in that clearing, the crystal note of a song sparrow lifted hesitantly in the hush. And finally, after painful fluttering, another took the song, and then another, the song passing from one bird to another, doubtfully at first, as though some evil thing were being slowly forgotten. Till suddenly they took heart and sang from many throats joyously together as birds are known to sing. They sang because life is sweet and sunlight beautiful. They sang under the brooding shadow of the raven. In simple they had forgotten the raven, for they were the singers of life, and not of death." –Loren Eiseley, anthropologist
Lord, teach us how to live and work under the shadow of the raven and grant us the resolve to be the singers of life. Amen.
At my work, a different hospital chaplain posts every week. This was the posting when Grandma Ruby passed or maybe the week after. I wanted to share it with the family and to honor & thank those who sang. I am proud of all.
The Singers of Life
Rev. Joel Sturtevant, D.Min.
The Dr. William J. Schultz Community Service Chaplain
Norton Healthcare
Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; for thou art with me. Psalm 23:4
Abraham Heschel has said there are three ascending levels of mourning: The first is crying, the second is silence, and the third is song. Perhaps the following incident shows this in the natural world. Anthropologist Loren Eiseley walked into a quiet woodland, sat in the lush grass and dozed off. He continues the story this way…
"When I awoke, dimly aware of some commotion and outcry in the clearing, the light was slanting down through the pines in such a way that the glade was lit like some vast cathedral. I could see the dust motes of wood pollen in the long shaft of light, and there on the extended branch sat an enormous raven with a red and squirming nestling in his beak. The sound that awoke me was the outraged cries of the nestling’s parents, who flew helplessly in circles about the clearing. The sleek black monster was indifferent to them. He gulped, whetted his beak on the dead branch a moment and sat still. Up to that point the little tragedy had followed the usual pattern. But suddenly, out of all that area of woodland, a soft sound of complaint began to rise. Into the glade fluttered small birds of half a dozen varieties drawn by the anguished outcries of the tiny parents.
"None dared to attack the raven. But they cried there in some instinctive common misery. The bereaved and the un-bereaved. The glade filled with their soft rustling and their cries. They fluttered as though to point their wings at the murderer. There was a dim intangible ethic he had violated, that they knew. He was a bird of death. And he, murderer, the black bird at the heart of life, sat on there, glistening in the common light, formidable, unmoving, unperturbed, untouchable.
"Then the sighing died. It was then I saw the judgment.
"It was the judgment of life against death. I will never see it again so forcefully presented. I will never hear it again in notes so tragically prolonged. For in the midst of protest, they forgot the violence. There, in that clearing, the crystal note of a song sparrow lifted hesitantly in the hush. And finally, after painful fluttering, another took the song, and then another, the song passing from one bird to another, doubtfully at first, as though some evil thing were being slowly forgotten. Till suddenly they took heart and sang from many throats joyously together as birds are known to sing. They sang because life is sweet and sunlight beautiful. They sang under the brooding shadow of the raven. In simple they had forgotten the raven, for they were the singers of life, and not of death." –Loren Eiseley, anthropologist
Lord, teach us how to live and work under the shadow of the raven and grant us the resolve to be the singers of life. Amen.
Thursday, September 25, 2008
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
A New Family Member
Just wanted to share our newest little bundle of joy.
INTRODUCING: MIA CLAIRE BARNES
Born: 9/23/08
Weight: 6 lb. 8 oz.
She has the same black hair as Sara-Kate. Maybe not quite as long as Sara-Kate's was. Mommy is doing great this time. Baby is in nic-u for a bit while they get some of the fluid off her lungs.
Have a great day. Catherine
Friday, September 19, 2008
Grandmother's Chair
by author unknown
Grandmother sits in her easy chair
Softly humming some old-time air;
And as she sings, her needles keep pace
With the smiles that flit o'er her wrinkled face;
While the fire-light flickers, and fades away,
And comes again like the breaking day.
From morning till evening she knits and sings,
While ever the pendulum tireless swings
The moments around, with its tick and stroke,
Nor hastes for the festal, nor lags for the yoke.
And grandmother never repines at her fate
Of being the last at the "Crystal Gate."
Husband, and daughters, and sons all there,
Wearing the "crown and the garments fair"
Singing the songs that will never tire,
And swelling the chorus of heaven's choir;
But patiently, hopefully, bides the time
That shall bring her at last to a fairer clime.
Grandmother's chair will be vacant soon,
For the rays of life slant far past noon;
But yonder in heaven she'll sing again,
Joining the evermore glad refrain,
Wearing the "crown" and the "garments fair,"
While we mournfully stand by her vacant chair.
From Marie
Many of you know that Ruby and some of her sisters were school teachers. Her father was also a school teacher. I believe these examinations are for his teaching certificate. Could you pass these?
by author unknown
Grandmother sits in her easy chair
Softly humming some old-time air;
And as she sings, her needles keep pace
With the smiles that flit o'er her wrinkled face;
While the fire-light flickers, and fades away,
And comes again like the breaking day.
From morning till evening she knits and sings,
While ever the pendulum tireless swings
The moments around, with its tick and stroke,
Nor hastes for the festal, nor lags for the yoke.
And grandmother never repines at her fate
Of being the last at the "Crystal Gate."
Husband, and daughters, and sons all there,
Wearing the "crown and the garments fair"
Singing the songs that will never tire,
And swelling the chorus of heaven's choir;
But patiently, hopefully, bides the time
That shall bring her at last to a fairer clime.
Grandmother's chair will be vacant soon,
For the rays of life slant far past noon;
But yonder in heaven she'll sing again,
Joining the evermore glad refrain,
Wearing the "crown" and the "garments fair,"
While we mournfully stand by her vacant chair.
From Marie
Many of you know that Ruby and some of her sisters were school teachers. Her father was also a school teacher. I believe these examinations are for his teaching certificate. Could you pass these?
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
Ruby
Grandma Ruby's death sparked a lot of feelings, thoughts and emotions that I hadn't felt in a while. Beyond the obvious sadness of losing her, I was also anticipating the time that I would be able to spend with relatives, quality time although short lived, with family members whom I just don't get to see enough of. That was special and I wish there was more of it but in today's world, we cherish what we get sometimes.
This is the first post in what I hope will become a new medium for connectedness between members of the White family. I'm posting images made last month of when Grandma Ruby left us.
WhereWeUsedToPlay
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