So Long, Farewell Ted.

Bob Dylan, the self-proclaimed prophet of the 1960s, said it this way: “For the times, they are a changing.’” From the moment his words were first preserved on a vinyl record album, they’ve proven true. Now, as Ashland Times-Gazette editor Ted Daniels retires, Ashland can sing, “The Times, they are a-changin’” once again.

More than eight years ago, I raised a question with a T-G marketing staff member, “Does the T-G ever run guest columns?” I’d submitted some columns to the Canton Repository in 2001, chronicling our week of service in New York City after the Twin Towers were attacked, and I wondered if I might contribute to the pages of our local newspaper in some way. Jason walked me across the newsroom to the office of the editor, where I repeated my question. Ted Daniels replied: “What do you have in mind?”

I hadn’t thought that far ahead, but somehow I sputtered out how much I liked our new community, having immigrated to Ashland about six months earlier.  Maybe I could write about that, and about the Salvation Army Kroc Center development. Maybe a submission once a month or so, as the spirit moved me or the muse showed up. Could that work?

“Get me a couple of samples and I’ll see what we can do,” answered Ted. Those early columns described life in a small Ohio city, quite a contrast to our previous inner city assignments in Philadelphia and Cleveland. Even Canton had a more metropolitan flavor than did Ashland, with its Amish buggies, John Deere tractor traffic jams, and numbered roads (I still get confused with the numbered roads).

As I kept writing, I expanded my range of subjects to address social issues (child abuse, hunger, homelessness, and addictions), current events, holidays, and the changes taking place in the life of the Shade family. I had fun detailing my search for the perfect dress for my son’s wedding (navy blue, of course) and often told of the on-going joys of grandparenting the lovely Madelyn Simone.

Not once over the past eight years did Ted turn down a column or suggest a different path. Nor did he warn me of the treacherous road I was taking when I wrote a tongue-in-cheek piece on gun control. In fact, he got a kick out of watching me squirm with that one, recounting a similar experience of his own. He forgot to tell me that “to disagree publicly was considered a sign of incivility,” as he noted in last week’s T-G interview.

I’m currently compiling a third book of columns to join “Only in Ashland’ and “Family Connections,” already in print. My working subtitle for that collection is, “Reflections of an Opinionated Lady.” That’s what Ted Daniels has allowed and encouraged me to be, as I’ve (at least on my good days) expressed my opinions with passion and hopefully with grace. Thanks, Ted, for the chance you took on this fledgling columnist. I’m especially glad for the discipline of my current Saturday morning column rather than the “when the mood strikes me” submissions of those early years.

Ted, I’ve watched from a distance as you’ve mentored young journalists, and I’m grateful for the ways you and Kathy have invested in their lives. I’ve also felt your pain as you’ve attempted to navigate the mine-laden fields of contemporary journalism, being pulled along by the treacherous current of change but longing for the old days when the newsroom was ruled by the resident curmudgeon editor.

Gregory Favre reminisced about two of his editors, and his words speak to your work as well: “They shared an affection for the community in which they lived . . . one that allowed you to point out the good and the bad; they continued a culture built on the belief that newspapers share a sacred trust with their readers and the idea that good journalism is good business.” Thank you, Ted, for upholding that sacred trust and preserving our institutional memory as a community through these ‘changin’ times.’ A traditional Irish blessing echoes my wishes for your retirement: “May you have warm words on a cold evening and a full moon on a dark night.”

It's been a good choice

I ran into a friend I hadn’t seen since our retirement party, and she asked me, “Are you glad you stayed in Ashland?” After nearly twenty months of living in our own home in our choice of town, rather than where the Salvation Army assigned us, it was a fair question. And the answer is . . . Yes!

“How do I love thee?” asked poet Elizabeth Barrett Browning. “Let me count the ways.” First, unlike those who run off to Florida the day their Golden Buckeye card arrives in the mail, I happen to like snow. Growing up in Buffalo, you get used to it, I suppose. Sledding, snowball fights, snow people, snow angels, and fluffy snowflakes shimmering in the streetlights – much more interesting than beaches and palm trees.

Here’s another reason. After years of packing my own groceries and schlepping them to the car through the snow and slush (a necessary evil of the East coast), I’m glad someone else schleps them to my car and loads them in. Thanks, White Barn, Hawkins and Buehlers, for your extra mile service. To date, I haven’t driven away from Buehlers without my groceries.

I especially appreciate living in a community where the people at the BMV are friendly. I’ve experienced a horror story or two over the years, but on my recent trip to renew my license, the staff was courteous and kind – I like that! They didn’t even make me change the weight on my license. Made my day!

I’m excited for the future of Ashland, as the new schools are built and the community has an accessible, contemporary performance space at the new auditorium. I’m glad for the kids of Ashland, and can’t wait to see the middle –schoolers on their first day in their new digs.

Even though I haven’t been too faithful in my attendance at the study circles sponsored by the Center for Civic Life, I love the community conversations happening these days, especially around the subjects of the arts and our downtown. A community that talks together will grow together into the future. And I’m grateful, too, for the affirmations and actions of faith that permeate our community. We don’t always talk about those things, but they are the underpinnings that strengthen who we are and inform what we do.

And then there’s the university and the seminary, with the richness they bring to our city in so many ways. Sports, art, music, their libraries, entertainment, and thoughtful presentations – there’s a warm welcome at AU and ATS.

Here’s another reason I’m glad we stayed. I’m not living in a retirement community with a bunch of blue-haired old women and paunchy men. Instead, I’m in a real, live, multi-generational neighborhood. I can watch the children play (in the snow), chat with the kids on their way home from school, and catch up with friends at the supermarket (while someone else schleps my groceries).

While I sometimes complain that Ashland lacks the chain restaurants that other locations have, I really like our homegrown eateries, especially the Lynway, the Dairy Bar, and Kelly’s. I’ve got favorites at each, especially the pie. It may not be cutting edge gourmet, but who really likes artichokes and hummus?

Speaking of food, I love that our Dairy Queen stays open all year. Not every town is so lucky. After driving home from Wooster in the snowstorm the other night, I treated myself to a Blizzard, and it was worth every calorie. And, in the midst of that snowstorm, the A&W opened. Woohoo! The Coney dogs are calling my name for sure.

There’s more, but I’ll save some for a day when I’m desperate for a column idea. What I discovered is that my early impressions of Ashland were spot-on, as the Olympic skating commentators have been keen to say. It’s been almost eight years now, and I’m still a smitten immigrant, glad to call Ashland home. And the best part? It’s like Lauren Myracle says: “I live in my own little world. But it’s OK, they know me here.” Now if I could just get the lovely Madelyn Simone and her parents to move to Ashland . . .

Unforced Rhythms of Grace

“So how goes retired life?”  This question’s been raised with curiosity and perhaps a touch of envy as we meet people around town these days.  Yes, it’s been 3 weeks since we finished our work after 6 years in the development and leadership of the Kroc Center in Ashland, and after 34 years, 16 days of active Salvation Army service.  Where have the days gone?

They began, ironically, with travel to a funeral for a friend in Lancaster, PA, where I pulled on the beloved off-black pantyhose (along with my Salvation Army uniform) so that I could “dress appropriately to pay my respects.”  When I wrote those words, I hadn’t expected to do that on my first official day of retirement, but it was the right thing to do.  Hildred and Carl were early mentors on our ministry journey, and we were glad to have the flexibility in schedule to honor her and say good-bye.  I had another funeral this week , but I’m hopeful that won’t be a regular occurrence.

We had the privilege of welcoming Captains Brett and Jessica DeMichael to the Kroc Center and symbolically transferred the mantle of leadership to their shoulders.  Our shawl of prayer, created by the center’s knitting circle, was a cross between the mantle passed from Elijah to Elisha and Joseph’s technicolor dreamcoat.  As much as I was saddened at being “farewelled” from the leadership of the Kroc Center, I was rather glad that the mantle was on their shoulders when RJ’s Spraypark broke down on the hottest weekend of the year – “not my problem” anymore.       

What else?  We’ve had houseguests for a week, two charming young members of the Creative Arts Service Team that brought the joy of Narnia to Ashland, and we hosted a cookout for a couple of dozen people in conjunction with their visit.  We’ve traveled to Splash Lagoon to celebrate my sister’s 50^th by hurling down water slides – if she suggests bungee jumping for her 60^th birthday, count me out.  Then there’ve been job interviews, writing projects, car shopping, and of course, time spent with the lovely Madelyn Simone, now a delightful and determined two-year-old dynamo.

At the baby shower for Madelyn, each guest brought a favorite children’s book, and I chose “The Napping House,” written by Audrey Wood and charmingly illustrated by her husband Don.  I’d loved “King Bidgood’s in the Bathtub” for years, and so anticipated reading another of the Wood’s creations with our new granddaughter.  Little did I know that a line in the book would describe these first days of (semi) retirement: “And on that bed there is a granny, a snoring granny on a cozy bed in a napping house, where everyone is sleeping.” 

Yes, Larry and I have been taking naps.  In fact, I think there were a couple of days with two naps.  These are words of absolute shame for the workaholic woman that I’ve been for so long.  A non-Sunday-afternoon nap?  How could it be? 

Here’s what I’ve discovered – it’s about recovering a natural rhythm to the day, sleeping in the morning until my body wakes up, and sleeping in the day when my body feels weary.  As I take on new ministry and writing projects, I won’t have the luxury of sleeping during the day forever, but during this month of retirement/vacation, I’m snuggling into that cozy bed, knowing that before long Madelyn and I may be joined by a dozing dog, a snoozing cat, a slumbering mouse and a wakeful flea who bites the mouse – well, you can figure out the rest – or read the book!

Writing in “The Message,” Eugene Peterson shares words of Jesus from Matthew 11: “I'll show you how to take a real rest . . . Learn the unforced rhythms of grace."  Whether it’s physical rest, the peace of solitude, or a beach walk accompanied by the pulse of the ocean, I’m grateful for the pace of these days.  But I remember Lucy Ricardo’s confident “this is easy” in the chocolate factory assembly line, so when the supervisor yells, “speed it up a little,” I want the unforced rhythms of grace to continue to be the metronome that measures my days.             

At The Bend in the Road

Back in the day, we vacationed with friends in Maine and decided to pick up lobsters for dinner.  John claimed he knew just where to get them, at a roadside stand with a great price for the crustaceans just around the bend in the road.  As stories go, there were quite a few bends in the road before they got to The Bend in The Road, and most of the water had boiled out of the lobster pot by the time they returned with the main course and soupy ice cream.

I’m remembering that story in these days of transition, as Larry and I enter a time of retirement from active Salvation Army leadership.  I wasn’t sure if the days of preparation for the transition would ever end, if we’d ever make it to The Bend in the Road called retirement.  But after 34 years and 16 days of ministry as a Salvation Army officer (somebody was counting), we’re at The Bend in The Road that concludes our active service.   [Note to loyal fans – read about it in At the Bend in the Road: Reflections of a Smitten Corps Officer].

It’s been an absolutely amazing journey.  Who would have known that the young girl with the bouncing pigtails who could barely reach the pedals on the piano would get her first job playing the piano in a small Salvation Army chapel?  Who would have known that she would fall in love with Jesus, fall in love with Long Point Camp, and then fall in love with a young man who sensed a calling to Salvation Army officership?  Who would have known that Frederick Buechner’s words would speak so clearly to the young woman’s heart: “The place God calls you to is the place where your deep gladness and the world’s deep hunger meet?”

Who would have known that this amazing journey would wind its way through the Garden State of New Jersey, stop for a few years in the city of Rocky, brotherly love and Philly cheesesteaks, make an unexpected  detour to the inner city of Cleveland, and put down roots in Canton, Ohio?  Who would have known that the billions of hamburgers flipped beneath golden arches would fund Salvation Army Kroc Centers across the country, and that Larry and I would be midwives for this wonder-filled place of community right here in Ashland, Ohio?   I’ll let you in on the secret:  even when we were clueless, God knew what the plan was, and around each bend in the road opportunities for ministry blossomed before us, planted by those who had been faithful in the preparation of the soil.

And now?  At The Bend in The Road, words of wisdom spoken by a spiritual companion resound.  “We often talk about the life of faith in terms of journey, but sometimes we simply have to stop where we are and dig a well.”  Albert Orsborn, an international leader of the Salvation Army in the 1950’s, recognized the need:  “The well is deep and I require a draught of the water of life.”  After all the years of Christmas kettles, sermons, government contracts, construction meetings, and even sprayparks, it’s time to put down roots, lay claim to a home and reach down deep.

So what’s next?  Salvation Army Captains Brett and Jessica DeMichael are Ashland’s newest immigrants, and will keep the spraypark buckets tumbling and the Salvation Army flags flying.  We’ve passed on the mantle of leadership, the keys to the Kroc Center, and my “dump-the-bucket” list so they will get the call when the alarm goes off at 2 a.m.  We’re taking time to sort the accumulation of stuff from 34 years of ministry, as well as to dream of the opportunities waiting around the next corner.   I’m looking forward to savoring a Coney at the A & W, walking the labyrinth on the hill at the Kroc Center, and writing to my heart’s content whenever the muse taps my shoulder.  Watch the Times-Gazette for Gracednotes every Saturday, as a writer’s eye, a pastor’s heart and a grandmother’s joy bring you a unique perspective on life in Ashland, Ohio, a place for roots and new wells.