Friday Morning Music: What the World Needs Now (Is Love Sweet Love)

The best message I can think of for Christmas:  Dionne Warwick singing 'What the World Needs Now'.

I've experienced some dreadful behavior this week in Bethesda. Monday morning on my way to work, I encountered one of the most hostile drivers ever, a woman looking for street parking. (She got out of her car to confront me, but I smiled and drove away before she could get too close to me.) On Tuesday, it was an especially angry and impatient line of customers at the Post Office on Wisconsin Avenue. Wednesday, money was stolen from my purse by a stranger who walked into our office. And yesterday morning as I crossed Montgomery Avenue in front of my office building, a left turning Prius running a red light nearly plowed right into me. (See previous post, Driven to Tears.)

Come on, folks. There's a better way.

Try meditating. I've been doing this for years:  in the car, sitting on Metro, waiting to cross a busy intersection, standing in line (at the grocery store, post office, you name it).

My favorite time to meditate is when I am sitting in my living room in the early morning quiet with my first cup of coffee. I've done that for many years now, going back to when my kids were very young. It allowed me to gather my thoughts for the day, summon some strength and then drift away for a little while.

All this is done in a mindful way. I'm still paying attention to my place in line, waiting for my Metro stop, moving forward in line, or watching the clock so I could shuttle the kids to school (back in the day). But I'm shutting out the negative stuff and focusing on good thoughts that calm me and make me happy.

You will still make all of your holiday preparations. You will still get to your destination and still accomplish the day's tasks. Yes, you will indeed still do everything you need to do. And if a few holiday details slip by, so what? You'll lower your blood pressure and still have a smile for your family, friends and co-workers.

Give it a try, and spread a little bit of joy and love this coming week. And have a peaceful and happy holiday.

Greetings from Statin [sic] Island, Part Two

My final pair of gloves and mask, resting on the dumpster
 in front of the Davis residence.

We went right to work Monday morning.

Even though only a few of our group had experience working with each other on previous relief efforts with the St. Paul's group, we divvied up tasks quickly and got down to business. By around 2:00 or so, I was ready to go outside in the sunshine, take off my filthy mask, and get some fresh air.

Joe Davis, the homeowner, was sitting on a bench at the end of the walkway. I went over to say hello and chat for a moment.

"You know," he said to me, "My wife is Lutheran. We were married in a Lutheran church in Brooklyn."

Really? I thought. That's interesting. Tom Omholt, our pastor, had his first parish in a Brooklyn church.

I don't know what prompted me to ask the next question, or even think of drawing some kind of association between the Davis family and Pastor Omholt. After all, there must be plenty of Lutheran churches in Brooklyn, a large borough full of churches. But I do tend to look for connections everywhere I go these days. I also tend to ask a lot of questions once I start interviewing people.

"When was this, Joe? And what was the name of the church?"

"St. Paul's Lutheran Church. We were married in 1983."

Wow. I thought I remembered that Tom's former church was also called St. Paul's. The timing also seemed to be about right. I could feel my pulse quicken slightly.

"Just a minute," I said to Joe, and ran up the ramp into the house.

"Tom, what was the name of your old parish in Brooklyn?"

"St. Paul's," he said. "There are two of them. It was the one near Flatbush."

Could it be? I thought.

"Joe," I said, returning outside, "what was the location of the church where you were married?"

"Avenue J, near Flatbush."

Incredible.

I ran back inside to convey this to Tom. The buzz started in the house as we began to realize that there could be a connection. Tom and Joe finally conferred face to face, and it was indeed confirmed:  Tom was most likely the pastor who married Joe and his wife, Trisha, 29 years earlier.

The Davis' youngest daughter, April, had come by the house again by this time. We excitedly told her the news. She promised to look for her parents' wedding photos that evening. Seemingly, so much time had passed that Tom and Joe just didn't recognize each other, nor did they recall each other's names.

The next day, the wedding photos confirmed what we now knew had to be true. Thomas Omholt was indeed the presiding pastor that April day in 1983.

Trisha Davis, Pastor Thomas Omholt, Joseph Davis

Trisha and Joe Davis

I'm still trying to wrap my head around the sublimity of this amazing discovery. That's a big part of the reason it has taken me three weeks to finally sit down and write this post. It would be easy enough to call this a coincidence, but as a very good friend of mine says, "I don't believe in coincidences."

So, call it what you will. It's still incredible to think that, 29 years after a certain Lutheran pastor, born and raised on Staten Island, presided over the marriage of a couple in Brooklyn, moved to Washington, D.C., and then returned to the Island to help this same couple restore their lives after the complete devastation of their home nearly three decades later .... Well, what do you call that?

End of Day Two. Left to right:  Tom Omholt, Barbara Omholt, Roger Branstiter and Tommy Omholt (both back row), Front:  Dawn Davis, Lexy Mueller, Karen Sease (in mask) Diana Lingel, Robert Hershey (in mask).

Later that day, there were murmurs of a potential renewal of vows, with Pastor Thomas Omholt presiding once again. I also suggested that we might consider donating a wheelchair for the Davis' oldest daughter, Debra, for whom the handicap ramp had been built. She is using a sub-par chair right now, and it would seem only fitting for us to offer to assist since we had already become so invested in the life of this family.

April Davis contacted the Staten Island Advance the next day to relay the news. The paper published the story a week later, giving further details of the Davis family's struggle following Hurricane Sandy. In it, you'll learn how Joe's long-lost wedding ring reappeared from behind a radiator while a previous volunteer group was there to begin the initial clean up and tear out of the sheetrock.

Now I understand why Joe Davis left his jacket and lunch sitting on the bench outside his devastated home that Monday afternoon, only to be drenched in the cold day-long rain the following day. He was overcome with awe and barely able to manage his emotions. He left us without even saying goodbye.

Previous post:  Greetings from Statin [sic] Island, Part One.

Next up:  Greetings from Statin [sic] Island, Part Three. See also Part Four, the Epilogue and the Post Script.

All photos copyright 2012 by Alexis H. Mueller.

Driven to Tears

End-of-the-year rush at work combined with holiday deadlines, menus, and shopping? Add a couple tablespoons of sleep deprivation to the bowl, and you may be ready to collapse headfirst into your Christmas cookie dough.

And how exactly does one manage a household and children in this toxic mix? My kids are all nearly out of the house now (or apartment, as I should now say), but the memories are still quite fresh: negotiating the endless school choral and instrumental music concerts (and finding suitable jacket/pants/shoes for said concerts for a rapidly growing boy), teacher gifts, term papers and finals. Did your kid's team make the final round in regionals? Back into the car, Mom. Keep driving, baby. Yikes. Will someone hand me a drink, please? (After I finish the day's driving, of course ....)

And then there's the email. This post from Ben Pentreath says it much better than I can here from RPD Headquarters. (The Royal Danish wedding video is a real kicker, by the way.) Please read this post. It's particularly timely.

I regularly chat with the tellers where I do the banking for my firm. Nathan, who assisted me yesterday afternoon, was shocked to hear that I receive work emails on the weekends. "Oh, my God," he told me, "you and everyone else you work with should charge fifty dollars an email. Seriously." Nathan, I couldn't agree more.

That would pay for lots of holiday gifts, wouldn't it?

Here's my tonic for you. The Police in pure Zenyatta Mendotta goodness, back in the day. Kick off your shoes, turn up the volume and enjoy, everyone!

See also, Friday Morning Music: What the World Needs Now (Is Love Sweet Love)

Friday Morning Music: Skylark - Maxine Sullivan

Welcome to a new weekly feature on RPD.

While there are many fine versions of the Hoagy Carmichael/Jerome Kern song 'Skylark', for my money Ms. Sullivan's is one of the very best. Enjoy!

Greetings from Statin [sic] Island, Part One

Newspaper clippings on display in the narthex of
Messiah Lutheran Church.

No, that's not a typo in this story's title.

To understand its meaning, however, you'll have to read to the end of this six part series.

It's easy to become distracted by fading resolve or indifference when the call comes to assist during times of great crisis. When I contacted my pastor, Tom Omholt, within days of Hurricane Sandy's impact on the Eastern U.S. to see if our church planned to head to New York to assist with relief, neither of these distractions stood in the way. This seemed to be the right moment to just do something.

I didn't fully understand why, however, until I got to Staten Island four weeks later.

Yes, Tom said, we are seriously considering going up there to help with relief work. He reminded me that his wife, Barbara, and he were both born and raised on SI. It turns out that they grew up on the eastern and southern shores of the island, the ones most affected by the storm's fury. Therefore, there was no question as to why they were called to action.

When we learned from Tom just a couple of days from our departure date exactly where we would be working, my stomach sank. We're going to help out in the Midland Beach area, we were told. I already knew from following the news that this was the hardest hit area with the greatest number of casualties and property destruction. Would I be strong enough to handle what I saw there?

I could only offer up two days off from work for the effort, so my plans were to stay through Tuesday night. A couple of others in our group also left before the week's end, and the rest of the group left first thing Friday morning.

Our group headed north on Sunday, November 25, following the 11:00 service at St. Paul's Lutheran Church in Washington, DC. One more joined us from New York, our pastor's childhood friend, Donald Thoms.

What on Earth does this story have to do with 'design and domestic tranquility', or the nation's capital, for that matter (see my masthead)? Actually, it has everything to do with this statement. My ideas about home and the design of our environments was brought into sharper relief than ever following our experience at 141 Freeborn Street and in spending time with the family of Joe Davis. And our DC-based group, most of us with some kind of tie to New York (upstate and otherwise), made a tiny difference for one family just four hours north of us.

Early Sunday evening, we settled in to the Hampton Inn in Woodbridge, NJ, just on the other side of the Outerbridge Crossing to Staten Island. We arrived at a hotel filled with Allstate claims adjusters. Dressed in navy blue polo shirts with the Allstate logo, they packed the hotel lobby and conference rooms armed with their cell phones and laptops. They appeared to be dogged in their determination to assist their clients and were at work from early in the morning until late at night. (Oh, and they loved the fresh baked cookies in the lobby. Karen Sease, our vicar, became pretty good at determining the exact moment the cookies would appear so we could grab one before the polo shirt crew could empty the tray.) Barbara asked one of the agents when he had arrived. "November 9," he said. "How long will you stay?" she asked. "Probably until mid-January."

Two-and-a-half months at the Hampton Inn in Woodbridge. 

On Monday morning, we were immediately treated to Omholt family history  Our first stop:  Messiah Lutheran Church. This is where our pastor met his buddy Don Thoms (somewhere around second grade or so), played basketball and was confirmed. We even located their confirmation photo in the narthex. Pastor Omholt hasn't changed a bit. OK, he doesn't have that nifty pompadour any more.

Thomas Omholt, back row, third from left;
Donald Thoms, front row, second from right.

The first stop was to drop off supplies at Messiah Lutheran Church collected
by St. Paul's members. Left to right: Nancy Morrison, Diana Langel, Tom Omholt,
Karen Sease, Don Thoms, Roger Branstiter, Robert Hershey.

Next was a brief stop to drop off Nancy Morrison at FEMA Staten Island headquarters. Nancy's back condition wouldn't allow her to assist with mucking out houses, so her goal for the week was to help at a distribution center. Unfortunately, this location was no longer taking volunteers, so they referred Nancy to a location at a nearby church.

The FEMA headquarters location used to be an airfield.
Left to right: Barbara Omholt, Tommy Omholt, 

Roger Branstiter.

Once Nancy was situated, we continued on, passing by many more Omholt family landmarks:  the Reformed Church where Tom first attended services with his grandmother, Barbara's high school, the beach where they used to hang out, and lots of other places loaded with personal meaning. Sadly, the bar where Tom and Barbara famously met no longer exists. (Hi, so what do you do? I'm a Pastor. Hah! Is that so? Well, I'm a nun! Yup, we never tire of hearing that story.)

Then we continued on to the Davis residence on Freeborn Street.

Barbara Omholt standing on the deck of the Davis residence.

Initially, 141 Freeborn was condemned because of two minor cracks in the foundation 
(the red card). The Davis family appealed and authorities revised 
their assessment to allow the owners to rebuild (the yellow card).

View showing the ramp built for the Davis' oldest daughter,
who uses a wheelchair. This ramp was very handy for
removing dozens and dozens of wheelbarrows full of debris. Without it,
we would not have been nearly so efficient and it probably would have 
taken us twice as long to accomplish our task.

Two other groups had already come through before us to remove
furniture, personal effects and much of the sheetrock and plaster 
from the walls.

My friend, the trusty wheelbarrow, 
with Roger Branstiter standing in the background, left.

Homeowner Joe Davis, left, with Barbara Omholt and her son, Tommy, 

surveying conditions.

The kitchen, ready for additional demolition.

Barbara Omholt and Don Thoms, getting ready to put on gloves  
and masks to start work.

A bathroom.

It didn't take long for Barbara to start horsing 

around. She is a very bad influence on me.
Here, we take pictures of each other.

Pastor Tom Omholt and I stop working for a moment 

to have our picture taken.

Don works on the kitchen ceiling.

I lost those gloves at the end of the first day. Luckily, Barbara brought a 
box of blue industrial strength plastic gloves that I liked even better.

The Red Cross would come down the street each day to hand
out lunches to any and all workers.

The Dunkin' Donuts and coffee break (this was on Day Two). 
Our vicar, Karen Sease, and Barbara try to keep warm on that 
very cold day. It rained all day Tuesday.

Pulling up the floorboards revealed original asbestos tile. It will 

be good to get this stuff out of the house.

The other deck (which Joe did not build), which was destroyed 
by the floodwaters. Joe's deck, on the other hand, held up just 
very well. He is a fine craftsman.

Joe is a schoolbus driver. He came by on Monday to say hello
and explain what their goals are for their home, which assisted us 

with planning our work.

The sanitation department removing our first pile of debris. Later, 

they dropped off a dumpster for us.

The first load in the dumpster. We filled it up twice.

Incredibly, mail was being delivered to abandoned and condemned
houses, in addition to others here and there that are still occupied. Even more 

curiously, a meter reader came by earlier that day to read the electric
meter. I know he was just doing his job, but I couldn't help myself:
I gave that guy a piece of my mind.

The NYPD set up streetlights at many points. The 
neighborhood is entirely without electricity.

A neighbor's boat from five houses away landed in the 

Davis' backyard.

And a shopping cart landed right next to it.

Here, a bike is chained to Joe's sturdy deck.

But this story is just getting started. A most unexpected turn of events occurred during an afternoon break on that first day. For the most incredible part of this story, see Greetings from Statin [sic] Island, Part Two.

Greetings from Statin [sic] Island, Parts Three, Four, the Epilogue and the Post Script.

All photos copyright 2012 by Alexis H. Mueller.