And now it's spring!

Yesterday, at a family gathering for Memorial Day, one of my sons asked me when I was going to blog again. Today, I tried to write something and couldn't remember my password. So, I went through all the machinations and awaited the email the blogspot would send. It didn't come. Then, I espied my password on a sheet I keep by my laptop (in a basket filled with so many other things, it's a wonder I found it). So, having got the correct password and to this point where I'm writing, it's a go.
It has been since last September since I've written anything here. Although I'm an avid journaler, I'd forgotten to write here. Or it's laziness. Probably that. I do enjoy writing, but today I wanted to write and am glad I connected in the right manner. Actually, this is a way of procrastinating about two things that are currently on my platter.
One is that I promised an official from my seminary, from which I was graduated forty years ago about now, that I would be my class "agent." This means writing pious letters to my classmates, asking them to make a contribution to Berkeley Divinity School at Yale, in New Haven, Connecticut. The trouble is, the list I have received, with names and adddresses is sadly out of date. There's even one name on it I don't recognize at all. I am assured it is as up to date as is possible. So, all I need to do is get busy and write these men (yes, back then there was only one woman in the school and she wasn't in my class). Sadly, some have died and others have been deposed (sometimes the word for this is "defrocked," a term I've never liked) from the priesthood or have renounced their ordination. One such "renouncer" was a good and close friend. I tracked down his renunciation as I was working in the diocesan archives last week and saw the notice in a church annual. Quite honestly, I don't know what to say to him. We've not been in touch for a long time; I think the last time was at our 25th anniversary in 1995 when he wrote a response to my request for letters from classmates.
I know that if I ask for money, he'll ignore it, as will most of my classmates. But I could communicate with him nevertheless. I could send the "form letter," samples of which were enclosed with the instructions that Fr. Charles Cloughen sent. He's the person in charge of alumni communications and, like me, is a retired priest, living in Maryland. I hate to let Charles down, so my guilt-level can deplete if I get to this task soon.
The other thing I'm putting off currently is programming my new MP3 player I bought a few days ago. Technology eludes me and I could make no sense out of the wordless instructions that came with the thing. I thought I could plug it into the laptop and get some music on it, but I was unsuccessful. I did get the FM radio mode to go. But simply turning the device on and off seemed to be problemmatical. Finally, I resorted to printing out very full instructions from the Philips website. Following it, I successfuly got the FM radio going with it. But it seemed to me to be more in the realm of luck than in a methodical following of the printed instructions. Now, I want to get some music onto it. According to the blurb that came with the device, I can even put videos onto it, record my voice - or other voices - and play it all back.
In all of this, I yearn for simple, non-technical instructions. I don't need a lot of "bells and whistles," either and paid about $60 for this thing. Oh, the reason I got a new one is that my old one was water-damaged when I fell into a small stream - which I called a "rivulet" - near the Inn at Spanish Head in Lincoln City at our clergy conference last month. That's a story for another time, but pertinent here is the fact that the fall ruined my old device, even though my good friend, rector and roomate, Kurt Neilson, said he was very experienced in reviving devices like cell phones that his kids inadvertently send through the washing machine. But his expertise was to no avail, so I bought a new one. For a man in his late sixties, not at all scientific or technically oriented, it's a frustration that sometimes causes me not only to utter oaths but to scream and then give up on the whole thing. A joke is these days that one in such sad circumstances should ask the nearest kindergartner for help! Well, I have one in my family: Jonah. He knows how to operate Wii (pronounced "wee") with his big brother and cousin, as they play games on it.
I'm old-fashioned, and like to write - and receive - letters. I like 33 1/3 vinyl records too. But I fancy I'm not a dinosaur, though. Lord, save me from that!
For another time or post, I'll write about our Basement Project, that we are in the midst of, even as I write this missive. So, there we are for now. May my procrastinations cease as I get on with the tasks at hand.