First Congo Pledge Drive Testimonial

We were asked by our First Congregational Church leaders to offer a testimonial about the role of the church in supporting young people during the fall stewardship campaign. Following is the dialogue that we presented to two different church services today.

Janet: A couple of weeks ago, our moderator Val Havlick called to ask if we would offer a testimonial during the pledge drive on behalf of parents of kids of First Congregrational Church.

Karl: A piece of cake, I said at the time. Any parents of kids in this church can do it. All we have to do is talk about Deborah and Heather and Martie and Chris and Jane and all the volunteers who have meant so much to our children during the 16 years of our membership in the church.

Janet: And then yesterday afternoon, I said, "Karl, do you remember that we are supposed to speak in church tomorrow about the Sunday School and youth programs?"

Karl: Oh, sh…, oops, this is church! Sorry about that. [When Emily, who was not present during the service, read this text after the event, she said, "This is really cheesy!"]

Janet: So last night we sat down with Emily, our quiet 16 year-old who is interested in music and creative arts, and Andrew, our boisterous 13-year old who loves to compete and seizes any chance to push the limits—both ours and his, to talk about what First Congo has meant to them. As we listened to them, I kept remembering Deborah's sermon at the start of this Sunday School year on "Roots and Wings." It is the people of this church who have given Emily and Andrew the roots to explore their inner feelings, their doubts and their dependence and the wings to vent their outer feelings, realize their convictions and venture into their independence.

Karl: Janet and I talked about how we had first become members of the church and how we never have difficulty remembering when that occurred. All we have to do is remember how old Emily is.

Janet: Before we had children, we had been occasional visitors to the church. Then in April, 1991, our friends Gale and Sandy Dunlap announced in church that Emily had been born. A few days later, Bruce McKenzie showed up on our doorstep in Eldorado Springs with a small wooden cross, a blanket made by the women of the church and a message of cheer and welcome. As a new mother, I was deeply touched by this support, and it led to a spiritual awakening on our part and a new life in the church. We became members, and a few months later a candle was lit at the altar to celebrate Emily's baptism.

Karl: Andrew was born in August of 1994, so when Christmas rolled around four months later, he was ideally suited to play the role of baby Jesus in the Christmas Eve nativity scene with his sister wearing wings as a little angel. I don't think that Janet had ever envisioned herself as Mary and I certainly had never thought of myself as Joseph, but we proudly played the roles when we were asked to do so.

Janet: And then began Sunday School. Oh, how those many incredibly dedicated teachers—Alma and Richard Albers, Donna Blanchette, Charlie Rastle, Ed Byrne, to name just a few—experienced and managed with aplomb the opposite characteristics of our two children and nurtured their spiritual growth. Emily and Andrew both fondly remember children's time in the church when they got to escape from the pews after the opening hymn and prayer, go up to the front of the church for their own special time and then bolt from the church. They think of Martie's engagement with them during the children's moment as magical: she sang with her voice and signed with her hands in language that they understood.

Karl: You know, this church has lot of boards, committees, work groups, social networks and clubs, most of which get written up in the church bulletin or the Square Tower. But there's one unofficial club that never gets mentioned: it's the parents of bell ringers who linger forever—and forever—at the social hour after church, waiting for the ringers to finish their rehearsals.

Janet: You joke about it, but I think Jane's ministry to our young people through music—aided and supported by Deborah and Heather and a crew of volunteers—is truly remarkable! Beginning with that first pageant when they were still babies, our kids' participation in junior choir, skits, musicals and bell choir has been an important part of their spiritual and personal growth. As the number of children and youth in the church has grown, the church staff have said, "Bring 'em on!" Got more kids wanting to ring bells than we have spaces for them? Jane just adds a second choir to all the other things that she does. Emmy has a poster on her wall that says, "When words fail, music speaks." Jane played a large role in inspiring her to put up that sign.

Karl: Ten or 20 years from now, when our kids look back on their childhood, I am sure that La Foret will play a large role in their memories and stories. Beginning with family camps and moving on to summer camps, middle school gatherings and high school retreats, La Foret has been both roots and wings for our children as they have explored adolescence, built friendships and tested their limits. Our often complicated family calendars have been built around making time for La Foret events.

Janet: Emmy's confirmation class was a defining experience in her life, as she developed deep bonds and friendships with her fellow confirmands and inspired mentors like Heather and Josh, Bill Forbes, Nancy Johnson and Libby Black. That experience has allowed her to approach the potentially daunting high school mission trips with confidence and assurance, to deepen the camaraderie with her peers, to appreciate the challenges of people who are less fortunate than we, and to explore the mysteries of her spiritual journey and God's role in the universe. Now Andrew has started confirmation class, and we know that he, too, will be well-launched as a member of this church.

Karl: Speaking of Andrew, do you remember that scene with him before church a month or so ago? (If you don't remember it, some of the church members who overheard it almost certainly do.)

Janet: You mean the one when he returned on Sunday morning from the middle school retreat at La Foret, exhausted and dirty, and we found him just before church lying on the floor with his pillow in the infill and refusing to move?

Karl: Yeah, that's the one. Let's role-play it for a moment here. I'll be Andrew and you be, well, you (or maybe it was me).

Janet: OK. [Playing Mom--or Dad] Andrew, you have to get up off the floor and go to church and Sunday School today. It's dedication Sunday, and all of the children are expected to participate.

Karl (as Andrew): I won't!

Janet: You will too!

Karl: You can't make me.

Janet: There will be consequences. Don't expect to not show up and get away with it!

Karl: Go away! All I want to do is sleep!

Janet: You're in deep trouble, buddy!

Karl: Well, you get the drift and if you've had adolescents of your own, you've heard it before. Eventually Janet and I just gave up and went off to church. Last we saw of Andrew, he had gotten up off the floor and was headed not to Sunday school but to the Pearl Street Mall. We were so irritated and frustrated that we didn't care. But then when the youth came marching in to the dedication ceremony waving banners, there was Andrew at the head of the line with a smiling Bill Forbes standing over his shoulder. We have no idea how this transformation occurred, but we know that it was the community of the church that made it happen.

Janet: Last year, during the renovation of the sanctuary that caused us to hold a service at Casey Middle School related to the confirmation process, I remember Martie asking the congregation to raise their hands if they had experienced God talking to them. Sitting between Emmy and Andrew, I was surprised and delighted that both of them raised their hands. As a mother, I realized that my children were in good hands (indeed God's hands), and I was proud that they were open enough to share their connection to God. How thankful I was for the members and staff of First Congregational Church who had guided my children to find that voice that will speak to them for the rest of their lives, long after their parents and the current leaders of the congregation are gone.

Karl: What an incredible gift this church provides to our young people! But that gift is not free. Yes, those marvelous volunteer teachers and mentors play a huge role, but it takes a paid staff and facilities to make our children and youth program work. Our staff has grown substantially in the time that we have been in the church, in part because our population of young people has grown on its own but even more because the talents and dedication of Chris, Martie, Jane, Deborah, and Heather have drawn children to the church.

Janet: And without children, there would be no future for the church. Please pledge generously to support the present for our children and the future of First Congregational Church of Boulder!

A Honeymoon in Provence

by Janet Beardsley and Karl Kurtz

We enjoy travel to strange lands most when we have connections to people who can introduce us to the local community and give us a glimpse into native life. Unfortunately, we don’t have any such personal connections in Provence or the Cote d’Azur, where we traveled for two weeks in September 2007 on a 20-year delayed honeymoon. Of course, we took guidebooks with us, but the Guide Michelin and Lonely Planet, however much they provided useful information about where we were going, weren’t our friends and didn’t take us away from the beaten path.

But we did have a companion of words and imagination: Peter Mayle traveled with us inside three of his 11 books on Provence and France. We devoured all of them on our honeymoon. His vignettes of Provencal life are marvelous. In addition to being entertaining they provide insights into the eccentricities of Provencal life, language and lands. One of us would read one of his stories apropos of something we had recently experienced and immediately have to read it aloud or retell it to the other. He was so present with us that it almost felt like a ménage-a- trois honeymoon!

Inspired by Peter Mayle, we decided to write our own vignettes of our two weeks in Provence and the Cote d’Azur. With apologies to Mayle, we have called this memoir “A Honeymoon in Provence” because 20 years ago when we were married we couldn’t afford both the wedding in Redstone, Colorado and the honeymoon. We both agree that this honeymoon—in Aix-en-Provence, the Luberon Mountains and the Cote d’Azur—was all the sweeter for waiting two decades to take it.

Our first stories are about dogs. The French love their dogs and take them everywhere with them. Dogs regularly joined us for meals. Sometimes they were with their owners at the adjoining table and sometimes they were the “house” dog. That didn’t surprise us when we ate outdoors, but one night in the hilltop village of Menerbes the same dog that had come begging at our outdoor table across the street the night before showed up at our indoor table. At our hotel in Ste. Maxime (near San Tropez on the map), a beagle named Tom belonging to the hotelier smelled the food that we were eating on our terasse and came to join us for dinner.

Exploring the ancient, abandoned village of Oppede la Vielle in the Luberon (the area north of Aix on the map), we followed a couple with a spaniel that was off leash. His owners kept the spaniel under control by prodding him roughly with their walking sticks. We felt sorry for the dog, which would have been happier on a leash.

Then there was the bichon frisé, led by an elegant grand dame, prancing gaily down the street in Antibes with a visor to keep the bright Cote d’Azur sun out of his eyes. And in San Tropez a young couple sauntered along the quai admiring the huge yachts and pushing a stroller containing not their baby but their poodle (or maybe it was their “baby”).

Enjoying a café au lait on the quai in St. Tropez (photo) we watched an amusing tableau. A taxicab pulled up opposite us in front of the enormous yacht, Naughty by Nature out of Douglas, England. The cab driver got out carrying an Yves St. Laurent bag and attempted to get the attention of an older man and a scantily clad young woman who were sitting on the deck of the boat and oblivious to the hoi polloi on land. After several minutes of “hallo”-ing by the cab driver, the couple finally noticed, jumped up, grabbed the bag from the driver, signaled for him to wait and disappeared inside. They were gone for 15 minutes or so while the taxicab driver waited. Presumably mademoiselle was trying on the gown to make sure that it fit. Finally, the man reappeared and waved away the taxi driver, signaling that everything was OK. The cab driver, though, insisted that the man come down the gangplank, sign for the frock and pay him. Oh, those troublesome servants and tradesmen!

We spent a lot of time in our rented Renault Laguna making wrong turns and getting lost, even after we had a few days’ experience with unfamiliar road signs and maps. Karl never did figure out how to get the Renault smoothly into reverse, resorting instead to a two-handed yank of the gear shift lever that produced an awful clank but (usually) did the trick of getting us into reverse. We’ll see if Hertz charges us for stripping the gearshift! Karl loved driving on the high speed autoroutes on which well-disciplined drivers stay to the right when they are not passing (if you don’t pull over, the German in the Mercedes will blast up on your tail and wave his lights at you). Janet, however, clung tightly to the panic bar at every change of lanes.

We were frustrated by our inability to communicate effectively in French. With Janet’s 10 years of schooling in French, her junior year abroad experience in Aix-en-Provence and Karl’s 1.5 years of college French (all admittedly over 30 years ago), we felt as if we should have been able to understand and speak more fluently. For example, one night in Aix Karl ordered a tuna “steak”. When the waiter asked him if he wanted it rare (or at least that’s what we thought he said), Karl said “oui”. The waiter raised an eyebrow and shrugged a shoulder but went off to fill the order. When the dish arrived it turned out to be tuna tartare. We rapidly deduced that the waiter had been asking Karl if he wanted it raw or cooked. Karl was surprised when the plate arrived but found the ground tuna with onions and capers to be delicious. He now knows that cru means raw.

Another time Karl biked down the country lane from our bed and breakfast, La Magnanerie, outside of Menerbes in the Luberon Mountains to a vineyard to buy a bottle of wine. The vineyard was about to close its tasting room for the day, and a back room worker who spoke no English was the only one left to tend the counter. He didn’t offer Karl a degustation (tasting), but he was more than willing to describe each of the wines in detail and at great speed en francais. Other than occasionally picking up the name of a fruit that one can taste in the wine, Karl had no idea what he was saying and resorted to reading the price list from right to left and pointing to the least expensive wine. The chosen bottle turned out to be a delicious blend of Grenache and shiraz that went well with our supper of a baguette and Provencal sausage, cheese, olives, tomatoes and peaches that we had bought at the market in Apt.

In the course of our two weeks, our French got a little bit better. Janet proudly reported engaging in conversation with an old woman in a flower shop in Aix, successfully stringing together two sentences in a row and understanding everything that the fleuriste said in response. But “a little bit better” is a relative term: we probably went from about a 10 percent communication level at the beginning to 25 percent by the time we left.

The French have gone gaga over rugby. The 2007 international rugby tournament took place in France during our visit, drawing fans from all over the world. On one occasion in the épicerie (small grocery store) in the beautiful village of Bonnieux, we lined up to pay for our groceries behind New Zealanders who were touring the Luberon on off-days for their side in the rugby tournament. On another day in the same store it was a group of Australians. In each instance the very outgoing cashier, a huge rugby fan, tried to engage the down-under types in conversation about the matches, but she spoke no English and they no French. We played a small part in international understanding by doing our meager best to translate for them.

We had a number of misadventures with museums and historical sites. We saw the beautiful Abbaye de Senanque (photo) from the outside but arrived half an hour after closing time and couldn’t see the inside. In Antibes on the Cote d’Azur, the Picasso museum that we had targeted was closed for renovation. Wanting to see the inside of the chateau in the middle of the mountain-top village of Gordes, we paid an exorbitant museum admission fee without paying attention to what the exhibit was. It turned out that the inside of the chateau was not much to look at and the exhibit was of dreadful, layered, silk-screened collages by an avant-garde Belgian artist. Why was this exhibit in Gordes?

The most pleasant museum surprise was the Musee du Tire Bouchon—the corkscrew museum. Just outside of Menerbes, a vintner (Chateau de la Citadelle) has collected and skillfully displayed over 1,000 corkscrews from around the world, dating back to the 17th century when corks were first used to stopper wine bottles. It was a fascinating display. Of course, we had to taste the vineyard’s wines and buy a bottle or two as well.

We found everything in France to be expensive. Perhaps the best example was doing our laundry. We took an afternoon to wash our dirty clothes at a laverie. After spending several confused minutes studying the instructions on how to use the washers and dryers and getting pantomimed help from a passerby, we put a 20 euro ($30) note in a master control center that operated all of the machines, expecting to get change back. We were dismayed not to get anything back and concluded that we had pulled another dumb tourist move. After 15 minutes or so of fretting about this, we did eventually get change when we moved our clothes to the next cycle. But it turned out not to make any difference: it took the entire 20 euros to finish the three loads of laundry—yes, that translates to $10/load!

We observed that, like the most bored residents of retirement communities (but for different reasons), much of the life of the traveler in foreign lands revolves around “where are we going to eat next?” The combination of the body’s periodic need for food and the stranger’s need to figure out the options means that this is usually the most important organizing question of the day.

Without going to any Michelin-starred restaurants—and trying to ration ourselves to one major meal a day, which was the hard part—we ate well, mostly meat and vegetables in Provence and fish in Cote d’Azur (see Janet’s plate of sardines). Other than the frequent appearance of ratatouille as a side dish, though, we didn’t eat all that much that one would think of as typically Provencal—dishes cooked in tomatoes, garlic and olive oil. Come to think of it, though, we seldom had a meal without tomatoes or olives—or garlic for that matter—in some form.

September is high season for fruits and vegetables in southern France. We loved going to the markets in every city or village that we visited. Our favorites were the flower and vegetable markets in Aix (photo). The most famous of them is the Saturday market in Apt, which meanders unendingly through the streets and squares of the old city and offers almost every conceivable good—from blue jeans to pottery to sausages.

One of our most memorable meals was one that we cooked ourselves on the wood-fired grill that our B and B in Menerbes makes available to their guests. The meal was a steak (an Englishman staying at our place and observing our meal said, “What else would an American cook?”), which we had bought at the boucherie while doing our laundry, and a salad of greens, tomatoes, anchovies, olives and chevre that we had purchased at the farmer’s market. This was accompanied by one of those bottles of red from the Chateau de la Citadelle. We ate by ourselves under the stars. All that was missing was the candlelight.

So many hilltop villages, so stunning and picturesque! Built on the hilltops as a protection from marauding Saracens or other invaders, their limestone walls, colorful shutters, red tile roofs and church steeples are amazing to look at as you approach them. Inside, the villages are a maze of cobble-stoned streets giving out on beautiful panoramas of the surrounding landscapes from the village walls.

Each of the villages that we visited has its own character: our “home” village of Menerbes in the Luberon, to which we bicycled from our B and B and which was made famous by Peter Mayle in A Year in Provence; nearby Bonnieux with many good restaurants and Olivier, our bike rental guy; gorgeous Gordes (photo) swarming with tourists; Lacoste, a one-time home of Marquis de Sade and now of Pierre Cardin (who bought and restored the Marquis’ chateau); Oppede La Vieux, abandoned in the early 20th century by villagers who moved down to the plains for an easier life but now the home of artisans who are trying to make a go of it in the ruins of the ancien village; Le Bar-sur-Loup, the part-time home of our new friends (through Susan Mead) Valerie and Mario, and Gourdon, both with stunning views of the dramatic Gorges du Loup; the steep cobbled streets of St-Paul de Vence, filled with wonderful art galleries and the one-time home of Marc Chagall and James Baldwin.

One of Janet’s requirements for a vacation hotel is a swimming pool where she can swim laps and take the sun. We experienced three beautiful pools. In Aix-en-Provence the well-named Aquabella Hotel adjoins the grounds of a spa built on the site of thermal springs enjoyed by the Romans. An ancient Roman wall surrounds three sides of the long thermal pool (photo). La Magnanerie, our bed and breakfast in the Luberon (the name means silkworm factory—the original function of the building), has a beautiful saltwater pool looking out over vineyards, olive trees and mountains. Our Provencal-style (ochre walls, red-tiled roofs and blue shutters) hotel in Ste. Maxime has an ever-so blue lap pool to match the shutters and the azure sky (in which we saw clouds on only one morning for a few hours during our entire stay).

Of the three areas that we visited, Janet’s favorite was clearly Aix-en-Provence (photo outside Cezanne’s studio), both for its energetic city life and the memories that it held for her from her year there. Karl loved the villages of the Luberon. We flew in and out of Nice and spent only an afternoon and an evening there, which we regretted when we took a whirlwind city tour by bus that showed us much of the beauty and the rich cultural resources of that city. It gave us something to look forward to on our next visit to southern France.

At the end of the honeymoon we concluded that we won’t wait 20 more years for another trip like this. The freedom of life away from our teenagers, much as we love them and missed them, was wonderful. They were neither the focus of our attention nor the primary subject of our conversations. Our honeymoon reminded us of all the other interests we have in common and the curiosities that we want to explore. It diminished any fear of empty nest syndrome (with Emily 16 and Andrew 13, it’s only a few years off for us) that may have been developing. We liked being “on the road again” rather than being “on the family plan” and look forward to future adventures. This photo inspires us to say, "A bientot en Nice!"