Memorial Day Weekend

Tuesday, May 26, 2009

Memorial Day Weekend

We had a nice long weekend. Dom and Kelsie drove down to see us. They arrived on Friday night with new board games to play with Maddie. Both are well, happy to have their jobs and doing well with them. We heard about the chickens, the guinea pigs, their huge strawberries (growing in biosolids), and plans for possibly a lawn. Sorry, failed in the picture taking department. Saturday morning Jim worked on the garden, hoeing and rototilling (Thanks Diana, Dom got it working) all the rows. The peas had to be weeded by hand. Thinned the radishes and so got a first crop of those. Then watered the tomatoes, and watered the rest with the big garden spayer. You know, thid thid thid thid thid chish chish chish chish. By Monday, it all looked pretty happy. The unexpected this over the weekend was a pretty good car deal developed up in Seattle for a car for Miesha. Well, Jim Amtrak trained up to Renton. Love the US train system, 1 hour late, of course, but what a great ride. Beautiful with some views of Puget Sound, and so nice to leave the driving to someone else. Got off at Mulkleteo.

Miesha met me at the Amtrak, with the car salesman and the car! She had waited a while with him, so knew everything about the car was really liked it. It is a rental return with 28,000 miles or so, a 2008 Chevrolet Cobalt. Lots of good features; cruise, full airbags, On-Star, Radio-CD (the most important), a rear spoiler, and gets up to 34 mpg. She signed on the dotted line and, well, a picture is worth a thousand words. We drove it up to Bellingham then. I stayed the night and drove "Dinky", the Smart, home the next morning. Yes, see? That's why I took the train.

Sorry Dom and Kelsie, that I wasn't able to do anything with you guys, and I got back just after you left I guess. I hope you had a good time. Mom said the barbecue steak supper was good on Saturday evening. I guess you went to Powells. And Dom, thanks for helping out with that Fax, the backyard mowing, and all the great pruning you did on the grapes. They look great.

We heard from Mara and Patrick. They are now in Norfolk, and their stuff arrived there too on Monday. Buying some new furniture soon. We are so happy for them as they start their new life, "... in the Navy."

Well, have a good week everyone.

3 comments:

mhh said...: Sounds like a great and productive weekend for all the Washington family! Wish we could have participated! Some day =); May 28, 2009 at 9:20 AM
kadfoto said...: We enjoyed our visit, hope to see all of you again soon.

You'll have to take pictures of the progress at your garden, I'd love to see how things are going. Last night Dom had a spinach salad...fresh from the garden!; May 29, 2009 at 1:54 PM
d said...: Miesha got a vroom-vroom!

Weee!

Dom; May 29, 2009 at 10:11 PM

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Fr. Roger's Eulogy

Roger Joseph Ebacher, OCSO
May 19, 1919 – April 15, 2008

Eulogy

My name is Jim Ebacher, and I am Fr. Jerome’s nephew. My father was Fr. Jerome’s kid brother. They called him Bill, and we call Fr. Jerome, “Roger”, and his Medicare card calls him Joseph. It’s all kind of confusing. But, had my father lived into his old age, I’m sure he would have been here today at this lectern, also finding a way to make you laugh a little bit. So, I guess I’ll speak to you in his place.

Roger was born on May 19th, 1919, to French Canadian immigrants on May 19th, 1919, and grew up in Amesbury, Massachusetts. We trace our ancestry to one lone mercenary, a Frenchman, recruited by the Braunschweigers to fight the American colonial rebels in the war of Independence. The Braunschweigers lost that fight, but like many of those who were defeated, Jean-Baptiste Ebacher and his descendents the Ebacher and Baker families, settled in and around Quebec, Canada. At the turn of the last century many French Canadians we enticed to immigrate to Amesbury, Massachusetts to work on the new carriage factories, making the early horseless carriages. They needed skilled carpenters. Roger grew up as a boy in the Amesbury neighborhood called the “brickyard”, and as you might guess, this area was not known for its stunning views or fine homes. He was one of a family of four brothers and five sisters. Their mother died when Roger was in the 6th grade, naturally a traumatic experience which scarred Roger throughout his life and lead to his frail disposition. He has three surviving siblings; Beatrice, Margaret and Therese, all religious sisters in the order of St. Critienne in Marlboro, Massachusetts. Please keep them in your prayers.

Roger began his religious life at the minor seminary of Our Lady of LaSalette, in Enfield, New Hampshire. There, he was schooled in High School subject matter and in the languages of Greek, Latin, French and English. After LaSalette he explored his vocation with the LaSalette fathers, and I believe was quite close to ordination with them, when he felt called to the Trappist community at St. Joseph’s Abbey in Spencer, Mass, which he then joined. While at this Abbey, he lost all his collected poems as the result of a fire, something he quietly grieved his entire life. He was part of the original foundation to Pecos, New Mexico, and he studied at the Vatican for a short time. He was with the community when they moved to this location in 1955. My apologies if I have any of this wrong.

In his final days, Roger told me quite often that he felt on the whole quite blessed in this life. He also expressed regret that he did not have a stronger prayer life and that he wasn’t a very good monk. The rule of St. Benedict has the motto Prayer and Work. Roger’s work was teaching, which he did as novice master for many years, painting, and his duties as Mass Secretary, and finally keeping everything tidy in the Sacristy. He believed all priests should be grounded in the classical philosophical thoughts of Aristotle and Thomas Aquinas, as well as the 20th century writings particularly of Whitehead. During the 1970’s Roger embarked on a systematic study of modern science, reading Biology, Physics, Anatomy, Psychology, and finishing with what he came to believe was the basis of all understand of matter, Quantum Physics. Naturally, there were few he could knowledgeably discuss these pursuits with. At the same time he began a study of painting with a teacher in McMinnville, a pursuit he dedicated a number of years to. Roger didn’t think he would live to see the new church, but he did, and he liked it very much, although he has his doubts when it was being planned. He expressed his appreciation for the love and support of Abbot Peter often to me, and enjoyed a warm fraternal relationship with Dom Bernard.

Roger was nervous and frail for much of his life. He was very conscious of his weak voice. He had a touchy constitution and generally kept only a few close friends in the Abbey. He had a number of secular contacts; men and women who came to him for confession and who enjoyed discussions of philosophy. These visits were uplifting to his spirits. I don’t know anything about most of these relationships, but I’m sure their stories will be told and we will learn new things about Fr. Jerome.

He was a philosopher. His writings represent a body of concise thought about the nature of existence. And, in his later years he felt that it was quite complete, that he has said all he wanted to say, even if it sadly may never be read and understood by another human being. In his final years, he often spoke of how he felt a peace with the completeness of his writings. The only spiritual connection he ever spoke of to me was with ST. THERESE OF LISIEUX, a doctor of the church, known as the little flower. He had an old black and white photograph of her in his room, and he often spoke of feeling her personal presence with him.

Roger was a beloved uncle to me, and like a grandfather to my children. Maybe this is an odd thing for a monk. I don’t know. It seems quite natural to us. My relationship began the year before my father died, when I spend January term here, having come by Greyhound bus from Minnesota. Some of you here today remember this. Roger returned my visit by officiating at our wedding in Minnesota just 4 years later. He gave First Communion to our four children, and no matter how noisy and rambunctious they were, always received them with love and joy. Like us, he rejoiced in their achievements and growth. Over the past few years he often spoke of his longing to be with God in eternal life. He was impatient with his existence and not at all sure why he was still hanging around. Roger was my father surrogate, and although I miss my father very deeply, I have always felt he was actually still with me, not at all gone. And now, I grieve the loss to me of both of these gentle men who have given me so much.

His last coherent words to me were that when it gets down to it, it’s really all about the Father Almighty. Just the Father, at the center of it all. And I will leave you with that mystery. It might be an unwritten coda to the symphony of this one monk’s life of seeking an understanding of existence. Roger felt he had come to some measure of Truth in his thoughts and writings, and also felt the presence of the devil who was trying to shut him up. I believe Roger has finally won his struggle; his struggle with life and Truth.

When we come into the world we proclaim our arrival with loud cries and complaints. When we go, life just sneaks out of us. Somewhere between, if we are lucky and we put for the effort to find it, one can find a measure of revelation. This is what I’ve learned from my dear uncle.

I want to thank you all for coming today and letting me speak briefly with you. I want to express to all of you the gratitude for the prayers that made Jerome’s passing a smooth journey, and supported us throughout the vigil and his illness these past many months.

I want to close with a poem Roger wrote a long time ago. It’s called “Imaculata”.

IMMACULATA

She rests in the clean dawn, my white-
winged Dove, in the clefted reef, cooing,
wooing the Rising-Sun.

Mine is the Morning-Glory, bright
in twilit brittleness,
lipping,
lapping the soonest Ray.

She is a Forest-Virgin, awed
to tremor and hush, yet
dancing,
clapping her atom-hands.

Mine, this clearest fountain, with
trembling sparks in glee,
leaping,
telling of full-day’s Flame.

James Joseph Ebacher
Read at Roger's Funeral Reception
4-19-08

Jim and Pat Ebacher - Our Life

Tuesday, May 26, 2009