It staggered me recently to find the celebration of Thanksgiving already upon us! I guess that's a side benefit of recent frenetic busyness: finding so many things to get into and so little time to do then. In fact, last Winter's trip alone provided me with more than enough maters for this Advent's missives, so here's to it.

Now into the eighth annual repetition of visits to new places, at least the chronology remains the same: following Christmass Eve festivities with family and friends, Jessica accompanied me to Midnight Mass at the Church of the Advent for the first time. We awoke on His birthday to such a snowstorm that I feared the airport might be closed. A quick phone call reassured me; off to jail for a Christmass service with the inmates, thence to Logan to JFK to connect with flight to Rio, where I spent the next morning waiting for connection to Johannesburg.

35 hours after Leaving Boston, arrived in the caress of the Southern Hemisphere's Summer. Having met Jo'burg, onto a flight over the Whitwatersrand (mountains of startling beauty) into Kruger Park, a 16,000 square mile game reserve on the border of Mozambique. There spent two days going through miles of film in the company of a guide/driver and a delightful English showgirl/Oklahoma oilman couple. As the heat approached 115F, and as we had firm instructions not to lean or extend limbs outside our microbus, we were fortunate to have a beer-stocked refrigerator aboard. Had I known we'd be awakened the next morning at 4 to reach a watering hole before dawn, we might not have stayed up gossiping around the fire till the wee hours. The whole cast came out to meet us the next day: elephants (their color tells you which watering hole's mud most recently cooled them), hyenas (they really do laugh), impala (such beautiful creatures), huge porcupines ( a foot-long, 1/4 inch thick quill attests to size), wildebeestes (perhaps ugliness is only skin deep) and on to a veritable Noah's ark. No chance in Kruger to wear my safari suit, so back for a time in Jo'burg before boarding the Blue Train. Never has it been so true that getting there is half the fun: 140 passengers, all with private room & bath, being pampered by a crew of 80. My small world story this year: in the bar car, met a friend of a person I had met 6 years before in the Canary Islands, whom I was to visit in London on my return home. Awoke in the morning as the train reached Kimberley (no, diamonds are not cheap there), walked the length of the train several times to try to undo the effects of its 3-hour dinner - in South Africa, you order one item at a time and, if you have the capacity, can order everything on the menu (I tried).

Again the camera: the rugged Alp-like mountains on the approach to Cape Town were glories. The 24 hours on the train produced a problem for me: by the time I returned from a visit to Tabletop Mountain, there were three invitations for New Year's Festivities waiting for me. New Year's Day was my first in Boston in 8 years (this Boston a suburb of Cape Town, however); a "hangover party" with ballet, orchestra, literary people the next day in Constantia, dinner with an Afrikaans M. P. and his four-generation family, taping of an interview re the arts in Boston for airing on SABC; four-hour Cantonese meal with South African wines (no wonder the government will allow none to be exported till domestic needs are filled) - all of that in the two days before departure on a five-day motor-coach trip up the Garden Route from Cape Town to Durban.

The trip started with a variegated assortment of tourists from 10 countries, retired people, students, and me the lone Yank. Every day's routine was breakfast-bus-tea stop-bus-dinner & swim stop-bus-tea stop-bus supper-party-play-sleep. Our arrival in Durban and my departure for Umhlanga Rocks was like the breaking-up of a family. One night at Umhlanga Rocks convinced me I was at the Indian Ocean's Miami Beach; a new friend from Cape Town into ballet in Durban got me into an on-beach Durban hotel, where I spent a week.

As there was a cholera epidemic in Nairobi - my next intended stop - I prolonged my time at Durban, was thus able to see Ipi Tombi, an all-black musical portraying in dress and song and dance the dynamics of Zulu impinging on European culture (another first). Flight Durban-Jo'burg, to counter to check in for connection to Nairobi - disaster: no passport. Beginning of 24 hours of chaos - running consulate-police- hotel- airport-consulate, etc., endlessly. Consul saying no chance for departure for two weeks, his secretary suggesting I go back to him and cry: it worked: emergency passport allowing no stops Jo'burg-Boston. Flight to Nairobi-Zurich-London. Unable to stop there even to greet relatives and friends waiting at the airport, shuttled immediately under guard to PanAm's flight London-Boston. The moral: lose anything and everything, but never your passport!

Back to HoJo's personnel operation the next day to find that economic forecasts are dismal. Having participated in a retrenchment study the previous Fall, I prudently ground out a new resume: the study had shown my position to be one of the most dispensable. Happy things first: took Jessica to her first class at the Boston School of Ballet, not knowing her enthusiasm there would lead to as many as five classes a week. That on top of flute and recorder and (would you believe?) now saxophone lessons; it's good her mother finally completed her French PhD work in January, as chauffeuring to various lessons has come to take so much of her time.

Began meeting with a group of Episcopal clergy, self-styled as Tentmakers, for we - like Saint Paul - are earning our living other than from the Church while continuing in the exercise of our ministry. Though some normative clergy see us as a threat - how can you control someone for whose finances you aren't responsible? - we look upon our work as another mode of ministry, co-existing with the stipendiary clergy.

Now to alphabet-soup involvements: PRC, PAPA, NASP, BUAF, VIRIS. Involvement on the Pre-Release Center's steering committee continues. With the employment situation for the normative population at its worst in recent memory, finding meaningful employment opportunity for those with criminal records has proven more difficult than ever. However, given the radical decrease in recidivism experienced by the ex-offenders involved in PRC, our efforts continue. Unfortunately, many of the volunteers working with us initially have curtailed their involvement; you don't advertise for such workers - just cross your fingers and hope dedicated new volunteers will appear.

Public Action for the Performing Arts, born just a year ago, has now gotten into high gear advocating increased support for all the performing arts in Massachusetts on the part of the general public, business firms, and government. As budget cuts characterize government this year, the PAPA membership has been working especially hard to prevent support being legislated out of existence. Because most people are unaware that ticket sales account for but 20-40% of an arts organization's budget, our work is largely educational. In fact, if the arts received only one dollar from each resident of Massachusetts, they would all be in fine fiscal shape.

The National Alumni Schools Program at Brown University exists to assist the admissions department in locating, evaluating, and assisting appropriate candidates for admission. Because Brown receives several applications for every available freshman space, NASP works not only to promote the university to desirable candidates, but also to guide young people in the intricacies of the application process. I was fortunate to participate in the application process of one student last year whose papers were incomplete, and who thus would not have been accepted. So great was his enthusiasm for Brown, and so fitting his background and aptitudes, that I labored to see that he be given proper consideration. Following his acceptance, but prior to starting at Brown, the student helped the alumni on their fundraising telephone campaign: I'd never before heard of a sub-freshman working on an alumni campaign.

Along with this NASP work, I continue "facilitating" pledges from our alumni of financial support for the Brown University Annual Fund. As we had a challenge grant from a devoted alumnus last fiscal year, BUAF's giving increased 86% over the previous year: this is the largest increase in giving experienced by any school in the country. I'm proud that the Boston Phonothon workers continue to raise more money per capita than the workers in any other city; and to be head class agent of a class that is generous: our class this year had the largest increase in giving of any other non-major-reunion class. Even in this year of uncertain economy, and lacking the challenge grant of last year, alumni giving has been increasing over last year.

As gratifying and satisfying as NASP & BUAF work are, they don't touch the tremendous pleasure I had at being invited to be an alumni marshals at commencement this past June. Never having been to a reunion/ commencement at Brown (other than the year I graduated), I didn't realize how beautifully the school orchestrates the four days' activities. Apart from renewing acquaintance with the dining hall employees I'd spent many hours working with 15 years before, the greatest joy was getting rigged up (when she saw me in formal wear, Jessica said, "I thought you were to be a Marshall for Brown, not marry her!") to accompany the graduates on their round trip down and up College Hill. A bonus to the weekend was the opportunity it afforded for me to talk with countless current undergraduates and find that the animal destructivists portrayed on the front page of newspapers in no way characterize our current student population. Having met them and learned from them, my pride at being a Brunonian is redoubled.

VIRIS - Volunteers in Rhode Island Schools - was the last link in a chain of events that began when I was invited to address a fund-raising seminar sponsored by the Episcopal Diocese of Rhode Island for all of its parishes. Never, in my years of seminary study, had I heard anything about a theology of money or a moral apologia for voluntarism. Thus, that seminar led to my production of such an argument. It was apparently well-received, for I was subsequently asked to adapt it for the key-note presentation at a workshop for 60 voluntary fund-raising agencies from throughout New England. I'm sure I learned as much as I taught at that seminar. One of its participants asked me to do a presentation on voluntarism for VIRIS's annual meeting.

Growing out of both this chain and my work at Brown, I was invited to be a resource person at a Providence Temple's annual interfaith day, when countless ladies from all the faiths of Rhode Island got together to articulate their shared concerns and goals. In conjunction with that, and because the Adult Correctional Institution in Rhode Island was going through some turmoil, I was interviewed by two TV stations. One of them was very pleasant: my interviewer was genuinely interested in eliciting information from me for his viewers; the other one, however, was upset at the end of our talk. Like so many TV newspeople presently, she wasn't so interested in the objective communication of information as in providing a show for her audience: I later learned that that particular newshen Prides herself on being able to unsettle her interviewees.

As I said many type-faces ago, economic uncertainty at Howard Johnson's led to my beginning to test the employment market last March. A few days after sending out feelers, a long-term personnel associate and friend at Wentworth Institute & College (a technical school 23 minutes from home in Boston which produces associates & bachelors of science in engineering technology) called to say the College was beginning conversion to a cooperative format this year. They had begun to look for someone with a personnel background & academic orientation to run the co-op program. This person would also be familiar with fund raising, career counseling & placement, and alumni relations. Needless to say, I jumped at the opportunity ("Fools rush in..."). My four-year career at HoJo's ended: more on that later. The end of the school year was spent getting to know the students who would be entering mechanical engineering at the College this Fall (they are our pilot group).

All Summer (less a week in Waikiki in July paid for by a travel agency trying to get the Wentworth Alumni Association to use their services) I worked at developing co-op employment opportunities for the students, who will be off to their first work term in January. Had the school been fully aware how tight the employment situation is now, they might not have converted at this time; once begun, however, the machine is virtually unstoppable: we've now decided to convert electronic engineering next academic year. Over and above this co-op work, I've gotten involved in alumni support (we'll be having a phonothon in January), planning alumni trips (I'll be accompanying a group to Moscow & Leningrad in September), blessing alumni meals, counseling students & alumni re resumes, career starting/changing, and so forth.

As all are aware, New York City has gotten stuck unable to pay its bills; not wanting to be in a similar position, I decided to accelerate the draw-down of some long-term debts., As noone goes to work for an academic institution for the money involved, I decided to moonlight. As it turned out the term has never been more accurate: the Howard Johnson restaurant where Jessica and I have been having Saturday lunch for 8 years is now open 24 hours; at the end of August they had a need for a graveyard manager 3-4 nights/week. Thus began another career. Now, typically, I work three nights; unfortunately quite often I get called in for extra work - as the night I had just gone to bed and had to go in for the night, home to shower and change, in to Wentworth for the day, to a ballet opening that night, to run the bar for the ballet party after performance, home to sleep in the wee hours, and so on.

That should explain to some of you who have called early evening to find me abed. Don't worry about calling, though, for 3 months have adjusted me to sleeping whenever I have time. I simply have to put out the next shift's clothes before sleep, for I tend to be confused upon waking about whether I'm off to HoJo's or Wentworth or Jail. Barring any unforeseen crises, I should be through with this marathon debt draw-down by the end of June. One side benefit of the graveyard job: most of the people on Boylston Street at 4 in the morning belong to the other world - ladies of easy virtue, alcoholics, derelicts, people with confused role identity, pushers, users, and so on. A large part of my population sitting on the counter is familiar to me from the Jail. Eventually developed a modus vivendi: as long as those with idiosyncratic life styles don't disturb our normative patrons or employees, we won't sit in judgment on their scenes.

I could go on, but how does one sum up such a year? "Controlling losses" might be an adequate term. An inmate recently (I now have a discussion group with the men following my sermon Sundays) asked whether I felt the world is getting better or worse. I replied that I felt neither is happening: each evil we overcome seems to be replaced all too speedily with another; every good deed undone provides opportunity for another innovative combat with the powers of darkness. One reason I believe many feel the world to be going downhill is the tremendous acceleration in communication. When we were little, we rarely heard of evils remote from us; now, every local crime or catastrophe is universalized. I told the inmate our only possible stance vis-a-vis this phenomenon is to try to make our individual worlds - the arenas within which we play day-to-day - somewhat more habitable than we found them. After all, isn't that what he whose birth we are preparing to celebrate did? May this Christmass find your world bright, and your New Year as happy as I'm hoping mine (this year, in Costa Rica) will be.