My fluffy grey tabby left a rat for us right outside our dining room window where we'd be sure to see it first thing this morning. Usually it's the cat himself sitting outside our window, waiting for me to wake up, roll up the blinds and see that he's waiting for his breakfast. Instead, he left breakfast for us. (Eeeoooo).
When I opened the blinds I saw a patch of white in sharp contrast to the spring green of our grass and thought maybe it was a sock. Our dog is wont to greet us by searching for something to put in her mouth for us to take away; usually it's one of the many socks tossed into corners that breed like bunnies when I'm not looking. But no. Today's animal offering was a rat.
I don't do rats, so my husband saved me from it, merely because I asked him to. That's how you know someone loves you, when--simply because you don't want to--they relieve you of a nasty chore that by any rights should be yours. That's the kind of wisdom we should be passing on to our daughters:
"Mom, how do I know if he really likes me?"
"Does he clean up dead rats left by your cat? Plunge the toilet you clogged? Sit through a sappy love story when he'd much rather see an art movie? Run into the store to get you a soda letting you sit in the car because you have heels on? All these are signs of true love, my child."
So, this started to be a post about my cat but instead has morphed into a paean of love to my sweetie, who is a good man and a great husband. I hope all of you reading this are (or will be soon) as blessed as I am in a partner of whatever gender you favor.
More about the cat and the rat another day.
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
Seasonal Sneezes
Picture a group of hunters moving quietly through the forests of Western Europe several hundred years ago. They are stalking a stag, food for the men and their families. Softly, softly they approach downwind of the unsuspecting beast, bows drawn , arrows ready to fly, then . . . AH CHOO!! The stag crashes through the underbrush. The men turn to glare at the culprit who is wiping his nose on his sleeve saying, "Allergies. They're really bad this year."
I've never understood the point of allergies. They seem really evolutionarily unhelpful, a la the imaginary scene I wrote above. But my husband, the former biologist, tells me I have it all wrong. It is the people with hyper vigilant immune systems who stalked the stag while the rest of the village were dead in their beds, felled by some disease their bodies could not reject quickly enough.
I guess that makes sense but his explanation quashes the secret, smug sense of superiority I've harbored in my breast all these years that I am more biologically fit than those red-eyed, sneezy monsters born anew each spring. I rarely need to take allergy medicine while my husband can't function without it. Wouldn't you think that the person who doesn't need medication has the superior genetic makeup? I'd like to think so, anyway, and as we know, wanting to believe something is true is just as good as knowing for a fact that something is true.
So, when you see me, congratulate me on my genetic good fortune in having escaped the scourge of allergies, and give my husband a rueful nod since he clearly is swimming in the lower gene pool.
That's my story and I'm sticking to it.
I've never understood the point of allergies. They seem really evolutionarily unhelpful, a la the imaginary scene I wrote above. But my husband, the former biologist, tells me I have it all wrong. It is the people with hyper vigilant immune systems who stalked the stag while the rest of the village were dead in their beds, felled by some disease their bodies could not reject quickly enough.
I guess that makes sense but his explanation quashes the secret, smug sense of superiority I've harbored in my breast all these years that I am more biologically fit than those red-eyed, sneezy monsters born anew each spring. I rarely need to take allergy medicine while my husband can't function without it. Wouldn't you think that the person who doesn't need medication has the superior genetic makeup? I'd like to think so, anyway, and as we know, wanting to believe something is true is just as good as knowing for a fact that something is true.
So, when you see me, congratulate me on my genetic good fortune in having escaped the scourge of allergies, and give my husband a rueful nod since he clearly is swimming in the lower gene pool.
That's my story and I'm sticking to it.
Monday, April 28, 2008
The Deep Blue Sea
I've had a love affair with the ocean all of my life. Our family went regularly over the "hill" to Santa Cruz and points south, spending full days playing in the sand and riding the waves of the California coast. As an adult, the ocean was my favorite place to be one with nature. One sniff of the salt water, one harsh call of a seagull and whatever stress I carried melted away like water through sand. I had a relationship with ocean and always thought of us as on friendly, even intimate, terms.
We're a little bit estranged, now. I'm not so comfortable with the ocean anymore because of a little thing called tidal waves. Yup, ever since I found out that the Oregon coast is susceptible to the nasty buggers I can't quite see my old friend in the same way.
When I was growing up, the ocean seemed to have a fixed pattern--tides we called them. The water crept up the sand then back again at regular, measurable, fixed intervals. That's how the ocean behaved, I thought. Water stayed in the water where it belonged.
Then we had the Indian Ocean tsunami and man, what devastation that brought! The ocean was no longer well-mannered, staying in its watery bed. Instead, the ocean attacked the land, gobbling up people, buildings, plants--everything in its path. That is not the friendly ocean I knew and loved all my life. This was a mean ocean that turned on the people who loved her and killed them. It's hard to be friends anymore with that kind of history standing between us.
I miss my old friend and the relationship we used to have. Long walks along Monterey Bay helped me through my mother's death. For years the coastal waters of San Diego were a vacation destination and a respite from the brutal summers of Tucson and Phoenix. The rugged Oregon coastline called to my spirit and made me feel whole. I've walked on countless beaches, eaten tons of sandy sandwiches, watched a myriad sunsets. In good times, and in bad, I relied on the ocean to be there for me when I needed to get away and find myself again.
I still feel the call and still go visit my long-time friend, but it's not the same. The trust is gone. I cast a wary glance at the pattern of the waves when I arrive, scout the cliffs for escape routes, just in case. After a while, I can let the awareness of danger slide into the background. I allow myself to slip back into our old relationship as I breathe deeply in the salty air, cast my eyes to the far horizons, look for sea shells and interesting pieces of driftwood. For a while everything's as it used be.
For a while, but I can't really forget that nature--for all its beauty--doesn't exist to serve my human needs, but lives on a far grander and more powerful level than my little self. That's the attraction. That's the danger. That's the problem.
We're a little bit estranged, now. I'm not so comfortable with the ocean anymore because of a little thing called tidal waves. Yup, ever since I found out that the Oregon coast is susceptible to the nasty buggers I can't quite see my old friend in the same way.
When I was growing up, the ocean seemed to have a fixed pattern--tides we called them. The water crept up the sand then back again at regular, measurable, fixed intervals. That's how the ocean behaved, I thought. Water stayed in the water where it belonged.
Then we had the Indian Ocean tsunami and man, what devastation that brought! The ocean was no longer well-mannered, staying in its watery bed. Instead, the ocean attacked the land, gobbling up people, buildings, plants--everything in its path. That is not the friendly ocean I knew and loved all my life. This was a mean ocean that turned on the people who loved her and killed them. It's hard to be friends anymore with that kind of history standing between us.
I miss my old friend and the relationship we used to have. Long walks along Monterey Bay helped me through my mother's death. For years the coastal waters of San Diego were a vacation destination and a respite from the brutal summers of Tucson and Phoenix. The rugged Oregon coastline called to my spirit and made me feel whole. I've walked on countless beaches, eaten tons of sandy sandwiches, watched a myriad sunsets. In good times, and in bad, I relied on the ocean to be there for me when I needed to get away and find myself again.
I still feel the call and still go visit my long-time friend, but it's not the same. The trust is gone. I cast a wary glance at the pattern of the waves when I arrive, scout the cliffs for escape routes, just in case. After a while, I can let the awareness of danger slide into the background. I allow myself to slip back into our old relationship as I breathe deeply in the salty air, cast my eyes to the far horizons, look for sea shells and interesting pieces of driftwood. For a while everything's as it used be.
For a while, but I can't really forget that nature--for all its beauty--doesn't exist to serve my human needs, but lives on a far grander and more powerful level than my little self. That's the attraction. That's the danger. That's the problem.
Thursday, April 24, 2008
Just For Today
When I called my sister yesterday and asked how she was doing, she replied slowly, "My focus . . . is on . . . not freaking out."
Words to live by.
As I live my life, trying not to freak out, I'm learning what helps and what doesn't. Yesterday's Daily Om (http://www.dailyom.com/) focused on learning how to cultivate happiness, saying that those of us on a path to spiritual awareness often focus on problems and how to eradicate them, but that approaching things from the opposite end helps, too. Cultivating joy (which I touched on a few posts ago) is a positive approach to living a more balanced life.
For instance, as I've been troubled this week by my back, I've noticed what's taken my mind off it. Singing helps a lot, as does writing. Walking works out the kinks, even while it kinda hurts so good while I'm out and about. Talking with friends and family has been a definite mood elevator (thank you Kat, Beth, Jon, and Pamela!). Learning to recognize what is a positive (and healthy) mood booster and then choosing to do it, even when I don't really feel like it has been a revelation for me. I can be more in control of my moods and attitudes. I don't have to wallow; I can find ways out!
A classic way out of angst is staying in the moment and I keep having to relearn that. I can do a real number on myself when I get into the I'm-such-a-loser-because-I-can't-support-myself-as-a- writer blues. I can talk myself into a really bad place. This is what my sister has named, "the self mind-fuck." (Thank you, sis!). This is when our fears and insecurities rear their ugly heads and we whisper evil sweet nothings to ourselves, targeted right at our most vulnerable parts.
Everybody's vulnerabilities are unique but they often circle around things like:
My life is meaningless;
I'm fat and ugly and nobody will ever love me;
I'm one check away from homelessness;
I'm a terrible mother (or father);
I'm just like our mother (or father);
I'll never be successful.
Any of these sound familiar?
Lately when this chorus has resounded in my head, I've caught myself doing it, and said, "Stop right there," because I basically do like my life. I'm not exactly where I thought I would be in my career, but on a day-to-day basis, I like what I'm doing. It's only when I criticize myself, or imagine that other people are judging me in a negative way, that I have to concentrate on not . . . freaking . . . out.
So, if you find yourself reciting this kind of negative mantra and it's harshing your mellow, STOP! Get in the moment. Remember what lifts your spirits in a healthy way and reach for that friend, good book, fresh air, bowling ball, hammer and a nail, knitting needles, pet, coloring book, old movie, spouse, and lose your self mind-fuck in the joy of the now. Good luck!
Words to live by.
As I live my life, trying not to freak out, I'm learning what helps and what doesn't. Yesterday's Daily Om (http://www.dailyom.com/) focused on learning how to cultivate happiness, saying that those of us on a path to spiritual awareness often focus on problems and how to eradicate them, but that approaching things from the opposite end helps, too. Cultivating joy (which I touched on a few posts ago) is a positive approach to living a more balanced life.
For instance, as I've been troubled this week by my back, I've noticed what's taken my mind off it. Singing helps a lot, as does writing. Walking works out the kinks, even while it kinda hurts so good while I'm out and about. Talking with friends and family has been a definite mood elevator (thank you Kat, Beth, Jon, and Pamela!). Learning to recognize what is a positive (and healthy) mood booster and then choosing to do it, even when I don't really feel like it has been a revelation for me. I can be more in control of my moods and attitudes. I don't have to wallow; I can find ways out!
A classic way out of angst is staying in the moment and I keep having to relearn that. I can do a real number on myself when I get into the I'm-such-a-loser-because-I-can't-support-myself-as-a- writer blues. I can talk myself into a really bad place. This is what my sister has named, "the self mind-fuck." (Thank you, sis!). This is when our fears and insecurities rear their ugly heads and we whisper evil sweet nothings to ourselves, targeted right at our most vulnerable parts.
Everybody's vulnerabilities are unique but they often circle around things like:
My life is meaningless;
I'm fat and ugly and nobody will ever love me;
I'm one check away from homelessness;
I'm a terrible mother (or father);
I'm just like our mother (or father);
I'll never be successful.
Any of these sound familiar?
Lately when this chorus has resounded in my head, I've caught myself doing it, and said, "Stop right there," because I basically do like my life. I'm not exactly where I thought I would be in my career, but on a day-to-day basis, I like what I'm doing. It's only when I criticize myself, or imagine that other people are judging me in a negative way, that I have to concentrate on not . . . freaking . . . out.
So, if you find yourself reciting this kind of negative mantra and it's harshing your mellow, STOP! Get in the moment. Remember what lifts your spirits in a healthy way and reach for that friend, good book, fresh air, bowling ball, hammer and a nail, knitting needles, pet, coloring book, old movie, spouse, and lose your self mind-fuck in the joy of the now. Good luck!
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
Stormy Weather
There's a big wind a blowin' this morning. I'm loving it. My inner wild child wants to be out running around in a big field feeling the strength of the air pushing me this way and that. The pagan in me loves it when Nature asserts herself and makes her presence known. So much of life in a city is scaled to humans that when a wind or storm reminds me that something is scaled much larger, I rejoice. In general the weather here in the Willamette Valley feels so much tamer than the extremes of the Sonoran desert where we used to live that I am thrilled when the sky does more than simply rain.
In the Phoenix area where we used to live, we'd get crazy dust storms that turned the sky a rust brown and obscured visibility such that driving became dangerous. Our daughter who was under 5 at the time loved those storms and always wanted to go out in them. I'd usually let her before the dust got too thick and she'd twirl in the backyard, her skirt flaring out around her as she danced with the wind.
Tucson, too, had great storms. Thunderstorms during the summer monsoons were almost a daily occurrence, coming in the later afternoon after phenomenal cloud buildup. Huge cumulonimbus clouds loomed over the edges of the city, starting out as piles of whipped cream, then as the afternoon wore on, moving closer, closer, turning grey, then black, then BAM! Jolts of lightening cracked across the sky and thunder bounced around the Catalina mountains, dropping the temperature 20 degrees and baptising whatever was in its path.
The odd thing was that these storms, visible for miles, were extremely localized and would make their way across the city in a narrow path, maybe dropping rain on no more than a square mile as they moved. We always prayed for rain, just for the sheer joy of receiving water in the desert and for the thrill of the storm.
Our daughter doesn't remember much about Arizona because she was in kindergarten when we left, but she does remember, and still longs for, the dust storms. I like that she, too, has a wild child inside her that is simpatico with nature's excesses. She's still attuned to the weather and lights up during storms. Whether this is nature or nurture I don't know, but early years are said to be formative so maybe the time she spent in Arizona's extremes has left its mark.
I do know that she brought some of her experience from the desert to her northwest home. When her new kindergarten teacher asked the class for examples of words beginning with the letter, C, our wild child replied, "cumulonimbus clouds." While the teacher looked up how to spell it, perhaps my desert-born girl, transplanted to this green and wet place, had the sound of thunder lodged in her beating heart and remembered the sensation of dancing patterns with the wind.
In the Phoenix area where we used to live, we'd get crazy dust storms that turned the sky a rust brown and obscured visibility such that driving became dangerous. Our daughter who was under 5 at the time loved those storms and always wanted to go out in them. I'd usually let her before the dust got too thick and she'd twirl in the backyard, her skirt flaring out around her as she danced with the wind.
Tucson, too, had great storms. Thunderstorms during the summer monsoons were almost a daily occurrence, coming in the later afternoon after phenomenal cloud buildup. Huge cumulonimbus clouds loomed over the edges of the city, starting out as piles of whipped cream, then as the afternoon wore on, moving closer, closer, turning grey, then black, then BAM! Jolts of lightening cracked across the sky and thunder bounced around the Catalina mountains, dropping the temperature 20 degrees and baptising whatever was in its path.
The odd thing was that these storms, visible for miles, were extremely localized and would make their way across the city in a narrow path, maybe dropping rain on no more than a square mile as they moved. We always prayed for rain, just for the sheer joy of receiving water in the desert and for the thrill of the storm.
Our daughter doesn't remember much about Arizona because she was in kindergarten when we left, but she does remember, and still longs for, the dust storms. I like that she, too, has a wild child inside her that is simpatico with nature's excesses. She's still attuned to the weather and lights up during storms. Whether this is nature or nurture I don't know, but early years are said to be formative so maybe the time she spent in Arizona's extremes has left its mark.
I do know that she brought some of her experience from the desert to her northwest home. When her new kindergarten teacher asked the class for examples of words beginning with the letter, C, our wild child replied, "cumulonimbus clouds." While the teacher looked up how to spell it, perhaps my desert-born girl, transplanted to this green and wet place, had the sound of thunder lodged in her beating heart and remembered the sensation of dancing patterns with the wind.
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
The German Shepherd
First, let me tell you that my back is way better. I went to http://www.webmd.com/ and voila! A recipe of self-care for backs, which I followed and now I'm only about 2% impaired. Hooray for the Internet.
Now, another subject: Has anyone been following the pope's visit? I have in a desultory fashion, skimming whatever articles appear in our terrible local paper, and I have to say, against all expectation I found myself in agreement with a few of his reported comments. Hell has not frozen over but that's my level of astonishment, to be in agreement with the German Shepherd.
For one thing, he has repeatedly talked about the clergy sex abuse scandal, apologizing for it and asking for forgiveness. He even met with a group of victims, which I'm sure was very helpful for their healing. There's nothing like having the head of the Catholic church apologizing for the crimes of her priests to validate the victims' experiences. Secondly, he's been hammering "secular culture" as a spiritual wasteland, and encouraging people to find their moral and spiritual center.
Of course the downside is that he wants people to find that moral and spiritual center in the Catholic church and her definition of God, but the basic call to a more spiritual life is a good one. No one else except the Dalai Lama seems to be on that particular lecture circuit. In particular, the pope has been connecting the dots between the actions and choices of individuals--particularly those in power--and the consequences of those choices and actions on the rest of world, especially in the areas of climate change and with the poor. He's saying that moral and spiritual beliefs need to count for more that just a private theology, that beliefs necessarily should inform actions.
I know it's revisiting the old "faith vs. works" Protestant/ Catholic divide (i.e. Catholics teach that salvation is found not only through faith--right belief--but through "works"--right action) but the point seems especially critical to me in this era of Haliburton, lying government officials and war mongering. I get so sick of politicians proclaiming their "Christian faith" as a sign of their righteousness, then watch them destroy the environment, rip apart the public safety net of social services, and declare unilateral war on other countries just because they want to. Pope Benedict is basically saying you can't be a good Christian and make those kinds of choices.
Now, Bush is no Catholic so maybe his brand of Christianity is large enough to encompass his rotten choices and call them good, although I'm not sure how. If you look at what the Bible reports as Jesus' basic teachings they're pretty unambiguous--check out the Sermon on the Mount and especially the Beatitudes in Matthew for a primer:
http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Matthew%205-7&version=31
I do realize that people of faith can disagree on what exactly that faith-in-action looks like. For instance, I found an article quoting Obama as saying that the Beatitudes point to why he's in support of civil unions for same-sex couples (http://www.cnsnews.com/ViewPolitics.asp?Page=/Politics/archive/200803/POL20080303b.html). I'm not thinking His Holiness would get behind that interpretation.
So, while the Pope and I are quite far apart in our willingness to let the Catholic church be the sole arbiter of what is right, I do appreciate his tackling the subject because it enlarges all our lives. He reminds us that we are anchored in something larger than celebrity culture, that we are part of a common family on this earth, our home, and that our lives and choices matter. We are part of an interconnected web of life (http://www.uua.org/) which we need to respect, preserve and protect. Blessed Be.
Now, another subject: Has anyone been following the pope's visit? I have in a desultory fashion, skimming whatever articles appear in our terrible local paper, and I have to say, against all expectation I found myself in agreement with a few of his reported comments. Hell has not frozen over but that's my level of astonishment, to be in agreement with the German Shepherd.
For one thing, he has repeatedly talked about the clergy sex abuse scandal, apologizing for it and asking for forgiveness. He even met with a group of victims, which I'm sure was very helpful for their healing. There's nothing like having the head of the Catholic church apologizing for the crimes of her priests to validate the victims' experiences. Secondly, he's been hammering "secular culture" as a spiritual wasteland, and encouraging people to find their moral and spiritual center.
Of course the downside is that he wants people to find that moral and spiritual center in the Catholic church and her definition of God, but the basic call to a more spiritual life is a good one. No one else except the Dalai Lama seems to be on that particular lecture circuit. In particular, the pope has been connecting the dots between the actions and choices of individuals--particularly those in power--and the consequences of those choices and actions on the rest of world, especially in the areas of climate change and with the poor. He's saying that moral and spiritual beliefs need to count for more that just a private theology, that beliefs necessarily should inform actions.
I know it's revisiting the old "faith vs. works" Protestant/ Catholic divide (i.e. Catholics teach that salvation is found not only through faith--right belief--but through "works"--right action) but the point seems especially critical to me in this era of Haliburton, lying government officials and war mongering. I get so sick of politicians proclaiming their "Christian faith" as a sign of their righteousness, then watch them destroy the environment, rip apart the public safety net of social services, and declare unilateral war on other countries just because they want to. Pope Benedict is basically saying you can't be a good Christian and make those kinds of choices.
Now, Bush is no Catholic so maybe his brand of Christianity is large enough to encompass his rotten choices and call them good, although I'm not sure how. If you look at what the Bible reports as Jesus' basic teachings they're pretty unambiguous--check out the Sermon on the Mount and especially the Beatitudes in Matthew for a primer:
http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Matthew%205-7&version=31
I do realize that people of faith can disagree on what exactly that faith-in-action looks like. For instance, I found an article quoting Obama as saying that the Beatitudes point to why he's in support of civil unions for same-sex couples (http://www.cnsnews.com/ViewPolitics.asp?Page=/Politics/archive/200803/POL20080303b.html). I'm not thinking His Holiness would get behind that interpretation.
So, while the Pope and I are quite far apart in our willingness to let the Catholic church be the sole arbiter of what is right, I do appreciate his tackling the subject because it enlarges all our lives. He reminds us that we are anchored in something larger than celebrity culture, that we are part of a common family on this earth, our home, and that our lives and choices matter. We are part of an interconnected web of life (http://www.uua.org/) which we need to respect, preserve and protect. Blessed Be.
Monday, April 21, 2008
Back Problems
I'm a mess. My back went out yesterday, for the first time ever in my life. It had been hurting a wee bit for about 24 hours but I had blamed on the fact that since I'd had a stomach virus for four days I'd been laying about quite a bit and that had probably tweaked my back. Then, for no reason, while I was bending over to put dishes in the dishwasher. . . WHAM . . . excruciating pain, inflexibility, immobility. I am not pleased. I do yoga. I'm generally very flexible. Now I can't move without pain. I'm also not sure what to do about it. I'm thinking it'll just go away, but I don't know. I had a friend who hurt his back and he lay about for a year. I don't want to be like that. So, I'm endeavoring to ignore it. Denial is always a favored response for kids who grew up in alcoholic families. I'm good at it. So, I'll just lie here, drugged to the gills, with a heating pad on my back and pretend all is right with the world.
Thursday, April 17, 2008
The Root of All Evil
Astute readers will know that yesterday's post wasn't simply about Christianity. It was about intolerance and abuses of power based on intolerance. Religious intolerance is just one expression of the larger human problem that stems from one of the seven deadly sins--pride. This pride is based on an intellectual arrogance that says my beliefs are truer than your beliefs.
Now, to function as adults, we do need basic beliefs, a world view that makes sense to us. However, it stands to reason that not all world views are going to be the same. The hope for a saner world is that while we construct a world view we also have a soupcon of humility and recognize that it's provisional, that our understanding of the world is limited and opened to revision as we grow, age and expand our horizons. Humility is one of the Virtues and it breeds tolerance, an openness to others, to their perspectives and experiences which might be quite different from our own.
Unfortunately, many people feel threatened by differences. Maybe it's a tribal survival thing, I don't know. Too many people are convinced of the rightness of their views, to the exclusion of all others. It's as if they think that beliefs and facts are the same thing. "I believe the Bible is the inerrant word of God; therefore it is." Then they feel the need to codify their beliefs and ratify their validity by collecting others who think the same way. [Remember, if you agree with me, we both must be right!]. For those they can't convert to their world view, the time honored tradition is to impose it--through law, through coercion and fear, through wiping out of the opposing world view in murder, war or genocide.
While we all play this game as individuals, it becomes problematic for society when arrogance is coupled with power. This is what Jon Stewart was getting at on The Daily Show on April 15th (www.comedycentral.com). Apparently, high level Bush officials--including the Vice President--were involved in developing "enhanced interrogation strategies," i.e. torture. Jon was pressing his guest to acknowledge that since torture is morally wrong and against international law, we should not engage in it just because we're frightened or feel threatened.
The torture rationale seems to be that because we believe we have a right to protect ourselves and feel threatened by you, we also have the right to do whatever we want to you--"you" being the person we have decided is not one of us. Our beliefs and human rights supersede yours and we're going to hurt you to get what we want because we want to and because we can: That's arrogance coupled with power and that is the root of all evil.
More another day on this theme--I need to go to yoga and release all the angst I've generated writing about this very disturbing topic.
Now, to function as adults, we do need basic beliefs, a world view that makes sense to us. However, it stands to reason that not all world views are going to be the same. The hope for a saner world is that while we construct a world view we also have a soupcon of humility and recognize that it's provisional, that our understanding of the world is limited and opened to revision as we grow, age and expand our horizons. Humility is one of the Virtues and it breeds tolerance, an openness to others, to their perspectives and experiences which might be quite different from our own.
Unfortunately, many people feel threatened by differences. Maybe it's a tribal survival thing, I don't know. Too many people are convinced of the rightness of their views, to the exclusion of all others. It's as if they think that beliefs and facts are the same thing. "I believe the Bible is the inerrant word of God; therefore it is." Then they feel the need to codify their beliefs and ratify their validity by collecting others who think the same way. [Remember, if you agree with me, we both must be right!]. For those they can't convert to their world view, the time honored tradition is to impose it--through law, through coercion and fear, through wiping out of the opposing world view in murder, war or genocide.
While we all play this game as individuals, it becomes problematic for society when arrogance is coupled with power. This is what Jon Stewart was getting at on The Daily Show on April 15th (www.comedycentral.com). Apparently, high level Bush officials--including the Vice President--were involved in developing "enhanced interrogation strategies," i.e. torture. Jon was pressing his guest to acknowledge that since torture is morally wrong and against international law, we should not engage in it just because we're frightened or feel threatened.
The torture rationale seems to be that because we believe we have a right to protect ourselves and feel threatened by you, we also have the right to do whatever we want to you--"you" being the person we have decided is not one of us. Our beliefs and human rights supersede yours and we're going to hurt you to get what we want because we want to and because we can: That's arrogance coupled with power and that is the root of all evil.
More another day on this theme--I need to go to yoga and release all the angst I've generated writing about this very disturbing topic.
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
Slippery Slopes
Christianity is an exclusive religion. Each Christian denomination makes the claim that it is the one true religion. Everyone who believes like they do is welcome; everyone else is going to hell. They're sorry about that, truly they are, but them's the rules. "I am the way, the truth and the life," they say Jesus said, and the only way to the Father is through him. So there you go. Pass the litmus test--proclaim that Jesus is the son of God; this denomination is the best; go team--and you're in like Flynn, no doubts allowed. Otherwise, you've got a one-way passport to the basement.
I was at a Catholic service once where the priest was talking about how everyone was welcome at Jesus' table. He told us that Jesus was the original egalitarian, hanging out with prostitutes, lepers and tax collectors so you see there is room for everybody at Jesus' side. After that little speech, we had communion, where the faithful proceed to the altar to eat a little wafer supposed to be the actual body of Jesus (major yuk). The key word here is "the faithful," for while all are welcome at Jesus' table in theory, in practice the priest reminded us that only "baptized Christians" are allowed to partake in the yummy flesh eating ritual.
Here in the United States we're now conditioned to seeing Islamic terrorists as the epitome of crazed religious fanatics. I think it's simply a matter of degree. Telling me that I, a non-Christian, will suffer torment for eternity if I don't conform to your world view is extremely coercive. There's nothing like threatening violence to get people to do what others want. And who's to say it will simply stop at verbally condemning me to hell. History certainly reveals a long tradition of those in power killing people who don't conform to the belief du jour. So when Christians exclude me from their elitist club because I'm not one of them, how do I know how far they'll go with their condemnation? Am I supposed to trust in their restraint, their belief in our common humanity despite our differences?
Certainly the war in Iraq shows that we as a nation are willing to do terrible violence to the people who don't get with our program. Bush reputedly even referred at one point to this war as a Crusade. Certainly, there is no evidence that has withstood the light of day that the U.S. was in immanent danger from Iraq. Just as certainly, Islamic terrorists use their religious views to justify killing Americans because of our very different world view, with no sense of a shared humanity to restrain them.
So, the U.S. makes a pre-emptive strike just in case, killing those who are not "one of us" before they get the chance to do us in. And how do we know who is "one of them" and not one of us? In Iraq, I'm sure on one level it's fairly simple--it's those shooting at you. But what about all the people in Iraq who look just like the terrorists, but aren't terrorists? How can you know for sure what's in people's hearts? How can you know what people truly believe?
And here in America? How can we know who the right thinking people are? Better put wiretaps on phones, surveillance cameras on every public building, track the books people check out of the library. Better yet, let's ask people to publicly proclaim their allegiances, cross their heart, put their right hand on the Bible and solemnly swear.
You don't want to swear on the Bible? You're not a Christian? You don't think the United States is a Christian nation? Then we'll have to fire you from your job, confiscate your property, make you wear an identifying label, ship you to a concentration camp, and even with all that, we still don't feel safe by reason of the fact of your very different existence. Mmmm. This is a problem. What would be a good final solution?
I was at a Catholic service once where the priest was talking about how everyone was welcome at Jesus' table. He told us that Jesus was the original egalitarian, hanging out with prostitutes, lepers and tax collectors so you see there is room for everybody at Jesus' side. After that little speech, we had communion, where the faithful proceed to the altar to eat a little wafer supposed to be the actual body of Jesus (major yuk). The key word here is "the faithful," for while all are welcome at Jesus' table in theory, in practice the priest reminded us that only "baptized Christians" are allowed to partake in the yummy flesh eating ritual.
Here in the United States we're now conditioned to seeing Islamic terrorists as the epitome of crazed religious fanatics. I think it's simply a matter of degree. Telling me that I, a non-Christian, will suffer torment for eternity if I don't conform to your world view is extremely coercive. There's nothing like threatening violence to get people to do what others want. And who's to say it will simply stop at verbally condemning me to hell. History certainly reveals a long tradition of those in power killing people who don't conform to the belief du jour. So when Christians exclude me from their elitist club because I'm not one of them, how do I know how far they'll go with their condemnation? Am I supposed to trust in their restraint, their belief in our common humanity despite our differences?
Certainly the war in Iraq shows that we as a nation are willing to do terrible violence to the people who don't get with our program. Bush reputedly even referred at one point to this war as a Crusade. Certainly, there is no evidence that has withstood the light of day that the U.S. was in immanent danger from Iraq. Just as certainly, Islamic terrorists use their religious views to justify killing Americans because of our very different world view, with no sense of a shared humanity to restrain them.
So, the U.S. makes a pre-emptive strike just in case, killing those who are not "one of us" before they get the chance to do us in. And how do we know who is "one of them" and not one of us? In Iraq, I'm sure on one level it's fairly simple--it's those shooting at you. But what about all the people in Iraq who look just like the terrorists, but aren't terrorists? How can you know for sure what's in people's hearts? How can you know what people truly believe?
And here in America? How can we know who the right thinking people are? Better put wiretaps on phones, surveillance cameras on every public building, track the books people check out of the library. Better yet, let's ask people to publicly proclaim their allegiances, cross their heart, put their right hand on the Bible and solemnly swear.
You don't want to swear on the Bible? You're not a Christian? You don't think the United States is a Christian nation? Then we'll have to fire you from your job, confiscate your property, make you wear an identifying label, ship you to a concentration camp, and even with all that, we still don't feel safe by reason of the fact of your very different existence. Mmmm. This is a problem. What would be a good final solution?
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
If It's Tuesday
If it's Tuesday, it must be time for American Idol tonight. Hooray. I love that show. I am a total wannabe even though I know I'm a never-will-be. Simon always damns the singers by comparing them to karaoke but I'd be happy to attain that level. But, that's okay 'cause I enjoy listening to all the beautiful voices.
My favorite singer this year keeps changing. I'm torn right now between David Cook and Jason Castro, who are quite different from each other but they're both great singers and have funky hair. The dreads never bothered me but I had real trouble with the spiky-over-the-forehead thing that David Cook had going on. Of course, young David Archuleta sings like an angel and is likely to win but I don't like the songs he sings nearly as much. His all have that upbeat, key-change-in-the-middle Christian rock sound that gets boring for me after a while.
And while I think the women are amazing singers, I'm not so much into them. I wish I could get behind Kristy Lee Cook for some in-state solidarity but she just bugs me. She has a great voice, she's beautiful, but I think as a performer she's very uninteresting. Syesha is technically amazing but like a beautiful painting I admire but don't connect to. Brooke, I'm sure, is nowhere near as wholesome as she'd like us to believe so I don't trust her. Carly does dress in very poor taste, even for a slightly punk 70's retro look. Is there another girl? If so, I can't remember right now who it is so that doesn't bode well for her.
As for the judges this season, Paula actually sounds coherent and occasionally quite smart. Simon is much, much nicer than last year and for the first half of the season Randy looked like he'd much rather be somewhere else. In our household we've adopted key phrases: "You worked it out, dog." "It was a little pitchy for me." And, the all time damning phrase, "You look beautiful." That last from Paula is always the kiss of death. Question: "How did I sound?" Answer: "You look beautiful." Ouch! And, while Simon is the master of the overstatement (nothing is ever "terrible" or a "total mess") I think he's right 99% of the time.
So, only 11 1/2 hours until my show is on. I can wait. It's not like I don't have a life or anything. Now it's 11 hours and 29 minutes. I can do this! Maybe, while I'm waiting, I'll just go to www.americanidol.com and see what the latest is. Catch you later, dog.
My favorite singer this year keeps changing. I'm torn right now between David Cook and Jason Castro, who are quite different from each other but they're both great singers and have funky hair. The dreads never bothered me but I had real trouble with the spiky-over-the-forehead thing that David Cook had going on. Of course, young David Archuleta sings like an angel and is likely to win but I don't like the songs he sings nearly as much. His all have that upbeat, key-change-in-the-middle Christian rock sound that gets boring for me after a while.
And while I think the women are amazing singers, I'm not so much into them. I wish I could get behind Kristy Lee Cook for some in-state solidarity but she just bugs me. She has a great voice, she's beautiful, but I think as a performer she's very uninteresting. Syesha is technically amazing but like a beautiful painting I admire but don't connect to. Brooke, I'm sure, is nowhere near as wholesome as she'd like us to believe so I don't trust her. Carly does dress in very poor taste, even for a slightly punk 70's retro look. Is there another girl? If so, I can't remember right now who it is so that doesn't bode well for her.
As for the judges this season, Paula actually sounds coherent and occasionally quite smart. Simon is much, much nicer than last year and for the first half of the season Randy looked like he'd much rather be somewhere else. In our household we've adopted key phrases: "You worked it out, dog." "It was a little pitchy for me." And, the all time damning phrase, "You look beautiful." That last from Paula is always the kiss of death. Question: "How did I sound?" Answer: "You look beautiful." Ouch! And, while Simon is the master of the overstatement (nothing is ever "terrible" or a "total mess") I think he's right 99% of the time.
So, only 11 1/2 hours until my show is on. I can wait. It's not like I don't have a life or anything. Now it's 11 hours and 29 minutes. I can do this! Maybe, while I'm waiting, I'll just go to www.americanidol.com and see what the latest is. Catch you later, dog.
Monday, April 14, 2008
Breaking Up Is Hard To Do
I broke up with Hillary this weekend. I'd known for a while now that I needed to but it was really hard to say goodbye. I'd wanted her to be The One, so much so that I was willing to overlook her obvious flaws. We'd had some good times, too, and I didn't want to just throw them all away.
I'm not ready for another candidate just yet. I know that Senator Obama is there, waiting, when I'm ready to declare my intentions, but I need some time alone, first. I need to get my head on straight before I jump into bed with another candidate.
Not that there's anything wrong with Obama. I've always thought he'd make a fine President. I'd come out early for Hillary as opposed to Obama because, all other things being equal, she was a woman and I very much believe in supporting women in achieving positions of power. But, as my friend Amanda said, "It'd be great to have a woman for President, but it needs to be the right woman." In the end, Hillary's gender wasn't enough to outweigh the problems I was having with her. I didn't like her snarky attacks on Obama, her ex post facto claims to the Florida delegates, and especially her lying about her Bosnia trip to shore up her claims to foreign policy experience. It all boiled down to character, and I just can't vote for a political candidate who's willing to twist the facts to justify political aims. That's Bush's M.O.--WMD's in Iraq, anyone?
So, I'm on my own now, without a Presidential candidate for the first time in months. But that's okay. I'm making sure I get out of the house, see my friends, have a laugh. I'm not brooding. I know there will be another one before too long, by May 20th, anyway, and it's good to take a break from all that stuff. I'm sure it'll make me a better person in the end, stronger, more clear about who I am and what I want the next time. Don't worry about me; I'll be okay. I just need to take a break.
If you really want to help me get through this difficult time, give me a call and we'll go see a movie or something, take my mind off all this political heartbreak. Yeah, that's what we should do, go see a movie. I hear that the Salem Film Festival is having a showing of "Karl Rove, I Love You". Wanna go?
I'm not ready for another candidate just yet. I know that Senator Obama is there, waiting, when I'm ready to declare my intentions, but I need some time alone, first. I need to get my head on straight before I jump into bed with another candidate.
Not that there's anything wrong with Obama. I've always thought he'd make a fine President. I'd come out early for Hillary as opposed to Obama because, all other things being equal, she was a woman and I very much believe in supporting women in achieving positions of power. But, as my friend Amanda said, "It'd be great to have a woman for President, but it needs to be the right woman." In the end, Hillary's gender wasn't enough to outweigh the problems I was having with her. I didn't like her snarky attacks on Obama, her ex post facto claims to the Florida delegates, and especially her lying about her Bosnia trip to shore up her claims to foreign policy experience. It all boiled down to character, and I just can't vote for a political candidate who's willing to twist the facts to justify political aims. That's Bush's M.O.--WMD's in Iraq, anyone?
So, I'm on my own now, without a Presidential candidate for the first time in months. But that's okay. I'm making sure I get out of the house, see my friends, have a laugh. I'm not brooding. I know there will be another one before too long, by May 20th, anyway, and it's good to take a break from all that stuff. I'm sure it'll make me a better person in the end, stronger, more clear about who I am and what I want the next time. Don't worry about me; I'll be okay. I just need to take a break.
If you really want to help me get through this difficult time, give me a call and we'll go see a movie or something, take my mind off all this political heartbreak. Yeah, that's what we should do, go see a movie. I hear that the Salem Film Festival is having a showing of "Karl Rove, I Love You". Wanna go?
Friday, April 11, 2008
Following The Joy!
Read my title carefully. That's why I put the "the" in there, so you'd know I wasn't talking about stalking a woman named Joy. We are not pro-stalking here at blogspot. But we are pro-Joy. Finding it. Following it. Which is why I've been avoiding writing about intolerance as I hinted I was going to do about 5 posts ago. I don't wanna and you can't make me. I will. Soon. Just not today.
Today I'm going to write about joy. I found it this morning watching our black doggie run across the green, green grass of the park with a ball in her mouth. She's a setter mix, highly energetic, born to run. My spirits lift just watching her. I can forget for a moment about the political protesters disrupting the Olympic torch relay--an international symbol of good sportsmanship and good will. I can forget that American Airlines cancelled 1000 flights this week due to maintenance issue. That $5.30 a gallon gasoline in Northern California that I heard about on the radio--all gone from my gray matter. Instead, I'm in the park, watching the dog run, feeling the warmth of the actual sun, actually out after a looooong cloudy spell, and feeling the joy.
While I don't think you can stalk joy (or Joy), I do think you can ready yourself for it, go to the places where joy lives--a beach, a perfect latte, in bed (with our without your favorite person), wherever you can get lost in the moment, in the sheer physicalness of being alive. I think it's no accident that one of the prescriptions for fighting depression is exercise. When you move your body, not only do you release endorphins but you breathe more deeply, you feel yourself in your body, you know you're alive at a most fundamental level and that brings joy.
People, like animals, are embodied creatures. The difference is that animals don't live in their heads the same way we do. They are good at finding and inhabiting the physical moment that brings them the most joy--our calico sitting on top of the computer where it's warm; our tabby stretched out on the back of the sofa on a fleece throw; the dog sprawling in the sun. These animals are pictures of contented joy, doing what comes naturally. What gets you out of your head and brings you joy?
Today I'm going to write about joy. I found it this morning watching our black doggie run across the green, green grass of the park with a ball in her mouth. She's a setter mix, highly energetic, born to run. My spirits lift just watching her. I can forget for a moment about the political protesters disrupting the Olympic torch relay--an international symbol of good sportsmanship and good will. I can forget that American Airlines cancelled 1000 flights this week due to maintenance issue. That $5.30 a gallon gasoline in Northern California that I heard about on the radio--all gone from my gray matter. Instead, I'm in the park, watching the dog run, feeling the warmth of the actual sun, actually out after a looooong cloudy spell, and feeling the joy.
While I don't think you can stalk joy (or Joy), I do think you can ready yourself for it, go to the places where joy lives--a beach, a perfect latte, in bed (with our without your favorite person), wherever you can get lost in the moment, in the sheer physicalness of being alive. I think it's no accident that one of the prescriptions for fighting depression is exercise. When you move your body, not only do you release endorphins but you breathe more deeply, you feel yourself in your body, you know you're alive at a most fundamental level and that brings joy.
People, like animals, are embodied creatures. The difference is that animals don't live in their heads the same way we do. They are good at finding and inhabiting the physical moment that brings them the most joy--our calico sitting on top of the computer where it's warm; our tabby stretched out on the back of the sofa on a fleece throw; the dog sprawling in the sun. These animals are pictures of contented joy, doing what comes naturally. What gets you out of your head and brings you joy?
Thursday, April 10, 2008
In My Day
My daughter's backpack weighed 17 pounds this morning. This is the backpack that she slings over her shoulder on her way to the sixth grade. It was heavier yesterday, she said, as it had more books in it. She also carries her violin. This is why I drive her to her school, as opposed to her riding her bike. I know I'm going to sound like an old crank but is this toting around of massive books really necessary? In my day, unless I'm simply senile, I do not remember even carrying a backpack to school. In elementary school one day, her backpack weighed 28 pounds. This, my friends, is ridiculous, not to mention hard on growing bones. Her once perfect posture has wilted into stooped shoulders. I'm hoping it won't be permanent.
She also has no time outside for the 6 1/2 hours she's in school. No recess. PE is usually inside, and her 30 minute lunch is required to be spent inside. That can't be healthy, nor does it sound like good kid management. Take the 900 kids in her school and keep them confined in doors with no opportunities to blow off steam. I wonder how well-behaved the kids are by their last class period. This morning she drove with her head out the window like a dog so she could have fresh air.
Of course, since I'm a liberal, I'm well-versed at seeing the upside: Unlike many areas of Africa and in war-torn Afghanistan and Iraq, she has a free public school to go to; there are enough textbooks for all the kids; boys and girls can study together without inciting stoning of the girls or the teachers; while class size isn't optimal, at least there are multiple trained teachers; electives abound; her curricula doesn't have to be first vetted for religious conformity (although in this country some groups are fighting hard against this separation of church and state). You get the picture.
Still, simply because other parts of the world (and our country) are worse off, doesn't mean that our school district is the best it can be. Readers, I'd be interested in hearing about your experiences with schools--How long was the day? Did you carry a massive backpack? If you have children, how do their experiences compare with yours? If you live in a different area of the country or world, what is school like in your home town? I'd really like some more data so I can get a better perspective on just how much of a crank I really am. Thanks for sharing!
She also has no time outside for the 6 1/2 hours she's in school. No recess. PE is usually inside, and her 30 minute lunch is required to be spent inside. That can't be healthy, nor does it sound like good kid management. Take the 900 kids in her school and keep them confined in doors with no opportunities to blow off steam. I wonder how well-behaved the kids are by their last class period. This morning she drove with her head out the window like a dog so she could have fresh air.
Of course, since I'm a liberal, I'm well-versed at seeing the upside: Unlike many areas of Africa and in war-torn Afghanistan and Iraq, she has a free public school to go to; there are enough textbooks for all the kids; boys and girls can study together without inciting stoning of the girls or the teachers; while class size isn't optimal, at least there are multiple trained teachers; electives abound; her curricula doesn't have to be first vetted for religious conformity (although in this country some groups are fighting hard against this separation of church and state). You get the picture.
Still, simply because other parts of the world (and our country) are worse off, doesn't mean that our school district is the best it can be. Readers, I'd be interested in hearing about your experiences with schools--How long was the day? Did you carry a massive backpack? If you have children, how do their experiences compare with yours? If you live in a different area of the country or world, what is school like in your home town? I'd really like some more data so I can get a better perspective on just how much of a crank I really am. Thanks for sharing!
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
Quiet
Today's my husband's birthday. He is now the same age as Barack Obama and George Clooney. He's not sure if he should think of himself as being in good company or as a slacker. I vote for good company. Happy Birthday, sweetie!
I am here today, not only to celebrate my sweetie's natal day, but to celebrate the virtues of being quiet, of holding still, of not moving forward. In our American culture, productivity is seen as the highest good but people aren't machines and we can't possibly work at the same pace every day. Work has rhythms, like everything else in life, and it is a blessing when we can find our own rhythm from time to time amidst the hurly-burly of daily life.
My mother, with her full-time job teaching elementary school and her five children at home, would often say, "I can't hear myself think." At the time, I thought it was funny. Now I know exactly what she means. Between newspapers, TV, the Internet, radio, satellite radio, iPods, cell phones, and Blackberries, information bombards us relentlessly, noisy snippets yammering for our attention, each claiming that THIS bit is the most important. When do we have time to sit and think and sort through just how we feel about the Iraq war, the Presidential election, our oldest becoming a senior in High School, our cat dying, the lawn turning to moss.
John Bradshaw is a psychologist who was big in the self-help days of the 1980's and he had a saying: "We're human beings, not human doings." At the time, that, too struck me as funny--now that I'm almost the same venerable age as George Clooney and Barack and my husband, I also know what he means. We should not define our worth according to how much we accomplish. Instead, we should recognize our inherent worth and share that light in positive relationships with others. It's how we live and love that matters, not how many items are checked off on our to-do list.
So, I hope that each of you find time today to listen to the beat of your heart, to feel your breath move in and out of your body according to your own rhythm, to feel the ground underneath your feet as you take each step. I hope you become aware of the air on your cheek, the color of the sky and the progression of the season wherever you live. Whether today is your birthday or not, each day the earth has you on it is a gift--to yourself and, perhaps, to those around you. Blessed Be.
I am here today, not only to celebrate my sweetie's natal day, but to celebrate the virtues of being quiet, of holding still, of not moving forward. In our American culture, productivity is seen as the highest good but people aren't machines and we can't possibly work at the same pace every day. Work has rhythms, like everything else in life, and it is a blessing when we can find our own rhythm from time to time amidst the hurly-burly of daily life.
My mother, with her full-time job teaching elementary school and her five children at home, would often say, "I can't hear myself think." At the time, I thought it was funny. Now I know exactly what she means. Between newspapers, TV, the Internet, radio, satellite radio, iPods, cell phones, and Blackberries, information bombards us relentlessly, noisy snippets yammering for our attention, each claiming that THIS bit is the most important. When do we have time to sit and think and sort through just how we feel about the Iraq war, the Presidential election, our oldest becoming a senior in High School, our cat dying, the lawn turning to moss.
John Bradshaw is a psychologist who was big in the self-help days of the 1980's and he had a saying: "We're human beings, not human doings." At the time, that, too struck me as funny--now that I'm almost the same venerable age as George Clooney and Barack and my husband, I also know what he means. We should not define our worth according to how much we accomplish. Instead, we should recognize our inherent worth and share that light in positive relationships with others. It's how we live and love that matters, not how many items are checked off on our to-do list.
So, I hope that each of you find time today to listen to the beat of your heart, to feel your breath move in and out of your body according to your own rhythm, to feel the ground underneath your feet as you take each step. I hope you become aware of the air on your cheek, the color of the sky and the progression of the season wherever you live. Whether today is your birthday or not, each day the earth has you on it is a gift--to yourself and, perhaps, to those around you. Blessed Be.
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
Book Worlds
I love the scene in the original Miracle on 34th Street when Edmund Gwenn's character tells Natalie Wood that just like there's the "French Nation" and the "Spanish Nation," there's the "Imagi-nation" and we can visit it any time we like. Maps, like we talked about yesterday, are guides to the real world. Books are worlds we visit in our imaginations. Two recent books take that literally, supposing that books are actual gateways to other worlds. As someone who is more often comfortable between the pages of a good book than with "real life," I was really struck by the ability of these authors to legitimize the power of a good story.
Inkheart, by Cornelia Funke, is the first in a young adult fantasy trilogy that chronicles the tale of Maggie and her father who are able to read characters out of books and into real life. Funke's books (Inkspell is the second in the series) are beautifully and densely written, equally interesting to adults as children, and the quality of the writing is very literary, unlike the Harry Potter series.
My friend, Pamela, turned me on to Jasper Fforde who has written a trilogy that I'd label as satire in the vein of Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy. (Thank you Pamela!). The series posits a world where literature and art are so crucial that they spawn political parties vying for power and forgers making millions because the demand for original works is so high, resulting in the need for Special Ops devoted exclusively to the curtailing of illegal uses of literature. This is the main thread among many running through the book as we follow SpecOps Agent, Thursday Next, as she fights the forces of darkness that include vampires, giant corporations and runaway characters from books. The first in the series is called The Eyre Affair (think Jane Eyre).
What heartens me about the existence of these books is knowing that there are other people like me whose lives are enlarged not just by actual travel to real places, but through visits to the imagination where all things are possible.
Inkheart, by Cornelia Funke, is the first in a young adult fantasy trilogy that chronicles the tale of Maggie and her father who are able to read characters out of books and into real life. Funke's books (Inkspell is the second in the series) are beautifully and densely written, equally interesting to adults as children, and the quality of the writing is very literary, unlike the Harry Potter series.
My friend, Pamela, turned me on to Jasper Fforde who has written a trilogy that I'd label as satire in the vein of Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy. (Thank you Pamela!). The series posits a world where literature and art are so crucial that they spawn political parties vying for power and forgers making millions because the demand for original works is so high, resulting in the need for Special Ops devoted exclusively to the curtailing of illegal uses of literature. This is the main thread among many running through the book as we follow SpecOps Agent, Thursday Next, as she fights the forces of darkness that include vampires, giant corporations and runaway characters from books. The first in the series is called The Eyre Affair (think Jane Eyre).
What heartens me about the existence of these books is knowing that there are other people like me whose lives are enlarged not just by actual travel to real places, but through visits to the imagination where all things are possible.
Monday, April 7, 2008
Uncharted Territory
I love maps. I love maps for their practical uses and for how they spark my imagination. It's so cool that adventurous people have explored the globe and then written it down for the rest of us and Mapquest is the best invention since peanut butter met chocolate. Apparently, learning geography is all the rage now. I guess it goes in and out of fashion, like paisley and hip hugger jeans, and now it's back in.
In our town the school kids had a Geography Bee. My daughter was uninterested. "I'm terrible at geography," she reported with no shame. "But," she went on, "I do know how to read a map. If I want to know where something is, I can just look it up." I saw her point and didn't press her on it because I'm the same way. I'm not a fact person, someone who knows interesting tidbits of information, like the kind you need for Jeopardy or Trivial Pursuit. I like the big picture, the patterns--which is why I like atlases. They show all the countries of the world in relation to each. Street maps are good for navigation. Atlases are good for the imagination.
I'm the perfect armchair traveler--I like to watch Globe Trekker and read travel books, but don't really have much inclination to travel internationally, except for a hankering to go to the UK and see all the places I've read about in my love affair with British Lit. I have friends who are great travelers and I live vicariously through them. Truth be told, I'm not bold or brave enough to make a good traveler to exotic places. I don't like being cold or wet or hungry or eating insects or getting too hot or getting lost in a place where I can't speak the language. Anyway, those are my fears when I imagine going to Tangier or Tibet or some non-Western locale.
Travel is said to be great for broadening one's life and I agree. That's one reason we took our daughter to Washington D.C., so she could enlarge her experience of the world. The first time she went to Seattle--her first experience with a city with skyscrapers--she was frightened, a little overwhelmed, yet exhilarated. This experience for her, we thought, was a good thing, to see that the world is larger than our own little town. I know travel gets us out of our tiny little routines and helps us lift our head up and see how parochial our lives are, particularly in America. While travel can bring unexpected hassles, there are usually transcendent moments that make it all worthwhile.
To my mind, maps minimize the hassle and make room for the transcendent. I like knowing where I'm going and what I'm getting in to. It's a flaw but it's also what makes me a great planner. It's also one of the things that makes me a great parent. As my friend, Ed, put it--being a parent means imagining disasters and then preventing them before they happen. So, into the toddler travel bag goes sunscreen, snacks, water, juice boxes, insect repellent, a change of clothes, extra pull-ups, toys, books, games, a sun hat, an extra layer, a cuddly toy, a cuddly blanket, and children's Tylenol--all this just to go to the grocery store! (I exaggerate, but not by much).
The hope, of course, is that when life throws a curve ball, I'll be prepared to catch it. The reality is that there is really no way to prepare for the giant curve balls life can throw at us like accident, injury and death. No amount of sunscreen in my bag could prepare me emotionally for my Dad's late night trip to the ER last fall. However, now that I've been down that road, if and when it happens again, I'll look around and say, "This is familiar; I remember this waiting room, this worry, this feeling of helplessness wrapped up in love." Each new experience like that becomes etched on the map of my soul, enlarging and broadening who I am.
When I finally get to England, I'll have first read the travel books, poured over the maps and chosen the best way to navigate from London to the Lake Country and where we should lay our weary heads each night. I'll prepare for our trip as a way to minimize hassles, as a way to increase the probability that we will stay safe.
Real safety is only a chimera--age and illness and death stalk us all. But a timely snack can save a long day from complete emotional deterioration so I'll pack my travel bag with what I think I might need, peruse my maps to minimize the hassle of getting lost, and still embrace the fact that around every new bend in the road not only will there be dragons of some sort, there will also be the unexpected blessings that mark all roads if only we know how to read the signs. Happy travels.
In our town the school kids had a Geography Bee. My daughter was uninterested. "I'm terrible at geography," she reported with no shame. "But," she went on, "I do know how to read a map. If I want to know where something is, I can just look it up." I saw her point and didn't press her on it because I'm the same way. I'm not a fact person, someone who knows interesting tidbits of information, like the kind you need for Jeopardy or Trivial Pursuit. I like the big picture, the patterns--which is why I like atlases. They show all the countries of the world in relation to each. Street maps are good for navigation. Atlases are good for the imagination.
I'm the perfect armchair traveler--I like to watch Globe Trekker and read travel books, but don't really have much inclination to travel internationally, except for a hankering to go to the UK and see all the places I've read about in my love affair with British Lit. I have friends who are great travelers and I live vicariously through them. Truth be told, I'm not bold or brave enough to make a good traveler to exotic places. I don't like being cold or wet or hungry or eating insects or getting too hot or getting lost in a place where I can't speak the language. Anyway, those are my fears when I imagine going to Tangier or Tibet or some non-Western locale.
Travel is said to be great for broadening one's life and I agree. That's one reason we took our daughter to Washington D.C., so she could enlarge her experience of the world. The first time she went to Seattle--her first experience with a city with skyscrapers--she was frightened, a little overwhelmed, yet exhilarated. This experience for her, we thought, was a good thing, to see that the world is larger than our own little town. I know travel gets us out of our tiny little routines and helps us lift our head up and see how parochial our lives are, particularly in America. While travel can bring unexpected hassles, there are usually transcendent moments that make it all worthwhile.
To my mind, maps minimize the hassle and make room for the transcendent. I like knowing where I'm going and what I'm getting in to. It's a flaw but it's also what makes me a great planner. It's also one of the things that makes me a great parent. As my friend, Ed, put it--being a parent means imagining disasters and then preventing them before they happen. So, into the toddler travel bag goes sunscreen, snacks, water, juice boxes, insect repellent, a change of clothes, extra pull-ups, toys, books, games, a sun hat, an extra layer, a cuddly toy, a cuddly blanket, and children's Tylenol--all this just to go to the grocery store! (I exaggerate, but not by much).
The hope, of course, is that when life throws a curve ball, I'll be prepared to catch it. The reality is that there is really no way to prepare for the giant curve balls life can throw at us like accident, injury and death. No amount of sunscreen in my bag could prepare me emotionally for my Dad's late night trip to the ER last fall. However, now that I've been down that road, if and when it happens again, I'll look around and say, "This is familiar; I remember this waiting room, this worry, this feeling of helplessness wrapped up in love." Each new experience like that becomes etched on the map of my soul, enlarging and broadening who I am.
When I finally get to England, I'll have first read the travel books, poured over the maps and chosen the best way to navigate from London to the Lake Country and where we should lay our weary heads each night. I'll prepare for our trip as a way to minimize hassles, as a way to increase the probability that we will stay safe.
Real safety is only a chimera--age and illness and death stalk us all. But a timely snack can save a long day from complete emotional deterioration so I'll pack my travel bag with what I think I might need, peruse my maps to minimize the hassle of getting lost, and still embrace the fact that around every new bend in the road not only will there be dragons of some sort, there will also be the unexpected blessings that mark all roads if only we know how to read the signs. Happy travels.
Friday, April 4, 2008
Domestic Goddess
I didn't post yesterday because I was having a great cleaning session. I was in the zone, dusting my way through my blogging time, vacuuming through my yoga class, doing dishes and laundry with meditative focus. None of it was a chore yesterday. I enjoyed putting my house in order, surrounding myself with a visual oasis of calm and peace.
It's not always like that. Normally, I do a lick and a prayer muttering my resentment at cleaning up after people who won't clean up after themselves, trying to hurry through the basics so I can get to what really matters which is everything but housework.
Heloise knows better. She is the Uber Domestic Goddess and predates Martha Stewart who is all about the flash, the perfect presentation. Martha wouldn't condescend to tell you 1001 uses for baking soda even if she did know, which I'm sure she doesn't. The current Heloise behind the Hints From Heloise newspaper column is the daughter of the original writer who started her column "to help housewives" in 1959 and never looked back (http://www.heloise.com/).
I don't know if you have ever read that column but I have for years because it both cracks me up and inspires me. I can never tell if the people who write in are housework geniuses or simply have way too much time on their hands. I mean, who really takes the time to figure out that the lid from a take-away pizza box fits under a kitty litter box and protects the floor from spilled litter--and who then writes into the newspaper to tell the rest of us all about it!
On the other hand, cleaning up the detritus of life is a common human experience that can unite us despite our differences. That vacuum commercial slogan--Life's messy; clean it up--is such a wonderful homily. We can't escape the truth that life is messy, full of disorder, dirt, hurt, pain and sorrow. Best then to face it square on, with the right tools and the right attitude, and do what needs to be done: Do the dishes, make the bed, comfort the sorrowful, heal the afflicted. The Benedictines (an order of Catholic nuns and brothers) root their lives in regular intervals of prayer and work, knowing that God is found in the daily tasks as well as in more formal aspects of worship.
I am grateful for the times that cleaning feels more like a blessing than a chore, and I'm all for sharing the opportunity to be blessed with all members of my household. Or, if you have other priorities, there's nothing sinful about outsourcing the chores all together. Fewer households have the luxury of one adult whose primary responsibilities are household management and care. Housework, for too many of us, has become that thing we do when we can no longer see the floor.
Homemaking, on the other hand, is a gift we can offer to each other--or if you live alone, it's a gift to yourself. Homemaking can be found in a loaf of homemade bread, in a clean bathroom sink, in a vase full of flowers from your yard or from the florist--whatever your own personal totems of abundance and beauty are. Homemaking, to me, means making small offerings of nurture and care to ourselves and those we live with, and anyone of almost any age can make and receive those gestures. It's not about creating the picture perfect home with everything in its place. Instead, it's the gestures of love that make a house a home, a sanctuary, a respite from the challenges of being human.
Try it. Decide what makes your house a home to you and nurture that aspect, whether you live alone or with others. Find ways to create your own oasis of calm and beauty in your home, and invite family members to do the same--perhaps it's a clean window, a hot bath by candlelight, vegetables from your garden, a shared cup of tea. My daughter and I like to bake together and that fills our house with good smells and good things to eat. Everyone will have their own ways to make a home. I invite you to cultivate those touchstones and hope that your home and your life feel more blessed.
It's not always like that. Normally, I do a lick and a prayer muttering my resentment at cleaning up after people who won't clean up after themselves, trying to hurry through the basics so I can get to what really matters which is everything but housework.
Heloise knows better. She is the Uber Domestic Goddess and predates Martha Stewart who is all about the flash, the perfect presentation. Martha wouldn't condescend to tell you 1001 uses for baking soda even if she did know, which I'm sure she doesn't. The current Heloise behind the Hints From Heloise newspaper column is the daughter of the original writer who started her column "to help housewives" in 1959 and never looked back (http://www.heloise.com/).
I don't know if you have ever read that column but I have for years because it both cracks me up and inspires me. I can never tell if the people who write in are housework geniuses or simply have way too much time on their hands. I mean, who really takes the time to figure out that the lid from a take-away pizza box fits under a kitty litter box and protects the floor from spilled litter--and who then writes into the newspaper to tell the rest of us all about it!
On the other hand, cleaning up the detritus of life is a common human experience that can unite us despite our differences. That vacuum commercial slogan--Life's messy; clean it up--is such a wonderful homily. We can't escape the truth that life is messy, full of disorder, dirt, hurt, pain and sorrow. Best then to face it square on, with the right tools and the right attitude, and do what needs to be done: Do the dishes, make the bed, comfort the sorrowful, heal the afflicted. The Benedictines (an order of Catholic nuns and brothers) root their lives in regular intervals of prayer and work, knowing that God is found in the daily tasks as well as in more formal aspects of worship.
I am grateful for the times that cleaning feels more like a blessing than a chore, and I'm all for sharing the opportunity to be blessed with all members of my household. Or, if you have other priorities, there's nothing sinful about outsourcing the chores all together. Fewer households have the luxury of one adult whose primary responsibilities are household management and care. Housework, for too many of us, has become that thing we do when we can no longer see the floor.
Homemaking, on the other hand, is a gift we can offer to each other--or if you live alone, it's a gift to yourself. Homemaking can be found in a loaf of homemade bread, in a clean bathroom sink, in a vase full of flowers from your yard or from the florist--whatever your own personal totems of abundance and beauty are. Homemaking, to me, means making small offerings of nurture and care to ourselves and those we live with, and anyone of almost any age can make and receive those gestures. It's not about creating the picture perfect home with everything in its place. Instead, it's the gestures of love that make a house a home, a sanctuary, a respite from the challenges of being human.
Try it. Decide what makes your house a home to you and nurture that aspect, whether you live alone or with others. Find ways to create your own oasis of calm and beauty in your home, and invite family members to do the same--perhaps it's a clean window, a hot bath by candlelight, vegetables from your garden, a shared cup of tea. My daughter and I like to bake together and that fills our house with good smells and good things to eat. Everyone will have their own ways to make a home. I invite you to cultivate those touchstones and hope that your home and your life feel more blessed.
Wednesday, April 2, 2008
Too Much Information
It was suggested to me by a family remember who shall remain nameless that as religion and politics are generally recommended to be avoided in polite company, perhaps I might want to refrain from writing about them on my blog as they are such personal topics, perhaps more suited to a diary than a public forum. The concern expressed was that I might be the target for some nasty comments from those who disagree.
I have to say, when I started this blog, I was a bit concerned about putting my views out there. I felt exposed and a little vulnerable. I wondered if I was breaking a basic taboo of how society functions, that what enables us all to co-exist here in this pluralistic country is by not knowing how our neighbor really thinks and feels. For instance, we live on a very small cul-de-sac and are neighborly with just about everybody. A few years back when we put out a campaign sign in support of gay marriage, I was a bit concerned about receiving some negative attention from our fundamentalist Christian neighbors who live on our street. We didn't, but the whole exercise made me think about what it means to take a stand.
Just think what it must be like to put forth your views in a country where there is no protection of free speech, where criticizing the government can get you imprisoned or killed, where neighbors are not to be trusted with your true thoughts and feelings for fear you will be attacked or reported to the authorities. Just think of the men who signed the Declaration of Independence, who risked everything they owned and everyone they loved to stand up for a particular point of view.
I admire that kind of courage and in doing my blog I decided that I wanted to be the kind of person who is forthright in expressing what I really think, even if it's not considered "polite". I decided I wanted to be authentic about who I was without holding back for fear of censure or disagreement. A little disagreement never hurt anyone and that was really all the danger I was courting, certainly nothing like the risks taken by revolutionaries around the world.
While I think getting along with people is generally a good thing, engaging with others in a real and substantive way is more important to me. Knowing how to make polite chit-chat is certainly a worthwhile skill, but it's not the way to sustain any kind of real relationship. Holding back from expressing what you really think and feel is just a way of avoiding intimacy. It's a way to hide from real connection with others, usually out of fear of being hurt. What we all need to learn and practice is how to disagree and still stay in relationship.
This ability to disagree but still connect with people is what tolerance is all about. That's an ideal I believe in, but not everybody does. What do we do about those who believe that you and your views don't have any right to exist, that there is no place for you on this planet?
Stay tuned.
I have to say, when I started this blog, I was a bit concerned about putting my views out there. I felt exposed and a little vulnerable. I wondered if I was breaking a basic taboo of how society functions, that what enables us all to co-exist here in this pluralistic country is by not knowing how our neighbor really thinks and feels. For instance, we live on a very small cul-de-sac and are neighborly with just about everybody. A few years back when we put out a campaign sign in support of gay marriage, I was a bit concerned about receiving some negative attention from our fundamentalist Christian neighbors who live on our street. We didn't, but the whole exercise made me think about what it means to take a stand.
Just think what it must be like to put forth your views in a country where there is no protection of free speech, where criticizing the government can get you imprisoned or killed, where neighbors are not to be trusted with your true thoughts and feelings for fear you will be attacked or reported to the authorities. Just think of the men who signed the Declaration of Independence, who risked everything they owned and everyone they loved to stand up for a particular point of view.
I admire that kind of courage and in doing my blog I decided that I wanted to be the kind of person who is forthright in expressing what I really think, even if it's not considered "polite". I decided I wanted to be authentic about who I was without holding back for fear of censure or disagreement. A little disagreement never hurt anyone and that was really all the danger I was courting, certainly nothing like the risks taken by revolutionaries around the world.
While I think getting along with people is generally a good thing, engaging with others in a real and substantive way is more important to me. Knowing how to make polite chit-chat is certainly a worthwhile skill, but it's not the way to sustain any kind of real relationship. Holding back from expressing what you really think and feel is just a way of avoiding intimacy. It's a way to hide from real connection with others, usually out of fear of being hurt. What we all need to learn and practice is how to disagree and still stay in relationship.
This ability to disagree but still connect with people is what tolerance is all about. That's an ideal I believe in, but not everybody does. What do we do about those who believe that you and your views don't have any right to exist, that there is no place for you on this planet?
Stay tuned.
Tuesday, April 1, 2008
Trust Betrayed
Two items for you this morning:
First, a column by Leonard Pitts Jr. who put into words everything I've been thinking about the whole Hillary-sniper-fire debacle. I hate it when people I believe in do unworthy things--I feel betrayed and sad and the light of the world is dimmed just a bit.
http://www.statesmanjournal.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=2008804010317
Secondly, did y'all hear or read about the parents in Oregon City who decided to pray over their daughter rather than get her medical care for her treatable pneumonia and blood infection and so she died? There's nothing I hate so much as bad parents. Having children is a sacred trust and when parents neglect or abuse their children, they damage that trust beyond repair. The parents are getting prosecuted and I'm glad. Apparently, the parents are members of some stupid church (Followers of Christ) that opposes medical care. Other children of church members have died so authorities are stepping in. The pastor of that church should also be prosecuted as an accessory.
April is child abuse prevention month. Do your part. Be a good parent. Be vigilant on behalf of all children with whom you come into contact. Report suspected abuse to the police or Child Protective Services (or whatever it's called in your town). Don't worry about whether or not you can "prove" abuse. You don't have to. That's CPS's job. If a child--if your child--tells you that s/he is being abused, believe him/her. Protect that child, whatever it takes.
Protection and care of the young, the weak, the old, the infirm--that is the true mark of a good human being and the measure by which all societies and all lives should be judged.
First, a column by Leonard Pitts Jr. who put into words everything I've been thinking about the whole Hillary-sniper-fire debacle. I hate it when people I believe in do unworthy things--I feel betrayed and sad and the light of the world is dimmed just a bit.
http://www.statesmanjournal.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=2008804010317
Secondly, did y'all hear or read about the parents in Oregon City who decided to pray over their daughter rather than get her medical care for her treatable pneumonia and blood infection and so she died? There's nothing I hate so much as bad parents. Having children is a sacred trust and when parents neglect or abuse their children, they damage that trust beyond repair. The parents are getting prosecuted and I'm glad. Apparently, the parents are members of some stupid church (Followers of Christ) that opposes medical care. Other children of church members have died so authorities are stepping in. The pastor of that church should also be prosecuted as an accessory.
April is child abuse prevention month. Do your part. Be a good parent. Be vigilant on behalf of all children with whom you come into contact. Report suspected abuse to the police or Child Protective Services (or whatever it's called in your town). Don't worry about whether or not you can "prove" abuse. You don't have to. That's CPS's job. If a child--if your child--tells you that s/he is being abused, believe him/her. Protect that child, whatever it takes.
Protection and care of the young, the weak, the old, the infirm--that is the true mark of a good human being and the measure by which all societies and all lives should be judged.
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