Vulnerability

This morning at breakfast one of the women in our group fell.  She missed a step off the raised platform her table was on and crumpled to the floor.   In the twinkling of an eye, one mis-step and a fall and a broken hip.  It has shaken the group.  The illusion of our own invincibility and control has flown away.  Like a dramatic natural disaster, a tornado touching down or an earthquake, big change can happen in an instant.   It reminds us of our own vulnerability.  My old father used to say "nothing is permanent but change."   There is nothing to do but wish Beverly well and be grateful for our lives.  One missed step, one broken heartbeat, one missed turn of the wheel and everything can change.  It is good for us to be shaken up once in a while so we don't take so much for granted.

The Oregon Coast

It's hard to get to the Oregon Coast from Portland.   My trip Sunday was a bit arduous as the directions I had didn't work.  Nevertheless, like in olden times, I got here, without using my cellphone GPS,  by asking for directions at a motel in Salem.  Everyone, even those with two people in the car using their mobile devices, commented on the difficulty of getting here.  The group is only 24 women ages 50 - 80+.  Nobody is using a walker and only 3 people using canes, but the meeting room is stuffy.  The vast majority of women are single and were teachers at some point in their lives.  Even though I'm not single, I feel like Arne did when he took his beagle Bogey to beagle-fest in Marin County.  His special beagle looked and behaved just like the hundreds of other beagles there.  The group was self-selecting for lively, intelligent, curious women who've lived interesting lives.  It was great fun beach-combing yesterday afternoon.  The only new thing I learned was that a collective of jellyfish is called a "smack."  The lectures on plate tectonics and natural history of Oregon coast were well done.  Today's writing session was fabulous.  A young shy poet, Annie Lighthart, led us in wonderful poetry writing tasks.  Her gentle enthusiasm and warm kind soul encouraged us all.  I feel inspired to write more and there's time later day and tonight.  Her method of "fast writing," putting pen to paper and not stopping really did shut my inner critic up.  This afternoon we are going to walk through an old growth forest which I hope will be magical in the misty rain.  I'm having a great time and enjoying myself immensely.

Anticipation

A program in one of the multitudes of Road-Scholar catalogs caught my eye.   It was a week at the Oregon coast with walking on the beach and writing.  The more I thought about it, the more it sounded just like me.  Swallowing my pecuniary tendencies, I signed up for the program and booked my flight to Portland.  I leave tomorrow and now I'm having all sorts of visions of horror.  The schedule showed a photo of the hotel.  It's not the cozy B and B on the beach I imagined, instead its a ten-story overbuilt hotel.  At least it is right on the beach.   The week program is "for women only" and now I'm imagining 40 too old women, with canes and walkers, crowded into a stuffy room.  I notice on the schedule one afternoon is a tour to the local outlet stores.  Oh dear, I'll stay back and walk the beach alone that day.  Sitting here, I struggle to contain my run away imagination and just hold an open space and positive attitude for the program.  I do love to walk on a beach and I do love to write and the Oregon coast is beautiful.  This program is going to be as good as I allow it to be.  Like all things in life, there will be good and not so good parts.  I want to pay attention to those good and wonderful parts and maximize my enjoyment and learning.

Thinking about kindness

This morning Bob pointed out to me in the New York Times a big photo of a geneticist I once knew when I taught her daughter.  This woman was always very appreciative of the work I did and as I reflect on what it was that I did, it's just that I was kind to her daughter.  This got me thinking about kindness.  It is the sweet balm in human relationships, the oil that makes everything run smoothly.  I remember once at the end of a confirmation class I taught, I asked the students what they thought God might be calling them to do and one teenager gave an answer I've never forgotten.  He said "God is calling me to be kind."  Alex was severely disabled and generally had trouble focusing, but not in confirmation class.   He got the message of the class, and I think the main message of the Christian religion.  When I taught classes in the jail, I had a song on a CD that became almost an anthem for the class.  It was "We Can Be Kind". The chorus goes:  We can be kind.  We can take care of each other.  We can remember that deep down inside we all need the same thing.  And maybe we'll find, if we are there for each other, that together we'll weather whatever tomorrow may bring."    To  be treated with kindness and respect is all most people want.  I don't know why kindness wasn't on David Brooks list of character qualities of "good people."  Now that I think about it I like the word kindness much better than the word goodness.  Most people know what kindness is, but goodness gets all twisted and confused with pleasing another, like the "good boy" who does what his mother tells him to do.  Kindness is really an affect, an attitude, a way of interacting in the world.  A gentle word spoken can be kind and make all the difference.  Someone who really listens with compassion and hears what is spoken and what is under the spoken words is, above all, kind.  Someone who gives the other person a break, someone who forgives is a kind person.   A little kindness goes a long way in helping us all get along.  Let's hear it for kindness!

Is it enough?

This morning I hit a wall.  When I got out of bed, I realized that I have nothing I must do today.  I have nothing planned for the day.  There is nothing on my calendar.  Probably  I will to go to the gym and work in the garden, maybe read a bit, cook meals for us.  Having lots of time on my hands seemed like a dream for my many busy years.  Now no pressure, having lots of space in my day with nothing to do feels like a curse.   I've never wanted to fill my many hours with busyness, for example join committees or organizations just for the sake of having something to do.  With such emptiness, now I search for meaning in my days.  In the past I've found meaning by doing meaningful things.  Is it doing that gives meaning or is there meaning in just being?  My struggle is an old one, going back to my early days.  Now I wonder if I was aculturated, programmed,  by my mother and the culture of the 40's and 50's to always help and serve others.  Or maybe it's genetic, just having two X chromosomes. In high school I remember being teased (by guys) because I sincerely wanted to help others rather than just hang out and have fun.  It's who I am.  For years, I ran the good race, worked very hard and had way more to do than I could possibly accomplish in a day.  I was always busy doing the stuff of life: raising my children, teaching and ministering.  Somewhere along the way I began to recognize the importance of silence in order to have space for reflection and self-awareness and I sought a quieter life.  However it happened,  I sit here in the quiet of morning, wondering what value my day will have when I just take care of myself and Bob?  Is it enough?  Is it enough for me to be peaceful?  I like to think it helps bring peace into the world.  Is it enough?

Garden river

Two of my favorite metaphors came together today as Ananda (my garden angel) and I made a rock and succulent "river" in my garden.  Making a river in the fourth year of drought was empowering, especially as it used no water.  I'd been collecting large rocks, from the Sierra foothills and Tilden Park, for a while.  At first, I imagined a real water feature, a little waterfall with a small pond at the bottom, here in my garden.  But I gave up that idea when I considered the raccoons who would come and play in it and of course the drought.  Today we started with the image of a curving creek flowing down a bare patch by my entrance stairs.  Rock by rock we created the river bed.  I had four clay bowls of succulents and we broke apart the dried soil, and brittle roots (the succulents looked fine amazingly) and planted them among the rocks.  Bit by bit, the river came to be.   I was thrilled we didn't have to run to the nursery for anything.  I had everything I needed right here.  Spiritually that is an axiom I tend to honor, that I have everything I need, present right here in my life.  And to have it play out while making a garden was a blessing to behold.  Later, when the garden river was finished, Bob came to see it and most interestingly, he saw the barren space next to the new river of succulents and rocks and said "how nice to have a path."  We were so focused on the river, we hadn't even noticed the path that was created.  Now I smile when I look at my new succulent river garden.  How fun it will be to watch it grow and change.

Echoes in the quiet

The alarm was set for 4:15 am this morning, so we could leave by 4:45 to take Erika to San Francisco airport.  It was an easy drive with absolutely no traffic and so Erika and I were shocked by the long lines and hordes of people in the Delta terminal at 5:30 am.  Where did these people all come from and where were they going, we wondered?  It took us 56 minutes standing in the line at Special Services to get the Unaccompanied Minor forms and boarding pass.  By the time we got to the gate, they were already boarding and it was a chaotic jumble of wriggling pushing bodies.   I pushed to the front and Erika was whisked off in tears to board the plane.  She said "I don't like this airport very much."  And off she flew, back to Detroit.  Now, the house seems very quiet.  I sit and listen to the echoes of our lovely week with Erika.  Bob is at his computer busily occupied processing memory making photos from the week to send to Erika.  How could it only have been a week when we did so many different things each day?  I am reminded that life happens in waves:  waves of intense activity punctuated with times of quiet.  It is the natural order.  I think the challenge is not to be overwhelmed in the busy active periods or bored in the quiet times.  As always, I struggle for balance and it doesn't come easily.  I smile remembering all the little and big things we shared.  It was a wonderful fun filled busy week shared with our oldest granddaughter.

Sparkling of the house

We've had our granddaughter, Erika, here since last Saturday.  It's a joy and a challenge to have an 8-year old to entertain.  I gave careful thought to the plans, which changed 3 times before she even came and have been modified since.  Random thoughts on the experience:  it's a joy to see our lives through  8-year old eyes:  who knew we had so many beautiful wildflowers just around our house;  who knew what jars of sparkly glitter could do to art projects?  Our whole house is sparkled as the little bits have drifted and diffused everywhere.  Who knew our Berkeley Public Library was so wonderful (it has an amazing automated system for returning books).  Who knew we had so many different walks we can take from our house.  We've been to Elkhorn Slough to see the otters, to Oakland Fairyland with cousin Elsa, to the California Academy of Sciences where we had a behind the scenes tour of the aquarium. I've been cooking up a storm, simple things like mac n' cheese from scratch and responding to requests for breakfast, blueberry pancakes, omelets and crepes.  We've gone through three long English cucumbers, a dozen apples and a big pound of Colby-Jack cheese.  It's a joy to have the new life around here shaking up the old settled grandparents.  Easter promised New Life and we've got it here.

New Life on Easter

Easter is the pinnacle, the high Holy day of the Christian faith.  It's the day we celebrate the resurrection of Jesus Christ, love overcoming death.  It's the day of egg hunts, of jelly beans and family get togethers and mystical new life.   For me, I need to be in church on Easter morning.  I need to hear the old favorite hymns, the choirs exaulting Alleluias, the Easter sermon and see the wonderfully full church, full of intergenerational families.  Easter is about new life and sadly we don't hear stories about new life on the news.  I'm aware of the horrible events that happened in Kenya the other day and the terrible plane crash in the Alps last weekend.  But new life is there, even if it doesn't make the news.  Here, we have our granddaughter Erika with us for a week.  She's eight and seeing the world through her eyes brings new life to me.  Who knew there is such an abundance of blossoms here?  New life must be found in my experience.   The family met us at church, then came for dinner.  It was fun having the family over, chaos and all.   "It has been a really great Easter" enthused Erika and I thought, indeed it has.  

Betrayal

A friend and I walk together every couple of weeks.  It's good exercise and a time to catch up with each other.  We walk at the Marina or often at the Mountain View Cemetery in Piedmont.  It's peaceful and green, a pleasant place to stroll.  We often remark on the names, the style of the gravestone, and the dates.  Over the many walks, we've seen lots of different kinds of graves.  One particular, the other day, really caught our attention.  It said below the name and dates: "Beloved by family and friends;  Betrayed by Jane and Gerry."  My friend, a retired English teacher, thought it short story material.  Too bad she doesn't have a handy classroom of students to assign this as a creative writing piece.   Betrayal is a dark and dirty thing, a breaking of trust and is no small thing to overcome.  Whatever could Jane and Gerry have done to merit marking the deceased's gravestone for all to see and wonder?  I hope he didn't take the betrayal to his grave.  Another betrayal comes to my mind today, that of Jesus who was betrayed by Judas to the chief priests.  The betrayal started the cascade of events that led to Jesus' horrible suffering and death.  No where in the gospels is it told that Jesus was angry at Judas.  He seems to have let the betrayal go and forgiven Judas, it was after all what he preached.  To take a betrayal to one's death and beyond seems a true tragedy to me.  Today, is a good day following Jesus' example to let go past hurts and betrayals, big or small, and open up a new fresh space for the love so present this Holy Week to flow in.  Geoffrey Black, the out-going National UCC President wrote that this week is a good time for us to "reflect on the hope expressed in the life and teachings of Jesus which were deeply grounded in the reality of God and the power of God's love."