Saturday. Found a lump low on Satya's neck. Called Doctor. ...who said not to worry about it, probably linked to last week's cold and sore throat.
Now I am thanking the non-issue lump. For I spent the rest of the weekend grateful and present. Grateful to have a healthy vivacious daughter. Present in every delightful moment I get with her.
Monday, February 27, 2006
A song on a Monday morning
As Sesame Street says, "One Small Voice" can teach the world a song. The essay on "This I Believe" this morning by 16 year old Josh Rittenberg gave me a little hope for making it through and even more hope that there will be a promising future for Satya and Kuruna.
Thursday, February 23, 2006
Can't write
I set out at the beginning of the year to write more and to write frequently. I can't write tonight - especially not about nice things and my children. I have been trying for the last couple of days to get myself into a yummy safe place, but I can't find one.
Frankly, I am afraid and angry. What will become of the Middle East? What will become of the bird flu? Will we ever have healthcare rights for our poor? Will the federal and state governments move to limit the rights of pregnant women?
Does every mother go through this? I feel as if I was born and gave birth at the wrong time. I feel as if I have brought my children into a terribly dangerous world. How common is this feeling among mothers? Maybe it because I am a "child of Og." I can't write. I need to go check on my sleeping children.
I can't write.
Frankly, I am afraid and angry. What will become of the Middle East? What will become of the bird flu? Will we ever have healthcare rights for our poor? Will the federal and state governments move to limit the rights of pregnant women?
Does every mother go through this? I feel as if I was born and gave birth at the wrong time. I feel as if I have brought my children into a terribly dangerous world. How common is this feeling among mothers? Maybe it because I am a "child of Og." I can't write. I need to go check on my sleeping children.
I can't write.
Sunday, February 12, 2006
Angry
Poverty in America This site gives an idea of what its like to be poor in America. It asks : what do you leave out when you leave below the poverty line.
Seeing this site hit me in a familiar place, an angry place. I cannot abide the suffering of mothers who cannot protect or provide for their children. The notion that this great big "mother" earth, and we humans as her caretakers, cannot provide for all mothers the resources they need angers me greatly. The fact that we cannot do so in the world's richest nation makes my head want to explode.
Seeing this site hit me in a familiar place, an angry place. I cannot abide the suffering of mothers who cannot protect or provide for their children. The notion that this great big "mother" earth, and we humans as her caretakers, cannot provide for all mothers the resources they need angers me greatly. The fact that we cannot do so in the world's richest nation makes my head want to explode.
Friday, February 10, 2006
Absurdities
Those who can make you believe absurdities can make you commit atrocities.
-Voltaire, philosopher (1694-1778)
A friend attached this quote in her list serve post this week. She was referring to current events in our home state and on the national stage. I think she meant that people who can make you believe untruths can make you act unconscionably, too.
Still, something bothered me about the work absurdity. In English, the absurd rings a somewhat jovial tone. It is non-sense, possibly dark non-sense, but not alltogether troubling. To the French, though (and thus to Voltaire?) absurdite is quite dark. Granted, all definitions of absurd in French now point to existentialism, in full bloom 200 years after Voltaire. Nevertheless, the Wikipedia entry in French had something to offer:
"ce qui est dénué de tous sens préétabli. Le substantif absurde est utilisé pour évoquer l'absurdité du monde, de l'humanité et de sa condition, lesquels ne sont en rien justifiées."
that which deviates from all pre-established reason...that which will never find any justification
The rest of Voltaire's quote can be found on One Good Move
"Let us therefore reject all superstition in order to become more human; but in speaking against fanaticism, let us not imitate the fanatics: they are sick men in delirium who want to chastise their doctors. Let us assuage their ills, and never embitter them, and let us pour drop by drop into their souls the divine balm of toleration, which they would reject with horror if it were offered to them all at once."I am not sure what to believe, what I can believe any more. At least I can find some solace in search for root meanings of Voltaire quotes. I feel quite certain I am beginning to understand his intention. Let us continue to search for truth and meaning, toleration and compassion.
Monday, January 30, 2006
Our liability
My next door neighbor and I were discussing the Cashman case. It may be difficult to parse the politics from the jurisprudence, but one lesson is clear. Our penal system is not well designed for rehabilitation. And, unless we plan to incarcerate for life or kill every offender – an impossible proposition – we must examine and amend our criminal codes to rehabilitate offenders as early as possible. This concept of rehabilitation, remuneration and reconciliation has vanished from our social consciousness. Instead we take the stance of harsh and quick revenge or retaliation if you will.
Justice Holmes, in his landmark book, The Common Law, notes the origins of liability in the societal need for revenge. The English took liability so much to the extreme that law made liable a tree whose branch had fallen and injured a person. It called for the tree to be summarily executed, chopped down and delivered to the victim or his family. I think weÂ’ve gone that far.
Last night Satya asked me about torpedoes (blame a Calvin & Hobbes strip, in which Calvin shouts “Awooga” as his bathtub battleship is attacked by a Hobbesian cannon ball). She wanted reassurance that the only case in which one country or interest might use torpedoes against another would require unwavering doubt that the other party was “bad, bad, bad.” Yes, that is three bads.
I did not hesitate in my response. I told her that was absolutely the only time that we should cause such harm to another person or nation, but that often we acted out of anger and a desire to revenge rather than out of an effort to understand. And that in acting without understanding, we might often find ourselves doing harm rather than repairing the situation.
How like a child to go to the heart of an issue, setting aside the theater of war (i.e. the dramatics) for concern for the people in it. Whether at war or in an embattled society in which the penal population inevitably grows, Satya has reminded me to get back to thinking about the people.
Thursday, January 26, 2006
Blogosphere: the new picket line?
Discussing politics, religion, the war (the most recent one) with friends, someone noted how we don't see students out on the green (I live in a small college town) protesting "like they did in the 60's."
As the conversation ensued, these women posited substitute venues for protesting. The blogosphere was offered as an alternate commons to the town square. The blogosphere offers a lot to young liberal activists. It allows them a wider audience. It allows them to be anonymous if they wish.
Protesters also have a much better chance of being articulate when they have more than a 2.5' X 3' space on which to right a pithy slogan in 64 point font.
Question: do we still have the same sense of community in the blogosphere? I mean, it's easy to search for others who have the same sentiments and to post comments to their blog, but it's really hard to bring them a cup of coffee and a hug to express simpatico and solidarity.
I pass these guys: every morning ImpeachBush.org They are bundled up against the cold, walking the street. They are of the 60's generation - at least their representatives in my hometown are. I honk and wave to be kind. I'm just not sure whether we'll see this kind of presence once the baby boomers trade their picket signs for lazy boys.
Yes, somehow its more impressive to show up in person, sometimes, placard in hand, fist raised to the sky. Can you imagine the Orange revolution or Tiananmen Square as virtual movements? Who would stop the tanks? Who would sing the songs? We need the blogosphere to facilitate such movements, to publicize them and to build support. But we need the energy presence and strength of real people in the flesh.
As the conversation ensued, these women posited substitute venues for protesting. The blogosphere was offered as an alternate commons to the town square. The blogosphere offers a lot to young liberal activists. It allows them a wider audience. It allows them to be anonymous if they wish.
Protesters also have a much better chance of being articulate when they have more than a 2.5' X 3' space on which to right a pithy slogan in 64 point font.
Question: do we still have the same sense of community in the blogosphere? I mean, it's easy to search for others who have the same sentiments and to post comments to their blog, but it's really hard to bring them a cup of coffee and a hug to express simpatico and solidarity.
I pass these guys: every morning ImpeachBush.org They are bundled up against the cold, walking the street. They are of the 60's generation - at least their representatives in my hometown are. I honk and wave to be kind. I'm just not sure whether we'll see this kind of presence once the baby boomers trade their picket signs for lazy boys.
Yes, somehow its more impressive to show up in person, sometimes, placard in hand, fist raised to the sky. Can you imagine the Orange revolution or Tiananmen Square as virtual movements? Who would stop the tanks? Who would sing the songs? We need the blogosphere to facilitate such movements, to publicize them and to build support. But we need the energy presence and strength of real people in the flesh.
Monday, January 16, 2006
Uninhibited creativity
I have an idea about where to go for advice on building back New Orleans post-Katrina. Ask the children. Satya created a neighborhood in half an hour, graced with flowers and windows and front doors. She even moved people back in to their houses.
I am an adult. I know that drawing three stick houses and moving 250,000 people into a ruined wasteland are not the same thing, at all. But I also know that as I watched her draw those houses, I observed completely uninhibited creativity. She has very few notions about what can't be done. To her every attempt is beautiful. To her, there is no shame in trying.
Each house in her estimation is perfect, in her estimation brings joy to its inhabitants. There are no blue ribbon commissions or inspector general's reports. Little kids have flowers outside their doors.
What happens to us that we stop drawing stick houses and happy people? Sometimes it seems to me there is nothing more worthwhile.
I am an adult. I know that drawing three stick houses and moving 250,000 people into a ruined wasteland are not the same thing, at all. But I also know that as I watched her draw those houses, I observed completely uninhibited creativity. She has very few notions about what can't be done. To her every attempt is beautiful. To her, there is no shame in trying.
Each house in her estimation is perfect, in her estimation brings joy to its inhabitants. There are no blue ribbon commissions or inspector general's reports. Little kids have flowers outside their doors.What happens to us that we stop drawing stick houses and happy people? Sometimes it seems to me there is nothing more worthwhile.
Sunday, January 15, 2006
Right action, right intent
Driving to church with Satya and Kuruna, I see a runner, on the way. Oh, I need to run! I announce. (These days, the sight of a runner in winter tights, a ski cap and mittens instantly raises a green tinge in my complexion.)
Why don't you,? inquires Satya.
Well, I don't have enough time. I have work, and then I come home and I need to make dinner for you guys. By the time dinner is done and you guys are in bed, it's too late. You, know - I never have any time.
Why don't you just do it? says Satya, again.
Well, I need to. You know, in order to keep healthy. I really do. In fact, my doctor said it's important for me to run.
Well just do it, then! she commands.
I know. I really should...
Mom.
Yes, sweetie?
I mean it. Stop talking about it and just go do it!
Indeed.
Why don't you,? inquires Satya.
Well, I don't have enough time. I have work, and then I come home and I need to make dinner for you guys. By the time dinner is done and you guys are in bed, it's too late. You, know - I never have any time.
Why don't you just do it? says Satya, again.
Well, I need to. You know, in order to keep healthy. I really do. In fact, my doctor said it's important for me to run.
Well just do it, then! she commands.
I know. I really should...
Mom.
Yes, sweetie?
I mean it. Stop talking about it and just go do it!
Indeed.
Saturday, January 14, 2006
Remission
Why is it that we don't recognize our learning habits better? There are recognized stages of learning, but those identify levels of competency. They do not reflect the psycho-emotional state of the learner during a prolonged learning experience. I am talking about something akin to the stages of grief, where is discussed the student's perspective on how "great" or "stupid" the endeavor is.
Satya, after four long months is just starting to like playing the violin. For these many months, I have endured screaming, crying, excuses, disinterest, laziness and despair just to get "Mississippi Hot Dog" whispered between the cat gut and the horse hair.
After four months of "stupid, "I now hear lovely notes. We have emerged - at least for the moment - into "great. There is no external reason behind this change. I belive it is simply the result of four months of consistent encouragement.
At the doctor, when they diagnose you with a terminal illness, don't they send you off with some social worker's business card, wherein are her name, phone number, and a subtext "Specializing in the X stages of grief"? All I am asking is to apply the same standard of care to Suzuki violin.
Without guidance, save for Satya's precious but very young teacher, I was reduced to taking one day at a time. Survival mode violin is not a pretty thing to see, much less to hear. And, all the frowning is terrible for my complexion. Now that she has reached a certain level of enjoyment and skill, I can see how this all developed. And, it reminds me of every one of my own learning experiences.
Without going too much into how she is like and not like me, let me just say, I don't think Satya's learning pattern is unique. She thought violin was great for 2 weeks; then stupid for eight weeks; then a chore for two weeks. Now it is "fun."
Really all I needed was a little forecast in the psychobabble department. You know, twelve steps, eight stages, four phases -- and an end date.
On this, the 250th anniversary of Mozart's birth, perhaps we should not so much be celebrating the composer as issuing a long overdue remittance to his father, who had the patience to put up with young Mozart for long enough to get from "stupid" to "great."
Satya, after four long months is just starting to like playing the violin. For these many months, I have endured screaming, crying, excuses, disinterest, laziness and despair just to get "Mississippi Hot Dog" whispered between the cat gut and the horse hair.
After four months of "stupid, "I now hear lovely notes. We have emerged - at least for the moment - into "great. There is no external reason behind this change. I belive it is simply the result of four months of consistent encouragement.
At the doctor, when they diagnose you with a terminal illness, don't they send you off with some social worker's business card, wherein are her name, phone number, and a subtext "Specializing in the X stages of grief"? All I am asking is to apply the same standard of care to Suzuki violin.
Without guidance, save for Satya's precious but very young teacher, I was reduced to taking one day at a time. Survival mode violin is not a pretty thing to see, much less to hear. And, all the frowning is terrible for my complexion. Now that she has reached a certain level of enjoyment and skill, I can see how this all developed. And, it reminds me of every one of my own learning experiences.
Without going too much into how she is like and not like me, let me just say, I don't think Satya's learning pattern is unique. She thought violin was great for 2 weeks; then stupid for eight weeks; then a chore for two weeks. Now it is "fun."
Really all I needed was a little forecast in the psychobabble department. You know, twelve steps, eight stages, four phases -- and an end date.
On this, the 250th anniversary of Mozart's birth, perhaps we should not so much be celebrating the composer as issuing a long overdue remittance to his father, who had the patience to put up with young Mozart for long enough to get from "stupid" to "great."
Wednesday, January 11, 2006
Cost of living
I promised I wouldn't rant on this page. So
I won't rant, but I might complain a little here
about the cost of living
on a middle class income
without any
squozzies (that's our word at home
for indulgences)
not Indulgences
something the CEO of Exxon Mobil
is going to need when
he can't buy his way
into heaven
with his $80 Million a year salary.
I won't rant, but I might complain a little here
about the cost of living
on a middle class income
without any
squozzies (that's our word at home
for indulgences)
not Indulgences
something the CEO of Exxon Mobil
is going to need when
he can't buy his way
into heaven
with his $80 Million a year salary.
working in "development"
One cold day this past fall, I bundled up and headed out for a run. I made a minor detour to greet my daughter who was playing with a friend. "Mommy?"she asked, "can I have your gloves--I'm cold." Without hesitation, I put them on her, then planted kisses on her cheeks to keep her until I returned.
I missed my gloves. I have always detested being cold. But now I fear it. Something changed in the course of having two kids and a crazy career. I got thinner or nervier or tweaked something that made cold temperatures searing to my fingers and toes. So I wasn't just a bit chillier without my gloves. On a day that was still well above freezing, I might as well have had frostbite.
Then I thought about something I learned recently from a former trustee at my institution about gifts. He was speaking specifically about fundraising, but could have been talking about any kind of giving. He said that in order to ask anyone else to give (to a cause or institution or campaign), the person making the request needs to have given also. If you approach someone to give a "stretch" gift -- a substantial sacrifice of their resources--you had better be able to tell them that you have already made yours. Otherwise you have no business asking.
It's a great point about effective fundraising. I considered as I ran how applicable it is to parenting. I need to make stretch gifts everyday to my children in order to teach them about trust and generosity and faith and love. I have very high expectations for them. Every day they put such effort into pleasing me with good manners and loving gestures, with patience and determination. Toys get cleaned up. Violins are practiced. In a perfect world, we adults would have lovely no-stress lives in which to notice and applaud these gifts from our children. It's not perfect. There's no even system of give and take. So, in the rushed, tired state in which I live, I resort to little gifts and "stretch" gifts: kisses and gloves.
So far I am seeing regular dividends. Karma at work.
I missed my gloves. I have always detested being cold. But now I fear it. Something changed in the course of having two kids and a crazy career. I got thinner or nervier or tweaked something that made cold temperatures searing to my fingers and toes. So I wasn't just a bit chillier without my gloves. On a day that was still well above freezing, I might as well have had frostbite.
Then I thought about something I learned recently from a former trustee at my institution about gifts. He was speaking specifically about fundraising, but could have been talking about any kind of giving. He said that in order to ask anyone else to give (to a cause or institution or campaign), the person making the request needs to have given also. If you approach someone to give a "stretch" gift -- a substantial sacrifice of their resources--you had better be able to tell them that you have already made yours. Otherwise you have no business asking.
It's a great point about effective fundraising. I considered as I ran how applicable it is to parenting. I need to make stretch gifts everyday to my children in order to teach them about trust and generosity and faith and love. I have very high expectations for them. Every day they put such effort into pleasing me with good manners and loving gestures, with patience and determination. Toys get cleaned up. Violins are practiced. In a perfect world, we adults would have lovely no-stress lives in which to notice and applaud these gifts from our children. It's not perfect. There's no even system of give and take. So, in the rushed, tired state in which I live, I resort to little gifts and "stretch" gifts: kisses and gloves.
So far I am seeing regular dividends. Karma at work.
Saturday, December 31, 2005
Tub time and the Golden Rule
I had an insight this evening about Jesus' dictum to treat others they way we want to be treated. My two little ones (Satya and Kuruna) were playing in the tub. Kuruna kept pulling Satya's hair with the predictable response: Satya would scream "Mom! Tell him to stop!" I would come in and say don't take his toys and Kuruna won't have reason to pull your hair.
After a few more episodes of this sort, I told them, you're on your own.
When I popped around the corner to grab some laundry out of the dryer, I heard a huge splash. Satya had dumped water over Koreans 2 year old head. He was too befuddled to cry. "Satya, don't do that!" I insisted. "How is that any different than his pulling your hair? You must treat Kuruna as you want to be treated." There was Jesus coming out of my Buddhist mouth.
I noticed, however, that Kuruna seemed to actually be enjoying himself, drenched. Satya noticed, too. "But Mom (she says this like "Mah-um") He's not crying."
"O.K." I said. "When you are playing with him, be sure to watch how he is reacting, so you know whether he is enjoying it or not."
The Golden Rule no longer translated to "be nice so others will be nice to you." That's how it had always been defined to me (Ok, "nice" could be kind, compassionate, patient...insert virtue here).
Perhaps we have it all wrong. Perhaps the Golden Rule is not a command, but a formula. Treat others as you would have them treat you, means: figure out how you want others to act towards you and instruct them by example. In that way, you are more likely to have enjoyable interactions with others. If you like to hear compliments, give them. If you enjoy having the door held for you, hold the door for others. Even, perhaps, if you enjoy having water dumped on your head, dump water on others' heads? hmmm.
Well, I guess that's the audience participation part of the formula that is not so explicitly laid out in the New Testament. The key to my theory is that the "other" has to be an attentive observer. If my husband tickles my feet (which I HATE!) is that because he loves having his feet tickled? Yes. If he buys me presents every time he thinks of me, is that because he hopes I will do the same. Well, actually, yes.
Now I recognize we are getting into territory that would make psychologists' hair stand on end. Am I advocating that we attempt to read other's minds by how they treat us? No. Yes.
No, because the people we interact with are most likely NOT participating. The Golden Rule or anything like it are furthest from their minds. They are for the most part unaware of anything they do. They act automatically. So, there's not much point in trying to interpret their actions as instruction.
Yes because I do think it possible for mindful people to instruct others by example. Watch any good mother with her young children and you will see what I mean. Not only will she tell her little ones to say thank you or please, to look both ways before crossing the street, to clean up their messes; she will do it as well. She has thought about how she wants them to act in the world and is demonstrating it.
And, finally yes, because everyone, no matter how unaware, can teach us something. At the very least, they can remind us to keep listening and watching our own actions and what we are teaching others about how to treat us.
After a few more episodes of this sort, I told them, you're on your own.
When I popped around the corner to grab some laundry out of the dryer, I heard a huge splash. Satya had dumped water over Koreans 2 year old head. He was too befuddled to cry. "Satya, don't do that!" I insisted. "How is that any different than his pulling your hair? You must treat Kuruna as you want to be treated." There was Jesus coming out of my Buddhist mouth.
I noticed, however, that Kuruna seemed to actually be enjoying himself, drenched. Satya noticed, too. "But Mom (she says this like "Mah-um") He's not crying."
"O.K." I said. "When you are playing with him, be sure to watch how he is reacting, so you know whether he is enjoying it or not."
The Golden Rule no longer translated to "be nice so others will be nice to you." That's how it had always been defined to me (Ok, "nice" could be kind, compassionate, patient...insert virtue here).
Perhaps we have it all wrong. Perhaps the Golden Rule is not a command, but a formula. Treat others as you would have them treat you, means: figure out how you want others to act towards you and instruct them by example. In that way, you are more likely to have enjoyable interactions with others. If you like to hear compliments, give them. If you enjoy having the door held for you, hold the door for others. Even, perhaps, if you enjoy having water dumped on your head, dump water on others' heads? hmmm.
Well, I guess that's the audience participation part of the formula that is not so explicitly laid out in the New Testament. The key to my theory is that the "other" has to be an attentive observer. If my husband tickles my feet (which I HATE!) is that because he loves having his feet tickled? Yes. If he buys me presents every time he thinks of me, is that because he hopes I will do the same. Well, actually, yes.
Now I recognize we are getting into territory that would make psychologists' hair stand on end. Am I advocating that we attempt to read other's minds by how they treat us? No. Yes.
No, because the people we interact with are most likely NOT participating. The Golden Rule or anything like it are furthest from their minds. They are for the most part unaware of anything they do. They act automatically. So, there's not much point in trying to interpret their actions as instruction.
Yes because I do think it possible for mindful people to instruct others by example. Watch any good mother with her young children and you will see what I mean. Not only will she tell her little ones to say thank you or please, to look both ways before crossing the street, to clean up their messes; she will do it as well. She has thought about how she wants them to act in the world and is demonstrating it.
And, finally yes, because everyone, no matter how unaware, can teach us something. At the very least, they can remind us to keep listening and watching our own actions and what we are teaching others about how to treat us.
Sunday, December 25, 2005
New Year's Revolution
I have heard the wimpers of a coup d'etat in the halls of my unconscious; and I am not impressed. I have seen it before. The do-gooders, the change-agents, the liberal reformers--all adorned in stately idealisms--have got themselves riled up again to campaign anew. The annual bout of amnesia has set in, erasing year upon year of failed crusades from memory, making room for false courage and false loyalties. To listen one would hear nought but "discipline, health, spiritual growth and public service."To witness, all is planning, strategy, and "optimizing!"
Yet, I stand as proof agaist these voices of Janian renewal. There will be no usurpation, no regime change. The status quo will prevail! Renewed dedication to fiscal responsibility? No! Thrice weekly runs at lunch? Not! Meditation twice a day? Don't think so. Twenty hours of public service? Afraid not. A perennial victory in a war of attrition.
Yet, I stand as proof agaist these voices of Janian renewal. There will be no usurpation, no regime change. The status quo will prevail! Renewed dedication to fiscal responsibility? No! Thrice weekly runs at lunch? Not! Meditation twice a day? Don't think so. Twenty hours of public service? Afraid not. A perennial victory in a war of attrition.
Sunday, November 20, 2005
Why the piece counts on puzzle boxes?
I always thought that puzzle piece counts on jigsaw puzzle boxes were about competitiveness. The boxes heckle to passers-by: "How many pieces can you handle? Twenty? One hundred? TWO HUNDRED AND FIFTY?!! Come on, how smart are you, really?" The checker at "We B Toys" judges from behind her bar code reader, "Oh, a fifty piece puzzle..." ... "It's, uh, for my, uh niece."
What I have learned, now that I have been inducted to the secret society of motherhood:Those piece counts have nothing to do with skill level, challenge or even quality control. They are for moms. 24 Jumbo pieces, it says. I can only find 22. I'll give the two pieces a week to ransom themselves for the group. Otherwise its into the "box board" pile for Tuesday curbside pick-up.
What I have learned, now that I have been inducted to the secret society of motherhood:Those piece counts have nothing to do with skill level, challenge or even quality control. They are for moms. 24 Jumbo pieces, it says. I can only find 22. I'll give the two pieces a week to ransom themselves for the group. Otherwise its into the "box board" pile for Tuesday curbside pick-up.
Wednesday, November 02, 2005
Chalk dust
Our Unitarian minister remarked in August on the paradoxical state we are in as the only known conscious observers of the Universe and simultaneously as such tiny and brief and inconsequential participants. So it is with the Universe; likewise in the minute space of our own lives.
My best friend sent me and Satya, "the star princess," a poem by Ted Kooser, Poet Laureate, entitled Telescope. The telescope becomes the tool for engaging such a paradox in all of its terrifying reality. Through its use, "the depth of the stars stays always constant / and we are able to sleep." Somehow, Yes!, our insignificance writ large by the night sky makes all the day's mistakes and miseries bearable. Indeed the cold starry universe is a kind reminder that we matter so very very little - in our suffering, in our wretchedness and even in our triumph. Today was such a day for me. I was glad to see that chalky blackboard erased of all the day's scribbles and tabulations. I just hope no one was taking notes.
My best friend sent me and Satya, "the star princess," a poem by Ted Kooser, Poet Laureate, entitled Telescope. The telescope becomes the tool for engaging such a paradox in all of its terrifying reality. Through its use, "the depth of the stars stays always constant / and we are able to sleep." Somehow, Yes!, our insignificance writ large by the night sky makes all the day's mistakes and miseries bearable. Indeed the cold starry universe is a kind reminder that we matter so very very little - in our suffering, in our wretchedness and even in our triumph. Today was such a day for me. I was glad to see that chalky blackboard erased of all the day's scribbles and tabulations. I just hope no one was taking notes.
Tuesday, October 11, 2005
Liberals are losing another sure bet
Where is Mother Theresa when we need her?
The New York Times, in an article entitled, "Liberal Hopes Ebb in Post-Storm Poverty Debate" is a perfect illustration of the shell game going on among the rich in this nation. Jason DeParle gets all the sound bites I have been hearing too:
"We can't raise taxes now when the economy is hit so hard by Katrina."
"The programs we would cut to pay for Katrina are broken anyway"
Is it really so political to help the poor? I did not know that I had to be liberal to be compassionate. I thought economic prosperity was a conservative value, too.
I am not convinced we as a nation have to divide over this issue. Perhaps it is not an issue that can be solved at the federal level. Maybe this is a "Mother Theresa" problem. By that I mean that the possible solution is to start with our own voices speaking about what we see that disturbs us, articulating why it is wrong, and inviting others to conversation. Then with those thoughts articulated, act on them in local, tangible and personal ways. Instead of getting caught up in the politics, walk down the street to a shelter and offer one person help. People locally can start to organize around individual people, acting out of a spiritual personal connection to people in need -- like Macy Gray or Michael Moore did in their way -- by just listening to someone's story, by helping someone network to find a job, by feeding someone physically and spiritually.
I think the liberal are losing the war because they don't know how to fight the battle. There is still time left before daylight to change our plan of attack. It's poverty and hopelessness and isolation the liberals need to fight. Not the conservatives in Congress.
The New York Times, in an article entitled, "Liberal Hopes Ebb in Post-Storm Poverty Debate" is a perfect illustration of the shell game going on among the rich in this nation. Jason DeParle gets all the sound bites I have been hearing too:
"We can't raise taxes now when the economy is hit so hard by Katrina."
"The programs we would cut to pay for Katrina are broken anyway"
Is it really so political to help the poor? I did not know that I had to be liberal to be compassionate. I thought economic prosperity was a conservative value, too.
I am not convinced we as a nation have to divide over this issue. Perhaps it is not an issue that can be solved at the federal level. Maybe this is a "Mother Theresa" problem. By that I mean that the possible solution is to start with our own voices speaking about what we see that disturbs us, articulating why it is wrong, and inviting others to conversation. Then with those thoughts articulated, act on them in local, tangible and personal ways. Instead of getting caught up in the politics, walk down the street to a shelter and offer one person help. People locally can start to organize around individual people, acting out of a spiritual personal connection to people in need -- like Macy Gray or Michael Moore did in their way -- by just listening to someone's story, by helping someone network to find a job, by feeding someone physically and spiritually.
I think the liberal are losing the war because they don't know how to fight the battle. There is still time left before daylight to change our plan of attack. It's poverty and hopelessness and isolation the liberals need to fight. Not the conservatives in Congress.
Tuesday, October 04, 2005
Rescuing our culture before it is bulldozed away
NOLA's Ark? ...In this case, after the flood.
I was dreaming this morning and somehow (maybe it was from celebrating Rosh Hashanah last night) Noah's Ark floated into my mind. Honestly I thought about Noah after the Tsunami, also, but I didn't have anywhere to talk about it.
Could there be a "NOLAs Ark" as a part of this effort? A place to put things we want to save and renew or restore when there is "dry land" again in New Orleans? This cultural community ark could be anything. I see it as a keeper of links to cultural icons (however we define culture and icon!) during their restorations, as a place to document architectural culture, as a place to keep up with our musical icons and places...It could also be a place to say "Hey! What happened to X?" and alert people to find out and recover those things.
The idea is that when we finally land, we don't want to look around and say "Oh, we forgot the Unicorn!"
I was dreaming this morning and somehow (maybe it was from celebrating Rosh Hashanah last night) Noah's Ark floated into my mind. Honestly I thought about Noah after the Tsunami, also, but I didn't have anywhere to talk about it.
Could there be a "NOLAs Ark" as a part of this effort? A place to put things we want to save and renew or restore when there is "dry land" again in New Orleans? This cultural community ark could be anything. I see it as a keeper of links to cultural icons (however we define culture and icon!) during their restorations, as a place to document architectural culture, as a place to keep up with our musical icons and places...It could also be a place to say "Hey! What happened to X?" and alert people to find out and recover those things.
The idea is that when we finally land, we don't want to look around and say "Oh, we forgot the Unicorn!"
Sunday, October 02, 2005
Jumbo Roll
'Just wondering if anyone else can call up the scent of Charmin toilet paper on demand and if it invokes in them the same sense memory that it does for me....
I have many many memories associated with smells--Granma's Shalimar, Papa's kitchen, Mom's gardenias--but none so readily available as those associated with a roll of Charmin. It is not a complicated nostalgia: an image of my childhood home, the second floor bathroon by my room, a feeling of total security, that all was right and would ever be so.
I just have to think that all of us - humans, at least - might have a sense memory for something that invokes feelings of simple childhood well-being. A scent, a texture, a sound, a color can take us to a place where we were once safe from and safe in the world.
Within our hearts - even the adult ones - there must surely be a recognition that every child has the capacity for and human right to feel well-being. Can we all agree that, all children get at least a moment or two of physical and psychological safety?
Can that include safety from ex-secretaries of education de-valuing the lives of generations yet unborn? Can we extend that particular right to the rest of us?
Whether we are black or white or Indian or Pakistani or Jewish or Muslim or Tibetan or Chinese, certainly there was a time for each of us when were pre-hatred -- from others and for others. Can we all take a sec and remember when that was, what it felt like, maybe associate that memory with something that surrounded us at the time, a mother's arms, sunlighton summer grass, a wooly blanket, gospel music on the radio? Pre-hatred, folks...for those who simply can't get back there on their own, I am offering a coupon for a jumbo roll of Charmin...Let's try this. O.K?
I have many many memories associated with smells--Granma's Shalimar, Papa's kitchen, Mom's gardenias--but none so readily available as those associated with a roll of Charmin. It is not a complicated nostalgia: an image of my childhood home, the second floor bathroon by my room, a feeling of total security, that all was right and would ever be so.
I just have to think that all of us - humans, at least - might have a sense memory for something that invokes feelings of simple childhood well-being. A scent, a texture, a sound, a color can take us to a place where we were once safe from and safe in the world.
Within our hearts - even the adult ones - there must surely be a recognition that every child has the capacity for and human right to feel well-being. Can we all agree that, all children get at least a moment or two of physical and psychological safety?
Can that include safety from ex-secretaries of education de-valuing the lives of generations yet unborn? Can we extend that particular right to the rest of us?
Whether we are black or white or Indian or Pakistani or Jewish or Muslim or Tibetan or Chinese, certainly there was a time for each of us when were pre-hatred -- from others and for others. Can we all take a sec and remember when that was, what it felt like, maybe associate that memory with something that surrounded us at the time, a mother's arms, sunlighton summer grass, a wooly blanket, gospel music on the radio? Pre-hatred, folks...for those who simply can't get back there on their own, I am offering a coupon for a jumbo roll of Charmin...Let's try this. O.K?
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