Category Archives: Humanities

My Spiritual Sojourn

This post is essentially an outline of the encounters I’ve had in my journey; I’m posting it here for my reference, and also for your edification. There is much that can be fleshed out. If you’d like to read in-depth about any particular segment, leave a note in the comments specifying which one. I’m not certain I will be ready to oblige you, but it might give me a starting point. I’ve been told numerous times by those I’ve shared my story with that my experiences would make an interesting book. (I really enjoyed and was inspired by Karen Armstrong’s book, The Spiral Staircase: My Climb Out of Darkness.)

1963-1976: Roman Catholic, an earnest believer (as much as a child can understand); baptized, first commmunion, confirmation. Considered becoming a nun.

1977-1981: Attended a Roman Catholic weekend seminar for teens and discovered charismatic Catholicism, which included the concept of being “born again.” Began attending a weekly prayer group for teens called Reality. These were hosted by an adult couple and teens took turns facilitating discussion, prayer, and music. Was also depressed; starting at 16 I saw a psychologist at school (which kept me tethered to this world). Was an obnoxious proselytizer of my conservative religion.

1982-1983: Began having doubts about Catholicism and God. Struggled for independence and autonomy in a household where attending church was mandatory as long as I was under my parents’ roof. Explored sexuality, first with a man, later with a woman. Drew a “line in the sand” with my father while still living at home by refusing to attend church. Moved out of the house December 1983. Entered into a monogamous relationship with a woman that I fully intended to live in commitment with the rest of my life. Began therapy at the Onondaga Pastoral Counseling Center (depression).

1984-1988: Entered my angry anti-Christian phase. I threw myself into reading novels and non-fiction works about Judaism. Voraciously read books on anthropology and psychology. Came out to my family, friends, and co-workers as a lesbian. Attended a Passover Seder held by a friend and attended Shabbat service at Temple Adath Yeshurun with her. Visited Plymouth Congregational church (which had a female minister and was accepting of gays) but could not reconcile with Christianity. Continued to struggle with depression and received counseling. My first therapist (a female) had graduated and moved on. I chose to work with a male therapist next in order to deal with my distrust of men; I made it clear how I felt and that I was gay and would not brook any attempts to “cure” me of this. He was one of the best therapists I’ve ever worked with. (Note: let me make clear that I do not believe lesbians are such because they distrust men. For me, this was an aspect of my identity, but I think there is largely an inherent biological component to sexual orientation, and it’s not a dichotomy (gay or straight) but a spectrum.)

mid-1988-1990: After five years, unresolvable problems led to the mutual and amicable dissolution of my relationship with my significant other. I was invited to move home to my parents’ house for a short while so I could pay off a large debt and apply to colleges in order to finish my B.A. Until 1988 I had enormous difficulty settling on a major, but I experienced an epiphany in a particular class that led me to commit to studying psychology. Ended therapy with the male psychotherapist at OPCC in 1989 having come a very long way. When pressed to define my sexuality, I chose bisexual. I remained agnostic and non-practicing in any religion. Took a leave from my university job to attend college full-time in Oswego. Found myself deeply lonely for many reasons. Experienced a falling-out with my parents in spring 1990 that led me to put education on hold for financial reasons. Returned to work full-time at the university. Had an unstable housing situation for awhile. Was particularly mired in depression in 1990. In May 1989, began what would become a decade long penpal relationship with a Navajo man in prison for life in Arizona; the discourse between us became a type of journal exchange. (He shared his religious experiences as a Navajo, and I read about Native American religions.) A typical letter from me was 15-20 typed single-spaced pages, and we wrote between 100-200 letters each per year. This dialogue was challenging, educational, and healing.

1990-1991: Attended a local Methodist church and talked with the pastor. Attended a friend’s Christian & Missionary Alliance church, which was very conservative, and struggled with the doctrine. Could not accept this. Reconciled with my parents. Struggled still with loneliness. Bought my first car ever, which allowed me to return to college (commuting 100 miles round trip) while working — both full-time. This increased freedom and mobility opened my life.

1992-1994: Finished my B.A. in December 1992. In January, started attending a local Unitarian Universalist church and became involved in some of the groups there. Talked with the pastor extensively about my spiritual questions; if asked, I would have said I was agnostic. I also visited several Unity church services at a friend’s invitation. Went to a Powwow held near Binghamton, N.Y. Viewed a gallery of works by Native American artists, hosted by Golden Paints in Columbus, New York. In July 1994 I moved from Syracuse, NY, to Austin, Texas. In September 1994 I was raped. Shortly after, some neighbors befriended me; they were born-again, charismatic, fundamentalist Christians. Having called the rape crisis center but not receiving help (longer story), I turned to the safety of a conservative, rigid, rule-driven religion. I revealed my return to “born again” Christianity to my family. In particular this caused a rift between my brother and me (we both lived in Austin).

1995-1997: Depression resurfaced, and loneliness lurked. Continued on the conservative Christian path with increasing difficulty. I never truly felt at home with the speaking in tongues, the arm-waving during service, the naivete of the believers. I would not attest that my past relationship with a woman had been sinful. I did not see homosexuality as the sin and abomination they purported. I did not accept creationism. I did not believe the scriptures were literally true. I was uncomfortable with the “holier than thou” attitude the churches I attended had toward maintstream Christian denominations. I was not convinced Christianity was the one, true way. Grew uncomfortable with the mandate to “witness for the lord” so that others might “be saved” — this created more barriers than bridges with “nonbelievers.” I participated in small prayer groups but found them to be superficial; for the most part, the “friendship” did not extend beyond the group. Resisted the doctrine of original sin; found that defining humans by their flaws did not help release people from their egos. It simply turned them ego-centric and narcissistic in a negative way. Found the “born again” worldview glib and began to think of it as heaven insurance. Questioned what real belief is. Quit my full-time job. Entered graduate school for counseling and experienced further dissonance; saw the movie, Chasing Amy and experienced a pivotal realization about my identity. I left the church I was involved in and forsook Christianity altogether. Whatever social community I had went with it; a lonely season followed. I felt as though I had returned to myself in a fundamental way. My depression continued; I began getting therapy with another excellent therapist and began dealing with the long-neglected impact of the sexual assault.

1998-1999: My depression worsened. Continued therapy and worked with deep issues. I put all my energy into school and excelled but barely had anything left outside of that. Lack of income led me to getting a full-time job again, so I worked and attended classes full-time. My cat died in April 1998; grief compounded the depression. Had an ill-advised affair with a scholar working in the same department at university; it ended badly. I could not let go; seeing him daily was torture. Felt incredibly alone and vulnerable. While attending a Catholic university, began a dialogue with the priest there about Catholicism that was very healing (though ultimately did not lead to reconciliation). (Interestingly, the Catholic university was most receptive to discourse about religious and philosophical matters and to the search for truth and meaning. Their religion professor defined himself as a Buddhist Catholic.) Attended mass there because I found the chapel a refuge of peace. Began reading about Buddhism and occasionally joined a small group to practice Vipassana meditation. Also began reading about quantum physics (to the degree I could understand).

In late 1998 I was assessed and prescribed medication for depression. The improvement was notable, immediate, and felt miraculous. Graduated in May 1999; one of the happiest episodes of my life. My depression abated. Ended the writing relationship with my penpal for reasons I’m not ready to disclose here yet. Since I was not certain I would ever find one man or woman who could “handle” me (it had been suggested I was more than enough for a single person, that I was “too intense”), I explored polyamory briefly with a man who was involved in similar relationships. I examined the ways in which love can be expressed and received via reading and discussion. Met Husband in October 1999. Fell in love and felt immediately at home with him. Concluded that polyamory was viable for others, not for me. (If interested, a good book to start with is The Ethical Slut.) Came to understand that I will never return to Catholicism.

2000-present: At the invitation of a friend, attended Satsang at Barsana Dahm Hindu temple. Moved in with Husband. Completed my counseling internship and passed the licensing exam. Continued to read about and explore Buddhism and also Taoism. Began to read widely about Paganism as well. Irregularly practiced sitting meditation. Discovered making art as a spiritual practice and meditation; found knitting to be similar. Continued to take medication for depression; twice attempted to titrate off them with doctor’s supervision and found in each case the depression returned. Made peace with this and accepted that for me to be healthy, medication is necessary. Moved across country (then married in 2005). Over the years, as my life has become more stable (less struggle for basic financial survival, improved mental health, self-acceptance, a healthy loving relationship with Husband), pervasive loneliness evaporated.

I participated in several workshops by Alaya called Yoga for the Emotional Body; focus was on developing skill in working with feelings to channel and contain their energies; in this way, emotions become a source of enrichment in one’s life. The experiences were life-changing. In 2004, briefly attended a church in Austin that I found combined the best of esoteric Christianity, psychology, and mysticism. This unique church is called The Church of Conscious Harmony. It was a contemplative community; I found the reverence for spirit inspiring. There is nothing like it in the Bay Area. I fundamentally do not embrace the general concept of Christianity (though I do believe there are valuable wisdom teachings in the scriptures, as in other religious writings); nor do I believe in a god. I remain undefined and uncategorized as to a particular belief system or practice. When pressed to identify what religion I am most drawn to and feel compatible with, I name Buddhism and psychology.

As I review this post, it’s clear to me a I’ve read nothing about Islam, and for the purpose of being informed that strikes me as a topic to explore. I also plan to explore more topics like Carl Sagan’s latest book, The Varieties of Scientific Experience: A Personal View of the Search for God.

Sitting With the Unknown

Today I am undergoing a medical test that has some risk. Moreover, the results will have a significant impact on my and Husband’s life.

I am challenged to live in the present while making room in the back of my mind and heart for the unknown. I am scared; I acknowledge this, and then tuck it away while I live in the moment. This process is a difficult one, and it’s a basis for my spiritual practice. To ponder the possibilities is to avoid living now.

It will be two or three weeks before I have the test results. Living in the present will require diligence.

Why I Haven’t Joined a Church But Still Long For Community

In the past, I’ve written here about my vague desire and intention to join a local Unitarian Universalist church for the community. For readers unfamiliar with Unitarian Universalism, it is described in Wikipedia as:

Unitarian Universalism (UUism) is a theologically liberal religious movement characterized by its support of a “free and responsible search for truth and meaning.” This principle permits Unitarian Universalists a wide range of beliefs and practices. Unitarian Universalist congregations and fellowships tend to retain some Christian traditions such as Sunday worship that includes a sermon and singing of hymns, but do not necessarily identify themselves as Christians.

Ideologically, this suits me. Members of a congregation may be Christian, Buddhist, Atheist, and so on; there is respect for the wisdom in all traditions. Most members come to this community seeking a broader framework to express and experience their spirituality. Members covenant to affirm and promote:

  • The inherent worth and dignity of every person.
  • Justice, equity and compassion in human relations.
  • Acceptance of one another and encouragement to spiritual growth in our congregations.
  • A free and responsible search for truth and meaning.
  • The right of conscience and the use of the democratic process within our congregations and in society at large.
  • The goal of world community with peace, liberty, and justice for all.
  • Respect for the interdependent web of all existence of which we are a part.

The living tradition which they share draws from many sources:

  • Direct experience of that transcending mystery and wonder, affirmed in all cultures, which moves us to a renewal of the spirit and an openness to the forces which create and uphold life.
  • Words and deeds of prophetic women and men which challenge us to confront powers and structures of evil with justice, compassion, and the transforming power of love.
  • Wisdom from the world’s religions which inspires us in our ethical and spiritual life.
  • Jewish and Christian teachings which call us to respond to God’s love by loving our neighbors as ourselves.
  • Humanist teachings which counsel us to heed the guidance of reason and the results of science, and warn us against idolatries of the mind and spirit.
  • Spiritual teachings of earth-centered traditions which celebrate the sacred circle of life and instruct us to live in harmony with the rhythms of nature.
  • Grateful for the religious pluralism which enriches and ennobles our faith, we are inspired to deepen our understanding and expand our vision. As free congregations we enter into this covenant, promising to one another our mutual trust and support.

However, in the nearly three years I’ve lived here, I’ve only attended a couple of churches a few times. Every step toward involvement or joining has found me resisting. I’ve wondered why that is. In this world where we barely know our neighbors, where friends live hectic lives that require elaborate coordination to socialize, joining a community is beneficial. So I’ve been pondering why I pull back. Is it that I’m lazy and don’t want to get up and going on Sunday morning?

The other evening I went to Purlescence, a yarn store my friends opened last fall, for social knitting (officially Thursday eves and Sundays). I stayed for a few hours and felt nourished. I compared my experience there with the church to see what the knitting group has that the church lacks.

In the yarn store, we talk about the mundane, our jobs, of love revealed and rebuffed, of family. We tell stories and laugh. We share concerns and are received with empathy. There is a core group of women (and one or two men) who attend regularly, but newcomers are always welcomed. There are about 8-12 in attendance. We talk about yarn, assist each other when a mistake is made, show off works in progress and finished projects. There are boisterous moments and quiet interludes. The atmosphere is casual, friendly, not intense, but at the same time, intimate. Sometimes the discussion turns to matters of spirit; it’s a fairly liberal group in that no one proselytizes; instead, discussion of meaning and spirit can be approached from many perspectives. As my relationships with these women grow, I feel that the connections will extend beyond the shop and into “real” life, where friendships will blossom and socializing happen. I believe that if I needed help, these women would coordinate efforts to provide it, and it someone else needed assistance, I would offer.

When I attend any UU church, I feel uncomfortable. I do not need to express my spirituality in a public group that follows a format: hymn singing (even liberal humanist hymns), readings, listening to a sermon, sharing joys and concerns with the congregation — all of this feels rote. Rarely have I heard a sermon which rivets my attention and provokes thought. Then there is the after-service socializing. I’m not extroverted, and making an effort to manufacture chitchat with strangers while holding a paper cup of instant coffee is not fun. Believe me, I do try. I’ve found that I feel lonely, because other members have been attending for years and tend to cluster in small groups to visit, rarely casting an eye about for a newcomer to welcome and engage.

In some churches there are covenant groups; these are groups of 6-12 people who meet regularly; groups are led by experienced facilitators. Meetings have a worship service format, and the focus is on sharing each others’ lives. There is usually a topic to discuss. It’s not a discussion or therapy group, however. The goals are to care for its members, to encourage spiritual growth, and to meet the needs for affirmation and acceptance. They rely on confidentiality and each member’s commitment to participate. They often perform a service project in the community. So this smaller, more intimate group might be just the fit. Again, there is a worship format, which feels forced to me. But who knows, I might be able to adapt.

For an ambivalent newcomer like me, follow through on the part of church members is important. The last time I attended a service, I chatted with one woman who told me there were several people interested in reviving a daytime group. She asked about my schedule, and I said that afternoons work better. She introduced me to the woman who was to coordinate it and told her about my time preference. This woman stiffly told me that the group used to meet at 10 a.m., and I said that I could be flexible; then I gave her my name and phone number and said I looked forward to hearing about the group. I never heard a peep. My life got busy. I could have called the church to follow up, but interest abated. I haven’t attended a service since, and really, you have to show up to nurture connections.

Intellectually I value the concept of community, the strength of many people who share compatible worldviews helping each other and the world around them. Yet my heart hasn’t found a nest in the churches I’ve attended, and it feels so much at home among the women whose hands make knitting needles fly.

I’ll be contemplating this, and perhaps writing more about it.

More On Religious Literacy

In keeping with the spirit of my recent post on religious literacy, I would like to share another resource. It’s a forum for discussing world religions. Launched in March 2004, this forum offers conversations on world religions, comparative religion, god debates, and education. The site defines religion as “any specific system of belief and/or/without worship, often involving a code of ethics and a philosophy.” They state that religious education is their motto. I’ve not yet joined, but I anticipate it will be a lively place! You can learn more by visiting their site: World Religions Forum. I’ve also linked it on my Discover page.

Religious Literacy

Last week at lunch with my friend, the topic of religion and politics came up, specifically evolution being taught in science class and the push to teach creationism or intelligent design in schools. I suggested that a comparative religions class would be a better venue to discuss matters of faith, and to explore the variety of its expressions. I also think an introductory philosophy course would be valuable. I saw the recent issue of Newsweek in which the same idea is advocated by Stephen Prothero.

The problem:

In a world where nearly every political conflict has a religious underpinning, Prothero writes that Americans are selling themselves short by remaining ignorant about basic religious history and texts, by not knowing the difference between a Sunni and a Shiite or the name of Mormonism’s holy book. “Given a political environment where religion is increasingly important, it’s increasingly important to know something about religion,” he says. “The payoff is a more involved [political] conversation.”

—The Gospel of Prothero: A Boston University professor argues that Americans, though ‘spiritual,’ are woefully ignorant about religion

The suggested solution:

The book proposes a solution that is at once controversial and familiar: teach religion in public schools. Prothero believes that before graduation from high school, every American should take a Bible course and a world-religions course—dispassionate humanities courses whose purpose is not to catechize or evangelize but to educate. In colleges, he argues, we have science requirements, so why not religion? When Harvard decided recently not to make religion part of its core curriculum, “it missed an opportunity,” he says.

—The Gospel of Prothero: A Boston University professor argues that Americans, though ‘spiritual,’ are woefully ignorant about religion

I would love to hear Stephen Prothero speak, but I’ll settle for reading his book, Religious Literacy: What Every American Needs to Know–And Doesn’t.

Ancient History

If you desire to drain to the dregs the fullest cup of scorn and hatred that a fellow human being can pour out for you, let a young mother hear you call dear baby ‘it.’

–T.S. Eliot

Mizpah Tower circa 1940, photographer unidentified

Mizpah Tower circa 1940, photographer unidentified

In 1983, I moved out of my parents’ home to stake my claim on adulthood. The place where I spent the next five years of my life was at a women’s hotel in downtown Syracuse called The Mizpah Tower. The First Baptist Church had it built in 1914; it was attached to the church. For many years it served as a residence for the next-door YMCA until it was converted to a women-only hotel in the 1960s. There was a front desk, and every resident was required to leave her key with the desk clerk. No exceptions. My first abode was a large room on the fifth floor facing Jefferson Street; it had a small stall shower and an ancient porcelain sink. Communal kitchens and bathrooms were shared by all residents on each floor.

After about six months, I moved to the penthouse apartment with my significant other.

mizpah tower penthouse 1984

View of our back porch

Trust me, the penthouse was not luxurious, although it afforded an interesting view of nearby buildings, seen below.

view from mizpah tower 1 1984

View of the Cathedral of the Immaculate Conception and the court house roofs

view from mizpah tower 2 1984

View of Columbus Circle

The penthouse had old windows with broken sashes, no screens, lead paint, crappy shag carpeting, ants, and radiator heating. The ambient sound was the loud hum of the elevator next to the front door. The shelves in one bedroom were unfinished plywood. The rent cost $300 a month; when it went up to $360 a month, we panicked. We lived on very little then; often a meal was macaroni & cheese with canned peas and sliced hot dogs mixed in. We didn’t own a car. To get groceries, we took a bus to the suburban Wegmans and called for a taxi ride home. We shopped big, because we couldn’t afford the $7 fare more than twice a month. We couldn’t afford real furniture either, as you can see below; my brother was visiting us, and he is reading on our “sofa.”

our fancy furniture at mizpah tower, my brother visiting 1984

In 1984, lightning struck the tower opposite the apartment. When I returned home from work, rubble was everywhere, and we were at first told we could not enter the apartment. When we finally received clearance, I spent the better part of a week trembling in fear of the tower falling on us.

mizpah tower after lightning struck it 1984

Scaffolding on the tower

The pinnacles were removed that summer.

mizpah tower rubble from removing the pinnacles 1984

Rubble from the tower removal

Later that year we moved to a fourth floor apartment that was less expensive, and because we’d had enough of living the “high life” at the top.

Because money was tight despite each of us having full-time jobs, we both got second jobs as well. Mine was to work Saturday and Sunday from 3:00 to 11:00 p.m. as the desk clerk in the hotel. Basically this involved a lot of sitting alone, reading, and occasionally getting up to take a key or hand one out. One night about 10:00 p.m., two women came in, one holding an infant. The Mizpah was a residence for single women with no dependents only. Children were never allowed, not even to visit upstairs. In the process of explaining the rules, I referred to the baby as “it,” as in, “You cannot take it upstairs to stay even one night.” I had previously referred to the infant as “the baby,” but in the confrontation I was uncomfortable, so “it” is what came out next. I didn’t know the child’s gender, and the clothing gave no clue. Oh, if looks could kill the mother would have done it a hundred times over. She scathingly mocked me for calling the child “it,” and I wound up feeling like some kind of non-feminine freak monster. So I know first-hand of what T.S. Eliot speaks. And of course she went upstairs with the baby anyway. I sure wasn’t going to call the manager or police on her.

The women who lived there were working poor, or elderly and living on a limited income, or sometimes mentally ill and on disability. Room rent was paid weekly. In many ways it was a dreary and depressing place to live, despite the ornately furnished lobby (that no one ever used). At 5:00 p.m. all the downtown stores closed, including small grocery stores. After five years, my SO and I split; I temporarily moved back to my parents’ home to pay off a debt before going to school full-time for my B.A. Not long after we moved out, the church sold the Mizpah and it closed as a residence. The church was briefly converted to an auditorium for music performances but didn’t thrive. The residental halls were abandoned, left to dust and pigeons. It sits unused to this day.

Mizpah Tower 2004, photographer David Bridges

Mizpah Tower 2004, photographer David Bridges

The Lonely Hours

The Lonely Hours

The second hand on the clock marches,
dances a stiff two-step circle.

Sleep flees, an unfaithful spouse,
courts everyone else while I lie
still as a corpse, pretending not to notice,
not to care. The rest of the world
sinks into its embrace.

My conscience sparkles like clean plate
glass. My body a race horse, ridden
hard and put up wet. If I were a rode
doper, I’d be a recovered one,
stimulant free.

God does not whisper to me.
I receive no visions.
I am simply awake, witness to the hours.

Extol the Gifts

When many people talk about their childhoods, they emphasize the alienating, traumatic experiences they had. It has become fashionable to avoid reporting memories of the good times in one’s past. This seems dishonest — a testament to the popularity of cynicism rather than a reflection of objective truth.

I don’t mean to downplay the way your early encounters with pain demoralized your spirit. But as you reconnoiter the promise of pronoia, it’s crucial for you to extol the gifts you were given in your early years: all the helpful encounters, kind teachings, and simple acts of grace that helped you bloom. Remember them now, please.

–Rob Brezsny

Why I’m Not Out Saving the World At the Moment

Recently a comment was left inquiring what had happened to all my great ideas to volunteer, start a listening ministry, be a literacy coach, and work in the non-profit arena. And it occurred to me that I have been quiet about these inspiring ideas for several months.

In October, when Husband and I saw a counselor to discuss the fertility issues and we decided that yes indeed we want a biological child, he requested that I not write the blow-by-blow account of the journey. Since the endeavor involves him, it was totally reasonable to ask. There are lots of blogs out there to provide that vicarious experience, one of them being A Little Pregnant. As for working, we agreed that my job is to conceive and carry a successful pregnancy. The stress of my last job exacted a toll, and we’re certain that pregnancy and working are not a good combination for me at this time. I am very fortunate that our lifestyle allows us this option.

Besides, the fertility issues got moved to the back burner. After my job ended, the holidays were suddenly upon us. We all know how distracting they can be from our usual intentions for life. Then came the sudden need to find a new home, to pack all our stuff, and to get moved and settled. My job, essentially, has been to do these things. I do meet with my learner once a week to teach her ESL, and I enjoy it very much. To honor confidentiality I abstain from writing about our relationship and work. As for the listening ministry, I’ve got interest but the not the involvement with the church, because I have been slow and lax in connecting to that community. I’ve also been diligently working on a big project of my own; it occupies my life and is changing me in ways I never expected. As I responded to the commenter, there are seasons in a person’s life; sometimes engagement is external in the community and sometimes it’s internal and within the self.

In this blog I usually write about what’s current to me and pepper those entries with occasional quotes or photos. Lately my life consists of picking up knitting again, reading good books, making a home, and seeing friends. My dear friend Eileen has been besieged with health problems. Not only is she undergoing chemotherapy and radiation for breast cancer, several weeks ago she fell and broke her humerus bone (shoulder), which left her with the use of one arm. She has no ability to drive to the many medical appointments that shape her life, and it’s difficult to cook one-handed. All this is made more complex by the layers of malaise that accompany chemo treatments: nausea, dizziness, anxiety, fatigue, and body-wracking pain. I, along with her other friends and family, have been helping out. I may not be improving the world in general by doing this, but it’s important nonetheless.

An Opportunity to Grow Up

You sit back most of your life, and you assume that there are grown-ups somewhere running the show. If you really get out there, if you look behind the curtain, you see it is just a bunch of tired people like yourself, needing help, trying their best and not doing half as well as they would like. That is the moment when you have an opportunity to grow up and to take your part.

–Doris Haddock, campaign finance reformer, Granny D: You’re Never Too Old to Raise a Little Hell

Lazy But Not

On this gray, dreary day, Husband and I still have our sweats and jammies on, and it’s nearly 3:30 in the afternoon. Our intention had been to finish unpacking the last of the boxes and to hang art work, but he got involved in a novel, and I dedicated myself to knitting new dish cloths (now my hands ache from working with inflexible cotton). I made beef stew yesterday, so we’ve no need to make effort in the kitchen. And there is still tomorrow to accomplish our tasks.

As I knitted, I was entertained (and educated) by some NPR programs. First is the always informative, witty, and downright funny Wait Wait Don’t Tell Me! which featured among its guests P.J. O’Rourke. I’m pretty well-informed this week, because I got all the answers right. The guest for the “It’s Not My Job” segment was Neil DeGrasse Tyson, an astrophysicist whose Nova shows I avidly watch. “Not My Job” is when an expert is asked questions completely out of his field, and if he wins, a selected listener gets a prize; in this case, his quiz focused on the upcoming Guns ‘n’ Roses album. He was consistent in that he got all three questions wrong, and therefore did not win the prize for the chosen listener. He was really funny and good-natured about his pop culture ignorance. (What’s amazing to me is that I got all three questions correct, even though I know next to nothing about the band.)

Next I heard This American Life with Ira Glass, and the topic was “In the Shadow of the City.” The three stories were about events and life that happen in desolate places in urban areas.

Following that show was a locally produced show, Health Dialogues. This week’s show focused on birth, and here’s the blurb:

The infant mortality rate is down, the number of premature births is up and the average age of new moms in California is at an all-time high. What are the ethical implications of pre-natal testing and concerns about Caesarean deliveries? How are changing demographics, attitudes and science affecting the birth process?

I found it interesting in general, but I was disappointed there wasn’t any time focused on the ethical concerns about pre-natal testing. If you want to hear the show (it’s one hour), click here.

And lastly I heard a fascinating piece from American Radioworks about the work Justice Thurgood Marshall did before being appointed to the United States Supreme Court. Prior to Martin Luther King, Jr., Marshall was known as “Mr. Civil Rights,” as he worked tirelessly for many years to end segregation, particularly in public schools. I had not known he was the lead counsel for the landmark case, Brown vs. Board of Education. The documentary included tape recordings of speeches he gave, interviews with people who worked with him, and commentary from people living in the south who opposed desegregation. One dismaying point made: while there are no longer any laws promoting racial segregation in schools, it continues to exist. If you want to read about this, I recommend The Shame of the Nation: The Restoration of Apartheid Schooling in America, by Jonathan Kozol. It’s a heavy, even discouraging read, but as a taxpayer and citizen, one that is important.

I’m about the press the “publish” button and see it’s just about 4:00 p.m. It’s been a lovely, quiet Saturday. I hope yours has been as well.

Shifting

There are big changes slowly emerging on the horizon, and in response I’ve been paring down obligations. One of those is a decision to “go on sabbatical” as a project leader with Hands On Bay Area and to release my involvement with a couple of projects. Perhaps my stint working for them last year burned me out, because I was so certain that I would want to remain involved in the projects I was passionate about. But my energy is turned inward of late, and I’m still helping my community as a reading tutor.

The only difference between a rut and a grave is their dimensions.

–Ellen Glasgow

Still Here

I’ve been on a reading binge. In the past 13 days I have read 1600 pages. The second novel I just finished yesterday was The Mists of Avalon. In between reading sessions I’ve unpacked my books and finished unpacking the office. The guest room is almost totally clear of boxes, and lots of items were stored in the attic with the help of our friends.

I haven’t had much to say, and again, being immersed in these epic stories has taken me into another realm than the Internet. I’m a little dazed; it’s like coming out of a dark movie theater matinee into broad daylight. I’m adjusting, and I have a massive headache at the moment. Too much brain work lately.