Walking Through Two Parks

Deb and I went camping over Memorial Day weekend with some of our friends. We left the animals at home, with another friend at our house to keep them company, give them food and luvins.

I called my sister on Monday to invite her out to the site for dinner on Tuesday, she laughed at me and declared, "That's not camping!", when I told her that because it was so cold, Deb and I were inside the camper with the heat on, watching DVDs and eating celery. I had to agree with her that using a heater and bringing a laptop computer are definitely not what I would normally call camping. (Not to mention sleeping in a camper instead of a tent.) But, as I age, I'm finding myself less resiliant about temperature changes, sitting still for too long, and sleeping on the ground when the frost leaves a silvery glaze on the dandilions and scrubgrass surviving outside my door.

Yes, frost. As I walked to the bathroom early Wednesday morning, the frost was beautiful. But, the fog rising from the small gravel pit lake was stunning in its simplistic division between the golden Earth and the ethereal grey of the sky, lingering just above the water's glassy surface. Once the temperature difference between the frosty air and the chilly water leveled out, the beach was back to its daytime disguise of being just a plain old gravel pit, similar to many others scattered throughout Oakland County.

Because of the cool weather thus far, Deb and I decided not to brave the cold water. And, to be perfectly honest, I am still a little freaked out by the swarms of bluegill in that pit who seem to have an identity crisis. They are deluding themselves into believing that they are paranas. The last time I swam there in Sand Lake, two years ago, I was minding my own business, yacking with a friend when one of those deluded fish nibbled me toothlessly and painlessly on the thigh. I laughed, then yelped as the darn thing got me again on the back of the calf, then again on the shin. I looked down to find that not just one, but a whole school of bluegill had surrounded me on all sides and were eyeing me as I imagine a school of paranas would eye a fat juicy Black Angus who had wandered into their midst. In a momentary flash of rationality, I thought maybe I was standing in their nest. So, I moved several feet to the left. They swam several feet to the left. they still surrounded me with their watchful stares, and gave an occasional nip at my finger, toe, shoulder blade, or backside. I turned and moved again, but further this time. Again, their intimidating parana-like stalking stares, with their toothless kisses aimed for my knees, calves, shins and thighs. That's when I started to get a little freaked out. I was laughing my butt off (or, maybe only the parts that weren't being touched by the lips of fish), and running in circles at this point, while they swam in that same radius, tracking my every move.

So now, two years later, I'm a little nervous about meeting those toothless parana wannabees. The thing is, to my knowlege, these bug-eyed-big-lipped boogers have not been known to stalk anyone else!! (Did I mention that the couple who were fishing 20 feet away hadn't had a single nibble in that hour?)

One day this summer, during one of our upcoming camping trips, I will once again brave the paranas and swim i Sand Lake. Maybe, now that my chemistry and hormones have changed, they won't recognize me as a Golden Heifer upon which to feast.

Setting aside my unreasonable fear of mutant parana-bluegill, and the cold nights, this weekend of camping was just what I needed. When I'm outside like that, even the simple act of putting a coffeepot on the small propane stove is an excercise in mindfulness. I fill one percolator with a basket of coffee grounds to make my morning caffine fix. I fill the other with plain water, so that the two dish pans (one for washing and one for rinsing) will have warm water instead of cold that matches the nighttime air.

A typical camping morning for me begins with the post dawn light in my eyes, the chatter of birds filling my ears and an urgent need to pee driving me up out of bed and toward the loo. Upon my return, I light the stove with a match until two or three coils burn with a nearly invisible flame that flickers with each breath of wind, God's reminder that she is still alive. She is still softly managing things. Whether I believe in her or not, she believes in me enough to make my coffee take what feels like forever because the flame keeps teasing me, first one side flickers out with the breeze, then the other, almost dying completely. Once, I even had to re-light the burner to get htat first "blurp" in the percolator. As I wait for the "blurps" to get dark enough to call the liquid inside coffee, generally I take that time to sit quietly reading or writing. This weekend, however, I forgot my journal and was disappointed with the book that I had chosen to crack opened for the first time. So, rummaging around one of the many nifty storage areas of the pop-up, I found crayons and a coloring book. Also, early in the mornings before most people or dogs are stirring, I have been known to take a walk, cook oatmeal or bacon, eat a piece of fruit, or just sit and try to see the birds who are creating such a rucus while they hide unseen in the canopy of the small, twig-like trees just beyond the firepit.

I think that those quiet morning moments are my favorite camping moments, second only to the evenings around the fire with the kids toasting marshmallows perfectly to order ("burnt, on fire", "lightly brown, just on the end", "medium brown all the way around"), and squishing them between graham crackers with one or two pieces of chocolate embedded in the toasty goo. I have not enjoyed s'mores for many years because of the cloying sweetness of them, but 7 year old Maddie made me the most delicious s'more I have ever tasted. She first toasted the marshmallow to a golden brown, then put two small rectangles of Hershey's Special Dark Chocolate on the graham cracker sandwich. Yum. Not too sweet, but sweet enoughh to know it's a treat.

I loved seeing the three girls-Maddie, Ana and Cassidy-, play and laugh, chasing each other round and round on their bikes and scooters. Cassidy loved the super soaker that shot sideways, fooling the victim into a false complacency.

On Saturday, we all wnt to Sorenson Park to surprise Ellen with a bigger crowd of friends, fruit salad, burgers and a huge sun-shaped cake for her 50th bbirthday. (I won't reveal what came out of her mouth once she realized she had been duped with a woeful tale of a broken window and her cell phone being the only one with a person on the other end.)

My friend, Walt, and I took a quiet break form the party's bustle to wald back to the prairie and the overlook near the edge of the Shiawassee River. The wild lupines were in their first week of bloom. Blue spikes of flowers dotted the green/gold of the prairie grasses. In another 2 weeks, the blue will be joined by pink and white in a breathtaking cacophony of color. Out on the outlook, we watched a family canoe by us, through the liquid path that the Shiawassee cut among the cattails and invasive Loosestrife (not yet in bloom). On our way back, we saw a turtle in the middle of the path. She had dug out a small hollow in the ground and was excreting liquid, I think inpreparation for laying a batch of eggs. I wanted to stay there, sit on the ground and stare at this process, but we both (Walt and I, not the turtle and I) figured that we would be missed at the party if I sat there 'til dark if need be, just to see some turtle eggs that would probably be cacoon food by midnight. Makes me kind of sad to think about that, but, as always, I remind myslef that both birth and death are part of this wild ride that we call life, and, as sad as death feels, without it there can be no life. Even looking at my compost pile with its rich life-giving nutrients, at its core is compiled of death, dying, eating and pooping.

Mentioning compost, of course, leads me to thoughts of the garden, which is not yet planted, except for some beets and carrots. In containers on the deck I have spinach, lettuce, leeks and catnip. The spinach is about 3 inches tall. Yippee Yum Yum. With the cool weather, I am kind of glad that I was late in planting my tomato and pepper seeds because otherwise, I would be tempted to put them out before the ground and air warmed up enough. As it is, I think another couple of weeks should be about right for the plants and for the dirt.

Growth just keeps on happening through life's joys, fears and compost heaps of what may be mistaken for wasted strawberry hulls, shredded paper, shredded dreams or wasted energy.

Rambling on the Road to Summer Planting, Reading and Ranting

Sorry about the huge lapse in time between posts. I have really been enjoying having some down time from classes, doctors, etc.

I finally got seeds planted for my tomato and pepper seedlings. I'm also trying leeks for the first time ever, and onions from seed instead of from sets. I got the seeds planted pretty late, but my brandywine tomatoes do have their first set of real leaves, and the roots on my peppers are as big as the above ground parts.

I planted some lettuce and spinach in a containter on top of the deck. They are an inch or so high. I can't wait to have them go from dirt to salad bowl in moments, once they are bigger.

I planted the first round of carrots and beets out in the garden a couple of days ago, so they haven't had a chance to sprout yet. The trick with the carrots will be, how to keep the wild terrior carrot their out of them.

Did I mention over the winter, that Deb and I had left some carrots in the ground to see how well they would overwinter. However, right after the first big snowstorm, I was sitting in the living room and heard a crunch crunch crunch from my right and I smelled a fresh carrot. Little Bit had dug out under almost a foot of snow and stolen the carrots right out of the ground!!. I have to wonder if maybe she has that strawberry blond fur from eating so many orange colored carrots in her lifetime. Needless to say that my experiment in over wintering carrots in Michigan failed miserably. The stupid things got themselves et.

I got my grades back from my winter classes. I'm pleased with them. I got an A in English and an A+ in the history class. I was bummed that the history class had to end. I learned so much, and it was very thought provoking. I feel grateful that I was able to take a class that challenged my limited perceptions so strongly.

I'm looking forward to my summer class on Jazz in American Culture.

Deb and I are going camping with a bunch of other friends over Memorial Day weekend. I am so excited that I have already started gathering stuff together to take along: towels, sheets, ziplock baggies, marshmallows, biodegradable toilet paper and frozen spaghetti sauce.

Summer is going to break through any minute. I can feel it. I think. Anytime now. Okay, soon. Here it comes.

Did I mention that a bunh of the clear panels in my greenhouse flew all over the neighborhood this winter with all of the high winds? We collected them, and they are sitting inside the aluminum frame, waiting to be put back in place. Some of them are missing bites out of them where they hit the ground and broke off. We are planning on securing them better, using silicone instead of just the paper-clip like clips that came with the kit. So, I had to disinfect, once again, all of the pots that I had stored in there, pull out trash and debris that had been in a trash can which had since filled with snow and melted and created a beautiful green algae to coat it. Still, all in all, it has been fun getting ready for the green once again to pop into my life.

By the way, that Barbara Kingsolver book that I reviewed a while back, has just been released in paperback!!!! I recommend it to everyone. I may even buy a couple of paper copies, so I can lend them out withoug risking losing my hardcover copy.

Another book along the lines of food awareness is "Fast Food Nation". I recommend this one as well. This one is so packed full of information, that my brain was stuffed full of hamburgers, fried chicken, french fries and pop (soda for you Easterners, coke for you Southerners). My heart was also newly aware of the people who are intrinsic to the whole fast food and large agricorporations industry. Now, I am even more concientious of my food. I am even more committed to eating ethically. I don't mean vegetarian, I just mean that I am trying to be more aware of where my food originates, and whose lives that food has touched before reaching my table, how much petroleum went into the production (fertilizer) and transportation of the food. I do still eat orages and pineapples, chocolate and I drink coffee. None of these things grow anywhere near Michigan, so I know that in that way, I am not fully living my desire to walk gently on this good Earth, but I am trying in other ways to walk gently. Growing at least some of my own food, joining a CSA for the other veggies and poultry that I don't raise myself, minimizing the amount of fast food that I eat, stopping eating when I am full, drinking fair trade, organic and shade grown coffee. These are some of the things I am doing. I am trying to change my corner of the world in my incremental steps of awareness. There is so much more I could be doing, but I, in some measure do still possess that typical American sense of entitlement that is ingrained into us through the media, our peers, the Joneses, and our own biological drive for excess to save for times of favine. Feast or famine biology has become feast or gluttony. I am eating slower. I am not eating things that I don't like the taste of at that moment, Iam stopping eating when I begin to feel full. These are all new for me. I would rather say no to a piece of chocolate, than eat a pice of chocolate that may have been harvested by slave labor, or that is so sweet that the sugar taste overpowers the cocoa flavor.

Some people that I know think that I am losing my mind because these things are on it for much of the time now. One of my friends at work said to me on a couple of occasions lately, "you need therapy dude" because I was contemplating what I felt were ethical, moral questions, that she thought were just not worth pondering because things just are the way they are and as sane human beings, we shouldn't trouble ourselves with things that we cannot control. I don't think I agree with that. I think, that as sane people, we need to contemplate things so that we can honestly assess our role and complacency in the injustices that occur every day around us. Granted, our ability to transform things is limited as individuals. But still, if there is something small that is within our personal control, we would be insane to not at least consider doing it. Whether it be someting to further social justice, economic justice, education, compassion or true joy in the world.

Wouldn't insanity mean to blindly go along with insane social expectations, and sanity mean that we take responsibility for the positive and not so positive choices that we make in our lives? Insanity meaning that there seem to be no choices, therefore no hope, while sanity means that we have at least the illusion of choice and participation in our own destity?

A Conversation Worth Talking About!

I asked for comments, and I got one that I felt was important enough that I didn't want to just bury it in the comments section. I am excited that, even in disagreements, there is honest political dialogue happening!!


Aimee, you want comments! Isn't your decision to vote for Obama based on a speech he gave about race just as shallow as a woman voting for Hillary because she is a woman. You want to talk openly about race, great! Over the years, there have been multiple opportunities in this community to do just that. Many that have not gone well, mostly because I think many people are confused about what they are trying to accomplish with these conversations, people come to these discussions from many different maturity and experiencial levels of dealing with the topic. As a white person, I agree, racism has gone no where. It definitely still exists, needs to be addressed in a gentle way as to not scare white people off, who have the privilege in the first place ... but to vote for a guy just because he made a speech about race! Do you honestly think that if a white candidate sat in a church with a preacher for years, who condemned and ridiculed people of color, and then while trying to run for a political office was called out on it, and they said well I don't agree with his comments, but we are still friends and he is like family to me, that that would fly!!! Hell NO ... all hell would break loose. They would be labeled a racist and in my mind would be a racist to have tolerated in any way shape or form that kind of speaking. If we are going to have open diagolues about race, then we need to have an open playing field that is equal for everyone to speak and to be judged on the same criteria in terms of their comments. It can't be a person of color making rude, obnoxious comments about white people being acceptable, and white people saying anything about people of color automatically be labled as racist and shunned. I have seen it happen over and over in this town. There is deep need for talks about race, in a respectful manner. But back to the issue of president. I won't vote for someone because they made a good speech about Race ... for gosh sakes, our economy is a mess, our country is at war, and it is getting worse again. Our own people are dying due to lack of health care. Yes, let's talk about Race, but not necessarily vote for him for president for that reason, he made a good speech. Start a discussion group. But vote for someone who can turn this country around. We are in deep shit. You are not talking to yourself.....!!!!!!!!!!
March 30, 2008 9:36 AM

Aimee said...
I appreciate your comments. This is exactly the kind of dialogue that I think is needed, not just here in Flint, but across our nation.

You are absolutely right, our country is in deep shit. On those issues you mentioned, I have not seen a significant difference between Barak and Hillary. Neither one is advocating for a Universal Healthcare plan as is needed, but they are both proposing improvements to our current system. Both have said that they want out of Iraq, although I'm not quite sure of the details of what they are each proposing. The economy sucks. I'll say it again...the economy sucks. I have no idea what either of them are proposing to fix it. This incentive package that we are all supposed to get just for filing our taxes this year, will barely scratch the surface. I already have it spent to pay down credit cards with way too high of interest rates. My own fault.

Did I mention that the economy sucks? However, I have job security because I work with juvinile offenders within a child welfare system that is broken and a criminal justice system that is criminal and not just. I also have no idea how they each plan (if they plan) to fix those things. I'm also unsure about how, exactly, they will improve schools and increase school funding so that maybe some of the kids that I meet are more likely to get excited about escaping into literature than escaping into ludes or cocaine or alcohol or ...

There is so much about our country that needs fixing. My voice in the selection of the democratic nominee, for example. But since I live in Michigan, my voice and my vote (or not) are irrelevant.


No matter who is nominated for the Democratic ticket, I will vote for them!!!! As I said before, both candidates are remarkable and have the possibility of making the world better through their presidancy.


However, I favor Obama because I have heard Clinton qualify her call for change to imply that qualitative change is impossible within our present political system. I need someone more optimistic, or perhaps even naive about the so-called impossibility of changing the system.


By the way, if you click on the link to the right, you can hear one of Rev. Wright's so-called racist speeches, where he calls on our government right after 9/11, not to jump into a reaction of violence and terror, but instead, to take time to look within ourselves as individuals and as a country to find a better, more peaceful response. Listen to it. Nothing anti-white about it.


Also, after reading your comment, I found an interview with Geraldine Ferraro that was done after the so-called race comment. I stand corrected. I do stand by my statement of feeling that she was no racist, but when I heard her explaination, I (and, I think the media and most listening to that media) had it wrong. She wasn't saying it out of ignorance, but in a spirit of solidarity. Watch the video. Interesting.


I still am crossing my fingers for Obama.


About the race thing....I'm not supporting Obama just because he is black. Nor am I supporting him because he preached great rhetoric about the racial divide in this country. I am supporting him because I believe that in making that speech, he spoke out honestly about something that he really believes in. He didn't just bury his head in the sand or make excuses or empty promises not to respect his mentor any more. He responded honestly to some dishonest criticism. I believe that the moment that he decided to speak out, he made a decision to follow his heart and not the pollsters predictions. I believe that in making that speech, he showed bravery beyond what most politicians are capable of. I believe that through this speech, he indirectly challenged ALL Americans, regardless of color, to look honestly at their fears and anger, acknowlege them and move beyond them to a place of healing. I hope Obama wins the nomination because he was honest enough to step up and be open about who he is and the difficulties that this nation needs to face together.

I still am crossing my fingers for Obama.

Did I mention that our electoral system also needs to be fixed? Not just hanging chads and malfunctioning machines and racist exclusion at the polls, but we need to eliminate the electoral college altogether!! In this day and age of computers, telephones and airline travel, we should each be able to speak and vote for ourselves without an intermediary. It's kind of like going to confession with a priest who can't hear, but automatically tells everyone to say three hail marys and call the doctor in the morning.

That is one issue that I haven't heard any politician advocate for.

Quick Trip Down The Labyrinthine Path

Take a fresh look around the blog. I added some stuff on the sidebar lists of things, switched some stuff around and collated all of your comments at the very bottom of this page.

Have fun, look around. I've done some spring blog cleaning. (Of course, the house is another matter. Someone has been cleaning on Tuesdays and last week, she was gone less than 30 minutes and the dogs had already muddied our clean floor. Not to mention that Pippin threw up in my bed yesterday--she looked as surprised as I was.)

I try to mix and match on this blog now and then, hope you enjoy!!

The Race Toward a Dialogue About Race

I'm sitting here listening to the YouTube replay of Barak Obama's speech on race. Finally, an honest, reasonable dialogue about race may be able to come out of the private kitchens and the occasional classroom and be aired in the public square.

I wrote in my journal a couple of years ago that I am starved for an honest, open discussion about race, not just among my liberal mostly white friends, but openly, at work, on the street, in politics. I think Obama has begun that discussion in the political arena.

I think that when Geraldine Ferraro made her comment about Obama being where he is because he is black, she may have been trying to make a clumsy attempt to start that dialogue, but she said it out of ignorance of the struggles of being black in America today. She made the mistake of buying into the anti-affirmative action faction that seems to think that the only value that a black person or a woman can bring to the table is in their status as a "token" in whatever circle of power that they belong. I don't believe that she made her comment out of hatred, just out of her blindness of the value of Obama as an individual, regardless of race. When you think about it, that is pretty sad, because that leads me to think that the only value she sees in herself is that she was the token woman on a past presidential ticket, almost like she didn't count, only her gender did- as a trick to try to win the female vote back in the day. That saddens me. It also concerns me that she was working on the campaign of another strong, capable woman, Hillary Clinton. Does that mean that she is only supporting Clinton on the basis of the principle of her being a (token) woman? I have to wonder if Ferraro believes in the possibility of either of these two strong people to ever run the White House and promote change for the better.

After all, "tokens" aren't the real thing, they are only fake quarters that you put in the slot machine and you lose over and over and over again.

No matter who you decide to support, do so proudly and with confidence that your candidate is the right person for the job, not just because they fill some quota...black man (check)....white woman (check)...white man (check).


As a Democrat in Michigan, I know that my vote doesn't count in this primary election. (Did I mention that I didn't vote in our primary because I felt that I had been cheated of casting a real vote here, since most of my options had been removed from the ballot?) However, for what it is worth, I believe that I have made my choice today. Just a couple of minutes ago as I was listening to Obama's speech.

I choose Obama.

Whether he gets the presidency or not, whether he even gets the nomination or not, I believe that his speech is a historic, groundbreaking moment in our history.

This is a time when many white people don't believe that racism exists, or that they reap no personal benefits from our hisory of slavery, yet our whole economic system originated with the buying and selling of dark human flesh. This is a time when young people take it for granted that their schools are integrated, yet if they look around their classrooms, the majority of the students share their same skin color and that, not surprisingly, if they are brown, their textbooks are older, their computers are slower and their teachers are inexperienced and if they are white, likely they have experienced educators and full classroom sets of needed books. This is a time when Michigan's voters (probably mostly white for that election) decided to abolish any and all traces of affirmative action for women and girls of all colors and for men of color because they were afraid that the job at McDonald's that they have been aspiring to has been taken by someone with brown skin and that someone with brown skin or no penis may be sitting in their college math class next to their blond blue-eyed son. This is a time when many anti-racist white people make the mistake of feeling guilty for being born with white skin. This is a time when "African American History" is somehow segregated in classrooms from "American History", when really, they are and should be taught as one and the same. (Yes, I have heard educated folk say that white people should not be hosting television programs which celebrate black history. You will have to leave a comment if you want to hear more about that rant.) This is a time that desperately needs an honest dialogue about race, because most of us (meaning white people) believe that the civil rights movement is over. That dialogue can now begin.

I invite you to check out Barak Obama's speech (you can listen or get it in written form, I'm doing both) and TALK ABOUT IT. Honestly.

Here is the web address where I found it: http://my.barackobama.com/page/content/hisownwords

In the sidebar, I am post an e-mail that I got from my dad a few days before the Patomic Primaries. He lives in Baltimore and as an almost 80 (yes, that is this year) year old white man, his insights are fresh on the political race (pun intended). He sent the e-mail to all of his grandchildren, me and I'm not sure who all else. Hope you enjoy it and take it to heart.

Walk With Me

If you are a regular reader of my blog, I encourage you to occasionally scroll down and check out the side column. I often add links to my links list, and I add new pictures and points of interes now and then. Sometimes, I just update part of that instead of writing a whole new blog entry. That way, you don't need to necessarily experience my rambling thoughts as they enter my head, you can just glance through the shorthand version in a link or a picture.

I updated my subtitle to include a plea for comments. Sometimes, I feel like I am talking to myself in these postings. Usually I am, but I also would like to know that the voices I hear in response are not all just in my head. I hope that this blog can serve as a vehicle for discussion among you all, not just me. I encourage you to read all comments. If you make a comment on the blog, usually I will respond to your specific comment through the comment section on that posting. So, if you think I've been ignoring you, check out the comments again.

NPR did an interesting piece this morning on how community building is happening on the internet. I missed a big chunk of the story, but what I did hear was interesting. I would like those of you reading this to become part of a community of people who share and experience things deeply. Have strong opinions and are not afraid to disagree or to expound on anything I may spout off about. Mostly what I write about is whatever is in the forefront of my mind at that moment. Maybe not that morning or a few hours later. I am hoping that your voices will help spark inspiration and expansion in my thinking.

Have fun reading and writing and experiencing and sharing life together.

The information about the bill to take action on was provided by a website of an organization called the Organic Consumers Association. You can find more information about that bill and much more by going to their website. They are a brand-new organization to me, and I'm not sure how I got on their e-mail list, but they have some interesting and informative information. there is a link to their website in my links section, or if you are the cut and paste type, here it is: http://www.organicconsumers.org/ . Hey, looking at that, I may have just put the link here in the body of the text as well. I'm not sure. (This blog stuff is still kind of foreign to me, but I'm having fun doing it.)

Shalom.

Waste Not

I submitted the following comment to the EPA regarding EPA-HQ-SFUND-2007-0469 They are accepting public comments through March 27, 2008

Why is it so hard to use just plain common sense when dealing with food production issues? Large producers of manure should be required to not just report their waste, but attempt to reduce it, or, better yet, utilize it's powerful positive properties.
Manure production businesses such as cattle and chicken producers have in their possession, some of the best fertilizer available on the planet. Instead of redistributing it to the growers that need it, they are piling it up and allowing it to pollute the water and air of the areas nearby.
Providing incentives to give this resource back to farmers as free fertilizer would help our country reduce its dependence on foreign oil, provide natural alternatives to soil-killing chemical fertilizers, help a wide range of farmers cut costs, thereby cut consumer costs, by reducing the amount of money spent on fertilizers.
Rather than give CAFOs a free pass onb accountability, offer incentives for them to do the right thing. Report, recycle and reuse responsibly the nitrogen-rich natural fertilizer that they are instead using to pollute.

Finding Peace When the Boat is Rocking

For extra credit in my "History of African-American Religion" class, I visited a church this morning that has mostly black congregants and a black minister. The following is the short paper that I wrote about my experience. I hope it touches you in a loving, peaceful way:

Hymn #431, “Let There Be Peace on Earth”, was the closing hymn at Bethel United Methodist Church on February 24, 2008, the day that I visited. I know every word of that hymn by heart. It was one that I sang growing up in the Catholic Church, and again, later as a teenager we sang it at my church of choice at the time, the United Methodist Church of Lake Orion. Even now, occasionally, out of the blue, that song bubbles up out of my heart and over my tongue. I was really surprised when I was singing it and I looked around, that almost everyone was reading and singing it out of the hymnal-even the choir members read it as they walked down the aisle. It was being sung by the book. I am used to singing that song from the heart, with more joy and celebration in sound. That is one of my all time favorite songs, up there with other church songs from my youth such as “Amazing Grace”, “Ave Maria” and “Swing Low, Sweet Chariot.” That last one was part of the service as well, but the congregation didn’t sing it. It was sung by a quartet which sounded beautiful, but it was hard for me not to sing along. It was sung slow and reverently. I had a more upbeat version in my head.
I chose to visit Bethel because I wanted to compare my experience in an all white town in an all white United Methodist congregation with an African-American United Methodist service. I was surprised at how much of the ritual aspect I had forgotten. (It has been about 20 years since I went to UMCLO.) I was also surprised at how much of the music was done by the choir, even though much of it was music I’d experienced as congregational hymns in other churches. In the United Methodist church of my teenage years, the choir (and sometimes the youth choir, of which I was a part) tended to perform songs that were more what I would consider “high church music”, not songs found in many hymnals across the country.
I focus so much on music in this writing because, to me, music is always in me and it is one of the ways that I connect to the divine. Music, for me IS prayer. (I believe that everything we do and say is a prayer, but I feel it consistently through music.) I often find myself humming when I am not initially aware of it. To me, God is love and love is peace and peace is music (often).
The sermon was on Peace. What peace means and how to find it. Rev. Dr. Tara Sutton’s sermon was very powerful and eloquent in a relaxed way. She spoke of finding peace through prayer and through helping others find some sort of peace in their lives. She spoke about gratitude and surrender (my word, not hers). She spoke about the peacemakers of the civil rights movement. She spoke about Jesus as the Prince of Peace. Her sermon included several bible passages about peace, and went into detail about the morning’s scripture reading, Luke 8:22-25. She spoke about praying as we make decisions throughout our day and throughout our lives. She spoke about praying for peace when we are troubled. She spoke about peace within and peace in the absence of war.
The service was as low-key as I remember the services at my former church being. Maybe low-key isn’t the right term. I guess maybe I mean calm. Peaceful. Comforting.
One major difference, other than the music, that I found was that I don’t remember having an altar call at our United Methodist Church in Lake Orion during Sunday services. There was an altar call at Bethel. In the past, I only remember that happening in other churches that I visited throughout my childhood, like the Pentecostal Church my oldest brother attended, and at the Billy Graham service I went to once. In the United Methodist context, I only remember that happening during a regional youth rally/conference that I went to and at a retreat called “Mountain Top” that I attended 3 or 4 years in a row where we went down to Appalachia and did service work.
Like the United Methodist church of my youth (and my current Unitarian Universalist Church), doing good works was an integral part of the message at Bethel. In the welcome packet that they gave me, there was a quote from John Wesley that I thought was beautiful and powerful and simple, “Do all the good you can, by all the means you can, in all the ways you can, at all the times you can, for all the people you can, as long as you can.”
To me, that is what being human is all about. To me, that is what being a spiritual being is all about. To me, following that tenet is what living peace within and without is all about.

Someone Takes What I Consider a Wrong Turn on the Path to Humanity

I had a really disturbing conversation today with another white student in my English class. We were talking about what we had left to take in order to graduate. I was telling him that I really don't have much left in specific, but that I get to take whatever I want and that this semester I am taking "History of African-American Religion." He got a weird look on his face and his immediate verbal response was, "I would never take a class like that." I responded that it is a really good class and I am learning a lot. He repeated that he would never take a class like that. I asked him why and he said, "because I am a Christian." I responded that almost all of what we have been talking about is Christianity, Methodists, Baptists, etc. He said that he is pentecostal and repeated again that he would never take that kind of a class. I told him that the professor is a Baptist minister. He said that Baptist ministers bore him.

I think that it is pretty obvious that what he was saying really was that either black people can't be real Christians, or that black religion and history are irrelevant, or, I suspect from his body language, that he believes like white folks in the 18th century did in that people of African heritage have no souls. (The scary thing is, that I know that there are people who believe that still. The KKK justifies their racism, calling it Christianity.)

I just can't get that conversation out of my mind. I find myself second guessing what he was saying, and any way you slice it, it comes up racist. If not racist, than at least chosen ignorance based upon religious extremism. That is as dangerous as racism, because chosen ignorance based upon religious extremism leaves one open to being brain-washed into racism, mysogyny, anti-semitism, homophobia, terrorist mentality and any other avenues for hatred.

While talking to him, I knew that because of his chosen ignorance, that no matter what I said, I would not be able to get him to open his mind at all. The only thing I could think of to say to him was "Everyone has got to believe in something." I know that isn't a snappy comeback, but it is an honest statement. It is the only honest statement I could make in response without telling him that he is an idiot for being so close-minded about the world.

Clearing a Path to the Neighbors'

How 'bout them snowflakes, huh?

Yesterday, I got home from PT and started up the snowblower (started around 4 ish). I got about one and a half feet before the snow stopped coming out of the shoot on top, and began to spit out the bottom front. This kept happening over and over again. Did you know that you can use your snowblower as a snowtube maker? These tubes can be broken down into fairly good-sized snowballs. A little too big to throw easily though. So, anyway, after making what felt like 100 snowtubes of various lengths (I think the longest one came out whole at about 16 inches), I finally had the half of the driveway closest to the street blown. I then made the mistake of allowing my sore knees to turn me around to look at my handiwork. Evidently, there were little tiny snow gremlins behind me with little tiny snowblowers of their own, blowing snow back onto the driveway where I had just cleared it. The driveway needed to be cleared again. I hadn't even gotten around to moving the cars to clear the other half of the driveway yet. I decided to give up for the moment. I went inside and Deb had dinner waiting for me.

I drove the truck to work last night because of the storm. I left about 1/2 hour early and arrived 5 minutes late (I'm usually about 10-20 minutes early). If I had driven my car, I probably would have gotten there about 3-4 hours late, since it handles so poorly in the snow.
When I got home this morning, a neighbor about 1/2 block away was stuck in her driveway. I stopped and told her I was going to run home and use the bathroom and I'd be back to help her. I got home, pottied, started the snowblower and started plowing down the sidewalk buried in over a foot of snow. I got about halfway to her when another neighbor finished digging her out and pushed her into the street. So, I turned the snowblower around and cleared the other half of the sidewalk to home. I had cleared our sidewalk and about one and a half neighbor sidewalks by that time.

In my round about loquacious way, I really do have a point to this story... in the 6 or so minutes that it took me to get back to our driveway, our neighbor, Dave, was grinning from ear to ear and clearing our driveway for us. Again. We have only needed to clear our driveway a couple of times this winter, because Dave keeps beating us to it:). And his snowblower doesn't clog up and get confused into thinking it is really a snowtube maker. Who says that chivalry is dead? Who says that neighborliness doesn't exist (especially in Flint)? When I thanked Dave, he said that he was glad to do it and he appreciates that Deb helps him with the lawn in the summer. Okay, he has an awesome snowblower, and we have an awesome lawn tractor. And it's fun to drive. And Deb loves to help the neighbors when she knows they are busy with their own lives. And, did I say this already?, he has an awesome snowblower.

Deb and Dave aren't the only ones who help each other out in this community. There is another guy with an awesome snowblower several doors down. The day that Deb and I were trying to get out of the driveway a few years ago to go buy our snowtube maker (really, it only acts like that when the snow is wet). I say trying because we were stuck. Really stuck. Really really really stuck. Like, trouble opening the door and getting out stuck. This neighbor down the block was using his awsome snowblower to clean his driveway and his two neighbors' driveways when he looked up and saw us (like I said, he's several houses away). He snowblowed the entire sidewalk between us, and blew out enough for us to get out of the driveway. A second guy had helped to push us out. When we got home from buying our brand-new snowblower, our driveway was cleared already. We had to wait for the next snow to try it out. I think it was the next day or so. By the way, I think the guy who rescued Deb and I is the same one who rescured that other woman this morning. I think I recognized the snowblower.

My round about point is that it's kind of fun to help each other out. I don't know these guys by name, or really even by sight, but I know them by the smiles and willingness to jump in and help each other. Deb is just naturally a good neighbor. She knows the dogs in the area and when they get out & need an understanding human to help them get back into their yards, she is the one they go to. She helps to mow the lawns of the busy or absent people in a one block radius. She offers a helping hand to anyone who seems to need one. She offers neighbors fresh grown tomatoes in the summer when she sees them outside. I admire that in her.

All this snow makes it feel like a real Michigan winter. What I remember about this time of year on the farm is that mom always had a warm tea kettle on the stove for the strangers that inevitibly ended up in our ditch during weather like this. I remember my brothers bundling up and pushing them out of the ditch and back into a spot from where they could drive when they were done with their tea or cocoa. I may be romanticizing this memory, or stretching one experience into a regular thing. I'm not sure. (Hey, if any of you older Louberts are reading this, does any of this ring a bell?)

Enjoy the snow. Enjoy your neighbors. Enjoy being a good neighbor. Random acts of kindness and all that stuff.

Question of the day: What warm fuzzy winter memories make you smile?

Electing Our Path to the Future

With tomorrow being "Super Tuesday", I can't wait to see who will sweep the nation off it's feet. I'm still kind of pissed about the Michigan non-primary though. Is anyone else upset that the democratic party has made all these claims of making every vote count, yet all of Michigan's democratic voters have been silenced in the primary process? I can only hope that in the final election, we don't have issues with computer ballots being misread or lost or hanging chads or anything else.
This year's presidential election race has been a very exciting one. I hate to say it, but on both sides of the aisle, I've been fascinated with the dynamics that have been going on. I have been excited about this lineup of democratic candidates, especially, considering that last time around, we had a pretty lousy selection to choose from. This year, we've seen several dynamic candidates step forward. Maybe, in a way, I'm glad that I didn't need to make a choice in this primary election, since I see potential in both front runners. I am disappointed that Edwards dropped out, I saw potential in him as well. Being fickle, perhaps I'm better off waiting to see who the final nominees will be so my choices are more limited.
There are several issues that I hope won't get forgotten in the shuffle. Universal health care, for example. (By the way, there is a series of 3 talks going on about that at the Flint UU church. The second one is tonight (Monday February 4). There is one more next week. I think the information may be on their website, I'm not sure.) Some of the other issues that I feel need to be addressed in a serious and perhaps even radical way are: school funding (ditch "no child left behind"), mental health accessibillity for everyone (especially for teens), creating local jobs in Michigan and all around the country, limiting the use of genetically-modified crops and creating safe buffer zones for growers who choose not to use gm crops (corn crops, for example, often get contaminated by gm crops being grown nearby), eliminating NAFTA and other trade agreements that exploit poor workers in other countries while moving jobs out of the United States, repairing the child protective services industry, eliminating CODEX, eliminating the electoral college so that every vote really does count, and on and on and on.
So, as we gear up for the fall elections, think about what issues you want to see addressed. Everyone is talking about the war, the economy and "change". What exactly does that mean, and what kinds of changes are they talking about? What, in your opinion, needs to change?

Turning Toward Hecticity (I know, that isn't a word. It is now)

Hey all, sorry I have been neglectful of passing on information about Deb. She got her staples out on Tuesday. She looks like she has a zipper all the way down the front of her, from several inches above her bellybutton to almost to her privates. Now that's a scar. It matches the one on her hip and her knee, from when she became bionic.

Her pain control was pretty much nonexistant for a while there, but she is doing better now. She just has to monitor how awake her bowels are before deciding on whether or not to take the pain meds.

The dogs are all very happy to have at least one of us home to sleep with at night. (Really, they allow us to use their big king sized bed with them.)

My classes are off to a good start. I'm finding that I want to work on one much more than the other. No surprise there. I also am doing some independent reading for a sociology prof, and will get the credit next semester. Right now, I am reading a book called the Slave Ship. It is awesome!! I'm only 132 pages into it so far, but I am amazed that not only am I learning about history, I'm also learning how the slave trade of way back when still affects how we do things today. I'll give more of a review once I finish it. So far, it's a fascinating read.

I've gotta sign off now because I have to nap before my English class, where I'll get to hear the professor talk to himself about Homer's The Iliad. No, really, he's talking to us, but with the assumption that we haven't figured anything out on our own. The work itself is fascinating and interesting. Class, not so much.

The history of African-American Religion class has me re-thinking my whole view of religion in the United States. I think I have some insights into why we are having so much trouble attracting African-Americans into the Unitarian Universalist faith as well. I'm not sure if I'm ready to share those insights yet. I need to mull them over for a while yet. I did write several pages in my journal about it on the morning of Martin Luther King Jr. day (Monday). That was how I honored him, looking honestly at race relations in the faith community that I love. May even get a sermon out of it yet, if I can figure out a diplomatic way of saying some of what I want to say.

Deb's Crazy Journey of Recovery

MORE ON DEB

Deb got through her surgery well. Last night, they finally let her suck on a few ice chips. Yeah!!
The surgeon found a piece of her descending colon that was free of diverticuli. He was able to save 8-10 inches, which is 8-10 inches more than they thought could be salvaged. The rest of the colon was riddled with the disease. She still has an NG tube coming out of her nose (that is a drain that empties the stomach of acid and bile since there is nothing in there to dilute it). She is hoping to get that out this morning. She still has a catheter in and pain control has been an ongoing problem. I talked to her a little while ago, and that finally seems to be going better.
She is tired, because as we all know, hospitals are very restful places...not. She is also running a fever and her breathing is not as clear as it should be. They haven't taken the dressing off of the incision yet, but I'm hoping that there isn't an infection developing. (Although on second thought, that would be better than in the gut itself.)
She's not yet up to having visitors or talking to very many people, hopefully now that her pain is under better control, maybe she will be ready for that soon.
The dogs miss her terribly. Poor Little Bit hates to be without people for 5 minutes, let alone 5 nights. As I get ready for work, her eyes dialate and her dog tags start clinking because she shakes so hard from the anxiety.
Deb will probably be in the hospital for 4-7 days from the surgery. I suspect it will be on the longer end of that simply because it has taken 2 days just to get her pain under control. She still doesn't have bowel sounds and they aren't allowing her to eat or drink even water yet. (And I whined about my post-op hospital stay. At least I got water.) I also think that if the fever doesn't resolve itself, that may delay her coming home as well.
Considering all of that, she is holding up fairly well. Her color looks good and she is getting up and walking as much as she can. She's really looking forward to getting the NG tube out. And eating pizza. Someday hopefully soon.

Turning from one to Another

UPDATE ON DEB:

As some of you know, Deb has been dealing with major health issues for the past 13 years or so.
The good news is, that in March, the FDA approved a new way of administering gamma globulin, which is what Deb needs since her own body doesn't produce enough of the right components naturally (IGG). She used to get it intravenously (directly into a vein) once a month, but it made her very sick most of the time, so she had to stop it. Deb started this new way of getting it subcue (under the skin) at home and she seems to be able to tolerate it pretty well as long as she takes Benedryl, Motrin and Alka-Aid oraly right before she sticks the needles into her. Her IGG counts have doubled since starting this treatment a little over two months ago!! Yeah! Her counts still are not in the "normal" range by any means, but at least she isn't as likely to die of a cold.
Because she is responding so well to the Gama globulin, she has been cleard to have surgery on Wednesday, January 9. Deb has been in a lot of pain on and off for the past year because of recurring diverticulitis. (Basically, "pockets" have formed throughout her colon and those pockets sometimes get inflamed and/or infected and bleed.) If this goes untreated, there is a risk that one of the diverticuli could rupture and pollute the rest of her body with feces as it seeps out of that tear.
So, at noon on Wednesday, say a prayer if you will, or send out healing light or just positive thoughts in Deb's direction.
The surgeon will be removing Deb's entire colon and connecting the small intestine directly to the rectum. If all goes well, she will be able to eat snd use the bathroom "normally" (no bag, but frequent use). We plan on it all going well, with your prayers to help in the healing process.
I'm not sure when she'll get home from the hospital, I'll post it here or make a few key phone calls and hope that word gets out when she does get home.

Don't Mind Her, She's Just Happy

Why is it that in our society, if someone asks "how are you doing?" and you answer "not well" or "I'm crabby" or any other number of answers indicating a fairly negative moment in your life, most of the time, the asker says, "oh" or some other lame, half-hearted acknowledgment?
Why is it that in our society, if someone answers, "Awesome", "I'm happy" or "today is a good day" to that same question, the asker usually says something like, "why are YOU so happy"? Often, the tone of voice that goes along with that question implies that something is amiss with the idea of happiness.
Why, if someone spontaneously laughs "for no reason", those around them crane their necks and stretch their eyes to find an explanation. Or, they surreptitiously, but quickly, look away in the opposite direction with that "I don't hear you" look of a three year-old who has been caught drinking out of the toilet. As if spontaneous laughter is a sign of insanity or some odd communicable disease or just plain mischief. Sometimes, a rude "what's so funny?" is grunted toward the laugher. Is the impulse to find the source a way to reassure ourselves that there is no craziness afoot, or is it a longing to be included in the laughter?
I remember vividly the first time that anyone ever hugged me as a teenager (besides my mom, and even those were few and far between). I was 15 and at a church camp in Tennessee called "Mountain Top". I was walking down the path toward my cabin, passing several small groups of people, when someone from my church stepped away from his group and wrapped me in a embrace. I had NO idea what to do. I distinctly remember not returning the hug, looking at him blankly and asking him, "what was THAT for?" (Yet at the same time I was jumping for joy and laughing inside my head.) Don grinned and responded, "No reason. I just felt like it." I thought he was crazy, though later we became very good friends and his hugs helped me get through depression and an angry teenage hood.
Here's another thing: I used to be amazed if I'd go into a public place and the person I was with looked everyone in the eye and greeted them enthusiastically. It always blew my mind when I'd find out that my friend and this random restaurant patron didn't know each other, yet greeted one another like old friends. I remember the first few times, I was with my friend, Lizette. I was 22 years old, shy, and embarrassed in an odd sort of way that she was drawing all of this attention to us. I got used to it after a while.
Then, I had a job (the worst job of my life) in which one of the requirements of my employment was to look every customer in the eye and greet them: "Hi, how are you?" (short pause) "Is there anything I can help you find today?" (And later, of course, I would have to try to talk them into getting whatever piece of crap that they bought engraved.)
Through this humiliating ritual, I learned something that I never suspected: I like people.
I also learned to go ahead and force myself past my shyness. (It felt crippling sometimes, to be that shy.) Now people laugh at me when I tell them that I'm shy. I can get up in front of a crowd ans speak. I can shake hands and look "strangers" in the eye. I can smile at someone I don't know. I can ask for someone to tell me their story and really be present with them in the moment of their telling. I can walk into a party of strangers and introduce myself to some of them instead of standing in the corner, observing.
Even while doing all of this, I am able to refrain from saying "would you like that engraved with a special message for only 50 cents a letter?"

Looking back at the beginning of this entry, I remember now what these rambling words were meant to say:
*Allow yourself to feel happy at least once a day, for no apparent reason at all.
*Laugh out loud when you least expect it. Writers like Robert Fulgum, Douglas Adams, Fanny Flagg, Neil Gaiman and Erma Bombeck can sometimes help with this exercise. Try reading one of these authors while you are riding public transportation. Watch people watch you each time you burst out in laughter. It's a fascinating experiment.
*When you aren't in a good mood, accept that and be grateful that it is only temporary.
*Know that joy is our natural state of being. No excuses or reasons are needed. (Yes, I'm telling myself this more than anyone.)
*Greet each stranger as if they are a friend that you haven't met yet.

Question for the day: What are some "happy songs" that you can't help smile, tap or sing to?

Another Trip On the 23 Year Path to a Bachelor's Degree

The Winter semester for University of Michigan Flint begins on Monday. I will be taking two classes: Literature of Ancient Greece and Rome and The History of African-American Religion. The first one is my last reuired English class for my English degree. The second one is because I want to. I am trying to choose classes that will be interesting or will fit into what I think will help me if/when I go to seminary.
I've been back to work for two weeks now, so I guess I need to get back into the swing of school also. I'm looking forward to both classes. I have started reading one book from each one. So far, I've gotten through the intro for the Iliad. I hope the epic itself is more interesting than the intro. The one on Black Religion and Black Radicalism, so far is pretty good, but I am kind of disappointed that it is pretty much only talking about Christianity. I was hoping it would focus on Christianity but also more than just mention Islam and Judaism. I was also hoping it would touch upon other religions that are Earth-based, etc. I did find it interesting that Christianity was well established in Africa long before African slaves were brought to the Americas. Christianity was firmly established in Egypt in the third or fourth century. I never knew that. I had never really thought about it before. I'm looking forward to learning more.

Blanket of Peace for the New Year

I woke up this morning to a brand-new year and nature's own brand-new blank canvas. We got several inches of snow last night, leaving everything white and pristine. I looked out the window and 6:30am, so even the road looks beautiful.
I can't remember if I've mentioned this or not, but I love it when the snow refreshes the visual world. Everything seems cleansed of the dirt, oil and traces of salt. It always feels quiet and peaceful, until the snowplows come through.
Have an awesome new year.

Have you made any New Year's Resolutions (or Revolutions)?

Musical Meanderings

When I was younger- teenage, twenties and even as a tween- I let almost no one see me cry. I'm not sure if that is because, as the youngest of 11 kids, I heard from about 9 different people on an almost daily basis that I was a "cry baby", or because I never saw others in my family cry. (Once, I saw mom cry when she thought no one was around. She was a single mom by then and I'm sure the world felt overwhelming. I never told her that I saw that.)
Now, I find myself tearing up on a regular basis. I don't know if it's menopause, or if it is because in the deepest part of my heart, I now know that showing emotions is no weakness. It takes strength to cry.
And, alone in my car, I can feel deeply without an audience.
Since mom died in 1999, this time of year is usually for me, a time to celebrate and to add extra saline into the world. (After all, sea-salt has to come from somewhere, why not grieving daughters everywhere?) Whenever I hear "Ave Maria" or "Hark the Herald Angels Sing", I can feel mom sitting next to me during a December mass, holding my small hand in hers. I can hear her singing out loud and proud, vibrato, like an opera singer. (In my mind, whenever I hear the musical phrase, "in exchelsis deo", no matter who is singing on the radio or standing next to me, it is Mom's voice that drowns out all others.) "Amazing Grace", "She's Always a Woman to Me", "Stairway to Heaven" and countless unnamed Christmas carols choke me up with the memory of her. Not necessarily choked up only out of sadness or grief any longer. Often I am choked up with the gratitude of knowing that some small measure of her strength and generosity has rubbed off on me and on all of the rest of her children and step-children, grand-children, grand-step children, and so on. Sometimes, I am choked up with joy because of feeling that she is still here with me somehow and that when not here in those moments, she is up in heaven with Ashee Mouchy and Mitzy and Brute and Mother and Aggie and the countless other pets I've lost throughout my life. I picture her watching out for them, as they watch out for her. I picture she and Ashee sharing apples together.
This season, I haven't been listening compulsively to Christmas carols like I usually do to get my holiday fix of Mom. Despite that, this has been a very musical season for me.
Yesterday, at the Unitarian Universalist Church of Flint, I found myself getting teary-eyed as I watched my goddaughters and several other kids (and adult children) singing to the congregation as they told a story about prejudice giving way to acceptance of diversity. I had never heard any of the songs before, and I had no idea that the kids in our church had such strong, beautiful voices. Like with Mom's Christmas singing, I felt like I was home and safe. I hope the kids sing for us regularly soon.
This morning, on my way home from work, I was listening to NPR. The first story that I got to hear after getting into my car was about a bunch of Michigan musicians who had recorded about 200 different Christmas songs for people to download for free from the internet. "Suburban Sprawl" have been adding songs to this collection for the past 5 years to celebrate the season of giving and to remove some of the money-based commercialism that seems to surround the holidays these days. How cool. And, the songs that they highlighted on the radio show were all really good and original in style and content. (Hey-Louberts- maybe we should have a Louberts' original winter holiday concert CD. Pop can be the leader and we can be like the von Trapp Family Singers.)
It has been nice now and then to hear Deb practicing her guitar quietly. We bought guitars for Maddie and Ana. Now Deb gets to teach them how to play.
Once again, alone in my car on my way home from work the other morning, I wrote a simple song to celebrate Winter Solstice. I haven't written a song in a long time, other than random humming and nonsense words that I'll never sing again, let alone remember. This one though, I really like and I can hear it in my head with voices other than just mine.
Like mom, I often find myself humming. Usually, other people notice it before I do. I have what I call "Musical Turretts". I can't help it. Sound just pops out. Twenty years or so ago, my freshman year college roommate, Michelle, once laughingly accused me of humming in my sleep. I asked her what I was humming. She said, "nothing in particular, you were just humming." At the time I didn't believe her. I denied that any such thing was possible. I don't sing, or even hum. About 2 weeks later, we were sitting quietly (hard to believe from the two of us who always have a word to add), when out of the blue, Michelle yelled, "That's It!" and laughed. I asked what she was talking about. She said, "That's what you were humming." I was very puzzled. "What?" She quickly pointed out that I had just been humming. I, once again, staunchly denied it. A few minutes later, I heard myself start to hum again. It took a few more years until I would admit to what Michelle had already experienced and firmly believed was the truth, that I hum. When I worked at Schuler Books in Okemos, one day I was putting away books in the science fiction section. I was minding my own business, doing my job. I loved to handle each book, look at who wrote it, smell the newness of the paper and read a couple of pages here and there to decide if I wanted to read more, or beyond that, to recommend it to customers who always counted on me for this research. To me, shelving books was a meditation in being present in the moment. Enjoying being alone, just me and the stacks, never mind that customers and co-workers might be an aisle or a bookcase away. Back to the story-- one day I was putting away books in the science fiction section. I was minding my own business, doing my job when a customer asked me what song I was humming. I looked up from my stool and asked, "was I humming?" She replied yes. Then I asked her, "what was I humming?" We laughed at that together after I revealed that I hadn't been aware that sound was coming out of me.
As I sit here on the loveseat, listening to Harry Connick Jr. sing Christmas songs in his smooth Rat Pack like style, I am also hearing a song sung just for me. Fat Cat, Biddy, is sitting on my left and Cindy Lou Who is pressed up against my right leg, taking her rightful spot as the queen of everything. They are purring in harmony to one another. Each has a unique sound and rhythm, yet they fit together, like a kitty cat barbershop duet.
Once, when I had brought a friend home from college for the weekend (it may have even been Michelle), mom joked with us, saying "LIFE IS A MUSICAL". I think I believe that now, like I didn't then. I think, maybe, Maddie and Ana have helped me believe that. I know that life is a musical when we laugh and make up songs for one another on the spot (like "I've Got Boogers in My Nose", which I made up and they can only sing in front of a limited audience, or "the Poop Song" that Maddie made up while she and Ana helped me pick up land mines in the back yard that were left by my well-fed dogs.) Every moment is worthy of music. Music can move us to tears or to laughter, calm or agitation.

What music brings your heart and soul to laughter, tears or profundity? (is that really a word, or did I make it up? Profound- ity, profound-ness, thoughtfullness, thoughtful truths)

Walking in a Winter Wonderland of Springy Inspiration

Every Year, sometime between Winter Solstice and Spring Equinox, I find myself during these cold dull months, inspired by some book which leads me toward thought trailss of new green shoots soon to come after the winter thaws.

In 1998, my book of inspiration was Gene Logston's The Contrary Farmer's Invitation to Gardening. All over, that book was inspiration once again last year when I dug it out of the basement. I was delighted to find out (again, something I'd forgotten since reading it 10 years ago) that I don't really have to rototill every year. Another year, my inspiration came complete with incredible photos and the story (along with instructions) of a garden that began as hardscrabble dirt and became transformed over several years of loving composting, raking, experimenting, failing and succeeding to create what looks like paradise in the pictures. I bought this book, already out of print at the time for $3 or $4 dollars. The title of this book (which I still pull out and refer to almost every year) is (I think) The Natural Kitchen Garden. This book was lovingly written by one guy, photographed by the other guy of the pair that spent years loving this small piece of land in Maine. I could be very wrong on the title, but right now I'm too lazy to go find it and give you the right information. (I'll note it somewhere in a later blog entry. Hey, I didn't forget the corriander did I?) Either way, I couldn't find that book on Amazon. It may be disappeared in the way of single socks in a dryer. In 1999 or 2000, novel called Night Gardening by Elizabeth Swann swept me off my feet. It is a breathtaking love story involving a 60 something year old landscaper and a woman who is re-learning how to talk and walk after having a stroke. (By the way, the sexiest love scene I've ever read takes place between these two unlikely lovers.) Another book that inspires me repeatedly is called Seedfolks. It is a young adult novel written by Paul Fleischman. I love this quick read so much that I've bought and given away probably 5 different copies to 5 different people. I re-read it every couple of years and am inspired by each of the many voices in which it is written, beginning with a little Korean girl who tries to honor her dead father, a farmer, in a vacant lot full of garbage. This powerful novel only takes a couple of hours to read and provides hours of thoughtful reflection, laughter and inspiration in your heart. Some years, my cold-weather inspiration comes from magazines like "Organic Gardening" or "Mother Earth News". Johnny's Seed Catalogue, Miller Nurseries Catalogue, and more recently, "Irish Eyes Garden City Seeds" (website in the links section).

This winter, my inspirational book is called: "Animal, Vegetable, Miracle" by the novelist, Barbara Kingsolver, and family. I've read several of her fiction books, but never a memoir or non-fiction work by her. Shortly after I was diagnosed with cancer, a friend gave Deb and I a copy of the book. She wrote the following inscription on the title page: "July 3, 2007 Dear Deb & Aimee garden, cook, laugh, love--enjoy. Sue." She had already read it and knew that Deb and I needed some inspiration at that moment.

Deb read the book first. She would stop periodically and excitedly say, "We can do this!" The authors of the book, as a family, committed to living one year eating only locally produced foods. Sounds easy, right? Not so much.

Deb finished reading "Animal, Vegetable, Miracle" in record time. She couldn't wait for me to dig into the richness of it. Already, she was wanting to plan next year's garden to produce a variety of food over a longer time than we have done in the past. (Do you mean to tell me that setting out Cole crops in July only makes them grow without producing? No wonder I had no Brussels on my Sprouts this year.)

Finally, during my first or second chemo treatment, I picked it up and began to read. Each paragraph brought excitement. I had to keep stopping to digest the information. I had to keep re-reading in order to fully absorb the beauty of the words and the knowledge of the overwhelming stupidity of our current food culture. I found myself reading the same paragraph over and over, my eyes blurring, my excitement growing, my anger over corporate brainwashing growing even more than before. Then, after only a couple of chapters (and a couple more weeks, therefore a couple more chemotherapy treatments) I realized that my over excitement, agitation and anger had as much to do with the steroids that came with the chemo as it did with the content of the book. I also realized that I was re-reading paragraphs not just because they were profound and moving, but also because the Cisplatin had gone to my brain and befuddled me so much that I had to read my own name three times before I understood what it said. (This is a bit of an exaggeration, but not as much as you may think.) I also realized about then that I was squinting to read the words and that after five minutes or so of reading, my eyes were practically crossing. The words were piling up on top of one another, and instead of bringing me enlightenment, the figures on the page were bringing me exhaustion. The Cisplatin that was coursing through my brain was also drying my eyes to fuzziness and causing me terrible headaches when I read.

So, Barbara and family stayed in my book bag for about 3-4 months before my eyes and my brain were both clear enough to read again. (Of course, I also had to wait until I no longer used the narcotics to control the pain of my hysterectomy since the narcotics blurred not my vision, but my brain and made me fall asleep at the drop of a.....snore.)

Finally, once again, I began to read "Animal, Vegetable, Miracle" and once again, my mental ears perked up and I grew even more frustrated with agribusiness and our government and my own complacency in the ruination of the small family farmer. This time it was NOT steroid-induced agitation (maybe a bit hormonal induced, but mostly the book just made sense and a wake-up call is justified over these issues).

I, like Deb, am inspired by this particular (peculiar??) family's thoughtfulness, resourcefulness, and willingness to try an adventure together for an entire year's ride on an amazing food roller-coaster. This way of life used to be simply living within the regular cycle of human survival. In our generation (my generation-I am 39) and in our country (The United States), that cycle has become an oddity. Living within that cycle has become a strange extremism fit only for a liberal feminist writer to chronicle.

Really, I remember living in a similar way as a kid. Even now, I laugh while reading her descriptions of her tomato-infested kitchen in August. Been there, done that (even when I had "chemo brain"), plan to be there and do that again as many Augusts as I can fit into this lifetime (and maybe the next as well).

I am not done reading this funny, factual account of one family's recipes, cravings and excesses for one year. I find myself looking forward in each chapter, to Camille's, the college-age daughter, careful chronicling of recipes. I am amazed at this young woman's insightful puzzlement over her generation's attitudes about food and nutrition. Her creative use of zucchini in chocolate chip cookies intrigues me. I'll have to try that next July when the vines are plentiful. I may even plant a vine just to make chocolate chip cookies. Is that too much????

The younger daughter, Lily, has a practical approach to building her chicken flock which I admire and hope to learn when I grow up. Lily begins her venture by firmly standing within her principles when she vows to raise chickens for eggs only. Then practicality and dreams step in and modify her expectations (but never her principles, you never eat a pet and you don't name food--except to name a mean turkey "Thanksgiving"). To learn the lesson of practicality at such an early age is an awesome gift that her chickens have given her, not to mention hundreds of eggs and delicious meat. (I imagine that Lily's chickens taste an awful lot like the plump chickens that my sister-in-law occasionally provides from her modest flock in a moving pen up north. Allison, my sister in law, can no longer let her chickens run rampant on the farm free because their "new" dog kills things. Their old dog used to just herd them around the farm and back into the barn at night to stay out of teethshot of the local coyotes and wolves. In the barn, they would lay their eggs not in their intended nesting boxes, but up in the rafters and nooks and crannies that all barns have. I miss that big bouvier, Brutus. My brother, Paul custom built them a new home. It is a fairly large pen, with plenty of room to roam. In addition to their daily grain, they also love to help themselves to bugs and anything else that wanders their way. Their pen has wheels on the bottom and each day it is moved to a new spot in the garden or on the lawn so that the chickens can pay for their grain by killing destructive bugs, laying eggs in the pen, and fertilizing the area of the day. Paul, in his many years as a professional builder and visionary thinker, has definitely created a masterpiece to be proud of. A free-range, ranging home for what would otherwise be wayward or dead chickens. I miss that brother. (no, he's not dead, just a few hours away)) Anyway, I want to be like Lily when I grow up... independent, affectionate and practical.

The clear, concise research and statistical information that Stephen Hopp (Kingsolver's husband) presents so thoughtfully within each chapter also inspires me to want to learn more. His statistics on the U.S. importing and exporting of potatoes exemplified for me the reason why I should be conscientious of where my food originates. The whole world could be fed and economies would improve if we ate local and organically grown food instead of importing billions of pounds of potatoes in to our country to eat, while we ourselves ship billions of pounds of potatoes out of the country for others to eat. We would save so much time, money, gas, jobs if we would just eat our own potatoes and leave the rest to those who grow them in other parts of the world. They may even be able to earn a living wage by growing and selling locally instead of being paid by outsiders, American conglomerates, at rates close to that of the nothingness of slave wages.

As I said, I'm not done reading this lovely, lively book. But already, I'm looking forward to a second and seventh reading of it through the years.

I wish I could afford to give a copy to every senator and congressperson on the state and national level (and then, of course, handcuff them in place until they read it). I wish I could send a handmade thank-you card to every small farmer (especially organic farmer) who dedicates themselves to loving the land enough to care for it and to let the land care for them in return.

Part of my commitment to my lifelong journey of personal growth is that I am trying to be cognizant of my limitations. I know that I can't spread the gospel of living locally in the way I just described. I can, and will (and already do much of the time) do the following things:

• Try to grow as much of my own food as my freezer and pantry shelves can hold.
• Try to cook at home more often.
• Continue shopping at the Flint Farmers' Market (see link on the "links" section of this blog)
• Read labels and be more aware that "organic" may not mean what I think it SHOULD mean and if it comes from 3,000 miles away, it is not necessarily the environmentally friendly choice I think that "organic" should be.
• Try to eat more food that coincides with the seasons of the year. (No lemons in July, no Asparagus in December.)
• Try to remember to ask at grocery stores and restaurants if the food is produced locally and politely let them know that if it is, I will buy it. If not, possibly not. (By the way, at Trader Joe's in Ann Arbor, I found some awesome, very mild Brie that was reasonably priced and it is MADE IN MICHIGAN. Also in A2, Bella Vinos has hundreds of Michigan brewed beers and wines in stock. No lack or scarcity needs to accompany conscientious buying.
• Figure out how to use my beautiful little greenhouse without totally cooking my delicate seedlings before they can make it into the (locally harvested) horse poop in my garden.
• Compost more than I do now.
• Watch less TV and watch more of Little Bit (the blond bandit dog) stealing carrots from the garden. I also plan to watch the fat cat watch me watching her resting in the sun-soaked garden.
• Continue to boycott winter tomatoes, unless I can figure out a way to grow them in my own house or greenhouse during the long Michigan winter.

Some things that I consider too daring (or extreme??) for me to do in the interests of creating a better world:

• I refuse to give up coffee or chocolate, neither of which grows anywhere near Michigan. (I won't move to South America to get them either, that presents its own problem since English is the only language that I'm really good at speaking.) I WILL, and mostly do already, only buy Fair Trade/Organic Coffee sold at my church to benefit the Unitarian Universalist Church of Flint, the UU service committee, and the small farmers who produce those delicious beans. (Equal Exchange brand is what I get, there are others as well. The taste of their chocolate and cocoa is very different than what we are used to from conventional companies. Different in an awesome and better way. Yum.) I will only buy chocolate from companies that I know don't use slave labor (again, EE is a great choice, but there are others out there as well).
• I will not give up pineapple, coconut, oranges, Lemons, mangoes, or papayas. (I will, however, eat more Michigan grown apples and cherries.) When I do get the forbidden faraway fruits, I will try to get them from our co-op or other locally owned grocer.

Many of these things, I already do. I have yet to go to the extreme that Barbara, Stephen, Camille and Lily have gone.

On second thought, I think that in reality, their year was not extreme at all. It was real. It brought meaning into every bite that they took for 365 days, 3 meals or so per day. That's over a thousand meals!! (I'm not sure how many bites per meal to get the total figure of quantity of meaning for the year.) It was "normal". Eating the way I do and the way most other Americans do, may actually be the extreme behavior. That is important, I will say it again: Eating the way I do and the way most other Americans do, may actually be the "extreme" behavior. WE are the ones trying to alter nature to satisfy our cravings for a ripe Michigan tomato in February.

The word "extreme", maybe, needs to be culturally redefined. The new definition should not depend upon the current cultural or culinary fashions of the average Modern American Human Being. Instead, maybe, "extreme" needs to be redefined as something that pushes the boundaries of time, space or usefulness beyond what is practical or sustainable--economically, environmentally and biologically.

In a word: "unnatural".

What will you do to make the world a better place?

Planting Is Just Around the Corner, Past The Worm Poop

Okay, remember a while back when I was in my manic steroid half blind craziness in the middle of chemo and radiation when I talked about counting the seeds on a cilantro plant (coriander seeds, cilantro plant, I'm not sure why the difference in name)? I promised that after I finished counting, I would let you know my results.

I finished counting a couple of months ago, after the worst of the fuzzy chemo brain was gone and after the eye drops helped me to realize that I wasn't going to lose my eyesight from the chemicals in my veins. (Again, minor memory markers--see post from a few minutes ago.)

Why, you ask, do I bring this up when the ground is white with snow and my greenhouse is (once again) missing several panels due to strong winds sneaking in and blowing them outward. Well, it is almost January. It is almost time to think about next year's garden as I look at the brandywine tomato plant that I valiantly tried to grow inside during the winter months in a pot and promptly killed due to lack of light and irregular watering. I think of seeds as I look at the baby pepper and tomato plants that are about 9" tall in the pots of adult decorative plants in my bay window. I re-potted them this summer, using what I thought was finished worm compost, with everything pre-digested and ungrowable thanks to the legions of worms in my office. Really, what I thought was simply rich, fertile worm poop in a pot must have been hiding a few small, unseen seeds underneath. I think I may re-pot these brave upstarts to see if I can keep from leading them down the stray path of that poor dead brandywine.

Another reason why I bring this up is that I am sick of the large plastic lid from a cottage cheese container taking up space on my coffee table. Evidently, in my seed-counting compulsive mania, I didn't have paper and a pen handy. But I did have a plastic lid and a Sharpie on hand. I think I actually picked the lid so I could count out seeds one by one without them flying all over the house.

That did work, to an extent. I still lost a lot. Under the loveseat. In my lap. Sprinkled throughout the living room, to find a home in the vacuum cleaner thanks to Deb being so great about cleaning the house when I was unable to help in any way.

I promised you a total, and here it is: 2,439 seeds. That is not the total total. That is only the total that I was able to count. That number does not include those flung throughout the house, or the even greater number that fell off the plant in the garden itself before I yanked the plant, then a whole mess of them that fell in the process of the yanking. I figured, using a calculator, that that one volunteer cilantro plant started out with approximately 3,658.5 seeds on the fine, lacy branches of the once leafy parsley-like plant. I'm not sure how I got that number. I think I figured that I lost about 1/3 of the seeds. Math has never been my strong suit, especially with Cisplatin clouding my brain at the time of the figuring.

Now, the question (or uestion, when my Q key is not working) is, what in the world will I do with 2,439 coriander seeds? Even with accounting for ones that may not germinate, (isn't there a bible story about mustard seed not growing on rocks, but only in fertile soil? This train of thought brings me there.) I still have the potential to grow around 2,000 little cilantro plants. That's a lot of salsa.

I can freeze some of the herb, but 2000 plants will take up an awful lot of my limited raised-bed garden space. Where will I find room for my tomatoes? Even if I plant everything way too close as I have a tendency to do?

Last summer, I ended up letting about 100 little tomato plants die because I planted so many that I had no more room in the garden for them despite cramming them only about 13 inches apart instead of the requisite 24 inches. I gave away as many of the seedlings as I could (considering that I planted the seeds several weeks late and by the time the seedlings were ready to go into the ground, most people had already bought their tomatoes. They had no idea what delicious delights they missed out on). I don't want to make that same mistake again this year with cilantro, or tomatoes. The one UNrescued brandywine was the biggest, strongest of these neglected seedlings that still had the gumption to grow in tiny starter pots in October.

Sometimes it is hard for me to let go of things. Even one small seed or one weak seedling. I even take about 10 times longer to harvest my worm castings than I need to because I carefully sift through the dirt-like poop and carefully, lovingly pick out each worm cocoon that I find. (In this tiny lemon-shaped pouch 5-10 baby worms wait patiently for the right moment to crawl free. How can I sacrifice them to speed and convenience? Evidently I can save them, but pass over the undigested tomato and pepper seeds and leave them to sprout uninvited in the pot reserved for some green plant left from my mom's or Deb's mom's funeral 7 and 8 years ago respectively.) Every time I harvest that free, beautiful loamy fertilizer, I swear that I am going to be quicker. I swear that I will sacrifice some of those baby worms in order to be more efficient with time and with the completeness of my poop harvest.

It's that time again. It's that time to make that promise to betray those baby worms in order to remove the excrement to keep the living environment safer for the other worms. Can I do it this time? I haven't done much with them since my surgery since bending over hurt so much and the bins are heavy with castings. I couldn't pick up over 10 pounds until 2 weeks ago. They are both so full that they are over 10 pounds worth of poop. I want the casings to have time to dry out a bit before I mix them carefully with seed starting stuff to begin again the cycle of over-planting my garden.

I'm such a bad worm mama. Deb has been keeping an eye on them and she is not even the one dedicated to having them in the house. (For the first 2 years, she wouldn't let me bring them very far into the house. They made it into the entry way, out of the heat and cold extremes, but remained lonely, relegated to the entry way. Now they are lonely because I am a neglectful mama. Yes, I know that I am anthropomorphizing (I'm glad I have spell-check) their little slimy feelings. Can't help it. I sing to my tomatoes too.)

I'm going to sign off now, maybe harvesting a few worm turds before climbing back into bed to try to get some sleep before working tonight.

In case I don't get around to the laptop again, I hope your Christmas and Solstice are awesome. I hope the Chanukah man was good to you as well. Did I forget to mention that St. Nicholas brought me the Old Farmers' Almanac in my stocking? Hmmmmm time to think about planting again? Gotta finish putting the 2007 garden to bed. Gotta plan out our beds better so we are not over buying plants and underutilizing seedlings. Gotta harvest worm poop, pet the cat, wash the dogs, laugh, love, learn.

PS.... the picture at the top is part of this summer's garden. The cilantro was in the next bed over. The greenhouse wasn't covered in snow yet. The plants hadn't become "Jurassic" yet from playing in the horse poop and topsoil. The dog wasn't yet stealing carrots. (Did I mention that anytime in the last few posts? another story from a crazy yellow dog.)

Memory's Trail of Breadcrumbs

When sifting through the memories of my life, in order to pinpoint a time frame or my age, I try to remember the event in relation to some significant event in my life. For example, when I think about the winter when we didn't have electricity for a week or two as a kid, I was eight years old. I know this because my dog, brute bit my neighbor that fall and my parents took him to put him to sleep when I was in school that day. Trying to remember when I became friends with Anita, I know that I was ten years old. I must have been in fifth grade, because fourth grade was the last year that I went to Webber school, before the farm was sold to a developer and we spent a summer homeless. That is how I remember when Anita reached out to me on the first day in my new school. I think the pessimistic part of my nature uses the loss of a home that I loved as the memory marker of that time instead of the moment when Anita looked at me from across the lunch table, introduced herself and immediately made me feel welcome as a very shy kid in a brand-new school. Maybe I need to try to re-order that time of my life around that moment instead of the day the rich lady in furs walked into the farmhouse and demanded of my mother, "When are you moving out?", without even saying hello.

I know that my summer of cancer is going to be one of those memory markers. From now on, I know that I will categorize events in my adult life by whether they occurred "BC" (before cancer), or "AC" (after cancer). I hope I am wrong. I hope that other significant points will help me to remember my early days of cronehood. When I finally finish my undergraduate degree (right now, I am on the 23 year plan), when my goddaughters start their periods, get their drivers' licenses, kiss their first love, graduate from high school. (One memory marker I have in relation to them was when they invented the poop scooping game and the song that accompanies that game.) Again, I think that the pessimistic part of me will choose illness as a memory marker instead of the victory of being cancer free.

Shortly before being diagnosed, I thought that this year's primary memory marker would be my trip to New Orleans. I fell so in love with the people and the city there, I thought I would be altered for life. Now that I've had cancer, I realize that where I live is insignificant. What is significant is living life to the fullest extent possible wherever I am. What is significant is to love as much as I can each day. What is significant is to try to see as many sides of a situation as possible and still make up my own mind about it. What is significant is to know that I am loved and that I love.

Last night was my second shift back at work. It was so great to see everyone again and to know that people cared about how I was doing. I find it interesting though, that when I asked folks what I missed, the typical answer was mainly: "not much". A couple people going to days, a couple of others coming to midnights. A change in duties for some of the higher ups. Like I said, even though those things are important, love and life are the things that really count. Last night One of my co-workers whom I hadn't seen or talked to in 5 1/2 months greeted me not with the question, "how are you doing?" Instead, the first thing he said after "hi" was, "I had a baby while you were gone!" I was tickled that someone else was more excited about his new beautiful baby girl than about my former cancer. One of his memory markers will be the moment that Iris was born. What a beautiful memory to have as a reference point. I hope that their life is full of memory markers focused around joy. I hope that most of us can have more memory markers of joy than of sickness or trauma.

Now that I am cancer free and back to work and only have some small physical discomforts, I have been struggling over whether or not to continue blogging. I was talking with a friend at work about it last night. She reminded me, just as I had written in one of my early entries, that there is so much more to talk about than illness and losing my mind to steroids and hormone insanity. There is my garden, my soon to be starting classes, the books that I read, the people at my church, my animals (of course, always the bed hogs), my partner, my friends, my blessings.

Sometimes gratitude comes automatically, and other days I have to really work on it. I think that it is time to change the path of this labyrinth of words into one of living and loving instead of fearing and hurting. Not that fear and pain aren't parts of living (and loving), but that they are just that, only parts. There are other parts to share. So, I will try to continue to share my fears and pain, but mostly the gratitude, love and excitement that living brings.