...and so on and so forth!

Saturday, April 19, 2014

Happy Weester!

Because I am entirely frustrated with my blog, I have nearly given up on it. Nearly.

I get pop-up error messages that include a random smattering of letters and symbols that look like someone’s cursing at me. And because I can curse with the best of them, I’ve tried looking squarely at my screen and letting loose beautiful strings of expletives. It has not worked. I am limited to reading one blog a day. If I attempt to read two blogs in succession, my system freezes. Sometimes when I write lovely comments to your posts and click submit, and the little green circle starts spinning, and keeps spinning, and I realize the system is going into a freeze, by then it’s too late to salvage my comment, and everything is lost.
All of this occurs, of course, when I’m logged into my account. So I log off and read your blogs anonymously. And where is the fun and solidarity in that?
But here’s some good news. For as long as I’ve been looking to have my name as a “.com” domain, it has been unavailable. I’m talking years, at least 10. Then toward the end of 2013, it came available but for a hefty sum, the amount of which I couldn’t afford without taking out a small loan. So I put it on the back burner. Then earlier this week, I decided to check to see if it was still available, and it was… for a few dollars. Now, it. is. mine. I’m hoping to set up a website that has its own blogging feature; then my woes will be over.
Well, enough about you people. Let’s talk about me!
Last weekend, my Aunt Betty came to visit me - she, my cousin Steve, and his wife Sheila. It was such a great visit. We laughed the whole time. My aunt told me stories about my Appalachian roots and the coal-mining camp my family lived and worked in. We went online and found a website dedicated to the camp and found our uncles’ names on the list of coal miners.
As we were discussing some of the traditions of Appalachian folk, my aunt told me this story. Her mother and her mother’s friend would make a habit of sneaking in the back doors of churches to see what kinds of services were going on. And I totally get that because let’s face it; if you walk in through the front door, big as you please, then you’ve obligated yourself. But if you slip in through the back, you can creep back out just as easily. So this particular day, they pulled up around back, and the two women went in leaving the kids in the car. Immediately they ran back out. Her mother started the car with the gas pedal already to the floor. Once they peeled out and got a safe distance, her mother said, very matter-of-factly, “They got snakes in there.”
I can’t tell you how much the writer in me appreciates this story.
Speaking of stories, tomorrow is both Easter and National Weed Day. If I were an artist, I would sketch a crucified Jesus being offered the herb instead of a vinegar-soaked sponge (has anyone done that yet?). And, of course, people would be offended and call it blasphemy. But what’s blasphemous, in my opinion, is criminalizing an herb that would help ease suffering. At the very least, it should be made available in every hospice right alongside the morphine.
Well, I've done enough yapping for one day.
Happy Easter! Happy Resurrection! Happy Weed Day! Whatever you’re celebrating, make it great. As for me, I plan to go outside and smell the flowers and enjoy being alive.

Wednesday, April 2, 2014

Spring Haiku

April is National Poetry Month; here's my little ditty:

blooming buttercups
at spring’s gate springs a ruby-
throated hummingbird

Monday, March 3, 2014

Little Medicine Man

I stopped by this weekend to visit James Ethan, Breezi and Josh’s baby brother. (Yeah, he was all gaga for the boobies.)

You know what I believe? That children are little Shamans… little bundles of healing energy.  And what a beautiful thing that is.

Thursday, February 13, 2014

Nancy's Winter Week in Review

Well, Atlanta’s snow and ice have come and nearly gone now. The college has been closed since Tuesday and since Nancy took Monday off, today is her sixth consecutive day off. She has spent this time writing and has made great headway. In her opinion, unplanned writing is often the best. She always plans to write on weekends, which she might not actually do, especially if there are other things she could be doing, like scrubbing the shower grout. But this unplanned stretch of time has been most wonderful in this regard. She has tossed aside any notion of scrubbing, sweeping, shoveling..., and has committed herself only to penning.

Nancy’s been working on Evolution for over a year now, and gathering research for many more years on top of that. She’d planned to be ready for publication this July, but now, come Sunday, she thinks she’ll have a workable draft completed. It’s all gravy after that, and April or May might be a better projection.
When she is truly writing, Nancy steps out of herself and travels down a narrow, darkening footpath. And I, another part of her, sit here and keep watch. I only call to her if there is something she absolutely must attend to, which, of course, is not the case right now. No, right now is a beautiful, calm Thursday evening, throwback Thursday, actually. So here’s a throwback. I believe we were seven.
Nancy - circa 1972
Whatever you're hoping for, keep the faith!

Friday, January 31, 2014

Weathering the Storm

We never know what a day will hold, and Tuesday morning at 5:30 when I left for work, I never imagined that I wouldn’t be returning for two days.

Even with the threat of snow, or as it was forecasted – a dusting of up to 1.5 inches – I had no worries of making it back home. I had breakfast at 7 am and didn’t bother with packing a lunch because I knew I would be leaving work early.

At 1 pm, the campus where I work closed, and judging the traffic, I figured the 42-mile trip home would probably take me 6 or 7 hours. I had plenty of gas and nothing but time, so I set my course and struck out.

After 10 hours, I had only made it about 6 miles. I drive a stick, so with the 10 hours of stop-and-go traffic, my left ankle was swollen and beginning to cramp.

There was no getting on or off the expressway because of the sheer volume. And also because the ramps were tangled with cars and trucks that had slid into each other. Unable to do anything, I’d watched my gas hand over the hours slowly sink towards E. Finally, the light came on.

With it being so late, I reached for my cell phone to call a few people I knew would be looking for me. I had one bar, and the phone died before I could get a call through.

I pulled off the road and parked behind two other cars and a FedEx truck that had its hazards blinking. My plan was to wait 'til the traffic cleared, then drive three miles to the next gas station. I mean, how long could it take? Surely within an hour or two, maybe three, the powers that be would make something happen. In the meantime, I would turn the car on every hour for a few minutes to keep warm.

Then I had a better idea. Instead of using my few drops of gas to heat the car, I could just turn on my heated seats and stay warm that way. Did not put enough thought into that move. Within 30 minutes, the car battery was dead. Now I had no way at all of staying warm.

To say that I was cold would be an understatement, but to think that I would be stuck in a freezing car overnight was crazy. How could that be possible when just 35 miles away I had a warm bed, hot running water and a bowl of green peppers, onions and garlic sitting on the counter waiting to be sautéed?

By 2 am, I was so cold, I decided to walk up and ask one of the other drivers in front of me if I could climb in with them. I was shocked to find that the cars were empty… and so was the FedEx truck. I went back to my car and before getting in wrote in the snow on the windows: PLEASE SEND HELP!

3:20 am – A wave of nausea swept over me. I don’t know if it was because I hadn’t eaten in nearly 24 hours, or if it was the hypothermia, or if it was just the stress of the situation, but Mother Nature came calling; over and over she came calling. I’ll spare you any further details.

And who knew the body could shiver so violently! I thought my bones might snap. But the very worst part of all was my feet. They were so cold that it was downright painful; it was as if someone were slicing them with tiny razor blades, and nothing I did warmed them. Eventually I couldn’t feel them. I found an envelope in the back seat. I ripped it open at the seams and wrote HELP and stuck it on the driver’s side window. Then I sat and waited for daylight. I was so cold that at one point I thought death would be better than this.

By 8 am, I could hear sirens and tractor trailers belching to life. The sun was pouring in on the side of my face, and I was so thankful for it. I couldn’t feel my body, couldn’t feel the cold, was no longer shivering; I was just there.

9:30 am – Even with my eyes closed, I could see that something was blocking the sun. It was a police officer. I had great difficulty using my hands to open the door, and even trying to stand was difficult. Very quickly I was helped out of my car and into his SUV, blue lights twinkling, chains on the tires. He tied yellow crime tape around my mirror. When he got in the vehicle, he radioed in that he’d just picked up a stranded female who had been in the car overnight and that he was taking me to a shelter. And I thought, hey, that’s me he’s talking about. And I knew it was over, and I was gonna be okay.

As we drove onto the overpass, I looked out over the expressway, and it looked like a nuclear wasteland. Abandoned, snow-covered cars and trucks were strewn everywhere.

When we arrived at the shelter… I don’t know what I was expecting but it wasn’t this.

I was greeted by two people who were reaching out to bring me inside. The woman, Melody, according to her name tag, was slight in stature but bubbling over with light and warmth. The other person was a man, a big man in a big hat, with a big smile and big hands, and he used those big hands to rub some warmth into my frozen ones. He said his name was Rusty; he was the mayor of Sandy Springs. He asked me how long I’d been stranded, so I told him, and I also told him that I couldn’t feel my feet. And I was rushed over to the fire.

Did I mention there was a fire?

Well there was… a beautiful fire, beautiful furnishings, and beautiful people.

Once I was sufficiently warm (about 45 minutes), I was shown the supplies: toothbrushes, toothpaste, deodorant, sanitary products, baby diapers & wipes, shaving razors, shaving cream, mouthwash, first-aid supplies, contact lens care kits… My gosh!

And the food, all kinds of fruits and vegetables, different kinds of breads and meats for sandwiches. People in the community brought crockpots full of food already prepared: Spaghetti & meatballs, chili, pasta salads. There were all kinds of drinks: coffee, tea, milk (white & chocolate) fruit juices, soft drinks, water… I tried to eat something, but within a few bites, Mother Nature was again calling. So I gave up on trying to eat and went back and sat by the fire.

This place was so wonderful and so full of genuine compassion, I thought for a moment that maybe I really had frozen to death and moved on to the next level of life. What more could these people provide?

But of course, the goodness kept coming. As I was extremely exhausted, I was given a new velour blanket and pillow and pointed to a dark, warm room off to the side where I could stretch out on an extra-large and comfy queen-sized bean bag. “And when you wake up,” they said, “dinner will be ready.” I slept hard for about three hours, and when I awoke, dinner was ready. And finally, I was able to eat a little something.

From reading this, you might think that I was the only one in the shelter, but that’s only because the attention was so personal, and I felt very catered to. But as I sat by the fire, I watched the beautiful people with whom I shared this space.

There was the octogenarian, Indian couple who spoke no English. The wife wore a brilliant blue sari, and her husband split his time between sleeping and surveying the premises. In true British fashion, he’d walk slowly with his hands clasped behind his back looking at pictures on the walls or admiring how a doorway was constructed, and then he’d return to his place and stretch out for another snooze. When he snored too loudly, his wife would rock side to side until she reached the edge of her seat, and then she’d reach over and swat him across the arm. He’d flip over and continue sleeping. And I thought, How many years they must’ve been doing this! He doesn’t even wake up. He feels the hit and knows it’s time to change gears.

Then there was the young couple lying on the floor with their eyes closed, he on his back and she on her side facing him and running her fingers through his hair.

There was Max, the aging terrier, and yes, someone had brought him some food as well. Max didn’t move his head much when he wanted to look at you. He moved only his eyes. He looked as if he had a pair of invisible spectacles on the end of his snout and was always looking over them. And as people had hung their coats on the backs of chairs, Max would find one that suited his fancy, pull it down with his teeth, arrange it with his paws, go in circles two or three times, and then settle in for a nap.

And there was the lady who, unlike most people who have staccato-esque laughter, had a single-syllable laugh that sounded very much like a freight train. When she laughed, we all laughed. We couldn’t help it.

And low and behold, there was a student there from the college where I work. And so now, I had someone to look after and care for, and that made me feel good. When I heard that nine more people were being brought to the shelter, I had the student secure her blanket, pillow, and bean bag before the others arrived, which was totally silly because there was plenty to go around, but hey, mothers are hardwired for certain behaviors. You will be proud to know, however, that I did stop short of getting up in the middle of the night and asking the third person in the room with us to Please stop snoring! Don’t you see that child trying to sleep?

I met some incredible people in the shelter, and after dinner, we talked, sipped hot tea, and shared stories around the fire. It was my obligation to lay eyes on each of them and bring them into myself.

And in the midst of all of this was Melody, true to her name, floating like a psalm amongst the people making sure they were fed and warm and rested and comfortable.

Melody McNeil

I spent the night there Wednesday night because the police officers said the roads were still too bad, and I was okay with that. Things were beyond my control, and so I took no thought or worry for them. There is a Zen saying: Let go or be dragged, and I had let go the moment I opened my eyes and saw the police officer standing over me.

And now that I’m home and am beginning to process what happened, I still have trouble believing all of it. My feet are still hurting, the skin super sensitive to the touch, but I can say I am in no way diminished by this event. I’m thankful for every bit of good that has come out of it.

My gratitude to the shelter: Holy Innocents Episcopal Church and to Melody McNeil, Pastoral Care Coordinator; to the DeKalb and Sandy Springs Police Depts., and to everyone who contributed in any way to providing shelter across the Atlanta Metro area.
As I was online looking up the church to make sure I got the spelling right, I came across this blog from the pastor: Radical Hospitality

Sunday, January 26, 2014

Was Blind, but Now I See.

A few months ago, something happened to me. But first let me say this.

When I was little, maybe four or five, I would sit sideways in the bathtub and stare at the pale yellow wall tiles until they began to dance. Then I would slowly lift my hand and hold it in front of my face and shift my gaze from the dancing tiles to my hand. And in this tiny act, I would become highly aware of my being alive, and I would ask myself, Why am I here? A strong level of awareness for such a little squirt, but I could feel the energy tingling inside my waterlogged fingers.

I told my mother that I had magical powers, that if I stared at the bathroom wall long enough I could make the tiles move and that I could see inside myself. And she celebrated this news the way all mothers celebrate their children’s super powers.

Then a few months ago, something happened to me.

Actually, my whole life something has been happening to me. I’ve always felt “on the verge,” as if I were three or four steps away from tumbling headlong into something miraculous.

But a few months ago, that something that has been in and around me my entire life went into hyper drive. And in a very short span of time, the ability to see inside myself and to feel the vibrating energy just below the surface of my skin has returned a hundred fold, sans dancing tiles.

It has returned not in the sense that it was lost but in the sense that I’d lost sight of it. But I'm back to it now, that authentic place to which I belong. It is a place of immense light, clarity, and beauty.

And my mother, again, is celebrating.

Tuesday, January 14, 2014

“… they will die like this! (thump)”

Another impromptu interview of brother and sister duo addressing a difficult issue. Josh, in his t-shirt and jeans, eloquently elaborates on the topic of homelessness. His sister Breezi, in her princess gown, decides that showing is better than telling.