Back from Manhattan - and thank you, Penington Friends House

I was in Manhattan last week during Hurricane Sandy (to be precise, on 15th Street between 2nd and 3rd Avenues in the Penington Friends House), and remained there for a couple of days afterward until LaGuardia was cleared out enough to get planes out.  We had it pretty easy: staying at a place where there were meals reliably prepared (in the old-time kitchen with a large gas-powered stove), and lots of candles lit in the evening.  I was relieved to find a small but unusually powerful flashlight, which I use when I walk my dog in the evening, had made its way to Manhattan with me in my coat pocket.  Our biggest privation was the loss of the Internet, which felt very constricting at the time.

I've spent some time since returning thinking about how woefully unprepared I am - perhaps all of us are - for the challenges that lie ahead with climate change, or even personal disasters that face us all.  I scramble to assert some sense of normalcy, as if it were something I have a right to, as if it ever really existed.  I indulge in small fetishes and magical thinking, like putting a daylight lamp on my table to push away the autumnal shadows and winter darkness that predictably propel me into seasonal sadness.  I hopefully struggle through the physical therapy regimen that promises to at least arrest the nerve disruption I'm experiencing from a bulging disk in my lower back.  My spouse surfs the Web looking for human-powered generators that could keep a cell phone or tablet going in the event of a power outage - if the disruption didn't also include towers going out (which they did where we were in NYC).

I am also struck by how this experience highlighted for me how oblivious I am most of the time, trudging through my days unaware of the choices that actually exist to use my limited time and energy in more fruitful ways, including not spending so much of it wired into the Internet.  When the lights and wifi went out, we were left in the dim room through the long nights acutely aware of sirens far and near, large trucks and machines seemingly involved in construction projects in the dark, and earlier, during the storm, wind whipping around the buildings for hours.  In the midst of all that racket was a kind of stillness, the stillness of nothing much to do, no control over the outcome, nowhere to escape to mentally or physically.

With few resources of our own, we experienced the kindness of friends and strangers throughout our visit, which made for a happy visit in spite of the disruption to everything around us - travel and jobs and the daily rhythm of life for everyone.  For a time, all we had, and all we needed, was candlelight and the good cheer of everyone in the household.  Oh - and some good board games (I held the flashlight while a group played Clue) and the silliness of young people making up raucous songs in the corner.

Finding the Sacred in the Here and the Now

New photo for the blog heading - let's see how well it wears.  This is the entry gate to the Eloise Butler Wildflower Garden and Bird Sanctuary.  I have always thought the word "Sanctuary" sets the tone for this lovely place, as it is like a cloister in its set-apartness and quiet (other than the buzz and grumble of the highway traffic off to the side).

I have been living in a blur, but in the last couple of weeks, I've been rereading some material from Thich Nhat Hahn (for my fall Spiritual Journey course that I teach locally), and I'm trying to take to heart the injunction to live in the here and in the now.  It's the same lesson, of course, from such spiritual classics as Practicing the Presence of God by Br. Lawrence. 

Here's a lovely example of this sentiment, perhaps a bit super-charged from Thomas Kelly's mystical breakthrough in his last years of life, from The Eternal Promise, the second posthumous collection of his short writings (following from the better-known  ATestament of Devotion). 

(Written in 1938-1941, and initially published in 1966 by Harper and Row; pages 31-32.)

...In the experience of Presence each successive Moment of living is seen as a completion of the whole of Life's meaning.  And that completed moment enters again into the next moment with its uniqueness and its novelty, and new synthesis and completedness are achieved.  Time, as sheer flow, is tantalizing, torturing, tragedy.  Time as experienced in its matrix and seedbed, the Eternal, is perpetual completion, triumph, release.  Time as every-stretched toward goals is endless disappointment and postponements; Time as continuously given within and flowing from the Eternal is charged with serenity and satisfaction. Were earthly life to end in this moment, all would be well.  For this Here, this Now, is not a mathematical point in the streem of Time; it is swollen with Eternity, it is the dwelloing place of God Himself.  We ask no more; we are at home.  Thou who hast made us for Thyself dost in each moment give us our rest in Thee.  Each moment has a Before and After; but still deeper, it has Eternity, and we have tasted it and are satisfied.  As the English poet Coleridge says: "We on honeydew have fed, and drunk the milk of Paradise."  Would that I could put into words that complete readiness and completedness of each moment of life have intrinsic value.  The profound satisfaction within it seems to come not from the earthly past, for that may have been stupid, nor from the earthly future, for that may seem dark.  It seems to come from the deep springs of Eternal Life breaking into Time itself, nay, begetting Time itself, disclosing itself as the Alpha and Omega of time, and into the ears of its time-born children whispering the secret of eternal peace.





Winter vacation - broken wrist - and now it's suddenly spring

It's been an odd, if short, winter.  I went to Mexico in late January and had a lovely time with my siblings (all but one) and parents.  Just now, flipping through the photos, I can recapture the ease and brightness of those ten days.  Some of us were staying in a condo/hotel - somewhat primitive but sufficient, and very spacious. Cerritos Beach was a couple of blocks away down a dusty, rutted road, past my brother's 1/3 acre compound of motorhome and palm-leaf-roofed open patio, where the rest of the clan were ensconsed.  (This is on the Pacific side of Baja, north of Cabo San Lucas and a little south of Todos Santos.)

The beach is a magnet for surfers.  Up on the hill above it is a glittering mansion, which serves as a luxury hotel now.  

After a week of sun-drenched days and just-cool-enough breezes, I tripped and broke my wrist.  I didn't think it was broken, though, and it didn't hurt all that much, so I kept on with the touristic routine with my family for another day

and then brought the wrist home to be x-rayed - and splinted, then put in a cast, then (because the bone was drifting a bit), put through surgery.  I have a titanium plate in there now.

After several weeks of hand therapy, I'm typing again, though the range of motion isn't the best.

And now - a month to five weeks early - it's spring here, birdsong, leaf bud, green grass and all.  May it not bode a slide into a baking and parched summer.

December greetings

I'm going to try again to do some daily "small stones" - or some days, at least - here:

I snapped this picture of a stone near my workplace. It's some kind of iron ore-laden rock, and has a polished surface that is almost mirror-like. The river is behind me.

I cross that river, back and forth, sometimes several times a day.

Funny thing - just imagining NOT having that strip of wildness, that gap in the concrete city, makes me feel like I wouldn't be able to breathe.

Here's another one of the decorative iron-rich rocks:

May your December be full of unexpected gifts of beauty.

Is this the last day?

Every day for the past several, the weather prediction has been for unseasonable warmth, sunshine - and an immediate end to same, with cold and snow coming shortly. But again today it's in the 50's, feeling much more early to mid-October than mid-November. Some remnants of brilliant color - even some hardy flowers. (But tomorrow is REALLY going to be much colder, they say.)

But - the sun is arcing through the southern sky, never getting much higher than what would be evening in the summer. Here we are - evening at 3:40:

May your November continue mild and steady. Soak up what little light you can.

Gently comes November

Today is mild. There are still trees fully leaved, orange and brown. I'm in a coffee shop doing (somewhat delayed) grading, while an early song from Bob Marley plays in the background. I am thankful for all the pieces of my life. The challenge is -- to bring them into better balance.

May your November be mild and balanced - not too bleak, not too cold.

Apologies to Alice Munro

I mentioned in my last post that I didn't appreciate fiction that describes the pain of human lives but doesn't offer redemption. That was in response to a couple of the early stories in Alice Munro's 2009 collection, Too Much Happiness, where some pretty dreadful things happened, and people mostly endure. But in other stories, people respond courageously, or quixotically, or stoically, or intelligently to events, which can be horrific or mundane - or really surprising. The stories deftly sketch whole lives, where a childhood mishap can be revealed in much later life to have been the pivot around which the life turned. The title story is a fictional treatment of a Russian woman in the late 1800s who was both a mathematician and novelist, Sophia Kovalevsky, which I enjoyed very much.

A rich collection, and worth reading. So, apologies to Alice Munro for my first impressions.

How about NaBloWriMo?

Over the last few days, I've been sorely tempted to launch into the NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) challenge of writing a (50,000 word) novel in the month of November. This is true despite my lack of almost any fiction writing experience - (um, except for a few chapters of a Young Adult fantasy started probably 15 years ago and then abandoned).

The NaNoWriMo challenge began in 1999, with a group of 21 people in the San Francisco Bay area. The history of the movement is quite interesting - with the rising popularity of blogs, the information about the challenge spread rapidly in the first few years, as people flocked to join the challenge, and schools and universities joined in too.

For me, imagining doing the challenge is revisiting the old daydream of being a writer full-time. The closest I ever got was when I was doing the serious churning-out-chapters phase of my dissertation, now more than ten years ago. The rhythm of research and writing was exciting - ideas churning in my sleep, as I drove my car, everywhere where I went. I felt that something was moving through me, not that I was willfully making something happen. The ideas opened up to me - I didn't fabricate them.

But fiction? I don't know about writing fiction. I read fiction all the time - I have dreams that could be short stories, of a sort - and fiction feels like a necessary nutrient for me, somehow. Not every kind of fiction though. I'm not very refreshed by writing that reveals the pain of human lives but doesn't offer some kind of redemption.

But - isn't reading a pastime, and not a calling? Or - what is a calling anyway? What is the purpose of the calling of writing? Oh, I guess that's as silly as asking what is the purpose of breathing.

So - perhaps what I can do during the grim, gray, dark month of November is commit to writing every day in some form or other. For me, it can be the National Blog Writing Month (NaBloWriMo). Why not? Just - put my hands on the keyboard and see what wants to pop out of my brain today.

Happy continued writing, everyone!

Autumnal Musings - and Marriage Equality

What a sleepy weekend.  Long, somewhat incapacitating naps each afternoon.  Chilly, windy, true fall weather, but with lots of sun.  Life Partner and I actually tackled the kitchen cupboards and refrigerator instead of going yard-saling.  Laying large amounts of food from Costco - it must be the impulse to have a full larder once the cooler weather sets in. 

Friends ask me how I'm doing - meaning with the gender transition experience of youngest offspring.  Truthfully, I don't know how "I" am doing - it doesn't feel entirely real, I guess, since the person is still here, even though the boy clothes aren't. 

I have, however, been quietly steaming about the local archbishop's move to train and exhort the area priests to become  political action leaders.  He is expecting them to mobilize the faithful in support of an amendment to the state constitution to restrict marriage to one man and one woman.  This just feels so wrong on so many levels.  My own Quaker community is - and has been - working for marriage equality.  Nearly 25 years ago, the Meeting approved performing weddings for same-sex couples, after some difficult months of discussion.  More recently, in solidarity with same-sex couples who can't get legally married, our Meeting chooses not to sign the wedding certificate to legally marry anyone - for those with access to legal marriage, they need to do this as a second step.

There was a strong and well-reasoned opinion piece in today's paper written by an elderly Republican (85-year-old Wheelock Whitney) against the marriage amendment.  It gave me hope - hope that even those with differing political perspectives can see the obvious issues of human rights, and not be swayed by fear or misplaced religious zeal.  http://www.startribune.com/opinion/otherviews/131888533.html.

Here's the photographic fruit of our late afternoon walk in the Wildflower Garden.  Next week may be the last for this year.

(Thank you, Google folks, for making Picasa uploads so much easier!)

My goodness, halfway through October!

Somehow - completely undeserved - we've just had something like three more weeks of summer in late September / early October.  I've been taking photographs along the way that document the season's change, but I haven't really believed time was passing, not really.  The last couple of days have been true autumn again, still lovely, but properly cool.

Here are some digests of blogs thought of, even photographed for, but not written:

(Early September) - my wonderful new computer - the redoubtable MacBook Air.  I spent all summer dithering between getting the Air or getting the faculty/staff personal laptop sponsored by the U, which is a perfectly dandy little Dell Latitude (business class).  Lots of power - lots of features - all that.  But I got seduced by the light weight and ease of use of my Mac.  Actually, it was the iPad that set me up for the Air - and now I don't carry around the iPad anymore.  But you'd think I would get more writing done with this sleek item.

(Early September) - the (young adult) Kid moved home - the transition from male to female is taking all of /her/ time and energy.

Cleaning and purging the boy clothes - purchased by me over the past few years - now off to Salvation Army.

(Mid September) - fall begins in earnest - full color starting up on the trees.

An early leaf - striking in its utter perfection.

(Late September) - two evening parties, both with wonderful views of downtown Minneapolis lights.  One a gathering of fellow adjunct faculty; one a celebration of Peter's church friend's 50th.  (Oh, honey - you're just a kid.)

Condo near Loring Park - Metro department party

A law firm overlooking the Art Institute for the 50 birthday bash

(Early October) - days in the 70s and 80s - warm nights - we have been transported to California.  We celebrate by going to a neighborhood-wide yard sale in this lovely neighborhood . . .

Summit Hill area house - not an option in this lifetime for me!

. . .  and several trips to our favorite tame bit of the wild, the Eloise Butler Wildflower Garden.

May your autumn be lovely and serene.  I'll try to do some actual posts as I go along from here.