Moments of Joy

From the minute I awake in the morning I am bombarded with news—another school shooting, a local car crash, more dysfunction in government, casualties in Afghanistan, and it goes on.  Through Facebook and phone calls I learn of the struggle of family and friends.  I have my own problems to deal with, too.  All of this can wear me down.

In the midst of the struggles and sadness of everyday life, there are moments of joy that fill and delight me—sunlight shining through the golden leaves, the smile on a stranger’s face, a last perfect flower at the end of the season, a hauntingly beautiful melody, the first snow on bare branches, a hug from a friend.  These are all special gifts that light up an otherwise dark day.  I thank God for these moments.

(This was written for my church's Advent devotional book.)

What Are We Really Waiting For During Advent?

I wrote the following for an Advent devotion booklet for my church.  The Christian season of Advent begins on the fourth Sunday before Christmas; this year it began on December 1.  It is a time of waiting and preparation.  

What the heck is Advent?  I don't recall even celebrating Advent as a kid in the Methodist Church.  If you google Advent you get a definition, a bunch of Catholic websites, some fundamentalist websites about the Second Advent (second coming) and not much else.  I guess I don't really understand Advent when I think about it.  I know it is about waiting and that in many traditions it is broken down into weeks of hope, peace, love, and joy.  But. . . what are we really waiting for except Christmas?  Are we supposed to suspend what we know about Jesus/God, pretending he has yet to be born and waiting with hope, etc.?  I mean Jesus was born, died, rose.  We have his teachings and we know God is with us.  The Kingdom of God is here for those who are ready for it.  What are we really waiting for during Advent?

Is Advent about waiting for the Christmas tree or the presents beneath it?  I love spending time with my family and sharing a Christmas dinner but is that what I’m waiting for?  Most of us delight in singing Christmas carols and viewing Christmas lights, but is that it?  Is it the Christmas Eve service that I always attend, no matter where I am?  Are we waiting to hang out with family, read stories and attend Christmas programs together?  Or is it something deeper?  Is it simply a time for quiet reflection?  Are we waiting to receive something new from God, a special gift in our lives?  Can God’s love come to us in a new and different way?  Are we waiting for that?  Are we waiting for some sort of magic?  The key to the Kingdom?  Could Christmas change us in some way?  What are we really waiting for during Advent?

A Reflection on Giving Thanks

On this day of Thanksgiving, I ponder the deeper meaning.  Yes, I know about its history, about the Pilgrims and the Indians.  For the past month I have watched people post what they are thankful for each day on Facebook—laundry lists of blessings.  My pastor has encouraged me to think about this more carefully.  What does it mean to be blessed?  Does it mean that God singles me out, deciding to give me something I need or even something special?  What about the children starving in this world or those who lost their homes in the latest storm?  Does God care about them?

When we say the word “thanksgiving” we think of giving thanks.  Can we take it a step further and consider giving as part of being thankful?  What does that really mean?

God gave us the gift of life, placing us in an amazing and complex world.  We were given other beings, both human and animal, with whom to share this life.  God connects us all through love.  It is up to us to accept this gift, be thankful, and to try to live fully in God’s Kingdom.  Sure there are hard times and tragedies in this life, but there are also wonderful opportunities.  Perhaps if we are truly thankful for our lives, we show appreciation by giving and living in love.

A Day I Can’t Forget

In our pasts there are events so tragic that everyone who lived through them can remember exactly where they were when they heard the news.  These are experiences that tie us together.  November 22, 1963 was such a day for me.  I was sitting in my fifth grade classroom.  There was a knock on the door and our teacher, Mrs. Schneider, went to answer it.  It was another teacher who spoke in hushed tones.  When Mrs. Schneider turned around she was visibly upset and told us that President Kennedy had been shot.  We sat in shocked silence as she walked over and turned on the small black and white T.V. so we could watch the news.

I remember sitting in that classroom with the other kids, staring at that T.V.  The scene is permanently etched in my brain.  We heard the incomprehensible news that the president was dead.  How could such a thing happen?  At home the same scene was repeated.  We sat in front of our black and white T.V staring at the screen.  The same scene was repeated throughout our neighborhood, our city, our state, and the entire country.  Everything ground to a halt.  For 3 days we all sat in front of our T.V.s.  We watched replays of the shooting, the arrest of Lee Harvey Oswald, the shooting of Oswald, the casket lying in state, the funeral procession, little John John saluting his father’s casket as the caisson rolled by, the grave at Arlington Cemetery.  The eternal flame.

My parents were staunch Republicans but that didn’t matter; party didn’t matter.  We all mourned the loss of the young president, our president.  Camelot had ended.  This tragic event forever changed us.  We lost some of our innocence that day.  And perhaps it prepared us for what was to come.

Transgender Day of Remembrance

Bundled against the cold wind

We sat on concrete benches

Watching eighteen yellow balloons

Held in a bronzed Anne Frank’s hand

Speakers told personal stories

And remembered 240 souls

Transgendered persons killed this year

Eighteen of them in the U.S.

People brutally murdered

For being who they truly were

People with lives and loves and dreams

Why?  Why did this happen?

Why can’t we accept differences?

One by one candles were lit

And balloons gently floated upward

Reminding us to never forget 

And to spread love not hate

11/20/2013

Welcome Rain

Rain falls on parched earth

Soil soaks up welcome moisture

Plants reach up in joy

A Change in Seasons

I tend to have conflicting feelings as the seasons change.  I am sorry to say goodbye to the current season (except winter) but I am ready for a change.  This afternoon it was a comfortable 70 degrees with the sun peeping in and out from behind the clouds.  I worked to clean out the dead plants from my vegetable garden.  As I worked, I could see gray clouds moving in.  The air temperature began to drop and the wind picked up.  I hurried to finish what I was doing.  I ran inside for a sweatshirt to cover the T-shirt that I had changed into only a couple hours earlier.  More leaves dropped to the ground, adding to the fading yellow and brown carpet.  Once inside I put on comfortable sweats.  Tonight I am enjoying a pumpkin spice tea and contemplating a dip in the hot tub.  It is time to leave the last vestiges of summer behind and prepare for the long winter ahead.  Now I am pondering holiday plans and projects that had been set aside for gardening.  Change can be a good thing.

10/27/2013

Government Dysfunction

I worry about my country.  I fear for our democracy.  We are nearing 2 weeks of a government shutdown which was initiated by a band of zealots within one party.  They decided to use this ploy to get their way on a law that they couldn’t defeat through any other legal means.  Defund “Obamacare” (the Affordable Care Act) or we will shut down the government!  This is a law passed by Congress and upheld by the Supreme Court.  Despite efforts to drag Obama down using this controversial law, he easily won re-election.  So what did the Republican led House do?  They voted 40 times to defund the Affordable Care Act knowing that it would never get through the Senate.  They did this instead of addressing important issues like the economy and jobs.  It was apparently more important to deny Americans healthcare.  They declared it was necessary to shut down the government to force the president to negotiate.  Some Republicans even stated that they needed to stop this law before citizens got a taste of it—millions began signing up for insurance online October 1, same day as the shutdown.  They were afraid that Americans might like having affordable healthcare!

The longer this shutdown lasts, the more damage is done.  On top of that, Congress must raise the debt ceiling by October 17 or the U.S. faces default on paying our bills.  Some foolish Republicans scoff at the seriousness of this.  However, it seems that economists agree that to not raise our debt ceiling would have serious consequences for our country and possibly the world.

Most Republican lawmakers seem oblivious to the pain that they have caused—or they just don’t care.  Furloughed government employees are scrambling to pay bills without a paycheck and some have been told to cancel doctor appointments because they are not insured.  At least they know they’ll eventually get paid.  Employees working for government contractors are not so lucky.  There will be no paycheck for them until they can actually go back to work.  Until she moved recently, my daughter was one of those people.  Her former coworkers at the Statue of Liberty were sent home and will be out of work until it reopens.  These young people only make $10 per hour, a poverty wage in New York City, so they have no reserves.  All of the businesses who provide services to government employees and to tourists who visit national parks have also been affected.  If there aren’t people to eat at the restaurants, workers are sent home.  The poor have been hit especially hard with services such as WIC and Head Start closed.  And then there are untold other consequences that cannot be reversed—scientific studies stopped, the projects ruined, data lost.  And the list goes on. . .

Perhaps even more distressing is the damage done to our democracy.  Polls show that the approval rate for Congress is at its lowest rate ever.  Trust in government is long gone.  Our representatives have forgotten who they are representing; instead of voting for the interests of the people they are following the almighty dollar and/or extreme ideologies.  The Tea Partiers are so intent on bringing down this black president and his health law that they would destroy this country to do it.  Their tactic is “give us what we want or we will make problems for you.”  This is really a form of extortion.  And they call themselves patriots!  In the meantime the country waits for these lawmakers to grow up, act responsibly, and do their jobs.  

The River

I am sitting above a roaring river.  The morning sun shines brightly, reflecting off the swirling, white foam, reflecting the beauty of God’s world.  Watching the water pour over the glistening rocks and rush downstream gives me a feeling of hope.  Why?  Part of it is just an appreciation of the beauty; in spite of all the ugliness and horrors around us—just read the news—we have this incredible gift.  Perhaps the river can also be a metaphor for life or for our path in life.  As we float down our river we often hurry.  Sometimes we float smoothly over the rocks while other times we hit those rocks or get caught in between them.  But the river keeps flowing and eventually we are on our way again.  We may pass many wonderful sights along our journey but we rush right by.  At times the river slows and spreads out into quieter pools where we may pause a while.  Farther down we may be caught in an eddy which swirls us around, making us dizzy.  We may even get sucked down.  Our ride down the river may end sooner than others’.  Some may make it to the river’s end and some may not.  However, riding the river is an adventure.  I am full of hope at what I might see around each bend.  I bask in the sunshine and enjoy the quiet of the pools.  There is always beauty if I bother to look.  I realize I must open my eyes and enjoy the journey.

Written on 8/15/2013

Out in the Woods

I had been waiting for this all summer and now finally we were packed and in the car, heading out to go camping.  We have had some great trips this summer but camping out in the Idaho mountains is something special.  On top of that, our area is extremely smoky from local fires and there is a yellow air alert.  My eyes, nose, and throat have been irritated and my chest hurt.  One of our favorite camping spots also has poor air quality because of other fires so we made other plans.  While driving north we were elated when we finally saw blue skies.  Gradually my coughing and the pressure on my chest began to ease.

We reached a small, but popular resort town where we stopped for milkshakes before once again heading on our way.  Our destination was a rather remote Forest Service campground where we had camped several times before over 15 years ago.  We drove about 20 miles over a mostly gravel one lane road.

As soon as we left the town behind my spirits began to soar.  Through our open windows we could smell the fresh scent of the pine trees.  We passed a small, shallow lake and a few creeks.  Mountain peaks rose on each side of us.  We saw very few vehicles.  Of course, there was road equipment—you can’t avoid road work during the summer in Idaho—but the workers had gone home so it was quiet.  We felt like we had the woods to ourselves.  When we pulled into the campground, it was empty except for a truck with a tent trailer which had pulled in just ahead of us.  We had our choice of nine campsites—we chose one overlooking the rushing river.

We stuck our fee into the drop box then began to unpack the car.  Up went the tent, the dining canopy (for rain and sun protection over the table), the chairs, and the clothesline for towels.  Dinner was simple—sloppy joes and zucchini.  Unfortunately, dozens of yellow jackets (wasps) decided to join us so we built a fire and ate next to it—they don’t like smoke so it worked quite well.

What would a camping trip be without s’mores?  We roasted our marshmallows over the red coals of our campfire until they turned a golden brown.  We sandwiched them in between graham crackers along with a few pieces of milk chocolate.  As we bit into this popular camp dessert, the soft white center oozed out—oh, so good!

We watched the fire as it slowly burned down.  Stars appeared in the night sky until it seemed like a thousand diamonds sparkled above us.  The only noise was the popping of the fire and the roar of the river.  Quietly, I sang campfire songs that I had learned long ago.  A peace settled over me.

Written on 8/14/2013

Waiting for My Dog to Die

I’ve been through this before.  That doesn’t make it any easier.  A week ago we found out that our dog, Kozmo, is dying.  This was a huge shock because until the previous night he had seemed fine.  Even though he is 13, maybe 14 years old, Kozmo has been a very active dog.  He has had more than half his teeth pulled but other than that he has been quite healthy.  Kozmo is a go-do-it sort of dog, always ready for a walk, a ride in the car, a stroll out to get the mail or paper, or a treat.

We knew something was wrong when we sat down to eat our salmon dinner and he was nowhere to be seen.  He is always there for that.  We called him and he slowly walked in but had no interest in the salmon skin that Bob offered him.  He did eat a small piece of salmon that I gave him.  Kozmo was lethargic the next morning so Bob took him to the vet. 

Kozmo spent the day at the clinic while they ran tests.  Bob called me on my cell with the report.  The news was not good.  Kozmo has a large tumor on his liver.  The vet was offering biopsy, blood transfusion, prednisone, and even euthanasia.  I couldn’t hold back the tears.  Bob and I discussed options but I had questions.  We decided to pick up our dog at the end of the day and asked to speak to the vet.

The vet did an ultrasound so we could see the massive tumor—it is all through his liver and pushing on his lungs and intestines.  There is nothing the vet can do.  It appears that the tumor is bleeding which would explain his sudden downhill turn.  A blood transfusion would give him maybe an extra week.  Sometimes prednisone helps.  The vet suggested euthanasia.  I told him I just needed to take him home and love him for now.  The vet said they’d come to our home to euthanize him if needed—he left the catheter in.  Kozmo got a shot of steroids and we came home with 2 weeks of prednisone, which the vet didn’t think we’d need.  We rode home with my sweet boy on my lap.

It was hard to give my girls the sad news—this is their dog, too.  Like me, they cried.  And they live far away and will not be able to see him.

Kozmo was not terribly interested in his dry food but ate a little when we took it out of his bowl and handed it to him.  However, when Bob went into the kitchen, he ran right in along with our other dog.  Bob in the kitchen has always been a cause for excitement in our house—our dogs know something will be tossed their way.  I marveled at how normal Kozmo seemed at that moment, waiting for his treat and jumping to catch it.

I bought some canned food with meat chunks and gravy.  Kozmo gobbled it down.  He also drank a lot of water.  Prednisone increases thirst and appetite.  In between bursts of activity, he lies on his side quietly.  Since the vet indicated that he might not even make it through the first night, I have a tendency to check if he is still breathing.  A few nights ago, I barbequed chicken.  As Bob and I sat down for dinner on the patio, Kozmo and Piper were both there waiting for a taste of chicken.  The dog that was so still earlier was alert and waiting excitedly.  He even jumped when Bob tossed him the chicken.  Later, he was conked out on the floor.  What a roller coaster ride this is.  I have savored the moments of normalcy and even photographed them.

Kozmo has become noticeably weaker in the last two days.  This morning he was reluctant to get out of his bed.  However, when Bob grabbed the other dog’s leash, Kozmo got up and followed him.  It was obvious that he wouldn’t be going out to get the paper with Bob, something he’s been doing every morning.  He wasn’t interested in eating breakfast.  However, when he heard Piper out in the other room, barking in excitement about going for a walk, I had to stop him from heading out there too.  It broke my heart—he was so sad.

Later, when Kozmo heard me say I was going out (a magic word), he stood up and looked at me.  I brought him out in the front yard with me while I weeded and trimmed.  When Bob came out he followed him around a bit before lying down.  When I went back inside for lunch, Kozmo was spread out on the carpet.  When I pulled out the lunchmeat, both dogs immediately showed up.  I looked down at Kozmo’s big brown eyes and I had to give him some of my lunch.  Right now I would give him anything.  Later, when he is once again lying on his side, I will go over and pet him, telling him he’s a good boy.  Once again tears will stream down my face.

The vet called to check on Kozmo and told me to call if I needed his help.  Thanks, I said.  But hopefully I won’t need to call him.  Kozmo does not seem to be in pain.  He is trying to be normal and is puzzled and sad that he can’t do his favorite things.  Death is a part of life—it is painful.  We will give our love to Kozmo until he is gone.  It is difficult to watch a family member fade away—human or animal.  Pets become an integral part of our lives.  While I try to prepare myself for Kozmo’s departure from our lives, I’m struggling.  I am torn by conflicting feelings—I don’t want to lose him, but watching and waiting for him to die is so hard that I just want it to be over.  I don’t think we have much longer to wait.

8/6/2013

People We Met in Matzatlan

As we return home and I reflect on our week in Matzatlan, I think about the people.  Since we were there during the height of the Mexican tourist season, we were surrounded by Mexicans and the Spanish language.  There were lots of families at the resort, large families, all having a good time.  People were friendly and usually greeted us with an “hola” or “buenas dias” as they passed by.  I remember two boys, a teenager and a younger boy, who greeted me in English as they passed by on the back of a golf cart.  I could tell they were trying their English on me—they seemed quite pleased with themselves.

Since the Mexican families were busy with each other, we did not get the opportunity to visit with any of them.  Our encounters were with the people who served us.  The first person we got to know was Enrique, poolside waiter.  His English was excellent, and he was quite friendly.  He gave us great service—it probably didn’t hurt that Bob gave him a really good tip the first day (a pesos/dollar confusion).  We learned that he was from the area so we asked him how things had changed.  He acknowledged that the drugs and gangs are a problem but claimed that he wasn’t afraid to go out.  However, he did comment that there are elements/people that are such an integral part of the foundation of society that you don’t miss them until they’re gone.  Enrique is a family man with a wife and two daughters, ages 5 and 13 (going on 18).  On his day off his wife had a “to do” list for him.  He told me that it was a good day—he completed the list.  “Happy wife, happy life” he said.

We showed up for a Spanish class one day.  However, even though it was on the resort activities list, no teacher was there.  A cute girl named Marifer, age 17 going on 18, ended up teaching us—her first class.  During the class we asked her about herself.  She learned English at age 4 from her father who lived in London and has returned there.  (Her parents are divorced.)  Her family is from Veracruz but they moved to Matzatlan so they could care for her grandfather.  Her mother stays home with him and her 10-year-old brother so Marifer is the sole support of her family.  She is very proud of this.  She goes to high school at night and will be finished soon.  She is using a couple online courses to learn Japanese and French.  We were impressed with this bright, personable girl.  Our friend, Don, commented that she will go far.

One morning Bob and I went for an early morning walk around the resort.  We ended up sitting on a couple lounge chairs on the beach.  One of the workers, a man named Ariel, walked up and started a conversation, first in Spanish then in English.  His English was flawless—we learned that he traveled in California quite a bit when he worked for a travel agency.  He told us he was from the Yucatan and to look at his nose—Mayan—the ugliest people in the world, he laughed.  Ariel is 71 years old with an 8^th grade education but it was obvious that he’s an intelligent man.  He grew up as one of five children and he knows what it is to be poor and to work hard.  He was extremely critical of the Catholic Church and blamed it for many of the problems in his country.  Ariel said people had too many children—more than they can provide for.  Some workers at the resort only make ten dollars a day but have five children.  “How can they provide well for that many children?”, he asked.  Ariel stressed the importance of a good education.  He only had one son and made sure that he went to a top school.  Unfortunately this son no longer talks to Ariel because he divorced his mother.  The wife became very religious and it was not the life he wanted so he divorced her.  He gave her the house and everything so now he has nothing and works for a living.  I didn’t get the impression that he regretted his decision.

Every morning a maid named Rocio came into our suite to make our bed and clean up after us.  She also made delightful shapes with the towels.  Sometimes we were gone, and a couple times we were out on the deck and tried to stay out of her way.  However, one day Bob returned to our room and she was there.  He struck up a conversation.  He told her we’re from Idaho and she mentioned California.  It turns out that she lived in Palo Alto for a while.  Bob told her that he had lived there too.  What a small world.

We had other shorter encounters with people who we enjoyed—there was the cab driver who took us to old Matzatlan and the waiter at Pancho’s who gave us a great show making flaming Mexican coffee.  I look forward to returning to Mexico and meeting more of its interesting people.

Written on 7/27/2013

33 Years Ago

Today, as our week in Matzatlan comes to an end, Bob and I celebrate our 33^rd anniversary.  While I marvel at how many years it’s been, I can no longer say that our wedding day seems like only a short time ago.  We were so much younger then—I was younger that my older daughter is now.  We have changed, grown older.  The world has changed. 

I had always wanted to get married in the redwoods and I got my wish.  We found a beautiful county park not far from the coast.  Relatives gathered at our house—we had to dress there then drive about 45 minutes to the park.  It was a warm, sunny day, unusually so for that area and people sat on the seats at the edge of the amphitheater to stay in the shade.

I wore a Gunne Sax dress, as did my sisters, and Bob and his brother wore Mexican wedding shirts.  My dad and I walked down the aisle, sidestepping the little block of wood that normally supported a projector.  A band called Swallowtail, which we found at a Palo Alto restaurant and bar, serenaded us as we walked.  Our pastor led us through our vows.  I still remember the feeling of the warm sun on my shoulders as Bob and I gazed at each other.

After the ceremony our guests joined us in the group picnic area for a catered meal, music, and cake.  Photos were taken by a family friend, a professional photographer for Standard Oil.  His son, my brother’s friend, helped take photos.  My request was for lots of photos of guests.  I am so grateful for those now.  Many of those people are no longer with us—Bob’s dad, my grandmothers, my great-uncle, our pastor, the photographer, family friends. . .

We drove from the park to Pajaro Dunes, right on the ocean, and stayed there for a couple of nights before returning home to family still in town.  About a week later we flew to Hawaii for our honeymoon.  We thought of that this morning as we watched the waves on the shores of Matzatlan.

The years have brought changes.  Three years after our wedding we moved to Idaho—we have been there for 30 years.  Our two daughters were born and raised in Idaho.  Bob and I have had our ups and downs but have always been there for each other.  There is comfort and security in knowing another person so well that they almost seem like an extension of you.  And there is love. . .

Written on 7/26/2013

Mexican Fiesta

Arch of red, white, green

Drinks with layers of color

Welcome us inside

Mariachi band

A Mexican fiesta

Great food awaits us

Salads of all sorts

While entertainment begins

Delighting the crowd

Few Americans

Many Mexicans present

A night of culture

Five hundred years back

Aztec dancers entertain

Flashy, bright costumes

Time for the main course

Tamales, rice, beans, fish, beef

So many choices

To the crowd’s delight

A young singer emerges

Lovely with talent

We gringos just smile

While Mexicans sing along

To songs they know well

The dancers return

In costumes from Veracruz

Six dancers in all

Their feet move quickly

And colors swirl in turning

Bright smiling faces

While costumes are changed

The announcer leads contests

We laugh at the kids

Dessert bar is next

Cakes, churros, plantains, and flan

My plate is too small

More dances are shared

From all over Mexico

Colorful costumes

The party now ends

Celebrants full and happy

Smiling as they leave

Written on 7/24/2013

Experiencing Matzatlan

On our second full day in Matzatlan, we decided it was a good day to go downtown.  After riding the shuttle to the downtown resort, we found a cab to take us to the old part of Matzatlan.  These cabs are really more like big golf carts with back seats, a top, a windshield and with the sides open to the air—natural air-conditioning which felt great on a warm, humid day.  Matzatlan is more spread out than we had realized; it was another 5 miles or so to our destination.  We drove along a beautiful stretch of beach with a walkway.  The surf was great to look at but too dangerous for swimming.  Our driver, Jorge, provided bits of tourist information as we rode; when he dropped us off at the Cathedral we found out that he also does tours for $20.  The inside of the Cathedral is ornate.  I tried to be discreet in my photo-taking (no flash) so as not to disturb anybody praying.  I think I could have sat there for a while in that peaceful, holy setting, so full of history.  I was able to read bits of the writings on the wall, but my Spanish is limited.

Our friend took us through a modern department store (with AC!) to show us that it looks just like one in the U.S.  From there we walked to the busy marketplace where you could buy tourist trinkets, clothing, jewelry, food and drink, raw meat, chicken, and fish.  What a contrast.  The colors and smells awakened my senses.  I am a pin collector but had no luck finding one.  I did not know the Spanish word for pin which might have helped.  I did find a purple Matzatlan T-shirt.

We walked through the old streets, visiting the Opera House and museum.  We enjoyed beer and chips with guacamole at an outside table at a restaurant next to a square with a gazebo.  Finally, we caught a cab to another part of town.  Our friend took us to a shop with a myriad of delightful items—I bought a bowl, small dish, and an ornament.  When you go shopping with two men, you have to make choices fairly quickly, especially when the next stop is food.

Don took us to Pancho’s, a good restaurant overlooking the beach, one with which he was familiar.  My shrimp fajita was tasty and filling plus the breeze through the open window was refreshing.  We watched people playing on the beach, vendors, parasailers, and sailboats.  I took photos of it all, including some of the beautiful tiles inside the restaurant.  After a while we caught a cab and then a shuttle back to the resort.  We took a dip in the pool to cool off and watched the sun set, painting the sky with hues of orange and pink.  Another day in Matzatlan had come to an end.

Written on 7/24/2013

Adjusting to Humidity

I wake up in the morning and I am sticky.  This is despite the fact that the suite has AC and I showered the night before.  For the past 30 years I have lived in a desert climate.  Recently the humidity there actually doubled—it went from 3% to 6%.  Yeah, it’s dry.  When the humidity surpasses 20% people start complaining that it’s muggy.  Matzatlan weather, with 55% humidity, is a bit of a change for us.

Since we are at the height of the Mexican tourist season, it seems that the resort doesn’t worry so much if the shuttle buses have AC.  With the coastal breezes, I’m sure that Matzatlan is much more comfortable than where these vacationers came from.  I look at the Mexicans on the bus with me and I wonder if they are as wet and sticky as I am.  Do their bodies adjust or are they simply used to it?

And then there’s the hair issue.  Mexican hair is much thicker than mine.  Most women seem to keep theirs long, often putting it up.  I look at my fine, short hair in the mirror and notice that it’s developed a new style.  No amount of effort with the curling iron can convince it to stay near my head.  I can “fix” it and within minutes it is doing its own thing again.  The sides and the back wave, sticking straight out, and my bangs curl.  At least it’s somewhat symmetrical.  I have given up.

I am learning that the best way to deal with the humidity is to take frequent dips in the pool.  It works quite well.  I think I could get used to this. . .

Written on 7/23/2013

First Days in Matzatlan

It is my second night in Matzatlan, Mexico, and I am sitting on our little balcony overlooking the ocean.  Soothing guitar and flute music floats through the night air.  The happy sound of people playing in the pools below is mixed with the pounding of the surf.  I have chosen the open patio over the air-conditioned suite even though I am rather hot and sticky.  I want to absorb it all.

This is my first time in Mexico.  We were invited to join my husband’s friend, Don, in his timeshare and we eagerly accepted.  We arrived yesterday afternoon and were able to get into our place around 5:00 p.m.  We quickly changed into our bathing suits and headed down to one of several pools to cool off.  The water was actually too warm for swimming but it felt good just to get wet.  We were all so tired that we fell asleep for a while on the lounge chairs.  We ate dinner outside at one of the resort’s restaurants.

For our first full day we decided to take it easy.  Coffee, pastry, and a banana at the deli for breakfast.  We found three lounge chairs under an umbrella next to a pool and that’s where we hung out the rest of the day.  We’d take a dip in the pool to cool off then return to our lounge chairs to read or watch the people.  Attentive waiters were around to take orders.  I started with ice water then later ordered a beer, Negra Modelo, and a quesadilla for lunch.  Bob and I moved down to the beach for a while to enjoy the surf.  However, we were back to the pool in time for two for one cocktail hour.  The mango margaritas were sensational!  We chose to take the shuttle over to the resort’s other location in downtown Matzatlan.  We enjoyed dinner in their restaurant on the beach, serenaded by a mariachi band which was standing down below on the sand. 

We noticed that we really stand out here.  I feel very gringo y vieja.  The people at both resorts are mostly Mexican and younger than us—lots of families.  I had expected more Americans since the resort really caters to Americans.  While walking downtown we met a guy (selling something) who told us that we are at the height of the Mexican tourist season.  Americans don’t usually come until October or November when it’s cooler.  Perhaps this is why we didn’t get the air-conditioned shuttle—the natives are used to the weather.

Because we stand out, we are the target of salespeople, from jewelry vendors to timeshare salespeople—this is especially true for Bob.  He seems to draw them like a magnet and they don’t go away.  The problem is that he is friendly, asks questions, and doesn’t say no.  It’s not that he ever says yes, or intends to—he just doesn’t say no.  Don and I are working on him to change this.  He is already improving.

Written on 7/21/2013

Fourth of July with Mom and Dad

This past week my husband and I drove to Lake Tahoe to stay with my parents at their timeshare.  It had been a year and a half since I had seen them.  I was struck by how much my dad, now 86, has slowed down.  He now walks slowly, slightly bent over.  My dad was content to sit on the small deck and enjoy the trees.  We spent a lot of time just talking.  My mom’s goal for this trip was to see the fireworks over Lake Tahoe.  My dad was not so excited about this and kept suggesting that it might rain, much to my mom’s chagrin.  It is a half-mile from the resort to Nevada Beach, the prime spot to observe the fireworks.  My dad insisted that he would be able to walk there—I pointed out to my worried mom that we were carrying chairs so he could sit if necessary.

We joined a crowd of people walking down to the beach (the road had been blocked off earlier in the day).  My parents were by far the oldest people on that path, but they did just fine.  They walked at their own pace, hand in hand.  Bob and I walked ahead, periodically stopping and waiting.  A woman approached me and commented how sweet it was to see them holding hands and suggested that I take a picture from behind—I took her advice.

We arrived at the beach and found a great spot.  The fireworks were fantastic and my mom was happy.  My parents walked back up to the condo, once again holding hands.

My parents have been married 63 years—that’s long time.  I watch how they support each other now that they each have some health problems.  My mom watches my dad like a hawk; he mostly accepts it.  Their simple devotion to each other is touching.

The most important thing I learned from my parents is love.  It is not only their love for each other but the love for us as children.  My mom was always there for us and was more likely to express her love verbally.  My dad was not demonstrative, but we had no doubt that he’d give us the shirt off his back if necessary.  We never doubted that we were loved—we were secure in this.  They also demonstrated how to treat others with respect and took us to church where these values were reinforced.

My parents were not able to give us a lot of material things but that didn’t matter. We had something much more valuable—love.

It’s About Acceptance

This past Thursday I attended a vigil celebrating the International Day against Homophobia and Transphobia.  About forty people, LGBT and their straight supporters, listened attentively as the speakers shared their stories.  I was amazed at the deep, personal nature of these testimonies.  There were gay men, lesbians, a woman married to a gay man, a transsexual woman, her heterosexual wife, and a mother of a transsexual man.  A woman talked of homophobia—even her own homophobia and inability to accept herself.  They spoke of difficulties dealing with family members.  They talked about rejection.  These stories broke my heart—but there was also hope.  Attitudes are changing.  It is happening slowly in Idaho, but there are rays of hope.

Yesterday was Pentecost and also the second anniversary of my church’s decision to become a reconciling congregation, welcoming everybody.  A lesbian member gave a tearful testimony about why our church’s welcome is important to her.  She told of coming out to her friends at another church, only to be rejected by them all.  She said it meant a lot just to be able to hold her partner’s hand in church. During the pastor’s class after the service, we discussed this testimony and the sermon.  An older woman shared that she finally had the courage to walk into our LGBT support group, admitting to us that she is gay.  This took an incredible amount of courage and trust for her to come out to us.

As I ponder these two events, I wonder why this is such a big deal.  All of the people I mentioned are intelligent, articulate people.  Good people.  They are people worth knowing.  Why should anybody care who they love or what sex they were born?  What difference does it make?  Don’t we all just want to be loved and accepted?  Why is it so hard to offer that to others?  As a Christian, I am trying to reflect God’s love and accept others just as Jesus did.  For me, it is the only way to live.

Digging in My Garden

Dark, warm earth slides through my fingers.  I carefully pat the dirt firmly around the small pepper plant then sit back to admire it.  The sun warms my shoulders and a breeze whips through my hair.  The sounds of bird calls surround me.  I am taking my time planting my garden—one of the luxuries of unemployment.  Each spring I briefly wonder if all of the work is worth it.  I’m not getting any younger and I could be doing other things.  But I would miss the feel of the dirt in my fingers, the anticipation of green shoots popping up through the ground, the sight of ripening vegetables, and the flavor—oh, the flavor!  There is nothing like vegetables freshly picked from the garden.  My favorite is the cherry tomatoes which almost taste like candy.  I pop them into my mouth as I work in the garden so most of them never make it into the house.  I would miss my time in the garden—the sun, the smells, the sights, the sounds, the textures. . . So here I am once again, looking forward to the fruits of my labor and appreciating my oneness with the natural world around me.

Job Market Dropout

A few weeks ago I listened to a story on NPR (National Public Radio) about the U.S. jobless rate.  The Labor Department reported that our nation’s unemployment rate moved down to 7.6 percent in March, the lowest rate in 4 years.  However, this is not the good news it would seem to be.  There were expectations for 200,000 net new jobs, but only 88,000 materialized.  So why did the jobless rate decline?  It declined because almost a half million people dropped out of the labor force.  That’s right—nearly 500,000 people stopped working or looking for work.

I understand this because several months ago I stopped looking for work, too.  Why?  Pure frustration and a feeling of hopelessness.  There aren’t many jobs in Idaho and a large number of the jobs we have are low paying.  (Idaho has the highest percentage of minimum wage jobs in the country.)  When I moved to Idaho nearly 30 years ago, I had left a job which paid the equivalent of $10 per hour—and that was not considered to be a particularly good wage.  All these years later I see many jobs, often requiring experience, advertised at that same wage or less.  The sad truth is that the majority of Idaho jobs do not pay a living wage.  I looked diligently for a job for over a year, sometimes coming very close.  At one of the last interviews that I had, I was told that I was in the top four out of 150 applicants.  I didn’t get the job—close, but not close enough.  I am fairly certain that my age is working against me, but I can’t prove it.  Of course, we could use the money.  We are living off my husband’s retirement while trying to help a daughter who has been struggling to make it and is now also unemployed.

I felt like I was beating my head against a wall to get a low-paying job that I didn’t really want.  Where are the good paying, interesting, challenging jobs?  Where are the jobs, period?  I remember reading that the definition of insanity is to continue to do the same thing and expect different results.

It was time to do something different—time to explore.  I decided to broaden my volunteer activities and make some commitments, something I couldn’t do while job hunting.  I have been helping in a political party office and soon I’ll be volunteering at the zoo.  I hope to find a project at the foodbank.  Of course, I continue to volunteer at my church.  Some people have suggested that I might find a job by volunteering, but, to be honest, my goal is to simply make a contribution to my community.

My second goal has been to stretch myself through classes and experimentation.  The creative side of me has been squelched for too long.  I have taken some classes on glass fusion—the colors are delightful and bring out an almost child-like joy in me.  I’m currently taking a class about drawing and painting from nature; we’re learning about using sketchbooks and journals.  I’m looking forward to going out and trying what I’ve learned.

Where will this lead me?  I don’t know at this point.  Perhaps I’ll attempt to re-enter the job market in another year—with a new point of view and perhaps some new skills.  Or perhaps I’ll decide I’m retired and find fulfillment entirely in volunteer work.  Perhaps I’ll become an artist.  Who knows?  In the meantime, I’ll be exploring.

Earth Day Reflection

On this Earth Day I think back to the earliest Earth days in the early 1970s.  We were so innocent then—innocent and ignorant.  I recall the Earth Day celebrations on the quad of my college campus—lots of music, tie-dyed shirts, and sun.  Recycling was just beginning.  My roommates and I collected aluminum cans.  It was a simple thing to do and it was one of the few things we could actually recycle.  This was the beginning of my recycling habit.

All these years later we know so much more about the threats to our environment.  I am not one of those people who approach environmental issues with an almost religious fervor.  I do appreciate those people who work to keep the rest of us aware.  However, I have never stopped recycling.  I don’t talk about it; I just do it.  It is so easy for us now.  So much of what we use can be recycled.  All we have to do is toss it into a special large container and it is picked up for us every other week.  We throw very little into the trash.  Why would we when recycling is so easy?  We are amazed at our neighbors who have overflowing trash cans.

Global warming is real; all climatologists agree on this.  It’s not a scientific uncertainty.  Look at the rate of the melting of the world’s glaciers.  Temperatures are rising worldwide and we are seeing more extreme storms causing massive damage.  Our oceans are rising.  Why the controversy?  It is greed pure and simple.  Corporations, which don’t tend to have a conscience, are all about making money.  They do not want to see environmental laws which interfere with their profits.  They hire lobbyists who buy politicians.  We must elect representatives who will vote to protect our environment.

As an individual, there are small things I can do.  Our public transportation system is rather limited here, but I do try to limit my driving by doing my errands on one or two days a week and in such a way that I’m not driving back and forth across town.  We mostly drive cars that get good gas mileage.  Yesterday, on a designated “green” Sunday, members of my church were encouraged to bike, walk or carpool to church.  A large number of people took up this challenge.  My husband and I made an 8-mile round trip bike ride that day.  We had a bit of an uphill climb to get there, but I’m thinking that we could do this other Sundays during nice weather.

What else can we do?  My husband, who does most of our grocery shopping, is very good about taking reusable bags with him when he goes to the grocery store.  We no longer buy bottled water, but drink from reusable plastic or metal bottles.  We rarely use pesticides on our property—I have found that these pests usually have natural predators that will take care of the problem for us if given a chance.  We don’t buy every new thing that comes along but make good use of what we have.   We use our belongings until they wear out.

Protection of the earth means caring for every living thing on it.  Species are going extinct at an alarming rate.  We need to work on preservation.  However, part of this process must involve the people who live in the affected area.  Hungry people are not going to care if a particular species of animal is dying off.  In some African countries, programs have been set up to provide eco-tours for foreign tourists.  This is a win-win situation because it provides income for local people and gives them an incentive for protecting their local animal species.

I think of those amazing photos of our planet taken by astronauts.  It is beautiful to behold.  Earth Day cannot just be celebrated just one day a year.  Earth Day should be every day.

Why?

Horror

Numbness

Why?

Words on the radio

No words

Why?

Joyful day

Turned tragic

Why?

Images

Of a familiar place

But so wrong

So violent

Why?

Survivors

From another tragedy

Running to heal

But hit again

Why?

Uniformed servants

Responded quickly

Battle scenes

Not Boston streets

Why?

Sirens

Ambulances

Blood

Horror

Why?

Yellow tape

Clues searched

City lockdown

Shock

An eerie silence

Settles over Boston

Why?

March on Hunger

Red shirts assembled

Worship centered on hunger

Sang praises to God

Walkers met outside

Umbrellas deflecting rain

Waiting to begin

We marched on hunger

Toward the Idaho Statehouse

Red shirts in light rain

The mood was upbeat

We stood at the Capitol

Hunger was discussed

Red ribbons were tied

To ropes that each person grasped

Then we walked and prayed

Prayers to end hunger

As we walked ‘round the Statehouse

Prayers for the hungry

We’re just beginning

The event lasts the whole month

This March on Hunger

Build an awareness

Of the causes of hunger

Collect lots of food

Plenty food exists

Problem is distribution,

Heartless politics

Red shirts organize

Work to end hunger worldwide

One step at a time

A Season of Nonviolence

At the beginning of Lent about 150 people in my church signed a pledge promising to monitor and work on limiting the violence in their daily lives.  I was one of those people.  Each of us took home a purple bracelet stamped with “A Season of Nonviolence” to remind us of our commitment.  Some people give up a favorite food for Lent—our sacrifice was to give up violence.

With this commitment we acknowledged that peace begins within us, our families, our faith communities, and beyond.  We agreed to show respect for ourselves and others in word and action.  We said we would communicate carefully, peacefully, and eliminate violence in our speech.  We would listen to others, especially to those with whom we disagree.  We pledged to apologize when we hurt others, and forgive those who hurt us.  We would respect and care for nature.  We said we would practice nonviolent recreation.  We pledged to be courageous and challenge violence in all forms.

There were those at my church who didn’t take the pledge—they simply couldn’t do it.  Some of the people who did said it was hard.  My pastor confessed that she had to give up one of her favorite TV shows, CSI, and switched to the cooking channel instead.  One 15-year-old boy took his pledge very seriously.  He switched from spring football to track.  He said that he liked the nonviolent approach—it made him feel much calmer.  This teenage boy was not only brave enough to tell his peers, who didn’t understand, but he also stated his view for TV cameras in an interview about our church project.

And me?  I found it a bit easier than some of my fellow members.  By nature I am a fairly quiet, nonviolent person.  I am not easily angered.  I don’t hit or throw things.  I seldom yell.  I don’t like violent TV shows or movies so I rarely watch them.  However, I became aware of how pervasive violence is in our society.  Threads of it run through our daily lives and we are oblivious.  While I did not have to switch my bracelet as often as others (we were to switch wrists each time we encountered violence), I found violence in both expected and unexpected places.

It is hard to listen to the news or read the paper without finding violence in it.  In fact, I would say it is impossible.  Our media knows that it sells and they highlight it.  I found it difficult to avoid this sort of violence.  I encountered a violent scene in an unexpected place—I attended a special dance show aimed at elementary students.  A local dance company performed excerpts from some of their recent dances.  I was surprised when they included a piece from a dance based on Shakespeare’s Titus Andronicus, a very violent play.  In this dance the queen was given a plate of something red, obviously bloody, which she stuffed into her mouth.  During the question and answer period, one child asked what she was eating.  The adult avoided answering and told the child to research it.  Another place where I encountered violence was at a church leadership conference that I attended with my pastor and a few others.  War-like language was used multiple times plus we were even shown a picture of Jesus holding an assault rifle.  Seriously?

To my dismay, I even caught myself a few times.  I lost my patience with my adult daughter and yelled at her over the phone—totally counter-productive.  While listening to a radio report about North Korea’s provocative threats against my country, I found myself wishing violence against those leaders.  I was ashamed.  During a conversation I was told something that totally frustrated me and “I could just shoot her” popped out of my mouth.  Oops.  Of course, I didn’t mean it.  Why did I say it?

Violence in all forms is woven through the fabric of our society.  It is so common that we often fail to notice it.  The first step in developing a more peaceful world is to notice the violence.  Peace begins from deep within us—from love and respect for others and the world around us.  As Mahatma Gandhi said, “Nonviolence is not a garment to be put on and off at will.  Its seat is in the heart, and it must be an inseparable part of our being.”  To achieve a nonviolent society, we must first learn to sit and listen to others so we may truly understand them.  Nonviolence requires commitment from all of us.  “Nonviolence is not inaction.  It is not discussion.  It is not for the timid or weak.  Nonviolence is hard work.  It is the willingness to sacrifice.  It is the patience to win.”  (Cesar Chavez)

Today is Easter Sunday, the end of Lent and my church’s “Season of Nonviolence.”  We were invited to place our purple bracelets into the offering plate.  I did so knowing that from now on I will be more aware of what I say and do.  I will strive to live with love and peace in my heart, and try to summon the courage to speak out against violence and for justice in our world.  Nonviolence begins with the individual.  It begins with me.

3/31/2013