An Extra-ordinary Day

Most days are ordinary—I think that’s true for most people.  You get up in the morning and go about your usual activities, whatever those may be.  And then, ever so often, one day stands out as special.  This was true for me on Saturday.  I participated in two events, both related to social justice issues.

I helped organize a small event at my church to uplift the concerns of reconciling ministers in our connectional church while our General Conference met in Florida.  The Conference included delegates from all over the world.  Specifically, we want our church to change its policies and lovingly include GLBT people—as equals, as pastors, as people free to choose whom they love.  We shared breakfast, prayer, a video, liturgy, and conversation.  We didn’t know what to expect—what we got was amazing.  Our group included members of the GLBT community.  The honest sharing and trust, the love in the room—it was truly moving.  Clearly this is just a beginning for our congregation. We are learning what can happen when we are open to God’s love and choose to reflect that love.

The second event was a local march to end the War on Women, sponsored by a local grassroots organization and pulled together at the last minute to coincide with other marches across the country.  About 100 people, including my husband and me, gathered at the Anne Frank Memorial and walked with police escort to the steps of our state capitol building.  Along the way we chanted “Not the church, not the state, women must decide their fate,” “We will remember in November” (the favorite) and many more.  The group included all ages, from children to senior citizens, although it seems there were more older women.  Perhaps that is because we’ve been around long enough to know what we stand to lose—and we can’t believe we are fighting the same battles again.  As we stood together at the capitol, we heard some inspiring speakers.  In addition, a young girl around age 10 asked to share her perspective and eloquently told us how this matters to her generation.  I think we all went home with a renewed determination to fight for women’s rights, to fight for equality.  We will NOT go backwards.

I shared my activities on Facebook and received appreciation and compliments.  However, I really don’t feel I should expect any pats on the back.  I believe I need to work for social justice. . . as a woman, as a Christian, and simply as a human being.  Martin Luther King, Jr. said “Injustice to one is injustice to everyone.”  I could not agree more.

In Memory of Mandy

One month ago today would have been our cat Mandy’s 19^th birthday.  Unfortunately she didn’t live that long.  Mandy died on November 6 of last year.  I still miss her.

Mandy lived with us for over 18 ½ years, longer than our two daughters.  Our girls were young when we picked her up at the Humane Society.  Mandy (named by the girls) was only 6 weeks old and was so tiny that she could fit through the spaces in our cyclone fence.  I wouldn’t let her out alone at first, afraid a fox would get her.  Once she could no longer fit through the fence, she had the run of the fenced area—and after a while, our entire large yard.

Mandy loved to spend many hours exploring our acre, watching and hunting.  She brought us her prizes, dead or alive—our girls became adept at catching live birds in our house.  Sometimes there were small snakes.  She was never particularly interested in eating her prey—apparently it was all about the hunt.  There was a trail blazed through the lawn where she ran to the irrigation pump in our stream and took her drinks.  When I put the hose in the ditches of my vegetable garden, Mandy would be there to lap up the water.  I don’t think there was one inch of our yard that she didn’t explore.  I can still see her walking along the cattails in our stream, checking everything out.  Mandy spent countless hours soaking up the sun on our deck and patio –or sometimes from the inside of the house, through the windows.

The inside of our house was also Mandy’s domain—she was queen of the house and everybody knew it.  (Our dog, Kozmo, once crawled under a table to keep out of her reach.)  If we brought something new into the house, Mandy was instantly on it or in it—she didn’t miss anything.  When Mandy was small, we taught her to drink out of the sink.  Well, actually, I’m not sure who taught who because we all soon learned to turn on the water when she wanted it.  She didn’t just drink the water—often she simply wanted to wash her paws or her face.  Mandy had a very loud voice which she used to tell us what she wanted.  She went in and out many times a day.  We were very well trained.

Mandy was an amazingly tolerant cat.  She put up with our young daughters’ sometimes exuberant love.  They were always picking her up and carrying her around.  She never bit or scratched us on purpose, even when we were giving her medicine. Mandy was not a particularly cuddly cat but she did enjoy sitting on our laps.  I have many photos of her stretched out on somebody’s lap.  When we returned home from a trip, she was a lot more vocal and demanding—her attempt to make up for our absence.

Mandy developed a couple health problems in the last years of her life.  She began to lose weight and we learned she had hyperthyroidism, a common problem in older cats.  We began feeding her whatever she would eat and would mash up her pills in her favorite food.  Mandy also developed skin cancer on her nose.  The bleeding got so bad at one point that we broke down and let the vet do surgery on our then 17-year-old cat.  The nose was better but the vet could never get it all and the cancer eventually came back worse than before.  Mandy got even skinnier—I think our girls were rather shocked when they saw her last summer.

Mandy continued to have an amazing will to live and explore her world, even as we watched her fade away.  In fact, even after she had stopped eating, a few days before she died, she walked around the yard as she always did.  Gradually she became so weak that she couldn’t walk straight and would cry out for me.  I held her a lot in those last days.  The morning before the day she died, Mandy put her paws up on the bed and meowed—she could no longer jump—so I picked her up and held her.  That night I knew the end was near when I put her on a blanket on the floor near our bed.  It was too quiet when I awoke the next morning—she had died during the night, having crawled up right next to the bed.

Mandy was a dear family member and our house still feels so empty without her.  She will remain in my heart forever.

Lost

I am lost

Thinking in circles

Stuck in a pattern

Unable to get out

Two jobs lost

Bored with the first

and unhappy with the second

and seeking more of the same

I am lost

How do I think outside the box?

Get off my cow path?

Leave behind what I know

Take a chance at change

I am afraid

I am lost

If I close my eyes

Imagine what can be

What to be when I grow up

I am long grown up

Never having answered the question

Perhaps I’ve always been lost

Where is creativity?

Where is my courage?

The value of my college degree?

I am smart but so what?

I am lost

What do I want?

To be useful

To be creative

To be valued and respected

To be excited to get up each day

To be paid what I’m worth

To use my brain and be challenged

To do something that matters in this world

To spread love and not hate

That’s it—that’s all

What do I want?

To be able to say

I am no longer lost

The Sacred Physical

In my quiet time on retreat I read a theological book that suggests we need to be more aware of our bodies.  This idea really struck me.  Christians do tend to ignore the physical—things of the Spirit are good and things of the flesh are bad.  The author points out that Jesus spent his last night on earth sharing supper or washing feet (depending on which Gospel you read).  He did not give them something to think about but instead he gave them something to do.

I belong to a denomination which is very cerebral—we pride ourselves on being thinkers.  As I age and my physical problems bother me more, I tend to try to ignore my body and how it feels.  I pull more inside my head.  Perhaps I am tuning out things I should notice.

I have always loved being in the outdoors, experiencing nature.  These are the times that I feel closest to God.  It’s not enough to watch it from a window.  It’s important to be out in it—to feel the sunshine on my back and the wind in my face.  I need to hear the birds singing and watch the squirrels scurry in the trees above me.  As I walk up a trail I feel the rocks beneath my boots and hear the crunch of the twigs.  I stop to catch my breath and look out at the vista below.  Although this can be a spiritual experience, it is also very much a physical experience.

As God moves through us and among us, I think we shouldn’t ignore the importance of human touch—God connects us all.  When we lay hands on each other and pray for healing, we can feel the warmth of God’s healing energy.  On a human level, there is a special bond between the person praying and the one receiving the prayers.  It is wonderful to be prayed for and feel the love.  God gave us bodies that are not only receptive to the touch of others but need that touch.  Babies who are not touched and loved do not thrive.  When we are hurting, the hugs from friends and family are important in our healing process.  We Christians have huge issues with sexual relationships—they may be described as “sins of the flesh.”  However, there is nothing more beautiful than the bond between two people who truly love each other and physical expression of that love is part of it.  Isn’t God a part of this love too?

We can use our bodies to express sorrow or joy and to praise God.  Sometimes words are not only unnecessary, but they can get in the way.  To me, one of the most beautiful ways to express feelings is through dance.  A good choreographer and talented dancers can tell a story that moves me to tears.  And what better way to express joy than through dance?  Unfortunately, too many Christian worship services inhibit their congregants from dancing.  What a great way to praise God when the Spirit moves among us!  We need to use the wonderful bodies that we were given.

A Glimpse of Monastery Life

Recently, my husband and I spent a couple days at a Bed and Breakfast run by nuns at a Benedictine monastery.  This was a gift from friends and provided some much needed reflective time.  This inn has only four rooms/suites and since we were the only guests, we got lots of attention.

In the morning we had the choice of eating in the inn or going over to the monastery dining room.  We chose the dining room.  Since the sisters eat in silence during breakfast on weekdays, the sister took us to another small dining room where we could talk.  The nice part about it was that she joined us.  In the evening delicious desserts were brought over to us and once again the sister stayed and chatted with us.

The first morning we joined the sisters for morning prayer at 8:30 a.m. in their beautiful chapel.  This was a serene way to begin our day.  We could have also joined them for mass later in the morning, but opted instead to do our own reading in our suite.  In the early afternoon there was a special concert given by 98 junior high students who were traveling north—what a delightful surprise they were.  After the concert we decided to explore the monastery’s nature trails, beginning with the 14 Stations of the Cross which led to their cemetery.  Even though there was a light rain and the uphill sections were a bit steep, we enjoyed our hike through the forest and meadows.

During our conversations with the two sisters who hosted us, we learned a lot about their lives.  They grew up in the area and joined the community as teenagers—that was 58 years ago for one of them.  However, these women have not been separated from the world.  Looking at them, you would not guess that they are nuns since they no longer wear a habit or veil.  Both of these women have advanced degrees; they had to leave the monastery’s rural community to accomplish this.  One worked as an RN then as a chaplain; she lived away from the community for 14 years.  The other nun taught and travelled all over the country either studying or working for the church; she’s had an interesting life.

Currently 43 sisters live at the monastery and another dozen live outside the community.  The majority of them are senior citizens.  Years ago they were totally self-sufficient.  They still have their gardens but now hire cooks.  In the past when a skill was needed in the community, one of them would go out and learn it.  For example, when they stopped wearing habits and veils, they needed to pay attention to their hair so one of the sisters went out and got training in cosmetology.

This Benedictine community is based on prayer, faith, justice, peace, forgiveness, and reconciliation.  They embrace hospitality as one of their core values.  We felt their love and hospitality during our visit and left refreshed and rested.

Summer Days in the Country

“Red rover, red rover, send Davy right over.”  We gripped each other’s hands as tightly as possible, but being older and bigger, my cousin, Davy, almost always broke through our line.  It was a million years ago. . . or maybe just yesterday that my three cousins, my brother, sister, and I would play in the grass in front of our grandparents’ home.  The summer heat would only slow us down for a moment, and then we’d be off doing something else.  Cops and robbers (or cowboys and Indians) was always exciting—you never knew when the other side would jump out at you.  My grandparents lived in the country and there were so many places to run and hide.  I looked forward to our week at my grandparents’ place—the warm sun on my back; running around with the cousins (although we were never barefoot like them); picking blackberries for my grandma’s pies; cats everywhere; chasing the geese and the geese chasing us; my grandpa calling his cows; watching the pigs; feeding the (somewhat) tame raccoon M&Ms; fishing in the pond with my dad; presenting our plays on the front porch for family; the shed with old clothes, antiques, and lots of spiders; sharing a big bed with my sister and several dogs and cats; the family gathered on the front lawn on July 4^th watching my uncle set off small fireworks. . . Ah, such great memories!  It almost makes me want to head outside and run barefoot through the grass. . . but maybe I’ll just wait until I can make a blackberry pie instead.

Shadows of Redemptive Violence

Redemptive violence

Myth of Christianity

Entwined in teachings

Myth that eclipses

Jesus’ loving example

A nonviolent life

Is peace through war right?

And security through strength?

What would Jesus do?

We kill those who kill

Hit children to teach it’s wrong

Where is compassion?

Did a loving God

Require a blood sacrifice

To pay for our sins?

Jesus taught God’s love

Face of God in human form

A new covenant

Daffodils and Sunshine

There are daffodils blooming in my front yard.  They were there to greet me when I arrived home from Florida—the first flowers that I saw.  When I awoke the next morning and looked out my window, I noticed that the forsythia and quince were also blooming, a sure sign that spring had arrived in Boise.  Finally.  However, after enjoying the warm Florida weather, the temperatures in Boise were not quite what I wanted.  Yes, we did have a few days that passed 70 degrees, but mostly it was much colder and cloudy.

Somehow spring seemed to blossom on Easter morning.  Oh, it started out cold, 35 degrees Fahrenheit, but it was sunny and the temperature eventually reached high 70s.  A beautiful day.  Was it just the weather that affected my spring mood?  The end of the week was especially gloomy.  On Thursday, a church friend, somebody I had prayed with, died unexpectedly.  Sadness overwhelmed me—such a loss.  On Good Friday I participated in the service at my church.  Stories were told from the perspective of the people who loved Jesus—powerful and moving.  Three other women and I were the friends of Mary who went to the cross.  We moved to music—no words.  “Mary” was grief-stricken and collapsed at the foot of the cross—we supported her.  This was so emotional, affecting both us and the people gathered in the sanctuary.

What a contrast Easter Sunday was!  Joy filled our sanctuary; the Spirit moved among us.  I think we carried it out the doors with us (which is the way it should be).  Easter gives us hope, just as spring does.  It’s a time of rebirth.  I look at my yard, just beginning to come to life and I see possibilities.  Color punctuates the once gray landscape.  In the sunshine and color, I find renewed energy.  Now, if I can just apply this new hope to my life, I too can begin to blossom.

Random Haiku

Random thoughts abound

So many things cloud my mind

How to write my blog?

Statehouse is quiet

Thank God they have all gone home

Prepare for next year

Florida was fun

Big party for Uncle Ray

At ninety years young

Dipped toes in ocean

Ron Jon Surf Shop, Cocoa Beach

Cool new sunglasses

Bob’s mom in wheelchair

Disney’s Animal Kingdom

Sunshine and photos

Coughing continues

Seek relief from my doctor

Antibiotics

Supreme Court ponders

Will my daughter have healthcare?

What if she doesn’t?

Back to the job search

The pickings are slim these days

What am I to do?

Holy Week begins

And Lenten reflections end

What do I believe?

Jesus, executed

For his radical beliefs

Can I follow him?

Jesus, example

Of how God wants me to live

Lord, give me courage

Darkness descended

But God’s love reigns over all

Easter gives me hope

Childhood Girl Scout Memories

This past week, on March 12, Girl Scouts celebrated their 100^th birthday.  In honor of this special day, I posted some old Girl Scout photos on my Facebook page which elicited plenty of comments from old friends.  Such wonderful memories we all have!  I became a Brownie Girl Scout in 2^nd grade, at that time the youngest age that a girl could join.  I continued in Girl Scouting through my senior year in high school.  In fact, I rejoined Girl Scouts as an adult to be a leader for my own girls, and then later I also took on the role of Service Unit Director.  However, the childhood memories are the ones that returned this week. 

In those days our troops were big; my photo of our Junior troop shows 32 girls in 4^th-6^th grade and I’m sure some girls were missing (and I thought I had a big troop as a leader with 22 girls).  Nearly everybody wore a Girl Scout uniform, complete with accessories, to school for our after school meetings.  We were proud to wear them.  Girl Scout cookies could not be preordered.  We would go out in pairs, ringing doorbells in our neighborhoods.  We carried cookie boxes in a cardboard box with handles.  I remember that I could never get enough thin mints to sell.  I have wonderful memories of taking a bus to day camp and doing fun activities like making crafts out of eucalyptus bark and pods.  I attended week-long Girl Scout camps and had wonderful adventures.  We learned to canoe and I acquired an appreciation for backpacking which carried into my adult life.  One year as a young teenager, a friend and I went on a burro pack trip into a wilderness area.  We learned how to pack and handle our burros, very stubborn animals.  This turned out to be more of an adventure than we expected—an unusual summer snowstorm forced us to hike out a week early. 

My biggest Girl Scout adventure was our trip to Europe.  When my friends and I were in 8^th grade we were talking about how some of their older sisters had gone to Our Cabana, the Girl Scout/Girl Guide house in Mexico.  We decided that we could do better than that—we should visit Our Chalet, the Girl Guide house in Adelboden, Switzerland.  This discussion led to the formation of a travel group from girls in our Cadette troop, in grades 7-9.  We worked hard for 3 years to earn money by doing newspaper collections, a spaghetti feed, a fashion show, and many other fundraisers.  There was plenty of time to decide where we would go—the final itinerary included not only Switzerland, but the Netherlands, England, France, Italy, and Austria plus a split with us going in different directions (my group went to Ireland).  The big day came after my junior year in high school.  Our families all went to see us off at the airport—it was the first airplane flight for many of us.  There were 17 of us plus four mother chaperones.  We were so excited.  If I remember correctly, our trip was only 21 days, so we never spent more than 2-3 days in one place, with the exception of Switzerland.  Oh the Alps, how beautiful they were.  I felt like Heidi, walking through the wildflowers with the snow covered peaks always in view.  We met girls from different countries at Our Chalet, but we were surprised at how many were from our own country.  I could go on and on with stories about our travels (and my friends could add more), but I would have to say that my favorite country was Italy because the people were so friendly.  Now 17 girls did attract a lot of attention, especially from men (and Italian men are notorious).  I especially remember a group of Italian nurses who tried to communicate with us—they didn’t know English and we didn’t know Italian.  However, they managed to tell us they were nurses by pantomiming a hypodermic needle.  And when we indicated we were from San Francisco (the closest large city to us), they broke into a chorus of “I Left My Heart in San Francisco.”  Such delightful memories. 

As I look back on these memories as an adult, I realize how much Girl Scouting influenced my life.  At the time, I was just having fun with my friends.  I learned valuable leadership skills and how to make plans and organize.  I learned how to live, work, and play with others.  I developed a love for the outdoors which sustains me today.  My appreciation for other cultures was nurtured through folk dances, music, programs celebrating the World Association of Girl Guides and Girl Scouts, and of course, my trip to Europe.  I am not afraid to try new things, to be adventurous, and to be curious about the world around me.  Through Girl Scouting I gained confidence in myself.  I thank Juliette Gordon Low for that first troop she started in Savannah, Georgia, 100 years ago.

Writing Exercises

Today I attended a writers’ workshop, my very first one.  We tried a variety of exercises and prompts, learning how to summon ideas to write about from the deep recesses of our minds and hearts.  I truly found this helpful and will be using these suggestions to assist me in writing this blog.  I would like to share one below, not because I think it is particularly good, but because it is a stretch for me.  I am not a poet, probably having been damaged in my early years with requirements of rhyming and meter.  This exercise is a run-on poem asking “what if?” and was completed in just a few minutes.

What If?

What if all people

lived as if in a musical

when something made them happy

they would burst into song

and sing at the top of their lungs

and people nearby would join in

singing and dancing with joy

all the people in love

would express their feelings

without playing games

without keeping them inside

but shared honestly with their love

all the people in anguish

would cry out with songs of melancholy

letting tears flow unchecked

and people nearby would join in

or run to comfort with tissues and hugs

all the people’s stories

would have happy endings

just like my favorite musicals

and people would move on with their lives

with smiles on their faces

Well, I have a long way to go, but it’s a start.

What Happened to Dreaming?

A couple of days ago I attended a leadership conference where the speaker suggested that people have stopped dreaming.  That caused me to think.  What happened to dreaming?  When was the last time I dreamed about my future?  The sad thing is that I can’t remember.  Oh, like most little girls of my generation, I dreamed of finding my Prince Charming, getting married, and having a family.  I also dreamed of going off to college and having a career.  I had some interesting jobs after college, but it wasn’t easy.  However, there were possibilities.  That all ended when we moved to Idaho.  I went from career options to jobs—or no job.  Other dreams?  I seem to have forgotten those along the way, too.  I realize that I have lived in the present for a long time.  I look at our young adults, my two daughters included.  In these current economic times, do they still dream?  So many people simply concentrate on getting by, day by day.  Dreaming is a luxury.  Somehow I want to be like a child and be able to dream again.

Celebrating Motherhood

Twenty-seven years ago yesterday, I became a mother for the first time.  In some ways it feels like a very long time ago—so much has happened since then.  On the other hand, it seems like only yesterday.  Where did the years go?  I remember arriving at the hospital, the realization that this baby was in a hurry to be born—they tossed the scrubs to my husband and told him to meet us in the delivery room.  I remember holding my brand new baby.  There is nothing so precious.  Suddenly my life changed.  With the first baby, everything is new and you really aren’t sure if you’re doing it right.  Time teaches that the details don’t matter.  Love, and lots of it, gets you through.  There were so many new experiences along the way: first tooth, solid food, first step, preschool, friends, dance lessons and performances, getting on that school bus for kindergarten, learning to ride a bike, dancing in the Nutcracker, Brownie meeting (with mom as leader) then Junior and Cadette Girl Scouts, braces, camp, surgeries, crushes, high school, dates, dance team, dance trophies, stress fracture, college far away from home, marriage, a job.  I watched my cute little blonde girl blossom into a lovely young woman.  Along with the joys there have been plenty of bumps along the way; it has been an adventure.  Today I give thanks for my beautiful daughter who has been a blessing in my life.

Bipolar Weather

March most definitely came in like a lion this year.  On Thursday, March 1, it snowed all morning.  Not what you want to see at the beginning of March.  By the afternoon it was sunny.  This Sunday morning when we woke up it was sunny, but it was a chilly 30 degrees.  However, by afternoon the thermometer hit 63 degrees.  People were out bicycling; we took our dogs for a pleasant walk along the river.  Tomorrow it is supposed to be even warmer, a balmy 65 degrees.  Just so we don’t get too used to spring weather, Mother Nature decided to mix things up—weather forecasters are predicting snow on Tuesday.  Again.  This is so confusing.  I don’t know what to wear when I get up in the morning.  Do I take a variety of clothes with me if I go somewhere?  Like a T-shirt and snow boots?  Definitely bipolar weather.  How many more weeks until spring?

The Interview

On Thursday night I went to a second interview for a job that interests me; the first interview was the previous night.  While I still get nervous for interviews, I think I’m getting to be a bit of a pro at them.  In fact, I think I could give the interviewers some advice.  Nearly all job interviews that I’ve had in the past year have been conducted by a team of at least three people.  This is what they call the stress interview.  While I understand why employers want to bring a number of interested parties in to meet the applicants, I am not convinced that this is the best way to assess a person.  It requires the applicant to constantly look around the room, not maintaining eye contact with any one person.  It is more stressful and some people handle it better than others.  Depending on the job, the employer may not be catching what they want to know about the person.  

And the questions.  Many of the places I’ve applied to do not have HR departments; I’m convinced that they Google “good questions to ask job applicants.”  It does seem important that the questions match the job and tell the employer something about the applicant’s ability to do the job.  Twice now, in an interview for an administrative assistant, I’ve been asked to tell them about a project where I was successful, and one where the project failed and how I handled it.  Since I couldn’t use work experience, I had to pull up a volunteer project which really has little relation to the duties of the job for which I was applying.  I have been asked about my career goals.  Now I know that I look a bit younger than my actual age, but they must be able to figure out that I am over 50.  I talked about a job.  What do they want me to say?  My goal is to be retired in less than 10 years?  Sometimes you have to adjust the questions to the applicant.  Last night I did get some good specific skill-related questions, but you’d be amazed at the number times I’ve been asked the “name a time when. . .” sort of questions.  

Right now I am waiting to hear from my references, wondering if they have been contacted.  If I were doing the interviewing, I would check references for the top three candidates.  References could change the equation.  I have great references, but I am not a salesperson.  I have learned to get through an interview fairly well, but I know that there are others who can talk up a storm and sell themselves better than I can.  However, that does not mean that they can do the job better than me.  I would be a great employee; just give me a chance.

Remembering Pixi

Yesterday was the one-year anniversary of the death of a very dear family member, our cat, Pixi-Paws.  Pixi was actually our daughter, Laura’s fifteenth birthday present.  We drove to our local Humane Society so Laura could make the choice herself.  She even had the name picked out before we got there, although Pixi ended up being anything but small.  Pixi was around 6 months old when we adopted her and soon grew to be a very round girl.  Although Pixi was definitely Laura’s baby, she became beloved by all of us.  When Laura went off to college and then was unable to take her afterwards, she remained with us.

Pixi was not your normal cat.  She was very talkative and tended to squeak or chirp rather than meow.  And she would come when we called which almost never happens with a cat. Perhaps it was because she thought food was involved.  Pixi lived to eat and would spend long periods of time waiting for her next meal.  Although she was a lot to hold, she loved to be cuddled and would often lick our faces.  She didn’t discriminate either.  Dogs were okay with her.  She would hang out with our dogs if allowed.  Late in her life, I observed her licking our dog, Piper’s head several times; Piper seemed to like it.

Pixi tried to hunt with little success.  It was comical to watch her run with her fat swinging from side to side.   Our other cat, Mandy, was an excellent hunter, but didn’t care to eat her prey so ended up supplementing Pixi’s diet.  As Mandy aged and stopped hunting, somehow Pixi began catching things.  Amazingly, one day she managed to catch a squirrel—and immediately ate it.  (I am so glad I didn’t witness that one.)

Pixi had her share of adventures.  She may have been loveable, but she was certainly not the brightest cat I’ve ever had.  There was the time she disappeared for 3 days.  We looked all over, called her name, asked our neighbors.  Our yard is an acre and we combed every inch.  I had to call Laura, in college at the time, and tell her Pixi was missing—she was heartbroken.  One afternoon, I began yelling her name from our deck.  I thought I heard something so I kept yelling, following the noise, getting closer and closer to a very plaintive meow.  I ended up standing next to our neighbor’s house and there was Pixi.  She had fallen into the well of the house’s crawl space.  I needed to jump down to grab her.  I had one happy cat and a very relieved daughter.  Pixi ended up stuck in a crawl space one time after that, only that time it was under our own house.  We figured out that both times she had probably been startled by fireworks and had tried to hide.

Pixi could be very territorial.  It took us a while to figure out that it was our sweet cat starting the fights with neighbor cats, resulting in visits to the vet.  Then there was the time I spotted her running to the back of our yard after a raccoon; you can bet I retrieved her very quickly.  One day I was gazing out the back door and I noticed a fox running around our large evergreen tree, running from something.  To my astonishment, Pixi appeared—the fox was running from Pixi!  Suddenly the fox stopped and turned around, a sort of “wait a minute” moment.  Now, the next minute might have been immensely entertaining, but envisioning another trip to the vet, I quickly opened the door and yelled, scaring the fox away.

Although Pixi was generally sweet and cuddly, she became a tiger when we tried to put medicine down her.  We would roll her in a towel, Bob would straddle her and hold her, yet she would still somehow manage to scratch or bite me or spit out her medicine (the pink stuff was the most delightful).

Pixi’s weight became a concern in the latter part of her life, requiring a special diet.  Mandy’s food was put up on the counter since Pixi could not jump up well due to her size.  However, she was always looking for ways to sneak food.  She could pry open cabinets with her paws; we had to tie them closed. She would get up on the small bookcase in the next room and peer around the doorway longingly.  When we weren’t watching, she would jump onto a kitchen chair, next to the table and somehow (it should not have been aerodynamically possible) she would jump across to the kitchen counter and run around to Mandy’s food.  It took a concerted effort to get this cat’s weight down.

By the fall before her death at age 11, Pixi began to have kidney problems.  She seemed to improve, then became very ill in January of last year.  The vets did what they could.  She mostly stopped eating, totally uncharacteristic for her; my encouragement did little to persuade her to eat.  I was stuffing special veterinary food down her throat and sometimes injecting fluids.  As we approached the end of February, it became clear that there was no hope.  It was difficult to watch her fade away.  Bob flew out of town on February 25 (my last day on my job).  Before he left, he dug a hole for me.  By this time Pixi was so weak that I moved her from place to place.  On Saturday night, February 26, I put her in her favorite spot on the couch, then sat next to her and spent the evening there.  Periodically I talked to her, petted her, and told her I loved her.  At one point she picked up her paw and placed it on my hand which was next to her, sort of an acknowledgement of me, I think.  It is hard to express what this little cat gesture meant to me—I will never forget it.

That night I placed Pixi in her cat bed.  In the morning she was very limp but still alive.  I put her back in her favorite spot; she was so cold that I covered her with a blanket.  I left for church and when I returned she was gone.  Tears flowed.  Laura called me before I could call her.  I broke the sad news to the rest of the family.  It was tough, but I managed to bury her before dark.  Her grave is now marked by a headstone from Laura and a bright bunch of artificial daffodils.

I can’t believe an entire year has passed, my dear Pixi.  I still miss you and will never forget you.

An Interfaith Gathering

So much of what we see in the news today is negative.  It seems that this nation and our world are more divided than ever.  The cause of much of this strife is religion, especially religion of the fundamentalist variety.  Many people simple cannot accept anyone whose beliefs are different from their own.  At the extreme, the “non-believers” become “they” and are demonized.

Tonight I attended an interfaith event for prayer and reflection on peace.  Nine different faith communities shared.  The evening began with a reading and a song led by the Unitarian Universalist pastor followed by a contemporary song led by a rabbi on a guitar.  The prayer of St. Francis of Assisi was offered by my pastor, and then the Ilowan’s Children shared their Metta prayer.  We all sang together:

“May all beings have fresh, clean water; may all beings have food to eat.

May all beings share love with someone; may all beings have a home.

May all beings know their true purpose, be well and happy and free from strife.

May all beings be free from suffering, to this cause I give my life.”

This was simple and sweet, reflecting universal desires—sung by 100+ people of different faiths.  The next participant was from the Muslim community; he shared an ancient writing about “your mission of peace,” meaningful and apropos for our times.

After each piece we sat in silence then a bell was rung and the next participant(s) rose.  During the first times we sat in silence, I noticed a restlessness among the crowd, perhaps people uncomfortable with the long period of quiet.  However, by the time we got to the meditation, I noticed a distinct difference.  A woman from the Eckankar community led us in the Hu song, sort of a long hum—I found it centered me.  The silence that followed was easy, peaceful.  A Sufi master led us in a guided meditation, again very introspective, yet connecting us to the earth and all life.

We sang together “Faith Is Being Open,” a song written by a member of the Metropolitan Community Church, a congregation that specifically welcomes GLBT people.  Our evening concluded with a meaningful world religions candle lighting and beautiful music.

This was a special evening for those present, one I wish I could have shared with more people.  There were open hearts, acceptance.  In the quiet I could feel the Spirit moving among us.  In truth we worship the same God; we just experience God in different ways.  Tonight we came together and shared.  There was no “they,” only “we.”  Love reigned.  We will do this again.

Sick Days

I am not sick very often. When I catch a cold, I tend to keep on going—perhaps I’ll go to bed earlier, take Vitamin C, etc., but I try to keep up with my normal daily activities. Not this time. My husband has been coughing for nearly 2 weeks. He gave it to me. I didn’t feel bad so I kept on going. Two days ago I was feeling achy, so I went to the YMCA to loosen up my stiff joints. Not a good idea. By early evening I was running a low grade fever and had to cancel my plans for the evening. Yesterday, I convinced my husband to go on a “date” to the doctor; we came out with matching antibiotics. (It’s so nice to share.) By evening I had a high fever. I vegetated in an easy chair in front of the TV (which I never do). Today I woke up with a headache so I stayed home. I realize that I don’t play the sick role very well. I never nap but today I did. I don’t feel like doing anything, can’t think clearly, yet I’m bored. Clearly I’m spoiled. That’s not to say I don’t have my aches and pains, but I do manage to muddle through with those problems most of the time. How would I handle a serious illness that affected my ability to function both physically and mentally? I honestly don’t know. I suppose I take for granted the ability to be doing something constantly. I tend to be driven by the need to be productive—that old Puritan work ethic. Now I need to take a break from that for a few days and just get well. And I am reminded to be grateful for my usual good health.

It Is Still Winter

I knew this would happen. And of course it would be TODAY when I had an early morning medical appointment. I cracked open the front door to see if it was raining and to my surprise snow blanketed the ground. Snow? Two days ago it felt like spring. It was sunny, 50 degrees, and my neighbor was working in her yard. People shed their winter coats. I knew it was too good to last--it IS still winter. I started the car, and then returned a bit later, planning to brush off the snow. But no, the snow was frozen to the windshield. I should have suspected as much when I nearly fell after slipping on ice while walking to the car. After some scraping and grumbling, I was off to my appointment. How many more weeks of winter? I am so ready for spring.

Lawmakers Affirm Discrimination in Idaho

Discrimination. Bigotry. Will it ever end? If you live in Idaho, it is easy to believe that it will not. Today, fellow church members and I sat through a print hearing for a bill to add the words “sexual orientation” and “gender identity” to the Idaho Human Rights Act. So many people were there to support this bill that they had to move the hearing to another room. Didn’t make a difference. The senator who presented the bill was emotional but stated his case well. Didn’t make a difference. No questions. No discussion. The motion to print the bill was voted down on a strict party-line vote—two Democrats voted for it and seven Republicans voted against it. They said absolutely nothing to the approximately 250 people who sat there in support. Gutless. There were gasps of disbelief. Tears. This is an issue that deeply affects the lives of many people in this state. These senators did not care. They did not want to listen. “Idaho is too great for hate.” Maybe someday that will become the truth in this state. In the meantime, discrimination is alive and well in Idaho.