Kristallnacht

I didn't want to write about the Holocaust again. It hurts too much. Surely with so many other things happening in the world, I could just let mention of the 71st anniversary of Kristallnacht pass by unspoken, couldn't I? Just once?

Then I read this, reported in the Sacramento Bee about events this week:

Officials at Congregation Beth Shalom on El Camino Avenue contacted the Sacramento County Sheriff's Department about 10:40 a.m. to report that racist symbols and messages, including a swastika, had been spray painted on the sanctuary, said sheriff's Sgt. Tim Curran.
The vandalism included the "SS" lightning bolts - the symbol of the Nazi security forces; a swastika and the message "Kristallnacht still lives," Curran said.

But it did not just happen there. In Dresden, Germany, this week, this happened :

Swastikas have been daubed on the wall of the New Synagogue in the eastern German city of Dresden on the eve of the 71st anniversary of the Nazi's ‘Kristallnacht’ pogrom in 1938. The interior minister of the state of Saxony, Markus Ulbig, condemned the desecration. “We will not allow such things to happen. In Saxony, there is no place for anti-Semitism,” he said. Uhlig paid a visit to Dresden’s Jewish community on Monday.

And as if that were not enough, then I saw the UPI report about an event in Florida:

CORAL SPRINGS, Fla., Nov. 10 (UPI) -- Swastikas and the words "Jews shall die" were found painted on the walls of the Soref Jewish community center in Coral Springs, Fla., police said.

So, yes, I do have to write about this anniversary -- an anniversary which is called "Kristallnacht", an anniversary of the terrible night that the Holocaust officially began. Hitler and his Nazi thugs hatched a plan to send up a sort of test balloon for larger acts of horror. If the populace of Germany and Austria did not attempt to stop the events of Kristallnacht, and if the world leaders did not take action, they saw it as a sign that they could proceed on unimpeded in geometrically larger acts of systematic evil and hatred.

And so it began. Kristallnacht. The Night of Broken Glass.

Seventy-one years ago, Kristallnacht began all over Germany and Austria and also in other Nazi controlled areas. It was an organized and methodical attack on Jewish neighborhoods. It was, in every sense, a pogrom. Shops and department stores all had their windows smashed and their contents destroyed. Synagogues were directly targeted for destruction and burning, including the deliberate desecration of Torah scrolls. Hundreds of synagogues burned while local officials stood by, or while local fire departments prevented the fire from spreading to non-Jewish buildings. Every single synagogue in Austria was attacked that night.

Estimates are that about 25-30,000 Jewish men and boys were taken to concentration camps that night. Over 700 synagogues were destroyed.

Jodie calls Kristallnacht a "timeless lesson" and adds:

Thus Kristallnacht should have removed the blinders from the eyes of the Western world as to what awaited them a few short months later from Germany — a world war that would destroy tens of millions and destroy Europe for generations. Part of the tragedy of Kristallnacht is that it did not send the necessary wake-up call to those who could have yet stood up to Germany. And so the deluge arrived.

The deluge arrived. And if we listen closely, it is not over. It re-appears in the obvious ways, when a synagogue is targeted with blazing swastikas and anti-Semitic graffiti -- but it echoes as well in any act of intolerance, any act of hatred because of race or religion or national origin or gender or sexual preference.

And it is hard to look at. It hurts. It feels awful. Hatred can make us frantic with hope that it will just go away. Or perhaps someone else will handle it. Isn't that why we elect people? Or, worse yet, because it is not happening to me, or in my neighborhood, or town or school, or job -- than it is OK to stand back.

But when we do that, when we remain silent, we are like the citizens in Vienna, or Berlin that day who woke up, had breakfast, walked outside and saw streets full of broken glass, terrified Jewish neighbors, still-smoking synagogues and just simply reported to work at their offices.

Songbird speaks about Mitzvot - acts of human kindness -- and Kristallnact:

today was Mitzvah Day at our synagogue. It's a special day focused on doing mitzvahs....
we wrote greeting cards to be mailed to Israeli and American soldiers. we packed toiletry kits to be given to the homeless. we made sandwiches for a soup kitchen. we collected food for a food pantry and clothes for an outreach program. we collected cell phones for recycling, the proceeds of which will be turned into phone cards for soldiers serving in Iraq and Afghanistan.
.
why do we do this?
.
tikkun olam. repair of the world...
May the goodness represented by Mitzvah Day overcome the darkness we see in Kristallnacht.

"The repair of the World"...tikkun olam. This is what we must be about. Nothing less will do. No matter what religious tradition you claim, healing the world is an obligation. There is no spiritual position that could legitimately deny this.

Tamar reminds us:

Whether we are survivors of Kristallnacht or descendants of survivors, or we are survivors of any persecution or witnesses to it, we must understand and remember what happened. And act responsibly, ethically, and justly every day, everywhere.

There are people who lived through Kristallnacht who are still alive, and who tell their stories.

Ruth brings forward the memories of a number of Kristallnacht survivors, Lotte's story being only one:

Lotte Kramer attended a school in the Liberal Synagogue in Mainz. Before leaving for school, her cousin called and told her to stay home because the synagogue was on fire. She also warned Lotte to tell her father to hide because all the men were being taken to concentration camps. Lotte’s father hid in the woods until nightfall and then returned home and began calling other members of the family to check on them. Lotte’s father found that his brother had been beaten and led through the street on a leash like a dog. Altogether six synagogues were destroyed in Mainz.

The US Holocaust Memorial Museum has recorded memories of a woman, Susan Warsinger, who was 9 years old the night of Kristallnacht. She and her brother realized something was wrong when members of their town threw rocks through their bedroom window. They looked out the window and saw the police standing and watching. She tells what happened when the crowd broke down the door of their apartment building.

Or, you can watch this eye-witness account of Susan Strauss Taube:


Look around you. Could something like it happen now? Are there no jagged rips in the fabric of world community? Heard any racist jokes lately? Any cruel slang words about Muslims or gay people? These are all building blocks for a wall of hatred.

Start calling people out. You not only do not have to listen to ignorant hatred, you should not stay silent in its presence. If you hear it on TV, write a letter, send an email, write to a sponsor. If you hear it from a colleague, tell them it is not OK to speak that way around you. Get others to speak out with you, act proactively compassionate with you.

To paraphrase Edmund Burke:

"All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is that good people do nothing."

And do good -- tikkun olam -- it will help repair the world.

Thou shalt not be a victim.
Thou shalt not be a perpetrator.
Above all, thou shalt not be a bystander.

- Holocaust Museum, Washington, DC

(this post was also posted at blogher.com)

TODAY - 40th anniversary of Sesame Street

This is the very first version of "Being Green" sung by Kermit in Season 1 -- 1969.

And here is Patti La Belle doing the alphabet as only Patti can.


I loved Sesame Street, and its more adult version later, The Muppet Show. In fact I am a charter member of the Muppet Show Fan Club, which I joined in my 20's. And although that show isn't celebrating its anniversary today, I just had to addthis video of a young Rudolf Nureyev dancing SWINE Lake with Miss Piggy.

One woman. One man. 3 legs. 3 arms. Astonishing beauty.

Ma Li has only one arm. Zhai Xiaowei has one leg. And below is a video of them dancing. They dance into the holes in people's lives. In the wordlessness of their dance, libraries of the soul open and volumes of unutterable wisdom fly off the shelves. A knowing comes forward.

We all know this. We recognize the feeling of brokenness. We know what we do not have, will never have. We know that all the pieces in the world are not whole, not complete. We know that we have needed, and that we still need.

In the dance, we see aching need and see that it can be as beautiful as it is heartbreaking. We are dumbstruck by the transformative power of the human heart. I have been haunted by this video since my friend, Marge, sent it to me this week. I play it and cry for its beauty, for the longing, for the dream of it. The video has been circulating since 2007.



Ma Li and Zhai Xiaowei. Who are they?

Ma Li was a promising 19 year old professional ballerina when she lost her right arm in a car accident in 1996. Her handsome boy friend walked away from her. She tried to kill herself, but was saved by her parents.

Zhai Xiaowei lost his leg in a tractor accident when he was 4, and had never danced until less than two years before this video was made.

The story of how they met can be found here and here. By the time they met, Ma Li had won a competition for disabled dancers, and Zhai Xiaowei had entered the Paralympics in cycling. He moved in with Ma Li and her boyfriend/agent and began intense training in dance.

As I read what small information there is on the web about them in English, what stood out for me (in addition to the triumphant nature of the story) is that Ma Li was afraid when she first started dancing again that her stump would be seen by the audience. She was embarrassed.

But them I thought, is that not what accompanies all our brokenness? Shame, embarrassment, shyness. We don't want people to know, to see, to realize how imperfect we are, how flawed. So we hide those parts as best we can. Ma Li has had a special soft fabric limb made so that when she goes out it looks as though she has one hand in her pocket.

But her passion drew her back into dance. She not only felt the tugs of who she was meant to be, she followed them, and through agonizing training to re-learn such basic things as balance in dance, her spirit began to push out of the shadows into the light.

But if their bodies apart show us something about being broken, not whole, incomplete -- what does the dance show us?

Redemption.

Community.

Love.

Grace.

It is almost cliche to say it, but combining our brokenness with others allows us to produce a whole thing, unique and beautiful - not whole in the usual sense, but fully functional, and complete in our own new way. The combination is more than the sum of its parts. Once combined, no one is adding them up any more. What is, is.

Think back to obstacles in your own life, Maybe they weren't as obvious as these dancers' obstacles are, but they are just as real. Think about what you did to get to the other side of them. Now let yourself feel the beauty in that, just as real as the beauty in this dance. To not just survive, but to live -- that is our calling, all of us.

It doesn't matter that we are not whole, imperfect, incomplete. We are not meant to be stand-alones. We are part of a tribe -- the human community. We are obligated to each other.

When you are bent and falling it is my job to help you up. When I fall, you must provide a hand. That is the only way any of us makes it in this world. And, like the dancers, we'll practice until we get it right -- one fall, one bruise, one celebration, one lift at a time.




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It took us so long to realize that a purpose of human life, no matter who is controlling it, is to love whoever is around to be loved.
Kurt Vonnegut

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Zoe at Halloween

Well, I have lost my senses. I got my dog TWO Halloween costumes. (And promptly donated money to charity to overcome the guilt! ) Anyway, I also had fun, and my dog loves dressing up. She dozes off in costume...not one to get agitated about fashion, , that Zoe of mine. So below is Zoe the Bumblebee, and Zoe the Charming Witch.

Trick or Woof!

Soupy Sales

Soupy Sales passed away today at age 83 in a hospice in NY. He had developed complications after a fall backstage during a recent Emmy Awards ceremony. I loved the Soupy Sales Show as a kid. Sigh. White Fang, Black Tooth -- and a thousand cream pies in the face. Pure fun.

Rest In Laughter and Joy, Soupy.

Ah, the dance

I went to a small, informal concert last night where the musicians played some waltzes and encouraged couples to dance. Several couples did get up and dance. I was enraptured.

There is such a sweet beauty to a couple that has been dancing together for many, many years. They know each other's groove in a special way. She knows when he will pause, or dip a bit to the left. He knows right where her hand will rest on his shoulder. They move together comfortably, seamlessly, as if they have rehearsed. In fact they have -- at every family wedding and social event for the past whatever number of years, they have done the routine -- the dip and weave as if by well-worn habit-- the moving hug in public.

Yet, as I watched them last night I was touched in a unique way. There was something heart-openingly beautiful about watching her rest her head against his shoulder, like she has for 30 years -- or seeing him confidently spin her under his arm, like he has so very many times before.

In a world that turns on unpredictable circumstance, and presents us all with sadness and loss when we least expect it, here was a moment of sweetness so pure and so simple that it made my soul ache.

Here, they were young again, and in love, turning forever in each other's arms with the grace of long-time lovers, lovers who know each others bodies, souls and hearts. There was no hesitancy in those bodies, just the well-worn comfort of years of being together, on and off the dance floor. It was a soft knowing, a time for the stars to come out in the dark sky, a moment when the moon pauses in her orbit for just a second, beguiled by the easy grace of these eternal dancers.

Diwali -- the epic tale of a fine romance

Diwali begins Saturday. This is The Festival of Lights in Hindu, Jain and Sikh (and some Buddhist) traditions. President Obama reached out to the people of these traditions with this address, and a small ceremony at the White House.


Diwali can be up to 5 days in length (starting Saturday the 17th). Forms of celebration can differ widely depending on which religious community or country is celebrating. The monotheistic Sikh community has a very different approach than the Hindu community, for example. But regardless of the community, the emphasis is on celebration, family and charity.

(from various sections of Wikipedia)
DIWALI and the Sikh community:
The story of Diwali for the Sikhs is a story of the Sikh struggle for freedom., starting from the time of Guru Nanak (1469 – 1539), the founder of Sikhism. When the Muslim king was ruling he locked up the Guru but while the king had tried to make him eat he refused and fasted. It was then realized that outside the palace people had gathered around with lanterns, candles, torches and protested to set the Guru free and the king had eventually agreed that his greediness had got in the way of his responsibilities and released the Guru and the people celebrated his release known as Diwali.

DIWALI and the Hindu community - The return of Rama
Lord Rama's life is pictured as the ideal man and the perfect human. For the sake of an old oath taken by his father in a moment of anguish, Rama abandons his claim to the throne to serve an exile of fourteen years in the forest. His wife, Sita, and brother Lakshmana, are bereft and join him in exile. Ravana, the monarch of Lanka, sees Sita and must have her, so he takes on the guise of a young deer, who captivates Sita and leads her into the forest while Rama is hunting. After a long and arduous search for years that tests his strength,virtue and love for Sita, Rama fights a colossal war against Ravana's armies. In a war of powerful and magical beings, greatly destructive weaponry and battles, Rama kills Ravana and frees his wife. Having completed his exile, Rama returns to be crowned king in Ayodhya (the capital of his kingdom) and eventually becomes emperor,after which he reigns for eleven thousand years – an era of perfect happiness, peace, prosperity and justice known as Rama Rajya. The diya, or lights, were set out to welcome him home at the end of his exile.


Lakshmi, the goddess of wealth is also honored by Hindus during Diwali. Some businesses even start their financial year on Diwali.

In order to ease Lakshmi's entrance, Hindus will leave the windows and doors of their houses open. often the design of the lotus flower, her favorite blossom, are drawn on the floor to welcome Lakshmi. The Diwali lamps are placed in rows to make it simple for Lakshmi to find her way to houses.

This in a drawing of Lord Rama and Sita, enthroned after Lord Rama's triumphant return.


I love the romance of this story -- Rama enduring many trials for many years in a devoted search for his beloved wife, who has been cruelly beguiled by another, masquerading as an innocent deer. And, after they are reunited, his triumphal return from exile. It is a sweet day when the devoted hero wins, and loved ones are reunited at last. This story is one of deep devotion, honor and perseverance. It ends, thankfully, in celebration.

The story of Rama and Sita is told in one of the two major books in the Hindu tradition -- the The Ramayana, which means "Rama's Journey", an ancient Sanskrit epic of over 24,000 verses. This epic poem is considered so sacred that the reading if it is said to confer blessings on the reader and the listener. A translation of the Ramayana can be found here.


Happy Diwali to all who are celebrating it. May your year be sweet and prosperous.

autumn joy

I love autumn in New England. It makes me so happy that I have moved back here to stay. I am wide-eyed as I drive through the hill towns in the fall, watching the leaves change colors day to day. I sense the nuances of autumn, the change of a meadow with and without shafts of sunlight.

I drive through towns with sparkling white colonial churches perched above fields of cornstalks, rye grasses, and grazing cows. All this is surrounded by acres of evergreens and trees ablaze with fall colors. It is the last splurge of fecundity before winter.

The trees are shameless in their show of color. Maple trees in bright orange and red vie with the yellow-leaved birch and the scarlet sumac for attention.

They are belles at the autumnal ball, whirling in the wind.

They are dervishes, whirling for God.

They are a dream, a mystical moment, a challenge to complacency.

They shimmer to a celestial music that only they can hear.

It is a symphony brought to them by the wind, echoed in the clouds, illuminated by the brilliance of the sky. It is a rhythm that speaks of love, and loss, and hope. It is an eternal humming, a soft melody just beyond the reach of human ears, recognizable, but dimly.

The trees stand, robed in color and glory and proclaim "Look!" to the world.

"See what is splendid, what is beautiful. But, see how impermanent the world is...for as we flash our color we prepare for the little death of winter. Love us now, while you can. "

oh heck, let's change the world in our spare time.

If in our daily life we can smile, if we can be peaceful and happy, not only we, but everyone will profit from it. This is the most basic kind of peace work. --Thich Nhat Hanh

This quote by the Buddhist monk, Thich Nhat Hanh, really touched me. I found myself coming back to it over and again this week.

It all started last Saturday when I drove by a group of peace activists standing in the rain outside the farmer's market in Greenfield, Massachusetts. They held signs and just stood quietly, a silent witness to their longing for peace. Many of them were my age -- they'd "been there, done that" before during the Vietnam war - and here they/we are again.

One of the signs said "Make Peace".

The war has been troubling me again. War troubles me. The feeling of helplessness I have in the face of it troubles me. So I vote in a particular way, and send money to causes that believe as I do, nd write letters to decision-makers. And I pray. But I am nagged by the feeling that it isn't enough. How do *I* "make peace"?

And then along comes Thich Naht Hanh and he tells me to find my peace, my personal peace -- and that finding it will be an important part of peace work. I think he is right. Unless my heart and soul are at peace, I cannot think or see clearly. I can be of less meaningful help.

Then I thought of a hymn I recall singing:

Let there be peace on earth
And let it begin with me

Imagine if we all did that -- all found the place and circumstance that gave us the most personal peace, and we created that place for ourselves as often as possible.

If we focus on it in meditation, we can even have it when we are not there. If, for example, you are at your most peaceful when at the ocean, meditating about the ocean, and remembering the peace you felt, can bring that peace back to you. You can find the rhythm and let it flow through you again.

Or maybe, that peace can come by us making room for it to arrive more often. If you are most at peace while writing -- why not write more?

Being at peace with ourselves quiets the clatter that keeps us from being in the world in a peaceful way. It helps us know what to do next, and gives rise to acts of kindness.

Being at peace, real peace, shuts out those feelings that get us and the world in trouble.


Maybe it is a memory of a beloved relative, or the call of meaningful work, or the sea, or writing or painting, or watching your children sleep, or playing with your dog or any number of things that brings you real peace. Get quiet enough to think about that -- where or under what circumstances are you most at peace? Try imagining how you might bring more of that into your life this week. It will energize you, fulfill you, and will improve the world, one person at a time.

It will "Make Peace".






(taken from a column I wrote this week for blogher.com)

Take Your Pets to Church Day -- Feast of St. Francis : Sunday October 4th

The official "Feast Day" of St. Francis in the Catholic church is October 4th. This Sunday in many Catholic, Lutheran and Episcopal churches -- and some other congregations who enjoy and honor the tradition, animals are welcomed and will get a special blessing from the clergy.

I love the story of St. Francis. In the 1200's, after returning from the wars, he stood up to his rich parents and left the family wealth and comfort behind to live in poverty among the poor. He chose to live gently in the world. He spent time with people that no one cared about. He loved the earth and was enraptured by it. And he talked with the animals.

St. Francis is most well known for his love of animals and his deep love for the earth. His commitment was not just to meditate upon the wonders of the earth, but to engage himself in healing what he could. How one lived was more important to him than what one said. He is known for saying: "Preach the Gospel at all times. Where necessary, use words."

The most well-known film about St Francis takes its name from his "Canticle for the Creatures": Brother Sun, Sister Moon, directed by Franco Zefferelli.

St Francis "got it" about a lot of things, way back in the 13th century. He is perhaps best known for his prayer:

Lord, make me an instrument of your peace;
where there is hatred, let me sow love;
where there is injury, pardon;
where there is doubt, faith;
where there is despair, hope;
where there is darkness, light;
and where there is sadness, joy.

O Divine Master,
grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled as to console;
to be understood, as to understand;
to be loved, as to love;
for it is in giving that we receive,
it is in pardoning that we are pardoned,
and it is in dying that we are born to Eternal Life.

Amen.

But I always think of him as the animal loving saint. My images of him are deeply sentimental ones -- a bird perches on his arm, as an adoring dog is at his feet. He speaks to a deer who understands him. But can that be possible?

Years ago I was at a Buddhist shrine in Hawaii. The grounds were lovely, and there was a wide koi pond. A small old man was standing near the pond, dressed in shabby clothes. He had a sweet quality, though, so when he started a conversation with me, I felt happy to be invited into it.

"I have a pet fish," he said. The pond was teeming with hundreds an hundreds of koi fish -- maybe thousands. "Oh?" I said humoring him, not wanting to offend him. He seemed harmless enough. "You don't believe me," he said matter-of-factly.

He stepped to the shore and whistled, and clapped his hands. I saw a ripple on the water bee-lining itself toward him from midway across the pond. "Watch," he said. he then walked along the water, calling to his fish. The fish followed him, leaping out of the water as he went. "See?" he asked. "I see!" I replied.

"Now watch," he said. He stood beneath a tree near me and softly hummed. Before long a bird flew over from another tree on the grounds and landed on his hand. He kept humming, and the bird stayed there -- content, gazing at him. Then he released the bird into the air with a gentle wave of his hand.

"May I ask who you are?" I asked. "No one in particular," he said, smiling.

And I knew that I was in the presence of someone saintly, someone who revered nature in a special and deeply loving way -- with a patient and understanding love -- someone who did not expect it to be anything but its own true self. And Nature responded, loving him in return. He was someone a lot like St. Francis.

I love the magic that can happen between a human and a chosen animal creature. The bond is like no other, as anyone who has lost a beloved pet can tell. What a fitting way to remember the life of St. Francis, a man who chose to do no more harm in the world, than with something s gentle as the pet-blessings that will be happening all over the world on Sunday.

And I treasure those houses of worship that bless pets and animals this coming Sunday. Good for them! To me, to have a pet blessed is to have an acknowledgment that they are an important part of the family of G-d. It is a tribute to their hearts and to their giving natures.

As I browsed the web I noticed that many churches, synagogues and even Buddhist temples hold pet blessings. Many are combining it with a collection for the local pet shelters of pet blankets or pet food. Some even have adoptable pets on site. Check your local papers for listings, or call a few of the larger churches in your area.

Or, just gaze into your pet's loving eyes and say a thankful prayer for their well-being.


RESOURCES:
This article on eHowis a fine resource on how to attend or hold your own pet blessing .

This is a a listing (partial) of Catholic churches around the country holding pet blessings this Sunday (or in some cases, Saturday)



JUST FOR FUN

Many of you may recall the BBC series Vicar of Dibly. Geraldine, the vicar, has decided to hold a Blessing of the Animals. The powerful head of the church council is opposed. Geraldine goes ahead, but fears it will be a failure. This is a 10 minute video of what happens on the fateful day of the Blessing.




Oh, and I will be taking Zoe, my rescue pooch (hard to tell who rescued whom sometimes) to be blessed on Sunday.

Rest in Peace, Mary Travers

Mary Travers died at age 72. Her music with Peter Yarrow and Paul Stucky was part of my growing-up music. Before she passed, she said:

"I'm not sure I want to be singing 'Leaving on a Jet Plane' when I'm 75. But I know I'll still be singing 'Blowin' in the Wind.' "

Remember her with me, and pray that eternal light will shine upon her loving soul.

On September 11th

I was there that day. My office was 10 blocks away. I saw it happen as I was driving around the long traffic-filled curve heading into the Lincoln Tunnel from the Jersey side. I thought it was so odd -- this low white cloud -- until I realized it was a building on fire. Then the second plane hit. I pulled into the tunnel, and by the time I made it to 5th Avenue, heading downtown, the streets were almost empty of vehicles, and the streets were lined with people trying frantically to call their loved ones. Straight ahead of me was one of the towers, a diagonal gash in it, pouring fire.

I remember all of it. I remember every horrible bit.

And I want it to be over. I am tired to death of memorial events ripping open that wound every year.

I am tired of worrying what the families feel of firefighters and police and rescue workers whose loved ones died on ORDINARY days, days when we were not under attack. Their loved ones don't get regaled as heros every year. Their families didn't get millions of dollars of funds distributed to them.

Yet they are no less deserving. It took no less courage for them to run into the tower a few years before 9/11 at the first bombing incident. Or to run into a burning house, or apartment building. Or to be in a car chase with armed felons.

I'm tired of all the agruing about the memorial site. No group of mourners will ever be 100% in happy agreement about it. Stop trying to make that happen. Build the best one you can and be done.

I'm tired of the anti-Arab sentiment that gets ginned up every anniversary of 9/11.

I'm tired of us holding up 9/11 like it is the worst loss to an enemy any country in this decade or so has ever gone through. Look around -- the world is full of losses even bigger than this, and they are still happening.

I know that we must know history to not repeat it. But we must stop repeating the story long enough to move forward, and long enough for the wound to heal, and not become some festering national touchstone.

Let those who lost people in this wretched and senseless tragedy grieve them. Let them find some respite for themselves.

I don't want the loss to be our icon -- I want our recovery to have that place.



Dear Lord,
Please heal us. Teach us to remember the dead and to honor their memory -- without making this day into a day when we tear open that which could be healing, and when we divide that which should be united. Let us honor all who died trying to save others -- not just few. Let us remember without getting mired down in the past. Let us remember yesterday, but with today's eyes. We ask you for this or for something even more healing than we can imagine today. Thank you, Lord, and amen.

arghhh...a dream gets dashed

All my life I have wanted to take a pottery course -- you know, the one with the potter's wheel? I finally decided that I would. I signed up a couple of months ago for a continuing ed course taught at a local studio. I have been looking forward to it all summer. I dealt with any fear I had about looking/feeling clumsy because every new potter probably looks like an idiot. The friend I was going to take the class with, had to back out.

But there I was tonight, showing up alone and sooooo happy.

There were four of us in the class, a nice small group. The instructor in the tiny studio seemed lovely.

At one point I thought I saw something moving behind my left shoulder, but didn't see anything when I turned around. It must have been a trick of the light, I thought.

Then my eyes began to water a bit -- must be the dust.

My asthma started to appear just the tiniest bit. No worry, I thought.

Then my eyes started to itch.

Then I saw it -- about 20 minutes in to the class, I saw it.

A big, fat, gray rabbit the size of a turkey. It was mammoth! I swear it must have weighed a least 25 pounds.

And it was hairy.

I am severely allergic to rabbits. I mean severely.

I had allergy tests done this summer and all rodents are on my personal enemy list -- mice, rats, gerbils, hamsters, guinea pigs, squirrels and RABBITS.

This rabbit has lived in the studio for over 3 years. There is rabbit dander everywhere.

Oh damn.

I resigned the course.

Now I need to find a teaching potter in the area who is affordable and has no rabbits. Or rodents. Or cats. (Cats are also on the hit list.)

Mourning Ted in Massachusetts

I stood at a farm stand in western Massachusetts this weekend and asked, "This is the orchard where Ted's plane crashed in 1964, isn't it?"

The proprietor looked at me and said "Yes."

That's it, just the word "yes".

I reminded myself that I am back in New England, a land of economies, even in speech. I bought a small bag of apples and left.

A news article gives more detail:

Jean Bashista of Bashista Apple Orchards, recalls that night and how her sister-in-law helped the injured senator, as he lay on the ground after the crash, before medical personnel arrived. Bashista said after the plane crash her father-in-law and her father got rid of the orchard at the crash site. Today it is a wooded area.

Ted was heading for a small airport in the town in which I currently live, when his plane crashed. His experience at a local hospital lasted over three weeks until he could be safely moved. His experience there was so positive that it is said to have been the pivotal event that inspired his thinking about health care.

I'm from Massachusetts. I lived away from this state for about 30+ years and have recently moved back. It was with deep sadness that I watched the memorial and funeral events for Ted Kennedy. The Kennedy name is almost synonymous with Massachusetts. We are theirs and they are ours, so to speak.

I wasn't born yet when Joe Jr was killed in WWII, but I was in junior high when JFK was assassinated, and in college when a bullet took Bobby. Ted is the only son of Rose and Joe Sr to not die a violent death.

I do not know how a family winds its way so deeply into the spirit of a place, but the Kennedys surely have. It feels somehow wrong to not have a Kennedy as a senator in Massachusetts.

Oh, yes, we all knew that Kennedy had stepped beyond what was proper in his personal life.

And we didn't like it. And we did not forget it.

But, as my sister-in-law succinctly said, "Despite it all, he voted the way we wanted him to." Those of us in this state who are liberals knew that we could count on Ted to vote the way he promised he would. He could nimbly cross party lines, assemble broad-ranging support and see things through. We may have hesitated before we pulled the lever for Kennedy because of his problems, but we pulled it because of his politics.

His second marriage seemed to settle his personal life down, and we were thankful for that. Relieved. As he said in his recent letter to Pope Benedict, carried by President Obama to the Pope-- “I know that I have been an imperfect human being," Kennedy wrote, “but with the help of my faith, I have tried to right my path."

And, as far as most of us in this state were concerned, he did turn things around. Many Massachusetts highway signs -- the ones controlled by computer -- on the day of his burial were changed to read "Thanks, Ted." People wore T-shirts that day that said. "Thanks, Ted."

As we all watched television Friday and Saturday, it was especially moving to see the White House staffers, each waiting for a chance to shout out a final "Thank You, Ted". In the days following his death, the small stories began to come out -- the former staffer who went on to the Supreme Court (Stephen Breyer) -- a family he had personally helped through a long illness -- the visits he made to the families of military men and women lost at war -- the personal letters sent to encourage, congratulate, console. We learned of the quiet acts of compassion from this larger-than-life politician.

In the words of President Obama's eulogy:

Ted Kennedy has gone home now, guided by his faith and by the light of those he has loved and lost. At last he is with them once more, leaving those of us who grieve his passing with the memories he gave, the good he did, the dream he kept alive, and a single, enduring image – the image of a man on a boat; white mane tousled; smiling broadly as he sails into the wind, ready for what storms may come, carrying on toward some new and wondrous place just beyond the horizon. May God Bless Ted Kennedy, and may he rest in eternal peace.

ELCA -- at last, at last

Click to hear the Doxology

Praise God, from Whom all blessings flow;
Praise Him, all creatures here below;
Praise Him above, ye heavenly host;
Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.

When I heard that the Lutheran church (-- the ELCA with over 6 million members -- affirmed that gay and lesbian people in committed relationships could serve in ministry, and that churches could bless same sex unions, I started to cry and started to sing the Doxology.

Amen, amen and amen.

(watch this space for more)

It's time for those Addictive Slow Roasted Tomatoes again!

Kalyn's Kithen, a mighty and grand food blog, provided a magic recipe for slow roasted tomatoes. Last year I "put up" about a bushel of plum tomatoes this way, and it was not enough to get through the winter. These are addictive. A fellow-blogger called them "Tomato Crack". Here is a picture that I lifted from her site:



Basically, you cut plum tomatoes in half, roll 'em in a bit of olive oil and some herbs and slow cook them at 200 degrees for 8-10 hours. They taste like concentrated summer. I flat-freeze them in ziplocks and use them in soups, stews, on meat, in rice, over pasta, on toast, with goat cheese on crackers --- in eggs ...on anything.

I've linked above to her recipe, but here is how I adapted it. Feel free to add your own inspiration. Kalyn adapted them from Alana, and I adapted them from Kalyn. I tried regular tomatoes and they were too watery. I tried grape and cherry tomatoes and they just didn't have enough flesh. Plum (Roma) tomatoes are best. I've inserted my comments into her (edited) text below.

20 Roma type tomatoes (same size tomatoes are best)
2 T olive oil, plus a little to oil the pan if you don't have a mister. I like extra virgin oil.
2 T dried basil
1 T dried oregano
1 T dried majoram
(I have also added things like thyme, sage, garlic, red pepper flakes - experiment with different combinations.)

Preheat oven to 200 F (8-10 hours roasting time.) Ovens differ here -- just don't burn them. Start checking at about 7 hours.

Wash tomatoes, dry, and cut each tomato in half lengthwise. (Kaylyn leaves the stem spot in one piece to grab when peeling the tomatoes later. I just left the skins on).

Put tomatoes in a bowl and toss with olive oil and herbs.

Then, Kalyn says, Spray cookie sheet with olive oil mister (or brush very lightly with oil). Arrange tomatoes cut-side down on cookie sheet.

After about 7 hours, start checking tomatoes. They're done when skins puff up and tomatoes are reduced in size by at least half. It's a personal preference as to how dried you like them, but both Kalyn and I prefer to cook until they look fairly dense, but are still a tiny bit juicy.

So, thanks to this largely stolen column from Kalyn's Kitchen, you too can enjoy how amazingly yummy these are. Don't plan on having your first tray make it to the freezer!

JOY -- find it, love it

Ah, joy -- it refreshes the spirit, but can vanish as quickly as it arrives. There is so much in the world that militates against joy. Yet it seems that a glimpse of joy is what sustains us, what can give birth to hope and love and courage. At the heart of faith is a kernel of joy, radiating. Joy feels good, and warm, and helpful. And yet we resist it, crowd it out, send it packing. Of all our feelings, it may seem to be the least sensible. But, of all our feelings, it may be the most necessary. It may be the wellspring in all of us that feeds life, full, real, positive life.

I have been an occasional bad landlady to joy. I've given her substandard housing, left her without heat in the winter and forgotten to deliver her mail on time. It is a wonder she stays with me at all. Yet, she waits until I get my brain and heart in synch and there she is, shining like the morning, waiting to comfort and astound me. A small touch of her sparkle and my day is suffused with her light. It doesn't take much.

When I first moved to NYC it was after a rough (are any easy?) divorce. I lived with an old high school friend for a year, and then had my first apartment. It wasn't much, but I worked hard to make it the best I could on my then meager earnings. I had transformed the place with paint and fabrics. One night I came home from work, sat in my little living room and thought "I am so lucky! Look at how cozy and warm this room is!" I sat back, sipped tea and felt joy. It came down like a ray of soft, warm sunlight. I slept beautifully.

The next day I had a horrid day at work. I was worried about bills. I burned dinner. I sat in the same chair that I had the night before and looked at my living room. I had missed a little spot when I painted the ceiling. The sofa did need to be re-covered. That carpet did look old. And the curtains? Too long. "What a horrible place," I thought. I felt the energy slide out of my life.

Then I recalled the night before. It was the same room. Nothing had changed. Oh wait! Something had changed.

Me.

I could find or lose joy by deciding how to look at my world. And I was cheating myself of experiencing something worthwhile, something energizing, something good.

There is plenty of sadness in the world. Life hands us sorrow by the bucket-load. Times are hard. Loss is real. But there can always be a moment of joy. Joy comes to deliver us from our sorrow. It is a beautiful gift from God/the Universe/the Earth.

But how to find it when we have lost our view of it?

Gratitude. That is the key that unlocks the heart of joy. Gratitude.

I have said it before -- and will probably say what follows a zillion skillion times in my life. (At least.) Here it is. Wait for it. Take it in.

The time I need to compose a gratitude list is when I least want to!

Think about a gratitude list this week. Ten items. Yes, ten. We both can do it. Watch what happens when you build the list. Something will be creeping in, stealthily curling up beside you, purring. It will be your joy. Welcome her.

After all, this IS the day the Lord has made. Rejoice and be glad in it. (Psalm 118)

Dead bodies as art? No thanks.

I drove by the billboard and felt my stomach churn again. I can't make myself see this as a good thing. Looming in lurid color is a billboard for entertainment at a local casino -- an exhibit of over a dozen dead bodies with the skin partially removed, preserved in plastic, posed to display various organs. Some bodies still have their faces (or part of them) on. Some do not. They have all been put through a process called "plastination" that has immersed them in acetone and then polymers so that they will "resist decomposition".

Not everyone who donates their body for use after death suspects it will end up soaked in plastic and posed throwing a frisbee or kicking a soccer ball.

Gunter von Hagens, the man who developed this procedure is based in Germany.
BODY WORLDS is his company that develops multiple exhibits simultaneously around the world. His own site says the following about how bodies are obtained :

Body Donation for Plastination

All anatomical specimens on display in the BODY WORLDS exhibitions are authentic. They belonged to people who declared during their lifetime that their bodies should be made available after their deaths for the qualification of physicians and the instruction of laypersons. Many donors underscore that by donating their body, they want to be useful to others even after their death. Their selfless donations allow us to gain unique insights into human bodies, which have thus far been reserved for physicians at best. Therefore, we wish to thank the living and deceased body donors.

Note that the donors never said that they'd like their skin flayed off, their bodies dipped in plastic, posed playing cards and set up at an exhibit. Further, The Guardian reports that "In 2004, von Hagens agreed to return seven corpses to China saying he was unable to prove they had not come from executed prisoners. His action followed an investigation in the German magazine der Spiegel."


There is lots of competition for this piece of the entertainment/education/exhibit/sensastionalist pie. Most sites forbid te copying of pictures without a legal agreement, so click on the sites themselves to see the examples.:
Bodies the Exhibition - see videos of the actual exhibit by clicking here.

Then Amazing Human Body in Australia. Their site speaks about the grisly fact that an exhibit piece was recently stolen

Our Body, the Universe Within that says this about their bodies:

All of the anatomical specimens contained in Our Body: The Universe Within originate from China and have been provided for the exhibit consistent with the laws of China. The anatomical specimens are not owned by the exhibitors, but are provided by a Chinese foundation to promote educational and medical research of the human body. While we do not have the specific identity of each anatomical specimen, they have been donated through medical schools and other research facilities in China to promote education, science and medical research of the human body.

As early as 2006, The New York Times reported that over a dozen "body factories" existed in China to turn out preserved corpses.

Inside a series of unmarked buildings, hundreds of Chinese workers, some seated in assembly line formations, are cleaning, cutting, dissecting, preserving and re-engineering human corpses, preparing them for the international museum exhibition market.

“Pull the cover off; pull it off,” one Chinese manager says as a team of workers begin to lift a blanket from the head of a cadaver stored in a stainless steel container filled with formalin, a chemical preservative. “Let’s see the face; show the face...

Dr. Von Hagen has a factory in China, too -- where, according to the Times, "About 260 workers in Dalian process about 30 bodies a year." He is now branching off to include animals as well.

In a large workshop called the positioning room, about 50 medical school graduates work with the dead: picking fat off the cadavers, placing them in seated or standing positions and forcing the corpses to do lifelike things, such as hold a guitar or assume a ballet position. Dr. von Hagens admits these positions are controversial.

“Even my former manager said, ‘Can you really pose a dead man on a dead horse?’ ’’ Dr. von Hagens said. “But I decided this was real quality.”

A French court judge recently closed down an exhibit called Corps Ouvert, the latest in these exhibitors.

In March, Hugo Chavez, President of Venezuela, did not allow the exhibit into Venezuela.

Venezuelan President Hugo Chavez’s closure of the “Bodies Revealed” exhibition of dissected human cadavers and subsequent confiscation of the bodies is perhaps the strongest government reaction yet to the worldwide trend for the traveling art and science shows that have been seen by millions.

It is big business. Tickets in Vegas can run about $20. The price is higher in other venues. Hundreds of thousands of people see these exhibits. In Japan, where von Hagens first exhibited in 1995, he claims 3 million viewers.

But this all makes my skin crawl and my heart break. The depersonalization of human body to exhibit troubles me. I don't mind skeletons or cadavers in medical schools. They are needed there to teach. But I do mind this -- this show of enough skin and face and body to still resemble the real people that used to occupy those frames.

Imagine having a son that donated his body to science, and instead your child's body ends up as a traveling exhibit, the skin half sliced away from his body, his organs on view, posed as The Thinker, or posed riding a skateboard. His noble and generous donation simply becomes part of a company's profit scheme.

If someone wants their body processed and on view in such a way, fine. I do not have to like it, but at least there is some moral congruity in the process that I can understand. But to have a body simply "end up" there -- well, that is not OK. And, try as I might, no site that I saw indicated that it always sought express approval for this specific use.

I am not under any illusions that what is left after death is the old person that used to be alive. What is left is the echo of someone, an echo that is meant to dissolve away over time. Not an echo that is made to play forever with sounds given to it by strangers. Not this torturous freezing of mangled bodies after death.

My faith tells me that the person is long gone, and what is left is only the husk, the house in which one used to live. But "ashes to ashes - dust to dust" makes big sense to me. The body, this echo of life and love needs to return to the earth. Even the remains of medical cadavers are eventually incinerated, cremated. This denial of a respectful exit stuns me, leaves me heartsick. Rumors that some of these bodies were just unclaimed corpses makes me even more sad at what feels to me like misuse.

Is it educational? Most who approve of it would say yes. But do we need human bodies, bodies of real people, to educate? Is our technology so lacking that we cannot produce models that show what these once-alive people now show us? CorpseShow.info, a site in the Uk that opposes such exhibits, tells us that the exhibits were initially marketed as "art" until the public reacted negatively to that. Then they were re-marketed as "educational".

It must be possible to come up with accurate synthetic bodies -- look at what Hollywood does every day!

Further, what allows us to become so disassociated that we see these bodies as not having a "real" life in their past? The sites of the owning companies refer to them as "specimens". So many of them have parts of faces, staring through the polymer, eyes huge in shrunken skin. Just because they are soaked in plastic and hard as stone, we see them as statues. Are we desensitized by the violence that surrounds us every day? The gore in movies and video games? What makes us not see these bodies as what used to be real people?

It is the same lever we use to turn off the reality that our hamburger used to have big brown eyes, or that a fur coat used to be an animal that ran free and wild, or that our roast chicken probably never saw daylight and was raised in abject conditions, or that a war casualty of the "enemy" was someone's beloved child/brother/husband/wife.

It troubles me. In seeking to display "humans" it seems entirely inhumane to me. I want these bodies to find rest -- to not be gawked at, made the brunt of jokes, sold as chattel, not to exist as a new profit machine.

And you -- what do you think? Have you seen these exhibits? What did you think?

A sign I saw this weekend. I want it.

I just plain love this !!!!!!!!

Zoe - Free at Last

As regular readers know, I have a Bichon Frise rescued dog named Zoe. She has indeed found her Forever Home with me, and I am thankful that she lets me live here, too...

The first time I let Zoe in my fenced back yard (I had invested a TON of bucks to fence in a half acre) she found a place she could wriggle through and out. She is adventurous.

She is also a digger. Loves to dig.

So, to keep a 16 pound dog in my yard, I had to employ methods normally used for penning wolves.

Imagine chain link fence. Then imagine a wire mesh fencing material that is two feet wide. Bury a foot in the ground,alongside the chain link fence, and attach the top foot to the chain link with wire. And spend more money getting THAT done. Digging had to be done amidst tree roots, rocks, etc. Nothing is simple here, folks.

Remember -- a 16 pound FREE dog.

Who just had her annual physical $100 plus dollars.

And surgery to remove a suspicious-looking growth ($500) that is (Thank God) benign.

This is also a 16 pound dog that pouted and ignored me for a couple of days after the surgery. I must have seemed like a "Bad Mommy". But finally she jumped on the bed and wiggled up next to me.

She didn't like the surgery. Nor did she like the sock she has had to wear on her foot (with tape to hold it on) to keep her from scratching her incision raw. I did get cute pink, white and lavender baby socks, but fashion be damned. A dog in one sock? Not a fashion statement. Se honestly gives me a bad look when I have to change the sock.

I love free dogs.

Anyway, this bundle of repressed energy got her ya-ya's out BIG TIME when she ran free in the yard for the second (but finally safe) time.

She rocked.

She rolled.

She nuzzled in the fresh dirt.

She scoped the perimeter of the yard for an exit route.

She dug herself a kind of nest in the dirt, and plopped herself down in it.

And I love her. She is part of my life, and I a part of hers. If she wants dirt, well honey, have at it. Knock your pink sock off, babes.

And at the end of it all, when she came onto the back porch at last, this is what my snowy white dog looked like. Can you say, "Bath time"?

Jimmy Carter indicts religious institutions for treatment of women

[simulposted at BlogHer.com]

Women and girls have been discriminated against for too long in a twisted interpretation of the word of God. Jimmy Carter, Former US president, Nobel Prize Winner

In 2000, Jimmy Carter left the Southern Baptist Church, where he has been a member for over 60 years. He and Roselyn distanced themselves from full participation , but he remained a deacon and still taught Sunday School. He held on to his denominational affiliation through many conflicts - including the denomination's anti-gay positions. Carter has made an astonishing statement as a result of his relationship with the Elders, a group of retired statesmen and stateswomen who have a global presence and wish to effect global change. The document says nothing about LGBT issues, and that is a tragic shortcoming. But it does say something about women, and in that it only came part way, that part is very strong indeed. It isn't enough, but it is something.

Carter has been active for some time with the New Baptist Covenant which seeks to join various branches of the Baptist church with a social agenda. The primary action there has been to bring races together. The Elder document speaks to the issue of women's inequality.

Here are excerpts from Carter's position paper on why he left The Southern Baptists.

At their most repugnant, the belief that women must be subjugated to the wishes of men excuses slavery, violence, forced prostitution, genital mutilation and national laws that omit rape as a crime. But it also costs many millions of girls and women control over their own bodies and lives, and continues to deny them fair access to education, health, employment and influence within their own communities.
.
The impact of these religious beliefs touches every aspect of our lives. They help explain why in many countries boys are educated before girls; why girls are told when and whom they must marry; and why many face enormous and unacceptable risks in pregnancy and childbirth because their basic health needs are not met...
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The truth is that male religious leaders have had - and still have - an option to interpret holy teachings either to exalt or subjugate women. They have, for their own selfish ends, overwhelmingly chosen the latter. Their continuing choice provides the foundation or justification for much of the pervasive persecution and abuse of women throughout the world. This is in clear violation not just of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights but also the teachings of Jesus Christ, the Apostle Paul, Moses and the prophets, Muhammad, and founders of other great religions - all of whom have called for proper and equitable treatment of all the children of God. It is time we had the courage to challenge these views.

Not a lot of room for interpretation there. This straightforward document had me in tears. How many women have yearned for how many years to hear these words spoken by men of influence with the religions of the world. Carter isn't the first, to be sure. But he is among the most visible and respected men to do so. And he even left a group that was dear to him. It was a move he described as "painful".

Women speaking about change can only take us so far. Men's voices joined to ours -- i.e. voices from the hierarchy -- strengthen the position by making it harder for other men to dismiss, and by waking up women who think all men hold the same position in their church.

Hannah, in her blog about faith and abuse, says:

If we can open this door, and speak of the injustice that is done in the realm of women? What is to stop the conversation from continuing on to Sexual abuse among other things. You won't have to worry about people accusing you of 'slandering a man of God' when you dare speak a word. WOW maybe common sense can be used, and uglies can be faced instead of hidden...
Carter Speaks out about Treatment of women of faith, and how it encourages domestic violence! What a man of GOD!

Wisewebwoman who is over 60, and has followed Carter for along time says:

I've always admired the man. Sure, he had his faults. But his work for Habitat for Humanity, his humility and his downright civility have endeared him to many.
And today, in his 85th year, he completely blows me over with this:

This shouldn't blow us away. It should be routinely heard. In hearing Carter's words, and experiencing my emotional reaction, I am aware how much I needed to hear a churchman say this. To say it straight out with no excuses. His comment highlights the lack of other comments.

Carter is part of a group called "The Elders" -- retired statesmen who can be activists without worrying about re-election. (Now there is a commentary in itself, eh?) Here he is speaking about The Elder's position. It is stunning in its directness.


Sarah is also moved by the statement.

I know, right?! My heart swelled as I read Carter’s recent statement condemning “discrimination against women and girls on grounds of religion or tradition.”...Women’s rights are human rights. It’s amazing to read this in a mainstream publication, along with a denouncement of “tradition” as justification for oppression.

Diana wonders if he could not have made more changes by staying within the SB framework, but says:

The R.E.M. hit song which made the expression of “Losing My Religion” an internationally recognized phrase, was written about unrequited love – and the expression itself comes from the American South meaning that a person has run out of patience. I think President Carter is suffering a broken heart after so many decades of having faith that the teachings he worshiped as a Southern Baptist could help make the world a better place, especially for women. As Carter notes in his essay, every religion suffers corruption at the hands of selfish people, and he has decided that the change needed in the religious tradition he called home cannot be realized form the inside. I appreciate that in the process Carter is demonstrating a way to examine sexism in our faith communities.

Charlotte talks about her long-standing admiration for Carter and adds:

Thank you, Jimmy Carter, for standing by your principles and your faith (as opposed to the religion you left) that sees us all equally as children of God. And thank you for being someone still worthy of the admiration that began when I was a little girl.

Blog after blog by women just reprints the whole essay by Carter. as if to say, "It speaks for itself."

I am so glad he wrote it, but sad that it feels so surprising. And sad that there are not more echoes. And sad that it took so long. And sad that we feel we have to say thank you, because so few religious male leaders have taken this position. And sad that all of our GLBT brothers and sisters can't enjoy the same mention.

But I can also feel pleased that Jimmy, at age 85, came through. At last.