Jimmy Carter leaves Souther Baptists over treatent 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

This week, 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 a few years ago, 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. This 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.

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...
.
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.

From Xu to You and Me.

Xu Niankui is a 76 year old retired teacher in Shanghai who just taught me a lesson. He carries thank you letters that he gives to people who offer their bus seats to him. The Shanghaiist reports that in 1997 a young girl gave him her seat. He spoke with her and found out where she went to school,and sent the school a note about how thoughtful she had been. The school recognized her for her act of kindness.

This was a revelation for Xu, who decided that if people realized how much a simple motion like giving up their seat meant to other people, they would do similar good deeds more.
Xu began bringing pre-written letters with him onto the bus, to hand out to those kind enough to be aware of others. Whenever someone offered their seat to him, he would give them his letter of thanks.

What a fabulous idea!

It is one thing to be thankful, to express gratitude, but quite another to be ready to actually hand someone a thank you note. I am imagining what my thank you note might say. I'd put it in a little card, maybe with a gift certificate for a cup of coffee or tea or whatever at Starbucks, or McDonald's or wherever.

Hello, stranger!
You have just done something kind. I want to thank you. Life is short and it can be full of big problems. But so many of those big problems seem smaller when someone reaches out with a kind word or action on even the smallest of occasions. So thank you for being compassionate and friendly today.
Best wishes!


It will be an interesting experiment. I could surely keep a couple of cards in my purse, zipped in their own area.

Another thing that I have started doing lately, after a friend encouraged me - is that when I receive excellent service, I ask to speak to that person's supervisor and I tell them how well their employee handled the situation. I have done this mostly with telephone customer service. Customer service is notoriously bad these days overall, but how much better could it be if we thanked good people for good service and furthermore let their bosses know?

Now, as a woman who waitressed her way through college and grad school, no amount of notes takes the place of a good tip. But a few words to the restaurant manager about exceptional service is a lovely add-on.

Kindness grows when it is fed. Gratitude is its best nourishment. Xu Niankui hopes that his letters inspire people to even more kindness. I will bet that he is right. He doesn't hand them out frequently -- only about 25 times in two years, but each time they have had meaning.

There is a fine quote by G.B. Stern. "Silent gratitude isn't much use to anyone."

In the past I have written about writing a gratitude list -- still a darned swell idea. But this is different. This is a proposition that we start living at the ready to actually express thanks in bigger ways. I suggest we turn into a Thank-You-Waiting-To-Happen.

How might that change how people treat us? What if we entered situations hoping that something lovely happens? I'll wager that changes the energy around us, and gives out spirits something different in a situation. It will communicate a compassionate heart. Energy like that radiates, changes things, makes little corners of the world gentler, better, finer.

-------------------------------------

How to Say Thank You in Hundreds of Languages

Pooch Trauma

Well, my darlin' pooch, Zoe, had to have surgery to have a growth removed from her left shoulder. Having had two dogs in the past with cancerous growths, I didn't want to ignore the fact that this growth was expanding -- so it was time to get it cared for --- fortunately it turned out to be benign. But now I am dealing with a confused dog who doesn't understand why she has a 6 inch in diameter shaved circle on her back, a 14-stitch incision, and a shaved mid-leg(that held the IV tube).

She hurts, and she doesn't know why. For the 1st four days she has been on pain pills. They end today. She'll be on antibiotics for about another week, and then will have her stitches removed.

The first night she was doped out, but in obvious pain. Finally she fell asleep. I called her "my crack-head Bichon" because she was so out of it. But when I awoke and looked at her back, I saw that she had scratched herself almost raw in a about a 2 inch area. Fortunately, her foot cannot reach the actual incision. I saw the raw spot at about 6am, an hour and a half before I could reach the vet. It was red and angry looking. So I reached for the A&D ointment -- the best solution I had at hand. She screamed when I touched the area. Literally screamed.

I reached the vet who said she had some spray that would help, and that I should tape a baby sock on her leg, so that she couldn't claw the skin.

I don't know where you live, but in my town it is not very easy to find a baby sock in white at 7.30 am. I called drugstores. Drugstores open at that hour had them in colors, not white.

I had a friend come over to watch Zoe while I went to the vet. Yet another friend went off in quest of white baby socks. Finally we all converged on the dog and got her socked up. Then we sprayed her. You might have thought we had gutted her. Turns out, from the scent of it -- the spray had an alcohol base. Of course she screamed. It must have hurt like hell to put alcohol on raw skin.

Nonetheless, whatever else was in it - steroids, I think -- seemed to bring some relief. At least the skin was not so red. Zoe didn't seem to mind the sock at all. She is used to getting dressed up --she had to wear coats in winter when she went out -- so maybe that helped her get used to the idea.

But after hearing her howl for a second time when I needed to spray her later that day, I called my vet again and told her that was not a good solution. She then recommended Gold Bond Medicated Powder, which has worked wonderfully. I do not have to touch the sore area, and it does not seem to irritate her when it goes on.

So, 5 days later she is still restless, still not very adventurous and still sore. I am babying her, but it is not possible to give her a big old cuddle because of her wound.

The dog has rendered me helpless. I want so badly to tell her why we did what we did, and that she will be better soon. But right now she is just puzzled and hesitant to be around me. She was a rescue dog, so I am afraid I may have to start the wooing process all over again. It just troubles me so much that after what she went through before I had her, that she has to go through pain now.

ahhhh, summer veggies

I took a long drive into the country today with my 86 year old cousin. We were in search of farm fresh berries and other treats of the farm stands. New England is full of little family farms with fruit and veg stands in front of them.

All spring we have been buying asparagus from a farmer that just put the asparagus out on a table with a cash box and a sign saying "Honor System: $3 a bunch. Please pay here."I never saw the farmer, but we bought his asparagus weekly until one day the season was over and there was no more table. I like that about the countryside here. The Honor System works.

Today's adventure netted small ears of fresh corn, beets the size of peaches that were surprisingly crisp and robust, a bunch of basil, little pickling sized cukes and fresh scallions. Then, to our delight - strawberries and raspberries from Kate, the slim, smiling grey haired, apple-cheeked woman who raises them organically.

But the mystery item that I did not get was kohlrabi. Wikipedia says that the name comes from German words meaning "cabbage" and "turnip", and that Kohlrabi is one of the most commonly eaten vegetables in Kashmir.


That being said....I have never had it. My mother never cooked it. I have never seen it on a menu. No one I have ever visited has served it.

It is the mystery vegetable.

It looks like alien food, beamed down from Saturn, or from a galaxy far far away.
I have looked up recipes on the net, but they seem improbably varied -- from use in a salad to a casserole with dill sauce to a baked and stuffed version. Has anyone out there actually eaten one of these?

They will probably appear in my dreams, singing kohlrabi songs, doing a kohlrabi dance.

I'll keep you posted.

Rant

I watched the BET Awards show because I was interested to hear the Michael Jackson tribute. Michael was a troubled boy, and a troubled man -- he was also a musical genius. His videos changed the face of American music videos. He was a consummate entertainer. He was also odd, eccentric and allegedly "strange" around children. Abused in childhood, stuck in childhood, obsessed with cosmetic surgery, he as a product of Hollywood -- and in some ways a product of the twisted energy of fans. He is reported to have been canny and clever in the business world, no shrinking violet there -- but in his personal life, there are some who say he was manipulative, others who say he was charming and genuine. Odds are they are all right.

Do you remember the movie "Rose"? It was a thinly veiled depiction of Janis Joplin's life. Rose actually dies on stage. It is a comment on her life. It becomes the "perfect" ending for a life lived in the intrusive spotlight. Die onstage. Fans roar.

Michael Jackson was never a man, always a commodity. Could he have stepped back from fame? I'm not sure he knew where that was. In any case, his death, like his life, made me sad.

The BET Awards chose to only depict him as a musical genius. I think that is OK. It may have made more sense for a separate event to take place, but that as it is, they worked hard to show his life and music in its purest form. After all, memorial services rarely trot out any negative sides of the departed.

So at this event, how do they precede the very moving remarks by Janet Jackson?

With one of the single most vulgar raps I have ever heard. In it Lil Wayne says repeatedly that he "wants to fuc* every girl in the world" while underage girls are dancing on stage. Here are the lyrics.

What the hell is BET thinking?

This isn't about Michael. This shouldn't precede Janet.

This shouldn't even be on the air, or in a recording.

How can any woman (let alone any man) sit still for such insulting, anti-woman, entirely sexist GARBAGE being sung? What does this say to our kids? What does it role model?

This isn't about sexuality, or love -- this is about the sexual abuse of women as chattel.

Michael Jackson would have been appalled.

I am contacting BET here. Feel free to join me.

Father's Day

I wish I had the kind of Dad whom I could just flat-out celebrate on Father's Day. It was a rough relationship.

Enough said about that. Dad passed away a few years ago, and he is beyond change on this plane.

I don't want to go through the rest of my life grounded in the hard stuff. There were also good times, times when we were fishing or gardening together, playing badminton, walking in the park, times when I was really young. I'm thankful for those times, and choose to hold them up to the light, fractured vessel though they may be in.

I can choose where I focus. Lingering with the unkindness only prolongs it. I know what it is, and have addressed it over the years in many ways. Now it is time to lay down those sorrows, to put down the burden of that suffering and to move on.

Dad, for what you could do, and did do that was healthy and loving -- I thank you. Happy Father's Day from the corner of how we got it right. There is room enough to stand here.

Hatred

It feels like the world has been morally burning these past few weeks. From the elation of Inauguration Day, we've all had to climb down from our hopes of some immediate transformation of the populace. We've instead found that those of us who felt joy are even more vulnerable to feeling the pain of recent acts of hatred. It is not my intent to catalog the acts -- we know what they are. From Dr. Tiller's killing in his church, to having a GOP activist suggest that an escaped gorilla could be one of Michelle Obama's ancestors or the fact that some conservative Christian groups oppose expanding the existing Hate Crimes Bill to include crimes against members of the LGBT community, to the killing of the security guard at the Holocaust Museum.

Death, legislative stonewalling or insult, it's all ugly. And it all comes from hatred.
The Southern Poverty Law Center,especially with their interactive map of hate groups probably keeps the best track of the development of hate groups. Click here for info about your state.

But after we read and learn and identify -- then what? What do we do about this national cancer? How do we face it spiritually without it contaminating our own souls by making us hate the hater? How do we lift ourselves from the sadness that this hate brings with it? How do we keep on keeping on...where do we point our souls?

It's a lot to take in, all this hatred...which is why we must not just take it in and let it roost inside our rib cages, breeding fear and rage. We must not let it be the evil gathering of evil ravens, brooding, making low guttural noises in our chests.

Hatred corrupts.

Vigilance and voice are both required. We must identify hatred where we see it, and we need to speak out about it when we do.

I remember attending a gay pride parade in my neighborhood when I lived in Queens.On one corner of a block was a group of haters - men and women of all ages who had been cordoned off by the police, presumably to protect them. They all carried vile signs, wishing death on the parade marchers. They all were screaming, their mouths and faces contorted with grimaces of hatred. They were screaming about how God didn't love gay people. They actually thought it was fine to be doing that -- to be wishing death, to be shouting lies about God. The parade was about to reach them. I wondered what the parade people would do.

The parade stopped. The marchers all got silent. They turned to face the haters, stood very still and said quietly, but as a large group "Shame, shame, shame on you." They them turned to face front and marched on. Every once in a while the parade would stop and do this. It was moving, affirming, and clean. They didn't let themselves take in the hatred, and they called it by its name.

I've had to turn to the words of peace makers whose hearts and souls inspire me. Here is what Desmond Tutu has said -- "There is no situation that is not transfigurable..there is no situation that is devoid of hope..." He speaks of forgiveness and says "It is abandoning my right to pay-back...When I forgive, I jettison that right of retribution and I open the door of opportunity to you to make a new beginning. That is what I do when I forgive you...I am not going to let you victimize me and hold me in the position where I have an anger against you, a resentment, and I'm looking for the opportunity to pay back."

I struggle for that ideal. I usually fall short. Yet I know in my heart it is the right direction. Looking for the compassionate choice makes more and more sense to me.

We do need to protect ourselves from acts of terror. We do need to protect ourselves from terrorists. But we need to not become them as well. When we take on torture as a form of pay-back,for example, we have crossed a big line.

The parents of brothers, one who is gentle and the other who is violent, may well treat them differently, but they love each no less. Both are still their children. And even if the violent one hits his brother, they are still brothers. Could a member of the military waterboard his/her own brother?

But that is what they did.

Every one on this earth is our brother or our sister. We do not get to choose which ones are and are not. I want to -- I want only the good ones, the nice and shiny ones. But my faith tells me that is not a choice I have.

I have to take the messy ones too...and the ones who think I am messy.

In the past week I have asked people somewhat randomly what is needed to change things, to reduce hatred on a personal level. The most common answer I had was "respect". A need to respect others, to not necessarily love them, but to respect that they have gotten where they are by a path that makes sense to them. And that in knowing that, there can be the beginning of dialog.

That probably isn't going to work with those on the extreme edge, but it may keep someone from getting to that edge.

The days are full of references that are veiled or outright racist, sexist, homophobic, classist, etc. How often in my day do I let something pass in conversation? It's time to step up the number of times I find a way to correct someone. Yes, for example, I do need to send all those emails back saying that Obama is not American,for example, with an appropriate factual comment. I do need to at least help someone understand that not everyone in their life shares their view. It is time to stop ignoring a foolish remark simply because it is foolish. It is also dangerous. It is also no service to my sister who sent it to let her go unchallenged.

And I need to hang on to hope. There is progress being made. Look around. The ever-present media in 2009 deluges us with information and negative images with such frequency that it can be easy to skip over the fact that we have made progress.


And that would be even more dangerous.

As long as we have hope,
we have direction,
the energy to move,
and the map to move by.
We have a hundred alternatives,
a thousand paths and infinity of dreams.
Hopeful, we are halfway to where we want to go;
Hopeless, we are lost forever. --Lao Tzu

1st African American woman rabbi ever!

According to Hebrew Union College, there are almost 400,000 Jewish African Americans among the 6,000,000 Jewish people in the US. One of them, Alysa Stanton, has just been ordained as the first African American woman rabbi in the whole world. This is a very big moment.

As I wandered through the blogosphere, trying to put my finger to the pulse on the reaction to this huge event, I was surprised by how underplayed it seemed to be. Has the Obama "first" made us ho-hum when a similar first happens? The comments I did find were overwhelmingly positive, however. I am ready to break out the champagne here, just from own personal happiness.

Alysa, now 45, the divorced mother of a 14 year old daughter, grew up as a Pentacostal Christian in a Jewish neighborhood in Cleveland. She converted to Reform Judaism over 20 years ago.

Cocoa Fly writes about the difficulties that Rabbi Stanton has encountered thus far and says:

Alysa Stanton reportedly is looking forward to the new phase in her life but she describes the journey up until this point as a "lonely journey." I could only imagine what she has endured. God bless her for staying strong and not allowing anyone or any -isms stop her from fulfilling her calling. The sista is an inspiration and an example of the diversity within the black community.

Quotes from her show a grounded, bright, and determined woman.

The Cincinnati Enquirer quotes her as saying: "I don't think about it a lot," she says of her milestone. "It's daunting. I'm honored. I'm in awe. And I have a healthy dose of reverence."


The New York Times marks these quotes: “I’m just a little person trying to pay my bills and raise a daughter and help others on their spiritual path,” said Ms. Stanton, a single mother who adopted an infant girl 14 years ago. --- and --- As she prepared for her ordination, Ms. Stanton said she did not want to be reminded of the ceremony’s historic importance. “I feel awe and a healthy dose of fear about being the first,” she said. “I try to keep it simple. I am a Jew, and I will die a Jew."

In August she will move to Greenville, NC to serve Bayt Shalom, one of the few congregations in the US that is both Conservative and Reform.
The Irving Havurahtells us that:

The irony of a black woman presiding over a white congregation in the deep south is not lost on Stanton.

"God has a sense of humor," she said.

CNN quoted this comment about Stanton's goals at Bayt Shalom, a small congregation of 60 families: ""My goals as a rabbi are to break down barriers, build bridges and provide hope. I look forward to being the spiritual leader of an inclusive sacred community that welcomes and engages all."

The CNN article goes on to say:

Before her rabbinical training, she studied social psychology, neuropsychology and interpersonal relationships at Lancaster University in England in 1983-84; received a Bachelor of Science degree in psychology in 1988; earned a Master of Education degree in counseling and multiculturalism in 1992 from Colorado State University; and received a professional counselor license in 1998.

Stanton worked as a student rabbi, served as a chaplain, had clinical pastoral training and promoted interfaith dialogue at Reform communities in the United States. She studied at the HUC-JIR campus in Jerusalem and then at Cincinnati, Ohio.

This may be a joyous time for her and for her congregation. But being the first at anything carries its share of problems as well. Stanton speaks of cold shoulders or worse from here to Israel. She describes how her daughter was ill-treated and scorned in Israel. But she just kept nurturing her daughter, coming back, persisting, living into the dream. She speaks in almost every interview of her faith keeping her strong.

Nia Online says, "Mazal Tov Rabbi Stanton! We wish you all the best!"

Merlene Davis who has spoken to Rabbi Stanton, said "The last time I talked with Alysa Stanton, she said she would have converted to Judaism and submitted to the rigors of becoming a rabbi even if she had been the 50,000th African-American woman to do so instead of the history-making first."

Jewlicious had this to say:

I think that her success stands not only as an example for all, but also as proof that in some ways, we’re really moving forward.

Dunking Rachael refers to Alysa Stanton as "A woman of Valor".

Jezebel quotes the Atlanta press:

One rabbi talked to the Atlanta Journal-Constitution about the conversion process:

He asks every convert: "Why would you ever want to be Jewish? Don't you know how many people hate us?"...The black converts respond differently, he said. They look at him as if to say: "Welcome to my world."

Click here for a transcript of a 10 minute interview with Rabbi Stanton.

Things are changing in America. The ordination of Alysa Stanton is a massive change in the symbology of the American religious landscape. When we think "Rabbi" in America, it isn't going to be just a white man or maybe a white woman anymore. One powerful image that can come to mind now is that of Alysa Stanton.




(also published in BlogHer.com)

Ethics quiz

I just got this in email and love it !!!


You are driving down the road in your car on a wild, stormy night, when you
pass by a bus stop and you see three people waiting for the bus:


1. An old lady who looks as if she is about to die.


2. An old friend who once saved your life.


3. The perfect partner you have been dreaming about.


Which one would you choose to offer a ride to, knowing that there could only be one passenger in your car? Think before you continue reading.


This is a moral/ethical dilemma that was once actually used as partof a job
application. You could pick up the old lady, because she is going to
die, and thus you should save her first. Or you could take the old friend because he once saved your life, and this would be the perfect chance to pay him back. However, you may never be able to find your perfect mate again.



AND THE ANSWER IS ....... ...... ...... .



The candidate who was hired (out of 200 applicants) had no trouble coming up with his answer. He simply answered:

'I would give the car keys to my old friend and let him take the lady to the hospital. I would stay behind and wait for the bus with the partner of my dreams.'


Sometimes, we gain more if we are able to give up our stubborn thought limitations.

Mood swinging upward

Today I feel hopeful and growing in health. I feel like I am trying to turn around the Queen Mary in mid ocean, but I need an improved disposition and am determined to have it. So there. Thanks to friends and folks who have messaged or emailed support. Big kisses, too.

To renew health, one must renew spirit. Getting the blues will only stand between me and health, so I am focusing on all those things I can do and do have, and feeling thankful. After all, the doc had said that my original illness was life threatening, so I really shouldn't complain that 3 weeks later I am still on oxygen. The doc is hopeful that I can get off it. I would have rather he said that he "guaranteed" it -- but he didn't. Big deal. I should slap that me in the butt and remind myself of grace and goodness.

So I am doing lung exercises (yogic) and taking care of myself. And feeling thankful, un-whiney and largely un-blue. Maybe that it why it is called "the pink of health" -- because it isn't blue?

Last night when I went to sleep I told myself that I had the right to be blue, depressed, self-absorbed, scared. But that by morning I had to wake with a plan. And a better mood. And I did.

I have the sorta blues

Color me sorta blue but rallying. I am still on oxygen. It is almost 3 weeks now and my doc still wants me to stay on it. My blood oxygen levels need to rise about 4 points before he is comfortable taking me off the oxygen. May I ask the prayers of any of you who pass by that my lungs take on whatever healing they need to become more robust so that I can ditch the oxygen tanks?

My friends have been great, and I am getting wonderful help from folks, but this spring's bronchitis/asthma/allergies really took their toll.

I'm visualizing happy lungs. Please join me.

Thanks and hugs.
Mata

4 birches with a side of rocks, please

This is it -- my new clump of birch trees. They will have the guy wires on them for their first month here, until they settle in. They are in my yard as part of a housewarming gift just now activated --- from my beloved friends John and Mark. I have always dearly loved birch trees. They have a special connection for Mark and John as well, so they are the ideal front yard tree addition here.

My first year here was all about the interior space. Now I am planting -- digging in -- bit by bit.

And this tree is the delightful beginning. The stones around it came from the hole dug for its roots. My yard is a New England rock farm. It has long been rumored that rocks are the #1 crop in NE, and I can vouch for the verity of that.

It gives me such joy to look out of my window and see these sweet trees every day.

asking for help -- and getting it

It's been a rough week. I ended up with a nasty bout of bronchitis/asthma. Blood level oxygen in lousy place. Long story shorter: On oxygen 24/7 for a week at home with steroids and antibiotics and a nebulizer to spritz asthma medicine into my lungs, and a fancy-schmantzy nasal inhaler. Doctor looking concerned and using the phrase "life threatening".

A week later - off steroids, done with antibiotics, still on 24/7 oxygen (but seen as a temporary measure). Blood level oxygen still not great, but very improved. Nebulizer and inhaler optional. Next appointment with doctor in 12 days. Doctor smiling and using words such as "improved".

It has been tough to ask for help, to call friends and ask for favors. My friends have been uniformly fabulous. They have offered their help. They call daily. They appear at my door with fresh fruit. They take my dog for walks. They let me know they are loving me.

Me.

This air-gasping, graying-haired, hopelessly flawed sick person.

They love me.

God is managing to wave big grace bouquets in front of my face like armloads of scent-heavy lilacs.




Look, you silly woman, look how much love is in the world -- what keeps you from smiling? What keeps you from gratitude? The lilac blossoms are everywhere, showering down, filling my room with color and scent and grace.

Thank you friends; thank you God.

Kindness, and the small things that matter the most

I once had the opportunity to thank an old teacher, years later, for saying something that had changed my life. He had no memory of the occasion. Yet my life was forever altered by what he had said -- altered for the better. Many of you may have also had that experience -- being thanked for something that in your mind was trivial, but in the thanker's mind was huge.

We think we understand the weight of our words and the import of our actions. We are wrong. Everything we say to each other, every decision we make, has import -- and it is often more than we would imagine. Do you recall that old Christmas movie with Jimmie Stewart, "It's a Wonderful Life"? The main character does not realize how his life has touched so many others until he is shown by an angel. How stunned he was that he had meant something to people. That he mattered.


The truth is, we all had a chance to matter today --to make someone's day better, or worse -- or to help move the world along in some small way. Did we do it? Today I'd love if we could all do something wonderful. Look around you right now for someone you appreciate. Do they know it? Tell them. Just blurt it out. Be silly or sappy or blunt. Just tell them.

Did you get good customer service today? Ask to be connected to that person's boss so that you may compliment them.

Look at what you are going to buy in the market today -- and look at the market that you chose. Does what you buy and where you shop reflect your real values? If you drove a few more miles, could you find things and places that suit your values better?

Improve your day today, by improving someone else's. It matters when you buy fair trade items. It maters if you are kind to the beggar. It matters if you speak gently to someone today.

We blaze through our days thinking of all those things we have to do. Our mind is everywhere but here now. My 86 year old cousin Ida had something to say about that the other day.

You know all those people who keep running around like they are crazy, saying, We have to go there. We have to go here. We need to get this. We better see that. Well I have two words for them.....................calm down!

In the business of our days we often forget to matter. We forget to leave a kind imprint on the world. We forget to say thank you. Yet all those things matter a great deal to those who receive such kindnesses from us.

there are no coincidences

As I have said before, I am planning to build a meditation wall/pergola/area in my back 1/2 acre. (see article about Queen Latifah at the link.)

I have been looking at stone and vines and all sorts of things. I have decided on a stone mason -- a man called Joe that I grew up with. I hadn't seen him in 40 years. I decided to have him build the wall, because there seemed to be a basic goodness about him. I like how he spoke of his wife of 34 years and his family. I went to their house to see some rock. On the way back from scoping out the stones, I looked over into a field on Joe's property. There were three large rocks, four young-ish trees and a lawn chair. I joked "And is that your meditation space?". "Yes, in fact it is," he said. He's been meditating for decades.

What are the odds that I would move back to this very small town and end up contracting a stone mason who meditates and "gets it" about what I am trying to do? We spoke about Zen, the Tao, chaos theory and string theory for a few minutes...and I knew he was the right one to build this space.

April 29 -30 --national Poetry Month - The New Women

Here are women whose biographies are yet to be written, whose songs are yet to be all sung. Welcome them.

April 28th - National Poetry Month - Edna St Vincent Millay

An Ancient Gesture

I thought, as I wiped my eyes on the corner of my apron:
Penelope did this too.
And more than once: you can't keep weaving all day
And undoing it all through the night;
Your arms get tired, and the back of your neck gets tight;
And along towards morning, when you think it will never be light,
And your husband has been gone, and you don't know where, for years.
Suddenly you burst into tears;
There is simply nothing else to do.

And I thought, as I wiped my eyes on the corner of my apron:
This is an ancient gesture, authentic, antique,
In the very best tradition, classic, Greek;
Ulysses did this too.
But only as a gesture,—a gesture which implied
To the assembled throng that he was much too moved to speak.
He learned it from Penelope...
Penelope, who really cried.

--Edna St Vincent Millay (1892-1950)



Biography and Bibliography
Extensive links to poems

26th and 27th of April - National Poetry Month - Ogden Nash

Sorry to have missed a day! Hopefully these cute bits of fluff by Ogden Nash will cheer you.


Portrait of the Artist as a Prematurely Old Man

It is common knowledge to every schoolboy and even every Bachelor of Arts,
That all sin is divided into two parts.
One kind of sin is called a sin of commission, and that is very important,
And it is what you are doing when you are doing something you ortant,
And the other kind of sin is just the opposite and is called a sin of omission
and is equally bad in the eyes of all right-thinking people, from
Billy Sunday to Buddha,
And it consists of not having done something you shuddha.
I might as well give you my opinion of these two kinds of sin as long as,
in a way, against each other we are pitting them,
And that is, don't bother your head about the sins of commission because
however sinful, they must at least be fun or else you wouldn't be
committing them.
It is the sin of omission, the second kind of sin,
That lays eggs under your skin.
The way you really get painfully bitten
Is by the insurance you haven't taken out and the checks you haven't added up
the stubs of and the appointments you haven't kept and the bills you
haven't paid and the letters you haven't written.
Also, about sins of omission there is one particularly painful lack of beauty,
Namely, it isn't as though it had been a riotous red-letter day or night every
time you neglected to do your duty;
You didn't get a wicked forbidden thrill
Every time you let a policy lapse or forget to pay a bill;
You didn't slap the lads in the tavern on the back and loudly cry Whee,
Let's all fail to write just one more letter before we go home, and this round
of unwritten letters is on me.
No, you never get any fun
Out of things you haven't done,
But they are the things that I do not like to be amid,
Because the suitable things you didn't do give you a lot more trouble than the
unsuitable things you did.
The moral is that it is probably better not to sin at all, but if some kind of
sin you must be pursuing,
Well, remember to do it by doing rather than by not doing.


----------------------



Reflections On Ice Breaking

Candy
Is dandy
But liquor
Is quicker

Ogden Nash (1902-1971)



Biography and Bibliography

April 25th - National Poetry Month - Theodore Roethke

The Waking

by Theodore Roethke



I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
I feel my fate in what I cannot fear.
I learn by going where I have to go.

We think by feeling. What is there to know?
I hear my being dance from ear to ear.
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.

Of those so close beside me, which are you?
God bless the Ground! I shall walk softly there,
And learn by going where I have to go.

Light takes the Tree; but who can tell us how?
The lowly worm climbs up a winding stair;
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.

Great Nature has another thing to do
To you and me, so take the lively air,
And, lovely, learn by going where to go.

This shaking keeps me steady. I should know.
What falls away is always. And is near.
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
I learn by going where I have to go.


--Theodore Roethke (1908-1963)


Biography, Bibliography, Links

April 24th - National Poetry Month -- Garrett Hongo

Something Whispered in the Shakuhachi



by Garrett Hongo

No one knew the secret of my flutes,
and I laugh now
because some said
I was enlightened.
But the truth is
I'm only a gardener
who before the War
was a dirt farmer and learned
how to grow the bamboo
in ditches next to the fields,
how to leave things alone
and let the silt build up
until it was deep enough to stink
bad as night soil, bad
as the long, witch-grey
hair of a ghost.

No secret in that.

My land was no good, rocky,
and so dry I had to sneak
water from the whites,
hacksaw the locks off the chutes at night,
and blame Mexicans, Filipinos,
or else some wicked spirit
of a migrant, murdered in his sleep
by sheriffs and wanting revenge.
Even though they never believed me,
it didn't matter--no witnesses,
and my land was never thick with rice,
only the bamboo
growing lush as old melodies
and whispering like brush strokes
against the fine scroll of wind.

I found some string in the shed
or else took a few stalks
and stripped off their skins,
wove the fibers, the floss,
into cords I could bind
around the feet, ankles, and throats
of only the best bamboos.
I used an ice pick for an awl,
a fish knife to carve finger holes,
and a scythe to shape the mouthpiece.

I had my flutes.

*

When the War came,
I told myself I lost nothing.

My land, which was barren,
was not actually mine but leased
(we could not own property)
and the shacks didn't matter.

What did were the power lines nearby
and that sabotage was suspected.

What mattered to me
were the flutes I burned
in a small fire
by the bath house.

All through Relocation,
in the desert where they put us,
at night when the stars talked
and the sky came down
and drummed against the mesas,
I could hear my flutes
wail like fists of wind
whistling through the barracks.
I came out of Camp,
a blanket slung over my shoulder,
found land next to this swamp,
planted strawberries and beanplants,
planted the dwarf pines and tended them,
got rich enough to quit
and leave things alone,
let the ditches clog with silt again
and the bamboo grow thick as history.

*

So, when it's bad now,
when I can't remember what's lost
and all I have for the world to take
means nothing,
I go out back of the greenhouse
at the far end of my land
where the grasses go wild
and the arroyos come up
with cat's-claw and giant dahlias,
where the children of my neighbors
consult with the wise heads
of sunflowers, huge against the sky,
where the rivers of weather
and the charred ghosts of old melodies
converge to flood my land
and sustain the one thicket
of memory that calls for me
to come and sit
among the tall canes
and shape full-throated songs
out of wind, out of bamboo,
out of a voice
that only whispers.

--Garrett Hongo (1951- )


Brief Bio
Brief list of poems