Clinton and race-baiting

In her recent comments about the elections, Hilary said

"I have a much broader base to build a winning coalition on," she said in an interview with USA TODAY. As evidence, Clinton cited an Associated Press article "that found how Sen. Obama's support among working, hard-working Americans, white Americans, is weakening again, and how whites in both states who had not completed college were supporting me."

Couple this with her comments about being more "electable", which has often been a code for more "white" and her attack that Obama has not repudiated Rev Write enough..and a nasty little profile starts to emerge.

Check this link for more details.

Lobstah!!!

There it was..a sign saying "LOBSTER TRUCKLOAD SALE $8.99/LB."

I drove by a few times before turning into the lot. Soon I was walking out with a cooking them and enjoying dipping them into melted butter.

I wouldn't butcher a cow myself for burgers, but I have managed to somehow delude myself into thinking that killing a lobster is not the same thing. I thanked them for their lives before putting them to sleep. There are two or three ways that are regarded as "humane" ways to deal with cooking a lobster --

1. "hypnotize it" first. To hypnotize a lobster, stand it on its head with its claws laid out in front of it and its tail curled inward. Rub your hand up and down the carapace making sure to rub between the eyes.

2. Cool the live lobster in the freezer for 20 minutes.Being cold blooded, chilling the lobster helps reduce nerve function and metabolic activity. When it is fully chilled, the lobster will stop moving. After chilling split it along its length where it has two chains of nerve ganglia, with interconnecting nerves along its body under the shell.

3. Pay about 4 grand for a CrustaStun lobster killing machine that zaps the lobster with electric impulses.

I loved the lobsters, as a native New Englander will. It brings back fond memories of outings with my folks, warm summers of my youth, meanderings on the beach in Maine. They were, quite honestly, yummy.

Kiss the Earth

Kiss the Earth
By Thich Nhat Hanh

Walk and touch peace every moment.
Walk and touch happiness every moment.
Each step brings a fresh breeze.
Each step makes a flower bloom.
Kiss the Earth with your feet.
Bring the Earth your love and happiness.
The Earth will be safe
when we feel safe in ourselves.

Lovin' my house

Well, no sign of any more pranks -- whew!!!

My favorite moment in the month is when I send in my mortgage check. To actually own my own home after so many years of apartment life is just wonderful. I just got a new camera, so will send pics soon. Spring is finally coming to Massachusetts, even though two nights ago we had frost.

I have been busily thinking about what sort of gardening I will take on -- small efforts this year, more next. But I already have a promise of some blackberry bushes from my roofer, and some gooseberry bushes from my cousin. The back yard - almost a half acre's worth of land has an older pipe clothes line. I think it is about to be a grape arbor. I will splurge on some big birch trees for the front yard.

And, the good news is that I have enough accumulated bonus points on one of my credit cards that I can get a $100 gift certificate from Home Depot, towards a grill/smoker for the back patio. I have already put out the cast iron furniture that the sellers were kind enough to leave for me (couch, 2 chairs, coffee table, 3 side tables.)

Now I'll head for the nursery soon and get a bunch of container plants and hanging plants. That will be the big spend for now -- butI will wait a couple of weeks for the warmth to really arrive.

In the meantime, I spend time feeling lucky and delighted with my home. I have had so many people over for coffee or meals or company -- it is a new and better life for me than apartment life had become.

Upsetting delivery

I was out of town for 5 days. When I got back I found white trash bag with a dead and decomposing animal in it just to the left of my front door. It could not have been thrown there -- my door is 20 feet from the road and there is no sidewalk. Someone would have had to deliberately place it there. I am very unsettled. I have just moved here, have had no negative conversations with anyone. My neighbors are very pleasant. I am confused and just plain unsettled. What sort of sick so-and-so would do such a thing?

Tradition - healing or not? : Passover on the one hand, and the Pope on the other

This is cross-posted in part from my column on BlogHer.com
I confess. I love meaningful ritual. I look forward to Passover seder with the same core group of people every year, reading the same liturgy, eating the same food. I don't regard this as spiritually stultifying, I see it as connecting me with eons of people and families around the world who recognize these nights as special and sacred. The Passover ritual, like all rituals, grew from a story -- in this case the story of the Israelites slavery and exodus and eventual entry into the Promised Land. It is not only the history of a people, but it is a moving tale with every emotion wrapped up in it -- from exultation to sorrow to determination, fear and triumph. It also asks questions every year -- asking the community to define itself over and over again. And it asks the community of believers to not forget who they are or where they came from.`

The world moves so quickly -- with so many changes -- that I find rituals, as such as the seder, to be a real linchpin in my year. I love innovation, and treasure creativity, but also feel very comforted by the familiar elements of ritual. I like to know, for example, that if I was not to attend seder for a few years that when I came back I would recognize it.

I do not attend seders our of obligation. I attend them because I love them and they make me happy.

There is almost an anti-tradition mindset that appears among some of us who are left or far left. We have seen the damage that unquestioned tradition can produce. The sturm und drang of unquestioned patterns can evolve into habits that are prejudicial and damaging. And, heaven knows, oreganized religion has done more than its share of harm and committed more than its share of atrocities. But it is important to save what is good and healing and whole and of value.

Which brings me to the Pope. Benedict the 16th visited New York while I was there. The Pope accepted an invitation to visit a synagogue which makes him the first Pope to visit an American synagogue. He was given a silver seder plate. In return he gave them a replica of a manuscript page in Hebrew that is in the Vatican library. (Why a replica? I found that troubling. Is that just me? The Vatican library could not give up one page of original Hebrew manuscript?)

I want religious persons to converse, to dialogue, to understand each other. But for Pope Benedict (known as an arch-conservative cleric) to visit a synagogue has left the media to proclaim that this symbolizes some sort of deep rapprochement between Judaism and Catholicism.

Here is his entire address (per The Catholic Register)

Dear Friends,

Shalom! It is with joy that I come here, just a few hours before the celebration of your Pesah, to express my respect and esteem for the Jewish community in New York City. The proximity of this place of worship to my residence gives me the opportunity to greet some of you today. I find it moving to recall that Jesus, as a young boy, heard the words of Scripture and prayed in a place such as this. I thank Rabbi Schneier for his words of welcome and I particularly appreciate your kind gift, the spring flowers and the lovely song that the children sang for me. I know that the Jewish community make a valuable contribution to the life of the city, and I encourage all of you to continue building bridges of friendship with all the many different ethnic and religious groups present in your neighborhood. I assure you most especially of my closeness at this time, as you prepare to celebrate the great deeds of the Almighty, and to sing the praises of Him who has worked such wonders for his people. I would ask those of you who are present to pass on my greetings and good wishes to all the members of the Jewish community. Blessed be the name of the Lord!



That night I watched a nationally syndicated Catholic TV show on cable that commented upon the visit and ended with prayers that this visit and glimpse of Benedict XVI would inspire Jews to convert. So much for rapprochement.



The New York Times stated:

Some Jewish leaders have expressed hope that the pope might use either of these occasions to announce a change to the prayer for the conversion of the Jews, which many Jews find objectionable, that is part of the Good Friday liturgy in Latin. Father Massa said that is unlikely. He said an “interpretation” of that prayer could be issued before or after the Pope’s trip, but there are no assurances.

So on the one hand I have Passover seder, a ritual of deep value that many people my age and/or my politics have glossed over or left behind -- and on the other hand I have what looks like an innovation, but is just a hollow replica -- right down to the gift -- that is getting media praise.

Sometimes I think the world is upside down.

How do we "keep the good stuff" and keep perspective on the right meaning of innovations? What do you think about religious rituals? Do you find any meaning there? Do you think there is any notable improvement in relations across religions in any way?

I see improvements in spiritual/religious people becoming better able to love each other -- but institutions seem so hidebound, so self-preserving. Yet without them, would the repository of collective spiritual memory not fade?

spring

I see the vaguest signs of spring here in mid New England. I saw my first crocus yesterday and my first robin. While that is not such a big news item as one might imagine, it always fills me with a particular sort of joy.

I am also fed up with winter, and am longing for lazy nights outside on my patio, the sound of tree-peeper frogs, fireflies and growing things. I m in the midst of garden planning and am having to restrain myself from building a jungle in New England. Still, I am having much fun.

I see spring as an anti-coccoon season, one in which I feel most like a newly unwound butterfly, all wet and wondering and free, my wings still crinkly from having been snugly wrapped, but still full of color and promise for flights to come.

I will soon arrange for the remaining fence to be constructed around my yard so that I can have (joy of all joys) a dog! I am definitely going to get an adult rescue mutt, so that will be fabulous. I absolutely have pooch-deprivation symptoms.

I hope your spring is springing well...

update

Hi folks..I have been blogging at BlogHer as Contributing Editor in the Religion and Spirituality section. I'll be getting back here, too, soon. Life is good -- I am settled in to the new house, loving the feeling of home. My house has been full of more traffic in the past 3 months than my old aprtment was in 3 years, which is a huge joy for me. I have already had stay-over guests from Colorado, New York and Pennsylvania. Every day I get calls or visits or take jaunts with friends here. At last I have the sense of real community that I have missed for so long.

Life in NYC can be fabulous, but I am a small town gal at heart, and it was time to surrender my urban anonymity.It had outworn its usefulness.

Anyway, come se my latest post on BlogHer and tell me what you think -- it is all about how I believe we have lost a certain important element of democracy due to our online livs...ah well, cotroversy , controversy! I hope it results in good dialog!!

Hugs to you all.

I'm back.

I was just released from a 5 day hospital stay. For news :

click here.

All prayers welcomed.

sigh

It's been a while...Moving Right Along Here

Well, I moved ..yahooooo! My computer did not make the switchover with much grace, and the local cable company refused to link with it as it had an "antiquated operating system". So, I had to buy a new computer -- this time a loverly MAC!! I've been plying catch-up ever since. So let's do that now, here as well.

I moved to Massachusetts at the tail end of a blizzard. The snow in my driveway had been plowed and was about two feet high around the yard. I was surrounded with cardboard boxes and had a friend here to help me get past the first swing of unpacking. Two days later I had a workable kitchen and a manageable bedroom and paths around the rest of the house.

Then came Christmas. More unpacking. New Years. More unpacking. Then it was time to empty the 3, count 'em THREE storage rooms that I have been renting. So just when things actually semed to be taking shape here, I moved in the monsterous load of things from storage. Most of it is Ebay-food, which is the point of saving it. But now my basement, my large back room and a small storage room have gone from pristine to packed, and I still have to settle the livingroom with a combination of mine and the family furniture. It will be fun, it is just taking a while. I do look forward to the day when my day will not be "about the move'. That won't happen for a while, so I am doing my best to savor the steps in the process.

Yesterday, when my garbage disposal backed up and flooded my double sink, turning my kitchen counter into a version of Niagra Falls, was not among the best days. I found a good and fair plumber who fixed the blockage today..and all the problems it was connected to...and who took away the garbage disposal. I am better off without it. I'll compost now.

So things are taking shape and adjustments are getting made as my new life starts to form.

I love that friends have already just stopped by, that I ran into someone I knew from childhood who was taking a walk past my house yesterday, that another old friend has come over to help a few times --- and suddenly I am aware that I moved into a functioning community with people here that I care about who also care about me. It is a lovely feeling, lovely indeed.

I should be packing or shredding

Well, the move is finally ON. After a 3 day snow-delay due to blizzards in New England, tomorrow is THE day. I am surrounded with boxes and detritus -- scraps of this and that are everywhere. What can be boxed, pretty much is boxed. Some things I am leaving for the movers to pack. I am just that finished. I should be sitting dutifully at my shredder, but NO..I am bushed. I will pack "things to be shredded" and move them. And there are a ton of things in that category. I'm talking checks from 1982. That is the worst I've found so far anyway.

I am so tired of sorting, choosing, deciding. I just want this over. But then there is the unpacking to look forward to --- somehow that doesn't seem as arduous, as it at least puts me at HOME.

Wow -- HOME -- my own home. I keep getting all verklempt. I knew it would feel special. I didn't know it would feel so deeply special.

I suddenly feel my life to this point had serious periods of exile in it -- and I didn't even know it. Could it be that I was wandering in a desert without realizing it? It had become so familiar....

I now crave the stuff of place-attachment. I want to own a bird-feeder. I want a big old goofy pooch. I want to plant a tree or two or three. I want my name on an outside mailbox.

And in about 36 hours....that is where I will be.

Holy cats.

When is memory also message?

(I am cross-posting this from Blogher.com where I entered it last week.)

As everyone knows who has read my entries here and on my own blog, I am in the process of moving –and discovering what a spiritual learning curve it is to buy a home in the town in which I had grown up. I am shuttling between two places right now – my almost-boxed up apartment and my house 200 miles away. The official move is Dec 15-16. I am deep into “sorting mode”. I opened up a box that had been in my garage since two years after my Mom had died, 11 years ago. I pulled out a birthday card. It was covered with pink roses and ribbon and said “Happy Birthday Beloved Daughter.” I braced myself for tears when I would see my Mom’s signature.

But it wasn’t there.

This was a card from my Dad, a man with whom I had had only glimpses of a good relationship during his life. And here was this remnant of one of those tiny but precious moments. I remembered the year. My father had, as usual, forgotten my birthday, although it was two days after his own. I called him the next day and told him that he had forgotten, but (in a rare act of assertiveness with him) I told him that he could still send a card.

He said that he was sure Mom had left some unused cards around, and he would try to find them. She always had cards on ready-reserve. “No guarantees, though,” he added with characteristic gruffness.

I developed an instant backbone and said. “Look, I am your only kid. Go to the drugstore. Pick out a card just for me. One that says the truth. It is not a lot to ask. A card – chosen with me in mind – that’s all. I deserve that much, don’t I?”

A few days later, it arrived. It had two pages of Hallmark-written prose. It spoke of seeing the future in my face when I was born, and added …”Now I know that we are living in that future, and that it is very different than I imagined it would be. It hasn’t all been beautiful. Some of it has been scary, and painful, and sad.” Then it went on to say, in the words of the Hallmark writer, but from the heart of my often brutal father, it said, regardless of what happened, that he would love me. He signed it “Forever, Your Pop”.

I sat in the garage and just wept at the reminder of the best side of him – the part that ‘got it’ about me and him and life in general. The part of him that he lost when he lost his way as a father and a man.

And I remembered calling him and thanking him right away – but it was after his moment had passed, and his heart had closed up again. Still, I had seen it open, and no one could take that from me – not even him. We had both remembered the core of a better time, and that was never to be changed.

I think that we all need to be alert to such moments – such fragile miniature epiphanies -- places where the light manages to squeeze in – little blips on life’s horizons that are worth their weight in gold and diamonds.

And so why do I find this loving card now? Why does it surface during moving and relocating? Maybe it is a reminder that not all my hometown paternal memories are bad.

But I think it is other than that.

I think my Dad is somewhere in the Great Ether having another moment. Sending me a card about futures that change, lives that don’t end where we thought they would, but lives where love, at ground level, goes on. Love goes on past life, past lost ways, past broken hearts, mistakes, errors and salvaged dreams. And love that rushes, unbidden and full of promise, into lives that are undergoing reinvention.

Thanks, Pop. And here is “Forever backatcha”.

I'm getting there !

Well, I finalized the movers yesterday, gave them a deposit and set the move date. They will finish up the packing I chose not to do (mirrors, glass covered art, etc) and will load the truck on Dec 15th to move me on Dec 16th. now THAT felt real. Dealing with the movers.

They left after having been the third company yesterday to give me a walk-through estimate. I said goodbye at the door, sat down and started to cry. I do that lately -- just sit down and blubber a bit. I think it is just the release of stress, as there are no big sadness-laden feelings with it at all. Just relief. OK the mover is set -- BWAHHhhhhhh. On to the next hurdle.

There are a lot of hurdles. Next was getting my self-insured self insured in Massachusetts, which is complicated as far as transfers go, but doable. Then arranging to pick up unauctioned goods in Boston. Then calling my landlady to arrange details of my departure. She has been such a sweet soul. Then the usual bout of "new address" cards...then getting things like phone, cable, utilities turned off in one place and turned on in another.

I am surrounded by lists.

To Do Lists . To Buy Lists. Get at Home Depot Lists.

I have to go back and forth a bit to make sure work is progressing as it should in Massachusetts and that the workers have no need for more supplies. I'm bringing a second carload with me to save on moving costs. Every dime counts.

Meanwhile, I still have consultation projects. It's nice to have even a trickle of money coming in. Gratitude abounds!

So that is what is occupying my particular mood these days -- that and the urge for a nap.

A New Life Begins to Show Itself

I have given copies of my house keys to the two people (both of whom I know quite well) working on my house and to my best friend in town. I will be in and out during the next month, dividing my time between keeping things rolling in the new place, and packing up the old place.

At one point I was in the living room and when I walked into the kitchen, my friend was standing at the door, just there to see how I was doing. An old neighbor of my parents' stopped in. My cousin came over for coffee. These are the elements of everyday life for most people, and they never happen for the deep urban dweller. The "drop overs", between grocery shopping and fixing dinner -- the "stop-bys" for a cup of friendly coffee.

I love these rural civilities, and immediately became awash in memories of my mother, wiping her hands on her apron (or her dungarees as she called her jeans) on her way to the door to let in Avie, the neighbor, for his spontaneous and welcomed mooch of conversation and coffee. That was back in the day when people were part of the flow of each other's lives. ..when getting together did not have to be a production event complete with Martha Stewart place settings.

There were times when folks stopped by because they just made too many brownies, so here -- have some. Or because the garden had yielded way too many tomatoes, so here -- have some. Or the phone rang because someone was on their way to the store and would have to drive by your place, so did you need anything? Or you wanted company, so hey -- want to help me pick out paint?

Maybe this kind of life sounds familiar to those of you in less urban settings than I. I have lived either in Manhattan or within stone's throw of it for 25 years. Moving to semi-rural, college town-ish, educated, blue-collar, democrat-voting, family farming western Massachusetts is like dipping back in time for me. I love it.

I cannot begin to say how odd it feels to own a home. I can say that I sat in my kitchen, made myself a cup of coffee, sat down, looked out the back window into the yard to see black squirrels gamboling about the huge pine trees and thought -- "What a pretty yard this is."

I paused and started to cry as I thought -- "and it is mine."

Life. Amazing stuff.

It is official at last. I am a home owner.

I just got a call from my attorney. The funds have arrived. Tomorrow the deed will be registered. Tomorrow I drive to Massachusetts and walk through the door of my very own home. My first very-own-home ever. It has taken a year to find it and stumble through the financial disaster of the US banking industry. But stumble successfully I have; and I now have a home. At the crack of dawn tomorrow I will go to my car (which is loaded with stuff), drive to Massachusetts, pick up the key and go home.

Thank you so much -- all of you out here -- who have endured this year-long adventure with me. Your support has been so very extraordinary. I'd hug you all if I could.

I'm going to overlap renting here and mortgaging there for a month while work gets done on the new house. It's easier to have the whole interior painted, carpets ripped up etc if there is no one living there. And paint I must - every room in the house -- and I mean every room..is yellow. Bright yellow, pale yellow, mustard yellow -- some shade of yellow.

The sellers have been wonderful. Three children are selling the home on behalf of their father who is in a nursing home. They could not have been more cooperative. The house is immaculate. There is not a crumb in a drawer. The garage floor looks like it is brand new. They left enough random pieces of furniture (after asking me what I needed) so that the transition from here to there would be easy --a table and chairs, bed, lamps, love seats. As I have never owned a home they left the snowblower, wheelbarrow, ladder, garden tools, lawn mover, patio furniture. They could not have been cleaner, kinder or more understanding.

Thanks again to all who hung in here with me and read all my ceaselessly nattering posts about the process.

I'll be there for Christmas. My oh my -- what an Advent it has been and is becoming.

Still no closing

So I drove to Massachusetts - about 150 miles down the road my attorney called to say that the closing may be later in the day, but that it would happen, so "keep on driving'. I did.

The closing didn't happen.

I waited all day for the funds to arrive from the lender, through the Fed and into my attorney's escrow account. I signed documents. Drank coffee. Drove around. Did a final walk through.

No money.

They tell me the lender said they released it late. One blames one, the other blames the other.

Monday is a bank holiday in Massachusetts (Vet's Day).

I drove back 200 miles to NJ.

Tuesday I get to try again.

I called the contractors and held them all off AGAIN.

Maybe Tuesday I'll have a house -- oh, but the town I am buying the house in does not register home purchases on Tuesday.

I asked my attorney if he could do it at the next town over, and he said yes, he would.


All of any of this remains to be seen.

Tune in later for the ongoing saga.

Happy Diwali!

To all who celebrate this lovely holiday, may it bring you and your family much joy!

For those who would like to learn more, Wikipedia.com has lots of info under Diwali.

The saga sags along

It's been a rough week. In addition to having my mortgage vanish due to no fault of my own, I heard from my realtor and my mortgage broker that banks and lending institutions have become increasingly skittish and are turning down well-qualified people left and right -- at alarming rates during the past few weeks. As a self-employed consultant, I wondered how a nervous bank would react to my profession. Plus I was just nervous after the last incident. Everyone kept insisting I was a "strong and stable applicant" for a mortgage, but in this crazy market, who could predict? My own realtor who has been in the biz for a long time said she couldn't predict.

So I have not been sleeping well, have been re-examining whether or not I should move, have been planning for what I might do if I could not get a loan (invade my retirement funds???) and on and on. I have been moments away from breaking out into hives. The phone rings and I leap. I dream about wandering.

I have been calling my mortgage broker and my realtor every day. I have been IMing with friends about it, talking on the phone and face to face with friends about it, trying to get my mind off it -- and packing boxes anyway. I have been praying. I have tried to be hopeful.

Meanwhile I have put contractors on hold who had been scheduled to do work ...sigh.

And I bought some boxes and packed some more. Packing became a faith statement. If my stuff was in boxes, I must be going somewhere.

I asked God if this was a message or just a fluke. Should I be learning something about this other than how to go with the flow? Or was flowing the lesson?

Leave it to me and my Olympian capacity for worry ---not only did I fret about the mortgage, but I got to worry that I was missing whatever message might be attached .

I decided to just methodically get through each day -- doping one "progress-enhancing thing" a day, as hard as that was. I wanted to keep the ship of my life pointed toward newness.

It sucked. I wish I could be rosy about it. It sucked. It sucked going through it without a life partner, too, while I am bitching about suckiness. But OK, maybe that was the lesson. That I could get through it alone -- or actually not alone -- because of my superlative support network of friends who have upheld me in this process.Maybe that was part of the message,to shut the heck up and see how lucky I really am -- ya' think? I always need to hear that part.

People are dying of hunger, being torn apart by war and disease, and I feel like a mess because I am waiting for a mortgage? How dare I! I am lucky to have this as a problem, fortunate beyond measure to have this as a problem. Mata, I said to myself, shut up and pack a box.

So that is what I was doing when my mortgage broker called this afternoon to say that we have a new lender and that we are now aiming for a Friday closing.

Amen, folks, amen.

Well, it almost worked

I was driving to Massachusetts to close on my house. When I got to the town, I called the friends where I was staying -- they said my realtor had called and wanted me to call her back -- no message. This did not sound good. I pulled the car into a parking area and called her on my cell.

I -- like 70% of all Americans -- used a mortgage broker to find me a mortgage. My broker was a respectable operation with multiple office in the state. Allegedly, one of the principals of the main office in the group (not the one I was using) did something they weren't supposed to do and the state levied a "Cease and Desist" order for all offices in the group while they investigated,with instructions that any banks dealing with this company that had approved mortgages in the pipeline should just go ahead and fulfill the mortgages. All the banks did that -- except for the bank my mortgage was going to be with --- they did not fulfill any of their mortgages and backed out of all pending deals because of the Cease and Desist.


So there I was at the 11th hour. No mortgage. I spent the next day in Massachusetts rounding up what I needed to do to get this all rolling again. It should take a week or two to get another mortgage. I went ahead and put my money in escrow for the house at my attorney's. The seller agreed to wait, as I am obviously mortgage worthy and this debacle is not my fault. My attorney said that in 30 years of being in the biz he has never seen anything like this.

Oh goodie. I am unique.

I am now just going on faith that it will work out. I don't think that everything happens for a reason -- thank God -- or I would be cranky at God right now. As it is, I am just asking Him to help me slide into my new life with less drama. I am working on staying calm. Either that or I am beyond stress -- into some kind of nether region where all is well. Either way, I am doing fine, and just putting one foot in front of the other. I went out and bought linens for the guest bedroom in the new house, and a new coffee maker for the house. It is rather a faith statement.

So this delays contractor work, throws off my schedule, nixes my move date -- oh well, Life is a Cabaret, old chum. Come to the caaaa...baaaaaaaaret.

Catch-Up

Hi folks -- sorry I have been so absent here - most of the writing has been done in my twice-weekly column on BlogHer.org. I have been too swamped and overwhelmed for much else.

I close on m-m-m-m-my house on Tuesday. I can barely say the word "my". This is such a very big deal. I have been full of joy and anxiety for weeks now. I will not officially move in for a month, as I am having some work done there that is easier to have done with me absent -- changing bathroom fixtures, pulling up yards of carpet, sanding and poly'ing floors, painting walls, and so on ...I'll be in and out as it is being done. Fortunately it is being done by people I know well.

Anyway, the prior owners are leaving the place in immaculate shape - there is not so much as a crumb in a drawer. They are also leaving some furniture which will make this next month easier - table/chairs/beds/sofa.

But I realized this past week that I need to minimally stock the house and bring bedding and brooms and such, so off I went with another list.

I am living on lists.

There is the list of things to bring to the closing

The list of things to get at Home Depot.

The list of things to pack.

The list of things to do to the new house.

The list of packing materials to get.

The list of groceries needed for the new place.

and on and on and on .


And in the midst of all this, I spent two days in Providence, Rhode Island so that I could attend the bris of the grandson (and son) of dear friends -- my extended family extraordinaire.

In the midst of all this chaos and all these plans, I found myself holding an eight day old baby boy and placing him in Elijah's Chair as he was prepared to be named Joshua Adam. That the family included me in the ritual moved me to big tears. I spend so much time feeling alone, that this reminder of the deep love in my life was like a healing balm. Oh sure, I could have been packing, or sorting -- but there is no place in the entire world I would rather have been than at that bris in Providence.

It was a valuable reminder of what really matters in life -- and that home really is where the heart is.