Out of Gas

I've been a little off my game recently. It's been one deadline on top of another, and I still haven't brought all the trashcans and frying pans back in from the garage (where they were stored for our "no one lives here, wouldn't you like to buy the place?" period.)

So when I noticed I was running a couple of minutes late for a meeting I made the conscious choice not to turn off into the gas station. "This is the kind of choice I make lately- I do a million errands and chores when I should be focused on being on time." It was only a mile or 2 later that my car stopped responding when I pressed down on the gas pedal. The car is going slower and slower, and I'm on 101, one of the biggest busiest highways in this part of the country. I'm trying to figure out whether I'd like to be stuck on an exit-ramp overpass, or on the shoulder of the highway. I've got my hazards on, but still folks are honking as they whiz by. I find a good sized shoulder and pull over.

A policeman stooped by almost immediately. I had been trying to dial the campus group I was going to visit, but when he walked up to the car the phone shot out of my hand into the darkness. I explained my predicament, he offered to call AAA and even loaned me his flashlight to find my phone. Before he left he reminded me to keep my seat belt fastened until AAA arrived. It makes sense, I thought. If I were hit from behind, it would be good to be buckled in. Not that I would be hit from behind, but it could happen, what with all those hundreds of cars coming up behind me at 80 mph in the dark. Now I am anxious. Moments are crawling by, and I'm flashing back on my childhood when my ride would be late to pick me up from play practice or school or whatever, and you prayed every set of headlights was for you, but it usually wasn't.

Finally in my anxiety (you know, theologian Paul Tillich's "fear of non-being") I call my husband's cell and get my son. He tells me a rambling story about vaguely complaining about the way I got his dinner ready before I left. Finally I tell him where I am, and try to make it entertaining. He listens patiently and then says "Is there anything else you want to tell me?"

Finally a set of headlights pulls up behind me and stops. As the man approaches the car I say "You must be either AAA or a serial killer" he replies "Yes one of those." I'm soon on my way to my meeting, and only 45 minutes late. I call my contact who kindly offers to meet me at the visitor parking lot so that wandering lost around campus doesn't add additional delay. They were all very sweet and kind, and it was great to be with them. Embarrassing and disconcerting, but ultimately everything turned out okay.

A few days later I was low on gas and cutting it close on a meeting. I figured I'd better stop for gas.

Colic

At a BBQ this weekend I met the 3-month-old baby of some friends I haven't seen in a long time. The baby slept peacefully for most of the party, and then started to wail. It was that kind of wail that makes mothers from all over the house come to see why the baby is being tortured. Baby, of course, was in mom's arms, and receiving loads of love and care. Finally Mom handed baby to sister who said, "Mom needs a break."

I suddenly flashed back to my son's infancy. He was a "colicky" baby, which means "crying for no discernable reason for many months." I remembered all those times my son would cry and helpers would say " I think he wants you" but really my son was just going to scream, no matter who held him, no matter what anyone did. (Although bouncing in just the right way while standing-not-sitting would help somewhat). And come to think of it, it was my sister who understood and would hold him even when he was screaming, so Mom could just go somewhere 12 feet away and take deep breaths.

My partner hates the word Colic. He thinks it's just a word doctors use to make themselves feel better about how there is nothing they can do to help you with your screaming baby.

I kind of like the word; it works as a euphemism for "a special kind of hell" so that you can talk about it with other parents without sounding like a bad mother.

Large Trash

This is the season when piles of large trash bloom in our neighborhood each year. In front of almost every house is a pile of stuff, some piles large enough to fill multiple pick-up trucks. Still-usable furniture and broken furniture are mixed in with tree clippings, old cardboard boxes, bits of broken glass, appliances, bags of used clothes, stuffed animals, baby gear and straight-up trash.

As I jog each morning I am hypnotically drawn into the details of each pile. The waste is maddening. A charitable organization comes around every few months to pick up used clothing; why didn't people set out their used clothes one of those mornings? Or just drive the 2 blocks to the Good Will? And why is the "clean green" (plant matter) that we all put so carefully in our green bin each week laying here mixed with broken glass and melting cardboard? Couldn't the city have 2 separate large trash periods- one for non-plant stuff and one for plant stuff? What about a recycling amnesty period, where you can bring out all those old cardboard boxes without having to break them down and tie them with twine? What if the city helped sort through all this stuff and recycle the mattress springs and other special metals that don't go in your weekly curbside bin?

But here it all is, pile after pile. It all gets shoveled up with a back-hoe, and carted away by a tractor-trailer truck to be land-fill. Seems like at least 3/4 of it could be recycled or reused, but instead it's all mixed together in giant truck-sized piles that make me feel silly for putting each piece of junk mail and every paper-towel tube out on the curb each Tuesday in a brown paper bag.

I'm going into hibernation. Please wake me when large-trash season is over.

Messaging

For years now my co-minister and I have been fretting about "messaging" (This is a word they didn't teach us in seminary. We had to learn it from "West Wing".) How many times would you have to say something before most of the folks in your congregation heard you? How many times could you say something before folks said "enough already." It turned out both numbers were much higher than we expected.

Last week a woman complemented me on a recent sermon. She said something like "it's nice to have a break from all that talk about the environment." I was thrilled! Apparently it takes 2 years of non-stop messaging to get to some kind of saturation point. (And with only 3 months to spare...)

I wanted to call my co-minister and say "We did it! We did it!"
Can you call someone on their maternity leave to talk about messaging?

Priorities

Yesterday, as I dashed to my office to get a roll of painter's tape, I had to walk around our 2 oldest classes of youth who were all on the sidewalk looking at a huge eagle sitting on the very tip top of a fir tree. 2 entire classes had been completely disrupted over an eagle sitting, and were quietly gazing upward. I was so glad the teachers had their priorities in order. No matter what else the children learned yesterday, they learned that seeing an eagle is worth dropping everything, calling all within earshot, and being quiet for.

bedtime worries 2

Tonight's Questions:

Where should you go in a tornado?
Are there tornados in New York?
What if there is a War in California?
What if there is a World War?
What happens if you don't have any blood in your body?

I swear, I just read him "Mush, a dog from outer space"

bedtime worries

Lately my son (N) has been worried at night.
After I turned out the lights and tucked him into bed on Tuesday he asked, "What happens if an earthquake comes while I’m asleep and I die? What happens if you and Dada die?" We had just read a book called "Meteor" by Patricia Pollaco, which is a fun book in which nobody gets hurt, but which reminded him about earthquakes, and so we explored many questions of earthquake safety and existential angst.

Last Night I tell him I have to go do our taxes and he asks, "What happens if you and Dada go to jail?" I realize we had read, "Henry Climbs a Mountain" the week before. This is a cute picture book about the time Henry David Thoreau was thrown in jail for refusing to pay his taxes to a state that allowed slavery.
Me: I would call your uncles and aunts, and they would take care of you until we got out. But we're not going to jail
(N) What if they were all sick?
Me: Then we'd call your grandparents (I name them one by one)
(N) What if they were sick too?
Me: Then we'd call your Godpapa or Godmama
(N) What if they were all sick?
Me: Then we'd call our friends
(N) What if everyone was sick except the police?
Me: (after some thought) then the police would call Child Protective Services to make sure you had a safe place to stay while they tried to get your family on the phone.

I think the words Child Protective Services sounded comforting to him, and he was quiet. I remembered when I was a child wondering what it would be like to be all alone in the world, and knew he probably just wanted to know that it would still be okay for him to be a child. That there would always be an adult who could make sure he had a place to stay and food to eat.

I wonder if there is anything I could read him tonight that will lessen his angst, and make him feel secure in his life, or if all the transition and growing in his young life will inevitably well up into bedtime worries.

Confessions

As we walked back into our renovated home I took a deep breath in and wondered...
What's our carpet made out of?
And what kinds of chemicals are in our paint?
And what kind of cancer are we going to get from breathing in all these fumes?
And how did I get the whole way through this process without ever asking about green options for carpet or paint?
And how come I didn't re-landscape with native plants?

Must learn something about native plants in New York. Maybe next time I'll be ready.

Escrow

We did it. The house is in escrow. This massive weight is lifted off my shoulders, and I realize I've been clenching those muscles for months now.

I want to write little notes to the couple who (God willing and the creek don't rise) will live here starting this summer and introduce my plants one by one.

It's as if the plants were waiting too, because just now (after the open house is totally over) the back yard is covered with tiny white petals from our spring-blooming tree. Just now are our tiger lilies growing robust green stalks by inches each day. Just now are the wisteria vines and lilac trees starting to bud.

102 days

Friends and companions are starting to say, "let's be sure to se each other one more time before you go."

Before I go in June?

There are so many days between here and there. 102 approximately. I'm not dying or something, I'm just moving to New York.

All of those days I will still get up, listen to music, get stuck in traffic, go to work, be a mom, care about society, worry about stuff and celebrate stuff. There will just be more boxes around towards the end.

Is it going to get weird once people start saying goodbye? Will we be able to say "hi" again when we run into each other in the street? Can I call them to go get a drink or take the kids to the playground?

Let's think of it like summer romance instead. Those 6 or 8 weeks at summer camp seemed a world unto themselves; they were powerful and left memories I'll always have. A lot can happen in 4 months.

In spite of the tulips

Today is a sad day. I know the sun is shining, and the birds are chirping, and the pink tulips I planted in front of the house to hide our hose are opening in a hopeful way, but I'm sad.

My partner in ministry, with whom I shared the sublime and ridiculous of our work together, and of living on this earth, just began her maternity leave. Which is definitely a really happy thing. Her baby is so sweet, and they are such a beautiful family together. I had the privilege of holding that new life in my arms last night, and sharing that amazing feeling of magic that emanates from a new family. It's a dream come true.

I just miss my partner is all, and tangled up with that are all the other losses still to come: this congregation, this community, this place, this home, these dear friends.

But today is Tuesday, staff meeting day, and in place of our regular meeting, is this blog, which can’t come close to holding the sadness of ending our partnership, or the miracle of that precious new child.

deja vu

I have been having so many flashes of dreams entering my waking reality. Just now I had another one- about registering for housing at GA, about writing myself a reminder, and about flashing back to a flash back. "What was I supposed to remember?" I wondered "What was important about this?" Then I remembered the flash back of the flash back. Entirely ordinary experience says the flash back. It was a let down in the first flash back too.

I wonder if when I check in to my hotel, I will flash back on my flash back of this flash back....