The Collector

Things found in UnderDog's bed this morning:
All the dog toys
5 chewies
My left slipper
My son's Calvin and Hobbes book
A DRINKING GLASS

Yesterday he tried (unsuccessfully) to get a blue serving tray and Dog's Bed up in there.

Discouraged

Sometimes we get a little discouraged being the new home for a rescue dog. We're just not sure how to housetrain a dog who is scared of the out-of-doors. Sometimes he uses the puppy pads. Sometimes he doesn't. Last night while we were at my son's chorus concert he peed right on our only carpet. Sigh. We won't be able to bring him visiting with us when we travel to see friends until he is house trained. I don't want to invite him to sleep upstairs with us until he knows where to "go."

We have a camping trip planned for July, so I started training UnderDog on being on a leash (since we know he is a runner, and won't be coming when called like Dog does). He was very passive and cowering, but did take a few tentative steps. I left the harness on when we came inside so he could get used to it (we figured if any dog could slip his collar UnderDog could) When I arrived home after my meeting, he was even more cowering and flinchy than usual. I took the harness off and put it nearby so he could get used to it, or get his smell on it. Moments later I heard a crunch- he had chewed off the buckle. Back to square one.

We see a mischievous playful side in him, but he is very timid about expressing it. Yesterday he brought a magazine back to his bed, and my son reports he spent the morning clearing all objects off the ottoman. He find the dog toys and brings them back to his spot, but is way too scared to play with us. I know it has only been two weeks, and that he has made tremendous progress, but sometimes I worry that if he never attached to humans in his first year of life, it might not be possible for him. And poor Dog never bonded with Dogs in her first year of life, so our two dogs are still figuring out how to relate to one another.


This morning, though, he was very sweet. He didn't venture outside when I opened the door for him, but stood in the doorway smelling the spring air. When I came home from yoga he came near me, then went back to his safe space, came close, and went back to his spot. I wondered "Is he asking me to come visit him there?" (He has not yet let me pick him up or pet him except in his spot on the sofa.) He seemed downright relaxed when I came over to say hello. So I decided to spend some extra time today reading on the sofa near him. I hated to leave him downstairs when I came up to write Sunday's service (he hasn't tried the stairs yet) so I carried him and his bed up to the study, and after some tentative exploration and anxiety about boundaries, both he and Dog are keeping me company.

Die Slippers Die

I took off my fluffy pink slippers to take out the compost bucket. My partner reports that as soon as I had gone, UnderDog snuck over and grabbed one, shook it mercilessly in his teeth, and brought it back to his lair. He then found it's mate and brought that to his lair as well. I came back from the compost bin and he resumed cowering deferentially.

UnderDog and the Outside

In the first hours after we Brought UnderDog home, I wanted him to get to know the outside, to make sure he knew where to do his business. I brought him outside in his carrier, where he stayed for quite some time without venturing out. Eventually I reached in and pulled him out. I set him on the grass, but he seemed unsure what to do. I thought "maybe he'd be more comfortable if I weren't around" so I went back inside to work on dinner. I knew he would be okay in the back yard because Dog has spent years out there and never had any trouble. My partner and I peaked out occasionally to make sure he was doing okay, but one time UnderDog wasn't there.

It still makes my stomach clench to remember that moment when I realized he had probably squeezed under one of the tiny openings beneath our wood fence. The neighbors pointed the direction he had gone, and I followed him in my slippers, sure this was going to end in tragedy. I knew he would run if anyone tried to pick him up, and that he didn't even have a tag on his collar yet. We live right downtown, and the chances he would run out into the considerable traffic were high. At one point I was standing in the middle of State Street waving my arms at oncoming cars who could probably not see the little terrified dog trying to avoid going near the folks drinking coffee at a sidewalk cafe. He would slip out of sight for a moment, then I would catch a glimpse of him going around a corner. A neighbor joined me as I took off my slippers, thinking I could move faster in bare feet. Finally UnderDog cornered himself in a patch of tall grass next to a wooden fence. The neighbor and my partner stood in his two paths of escape. I bent down into the grass and scooped him up. I carried him in my arms the long walk home. I felt sick that I had not provided a safe yard for this already traumatized dog.

We didn't go outside again that night, but the next morning I thought "I'll just put him down and watch him carefully. If I stand between him and his exit, then we can get by until we have reinforced the fence" As I set him down he looked at me in terror, then bolted to the opposite end of our yard to a new escape route, and had his shoulders through a chipped place in the cement wall before I could cross the 8 feet of lawn to stop him. I felt miserable and powerless. I found some helpful advice on my favorite Mill-Survivor site that made me feel like maybe I wasn't the worst guardian ever, but house-training, I decided, would start another day.

Monday I begged my friends CrowJoy and Mander to come over and inspect the yard with me. We took a field trip to the Agway and found a roll of garden edging which my friend Mander fastened up with her pneumatic nail gun. We nailed extra bits to any little nook or cranny we could find. We also bought a good supply of puppy pads, because it was now clear that house-training was going to be a long-term process.

The next time Dog needed to go out, I scooped up UnderDog and I sat with him in my arms on the steps as he sniffed the air and listening to the birds. I felt safe again.


UnderDog still has some ambivalence about the out of doors. He will slip out the open door to the backyard when he is sure no one is watching, and can be seen some days bounding in joy, and other days cowering with his back against the wire mesh we installed for his safety.

Pink Snow

Last night I was walking home from my environmental action meeting across the Ithaca Commons. The light was diffuse as it was just past sunset, and all the flowering fruit trees were shedding their petals. For a moment my mind was deceived and I thought I was back on a winter walk along that same path through the snow flurries. In the background was the sound of a live band at one of the pavilions -- a samba for Cinco de Mayo.

UnderDog Adventure

Today UnderDog left his couch and snuck into the kitchen while both Dog and I were there! After a few false starts he got himself a drink of water, and then found a chewie to bring back to his spot.

My "normal" mill-rescue dog

On UnderDog's second day he barely got off the sofa. I started to worry- what if he's sick? How could I tell if he was healing from getting "fixed" 3 days before and all those shots and just trying to integrate a new place and new people or if maybe he was really sick? I sure didn't want to add another vet visit to his already considerable stress. His Foster Mom had recommended a site for Puppy Mill Survivors, and it was so helpful. I read this quote about a dog 8 weeks out of the Puppy Mill:

"Susie spends nearly all her time sitting in one of our recliners. That is where she feels safe. She has shown no interest in exploring the house. She has only recently started to jump down and run around a little or occasionally to follow me into the bedroom but that is progress"

UnderDog moved his "Safe" place yesterday- about a foot up to the back of the sofa. He has spent 2 days there now. From there he can see out the window to the street, or snuggle down between the pillows until only the top of his head is showing.

We have seen great progress already- when I came home from my run, he was in the DINING ROOM! He slunk back to his safe place, belly low to the ground, when he realized he had company, but later in the day when I carefully picked him up and brought him to the kitchen (where we have put up a safety gate so he can eat and use the puppy pad) I noticed the "space bubble" he likes to have between himself and me is shrinking. He was very amazed by the sound of coffee brewing, and the site of his reflection in our back door. After a while he had eaten his fill and I was ready to leave the kitchen, so I lifted the gate. Poor UnderDog shrank into a corner in terror. I didn't realize that gate made him feel safe, I thought it was just helping me keep the house clean. I took him back to his safe spot, and he has been there all the hours since. Sometimes sleeping, sometimes sitting up with alert ears. I wonder if he'll ever want to see the upstairs?

Dog and Underdog

The very first dog that Dog and I went to meet (fully expecting to bring him home with us that very day) bounced and jumped and growled and bit there in the front yard of the Animal Shelter. Dog asked if she could please go hide in the car.

When we went to meet UnderDog, the Foster Mother recommended we not bring Dog, as the effect of 6 dogs and 2 cats might be intimidating. From our first moment in the door we saw Underdog acting as one with a fellow mill-rescue dog, pacing together, avoiding me together, hiding together, naping together. This made me feel hopeful.

When Dog and Underdog met for the first time Dog was in his carrier (door open, hiding inside) and Dog gave a cautious sniff. Later when UnderDog ventured out, they circled each other some cautiously. Meeting only once face to face, each showed teeth silently for just a second, and they went their separate ways. I was amazed by this subtle, gentle working through of territory and dominance. I also saw Dog growl quietly when UnderDog, trying to evade me, tried to hide behind/on-top-of her as she lay curled in her bed. So territories were set. UnderDog gets Dog's formerly favorite place on the couch, and Dog gets her own bed and all the rooms of the house UnderDog has yet to venture into.

It turns out the two will not be curling up together for a nap anytime soon, but Dog is being so sweet and sensitive. She has yet to make another territory stand, even when UnderDog is smelling her things. She gives UnderDog a wide birth on the rare occasions that he leaves his safe spot and makes a foray into another room. She even has noted which chewy is his, and leaves it be.

Last night after I had brought UnderDog into the kitchen for dinner, my son settled into his prized spot on the couch. UnderDog returned to the living room with a concerned look. After some circling and thinking he climbed cautiously onto the other end of the couch. Dog, realizing she couldn't also be on the couch and give UnderDog the space bubble that he needs to feel comfortable, went upstairs to lie down. I think she may have a better hang of being a big sister than I gave her credit for.

UnderDog

This is the newest member of our family. UnderDog was rescued from a Puppy Mill, and had been living with foster parents (and 5 foster siblings) for 2 weeks. He had never seen the sun, or walked on the grass, and seems generally terrified of humans.

I had gone to meet another dog who looks a great deal like Dog, and when I met her I was struck by how she had Dog's same sweet deep eyes. UnderDog paced behind her, and when she lay down, UnderDog curled up on her back shoulder. I knew that the sweet Bichon/Maltese did not like to be touched, and would get up and walk away when petted. Foster Mom mentioned that UnderDog would let you pet him "if you can catch him." So they caught him for me, and put him in my arms, and we sat like that on Foster Mom's sofa as the other 5 dogs swirled around our feet or cowered in the corner. I thought- we are a family that likes to hug. No question. Like the first smiles of an infant, it would go a long way to help us be patient with the work of integrating a rescue dog into our family if we could get a hug now and then.

UnderDog came home with us yesterday. He spent the last 24 hours first trying to avoid us, and then sleeping when he found Dog's awesome space on the couch. When I got home from work this afternoon he was in his borrowed dog-carrier where he had gone to hide and sleep when my partner got up. I reached in to pet him - so far so good. I pulled him out despite is best passive resistance maneuvers, but when I picked him up, he just curled in tight to me. We sat like that on the couch for what seemed like forever, then he slowly walked off my lap and to his on spot further down the sofa.

He still looks worried most of the time he's awake, but a hug goes a long way.

Spring Blooms and Losses

It's been too long since I last blogged, and things are blooming all around. The flowering trees are right in their glorious prime, but I just don't have the energy to carry my camera with me everywhere documenting each blossom like I did last year. As I've beeen traveling and working, I've been saving up things I wanted to tell you about on a Blog Sticky, but time just keeps flowing.

I never even told you about Pap's funeral. Pap was my partner's grandfather, a warm, funny guy who loosly disguised himself in a gruff exterior. He had had many strokes recently, and I am so glad he was able to die in his own home with his son and daughter at his side. When we went back for the memorial I was a little nervous at first about stepping into his house, but the cousins filled it with music and stories of Pap. Some traditions hold that spirit of the departed lingers for a few days as it makes its transition. I don't know if our songs and stories cheered Pap on his transition, but it sure helped ours.

I never told you about the Grand-Re-Opening of the store. It was colorful and lively, full of all our favorite things: Live Music, cookies, flowers, family and friends. The local college radio station we sponsor came and brought a booth for the parking lot.

That very weekend my partner drove all the way to NYC to see the A's play, only to have the game rained out. He should have stayed here where there was an AWESOME Neko Case show that I got to see with a colleague who was filling my pulpit that weekend.

Then it was off to Albany NY for the big UU minister retreat and District Assembly. There I learned I am STILL grieving for my California district (I hope my new colleagues didn't get too sick of my talk of the "ex"). The tulips that were still green buds when I departed had bloomed an gone when I returned. There were only a few later bloomers left.

While I was retreating with my colleagues I remembered that there was something more I am supposed to be doing. Like that nagging feeling when you are in the check-out in the grocery store that you forgot to get something crucial- then I remembered: the environment. It's not that I haven't been preaching and studying about the earth, it's just that working part time there is a hole that is crying to be filled. It's not that I'm not busy, it's just that I'm busy with a million little tiny things. The story of my life lately has felt like reading Facebook, and I want to read a novel (oh, like Le Guin's Earth Sea series. I want one of those amazing stories that you can walk around in as long as it takes to read all 5 books). I realized a lot of the work I've been doing are short-term tasks that feel like snacking. I don't want to fill up on snacks, I need a good piece of work that feels like a meal. So I've joined the team that is bringing Bioneers to the Ithaca Area. We'll see if that satisfies.

I've also been thinking of adopting a friend for Dog. I have met 3 candidates so far- 2 were clearly not right for us, and one found a different home. I have an appointment today at 2:00 to meet another dog- a rescue dog from a puppy mill. I am constantly running 2 scenarios for this weekend and the coming weeks: one where a shy little dog needs consistent help with housetraining and adjustment, and one where life keeps its steady unchanging rhythm.

In the mean time I've been snacking on a new blog:
Yoga Blogn

Composter

I just assembled and installed our new solar composter. (It involved an actual power tool and digging a huge hole in our garden) I am exhausted and very excited.

We have a 4 x 8 herb garden, and a lawn that's only slightly bigger. But last week as I was scraping vegetable peelings into the trash I just couldn't wait any longer. The ground is thawed, I thought, and it's time to do some urban composting.

Sources

Unitarian Universalists have adopted 6 official sources of their tradition. When the most recent was adopted (Earth Centered Taditions) I got to witness the process first hand at our general assembly, and hear both sides of the issue. Now it's hard to imagine our tradition without acknowledging that source.

But recently, as I was reading Wisdom Sits in Places I realized that a new idea has been emerging slowly in my own consciousness. The UU sources are all people, or traditions created by people. We may lift up the Earth Centered traditions which teach us to honor "the sacred circle of life and instruct us to live in harmony with the rhythms of nature", but we don't list the earth herself as a source of our wisdom. We list science, but we do not list trees, or stars, or the other beings we share our eco-system with.

And frankly, it's not currently a commonly held source of our UU tradition. But I am finally able to articulate that it is a source of my own.

Irises

The irises I planted last fall are up. They are quick little guys- from no bud at all to full bloom in one day. There are so many metaphors wrapped in those little 4" plants, about planting for the future, about the faith in spring after a cold winter, about the strength of the small.

The landscape is still very stark- very beige and gray. Not one tree has yet to bud. These first little flowers are like harbingers of things to come. A little color that brings joy to the eye.

Worth a thousand words

Please accept this picture in lieu of a sermon on encountering obstacles.

Party Line

I am a dyed in the wool liberal. All those things Rush Limbaugh hates, I am:

Socialist
Queer
Feminist
Tree-hugger
Pantheist
Bleeding-Heart
Pacifist

And proud of it, thank you very much.

But there is one part of the liberal platform that I don't get: Embryonic Stem Cell research. I haven't decided how I feel about this. It seems awash with ethical issues that should be carefully considered, and this is what concerns me. When something becomes "party line" there is no room for a circumspect discussion of ethical implications. You are either with the party or against it. I'm thrilled that our new president wants scientists to have the freedom to do science unfettered by politics. But even though I'm a pro-choice feminist, I am not prepared to say for sure when life begins, and am ignorant about what ethical model is being used for embryonic research, and how I feel about it.

As a card carrying liberal (I've got a GreenStar Co-op card, a UU Minister's Association card, and a World Wildlife Fund card in my wallet right now), I just want the freedom to say "I don't know, can we talk about this one?"

Part Time

I am finally settling in to the reality that for the first time since before my son was born that I work part time. While we were gearing up to purchase the music store it was quite a balancing act to get sermons written and loan applications completed. But the business changed hands the same week a volunteer project I was working on came to fruition, and I am beginning to realize that the slow pace of my daily schedule is not anomalous. Now I know I said that we were moving out of Silicon Valley to have a quieter more sustainable life, but I think I hear crocuses growing this morning. In theory it is perfect; between the time I drop my son at school and when the bus brings him home there is just enough time to exercise, work my half day in the home office and make and clean up from lunch.

But this week both the Board and the Committee on Ministry at the church have mentioned that they are feeling kind of amazed at how much the church is doing, and how it's important not to over-tax the system, to remember that church should be fun and not all work. I realized that some of the things I've got on my "to do" list for the church need to stay there for a while- that I need to make sure I don't put too much in the pipeline all at once. I'm realizing that this is a part-time position not just because of church finances, but also because it may really be meeting the needs of a family-size congregation.

Last time I worked part time I was fresh out of seminary. I was used to spending the days meditating, writing, reading. Since then I've served a busy congregation full time while raising a child through his early years. I wonder, could I get back to that state of mind where I felt close to the ineffable most of the time? Will I become a more involved activist? Will I finally learn to play the mandolin confidently? Or is this just cabin fever that will disappear once the soil thaws and gardening season begins? I don't want to go back to the frantic pace of my old life, but there is clearly some need as yet unfilled. I should figure out what it is before I drive my congregation over the edge with ideas and projects.

Music Store Update

Tonight- Our CEO meets with the DJs from the local music show we are sponsoring

New guitars are finally coming in

We rented a water cooler- apparently it rocks

Next- how do you serve cookies and drinks at the Grand ReOpening party without endangering the instruments?

2nd week

This post is dedicated to my father-in-law who wanted to know "why the news blackout" on the store.

Here are a few brief updates:

The checks finally came

The Credit cards finally came

We spent all the rest of our inventory money, but the store still looks bare, and it turns out instruments are expensive! (who knew?) After a brief panic, we realized that when people bought things there would be money to spend on more inventory. Phew. Now the trouble is that people are buying inventory faster than we can make orders and get them filled. We are starting from scratch with each and every vendor, filling out piles of forms and waiting while they determine our credit-worthiness. Even after that some of the guitars we order have to be made I think. My partner says several customers have commented on "how bare the store looks." Our goal is to have the store crammed with merchandise for the grand re-opening party.

Here's my partner's awesome-est idea so far: Print advertising is crazy expensive- our grand re-opening add (purchased at 50% off for the occasion) will run once and is 2 months of our advertising budget. So our awesome CEO checked into sponsoring the local music show on the local college radio station. It turns out we can be the sole sponsor of the show for a year for around the cost of that one print add. AND we get to help the public radio station AND support local music all at the same time.

Another major milestone- my partner now knows more about QuickBooks and accounting for the store than I do. My only remaining job at the store is to reconcile the bank statements once a month and to make sure we have set aside a month or 2 of payroll so that if things get tight we can pay the landlord and the amazing staff. Fortunately we have a shareholder's meeting almost every night, and our CEO brings the board up to speed on operations.

Next big goal? Making the Grand Re-Opening party rock.

Home Alone

After over a year of working from home, my partner has gone off to work at the store. While he engages the terrifying and exhilarating prospect of a new enterprise, my life is largely unchanged, except that the house seems very empty. The quiet of my home in the morning has often seemed peaceful, fertile ground for writing and thinking. Today, however,the quiet feels like the end of an era.

Rituals for our age

I was talking with a friend just starting her second trimester about rituals for pregnant women. We were both aware that a religious ritual for pregnancy is somewhat rare- there are no standard forms that either of us knew of, and so we talked about adapting from other transition rituals and creating new ritual.

Of course most important transitions have their rituals in any culture- though they are sometimes hard to spot. I thought about the baby shower- the most common way to honor the transition to parenthood. It is usually a secular affair, and centers around the giving of gifts. Suddenly light dawned- what a perfect ritual for our consumer driven culture- we welcome the mom into the new realms of consumerism that accompany parenthood, and we welcome the baby as a new consumer. What a brilliant reflection of our societal values and norms.

Today's the Day

This morning my partner and I waited outside our bank as it opened to get the certified checks we would need to buy the business. The denim clad employee whose un-eaten begal
and steaming coffee called to him throughout our transaction took our life savings out of our account, more out of our new HELOC obtained for the purpose, and printed our official looking checks.

We met all the parties at our landlord's office, where our lawyer had used a whole roll of sticky tabs to mark all the places we and the sellers had to sign. We pushed the checks across the table, and it was done.

To celebrate, we shared breakfast with the now-previous owners, all 4 of us swimming in a surreal, transitional space. We chatted about the store and music and facebook until we couldn't put it off any longer; we each departed for our new lives.

My partner and I arrived home to a bottle of Champagne left by a friend on our doorstep, and he headed off for his first day of work, where my mom had sent a beautiful bouquet of flowers.

A new era in our lives has begun.
I hope those blank checks arrive soon...

2 Days

We finally got our insurance guy on the phone- he says our liability insurance (required by the landlord to start our lease) is "in progress" and "should be no problem" getting us covered for the closing on Friday.

Still waiting for our checks

Still waiting for our business credit card

Received a giant box containing our brand new banner (Thanks Guy!)

Our Bookkeeping-tutor is coming next week after the close to show us how to do Payroll.

Our merchant-services company says it "will probably be okay" to go in Thursday night and switch from the current owners account to our account.

Authorized our first special order, had to ask for COD (see "Still waiting for Credit Card" above)

Our son asks "when does dad get his new job?"

2 days honey. Your dad will be the manager of his own music store in 2 days.

4 Days

The bookkeeper came last Thursday to our house to help us set up Quick Books. Many hours were spent on the phone by the seller to make sure we can have continuous phone service (this is in jeopardy as we are switching providers, and the competing companies don't like to cooperate). My partner is at the store right now helping the owner count guitars- we have to have a relatively confident inventory to establish the final cost at the closing. We also have to re-hire all the current staff, so my partner is drafting a "welcome" pack for these guys who have been there for years.

We are eagerly waiting for our printed checks to come; it will feel so much more official not to be writing "starter" checks.

Spring- Ithaca Style

Spring Rain

Today when my son and I woke to get ready for school it was dark and rainy. I promised myself I didn't have to run in the 40 degree rain, and after dropping Wuggie at school, rolled out my yoga mat in front of the window. I did my first few sun salutations, listening to the rain on the window. The rain reminds me of winter in California, and I remembered the feeling of running in the rain on a warm spring day. I refuse to think of 40 as warm, but I thought about how it is not supposed to get out of 20s in the next 10 days, put on my running shoes and rain jacket and headed out.

This time of year is as awkward as child entering adolescence. The piles of ice and snow left by the plows, now dark with exhaust and dirt, still squat on every corner, though every other surface is covered with the damp degrading fall leaves now clear of snow, and things are just kind of muddy. I was shocked to see the first shoots of crocuses poking through under a bush by my front steps, and hope they will be okay as the ground re-freezes later this week. I ran along a creek filled with rushing brown water, the drainage of not only the rain but the melted snow. There was one giant iceburg in the middle behind which the ducks were hiding. As I ran downstream giant rectangles of ice had broken free and smashed into one another in a kind of spring-thaw rush hour traffic jam. Further downstream yet the ice was solid, and I imagined the water rushing below it to the lake.

Leaving behind so many dear friends in California, I always think of them when the weather does something weird. "Come look at this!" I want to say, but by the time they got on a plane and flew 3000 miles, the brown speckled songbird would probably have moved out from under the bush, and the ice would have moved downstream. And so I blog, in a vain attempt to share it. This one's for you guys.

15 Days

The close (on our purchase of the music store) has been officially moved up to the 27th! It started to feel real when my partner had to call NYSEG to get the utilities transferred into our name. He has designed a new logo which our friend Guy is making into a banner for us as a business-warming gift (thanks Guy!) We have a band to play at our grand re-opening party on April 17, and our landlord says we can HAVE a grand reopening party, and reminded us to contact the press.

Today we are submitting our application for credit card services and meet with our Business Services Banker for the first time. My partner is trying to figure out why the owners currently pay so much for web hosting, while being on hold with various phone companies. Wow. It's really happening.

It's not me!

When our outdoor thermometer broke we replaced it with an indoor-outdoor. I put it here by my desk so I can see how cold it really is out there. Just for kicks I switched it over to "indoor" -- it was 60 in here by my computer desk. Turns out the register in this room is not getting warm for some reason. While we try to decide if it's worth calling the furnace guy out to fix it I've dragged the space heater up from the basement and turned the rest of the house down to 64. Our dog, who normally keeps me company here in the office while I work, looked suspiciously at the heater a few times, whimpered, and then went to hang out with my husband. The thermometer now reads 62.6 and I can't believe how much warmer it feels. And here all this time I thought I was just a California wimp. I will keep wearing my wool socks and wool sweaters, but I'm relieved not to have to knit those fingerless gloves I thought would be my salvation for cold mornings at the computer.

20 Days (or maybe 18?)

We met with the owners of the music store last night. We haven't talked to them since our first meeting- lawyers have been doing all our talking for us. We met them at the store and finally had a tour of all the strange little nooks and crannies, and got to ask them all our questions. (Our son even got to try a banjo.) They are good folks and were very kind and patient and sad to have to sell their store. My partner is getting a better sense of what he will be doing day to day, and he says "it seems like a lot of work." Some things have been done the same way for decades, and we wonder what we will be able to update right away and what things will have to wait. Generally we feel like continuity is the key. A gradual smooth transition. There is plenty of time for everything else. We hope to be at this for a while.

Since March 1 is a Sunday, we are going to try to move the closing up to the 27th.

22 Days

Yesterday we came to an agreement on the lease for the store. Tomorrow we meet with the current owners to ask our list of questions. Our favorite band has agreed to play the "Grand Re-Opening" party. Next? Credit Cards; how does that work?

Not in Berkeley Any More

I was driving home form work the other day, and the one public radio station near the church was having a pledge drive so I hit seek on the radio. Many Christian Stations. One preacher was talking about the very same bible story I had talked about the week before (Jonah) so I let him talk. Shortly he came to say "I can't imagine anything that would make me more afraid than to come before God on Judgment day having stood in the pulpit and said that the bible is not the literal inerrant word of God divinely inspired." I felt like he was talking about me specifically. Except he kept calling these preachers who talk about metaphor and symbol as "he." "She!" I called back to the unhearing voice. He went on to talk about the nerve of these preachers to pretend to follow God, pretend to have faith. It started to rankle.

Especially since that same week I learned that the UU church is not invited to participate in the local cooperative that addresses poverty in our county because we are "not Christian." Now I have recently had occasion to explain on more than one occasion that although Unitarian Universalism has Christian roots, and there are Christian UUs, I don't happen to be one of them. So I'm not going to try to have it both ways. If the cooperative is only for Christians, I'm not going to argue semantics. But I don't really see what doctrine has to do with caring for God's children. It's a theological climate that is very different from the one I left behind in the San Francisco Bay Area, and even different from the one I leave behind each time I drive across the border from my home in Ithaca.

Added to "To Do" list- stop 'round the Jewish and Muslim communities in the county and say hello.

25 Days

Yesterday we made a corporation. Our lawyer (I can't believe I have a lawyer) is sending in the papers to the Secretary if State. Next our Lawyer is drawing up by-laws to be adopted at our first shareholder's meeting. Now we are on familiar territory. If there is one thing a UU minister knows it is by-laws and annual meetings.

Too Long

The sermon was taking extra long this week. It's Saturday and I had just finished the first draft last night. Checked the word count. 3900. I wrote 2 sermons again. Oops. I've spent the morning trying to get it down closer to 2000. No wonder it took so long!

30 days

My partner and I have amazing (almost)news. We are now officially under contract to buy a music store that my partner will manage. How cool is that! This is not a sudden decision; we have been plodding along at this since before Thanksgiving. Nor is it a done deal; until we trade a check for the front door key anything could happen. But getting a signed Memorandum of Understanding was such a huge milestone after so much work that I wanted to tell the story as we come to the end of the 4th quarter, if you'll pardon the football metaphor.

Yesterday we met with the Insurance guy to try to figure out our "exposure." We don't want to be exposed. We want to be covered. Today I have to research worker's comp to figure out whether we want the owners to be excluded. Seriously, it's been 2 months of this. Neither Seminary nor Music School prepared me. We are learning ever so much!

Jack Mendelssohn

I am reading today about Jack Mendelssohn and the role he took after "the walkout" at the UU General Assembly in 1969. I am so amazed by a minister who was able to be so, well, ministerial in the middle of crisis. What an amazing role model. I know there are many sides to this controversial moment, and I was not there, but I aspire to be in such a frame of mind during any conflict.

Birds

Yesterday during my yoga practice I was looking out my second floor window at a stunning bright red cardinal who was eating the seeds off the topmost branches of the tree in front of our house. He didn't seem to mind me watching him, but the second I pulled out my camera he flew away. This has happened almost every time I have tried to take a picture of the birds in my neighborhood (ducks not withstanding). I wonder why birds don't like to have their pictures taken?

To Run or Not to Run

Last year when it got cold and the sidewalks got icy I joined the neighborhood gym for the winter. This year we are conserving money, and really running on a treadmill is like... running on a tread mill. It's practically a metaphor for it's own tedium. Instead I am doing yoga on days too cold to run, and consequently I haven't run in 2 weeks. It was the warmest day of the week today, which means hovering around 20 at running time. And gray. I rolled out my yoga mat again.

By some lovely serendipity, I had scheduled myself months ago to preach my first ever yoga sermon "Lessons learned on the Mat." I've got my stack of yoga books by the computer, and am finally finishing Iyengar's Light on Life. I was looking for a story to tell during the "Lesson for All Ages" and realized that we should just do a few asanas together. I am more nervous about this than the sermon. What poses will hold the interest of our elementary school kids and be accessible to our elders?

I am a little worried about how hard that first run will be when the temperatures get back up into the high 20s or even 30s. But living seasonally is something I believe in, so perhaps winter is the season of yoga. Maybe I just need to have faith that the sun will come back in the spring and I will burst out in my running shoes like those little crocuses bursting through the frozen ground.

Worries

I've been worrying a lot about money lately. So has most of the world I guess. I grew up in a frugal household that hated waste, and though I had kept the desire not to be wasteful I have been able to loosen some of the tightness that came over me whenever it came to money. It's back. It's not that I've stopped spending, it's just that we've cut back, and that I worry. I think about what we can cut back on next, and then think about what we will cut back on later if the economy doesn't turn around. I want to learn to be frugal without being tight, without living in a sense of scarcity.

Could it be hope?

With my husband and all of America I watched the Inauguration with wet eyes, a lump in my throat, and a strange feeling of hope in my chest. For an hour I let go of the jaded cynicism that has been my companion the last decade or so, as I heard that we need not set down our idealism in these hard times. I will have to unpack that and dust it off- I had so much of it when I was young. I'm sure it's around here somewhere.

As the Rev. Joseph E. Lowery urged us in the inaugural benediction:

"Let all those who do Justice and love Mercy say Amen"

Amen
Amen
Amen

Winter Mojo

Back in California a yoga teacher offered classes in "getting into your [insert season here] Mojo". None of them involved getting ready for months of dark cloudy days, or sunny days with temperatures in the single digits. I need help getting into my North East Winter Mojo. If anyone has any advice for getting a winter groove on, please leave me a note so I can find my winter mojo.

Carrot Ginger Muffin

Right at this very moment I am savoring the taste of a bona fide Carrot Ginger muffin from Peet's Coffee & Tea. "How is this possible?" you might ask. "Are you in California where Pete's Coffee & Tea sells such delicacies?" Why no, my friends Lou Jones and Guy fedexed them to me for my birthday. It tastes exactly like I remember. It's totally a muffin worth naming a blog after.

Put Them On

At my eco-book group I made a joke about how cold it was.

"That's Ithaca"
they said
and
"Long underwear."
"Long underwear?"
"Long underwear- I'm wearing them right now"
"me too"
"me too"
"I'm wearing tights."

Let me get this straight, every one of you is wearing long underwear or tights under your pants right now.

yes.

Then everyone showed me their wool socks.

All winter I've been huddled under an afghan trying not to turn up the thermostat.

Apparently what I really need to do is put on my long johns, get myself some Smartwool socks and turn the thermostat DOWN.

I have them on right now.

I am finally not cold.

Car Idling

When I went out to the car yesterday to take my son to school, I realized I hadn't used it since I went to get groceries for our New Year's Eve celebration 5 days before.

(I feel kind of weird about this- it's the rental I got when our real car slid into a snowbank and pulled out without a front bumper. I feel weird that our insurance company is paying $30 a day so that we can go out each night before bed and move it to the other side of the street.)

Still, I'm pleased that our 2 part plan of walking and hibernating have gotten us out of our car.

Dr. Atomic

Last night we watched Dr. Atomic "live" from the Met. My partner, a big John Adams fan, had turned it on. I was surprised to notice that the opera-aversion that I had experienced for the last decade and a half since dropping out of my program at the Peabody seemed to have gone. We sat and watched the strange beast that is contemporary opera "all the fun of sitting still, being quiet and listening carefully without benefit of traditional melody". But still it was cool- Adams did a great job of imagining what it must have been like to wait for the first test of an atomic bomb. The stage and light design were also very cool. (very little blocking- mostly standing still so the singers can sing over the orchestra)

Then I headed to bed and started to ask all those questions again: Why did I leave that one voice teacher and stay with the other one? Why did I listen when that crazy teacher told me to stop singing while I had orthodontics?

It's funny how the past heals in layers. I wish I could let go of all the "what ifs" and "whys" that cluster around that time in my life when I was preparing to be an opera singer, but it seems more time must pass. At least I can listen to Opera again.

Sacred Space

After almost a year and a half in this house, I finally created some sacred space for myself. I used to have a fold-out desk in a built-in book case great for making a seasonal altar above and storing things-you-might-put-on-an-altar underneath and safely out of site. In the new house, the one flat surface I managed to set aside is just above eye level, and not truly accessible for short altar-makers. Last night we hung up a set of tiny shelves that used to serve as a spice rack (Hand made by someone in Pennsylvania I think. A gift form my mother in law years ago). Now my seasonal altar has 5 tiny windows and a narrow shelf. What was harder was finding a safe place for all the little bits and pieces of shells and rocks, candles and polished glass, bells, incense, and figures of the sacred mother that accumulated so casually on my folding self at home. They are now safely packed in a drawer. The altar is nothing special, but it feels really good to have that space again. Space to put a star that reminds me of my friend who has cancer. Space to remind myself of my intentions, to let objects hold ideas and feelings and dreams in process.

Before the Storm

Last night schools began issuing closings for today. A storm is on the way, they reported. But I am more the "I'll believe it when I see it" type. The snow from last week's storm had finally shrunk to a few islands of ice. Roads and sidewalks were finally clear again. When I drove my son to school this morning the roads were clear and dry. I ran some errands wondering if the Holiday Party our church had planned for the local Kid's Cafe would need to be canceled. I walked to yoga, but a sign on the door said class was canceled in anticipation of the storm. Still no snow. I went home, rolled out my yoga mat in front of the window in my study, and the first few flakes drifted down from the sky. "It begins" I thought. I am so glad to be here in my warm home with no place I need to go.

Snow

The first big storm of the season started Thursday night. The drive home from my son's soccer practice was tedious, as a steady line of drivers white-knunckled their way down the winding 2 lane road where rain had recently turned to a steady snow. The great thing about living downtown was once we were home we could put on our boots and mittens and walk down to the commons to see the ice-show lit up as the perfect white flakes came steadily down hour after hour. By Friday morning when the Snow Day was declared, all signs of last night's snowball fight were covered in 8 inches of fresh powdery snow. When we heard the clink of our neighbors metal snow shovels on the sidewalk, and the crunch of snow the whole family bundled up and went outside to clear our sidewalk and our car. Thank goodness we have just a short strip of sidewalk, because the snow was heavy and wet, and even with that little bit of shoveling I woke sore the next day. Having a small yard, my son and I used every inch of fresh snow to make snowballs and snow angels before returning gratefully to the warmth of our home.

In the Present

When my son was very little, he would open a gift, and become so engaged he would only emerge a half hour later from the bliss of a new toy. As he grew up I noticed how adults encourage kids to open them all at once, because our adult attention span cannot sustain the hours it would take to open all the gifts at a birthday or other holiday if the child actually used and appreciated each one. "Aunt Martha has to go, quick, open her gift" When my son was very young he actually went on strike "no more gifts!" We had to save some for the next day. Now standard Birthday protocol at it's most polite is that all gather round, rip of wrapping, display gift, say thank you, set gift aside. It is rude to open a gift as it is handed to you. It is rude to play with a gift right after opening it. One delays gratification so one's guests don't get bored.

Buddhist teacher Thich Nhat Hanh has a wonderful book called Miracle of Mindfulness in which he writes..."[Jim] popped a section of tangerine in his mouth and, before he had begun chewing it, had another slice ready to pop into his mouth again. He was hardly aware he was eating a tangerine. All I had to say was, "you ought to eat the tangerine section you've already taken."

How would opening presents look if we were really mindful? If we really "ate" each one as we opened it? Might our children feel "full" after unwrapping their pile of gifts? Might Aunt Martha not be proud to see her nephew enjoying his gifts so completely, even if hers was still in it's wrappings waiting? How might American culture be different if we taught our children to enjoy the present mindfully, instead of teaching them to consume?

Clip of the day

Wow, who knew Prop 8 was so hilarious. And when did Jack Black go political?

Local

I was trying to explain to my son the theory of buying local. I did a bad job of it. I should have just said "the less gas it takes to get from where it's made to you the better." I tried to explain how if you buy things that are locally made you are putting money back into the local economy, and he asked me confused questions all the way through our trip to the co-op grocery store. Today I stopped at the brand new Silk Oak shop, and it made shopping local so clear. The lady who makes the beautiful silk screened clothes and bags lives here in my town. She could be the mom of one of my son's class mates. She might be in my yoga class. By having her store here on this corner, I get to look at something lovely as I walk by, instead of a boarded up building like the ones I find on the next block over. I feel the same way at the Co-op where there is local honey and local maple syrup on tap. Maybe my son will understand if I show him the flats of local eggs- they might come form a chicken we know!

Walking

I had suspected that I could walk to my Chiropractor, but never made the time to do it until my job changed to part-time. I got myself ready a half hour early, put on my ergonomically designed sneakers, screwed up my will power and headed off. About 10 minutes it took. It's almost the same distance as my walk to yoga, but in the oposite direction. And it's right next to a coffee shop and a children's consignment shop, making the whole thing a pleasant outing, yet for the first year I lived here I drove.

My husband and I have both noticed that even though we moved with great intention to a house where we could walk to stuff, it is hard to get past the mindset we developed in the car-centric community we used to live in. I got in the car to check out our local guitar store for a Mandolin strap, and my partner said "it's pretty close- you could walk." But I thought "who's got time for that? I'm a busy person" There was construction on the street to the store, and what with all the traffic lights and one-way streets, I was pretty embarrassed by the time I arrived at the shop few blocks from my house. He was right- it really was pretty close.

On my jog each morning I run past a river of folks walking up the hill to the local college. They walk past me in skirts and high heels, carrying briefcases, coffee cups, lunch bags. Some of them have special ergonomic walking shoes, but most just do it. People walk here. (This is partly because there are no parking spots closer than the ones in front of my house, which is why you can never find parking near us during the day) Our son knows that if we are going to the library or the toy store, we are going on foot. We've added the Guitar store, the sandwich shop, yoga, the chiropractor, and even the place where the "Living Wage" committee meets. Little by little we are changing our habits. Once we moved to a pedestrian friendly community, all we needed was the will and little extra time. And comfy shoes. Now if only I could find some that look good once I arrive.

What I miss

It's funny the things i miss from my old life. The drive down the Central Expressway blasting dance music. That yoga pose we used to do where you lunge low with your front foot on a block. Sunday night football games that end before bed-time.

Found Us

After almost a year of waiting for the birds to find our feeder, I switched birdseed to the "Ithaca Blend" and even though it is freezing and wet, I see a bird near the feeder every morning as I peer out my window. Sadly, the birds are usually not eating, but watching this guy who seems to empty the feeder as fast as I can fill it.

It's all about the pretzels

Overheard at last night's study group:

"So panentheism says that god is in that bowl of pretzels?"

"Yes but God is not limited by the pretzels"

"Sally McFague says that 'God is sacramentally embodied; God is mediated, expressed, in and through embodiment, but not necessarily or totally'"

"So god is in the pretzels, but not necessarily and totally."

"I guess for me the thought of pretzels being empty of God makes me feel kind of weird. In my theology God is necessarily in the pretzels."

"But not totally."

Heart Centered

I love my congregation.
I don't mean "This organization has a lot of assets and dynamic energy for growth"
I mean I love them.
Sometimes it makes my chest hurt, the warmth and connection I feel for them.

I confessed this to my environmental study group last night, and realized I love them too.

This got me to wondering -- why am I so heart centered all of a sudden? My guess is that I now have the time to feel things. Working full time with a Silicon Valley commute and a small child I often felt numb. I wonder if now that I work part time, and most of that from home, I finally have time to feel stuff. I have noticed about myself that my mind zooms ahead of what my body can do, and my emotional body falls even behind that. "Go on ahead" it says "I'll catch up" Which is probably why I am often a grump on my day off- I sat still and my emotions caught up to me.

It's Here

Right now the first real snow we have seen in Ithaca is falling in giant fluffy flakes. It is coating the grass and trees lovely against the night sky. The flakes are so big that I swear I could feel them through my hat hitting the top of my head as I walked home from yoga. Now if I can just find that brush thing for the car...

Robert Reich

I did not know this.
Robert Reich is so smart.
He's probably my favorite policy wonk.
No offense to Rachel Maddow.

Sharp left turn

Sometimes when you are writing a sermon, you realize that you are actually writing more than one sermon, and trying to cram them into one. This just happened to me. Realization dawned when I noticed I was up to 3600 words (2000 is about what my congregation enjoys). So those other 1600 words I had been working so hard on for the early part of this week all went into a special file I promise myself I will use later. Fortunately the 2 sermons were practically perferated, so it was not too hard to tease the 2 apart. I am surprised by what remains however. It is not at all what I thought my sermon would be about. The title on the order of service will not be the one listed in the newsletter I tell you what.

Away

When Congress approved a bill allowing off shore drilling, they were sure to include the restriction that drilling must happen at least 50 miles off shore.

Recently we have been watching a lot of super hero movies on Family Movie Night. In at least two Batman movies and one Spiderman movie the hero solves the problem of the ticking bomb by throwing it "away" into whatever body of water is handy.

Lately Scientists have let us know about the growing dead zones in the oceans, which are not only deeply uncool of us to perpetrate on our oceanic friends, but also is impacting jobs and food supply for those human communities who have relied on the fish who used to call those now-dead areas home.

I know that the Spiderman movie is make-believe; what concerns me is that the media is portraying and perpetrating this deep-seated idea that what happens under water is not relevant. If our archetypal heroes don't notice what harm they do to our eco-system, we know this reflects our own unconscious assumptions that what happens 50 miles off shore is not worthy of our consideration. Regardless of what we teach in school about the water cycle and "where food comes from" on the deepest level we are are forgetting our dependence on the part of our ecosystem that exists under water.

Guys

My generation uses the word "guy" to mean "person" especially in the form "you guys." I have a plastic box marked "guys" in my son's toy cabinet that is filled with little rubber dinos, sharks, and cartoon characters of both genders. So when a woman from my church pointed out to me a couple of years back that "guy" is actually NOT gender neutral, I was skeptical, and almost dismissed her point since the usage is so widespread, but I hung on to her challenge and have been chewing on it ever since.

I was only a little girl when our church hymnal was reprinted to include gender neutral language. This was back in the day when people used the word "Man" when they wanted to say "Human" or "Humanity." To my young ears this was preposterous. Man means an adult male person. Duh. How anyone could say that it was gender-neutral was beyond me. Recently I remembered how hard the feminists of my mother's generation worked to get across the idea that "Man" and "Person" were not the same word.

When one looks up Guy, one finds that the use of the word to refer to people of all genders is not primary. The first definition is "Man"

Hmmm.

Suddenly I realized I am not going to be able to use the word "guy" any more without feeling weird about it. This is especially tricky when one is talking with folks whose gender is in transition, or has been a cause of some pain or discomfort. When someone has transitioned from male to female after a long hard struggle, maybe the word "guy" doesn't honor that journey. Ouch. I wonder how long it will take me to switch over from "guys" to "folks". Or maybe an old fashioned y'all would feel more inclusive. I'm going to have to get a jar to stick a quarter in each time I screw up until I get it right.

Prop 8

Wait, I just heard that it looks like Prop 8 will pass in California. I've put my Kleenex box away. It's time to get back to work. Sigh.

11:01

I had imagined celebrating an Obama victory. I thought it would feel something like the Eagles winning a really important football game: I imagined myself cheering and jumping up and down. But at 11:01 when they called the race for Obama I was silent. My husband and I opened our bottle of celebration wine, and tears ran down my face as I tried to process the enormity of what has just happened, as I tried to exhale after holding my breath all these months. This is real. It can't be taken away. History has turned a corner, and we can never go back. MSNBC alternated between numbers and graphs, and video of Americans, grocking this new reality, who knew exactly how I felt.

As the great orator and president-elect Barak Obama began to speak a feeling crept up on me that I soon recognized as pride. We had done something together, we the American people, that shone for all to see. I have always loved my country, but recently I have been ashamed of her actions in the world, and as a liberal growing up in the time of Regan and Bush, have felt like my role in this tribe was as dissenter and critic. But last night the American people chose the candidate that took the high road, the candidate who spoke of hope and unity, and the candidate who crossed a barrier I was resigned to believing would not be crossed in my lifetime. And he won by a landslide. Dear readers, I think I am going to run out of Kleenex before I am done wondering over this turn of events.

Gathering Dark

The prospect of my second winter in the North East is making me nervous. We started getting ready ridiculously early this year; bringing in tools, denuding our son's fort of carpet and toys, pulling sweaters and gloves out of storage. For a month now I've been waiting anxiously for the winter. But of course it doesn't come all at once- it's like the cartoon sequence of the comic hero whose free fall is broken by a tree limb momentarily, only to resume a fall broken by subsequently lower and lower branches. The cold snaps, and plateaus and snaps again. On a day like today when the sun is shining, I am happy to put on my warm socks and take another 500 pictures of leaves in various stages of their fall process. But last week when it rarely got out of the 30s and the clouds never lifted the winter darkness loomed oppressive. Now that daylight savings time is over, the growing night is upon us. I am ready to hibernate, and can't believe that life plunges forward when we should all clearly "shelter in place".

Please Vote

Please vote tomorrow. So much depends on each of us participating in this decision. And if you can vote between 9-4:00, this will help reduce the crowds for those who must vote before or after work. Both campaigns have worked hard to register new voters, and we'd hate for them to get discouraged by long lines in the evening.

Trickle Down

When the banks started to crash I had an almost giddy sensation realizing that those who were feeling that pain were mostly stock-holders and folks in "wealth management." None of my bank accounts closed, and I felt (aside from the declining value of my 401k) like things would be okay for those of us not involved with high finance.

I don't feel that way any more. It's true that none of those folks closest to me have been laid off or have lost their homes, but we feel more and more like we are on board a roller coaster that is just headed over the crest of a very high track. The questions of how long the drop will last, and whether our safety restraints will protect us as we hit the bottom is anyone's guess. I am not optimistic, and yet we continue to be employed and can still pay our bills, so the descent is still for us in the realm of anxious imaginings. Yet we know from recent experience with the oil industry that while corporations are slow to share their profits (Exxon Mobile had again record profits even while passing on burdensome prices to consumers) they are always ready to share their losses. I have no doubt that the losses felt by so many at the top are trickling down, and will continue to do so for the foreseeable future.

in the mean time, I am grateful each time a paycheck comes, knowing there are no guarantees. We batten our financial hatches and wonder when and how hard the economic storm will hit.

Sowain

Tonight we drove up to the top of Dawes Hill to celebrate Sowain with friends. With a ritual journey into the underworld. We bundled up for our walk through the woods, but even before the sun set, we were all wishing we had one more layer (my son on his hands, me on my feet).

My son got to process under a dragon's tail, and hold his own candle. He was sad that there was not more pomegranate seeds and whole wheat bread to eat during the ritual. (yes, this is the kid who normally refuses all food that doesn't fall into plain pasta category)

My son spontaneously told the story of how the Rainbow Bird brought light to the world.
Mama spontaneously told the story of how Persephone became a part-time hospice chaplain.

Our favorite quotes:
"Never go into the Underworld without your friends"
"It's COLD in the underworld!"

10th Anniversary

Today I celebrate the 10th anniversary of my ordination to the UU ministry. 10 years ago today on a dark fall evening my friends played drums and cello, extended their hands in fellowship, charged me, told tales out of school about the time I chose "the path less traveled" in ritual class, and laid their hands on me as I became a for-real minister and got to us "Rev." at the beginning of my name. I think back over 10 years of ministry, noticing how much I have learned, and how much more there is to do and to know.

Not From Around Here

Here is the retreat center where I spent a few days this week my new colleagues. The snow started falling the first night, and fell until the third day. I suggested during a business meeting that if we were having a conflict with our fall date, we might move the retreat to January or February. A good hearted colleague who had beat me in shuffle board the night before started her response "You're not from around here, so you wouldn't know..." as she explained that folks tried to avoid traveling across the state during the winter months.

Sometimes I feel like I'm a long way from home.

Make New Friends, But Keep the Old

This week I head off to my first UU Clergy Retreat in my new district. I have met a couple of my local colleagues, and they are very nice but suddenly I miss my California colleagues deeply. I was an intern in that district, I served alongside those folks for 10 years. I've carpooled, hiked, told jokes, knitted, worshiped and drunk margaritas with those guys. I've confessed to, sought advice from, given advice to and analyzed dreams with them. They were with me through rough times and sublime. I miss my PCD colleagues.

Ego

I confided, once, to a friend that I felt quite competitive in yoga class. If there is a pretzel to get into, I want to be in it. If there is a strength pose I want to hold it as long as anyone else. If the ashtanga series calls for 50 chaturangas, I want to do them all. I told him that some mornings I would be overly aware of a yogi nearby, watching her practice, wanting to compare. He was shocked "I didn't think yoga was supposed to be like that" he said. "It's not the yoga." I said "It's the ego."

If you have hung out with me, you will know that I am not generally a competitive person. I rarely push a point to win an argument. I usually bowl a 40 and I'm okay with that (mostly). I've been running an 11 minute mile for 10 years now and still I'm out there 3 times a week poking along in sun, wind or streaming rain. Generally I'd rather have peace and good feelings than a victory. Then I started taking a vigorous form of yoga, and suddenly I wanted to be the best.

When I moved to Ithaca and started at a new yoga studio, I somehow felt I had to prove myself. Most of the poses were familiar, but there were new variations, new juxtapositions. We were doing a lot more arm balances and wheels then I was used to, and when my wrist started to hurt I didn't listen. It's also true that I was doing a lot more keyboarding and driving in my new job, and a lot of heaving lifting as we moved into our new home, but regardless of the cause of the injury, I only felt it in yoga. At first I pushed through the pain, but finally I admitted to my teacher that my wrist hurt and asked his advice. He encouraged me to hold back, to use props, to skip certain poses, but my ego just could not let me skip some super-cool pose that I'd been working on whenever the rest of the class was doing it.

Months went by like this until finally something in my ego just broke. I had to give in to the idea that my wrist might never be quite right. I saw a physical therapist, I used my props, I started working on some of the forward folds I had never mastered in Ashtanga while everyone else was getting better and better at an arm balance I had always wanted to learn.

And one day I realized the pain was gone. I slowly put some weight on my wrist, and brought poses back into my practice one at a time. I still use a wedge for many poses, and I know now to stop when my wrist gets tired, and that some poses just aren't worth the cost. And somehow during all that my ego softened. I got used to setting up my mat 3 rows back and doing my own thing. And though I can now do wheel again and Eka Pada Koundinyasana, my ego is much softer. I sometimes wonder if I will keep getting better now that I don't crave competition on the mat, but I kind of don't care. I wonder if this is part of the wisdom age brings; things fall apart and teach us something about what remains.

Make a Big Deal of It

My yoga teacher in Willow Glen used to very carefully lead us into a pose, through all aspects of form, alignment and breath. And finally when we were fully in the pose he would say "now make a big deal of it"

This phrase rang in my head this weekend as the church celebrated its bicentennial, and held my service of installation. My dear colleague from California traveled 3000 miles with her toddler to preach the sermon, 2 friends from seminary drove all afternoon having preached that morning to say words in the service. My mom and sister and mother-in-law drove all day to be part of the celebration, and family, new friends and colleagues drove from the Ithaca area and all over the district to be part of things. I was so proud of the worship service. All the words and music these dear people offered came together so powerfully, that it left me feeling "wow, and that was just the beginning of whatever it is we have been called to do together!"

Here's a favorite moment: Over a dozen children, who had been waiting patiently in the nursery for the service to begin, lead our processional wearing fabulous glittery, feathery wings. Even the teenagers and some of the visiting kids wore wings (including my little niece, who looked FAB in her little red wings that matched her dress). My son had said "no, I don't think so" to wings, but I brought them anyway. He hurries over to me shortly before the service and says "Mom, I think I changed my mind" and spent the rest of the afternoon finding out how best to get his silk-rainbow wings to catch the wind as he ran and jumped over steps and down the halls. Our children's story featured a chicken, and the story-teller got an earful when he asked which of our kids knew about chickens -- because our kids know chickens, I tell you what. All the music was beautiful. Our choir had to import a tenor from Binghamton to make sure we had 4 part harmony and sang my favorite hymn accapella. But really it was when my husband's clear voice started to sing "I Hear Them All" as he and my sister-in-law strummed their guitars that the tears started to roll down my face.

So I had worked and hoped and lost sleep to make sure the Heritage Sunday service and the Installation service would be the very best I could help create. I should have known that the congregation was also losing sleep and rolling up their sleeves to make the weekend stunning. There were volunteers in the kitchen of the church from before I showed up on Saturday until after our family caravan left Sunday night. I couldn't believe how they transformed the place. Now this is a beautiful historic church building to begin with, but the volunteers of the church had really made a big deal of this. Fresh flowers on every table. Personalized red satin robins on gift bags for every visiting dignitary. A hand-made cake designed by a member on the theme "roots and wings." A catered dinner for the Bicentennial celebration and tons of yummy home made food for the Installation. As I brought my last load of stuff to the car Sunday night, a volunteer ran after me with 2 giant baskets of flowers: "for you" she said. I thought of the volunteers that would be at the church vacuuming and restoring things to Sunday-morning condition while I started the long drive home to Ithaca. I had Monday off, but most of these volunteers had to be at work bright and early. The gratitude was almost too heavy to hold. The energy of many hours of work, of months of planning released over those 2 days of celebration like a powerful wave washing over the whole community.

Now that the last of the guests has flown, it is time to begin the process of sifting and sorting, of processing, of trying to express gratitude, of saying thank you for a multitude of unexpected gifts. I hesitate even to start knowing that in such an outpouring of love and creativity and hard work, I will probably never even know all that went into making it possible. But the celebration is all of ours to share, and is something we can all be proud of. We did it, and it was beautiful. It was a big deal.

Last Harvest

This weekend the first big frost struck, and so with great ceremony we harvested for what we expect to be the last time. (Except the parsley. There always seems to be more parsley. Want some?) We harvested much sage, some oregano and lavender and a little marjoram. And Zumpkin. Some of you will remember that the only child of our gigantic flowering pumpkin plant seems to have been fathered by a zucchini. We let Zumpkin grow as long as we could (he got a late start) but couldn't risk another frost. We are looking forward to dressing Zumpkin up for Halloween.

In just one day

This weekend the colors on the trees were almost fluorescent in the bright sun. Some hills without evergreen trees showed not a hint of green. Then the rain and wind swept in yesterday morning, (during my morning run of course) and it was like running in a blizzard of yellow and orange, as the freshly fallen leaves laid light and fluffy on the ground. Trees I photographed Sunday full of colorful leaves are now bare. Suddenly we are in the cold gray days of fall, and the bare branches show through the luminous colors of the leaves, the sun diffuse as it bounces off the low hanging clouds.

Aerosol

My grocery store starts with the bakery, the produce, the organic stuff, then dairy, then the gigantic inexplicable gift-shop thing that takes up as much room as the produce section. By the time I leave the produce and the organic section I am feeling pretty good about my environmental footprint. I found an all-natural non-aerosol air freshener that smells like vanilla (score)and I suck it up and pay more for organic milk because, hey, milk is kind of an intimate thing when you think about it, and even my dad who always exercises great fiscal restraint gets organic milk. But after the journey across the great gift-shop divide I am now in the land of things that come in boxes and don't qualify for the organic section. And I'm buying PAM. That's right. Synthetic oil in an aerosol can. Okay, this one says "all natural" but it's still an aerosol can. I struggle and waver, but half of the recipes in my favorite "Eating Healthy" cook book call for the stuff. I put it in the cart next to my locally grown apples, my organic milk and my non-aerosol vanilla air freshener and the integrity of my whole shopping trip comes into question. My cart is tainted now, and this is just the first row of the processed food section. I wheel my cart through the gift-shop-thing on the way out and see a reusable pump spray for oil in the "schmancy cooking gear" section. It's $25. And here I've already blown my pocket money for the week on CDs and books. I will save up, I decide, for some future redemption.

What is it?

This came in the box from my CSA farm this week. I am totally stumped. Anyone know what on earth (or wherever) this is?

Mandolin Update

The A Major chord is my nemesis. Curse you A Major chord!

Flying Water

Lest you worry, as I did, that the recent security prohibition against bringing liquids through security is all about making you purchase a bottle of water at the gate or on the plane (That's right- water is now no longer free of charge on some airlines. It's a frightening part of the tide toward water as commodity rather than water as basic human right) it turns out you can bring an empty bottle through security. I have now accomplished this multiple times, and on a recent flight the security officer asked "empty bottle?" and sent me on my way, suggesting that it wasn't just an oversight that allowed those empties through. There is almost always a water fountain near the gate, so there's no need to be a tool of water privatization or to go thirsty.


p.s. The photos above I took of a fountain labeled "water interest" at the Detroit Airport on my layover there.

Sun's Work Undone

Driving down I 78 from Harrisburg to Reading, listening to the Hackensaw Boys "Sun's Work Undone" after 2 days of non-stop travel my heart is full of North Dakota again. There we were, uncle, brother, various cousins and nieces gathered from Seattle, Montana, Colorado, New York, Baltimore and all corners of North Dakota, hearts wide open. The world shrinks when a grief is observed. Though now half a continent away, I am once again in that warmth of being surrounded by family, my sister, my dad, my various cousins, making music, cooking, re-connecting after a long time apart. And somehow we held my Uncle's death in a way that affirmed life.

At the cometary we wondered aloud if the coffin would be lowered into the ground while we were at the graveside, or if they were waiting until we left. I commented that in some traditions lowering the coffin is part of the ritual. A cousin said "We don't do that here,it's hard enough as it is, we don't need to make it harder." We walked across the well-trimmed grass to visit the graves of family lost in earlier years, clustered together around the matriarchs and patriarchs. Afterward there were sloppy Joes, pasta salad, apple bake and scalloped potatoes that are comfort food in it's essence.

And as I'm driving through central Pennsylvania, I miss that comfort and closeness and warmth. I talk to my dad later in the day. The hard things persisted for him long after my sister and I were safely on our pre-dawn flight home. Uncle's possessions, his home, his legal affairs. Things left unfinished and unresolved that must still be resolved one way or another. It is heavy, though not so heavy as before. There is a stark grittiness to it that persists. Loss is real. Impermanence is real. This is why we gather. This is why we come together in a profusion of family, why we cook and make music, so that the stark reality of loss and the grit of living are only one layer of experience. They are co-arising as the Buddhists would say. I listen to the song twice. My heart is full.