PeaceBang

Why Sarah Palin?

Um, because he’s trying to WIN.

Which is what my candidate is trying to do, too.

Sure, McCain picked a mooseburger-chomping former beauty queen with no legislative experience — but she’s hot, she’ll undoubtedly impress some people as being ____________________ (fill in positive adjective here), and by choosing her, he’s hoping to look with-it and forward-thinking and feminist. Sure, I think she’s scary, but a lot of people will just see “pretty, young and female, mom of five” and think this is a genius team for America.

It’s not a nefarious Republican plot. I don’t even think it’s egregiously or insultingly political, as some have sneeringly suggested. Because this is politics, where everything is, actually, political. What else should we expect from a presidential campaign?

Here, George Carlin alludes to what I’m trying to say,

Bush calls the al Queda people cowards and says, “They like to hide.” Well, isn’t that what the American Continental Army did during the American Revolution? Our beloved patriots? They hid. They hid behind trees. Then they came out, killed some British soldiers, and ran away. Just like al Qaeda. That’s what you do when you’re outnumbered and have less firepower than the enemy. It’s called “trying to win.” It’s not cowardly.

- in When Will Jesus Bring the Pork Chops?

I mean, right? Why bother being offended? And as the old union folks used to say, “Don’t mourn, organize!”

Friday Cat Blogging

Now where’s that striped worship folder with all my sermon topics in it that I need to transfer to the new template?

Consensus in America is Dead

I didn’t see Obama’s speech last night, I’ll start there.

But I did see the rapturous comments on Facebook, including one that said, “After that amazing speech, how can we not win?”

Which made me groan.

Are you kidding me?

How long will it take for starry-eyed liberals to get that no matter how badly any administration screws up, no matter how impeachable a president might be (and they don’t get more impeachable than George W. Bush), no matter how egregiously people are lied to, manipulated and run around the mulberry bush, there will never be broad consensus in America ever again about anything, including the question of who should be the president.

We are a fractured nation. Hating each other’s opinions and fighting over them with the most uncivil, irrational and accusatory language we can muster is the national pasttime. We are no longer citizens, we are gladiators. Sure, you and I might be bridge-builders in our communities (as Unitarian Universalists, we are certainly called to be), but we are up against massive economic forces that are intensely invested in a divided America and a nasty public discourse.

I’m watching some of the convention, but not much. I am saving myself for the Republican National Convention. Why? Because it’s so easy to get swept up in the thrill of my own values being articulated by my chosen candidate, to groove on his fabulous wife, to get rah-rah in my deepest soul about what can happen for America if Obama wins (and therefore to pretty much ignore huge portions of reality)… and to develop a rock hard “us vs them” good guy-bad guy mentality that I don’t want to indulge myself in that way.

Let’s hear it for hope and enthusiasm. Sure. But let’s remember that what makes you and me hopeful and enthusiastic is very different what makes millions of our fellow Americans hopeful and enthusiastic, and let’s guard against fantasy visions of landslide victories that will occur when millions are converted to my (our) superior point of view. It just doesn’t work that way. And after the last election, we should all know better.

to do, right now

Go plant those perennials before they die.
Prepare dinner so that you’re not starved when you get back from Zumba class and devour everything in sight.
Put laundry in the dryer.
Transfer worship notes for 2008-9 to Scott’s nifty new template.
Try not to be insecure that your worship plans are so much less clear and less well-organized than Rev. Perpetua’s.
Submit receipts to Office Manager soon or run out of cash before next payday.
Clean desk (again).
Write paper for discernment class tomorrow.
Don’t use blogging as an excuse to skip Zumba class or planting the damn perennials.
Stop food shopping so often and figure out how to fix what’s in the cupboards and freezer already.
Call ________________ and ___________________ and __________________about wife’s condition/membership meeting/co-officiating wedding with rabbi.
Get back to Weight Watchers this week and take the bad news like a man.
Feed the cat.
Stop thinking about that guy who hasn’t called.
Order The Healing Connection.
Make mix music CD for colleague who is celebrating a year of sobriety soon.
Send thank you note.

What’s on your list?

PB and EC in ME

I’m spending a couple of days with The Eclectic Cleric up here in beautiful Portland, Maine. Tim is getting around very well in his wheelchair (thank god I have a small SUV, ’cause it fits handily in the back). We watched a Seadogs game last night and had a great time. Today we went out for breakfast and then went to Staples to get our “school supplies.” I will have you know that the EC writes with chubby Ticonderoga pencils and that he erases his mistakes with big, neon nubby erasers.
Also of scandalous report: he favors paper clips in extremely silly shapes.

We’re having sushi for dinner tonight but only if he takes a nap first. Timmy, are you reading this?

Template for “Just Sundays” Calendar?

I am planning out my preaching year and wondering if anyone has a template for a 2008-9 calendar of only Sundays that they would be willing to share. This may be a case for Boy In the Bands to solve; he’s genius at this sort of thing! Scott, what say ye?

Paper or Plastic? Obviously, The Best Choice is “Neither”

I read an article in the Boston Globe by Hiawatha Bray about the technology offered to shoppers by the Stop & Shop chain. The article is fine, but certainly convinced me that I’ve made the right choice in avoiding the high-tech grocery carts that S&S offer (who needs personalized ads popping up and harrasing me while I’m shopping? No thanks, Big Brother). It’s Mr. Bray’s final comment that really bothered me. He writes,

… it’s time to pay. Scanning a barcode mounted atop the checkout device tells the Scan It you’re done. Swipe your loyalty card at the checkout scanner, and it instantly reads your list of purchases and tells you how much to pay. Now and then, you’ll be ordered to a checkout line where a human attendant will rescan your purchases. It’s a random audit to deter theft. But usually, the machine just asks for the money. Shove in a few bills or swipe a credit card, and it’s all over but the bagging.

And no 99-cent cotton eco-sacks either. I use disposable paper and plastic, paid for by Stop & Shop. All my scanning and weighing saved it a tidy sum in labor costs; it’s the least they can do.

[emphasis mine]

I wrote Mr. Bray a letter (you can too, at bray@bostonglobe.com) telling him that I found that last comment to be ignorant and irresponsible. Those are harsh terms, I realize, and perhaps I came on too strong, but his attitude is one shared by millions of people and it needs to be challenged. Using paper or plastic bags is not a quid pro quo exchange for retail labor, it is unnecessary consumption that we all end up paying for (not just the retailer, as Mr. Bray implies). I offered to purchase a few re-useable bags for Mr. Bray if he didn’t want to make the three dollar investment, and promised him that it would take no time at all for using those bags to become a habit.

Mr. Bray wrote back to me, and since ours is a private correspondence I won’t reproduce his entire letter to me here, just share with you that he believes that since paper and plastic are “non-toxic” once they’re buried, and that paper is an “almost infinitely renewable resource,” he “can’t get too worked up about it.” He also assures me that he uses his plastic bags for household garbage.

First of all, these links make clear that he’s just uninformed:
http://www.greenfeet.net/newsletter/debate.shtml

http://www.reusablebags.com/facts.php?id=7

But worse than that is Mr. Bray’s typical American “what, me worry?” attitude. Hey, why get worked up about some minor gesture I can make on behalf of the environment? My paper and plastic bags aren’t the problem. If they end up in the landfill, no big deal. They’re not toxic, so they’re essentially harmless. How discouraging to hear this attitude expressed by an educated person who has the responsibility and privilege of writing for the wider public.

It’s just the opposite of our Unitarian Universalist commitment to the Edward Everett Hale’s saying,

I am only one.
But still I am one.
I cannot do everything,
But still I can do something.
And because I cannot do
everything
I will not refuse to do the
something that I can do.

P.S. This is my favorite re-usable shopping bag. Everyone loves it, and it holds tons of groceries and other stuff.

(If you hanker after one, you can get them here, as well as many other places. As an extra bonus, there’s a beautiful graphic of the Virgin on the other side that says “Looking Good In Your Sunday Best!”)

Tiddy Bear

I’m not even kidding — I totally want one of these. I hate the way my seatbelt is always digging into my shoulder. At first I thought it was a joke but it’s not.
There are two problems.
1) They cost an insane $14.95 each and,
2) I am SO MAD I didn’t think of this first.

Six Years Ago Today

Six years ago yesterday, I was driving around in the evening getting acquainted with my new town and surrounding areas. I passed by a beautiful, big animal shelter, promptly turned around, pulled into the parking lot and went into the building. It was 5:53 pm and they closed at 6pm. Could I just run in and see the dogs really fast, I asked?
Well, no. The dogs were all quieted for the evening and having a new visitor would just rile them up. Then how about a quick spin through the cat room? Sure, they said. Go right in.

I had just moved back to Massachusetts and thought I was ready to care for a dog, but had trepidation about how much time, energy and money a dog would require. Cats are different. I had had cats for years and loved them. I knew how to be a good Cat Mom.

I walked through the cat room wondering why I had done such a stupid thing, feeling my heart ache at the sight of so many kitties of all colors, shapes, ages and sizes in cages waiting for a new home. I said hello to all of them, pausing to pet many of them through their cages. They snoozed, or purred or gently bit me.

Midway down one row of cages, a striped tabby rushed the cage and threw herself against it as if to get my attention. She made direct and urgent eye contact and her expression spoke a simple and clear message: GET ME THE HELL OUT OF HERE!
I crouched by her cage.
“What’s going on? You hate it here? You do? Worse than any other cat hates it here? I have to get you out?”

She rubbed her entire body against the cage, making contact with every part of my hand she could manage to touch.

“Sweetie, this place closes in two minutes. I can’t make a decision that fast and they wouldn’t let me anyway. I have to go home and leave you here. But I promise, I promise on my life that I’m going to think about you tonight and that no matter what I decide, I’ll visit you tomorrow. Okay? I’ll come visit tomorrow and we’ll see if we get along and we’ll see if you should come live with me. I’m not sure. Okay?”

She rubbed and rubbed her face, her flank against my hand. I looked her full in the face — her huge green eyes were hypnotic — and said “I promise that I will see you tomorrow.”

That was August 21, 2002. I did go back the next day and of course — what do you think? — I brought her home with me.

I’m glad she chose me.
Happy anniversary, Ermengarde Otis Weinstein.

The Will Vs the Soul: Summer of Prayer

I had a huge to-do list for the summer, and I didn’t meet any of my big goals.

I didn’t write a book.
I didn’t start my dissertation.
I didn’t even get a book proposal finished. Hell, I didn’t start it.
I didn’t lose another ten pounds.
I didn’t become a great salsa dancer.
I didn’t read the books in my pile (but I read a different pile).

What I did do this summer was work really hard issues in therapy (and I don’t mind telling you that), adjust to having a very active puppy in my life, learn how to grill steak, go out salsa dancing twice, attend my first Zumba class on a personal dare, do a little bit of gardening, catch up with friends who had been neglected during my SweetieBang period, see a slew of films, watch Red Sox games, clean and organize my study (yes, praise the Lord I got THAT done), sleep a LOT, play outside, go to the beach and friends’ pools a few times, and feel my feelings — which actually takes a lot more energy than I have ever realized.

I continued to attend Weight Watchers meetings, held on tight and not easily to a 25-lb. weight loss, avoided retail therapy in favor of saving money for sabbatical travel, and blogged.

As the summer winds down, I give up on my big goals. I’m not going to achieve them. My will is strong but in this case, my soul had another agenda and its needs overruled those of my will and my ego. I don’t like it. I don’t like being out of control this way. I am generally a disciplined and ambitious person and when I set a goal, I accomplish it.

My soul, however, doesn’t care what my ego desires. It had a lot to communicate to me this summer, and it made me listen. There were entire weeks when I required almost absolute solitude. There were days I did nothing but sleep, listen, record what the insights I received in my journal, fix food for myself and the four-leggeds, let the dog out to pee and poop, and return to silent listening and journaling. I would make plans to DO something and find myself flapping helplessly around the house, absolutely unable to get myself together to accomplish whatever it is I had set myself to do.

This was definitely not my Summer of Love. It was, I suppose, my Summer of Prayer in some way. It was my Summer of Feeling, attending to my inner life after a prolonged period of trying very hard to figure out other people and to understand failed or profoundly disappointing relationships. It was a time to tiptoe closer to my essence than I have ever crept before, to genuinely question how much authentic regard I have — and have been encouraged to have — for that essence — and to ask if at the age of 42, I finally accept and embrace it.

I do.

I do, and I had no idea how far I have traveled emotionally and spiritually in order to be able to say that. This isn’t about self-esteem. It is about something far deeper: a soul giving itself permission to be at home in the world. This permission comes not from accomplishments or even from the praise, affirmation or love one receives from others. It is an existential resolution; a laying down of arms against oneself not out of self-esteem but out of justice and compassion.

The psychic and spiritual energy it took to finally and honestly acquaint myself with the truth of my essence, to deem it acceptable, and to sever relations with the Inner Critic who has dominated my inner life for most of my life, was tremendous. But it had to be done. For someone to make it her life’s work to preach the everlasting love of God and the inherent worth and dignity of every person to the world, and then fail to confront, challenge and exorcise a toxic Inner Critic who rules her spiritual life is one of the saddest and most common hypocrisies there is. I did not enjoy this work. For a woman of my flamboyant temperament, it is actually easier to indulge in energetic self-flagellation than to abide with the complexities of life without such distracting dramatics.

I am quietly grateful. First and foremost to my friends, for holding up the compassionate mirror for me all these years, and for helping to me to experience and know that being flawed and human is not something that deserves punishment, but rather understanding and love. I am grateful for the insights of Jungian depth psychology and for the teachings of Universalist and Unitarian Christianity, which brought me from intellectual curiosity about amazing grace to a direct experience of it. I am grateful for all the people and institutions that make personal spiritual growth a possibility for me, for the work of ministry that makes it a priority.

And I am grateful to you, dear readers, for participating in this fascinating 21st century experiment with me: to make private spiritual experience public almost as it is happening (rather than to share it years later as a memoir), to affirm the struggle we all share in real time, and to thereby strengthen and celebrate the interdependent web within which we are bound as a moment-by-moment, blessed phenomenon.