Friday, February 28, 2020


Winter's Cold

The losses pile up
                Summer bleeds to fall
                And then the chill of winter

Auntie Jane,
                Having filled her bucket
                Joined her husband and daughter

Maggie, Tracy, Ruth and others,
                Gone without warning
                Always kiss them goodbye

Cathy’s sister and John
                Fought heroically
                Gracefully succumbed

Joy, embodying her name
                Taught mindfulness
                And unconditional love

Winter’s cold chills all.
Losing friends and family,
I long for spring.


We grieve, wail and mourn, shaking a fist at the universe. We clothe ourselves in the brittle shell of daily life, hope the next blow doesn't shatter us. 

Yet we keep on living, loving as though our life depends on it. 

And it does my beloveds. It is the strength of shared tears and laughter that seep through that brittle shell and lets hope grow. The sun WILL shine again. Perhaps not tomorrow or the next day, or even the day after that. But one day.

I promise on the strength of my love for you.




Tuesday, October 30, 2018

Outrage


Did you know that there is a mass shooting (4 or more injured or killed) almost every day in the US? I did not. I was feeling overwhelmed from the news reports over the last couple of weeks and started digging. Now I’m really overwhelmed.

Clearly, the US has a problem. (Gosh, really, just one?) The NRA and gun lobby are stronger than most of our congress people apparently. What does it take to get “the people” riled up?

I had hope after the Sandy Hook shootings (27 killed, 2 injured) in 2012.

I had hope after the Santa Monica College shooting (June 2013, 5 killed, 3 injured)

I had hope after the Inland Regional Center shooting (December 2015, 14 killed, 21 injured).

I knew the Pulse nightclub shooting (49 killed, 53 injured) in June 2016 in Orlando FL wouldn’t get enough people riled up – after all, it was only gay people. That’s a whole ‘nuther rant, don’t get me started.

I had hope after the Las Vegas shootings (October 2017, 58 killed, 422 injured). [1]

I got to a point, that here in 2018, I couldn’t listen to the news, for fear of another mass shooting report. Now I know why – there’s one almost daily. Just this month in the US, 33 people have been killed and 84 injured in mass  shootings in the US in 22 incidents in 14 states. In 2018, so far ABC15 reports 294 incidents[2]. So October 2018 seems to be a little less than average.

So, to you reasonable people who are reading this particular rant – what can we do to reduce gun deaths in the US? Will it take a Hollywood actor being killed in a mass shooting before we get visibility? Similar to how women’s wages and the “Me Too” movements only became “visible” when Hollywood got involved? Or when AIDS research picked up when Magic Johnson announced his status? No one seems to have an answer to this very reasonable (to me) question.

Let us be unreasonable then – make it personal. Write a heartfelt letter to your Congress person(s). Tell them of the people you know who have been killed in mass shootings – or in less-then-mass shootings. (I know two personally; you must know or be closely connected to someone too.) Here's where you can find out who your representative(s) is/are: https://www.govtrack.us/congress/members. Remember, they LOVE mail. 

Express your outrage. Even if it is only to say no more automatic weapons or semi-automatic weapons readily available at your local market. This is a start. Once we start, who knows what we can accomplish?

I don’t want you to be the third person I know killed by gun violence.




Thursday, July 5, 2018

Ahhh, the first peach of summer.

I grew up with a Babcock peach tree in the back yard. Once I got old enough to climb it, or hit peaches down with a stick, I was sticky the rest of the day. Juicy, pink-tinged white flesh once you bit past the dense peach-fuzz, your reward was the sweetest flavor you can imagine.

This is one of the few wonderful memories of a somewhat fraught childhood. I have been searching for that flavor throughout my adulthood. And not just the flavor, the complete and unconscious happiness those peaches represent. My focus on getting a peach and eating it drowning out the abuse, the poverty and the loneliness of abandonment.


More than half a century later, I still search for that flavor, knowing that I will never have it again. But still I search. And though Babcock’s aren’t readily available in the grocery store or even local markets, a nice, tree-ripened peach can transport me to one of my happy places again.

Wednesday, May 2, 2018

Wedding, not the first time around


I am engaged to be married to a wonderful person. I am divorced from someone who was wonderful, but not to or for me for much too long. I didn’t think I would ever get married again. For many reasons, I am and I am happy with that decision.

However, in 1986, I swore I would never again plan another party for a huge number of people. I do not find it fun to peruse websites looking for good deals. I do not enjoy negotiating prices, knowing that money spent on this event means less money with which to buy a new home. Asking friends for their help is uncomfortable, even when they are happy to do so. But, here I am, planning another big event.

Ah, but this time, I have help. Willing, cooperative and decisive help. What a difference several decades and a different partner make! So while some of the decisions have been mine (color and style of my dress), most of the other decisions have been discussed, laughed at, and made with my lover. WE are planning this event, not me. My first wedding was about 15 months in the planning (about 250 guests). This wedding will be something less than 6 months in the planning. Eeek! But wait, I have help this time. Deep breath, sigh, smile.

Having a much shorter time to plan allows us to focus on the important elements – a meal, venue (must be meaningful to at least one of us, have wheel chair access and adequate parking). All else is gravy on top. Flowers will probably happen; guest gifts may or may not happen. Minister, yes; invites, yes; photographer, yes. Family and friends, yes!


I still don’t like this big event planning stuff, but I love that we are doing one more thing together that means so much to both of us. It feels like we are saying “Yes,” together already. 

L’chaim!

Tuesday, March 13, 2018

Change is hard.

Change is hard. Especially change that feels as though it is limiting prior freedoms, whether self-imposed or imposed by others. We often respond to change with anger, but unless we know what causes the anger, we can’t figure out how to respond to the change.

For example, I live with several chronic physical and mental conditions. A diagnosis of Type 2 Diabetes has made me change my eating habits and test my blood sugar levels and indeed, how and what I cook for my family – a mixture of other- and self-imposed. Should I be angry at my doctor for prescribing a glucose monitor for me? No. Should I be angry at the doctor who left me on prednisone for a year to manage my RA, which caused a problem in my pancreas that led to the Diabetes diagnosis? Probably not, because I didn’t ask about possible outcomes of long-term steroid use, and given the amount of pain I was in, probably would have made the decision to take them anyway.

Rheumatoid Arthritis limits my physical abilities, making it difficult to move sometimes and sometimes making me choose between participating in activities or going home to rest. Self-imposed restrictions and certainly a difficult change for others to understand when I “don’t look sick.” Actually, I don’t get angry at the RA, I’m so glad to have a diagnosis finally because that led to a treatment plan that actually has alleviated most of the pain, thus slowing the degenerative aspect of the disease. And if others don’t understand why I don’t sign up for certain events, too bad. My close friends and family honor my decisions that honor my health. Perhaps those that don’t support my healthy decisions shouldn't be my friends anyway?

PTS (recently recognized and diagnosed) makes other-imposed changes feel like attacks, sometimes making my response seem “over the top” to what others may perceive as nominal changes. Ah, here is my main cause for needing “anger management.” For years I had no idea why I would go along my happy way, and then, reaching the tipping point, explode into rage. Masters level studies, and much research and years of counseling allowed me to recognize myself in the stories of child-hood abuse survivors. I had learned to subjugate my emotions to everyone else in order to keep peace. Because when other people have strong emotions, bad things happen! I’m no longer a defenseless child, but my body learned these coping mechanisms so early and so well, all I can do as an adult is recognize, honor and then deal with them.

And then there’s the combination factor: RA and Diabetes are both affected by emotions and physical stress. So when I’m upset, my blood sugar and blood pressure elevate, increasing swelling in my joints which makes me hurt more, increasing the physical and emotional stress. Yep, a very vicious cycle.

So how do I cope with change, especially unwanted or unexpected change? (Because even happy or good changes can cause stress too.)

1.      First, I’m trying to notice my emotions. As a survivor of early childhood trauma, I internalized most of my emotions and it has been a long, hard road to revealing them. I don’t know where this quote came from, but it spoke very powerfully to me. I shared these words with my counselor after she and my psychiatrist both told me I would probably never “get over” PTS. And that in fact, my emotions are here to tell me when something is going right or wrong.:

“Anger means you have been hurt, or that someone has crossed a line; love is a sign that someone is important to you; fear wants to protect you from danger; happiness is telling you that all is going well and your wishes have been granted.

Emotions are intensely personal messages that tell you who you are and what is important to you. And they always have your best interests in mind.”

2.      After noticing my emotional responses to something, I then need to honor them. Look those feelings in the eye and say “I see you emotion.” Only by recognizing our emotions can we un-internalize them. A common phrase in self-help groups is “Depression is anger turned inwards.” We can turn those self-destructive inward-pushed emotions outward and minimize their effects on our bodies and mind just by recognizing that they are real and valid. As a pre-teen I had a poster on my wall that said: “Just because you are paranoid doesn’t mean they aren’t out to get you.”

3.      After noticing and recognizing and honoring my emotion, I can reflect upon it and decide if PTS or RA or blood sugar levels are influencing the strength of that emotion. See, now I have control of my emotions, not the other way around. So even if the strength of my emotion is swayed by one of my diseases, it does not invalidate the emotion. One doctor told me “Just because you have PMS doesn’t make your rage unreasonable.”

4.      Make sure you have a strong support group. Whether friends, family of origin, family of choice, or professionals, these people can help you reflect and recognize if indeed you are “over the top” or reacting reasonably in a particular situation. When I was going to be sharing a holiday dinner with one of my former abusers present, I took a friend with me. She was coached to give me a particular signal if I started reacting inappropriately because of the PTS. I found that working with my counselor to develop the plan and having a caring friend supporting me in the application of the plan allowed me to enjoy the dinner and I never even had to use my plan.


Yes, change is hard. But we don’t go through life alone. And we can’t get through life without change (can you imagine having to wear diapers throughout your life, instead of just the beginning and end?). Emotions come to us in the interest of health. Use them to make yourself a happier, healthier person. Recognize how you feel in different situations, and make informed decisions that better your life. And like the Snickers ads, don’t make big decisions when you are hungry. 

Wednesday, December 27, 2017

A Candle in the dark


I always look forward to the winter solstice. Living with chronic depression is harder when I don’t see the sun because it’s dark when I drive to work and dark when I drive home from work. But once again, we have made it through the longest night of the year, which doesn’t necessarily have any connection with the dark night of the soul. Solstice slipped by me with barely a nod to my pagan sisters.

In my home, we celebrated Christmas with gifts, be they thoughtful, silly, useful or desired; and food answering the emotional longings of different people around the table. Roasted turkey for one, pearl onions for another, stuffing (in and out of the bird). (Mea culpa, I forgot the mashed potatoes! But at least I didn’t have to blow the rolls out this year!) We spoke of those not able to be with us in person, lifting up their health and hearts with a promise to bring some Christmas to them when they are ready to receive it. We honored those who will never be with us in person again, with tears and laughter and happy memories.

When no one else was around, I honored Hanukkah. Singing the phrases along with my “Bare Naked for the Holidays” album. Baruch atah, Adonai Eloheinu, Melech haolam, asher kid’shanu b’mitzvotav v’tsivanu l’hadlik ner shel Hanukkah. (.ברוך אתה יי, אלוהינו מלך העולם, אשר קידשנו במצוותיו, וציוונו להדליק נר של חנוכה). How lucky are we to be able to celebrate a light in the dark.

This year has seemed to be full of “the dark” more than I remember in past years recently. Probably because of the politics here in the good ol’ US of A and interpersonal politics at my day job. I have spent untold hours listening to people hurting from unkind words, unjust rules and justice repealed. I confessed to friends that I “scroll past” their political posts on social media, because I just can’t look at another ranting meme. The faces of my friends superimposed over the actions of this president wound me more than an insulting joke or picture can heal. (Although sometimes a band of chipmunks playing a snazzy jazz tune or a cute kitten video helps.)

And then there are the floods and fires. And no, they were not caused by g-d’s wrath towards the LBGTQ movement, thank you very much. I was reminded of a fire 24 years ago: I was 8 months pregnant and helped friends shovel debris off of the foundation of their house. Inviting them to share Christmas with us, co-mingling traditions again. And I am reminded again of why we celebrate.

We celebrate the love we share with one another. The little things like a smile passing in the hall, the big things like taking care of someone after surgery. Of unexpected gifts, and heart-full hugs. Our presence in hearing some one’s aching story of betrayal. The joy in a healthy birth or the colorblind man seeing true colors for the first time.

These are our candles in the dark, lighting the way when we might otherwise be overwhelmed by daily noise and strife. If you are with me when we turn the calendar page to 2019, we’ll play some silly games, light some more candles, sing Auld Lang Syne, and share our mitzvos. Because we all need more light and love.

So just as the physical nights are getting shorter now, may your dark nights of the soul be relieved by the love you give and receive. Blessings abound!

 

Wednesday, September 14, 2016


Checking in with my Stalker 9-14-16

Thirteen months ago I blogged about getting a restraining order against a former boyfriend. He didn’t take the hint (gosh, it was a “appear in court” in-your-face hint) and began driving by my home frequently, leaving packages in and on my vehicles (parked in a “secure” garage), sending me numerous emails daily (again), etc.

I went back to the police, and they picked him up at home on a Friday evening and kept him in jail for the weekend. The following week, I received a criminal protective order, good for three years. Again, a fairly large, in-your-face type of hint.

Six months later, he was back sitting in his vehicle watching my home. The police came (two hours later) and took a report, spoke to him at his home. Promised me (again) that he understood and would no longer bother me. Oops, then he was at my office, trying to talk security into letting him up to my suite, and to intercede with me on his behalf, since the restraining order was almost up! Can we say “clueless?” Another police department called, another report taken.

Because he has not threatened me with physical violence, the police will not go and arrest him. Apparently, emotional abuse is not considered enough, even if it causes physical illness/symptoms in the stalkee (I refuse to see myself as a victim). If he comes within 1000 feet of me (think of a football field), I am not to engage him, but call the police immediately. If he is still there if and when they arrive, then they will arrest him. How am I supposed to keep him there while not “engaging with him?”

Now he is sending Facebook messages to a friend of mine. Long ones, multiple times a day. His wife (oh yes, turns out he was very married) also called my friend accusing me of stalking him. Go figure. I’m getting afraid to go home again. I have changed my Facebook ID. I’m in hiding again. This is no way to live.

I cannot fathom what he thinks his activity will accomplish. I am reminded that to expect logic from an irrational person is not logical.

TO MY STALKER: If you are reading this, please pay close attention to what I am saying:

Go away. Stay away.

Do not call, email, message or mail anything to me or any of my friends, co-workers, acquaintances, or relatives.

Do not drive by my home or place of employment.

Do not try to get information from my doctors or the security people at my office.

Do not have your wife call, email or message me or any of my friends.

All of these activities are considered domestic violence and stalking behavior. I have a CRIMINAL restraining order out against you. I do NOT want to ever see or hear from you again. EVER. By your own admission, I am a stubborn woman. Keep this in mind.

GO AWAY NOW. STAY AWAY FOREVER. THIS MEANS YOU!

Tuesday, March 1, 2016

Tomorrow’s Doors (revisited)

We talk
seldom listening
We mourn the past
worry about the future

We take baby steps
but we dare not more
Fearing change
more than death

New friends, new ideas
live in the moment
Try one new thing
Fear lost in the being

Tomorrow comes
welcomed or not
Today’s decisions
open tomorrow’s doors.


Beth Cardall Leehy
2016 Mar 1

Tuesday, February 9, 2016

Lent 2016: No longer Irish Catholic

Perhaps because I grew up surrounded by Irish Catholics, when I hear “Lent,” it is always preceded in my mind by, “What are you giving up for….” Now, as an adult and hopefully more sophisticated theologian than my 6-year-old self, I realize that Jesus never gave up anything for Lent. I mean, after all, he was Jewish, not Christian (semi-adult theologian giggles here). The Lenten season is to remind us the events of Passion Week, leading up to the crucifixion and subsequent rising of Christ Triumphant.

So why remember Passion Week? Why observe Lent? Many Christians I know attend weekly vegetarian soup dinners and bible study classes. Many literally refrain from eating or doing something pleasurable for the 40 non-Sunday days of Lent. I can only guess that this is to remind them that Jesus suffered while he was “in jail” under Pontius Pilate.

I suggest, instead of giving up chocolate, meat, deserts, Starbucks or some other worldly item, we actually try to be more like Jesus during this church season of Lent. How about if we give up:

• Bigotry and hate-mongering?
• Fear and self-loathing?
• Addictive behavior that harms us or others?
• Old sorrows and injuries that keep us moribund?

Let us, instead of giving up, take on something. Try adding to your daily life:

• Gratitude/Awareness practice: Notice the beauty around you. Keep a gratitude journal. Say “thank you,” more often. Write to the good politicians.
• Give the gift of hope to others: Smile at a stranger. Donate more to charity (anonymously). Reconnect with a loved one. End war.
• Self-care: Actually do the exercise program that you have on your “to do” list. Get your teeth cleaned. Get your blood pressure and glucose monitored. Donate blood or platelets so someone else may live.

I’ve been corresponding with someone recently that made me realize some of the emotional baggage I’ve been carrying around with me for a very long time. I made a promise to keep an open heart and mind and work through my fear. Along with the ideas above, this will be my Lenten practice.

Lent is a church season with the ultimate goal of making us a better person. May Easter find you transformed by your Lenten practice, and thereby find the world a little (or a lot) better. Blessings abound if we can but see them.

Wednesday, August 19, 2015

Feminism or reality?

“We live in deeds not years In thoughts not breaths In feelings not figures on a dial. We should count time by heart throbs. He most lives who thinks most, feels noblest, acts the best.” [sic] Philip James Bailey

This quote came up in one of my emails as a suggestion for a meditation centering thought. I deleted it, because of the word “He,” having a knee jerk reaction to the exclusionary language. Yes, I know English usage mandates the use of masculine pronouns when mixed gender is addressed. And this was not publicly challenged in Mr. Bailey’s lifetime (1816 – 1902). But really, can’t we move forward yet?

Just as minority populations feel excluded when pictures/movies/television show only the dominant culture, I feel excluded when only male pronouns are used. In this particular case, I was good with the first few phrases, which use the inclusive “we.” Then I got to the troublesome “He,” and the following phrase stuck in my gullet and the whole thing went to the trash bin.

“He most lives who thinks most, feels noblest, acts the best.” So, the thinking person lives most? The noblest feeling person lives most? The person who acts the best lives most? Thoughts of a privileged, white, male, me thinks. Not much shows up on the internet about Mr. Bailey, so I do not know if he was ever a parent. But every parent who ever loved a child lives by their heart throbs. From the first time a baby smiles at you, to their first injury, every time they tell you, “Mom (or Dad), I love you,” until you or they die, they are connected to your heart. Good parents act as the best parent they can. They are noble, as far as acting in the best interest of the family (in whatever shape it may be) to the best of their ability.

I guess it is the first part of the last phrase that most bothers me. “He most lives who thinks most.” Most parents I know don’t have time or brain cells left for thinking during the first few years of a child’s life. One moves by rote, routine, reflex in a fog of sleeplessness (and sometimes worry). And that’s if your child is healthy. G-d help those of us whose babies are ill or otherwise need additional care and resources.

And sorry, just thinking doesn’t make one a good person or noble citizen. One MUST act to be noble. Maybe this quotation was taken out of context and Mr. Bailey expanded on his idea in surrounding text. If the editor who chose this quote for the meditation exercise had included some background and noted the exclusionary language (even by just adding "sic" at the end) I might not have deleted the message immediately. “Ifs” and “maybes,” but something to keep in mind should you have the opportunity to address people in the future.

Be inclusive. Be on the cutting edge of language and mores. Remember women hold up half (actually, more than half) the sky.

Monday, August 10, 2015

I’m one of the lucky ones.

I’m one of the lucky ones. It’s been almost a year since I wrote my last blog on the subject of domestic violence. Unfortunately I now know even more about the subject.

I just ended a romantic relationship. Prior to ending it, I normally received a few texts a day, a phone call or two, never an email. We had dinner together most nights, and a couple of weekend vacations together. Permission or agreement was always requested before coming to each other’s home.

Post break-up, I began receiving 10, 20, even more texts a day. Six to ten phone calls a day. When I blocked the phone number(s), I began receiving multiple phone calls at work. When I didn’t answer my direct line, this person started calling the receptionist multiple times. I started receiving emails, both to my personal address and work address; even though I made it clear I did not want to receive personal emails at my work address. Then, this person also began physically showing up: in my (theoretically secure) home parking garage, at my office, my doctor’s office, my local knitting store, the place where I play trivia, even the Renaissance Faire (where parking costs $10 and admittance is $30) and my church.

I began parking a mile from home and calling my son to see if the coast was clear. Because of the calls and emails at work, my Corporate Security and Corporate HR departments got involved and I had to be escorted to my car in the evenings.

By this time, I’m a nervous wreck. My supervisor took work away from me, saying he didn’t think I could handle my regular workload, much less the additional responsibility I was requesting. I stayed at the office long into the evening, because it was the only place I felt safe. I’m one of the lucky ones – I have a place where I feel safe.

Getting the restraining order was an ordeal. I’m fairly bright, college educated, computer literate and persistent. I researched on-line for what was needed, found the forms, printed them out and called a few agencies to confirm what I needed to file for a domestic violence restraining order. Still, when I got to the courthouse with my completed and signed paperwork, I was sent from office to office, told to complete more forms, then back to the office-to-office routine. It took over 3 hours, even though I thought I was thoroughly prepared when I arrived. I was exhausted by the time I actually gave the local police a copy of the temporary restraining order.

I cannot imagine trying to get this done if I were a less-privileged person. If I had been beat up that morning and escaped my home with only my kids and the clothes on our back, how could I have done research? How would I have found the forms? What if I didn’t speak English or have a computer with internet connection or transportation? My local courthouse has “help-hours” for 2 hours twice a week. The downtown courthouse has help 3 hours twice a week. Do they think domestic violence only happens on those days?

I’m one of the lucky ones. I wasn’t afraid for my physical safety (too much). I have resources and friends available. I speak English. I am stubborn and well-educated. I was granted a one-year restraining order. My former lover has to attend a 52-week class regarding domestic violence and transfer ownership or store all owned firearms at an approved gun locker. I don’t know what will happen in a year. But at least now I’m not afraid to go home at night.

At least I have a home to go to. I don’t have to try and find a bed at a shelter for me and my children. I have a job still. I’m one of the lucky ones.

It’s time to end domestic violence, now and forever. Stop the silence, stop the violence. Before you find out if you are one of the lucky ones.

Wednesday, September 10, 2014

Stop the silence, stop the violence

Domestic violence – a phrase that has come to the forefront of the news recently because yet another man beat a woman senseless. In this case, it was a professional football play (Ray Rice of the Baltimore Ravens) beating his fiancé Janay Palmer on February 15, 2014. In March, hotel surveillance video emerged showing him dragging her unconscious body out of an elevator. (http://abcnews.go.com/US/janay-rice-woman-defending-ray-rice/story?id=25378681, 9/10/2014 2:27 PM) Mr. Rice and Ms. Palmer then appeared together at a press conference put on by the Ravens. Less than a week later they married.

“Initially, Rice and Palmer both were charged with simple assault. The Atlantic County prosecutor's office later dropped the charge against her. In March, Rice was indicted by a grant jury on the more serious charge of third-degree assault [First and Second-degree assault charges are worse]. The charge carried a potential sentence of three to five years in prison… In May, Rice entered a program for first-time offenders that would clear his record of the criminal charge if he met certain conditions, including participation in counseling.” (http://www.usatoday.com/story/sports/nfl/ravens/2014/09/08/baltimore-ravens-cut-ray-rice/15291729/; 9/10/2014 2:30:35 PM)

During a May news conference put on by the Ravens, both of them addressed the media. She apologized for her role in the incident, while Rice apologized to his bosses. He never once said he was sorry to Ms. Palmer. (http://espn.go.com/espnw/news-commentary/article/11245489/espnw-baltimore-ravens-ray-rice-nfl-domestic-violence-problem; 9/10/2014 2:18 PM). In July Mr. Rice received a 2-game suspension. August saw the NFL introducing new penalties for domestic violence. Then the video of Ms. Palmer’s beating emerged on social media in September, and Mr. Rice was released from the Ravens and suspended indefinitely by the National Football League.

One of the reasons I am so angry about this situation is that a man who knocked a woman out was originally given a slap-on-the-wrist penalty. It was only when the video of the actual beating surfaced and public outcry was heard that he received a stiffer penalty from his employer. I don’t know why Ms. Palmer, now Mrs. Rice, didn’t press charges against Mr. Rice, or indeed, why she then married her abuser. Her reasons are her own. I find it hard to understand why Mr. Rice’s assault on Ms. Palmer was only a misdemeanor offence.

In the two weeks since the NFL imposed the new standardized penalties for domestic violence on August 28, two more pro football players have been arrested on domestic violence charges. Why do we not have more of a public outcry against this abuse? If we say, “Oh, he made a mistake,” when a man beats up a woman, we are condoning his behavior. Beating someone up is not a mistake.

If we say a woman deserved to be dosed with a date-rape drug because she went to a club, we are agreeing that it OK to rape women. Rape is not a mistake.

If we say women should wear sneakers instead of heels, dress conservatively instead of revealingly, walk in groups instead of alone, then we are saying it is a woman’s own fault if she is followed, stalked, assaulted or killed.

This is wrong-thinking and we as a society MUST change it. We don’t make men wear baggy clothing, walk in groups or wear sneakers when they go out at night. Why then do we ask it of women? Because as a society we believe it is OK to abuse women. Think this through carefully. This is why rape and abuse are under-reported. Because it almost always is made to be the woman’s fault. Because we EXPECT men to abuse women. Until we no longer expect men to hurt women, it will continue.

Speak out women! Speak out male-allies! Stop the silence, STOP THE VIOLENCE.
NOW.

Friday, February 28, 2014

Lenten project for non-Christians?

I don’t usually observe Lent too much. I’m not Christian in the way most people think of one and I think of how some folks “give up Chocolate” or some such thing as a trivializing of a potentially spiritually important season.

But this month I have been struggling with the success of a co-worker. This person has many fewer years in the industry than I do; brags about lack of know-how; poor grammar, inability to proof-read and has major holes in professional knowledge. Yet, he (yes, a relatively young man) has been promoted.

I have worked in this industry for 30 years, starting with typing basic forms in quadruplet. I have a B.S. in Business Management and an advanced degree. I have worked on the client and the consulting side of the business. I do pro bono consulting in the industry for nonprofits. I handle a book of business with almost no oversight from our manager.

I’ve been with my employer for 15 years; he has been here less than 5. I recommended him for “Early Career Advancement “ training program. And now this young man has a corner office and I’m still in a cubicle with no hope of a promotion. He’s now probably going to be earning 25% more in salary than I.

The green monster of envy has taken a huge bite out of my goodwill this month. So for Lent this year, I’m re-starting my 90-day challenge and giving up envy.

What you ask is a “90-day challenge?” For 90 consecutive days, I may not criticize this person. In any way. No constructive criticism, no gossip, no digs, no disses. 90 (nine-zero, count them) consecutive days. What if I slip up? Start over at day one. (It once took me over a year to complete a 90-day challenge on a particularly challenging person.)

Will this make me a better person? Probably not. Will it change my co-worker’s life? Nope. Will it change my life? Yes!

By the time I go a full calendar-quarter saying only positive things (or keeping my mouth shut) about my co-worker, I know that I will have greater compassion for him. My blood pressure will not go up when I think of him and his success. I will be able to truly smile and be happy for his promotion. I will probably even like my job more and do it better as my attitude improves.

So my Lenten season will be a little longer than 40 days. I think Jesus would approve of my non-traditional plan for this year. My challenge to you is to make your own 90-day challenge on the person you most complain about. See how your life can change, starting with just one step, one day at a time.

Monday, August 5, 2013

I didn't die

Two weeks ago today I thought I was having a heart attack. Nausea, shooting pain and tingling in left arm, panting instead of breathing, blood pressure in the 170s, feelings of anxiety (no kidding!). I called one of my dear sisters who took me to the ER and stayed with me for hours. I sent her home after they decided to admit me for the night.

Now, my mother had a history of uncontrollable high blood pressure. My maternal grandfather died of complications from strokes and my maternal grandmother carried nitroglycerine tablets for as long as my mother could remember. I began taking blood pressure pills a couple of years ago and those seem to have worked. Until that Monday.

After about 24 hours in the hospital, including two chest x-rays, a radioactive CT scan of my heart, a dose of nitroglycerine, another vasodilator, baby aspirin, various other pokes, prods and pills, I was declared heart-healthy (Thank All-That-Is for healthy insurance!). The last cardiologist told me, “If you aren’t exercising, do. If you are exercising, keep doing it.” Whew. I didn’t die.

The doctors have not shared with me their thoughts about what may have caused this scary episode. I’ve tried to figure it out and have come up with the following potential reasons:
a. Aliens invaded my body and my body tried to reject them.
b. My son told me he got an A on his mid-term college exam and essay.
c. I had over 21 days of vacation saved up.

While (a) is a possibility, no one reported any UFOs over Southern California that day. (B) would not have caused my blood pressure to rise significantly. I know my son is brilliant and capable of expressing himself very clearly, and besides, I told him I expected As and Bs on his report cards and would expect to see them each semester.

Therefore I have come to the conclusion that (c) is the culprit. My day job as an insurance broker is extremely seasonal, with May through July being horribly busy and demanding. In addition to being seasonal, it is cyclical, and we are experiencing what is called a “hardening market,” which briefly, means my job is harder to do and I work longer hours.

What does this really mean? I need to be more intentional about relaxing and taking care of myself. I have been taking steps to improve my financial health, physical and mental health and spiritual health and I need to continue and probably do even more in those directions.

So what is my action plan?
1st My son and I are working on cleaning up our home. A neat home is more relaxing than a messy one.
2nd I will find a company to clean out the home I own jointly with my ex. That is the first big step in improving my financial situation.
3rd I will continue to walk and monitor my diet with the intention of losing an additional 10 pounds.
4th I will devote an hour a day to meditation in one form or another. It may be while I walk, it may be knitting, playing piano, painting or Zen sitting. The form may vary, but the intent will be to close down the monkey-mind for an hour each day.

These are small steps. But I will do them as though my life depends on it. Because it probably does.

Friday, May 10, 2013

Mother's Day 2013



Hey Mom, hope you and Grandma are having a smashing good time together. You both died too young and are missed greatly here. Just wanted to give you an update on the family.

Your grandson is maturing into a lovely, thoughtful, caring and compassionate young man. Yes, he’s a slob (gosh, wonder where he got that gene?), but he knows how to clean the kitchen and living room. I usually ignore his bedroom and he ignores mine – it works for us. He’s got his own rock and roll band and plays drums and saxophone and sings in an acoustic punk-folk band. When he isn’t playing or practicing (or playing video games with the guys) he’s studying pre-law at the local community college. He likes his studies and seems to be doing well.

He reaches out to his cousins on a semi-regular basis, and tries to maintain ties to his dad’s side of the family, and to his uncle Paco. He had a long-term relationship with a very nice girl, but that ended a few months ago. After some quiet days and nights, he seems to have recovered. Just as he recovered from that horrible skateboarding accident last December (he wouldn’t be my son without the ER visits, would he?).

I’m still selling insurance and trying to figure out what I’m going to do when I grow up—Ministry is still the top runner if I can retire in the next couple of years from the financial industry. I’ve been participating in a dream group, knitting up a storm and working at the So Cal Renaissance Faire. Oh yeah, and riding my motorcycle in the local mountains. Last year I went on vacation with Jean and with Jeanette.

Your teachings have kept me on a good path:
1. Walk quickly and wear loud clothing. I may have to start sewing again to feed my need for unique clothing, but that’s OK – I’m almost ready to bring your machines and fabric out of the closets (and from under the bed and out of the hall library, etc.).
2. Be nice to the underlings as they can make your life heaven or hell. Yep.
3. Work hard, play harder. I forgot that for a while, but seem to be making up for it these days.
4. Save for a rainy day. You never know when the next ER visit looms, either for your kid or your car or your cat.
5. Don’t hit your brother or your kid or your cat. Ever. I refined this to “Don’t touch another in anger.” Ever.
6. If you’ve been crying every day for a while, go see a doctor. Still working on this one, but getting better.
7. Listen to the advice you give others and apply it to your own situation. Ouch.
8. Hug first. Hard words are easier to say when snuggling.
9. Leave the office at work at the end of the day.
10. Sing lustily.
11. Encourage creativity.

I’m sure there are more, but these are what come to mind as I think of this Mothers’ Day. I hope your grandson remembers to gift me somehow. I reminded him last week that the day was coming. I miss you.

Wednesday, March 13, 2013

Adventurous Projects

So. I’ve joined an on-line dating service. Trying to describe myself honestly, yet positively enough to interest someone worth knowing is a slippery thing. I’ve tinkered with the description, changing a word here, a phrase there. Added in income level, changed photos, added more about who I would like to meet.

Humbling experience, this on-line dating. In a month of actively “winking” and sending emails, I’ve had one date. I’ve had at least three scammers tell me they are in love with me within 2 emails. They are flattering, but rather scary too. How does one try to remain pleasantly naive without getting hoodwinked? I check photos out on Google Images. I Google their names. (That’s how I found out about the scammers). Did you know there is a whole website dedicated to ferreting out military-related romantic scammers? Boy, were my eyes opened!

Having been rather in hibernation mode for the last several years, it seems the dating scene has changed dramatically since I last was “on the market” (over 30 years ago). I’ve been trying different venues and activities for the past year or so but haven’t been meeting eligible people. Hence the on-line dating.

I think I’m having more luck with my devilishly difficult Damask Shawl project. But I’m not giving up on either project yet. Stay tuned for an occasional update.

Tuesday, February 26, 2013

Forgive us our trash baskets

A friend sent this to me today in an email with other cute stories of kids and religion: “One particular four-year-old prayed, “And forgive us our trash baskets as we forgive those who put trash in our baskets.”

This one struck me as a wonderful example of how children may interpret something into their own experience and enlighten us poor adults with their truth.

We’ve probably all heard the phrase about our past being baggage that we carry around unnecessarily. I like the imagery of a debt or trespass being trash. One person’s treasure is another’s trash: therefore, something I allow to upset me becomes trash in my basket. Something I dump on another person un-righteously is still my trash and rightfully belongs in my trash basket.

This works ecologically too. I saw a picture today of a landfill where erosion from a massive rainstorm uncovered trash that was probably buried in the 1960 – over 50 years ago. Plastic bags and a tire were still very clearly NOT much degraded by half a century of being underground. Mother Earth, please, please forgive me my trash basket.

And the theme of forgiveness: I think a lot of our unprocessed emotional baggage may be from not having forgiven previous injuries. So if we can do the hard work of forgiveness, we can empty our own trash baskets and quit putting trash in others’ bins. No recycling of old hurts needed or wanted. Just clean up.

Ah, if it were just this easy. Forgive us our trash baskets as we forgive those who put trash in our baskets. Out of the mouth of babes…straight into g-d’s ear, please and thank you.

Friday, October 14, 2011

The names have been changed...

Once upon a time there was a child named Kelly. Kelly really liked doing all kinds of things, whether drawing flowers and birds and oceans or fixing wooden boxes and frames, mowing the lawn or chasing butterflies and even pulling weeds.

Kelly studied music: clarinet, bass clarinet, flute, oboe, guitar, tenor saxophone; classical and jazz (and a little rock & roll). Kelly ran track, low hurdles, high jump, swimming and gymnastics, tennis, volleyball, bicycling, skateboarding and riding motorcycles.

In school, Kelly excelled in math, music, chemistry, languages and literature.

As a teen ager, Kelly thought Donna Summers was the sexiest person alive and Peter Tork and Mike Nesmyth were the nicest rock & rollers around. OK, so Kelly was a bit warped – Kelly admired talent more than looks (although Donna Summers certainly had and still has both) and didn’t suffer fools gladly.

Kelly’s parents taught the neighborhood kids, including Kelly, how to cook and how to make a mitre box and the best ways to climb trees and also how to fall without cracking a bone. It was a pretty good, all-around childhood.

As Kelly grew up, similar activities filled Kelly’s time and life. Kelly had a series of long-term, loving relationships and even helped raise a child or three. At one point, Kelly was living alone and decided to get back to motorcycling. After taking a class to remember how to ride (and finding out how much motorcycles had changed in the past 40 years), Kelly bought a beautiful, big, powerful motorcycle and began riding at every possible chance. Because it was easier, Kelly had short hair, but liking being a bit different (and maybe being a bit of a hippie, had a long ponytail in the back.

Returning from a nice, long ride one day, one of the other riders told Kelly, “You ride pretty well.” Kelly was pleased to hear the complement, but wondered if Kris told all the other riders similar things. The next time Kelly and Kris were on a ride together, Kris told Kelly, “Riding with you is just like riding with the guys.”

Now Kelly was confused. What did gender have to do with motorcycle riding? But being raised to be polite, Kelly simply said, “Thank you,” and wondered. Kelly rode competently, shared costs fairly and listened and took part in conversations just like everyone else seemed to do.

Kelly was looking forward to being a minister after retiring from selling insurance, and was trying to figure out how to fit motorcycling and golf and surfing into a minister’s schedule. Kelly wondered if the same type of gender-biased comments would be made on the golf course or in the church? Being less than 6-foot tall didn’t mean Kelly was a woman, just as being good at math didn't mean Kelly was a man.

Kelly decided to ignore the weird genderized comment and continued riding every day and living the best life possible, as just Kelly, "the art-loving, musical, motorcycling ministerial duffer."

Friday, July 22, 2011

Love thy neighbor

I like this photo - and don't give me any stuff about loving the person and hating the sin. Hate is a very strong emotion. I hope you never experience it.

Confused about the "love thy neighbor" instruction?... on Twitpic

Wednesday, April 20, 2011

One reason for a UU Easter celebration

Unitarian Universalists are often accused of ignoring thorny (yes, an Easter-week pun) theological questions. Those of us who seek professional ministerial standing must be able to answer these and defend our answers to the credentialing committees. I will confess that it is difficult to find discussion partners that don’t rely solely on the Bible since I graduated seminary. (And because I attended a Methodist seminary, it was sometimes difficult to find those discussion partners there.) But in order to be theologically sound, we must find our answers to questions such as “What is sin?” and “What is reconciliation?”

And this time of year, one has to wonder why does a UU celebrate Easter? What are we really celebrating? A friend shared this with me in her email recently:

"I asked God if it was okay to be melodramatic/and she said yes
I asked her if it was okay to be short/and she said it sure is
I asked her if I could wear nail polish/or not wear nail polish
and she said honey - she calls me that sometimes
she said you can do just exactly/what you want to
Thanks God I said
And is it even okay if I don't paragraph/my letters
Sweetcakes God said - who knows where she picked that up
what I'm telling you is/Yes Yes Yes"
"God Says Yes To Me" by Kaylin Haught, from The Palm of Your Hand

In the way of serendipity, that was in my head while, in response to a Trinitarian challenge to Universalist thought, I responded today with the following:

"Not identifying as a Christian, I approach theological questions from a systematic point of view. The version of Christianity that seems most logical to me would be a version of process theology wherein sin would be that which alienates or breaks relationship and all-that-is is ever desirous of closer connection with all entities. This then would be a "universalist" view, as an entity can never be separated from all-that-is.

Admittedly, I am not Trinitarian nor Christian as most Christians would define it. I encourage respectful exploration. Thanks for inviting me to deeper thought today. Blessings to you and your readers."

I don’t talk to any being that might be identified as a god/God/Goddess, nor does that type of entity speak to me (that I am aware of). However, I do believe in being in right relation with others and the world and the universe. This ties in with my definition of sin, above. Reconciliation then comes as a result of improving relationships.

If Easter is, in the Christian Church, a celebration of reconciliation with God, then I, as a good non-Christian Unitarian Universalist, can celebrate a day dedicated to improving relationships with the world and my kith, kin and others. In fact, this is why I participate in Communion at churches with an “open table,” such as that celebrated by my dear friend Mary Jo at All Peoples Christian Church. Anything that promotes peace between living beings is worthy of celebrating in as many ways as we can.

May your celebrations bring you peace and joy, in whatever form they take.