Darkness and Light

December is a season of grief
for so many people
in so many places.

Folks sometimes feel guilty
for not feeling merrier,
for not feeling peppy and happy
and full of light and song.

We forget the stories behind our holidays.
Chanukah, a time of darkness, war and want...
and a miracle of light in the darkness.

Christmas, a time of taxes, oppression,
and poverty...
and the miracle of God's presence
in the midst of all the pain.

Even Solstice...the shortest, darkest day of the year...
and the hope that the days will grow longer,
that the sun will return,
that gardens will grow again
in the cycle of time.

The Year in Review

I've decided against a Christmas letter this year.

The form letter, a staple in Christmases past,
stumped me this year.
There's too much to describe.
A typed page seems inadequate.

How do you capture the important things?
Grandmother died, went to the Grand Canyon, brother moved to other side of globe, I turned 40...
it all sounds trite in summation.

How do I describe the fact
that I fall in love so quickly these days,
with my hospice patients,
my coworkers,
the children in my life,
my friends at church,
the cats and dogs I encounter,
the birds on my birdfeeder?

How do I describe
the accumulated memory
of the people I've met
and the places I've seen
and the deep impact
of the smallest and most profound
of daily experiences?

Maybe, instead of a quick form letter,
I'll take the time to write letters
to the people in my address book
and in my heart.
It will probably take the better part of the year,
but a handwritten letter
is such a strange treasure
these electronic days.

Handwritten letters...
and ongoing blog entries.

And the knowledge that the most important
experiences and feelings and thoughts and learnings
will never be publically reported,
only lived.

Political Hopes

There was a time
in years gone by
when Democrats and Republicans
negotiated.
They discussed,
argued,
and voted,
with votes not going
rigidly along party lines.

I have missed having a division
of political power
between the White House
and the legislature.

Could it be
that Americans might,
for a year or two,
think about issues,
look for common ground,
move beyond the bluster of party
and think about the good of the country?

Perhaps too much to hope for...
a return of statesmen and women
instead of politicians.

No perfect government,
either in the past
or in the future...
but I think we can do better.

Pathways

I love pictures of pathways in the woods.
Leafy trails, log bridges,
trees leaning in,
sunshine dappled through the canopy.

More than pictures,
I love BEING on pathways in the woods.
But sometimes a picture tides me over
between rambling hikes.

We had a meeting after church today
to vote on a budget...
a humongous budget,
so much more money than last year.
And at least initially,
less program money
while we pay mortgages
and wait for our land to sell.

The land on the mountain,
where we thought we would build a church.
Who knew back then,
that the building project would not work,
that the church downtown would come up for sale,
that we would be here now,
unintended mortgagees.

Waiting for the next bend in the path.
Waiting to see how we can raise this budget,
waiting for a real estate transaction
to alleviate our debt.

Waiting to see, beyond all that,
what this community will become
as we bumble along
full of energy and talent
full of conflict and faults
full of mystery
and sometimes even awe.

Cathedral

Last weekend...
hiking Joyce Kilmer.
My favorite tree.

Wombat Sermon and Boogie

Today's link:

http://www.globalcommunity.org/flash/wombat.shtml

Listen to the wombat. Stay tuned to the end for the boogie.

Old Growth Forest

Hiked this past Saturday
at Joyce Kilmer.
Hugged the big trees,
sometimes five or six people around,

grew dizzy looking up,
wondered what it would have been like
to walk the woods of this country
before our logging
led us to believe that trees
are generally smaller.

And Suddenly, It Was October

Where did the last half of September go?
Sometimes it feels like time slips by
faster and faster.

I visited a 98 year old lady today,
who is quite aware of her age, of her history,
quite aware of the people who have died
and left her behind,
quite aware of her blessings and her faith.

She was quite aware.
Unusual at 98.
In the past I've experienced her
pleasant and talkative
but deaf as a stump.
Today, miracle of miracles,
her hearing aide was working.

Regardless, she always tells me,
"I'm just plugging along...
doing the best I can."

You don't get the full effect without her voice.

Musical little old lady voice, lilting and upbeat.

When she says "doing the best I can"
she traces the scale upwards
until the second half of "can"
(a word I previously didn't realize
had two syllables, one a note lower than the first).

Ca-an. The second syllable goes back down a note.

Call me if you need to hear it.
It's hard to explain in type.

San Franscisco Beyond the Equator

Hello, and welcome back
to Peruvian church week.

This Fransiscan church in Lima has survived
earthquakes across three centuries.
Most memorable were the catacombs
beneath the church
with bones out in the open,
femurs and skulls and such.
My visit was, oh, ten years ago,
but if memory serves me
the bones were not sorted by person
but by type of bone.

My south Georgia relatives
would have been agog at the sight.
In south Georgia,
you mummify your relatives
and carefully place them in silk lined boxes
and bury them within concrete underground vaults.

Burial is really about culture
more than anything.

I kind of like the idea of getting all stirred together
with the rest of the community of faith
and stored in bins underneath the church.

My old guidebook notes
that there are roughly 70,000 people
laid to rest in the San Fransisco catacombs.

In south Georgia, you can share a graveyard,
but your plot is a space reserved for one.
We're such an individualistic society,
even in the way we bury our dead.

It's Not a Tumor

Last Monday I did a sporadic breast self-exam.
Found a large, hard patch that was most evident
when I raised my hand above my head.
Had a small, world-freezing moment of panic.

Called the doctor and got an appointment
for the following Tuesday.
As the week progressed,
I did about 50 additional self-exams.
I thought about my mortality.
I chose french fries instead of brocolli
as my side dish, since life is short.

I sat at the bedside of a wonderful woman
only two years my senior,
as she gently died of metastatic breast cancer,
surrounded by family and friends.

I did about 50 more self-exams...
always waiting until I was alone,
although I would have liked to do them more often.
Still there, no change.

Obsessed, prayed, remembered
that I had found a cyst five years before
and that was no big deal.

My doctor expressed doubt
that it was anything serious
after a quick exam,
and then sent me this morning
for a mammogram and sonogram.

Won't go into detail about the
smashing good time I had at the radiology clinic....

Except to say,
I have another cyst.
Happily, they no longer feel a compulsion
to follow such news with a needle.

Women, do your self exams.
Men, do the same for testicular cancer.

Check early, check often.
You never know.

Sunday, Church Day

Cathedral in Cuzco, Peru...1996
We started back Sunday School for the fall today.
Had bright smiling faces in the adult class I teach.
Some know far more than me,
others find the Bible a strange and alien book.
Never know who is going to show up in class.
They keep me on my toes, this lot.
Sometimes I teach, sometimes I learn,
sometimes I just keep the ball rolling.
Today, like a children's class,
we began to learn a song that lists
the books of the Bible.
Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers....

We're reading Joshua right now.
Holy War, invading and killing in the name of God.
Difficult material...especially
since we tend towards being a peace church.
But you can't skip it and pretend it's not there.
For one thing, humanity continues to wage war
in the name of belief and religion.
More than that...in the name of God.
So, we read and discuss...
and try to figure out
how to interpret...what to follow....
and how to be human,
violent, selfish and fearful...
and yet capable of great compassion,
great faith, great generosity.
Be strong and courageous.

August 10 Garden Pictures

I took pictures of the garden back a month ago,
but never posted them...
will share some this week.
Now, looking out the window,
the corn and squash are gone,
the beans are past their peak
and the tomato plants are giving their last burst
of summer energy.

Labor Day, Labor Weekend

Last Friday was one of my harder days
at Hospice.
The kind of day people assume I have
all the time, when told where I work.
I rushed from visit to visit all day,
had lunch around 3:00.
In the morning was called
to the home of a family I've visited for a year
because my friend and patient had died quietly in his sleep.
Spent an hour mid-day on the phone with a grieving widow.
Was called at the end of the day
to the home and bedside of another longtime patient,
who was in her last hours of life.
Left her home at 5:45, with work still to do
and no more week in which to do it.
Went to sleep Friday night
trying to figure out how to get my paperwork turned in
and when I would prepare for a weekend funeral.
I thought about work all weekend.
Even with company for Labor Day,
and a few hours at the Apple Festival,
I kept having to excuse myself to go back to working.
Sunday I only had three hours on my timesheet,
but the whole day was consumed by the memorial service
in my thoughts and energy.
For the record, my boss told us not to do funerals on the weekend,
but sometimes I'm a soft touch, to my detriment.
Monday, even though it was a holiday,
I found myself at work,
pretty sure it was my own fault for not
just taking the day off like company policy allows
and all my smarter coworkers did.
So my body was at work,
and my attitude was in the cellar,
angry mostly at myself, for working all weekend
when it was so obviously a time
the rest of the country
knew to take off to renew and relax.
After all these years, I'm still trying to figure out
how to have appropriate boundaries.
When I don't get any sabbath rest,
my work suffers,
my coworkers suffer,
my friends suffer.
My cat seems unaffected,
but cats are much better at knowing when to knock off
and take a nap.

Blogless in Carolina

Simple Friday morning update:

There's been a yellow jacket nest in the front lawn,
resulting in an unmowed patch of grass
and an epic battle involving nasty chemical sprays.

No one has been stung, to my knowledge,
but the first evening we stood and watched
over 100 little wasps fly into their hole. Yikes.

The vegetables in the garden are winding down production
at the end of the summer. It was a great tomato year,
unlike the previous two cool, rainy summers.

The avacado pit I pictured weeks ago
sprouted,
sent down large roots into the glass jar,
sent broad green leaves into the air.

Work is going well.
Continuing to have mundane and profound visits
with people at home and in nursing homes.
Sometimes funny, sometimes sad,
sometimes I'm the only person even partially awake
during the visit.

It has been kind of a sleepy week.

Looking forward to weekend time at home.

Tuzigoot

Tuzigoot, a fun word to say, an interesting place to visit.
The name, not given by the original inhabitants,
means "crooked river."
The ruins themselves have a certain crooked beauty.
Winding stones, winding waters.






http://www.chandlerbates.com/USA_Trav/AZ2003/tuzigoot.html

More on Global Warming

http://www.transbuddha.com/mediaHolder.php?id=1147

Okay, so this isn't the President, but he sure sounds like him.

I tend to avoid politics in my blog,
but I just thought this was funny.
Know that, in general,
this blog will not be a place to air out my political opinions.

Global Warming

The weather map of the United States this week
was red, from coast to coast.
Everywhere, unrelenting heat.
People have died in California,
power has browned out hither and yon,
and in the mountains of Western North Carolina,
we've run our air conditioning
several nights in a row.

It seems like a good time
to recommend a movie.
Watch it in the air conditioning,
with an ice cold soda.
Or stay home in the shade
and read the book.

Al Gore's "An Inconvenient Truth."

It doesn't matter your political party
or your left or right or middling leanings.

We all need to think this through and
start paying attention.

The Swirling Garden

Near the end of my week of Arizona sun,
we stopped for lunch in Sedona
at a small shopping village.
In the midst of it was a garden,
a shop selling great swirling metal yard art.
The relative cool of the garden
and the gently swirling forest of windblown creations,
soothed my sunburned spirits,
and gave me sense of peace.

My own small vegetable garden
creates this same sense of calm
at the end of a hot day.

Even as I pour sweat, weeding,
planting, pruning and harvesting,
the green of the plants
and the cool of the earth
restore my humor.

And while I own no giant modern windmill art,
the leaves dancing in the breeze
and the hummingbirds giving one another chase
give me all the creative movement I need.

The Hard Sell Cowboy Museum

Sedona is a beautiful place.
Red rocks towering all around the town,
visible everywhere you go.

These majestic formations
have served as backdrop for countless Westerns.

After our relaxing Mexican dinner,
we walked around town,
and headed for the free Cowboy Museum.
I was looking forward to learning more
about the movies filmed in the area.

Instead, I was ready to chew red rocks
by the time we left.

The man behind the counter seemed friendly at first,
engaging us in conversation about our visit.

Then he gradually shifted from light conversation
to full tilt interview.
"What sort of work do you do?"
"Do you own a time share?"
"Why don't you own a time share?"
"Are you girls married? You here with your husbands?"

There was a lot more to it, but you get the general drift.
It seems it wasn't so much about the cowboy movies,
as it was selling the time shares.

I don't know how much of it was sales,
and how much of it was cultural.
I was raised to understand you didn't press people
for personal information.
Southern manners eventually disolved,
and I found myself walking out of the Cowboy Museum,
while the cowboy himself was still trying to engage us
in persistent and nosy conversation.

He acted offended, as if he didn't understand
how we could be so rude
as to walk out while he was still talking.

It ticked me off to be presented as the rude party,
when all I wanted was to stroll in,
look at some pictures in quiet and leave.

The End of a Long Hot Day

At the end of a long hot day
at the end of a long hot week,
there is nothing like sitting down
to a big glass of ice water and a quiet meal.

Did that tonight after two weeks of mad rush.
Been working hard...during business hours
and on into the evening.
Tonight had potatos and beans fresh from the garden,
cooked up just right.

Reminds me of a night on vacation,
after leaving the Grand Canyon,
driving through beautiful Oak Creek Canyon,
and ending up in Sedona.

I took a nap in the air conditioned hotel room,
just to try and catch my breath,
then went to a two-story Mexican restaurant
right in the middle of downtown Sedona.

Took these pictures as we sat on the balcony
in the relative cool of the evening (back in June)
and waited for the yummy food to come.

'Twas an amazing view for a restaurant.

Managable Pieces

The trick to hiking in the Grand Canyon
is remembering that the last half of the hike
you'll be going uphill.
In my local mountains,
the heart-pounding climb comes first.

The uphill can be fun.
I rested every few steps,
stopped to take in the ever changing view.
Concentrated on being there
rather than getting the hike done.

It was sunny on the way up
(as opposed to the cool rain showers
during our downward trek).
It got a little hot, but there was a small patch of shade
after every stretch of the legs.

We, like other travelers on the trail,
soon learned that shady spots
made excellent places to take pictures
and admire the general view.

I'm reminded of one of the formative stories
that has guided and shaped my life and living.
It came from a Madeleine L'Engle book.
She told of a boy who was sent by his uncle
to clear a field by hand.
When faced by the field, he felt overwhelmed,
and curled in a ball and went to sleep.
Day after day, he came to the field,
became exhausted by the thought of the work ahead,
and slept.
Finally the uncle came to check his progress.
Catching the boy in his nap, he told him,
"If each day you had cleared a space the size you slept upon,
the field would be half cleared by now."

Or to quote one of my favorite movies,
"Small steps, Ellie. Small steps."

The Spiritual Life of Squirrels, Part Two

Can a squirrel feel awe and wonder?
While most squirrels we met at the Grand Canyon
begged and chattered, stared us down
with frantic neediness and desire for human food,
we met one squirrel that was different.
While touring the rim of the canyon,
we came upon this little fellow,
sitting quietly, comtemplating the vast space before him.

He never turned away from the sight,
not even when I moved from camera angle to camera angle.
He didn't move a muscle
when snack laden tourists began to gather
to look at him looking at the canyon.

He'd found his peace.
I wondered what went through a squirrel mind
when faced with such grandeur.
While I think he was nibbling on an acorn or nut,
(even an enlightened squirrel has to eat)
he was just so peaceful on the edge of the abyss.

Too often we race through life,
when there are miracles all around.
Take a lesson from the fuzzy squirrel to stop
and take it all in.

The Spiritual Life of Squirrels, Part One

The squirrels in Arizona
are pretty...grey with speckles.
They seem to thrive most everywhere:
in the Phoenix heat,
around the red rocks of Sedona,
and all along the Grand Canyon trails.
This one volunteered to have his picture taken
...and then offered to climb my leg
to shake me down for food.
I reminded him that he is a ground squirrel,
not a shoulder squirrel.
He didn't actually make the climb
up my tall frame,
because I stomped and yelled in discouraging ways.
But he certainly thought about it.
The Grand Canyon squirrels,
for the most part,
are panhandlers and beggers.
Too many people have ignored the posted signs
and have shared their sandwiches and snacks.
Now the squirrels live to beg.
They exude a constant sense of need and want.
"Feed me feed me feed me feed me,"
say the hungry little beady eyes
as they stare intensely at you.
"Feed me feed me feed me feed me."

Always Use an Antecedent

The end of our mile and a half hike
on the Bright Angel Trail
was marked by a small restroom,
very conveniently placed.
It was here that we turned around
to head back up to the rim of the Grand Canyon.
Before we turned around, I looked at the beautiful view,
handed off my camera,
pointed vaguely toward a beautiful rock formation,
and said, "Take my picture in front of that."
After some general counting and smiling,
I took back the digital camera
and looked at the picture.
"What? That's me in front of the restroom."
"Uh huh."
"I wanted my picture in front of the rock formation."
"I thought you wanted it in front of the restroom."
"Why would I want my picture in front of a restroom?"
"Oh, I thought you wanted proof you made it
the whole mile and a half."
I pointed more specifically
and used clearer descriptions
before we took the picture again.

Big Horn Sheep Fun

So we're hiking along,
minding our own business,
when suddenly we saw
something strange
to the left of the trail.
Right below us
stood a big horn sheep.
He ignored us completely.
But my, what a tasty shrub.
You can see where
Star Wars found inspiration
for some of their
alien head decorations.

Along the Bright Angel Trail

The Reluctant Hiker

I dragged my feet the whole trip.
Reluctant to go to Arizona,
not excited about leaving home,
interested but not excited about the Grand Canyon.
Most of this quietly in my head...
but I did whine a little about the hike.
The sign described the hike as "difficult."
In NC, all hikes involve going up and going down
but a difficult hike usually involves climbing
over rocks and fording streams
and I wasn't feeling up to it.

It turns out the day at the canyon
ranks up there as one of the best days of my life
...and the hike, while we did make
a 1131 foot or 644 meter change in altitude
was a broad and easy trail
and we went only a mile and a half down
and took our time,
resting frequently on the heart pounding climb back up
and taking lots and lots of pictures all the way.

How many times have I been grateful
I didn't listen to my fear and doubt?
How many times have I absolutely cherished
a memory I almost declined to have?

Monday Again

Ah, it's Monday again.
Another weekend quickly past.
Gone to work to earn some money,
to contribute to the needs of people other then myself,
and to engage the world in general.

I'd rather stay home,
holed up,
cleaning,
reading,
playing in the yard.

I would love a month
with no place to go.

Weekends fly by too fast.
Suddenly meetings
and visits
and paperwork
and timesheets
and responsibilities
fill my time and take my energy.

But that leaves evening...
and the daily difficulty of not letting
the number of things I'd like to do
overwhelm the few hours
before I go
back to work again.

The Hermit's Rest Ice Cream View

Hermit's Rest

Loved the last tram stop westward
along the rim of the Canyon.
Hermit's Rest...a simple stone building,
another lovely view,
and an ICE CREAM stand.
What more could a hermit want?

We sat on a bench,
eating our ice cream,
looking at the late afternoon canyon,
reflecting on a day's hiking and viewing.

I'm getting ahead of myself,
in this slide show of my vacation...
skipping all the photos from the major hike of the day
and all the great shots from the tram stops...
but Hermit's Rest was on my mind today.

I've been working on my own Hermit's Rest.
Weeded the garden last night,
sat on the back steps as night fell
and watched the fireflies flicker on the lawn and up in the trees.

Today, moved everything out of the front bedroom
and ripped up carpet.
Spent this last hour pulling staples
out of the old hardwood floors underneath.
This project was started in the hall and living room
last summer, and will conclude in the room
where I now sit, typing happily on the computer.
This room will be a pain in the butt to clear,
with desk and bed and file cabinets...
but ultimately worth it to uncover hidden wood floors.

Well, time to get back to staple pulling.
Still have to mow the lawn
this evening.

First Contact

No picture or video I'd ever seen
prepared me for the experience of standing
at the south rim of the Grand Canyon.
Pictures shrink the canyon,
cutting off huge portions of the view.
Seeing it first hand takes your breath away.
Deep, wide, vast.

Garden Note

Today in the garden,
dug the last of the turnip greens
from where they sat on their big purple turnips
and cooked them up with a ham hock.

Picked peas
and shelled them
as the turnips cooked
and the Simpsons made me laugh
on television.

Served turnips
and peas
and brown rice for supper.

Love the garden.
Needing some more rain....

National Monuments

I realized as I started to upload my pictures
that the news today celebrated
President Bush signing the paperwork
to declare the northwest Hawaiian Islands
a National Monument.
This will protect an area of ocean and islands
that totals more than our National Parklands.
Very exciting.
During our week in Arizona,
we visited two National Monuments.
The first was one of our nation's first National Monuments,
which, if I remember correctly,
was signed into being
by Teddy Roosevelt himself.
Montezuma's Castle National Monument
is a simple exit off the route
from Phoenix to the Grand Canyon.
Definitely worth the stop.
Cliff dwellings...the original high rise apartments.
Nothing to do with Montezuma
other than a later historical misunderstanding.


The cliff face reminded me of Qumran,
where they discovered the Dead Sea Scrolls, back in 1947 or so.
Birds nesting in cactus...
people nesting in cliff faces.
We make our homes where we will.

Be It Ever So Prickly

Be it ever so prickly,
there's no place like home.
The birds in Arizona build their nests
in the arms of the catcus plants I avoid.
Jumping through spines, the cactus wren
builds football-like structures out of grass
(and maybe a little toilet paper).


I realized as I hiked through the giant Saguaro plants
(pronounced suh-WAH-row)
that I always saw them drawn in cartoons
with a bird hole in the middle,
based on the reality of all those woodpeckers
who build their nexts
in the bellies of the giant cacti.
Some of them have so many holes
they look like a condominium.
Disclaimer: I noticed that the Saguaro near roads and at the end of paths, like this one, have many more holes than the average, so I think the holes pictured in this little armless dude may be as much the result of human target practice as bird nesting. But you get the idea.

Wee Cool Hours

The secret to combating both
112 degree temperatures
and three hour jet lag...
just keep your usual schedule.

We got up at 4:30, which felt like 7:30,
and the temperatures were in the 80's.
Hiked the neighborhood
between 5:00 and 6:00.

Saw the beautiful colors of sunrise,
lots of animals and birds on the move,
and enjoyed being outside.
Hid in the air conditioning
as the dry air grew unbearably hot.

Chapter Two: The Human King of the Yard

There is also a human
who thinks he owns
this small walled-in kingdom in the sun.


The human, like the hummer,
hates encroachers.
Lately, there have been house finches
insisting on drinking out of the hummingbird feeder.
While the hummer guards from his tree,
the human guards from the house.
When house finches approach,
the human takes a pellet gun
and goes outside and fires warning shots
to scare the offending finches away.
No attempt is made to shoot the finches.
Just trying to get the message across,
you know.
So now the finches fly
when his hand touches the door handle.
But they return when he comes back inside.

This week the human's wife
took the birdfeeder inside
to wash it out.
A stream of water shot out of the top
as she rinsed out the sugar water.

It seems the human shot a hole
in the top of the birdfeeder.

Kindred spirits, he and his hummer.

King of the Yard

In Mesa, Arizona,
there is a walled-in back yard,
owned by a Costa Hummingbird.
He feeds at his feeder,
sits in his trees,
watches diligently for encroachers.
He chases the female hummer
out of the yard
several times an hour.

When the light catches his dark head
it flashes brilliant purple.
He's beautiful, and ever watchful.

I was amazed,
as I met this tiny despot,
how similar he was to the breed
of hummers we have in the east.

Same zoom, same watchful turning of the head,
same attitude of scarcity
and greed.

Back from Arizona

Well, it was something
like Star Trek,
visiting other planets
with strange landscapes,
plants and animals,
bizarrely hot and dry weather.

We stayed in Mesa, near Phoenix,
and visited National Forests
that seemed to have no trees
...only cactus plants.

We saw the Grand Canyon,
and took pictures every three minutes
so there will be plenty to share
in the upcoming months.

An adventure, and a good one.
But, oh, to be home,
where the heat is humid
and as far under 100 degrees
as Mesa was over 100 degrees.

So good to look out the window
and see green, green, green
leaves and grass and vegetables.

So good to be home.