Resist sitting on your haunches . . . anyone can do that.
After a recent support group for writers, I made an observation about members of this long-standing group that began five yeas ago following a week-long memoir writers' retreat. We meet monthly and our deepening friendships have become a rich part of our lives - as well as the composite value of input in honing our writing skills.
My observation was that all members of the group are very involved in various ways that go beyond the enjoyment of writing for writing's sake. Each person has been using her or his writing skills to speak out and stand up for issues.
It is amazing what life-journeys each of us have been on and the opportunities we have had - and continue to have. Somewhere in each person's evolution as a writer has come the importance of making a difference in the world.
One person writes op ed pieces that are published regularly. Another in the field of education was asked to read and then write a review of a new book on the “state of the educational system in our society.” Still another person has spent her life speaking out on ethical issues of internal church matters. Another continues to function as a “community organizer” around critical environmental and social issues.
One person is in the position to encourage church congregations to think hard and deep on what is really important and then to put one’s faith into action. Another person wrote a well-crafted article about an evironmental issue in his commuity. Another speaks internationally at professional meetings out of his passion for the health care of our beloved family dogs. And yet another person has moved from writing about detailed memories to social issues such as the celebration of scouting for girls.
And I had thought that we were just writers, gathering each month to share what we had written since the last time we had been together. And to offer each other gentle, helpful comments on the craft of writing.
Granted . . . after a potluck meal . . . we do sit on our haunches for a while . . .
Saturday, July 28, 2012
Monday, July 23, 2012
Flags At Half-Mast
Like others, we were both stunned to hear about yet another massacre of innocent people. So many questions. So much grief and loss.
There are the usual muted appeals for the restriction of sales of guns and ammunition. Unfortunately, those opposed to such restrictions are right - it would not have caught a person like this this man. There was nothing about him that would have drawn attention to his slide into the dark places that caused him to act.
There are no easy answers or solutions. Such violence is indeed evil, as the President named it. But so is the violence in Syria and Iraq and all the other countries where people have resorted to violence as the only way to have voice in their lives. Violence used to confront violence.
Outlaw guns? Outlaw violence? Marian Zimmer Bradley wrote a series of science fiction books about a planet where guns were prohibited - the only combat allowed was hand to hand confrontation. Still, violence existed.
Our language is full of violent imagery. When most of us say things like "I could have killed him or her" we use that language metaphorically - as an expression of being driven to the point where we feel helpless. We engage in political wars - or turn away because we feel it is useless to make anything change. We seethe inside over all the things in our life over which we have no control.
I heard Bill Moyers interview Chris Hedges this weekend. Hedges is someone I admire greatly as a person of great integrity - but I was struck by his deep feelings of hopelessness for the future of the world. Moyers continued to push him as to why he continues to write. Hedges' response was that it was out of moral responsibility - and a slender hope for his four children.
Read the interview online. Then ask yourself what is your moral responsibility - as I have been asking myself.
There are the usual muted appeals for the restriction of sales of guns and ammunition. Unfortunately, those opposed to such restrictions are right - it would not have caught a person like this this man. There was nothing about him that would have drawn attention to his slide into the dark places that caused him to act.
There are no easy answers or solutions. Such violence is indeed evil, as the President named it. But so is the violence in Syria and Iraq and all the other countries where people have resorted to violence as the only way to have voice in their lives. Violence used to confront violence.
Outlaw guns? Outlaw violence? Marian Zimmer Bradley wrote a series of science fiction books about a planet where guns were prohibited - the only combat allowed was hand to hand confrontation. Still, violence existed.
Our language is full of violent imagery. When most of us say things like "I could have killed him or her" we use that language metaphorically - as an expression of being driven to the point where we feel helpless. We engage in political wars - or turn away because we feel it is useless to make anything change. We seethe inside over all the things in our life over which we have no control.
I heard Bill Moyers interview Chris Hedges this weekend. Hedges is someone I admire greatly as a person of great integrity - but I was struck by his deep feelings of hopelessness for the future of the world. Moyers continued to push him as to why he continues to write. Hedges' response was that it was out of moral responsibility - and a slender hope for his four children.
Read the interview online. Then ask yourself what is your moral responsibility - as I have been asking myself.
Sunday, July 8, 2012
Bring On the Goats!
When in Norway, Elizabeth photographed an old, abandoned log house. What caught my eye was the sod grass roof. I am looking at that photo at this moment. A thought comes to me . . . would a goat find this roof a place to put a little excitement into her or his often boring dining venue? After all, going “out to eat” all the time could become a little mundane. But, consider going “up to eat!” Now, that’s got class.
A grass-munching goat might even invite other goats to join in. They would have no problem getting up to the roof. Everyone knows something of a goat’s prodigious agility and persistent stubbornness. No need to ask permission as the surrounding lawn in the photo hasn’t been mowed for a good while. Obviously, there is no one at home. So . . . bring on the goats!
Why eat the grass on the ground, when the best grass is greener at higher elevations!
quoted from A Goat’s Primer On Survival
(used with Billy's permission)
by Billy the Kid
Don't confuse me with that teenage outlaw,
something I feel gruff about.
Thursday, July 5, 2012
Take Your Life in Your Hands: Go Somewhere by Car
There are some states in this country where drivers actually obey the traffic laws - and are courteous besides. Such as when you want to change lanes, they let you in. But not in this state of Minnesota Nice!
As a passenger, I have been doing a bit of informal research. Since the driver is in charge of staying safe. I have broken down what I have discovered into categories of drivers what I observe. I have thought of closing my eyes as we back out of the driveway until we return. But that option is just too scary. I guess I want to know when I am about to die.
The Speeders
These folks believe speed limits are meant for other people. Somehow a good ten or fifteen miles an hour faster is important in their little minds. You hear them approaching behind you by the roaring sound their cars often make - and then see them quickly vanish ahead of you. Except - as cars wait at a stoplight, a second look confirms your suspicion. You have gotten "there" just as fast as them.
The Tailgaters
These drivers are scary - no matter whether it is your bumper they are hugging or someone elses a few cars ahead. They must believe the saying of being able "stop on a dime." And when it is a semi-truck, the scare factor goes up at least tenfold. The causes for this disorder vary. Sometimes as traffic slows, drivers get too close to the car in front of them, eventually realize what they are doing, and increase the distance between them. But other people take it as some kind of affront to their ownership of the freeway. They intimidate - whether or not you have the option to move over a lane to get out of the way. When tailgaters do get ahead of you - because you finally are able to get out of their path - or because they have whipped around you, sometimes using the shoulder to do so. Then they take on the next car. Since most drivers drive near the speed limit and traffic is heavy enough, you can watch a tailgater's behavior ahead for some time. One accident potential after another.
The Weavers
These drivers may have played too many video games. The freeway is an open course to zoom around anyone ahead. Going across one lane and than back over ad nauseum.They may cut in too close or fill a space between two cars as though they were parallel-parking at 60 miles per hour. Sure on occasion, I have played the latest game with grandchildren. It is fun to see if I can race through to the finish faster than they can. And if I careen off a highway wall or roll my vehicle, I get to try again - unharmed.
The Distracted
These folks forget that their primary job is keeping their car on the road and not threatening other drivers. They easily are recognized by the cell phone permanently adhered to their head. Or if their car allows them to phone others without this little rectangular device, they speed down the road looking as though they are "talking to themselves" - which can be distinguished from sing-alongs with radio or CD. Others text, look for stuff in the seat next to them, shave or put on make-up, or otherwise multi-task themselves from point A to B. The most extreme distractor I ever saw was the women who had one foot up on the dash, was putting nail-polish on the toe of her other foot, eating a sandwich, and drinking her Starbucks. Sometimes she steered with her one knee as she staved off starvation.
The Little Old Ladies
Ever see a car in front of you that appears to have no driver? When you get closer, you realize the driver is a little old woman hunched over the steering wheel and gripping the wheel with both hands - and going ten miles below the minimum speed limit. At least, her male counterpart is tall enough that you know from a distance that the car has a driver. One quite older woman, we both knew had a habit of backing into cars in parking lots. She bought a new big car and wanted to take Clem for a ride in it. He said he would - but just around a vacant church parking lot after he parked his car out in the street. . .
The Inexperienced
At the other end of the spectrum of drivers is the inexperienced person - who probably has been driving for some time and just can't quite get the hang of it. They can be observed changing lanes abruptly - without signaling - or passing too close for comfort. They look confused if you pass them. And they weave a bit, looking like they have had one-to-many for the road. Their car seems to be too much to handle with any finesse or grace.
The Color-Blind
At least these driver seem to be color-blind. Red-light running is habitual. It is one thing to pass through an intersection on a yellow light. It is quite another to be the fifth car in line going through the light after it has turned red. And there are those who ignore lights on metered lanes, put there to regulate the flow of traffic. Red is just as good for them as green.
At least I have never seen the old joke played out, in which a person buys a new RV with all the bells and whistles. A week later, he returns to the dealer, walking on crutches and a big bandage on his head. "What happened?" asked the salesman. The person replies, "I'm not sure. I put it on the automatic cruise control just like you showed me. Then I went into the back to make myself a cup of coffee. The next thing I knew I had rolled off the road. Something must have been wrong with that control system."
Unfortunately, we are still aways from such automated driving to keep us all safe. And I live in a car-dominated city. Driving to places is often my only option. Sometimes I yearn for European cities where having a car is unnecessary and public transportation can take me wherever I want to go.
So I keep on going places by car - my fingers crossed - taking my life in my hands.
As a passenger, I have been doing a bit of informal research. Since the driver is in charge of staying safe. I have broken down what I have discovered into categories of drivers what I observe. I have thought of closing my eyes as we back out of the driveway until we return. But that option is just too scary. I guess I want to know when I am about to die.
The Speeders
These folks believe speed limits are meant for other people. Somehow a good ten or fifteen miles an hour faster is important in their little minds. You hear them approaching behind you by the roaring sound their cars often make - and then see them quickly vanish ahead of you. Except - as cars wait at a stoplight, a second look confirms your suspicion. You have gotten "there" just as fast as them.
The Tailgaters
These drivers are scary - no matter whether it is your bumper they are hugging or someone elses a few cars ahead. They must believe the saying of being able "stop on a dime." And when it is a semi-truck, the scare factor goes up at least tenfold. The causes for this disorder vary. Sometimes as traffic slows, drivers get too close to the car in front of them, eventually realize what they are doing, and increase the distance between them. But other people take it as some kind of affront to their ownership of the freeway. They intimidate - whether or not you have the option to move over a lane to get out of the way. When tailgaters do get ahead of you - because you finally are able to get out of their path - or because they have whipped around you, sometimes using the shoulder to do so. Then they take on the next car. Since most drivers drive near the speed limit and traffic is heavy enough, you can watch a tailgater's behavior ahead for some time. One accident potential after another.
The Weavers
These drivers may have played too many video games. The freeway is an open course to zoom around anyone ahead. Going across one lane and than back over ad nauseum.They may cut in too close or fill a space between two cars as though they were parallel-parking at 60 miles per hour. Sure on occasion, I have played the latest game with grandchildren. It is fun to see if I can race through to the finish faster than they can. And if I careen off a highway wall or roll my vehicle, I get to try again - unharmed.
The Distracted
These folks forget that their primary job is keeping their car on the road and not threatening other drivers. They easily are recognized by the cell phone permanently adhered to their head. Or if their car allows them to phone others without this little rectangular device, they speed down the road looking as though they are "talking to themselves" - which can be distinguished from sing-alongs with radio or CD. Others text, look for stuff in the seat next to them, shave or put on make-up, or otherwise multi-task themselves from point A to B. The most extreme distractor I ever saw was the women who had one foot up on the dash, was putting nail-polish on the toe of her other foot, eating a sandwich, and drinking her Starbucks. Sometimes she steered with her one knee as she staved off starvation.
The Little Old Ladies
Ever see a car in front of you that appears to have no driver? When you get closer, you realize the driver is a little old woman hunched over the steering wheel and gripping the wheel with both hands - and going ten miles below the minimum speed limit. At least, her male counterpart is tall enough that you know from a distance that the car has a driver. One quite older woman, we both knew had a habit of backing into cars in parking lots. She bought a new big car and wanted to take Clem for a ride in it. He said he would - but just around a vacant church parking lot after he parked his car out in the street. . .
The Inexperienced
At the other end of the spectrum of drivers is the inexperienced person - who probably has been driving for some time and just can't quite get the hang of it. They can be observed changing lanes abruptly - without signaling - or passing too close for comfort. They look confused if you pass them. And they weave a bit, looking like they have had one-to-many for the road. Their car seems to be too much to handle with any finesse or grace.
The Color-Blind
At least these driver seem to be color-blind. Red-light running is habitual. It is one thing to pass through an intersection on a yellow light. It is quite another to be the fifth car in line going through the light after it has turned red. And there are those who ignore lights on metered lanes, put there to regulate the flow of traffic. Red is just as good for them as green.
At least I have never seen the old joke played out, in which a person buys a new RV with all the bells and whistles. A week later, he returns to the dealer, walking on crutches and a big bandage on his head. "What happened?" asked the salesman. The person replies, "I'm not sure. I put it on the automatic cruise control just like you showed me. Then I went into the back to make myself a cup of coffee. The next thing I knew I had rolled off the road. Something must have been wrong with that control system."
Unfortunately, we are still aways from such automated driving to keep us all safe. And I live in a car-dominated city. Driving to places is often my only option. Sometimes I yearn for European cities where having a car is unnecessary and public transportation can take me wherever I want to go.
So I keep on going places by car - my fingers crossed - taking my life in my hands.
Sunday, July 1, 2012
And What Did YOU Do . . .
Time seems to be one of those givens in life. Whether the clock or the calendar, time ticks away in precise intervals. Except for yesterday. Those who keep the world's time in order announced the addition of one second to the day.
What did you do with YOUR extra second?
Living where I do, I value the rhythm of the changing seasons. The newness of spring, the flavors of summer, the colors of fall, and the solitude of winter. I used to be able to mark spring events on my calendar. Snowdrops came up on exactly the same day every year, despite variations in any particular spring's weather. The same pair of mallard ducks arrived regular as clockwork - the male's limp telling us it was the same pair every year. One year, the pond had not yet thawed - and he came anyway and sat on the ice, waiting.
Not anymore are seasonal changes dependable. On this first day of July, our garden looks like mid-August. Slightly unruly like a person in need of a haircut. And we already are in the midst of August's hot and muggy dog-days. Along with all the record-breaking weather across the country. The worst power outage ever in Virgina. Floods in Duluth, the city built on a hill. Colorado burning up, Florida deluged with rain. Last week over a thousand weather records were broken in this country.
When we recently traveled to Japan and returned by ship, I gained a new perspective about time. When we have flown to Asia in the past, crossing the international date line was mixed together with time zone changes. After the long plane flight, the only thing that mattered was the day and time when we landed.
Returning by ship was another matter. Our ship traveled at 20 knots or so - the rough equivalent of 20 mph. This slow passage across the Pacific gave us a number of 23-hour days. When we crossed the international dateline, we had begun the day as Saturday and then reverted back to Friday. Or we had two Saurdays in an eight day week, if we preferred to look at it that way. Time shifts in our internal clocks - time that was not so regular, so dependable.
I remember when I was a child. Summer stretched out blissfully. It felt like six months of no school, rather than three months. Now that I am at this age, time whizs by like a bullet train in Europe. There is something intrinsically "unfair" about this arrangement! Not that I would ever begrudge a child's relationship to summer-time. But here I am - at this age - wanting to savor life. When I often can't keep track of what day it is, much less what month it is. How can it be July already?
Clem bought a card for me. He is a great supporter of Hallmark and a dear romantic at heart. I looked at him a little funny when he handed it to me. I couldn't recall any special event we were celebrating. I drew the card out of its envelope. The chimp on the front of the card says "do you know what day it is?" Inside the card, the chimp answers his own question - "me neither."
And what did YOU do with your extra second . . .
What did you do with YOUR extra second?
Living where I do, I value the rhythm of the changing seasons. The newness of spring, the flavors of summer, the colors of fall, and the solitude of winter. I used to be able to mark spring events on my calendar. Snowdrops came up on exactly the same day every year, despite variations in any particular spring's weather. The same pair of mallard ducks arrived regular as clockwork - the male's limp telling us it was the same pair every year. One year, the pond had not yet thawed - and he came anyway and sat on the ice, waiting.
Not anymore are seasonal changes dependable. On this first day of July, our garden looks like mid-August. Slightly unruly like a person in need of a haircut. And we already are in the midst of August's hot and muggy dog-days. Along with all the record-breaking weather across the country. The worst power outage ever in Virgina. Floods in Duluth, the city built on a hill. Colorado burning up, Florida deluged with rain. Last week over a thousand weather records were broken in this country.
When we recently traveled to Japan and returned by ship, I gained a new perspective about time. When we have flown to Asia in the past, crossing the international date line was mixed together with time zone changes. After the long plane flight, the only thing that mattered was the day and time when we landed.
Returning by ship was another matter. Our ship traveled at 20 knots or so - the rough equivalent of 20 mph. This slow passage across the Pacific gave us a number of 23-hour days. When we crossed the international dateline, we had begun the day as Saturday and then reverted back to Friday. Or we had two Saurdays in an eight day week, if we preferred to look at it that way. Time shifts in our internal clocks - time that was not so regular, so dependable.
I remember when I was a child. Summer stretched out blissfully. It felt like six months of no school, rather than three months. Now that I am at this age, time whizs by like a bullet train in Europe. There is something intrinsically "unfair" about this arrangement! Not that I would ever begrudge a child's relationship to summer-time. But here I am - at this age - wanting to savor life. When I often can't keep track of what day it is, much less what month it is. How can it be July already?
Clem bought a card for me. He is a great supporter of Hallmark and a dear romantic at heart. I looked at him a little funny when he handed it to me. I couldn't recall any special event we were celebrating. I drew the card out of its envelope. The chimp on the front of the card says "do you know what day it is?" Inside the card, the chimp answers his own question - "me neither."
And what did YOU do with your extra second . . .
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