Some Thoughts on the World

I have not been able to stop thinking about a post a friend of mine put on Facebook yesterday. 

“When the Obama 2012 sign appeared on our street, so too did the Confederate flag in short order.”

This is just two miles down the road from me, here in New Hampshire.

I used to say that the racism here was subtle as opposed to the in your face racism of the south where I lived for 26 years.  However, it seems that the hateful rhetoric of the past four years has encouraged people to use their freedom of speech in threatening ways.  As a liberal pacifist, the last time I felt threatened was right after the start of the Iraqi war when everyone but a few were believing Bush’s claims that Saddam Hussein had weapons of mass destruction.  My values were considered traitorous at that time.  There were actually a couple of times when people tried to run me off the road and the only reason I could ascertain was that they didn’t like my bumper sticker that simply said “Peace.”

I feel more threatened now.  The far right wing has become more verbal, engages in less critical thinking, and has guns.  There are certainly many conservatives with whom I could engage in open discourse who have not been spoon fed their politics by FOX news and the Tea Party.  I think that we could agree that we are of different opinions and would be respectful of each other’s viewpoint.  However, when I see Confederate flags and hear of calls to do unspeakable things to our President, and see bumper stickers and comments on news items (i.e. the death of Andy Griffith) that are spewing hatred I retreat further to the left.  When did this minority of the far right become so loud? 

I was born a liberal.  How do I know I was born this way and not indoctrinated?    I remember early on questioning the teachings of the Catholic church I attended from first to fourth grade. Also, my parents did not discuss politics so there was little chance to be indoctrinated. My sister and I were dismayed to find out many years later that our father voted for Richard Nixon.  I think I understand his decision, though.  My father was a Korean war vet who firmly believed in the cause of fighting against communism even though a lot of his thinking would have fallen into the ideals of socialism.  Like many people of his generation, he did not grasp the difference between the two.  If he was alive today, I hope he would do everything he could to understand Obamacare so that he could defend it and would not be hindered by the socialist label that so many conservatives have tagged onto it in order to raise fear. 

That is where the dividing line falls for me.  Not between conservatives and liberals, but between people who choose to carefully study the issues and make their decisions based on fact rather than the sound bites of FOX news and the color of a person’s skin, the origin of one’s name or their immigration status, and whether or not one has a vagina or a penis. 

If you are willing to stop yelling at me with your rhetoric, I am glad to listen.  Those of you who prefer to wave your Confederate flags and hide behind your guns – well, you make me fear for this country.   It doesn’t matter, though, because you probably aren’t reading this. 

In the end, whenever I am feeling discouraged, I remember what Anne Frank wrote in her diary shortly before being found by the Nazis:

"In spite of everything I still believe that people are really good at heart. I simply can't build up my hopes on a foundation consisting of confusion, misery and death."

Summer Has Arrived!

Summer arrived this past week and it was hot.  It was almost 100 degrees for two days and in the 90s on the third.  I complained a lot!  It only lasted 3 1/2 days but I was miserable.  The cold front came through yesterday and it is now in the low 80s with blue skies.  I decided  to use the oven for a bit.  Just long enough to roast some sweet potatoes for a salad.  Here is what I did:

I peeled and cubed 3 large sweet potatoes and tossed with olive oil and chopped rosemary.  I roasted them at 400 degrees for 30 minutes, tossing halfway through.
While the roasting was going on I cooked one cup of lentils in two cups of water.  They were just about done at the same time as the potatoes.

While those cooled I sauteed a lot of garlic, some scallions (in lieu of onions), and a chopped large organic red bell pepper in the last tablespoon of garlic flavored olive oil that I had bought in New Mexico.  I am going to miss that oil.  I tore up three large leaves of kale and put those into the sauteed veggies.  I tore up the leaves small enough so that they would wilt but still have some crunch.  Most recipes call for spinach, but I went with what I had.

I tossed that all in with the potatoes and lentils and put in the fridge to cool while I made the dressing.

Dressing:  2 tablespoons of maple syrup, 1 tsp of dijon mustard, 1 tablespoon of olive oil, 1 tablespoon of balsamic vinegar *, and 2 tsps of lemon juice.  Salt and pepper to taste.

I mixed it all together with the veggies and took a taste.  Even slightly warm it was very good.  I couldn't wait until it was cold to taste it and I wasn't disappointed.  It can be served warm or cold.

* If you are ever in Keene, NH, stop in Your Kitchen Store.  The store has the best balsamic vinegar I have ever tasted.  You can buy a bottle and then return and have it re-filled.  If you aren't in Keene very often I would suggest buying a large bottle.  It is very good.

http://www.yourkitchenstore.com/

Looking Up My Back Door

I will be cursing at my mother for the next two days.  I will be suffering great indignities in response to my mother’s fears.  Yes, in keeping with my tradition of telling everyone my business, I am letting ya’all know that tomorrow I will be refraining from all solid food and drinking a nasty concoction that will require that I stay close to my own bathroom so that on Monday perfect strangers will be allowed to enter a place just north of that which cannot be named in Michigan.

Why do I blame my mother? I understand that I am being irrational.  It has less to do with blame than it has to do with being reminded of why she died.  If she had been willing to go through this same indignity she may still be here.  She may have been able to take that boat to Paris with my sister.  My mother feared, yes, feared, colonoscopies.   In 2006 she had a colonoscopy for which she had not prepared correctly due to her revulsion of the preparatory cocktail.  Combine that with the fact that her blood pressure skyrocketed during the procedure and they weren’t able to travel to the far reaches of her intestinal galaxy, they failed to find what eventually killed her. 

When she started experiencing abdominal pain, she refused another colonoscopy, stating that she had one the previous year (but we know how that went) and that she refused to drink the Go-Lytely (isn’t that the most ridiculous name for something that works like industrial strength Drano?).  My head still shakes at this.  Yes, I have issues.

My mother is also the same woman who let an ulcer on her leg go untreated for a year because she knew that it meant she had Type II diabetes and she didn’t want to deal with it.  I miss her, I really do.  I just wish she was here so I didn’t have to miss her.  Because of her refusal to get things looked after I don’t have a mother.  I feel jealous when I hear someone talking about their feisty 80 year old mother.  I miss the Sunday afternoon phone calls.  I wish she was here so I could fuss her out!

So, yes, I may sound like a hypochondriac at times, but having had four important people in my life die of four different forms of cancer in the past seven years, I get a little cautious about symptoms.  Three out of the four were women and they all died before the age of 70.  At 56 years old, that just seems a little too close to me.  Death doesn’t scare me.  I see that as a great adventure.  What I don’t want is cancer or any other condition that incapacitates, causes great pain, or reduces my ability to think, get to the bathroom, or take care of myself.  I don’t want my body pumped full of chemicals to kill something that shouldn’t be there and possibility destroy things that should be. 

If drinking a couple of quarts of nastiness and spending a lot of time reading on the toilet means that I can avoid all that, then I say pour me another and get me a another issue of People magazine (I think the bathroom is the perfect place for reading trash).  On Monday, I will be okay.  I like the drugs they use and I have an excuse to sleep for a good portion of the day. 

In lieu of photos of the event, I offer this video and song in honor of the occasion.

Thank you, Patricia Raymond and B.J. Liederman!!

An Open Letter to My Granddaughters (or any other young girl)

Dear Granddaughters,

I know that I can’t do anything to stop you from being hurt.  I know that life is going to be a series of ups and downs for you, that your hearts will be broken more than once.  It is what it is.  If I could guarantee that every relationship will make you happy, I would.  But I can’t.  And I know I am not the relationship expert.  But out of all the women in your life I am the one who has probably had the most experience with unhealthy relationships.  So let me give you some pointers.  Take them or leave them.  I just know the following to be true for me and maybe, someday when you are crying your eyes out over some man who did something stupid, you will remember that your grandma told you that this was a possibility and only because she had experienced something similar.

So here are my little words of wisdom.  And, no, these do not all pertain to your grandfather.  Believe me.  That’s why you need to listen to me.  I have had more experience than just being married to that one man.

1.       If a man doesn’t treat you with respect while you are dating, it only gets worse if you marry him.  That includes lying to you, hitting you, cheating on you, calling you names, making you feel bad about yourself, and so on.  

2.       If he cheats on you once, he will probably do it again. 

3.       If he cheats with you on someone else, he will cheat on you, too. 

4.       If he cheats on you, the woman he cheated with is also to blame.  Don’t go getting all mad at her and not at him.  That makes no sense.  Neither of them deserves your time. 

5.       Forgiveness is healthy.  Forgetting is not healthy.  Just because you forgive someone doesn’t mean you allow them to hurt you again. 

6.       If you have to edit what you say around him because you are afraid he might leave, give you the cold shoulder, get mad, not like you, criticize you, talk bad about you, etc., then he isn’t for you.  Find the person with whom you can be yourself, not someone for whom you have to change or for whom you need to pretend to be someone else.  If you are a completely different person around him than you are around your friends, then something isn’t right.  

7.       You can’t make someone love you. 

8.       Just because you think he is the only one in the world for you, it doesn’t mean it’s true. 

9.       If you don’t know what kind of day you are going to have until you find out what mood he is in, then run for the hills.  You should be able to dictate what kind of day you are going to have.  His attitude is his, not yours. 

10.   In most arguments, there is no right or wrong, just a difference of opinion.  You can choose to make it a war or a respectful discussion followed by compromise.  Winning an argument means that someone loses.  No one should be a loser in a relationship. 

11.   If you find yourself worrying and wondering who he is with and what he is doing, then you need to find something interesting and exciting to do on your own.  If he doesn’t like that you have an interesting and exciting life when he isn’t around, he needs to get over it and you may need to find someone who thinks it is great that you have a life. 

12.   A partner should be the topping on an already well baked, delicious cake.  He shouldn’t be the whole meal.  

13.   Sometimes, when you don’t get the person you want, it is a very, very good thing.  

14.   Short, chubby guys can actually be quite fun. 

15.   If he doesn’t make you laugh he isn’t worth your time. 

16.   If he isn’t there when you need him to be, he had better have a good reason – like maybe he is dead or in the hospital with a broken neck. 

17.   If your friends or family don’t like him, then take another look.  There may seem something they see that you don’t. 

18.   There is a song that says “don’t advertise your man.”  It means that you shouldn’t let other woman know all the good stuff about your guy because then they will want him.  Well, it works the other way, too.  If you tell your friends all the bad stuff and complain about him, then they won’t want you to have him because they always want the best for you.  So don’t be surprised if they are upset with you when you take him back after he has done something disrespectful.  It’s also not respectful to talk bad about someone you care about.  That works for both you and your guy. 

19.   Don’t put your future on hold because you are waiting on someone to make a commitment.  All you are doing is wasting time. 

20.   If he doesn’t call when he says he is going to or doesn’t show up, that is disrespectful.  See number 1.

I made this list because I love you.  I am looking forward to watching all sorts of wonderful things happen in your life, but I also dread the broken hearts and the tears.  Know I am always here for you, through the good and the bad. 

Lots of love,

Grandma

New Mexico Musings

I have just come back from spending a week in New Mexico.   I have been there four times and each time has been an adventure.  I have covered some of the Albuquerque area, a good part of the Turquoise Trail east of the Sandia Mountains, Santa Fe, the Los Alamos area and Bandolier National Monument, and the Taos area including Taos Mountain and Arroyo Seco.  The New Mexican landscape is expansive and truly breathtaking.  While I was there I wrote some prose poems.  Not only do they reflect the mood and landscape of the Land of Enchantment, the poems also carry an undercurrent of emotion that still runs through me.  There has been a rash of deaths by homicide in New Hampshire over the past month that have profoundly affected many of the people I know.  Being away was only that, being geographically removed. 

Saturday Morning Santa Fe One

It’s not easy to change one’s pace

from here to there to the moment.

Time spent looking at sky and trees

seems like living in slow motion

away from all that causes me to question,

to take stock of what I do.

Expectations of great revelations

become time just be-ing,

reduced to simple self,

no need to question.

The answer is as still as the stones,

as fleeting as the breeze.

Saturday Morning Santa Fe Two

Is there hope when a small child is

witness to death in its harshest from,

a bullet that stops the heart of the woman

Who held him, the vessel where he began?

There will never be anything that can touch that pain.

A path of retreat will be sought

at the sight of other children with their own,

nothing to fill the hole greater than measure allows.

Sunday A.M. Santa Fe

Winds cross desert to mountains,

sweeping dust from the cracks of my mind,

leaving behind wanton lust for the landscape,

Ever changing, colors move from brown to orange,

Green and blue.

Whatever darkness or hideous deeds

perpetrated in nature are swallowed by the

sun’s gaze.  Wide open spaces grant  

room to breathe, to expand, to forgive

human belief in his own dominance.

Nature smiles at our foolishness and

Sends the rain.

Sunday a.m. Two

Painted red start crosses my view,

red on white and black startles me,

delights me.  A gift, a greeting from bird

I will never see north of these mountains,

my personal greeter into the land of enchantment.

The Gem Store in Taos

“Welcome.  Where are you from?”

Gentle soul with arthritic hands and weathered face

tells of his time in Boston, how the fast pace of the East

almost ruined his interview in slow talkin’, slow movin’ Texas.

He smiles, wraps my purchases carefully,

two obsidian, a sand cast from the Four Corners region,

bracelets and carvings for grandchildren.

Then he asks, “Have you had any green chile yet?”

“Why, no.  What do you recommend?”

He gives directions to the best green chile on

Shrimp enchilada I have had the pleasure to know. 

Rio Grande Gorge

I walk across the bridge spanning the Rio Grande,

imagining my mother’s ashes in a flurry.

Grasping the rail, looking down, I know she would

have rather napped in the trunk than view such a height. 

I turn a full circle, knowing this is the most land I will ever see

In one gaze, and the most blue sky. 

The Box

I talked to a survivor yesterday.  She is a survivor of everything that could possibly be thrown at one person starting from the time she was a child.  She is now just short of sixty and continues to deal with the impact of her childhood and the consequences of her alcohol use on her family.  Her children are fighting their own demons of drug use and life threatening illnesses.   She worries for her grandchildren.  She takes care of others on a daily basis.  Her kindness, compassion and faith are evident in how she is living her life now.

She has been clean and sober for quite a few years.  Given the battles she fights each day I can imagine that the thought of taking a drink or an extra pill has gone through her mind on more than one occasion.  I asked her how she holds it together.

“I have a box,” she said as she held her hands in front of her, shaping the box in my imagination.  “I don’t put any more in that box that I can handle.  It doesn’t have room for regrets, should’ves, or blame.  It also doesn’t have room for worries about the future.  If it gets too heavy, then something has to go.  The box is only so big and I have to watch every day that I don’t let anything get in there that shouldn’t be.”

I thought about her and the box while I sat on the side of the river tonight watching the water move by.  I can’t worry about what was around the last bend or what is coming at the next curve.  I can only deal with what is in front of me right now.  That is the key.  I tell someone this at least once a week.  It was nice to have someone tell me for a change using different words.  I always need to hear it and I don’t often hear it when I say it.  I am glad I was paying attention.

Three Friends at the Bardo Cafe

Buddy was sitting at the table drinking an iced soy chai latte wearing white yoga pants and tunic when he heard the distinct roar of the Harley Davidson as its rider turned the corner and pulled up in front of the café. The sign above the front door that read “The Bardo” shook a little but didn’t seem to be in danger of falling. The windows rattled while Buddy’s friend revved the engine a couple of times. Buddy shook his head. He always likes to make an entrance, he thought. If he can’t have angels singing on high and shepherds kneeling by their flocks, he thinks he needs to do something to draw attention.

The bell on the doorknob jingled as Jess walked in, the heels of his boots leaving scuff marks on the linoleum. He was wearing a black leather jacket over a blue Grateful Dead t-shirt. His brown hair was damp from sweating under his helmet, but his ponytail hung dry down the middle of his back. His beard was braided into two matching tails. Worn black leather chaps carried a layer of dust that rose as he turned the chair around and straddled it. Resting his left arm over the top he waved at the barista at the counter. “I am parched. Just got back from another 40 days in the desert and could use something to wet my whistle.”

“Do want your usual?” the barista wiped off the nozzles on the milk steamer as she looked at the two men.

“Yep, but make it a double shot of expresso. I need to wake up a little. I know my friend here wants to chew me out and I need the energy,” Jess grinned and stuck a coffee stir stick between his teeth.

Buddy sighed. He was a man of patience but sometimes his rebel friend pushed him a little to his limit.

“Whazzup, my friend?” Jess asked. “Hey, by the way, thanks for calling me. I was visiting my mother and she was kvetching again about my relationship status. She keeps insisting that Mary Mag and I need to make it legal. She is tired of all the talk going around and says that a good Jewish boy would make an honest woman out of his girlfriend. Mary Mag tried to tell her that she is okay with all the rumors and really doesn’t give a shit, but my mother starts crying about wanting grandbabies and then Mary Mag starts talking about her career and then mother starts yelling and then….. well, Oy vey! You get my drift..”

Buddy shook his head. “Not really. “

Jess ignored him and got up to get his iced cappuccino from the barista. He winked at her as he added five packets of sugar. As he turned to go back to the table he saw a limousine pull up in front of the café and park between Buddy’s red Prius and his own Harley. When the limo door opened and he saw who was getting out he cursed, “Fuck, no!”

“Shut up and sit down,” Buddy said quietly. He was already starting to have second thoughts about setting up this meeting, but things were to the point that someone needed to do something.

Jess went back to the barista and told her to go ahead and start making up a triple shot of expresso. He knew Mo liked it straight. The three of them had spent many an hour in this very café drinking chai or expresso and discussing the problems of the world, but Mo and Jess had gotten into a tiff around the time of the Crusades and things hadn’t been the same between the two of them since.

As Mo walked through the door, Buddy noticed that his Italian suit was freshly pressed and his cufflinks shone bright in the mid-day sun. He stood up and extended his hand to Mo and gestured toward the third chair at the table. Jess came back to the table and placed the triple expresso on the table along with a plate of chocolate chip cookies. He picked one up and started to nibble as he gave Buddy a long look.

Mo looked over at Jess and smiled. “Still got that sweet tooth, I see. That’s what you get for having a fan club that insists on making all your holidays about candy canes and marshmallow chicks.”

Jess turned his chair around and stretched out his feet. “At least my fans eat on their holidays.”

“Mine eat,” Mo said. “They just wait until after sunset.”

Buddy pulled his chair closer to the table, placed in palms together and rested his chin on the tips of his thumbs and his fingers at his third eye. “I see the divine in you. I see the divine in you,” he muttered under his breath. His cell phone rang and he glanced at the screen. “Shit,” he said tersely as he got up to go outside to answer.

“Where the hell are you?” Buddy asked. “I wanted all of you together and now I have those two sitting at the same table making snarky remarks. “

Jess and Mo stopped talking and watched Buddy pace back and forth in front of the café window.

“He seems upset,” Jess said quietly.

“You think so. It’s always so hard to tell.” Mo took another sip of coffee.

“Yeah, he’s walking a little quicker than usual and there is a little sweat shining on the top of his bald head.” Jess grinned. “Should we play with him a little or go ahead and make nice? He sort of reminds me of Simon Peter. He gets all serious and then I have to do something to lighten him up.”

Before Mo had a chance to reply, Buddy came walking through the door. “That was Moses,” he said. “He can’t make it and I really wanted to talk to the three of you. Things are getting out of hand.”

“What do you mean?” Mo looked at Buddy with raised eyebrows.

Buddy took a deep breath and started. “You two, and Moses, are my best friends. Really. But your fan clubs are taking the world to hell in a handbasket. I wanted Moses to be here, too, but his sciatica is acting up and he is convinced that he has cancer again.”

Mo laughed. Moses’ hypochondria had been well hidden in the Torah but had somehow been passed down the ages to most of his progeny. It was a staple of Jewish humor in most of the comedy clubs in L.A. and Mo found it hilarious.

Jess took another cookie and dunked it into his cappuccino. As he bit into it, wet crumbs landed on his beard. Mo took a handkerchief out of his suit jacket’s inside pocket and slid it across the table toward Jess. Jess wiped the crumbs off his beard but they just ended up sprinkled across the faces of the bears marching across his t-shirt. Mo shook his head and Buddy closed his eyes trying to remain mindful of the situation he was trying to address.

“Again, let me try and get to the point. Your fan clubs, along with Moses’s, are getting ready to start shooting at each other with really big and nasty guns. This is disturbing and completely unnecessary.”

“Hey, dude!” Jess leaned on the table in exasperation. “I know. I have been trying to figure out where it all went wrong for at least 1800 years now. It’s as if no one was listening. I saw heads nodding when I was teaching next to the Sea of Galilee, but maybe they were falling asleep.”

“Well, someone was listening,” Mo said. “And they wrote everything down. But people are taking it out of context. You should have done what I did and write your own damn book.”

“A hell of a lot of good that did. Your folks are taking your words and making a mess out of things, too.” Jess started to massage his temples. “I just can’t believe how much they say they love me and then turn around and are hateful to each other. I am sure that I said “love one another.” I don’t remember saying ‘except for gays, immigrants’, etc. etc.”

Mo nodded. “You’re right. It seems that no matter what we said they have managed to interpret it all for their own agendas.”

Buddy leaned forward and took their hands. “So what can you do about it? Is there a way you can help people find the middle way and start to get along before they blow themselves up?”

“I did try.” Jess said quietly.

“I did, too.” Mo said just as quietly.

“You did?” Buddy sat up. “When? What happened?”

“I went back.” Jess started to tear up. “I tried to teach again.”

Mo nodded. “Me, too. It was awful. And when I saw what they did to Jess I was nervous about trying again.”

Jess wiped the tears from his eyes. “Actually, I went back quite a few times. Sometimes people just laughed at me. Another time I was living on the streets and traveling like I used to and a group of men beat me up with baseball bats and told me to get a job. I was assassinated three times. And a few times I never made it to adulthood because my parents were poor and there wasn’t enough to feed me. It was horrible. The last time I was there I was called a socialist and people refused to listen.”

Mo reached over and put his hand on Jess’s should. “And I tried to explain to people that jihad did not have to be violent. It can actually be accomplished by peaceful means, but everyone was so fired up and wanting to get to heaven they wouldn’t take the time out to find out what they could learn. It just seemed to get worse and worse.”

“History has not been kind to either of you. Am I to understand that all of those actions taken by your people have been without your approval?” Buddy said sincerely.

“You got it, man,” Jess said. “All that ‘God is on our side’ crap is totally bogus.”

“Same here.” Mo said sincerely. “And I talked to Moses last week and he agreed.”

“What do you think people would say if they knew the four of us spoke to each other and were trying to figure things out?” Buddy said.

“They wouldn’t believe it,” Mo and Jess said at the same time.

“Well, then. What can we do?” Buddy said quietly.

“Pray.” Mo said.

“Yep, and go to a movie. Have you guys see Dogma? It cracks me up every time.”

The three men stood, gave each other solid man-hugs, left generous tips, and made plans to meet for dinner the following week.