tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-44515321848792234032024-03-13T12:41:23.618-07:00The Matriarch's CornerMusings of an INTP Writing Spider... oh wow... didn't see that coming!Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06095554727537194370noreply@blogger.comBlogger136125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4451532184879223403.post-79670938841122542482020-11-18T05:39:00.000-08:002020-11-18T05:39:20.165-08:00Celtic Advent: Watching the World Stand By<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyh7umhcjAm1VU7i2pxMRteswcue74-LYI2OvuVgJuPe_r1Yo8yvzQgaZfrURNiftUDYJ0Db-7q_1eYI4xo3B2NpiEdYxq_43JNE7ePp67bYiM99KxaWvM5MQXxYGqkSCfu0lBTJq0uh4/s940/Watching.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="788" data-original-width="940" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyh7umhcjAm1VU7i2pxMRteswcue74-LYI2OvuVgJuPe_r1Yo8yvzQgaZfrURNiftUDYJ0Db-7q_1eYI4xo3B2NpiEdYxq_43JNE7ePp67bYiM99KxaWvM5MQXxYGqkSCfu0lBTJq0uh4/s320/Watching.png" width="320" /></a> As you've probably noticed, I'm a couple of days behind. I may catch up, if the spirit moves me to write another post later today. And two tomorrow... One of the things about this pandemic is that I've lost what sense of time and place I had. And I didn't have much to begin with. Sometimes I think I'm eight years old. Another time I'll wake up and I'm 20. With the pandemic, I'm 30 something again. I'm home with my (grand)kids, focusing on their needs, worrying about their growth. My children are grown now, but I don't always remember that. They are no longer my business, except to say "It's wonderful to see you. Thank you for your help. Thank you for being wonderful people."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Part of this Advent journey is birthing myself. Again. That's going to involve watching the world as it moves very slowly around me. Watching myself, going inside to the dark, dripping, scary places. Watching my fears and where they came from. Observing the development of my prejudices. Examining the arcana around my inner round table. Who talks the most? Who is silent? Who has forgotten how to speak?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Frankly, this feels a little forced, but steps... baby steps. And I'm fairly comfortable watching. It's the not judging yet that is going to trip me up.</div><br /> <p></p>Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06095554727537194370noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4451532184879223403.post-64319030749727228832020-11-17T12:56:00.000-08:002020-11-17T12:56:09.282-08:00Celtic Advent: slipping into the season<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD1Q6rBC-x0jGKTUsFdL6zkWU83D13ZQck-4ANlUFk5jlrp0jAjI5KM_Su4oa-VDul5k_F5_uBolfzJTBX00ItO7tM_lT15PV4DROA7jyh6-Wusk4vcCBuEC3wWz5k-7x2IouJbE4xgxc/s2048/November+15%252C+2020+Celtic+Advent+Day+One.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1283" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD1Q6rBC-x0jGKTUsFdL6zkWU83D13ZQck-4ANlUFk5jlrp0jAjI5KM_Su4oa-VDul5k_F5_uBolfzJTBX00ItO7tM_lT15PV4DROA7jyh6-Wusk4vcCBuEC3wWz5k-7x2IouJbE4xgxc/s320/November+15%252C+2020+Celtic+Advent+Day+One.png" /></a></div>Celtic Advent begins on the evening of November 15. Like Lent, it 40 days. Like Lent, it is a time of waiting. Like Lent, it is a time of preparing for a great change.<p></p><p>In my church, Advent is four weeks and is the color blue. Sacre bleu, the sacred blue of Mary as she grows and prepares. Don't tell them that. Some will love it and some will not. Ahh family.</p><p>This year has been a year of upheaval, waiting, worrying, resting, hoping, despairing.</p><p>Covid-19 has hit near me, but not that close. It is getting closer. I know we won't be untouched. I don't live in fear. I live in caution and respect, as I do with the ocean or the mountains. Or God.</p><p>The election has given me a result that I like and I know the struggle to reclaim the nation has just begun. It's not just the anger on both sides. It's the weeding of the Dandelions who have become entangled in our national identity since the beginning. The question of who are "the people" and who government will serve. What is economic justice? What is environmental justice? What is racial justice? What is justice for people of all genders and sexual preferences? Again, "Who are the People?" "Who is my neighbor?"</p><p>My health is not super. I think I'm sicker than I feel or seem, and now I'm beginning to feel a little sicker. I would like to walk off my pain and exhaustion. I'd like to just eat well and do yoga and dance to fun music and feel better. And maybe I will, after a small and exciting operation that is not the panacea I want but much better than not doing anything.</p><p>And here I am, taking my journey through Advent. Bitching like I did in my first trimesters of my pregnancies. </p><p>Step one: reopen Canva. Make pretty pictures. Create things.</p><p>Step two: reopen this blog, which is old and comfortable and not terribly fancy.</p><p>Step three: Read Christ Walk: a 40 day spiritual fitness program by Anna Fitch Courie. I'm using a few Celtic Advent books for Devotionals. Celtic Advent by David Cole. Prepare the Way: Celtic Prayers for the Season of Light, by Ray Simpson. Thin Places Everywhere by Bruce Epperly. Living into God's Dream: Dismantling Racism in America by Catherine Meeks. The journey is inside and out.</p><p>Step four: walk as far as I can. Which may be to the end of our urban driveway and may be around the block. It may end up being a mile at the Congaree National Monument (the swamp) with a camp chair so I can rest. </p><p>I am embarrassed to admit how low I am right now. My mother did not believe in God or sin, but there was definitely wrongness in illness or weakness. That is a long story that includes a lot of women in my family and their views of their places in the world. Maybe I'll spend some time there in addition to the places where she built a better world for all of us.</p><p>As Lao Tzu said, the journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step. And Rumi said, as you start to walk on the way, the way appears. </p><p>Here we go.<br /> </p>Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06095554727537194370noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4451532184879223403.post-43482388511564283542020-11-03T21:01:00.002-08:002020-11-03T21:01:03.267-08:00Blogblast for Peace 2020: Cosmic Latte<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHwuvJg5xi3wsnSEp65FpiCf6T5-HyfZXSUZjUzkQPSEXd4AyfmxkZRTkmS2bdXXzfNq8c_5ov-uCvaL87u-WXQDwMYzMsMHv0Ow8_5kGmPSstDqd39nvhNLV2QSEm9RNrm3aUg2dfsgg/s940/peace+globe+2020.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="788" data-original-width="940" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHwuvJg5xi3wsnSEp65FpiCf6T5-HyfZXSUZjUzkQPSEXd4AyfmxkZRTkmS2bdXXzfNq8c_5ov-uCvaL87u-WXQDwMYzMsMHv0Ow8_5kGmPSstDqd39nvhNLV2QSEm9RNrm3aUg2dfsgg/s320/peace+globe+2020.png" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p>Cosmic Latte. It is the color of the universe. Someone studies all of the colors of stars and supernovas and bits of in between and discovered that the color of the universe is Cosmic Latte.</p><p>It's a light color, something you might call ecru or cream. Some people see a bluish tinge. Some see yellow or brown or green. I see the color I grew up with. The color my mother painted almost every room in our house. Cosmic Latte.</p><p>And so the oneness was reflected back at us as children. Without knowing why or what, our parents reflected oneness, unity, compassion for self and others back to us and to everyone who knew them.</p><p>They reflected it in the wide variety of oddballs, creatives, scoundrels, and angels who sat in our house talking about the universe. The universe in the local county council election. The universe in a budget for a regional university campus. The universe in the stories that may or may not have happened, but were always true. The laughter and the yelling and the tears.</p><p>We struggled against it. I painted my room a darker latte -- more coffee, less latte, and although Mom was appalled, she let me. We might have wished for parents who cared only about us and not about the world. Parents who didn't see the other side of our battles. That was really annoying. But we got parents who saw the oneness.</p><p>We saw the universe too, eventually. When I was in college the first time, I realized that major or hometown or political view were not what made a person "one of mine." It was a spark I saw, across a debate stage, in a dark bar, in a crowded classroom. We gathered our own motley crew of people like us. We still had others, though. We didn't always see the spark.</p><p>In these times of division, it feels as if chaos demon has spread a reddish haze of anger and fear. In that haze, it is harder to see the spark unless it is very close. Together in a meeting. In the classroom. In the same office. It's hard to see the spark in across the debate stage or lines of demarcation in social media. Duality is the king for the day. </p><p>Yet duality is not the stuff of our universe. It is not the stuff of our faiths. This is what we learn: Love others as God loves you. Love your neighbor as yourself. Allah has made you to know each other and not to despise each other. Everything that exists, seen and unseen, is connected. I am he as you are he, as you are me and we are all together ... I am the walrus.</p><p>It is our responsibility to clear our haze and find the sparks in other people. To find compassion. If we have social media instead of face to face conversations, let's find a way to see the spark. It's hard. This is our path to peace. </p><p>If you tell me it can't be done, I'll block you. Kidding, maybe. I'm too good at troll hunting. I'm too good at sarcasm. It's my thing. My Individuation. What makes me special. So, yeah, I have to give that up gently. I want to return to the reflection of the oneness. It's my road. It's your road. All roads lead to ...</p><p>The cosmic latte.</p><p><br /></p>Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06095554727537194370noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4451532184879223403.post-63937564215692885242019-11-09T09:45:00.000-08:002019-11-09T09:45:08.656-08:00Blogging for Peace: changing my climate but still late for the ball<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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OK, I have to start with a confession and an apology. I thought my computer had been hacked or something. I thought I was locked out and couldn't work over here. This kept me from writing this blog and kept me from writing a novel I'm working on. I kept me from doing stuff I think I want to do.<br />
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It turns out, I was typing in the wrong password. I was so sure that I had the right password, that I didn't try my other passwords. I just thought the universe was out to get me and I had no control. <br />
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Y'all see a lesson here?<br />
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The universe doesn't care that much about me. I do have control. I can control my willingness to listen to others and to myself. I can control my view of myself: helpless victim, superhero, something in between. I can contribute to my climate and to the healing that the Universe (which doesn't know who I am) needs.<br />
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I am a couple of days late, and I really don't want to go into some of the things I'm thinking about right now. It's been a tough morning and this is a small step toward getting me on a better path. Or any path.<br />
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And off we go.Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06095554727537194370noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4451532184879223403.post-12722876193527559202019-10-30T05:18:00.000-07:002019-10-30T05:18:07.686-07:00Fair weatherI'm thinking about charitable assumptions, communication, and community.<br />
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I don't think I've worried all that much in the past about the fact that almost everyone disagrees with me somewhere in my world view. Growing up liberal in South Carolina, a very conservative state, it's just the way things were. Mostly people were nice enough to me, although some people called me an n-word lover. I understood it was meant as an insult, I just wasn't sure how it was an insult. Like a lot of insults in my life, if it's true it's not going to be hurtful. Sorry.<br />
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I heard a vlog about conservative and liberal religious folk and their approach to the Hebrew Scripture or Old Testament. He said that conservative people looked to the laws and liberal people looked to the prophets. I find that to be true. I also wonder why there is a rift there. Prophets are just as harsh as the laws... more so, often. Laws are complex and arcane, difficult to follow under the best of circumstances. People who follow them tend to drop some (I mean, there are a few hundred of them) and lift up others. They wear tattoos and polyester blends while being outraged by men lying with men. And liberal people looking toward the prophets aren't usually all that gloomy, which you'd think we would be considering the prophesies.<br />
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I heard a Ted Talk about communication. He says that liberals look for values like fairness and equality while conservatives look for patriotism and purity. It made sense to me that there are different basic values, but I wonder if those are the ones that matter. I've heard conservative pundits use the term "empathy" with a vicious sneer. I've heard liberals use nationalism with the same tone. I look at supporters of the president and it doesn't look like patriotism or purity are their thing. Sure, I've heard respect the office of president, but I discount it from people who posted photos of President Obama and his family depicted as monkeys and worse.<br />
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I talked to a friend yesterday who said his conservative friends think Democrats and liberals are mean, ugly people. Democrats and liberals think the same about Republicans and conservatives. We also feel that we're doing the heavy lifting in trying to bridge the gap. I don't know if conservatives feel that way. It feels like they think we're "human scum" and not worth speaking to. On the other hand, "deplorables" is not the most helpful label in the world.<br />
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I am not further along in my thinking. I'm still saddened and confused by perfectly nice people who turn into hateful monsters when faced with people of color and people of different faiths or nationalities. I wonder how they see me. Lost and soulless? Without conviction? And yet I see myself as a very moral person.<br />
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I have babbled enough for this morning.Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06095554727537194370noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4451532184879223403.post-37843439318546958292019-10-29T05:45:00.002-07:002019-10-29T05:45:59.617-07:00Changing my environment<div>
I am sitting in a hotel in Nashville. The sun seems to be coming up. I can tell because the grey cloud cover is sort of glowing. </div>
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Bob the husband is at a tax conference downstairs. I am grateful that I no longer go to tax conferences. </div>
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I have told everyone that I am here to write, but really, I'm here to be quiet. I'm here to spend time with Bob and by myself. I'm here to give my ears a rest.</div>
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And when my ears stop ringing from the needs and wants and sadness and happiness of others, I hope to hear what I can do … really do, not just want to do … to BE for other people.</div>
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I made my peace globe, which will be unveiled on Monday, November 4. I'll give you a hint:</div>
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OK, that's more than a hint.</div>
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I love Teresa Avila. Our Godly Play story said that she laughed for God. "May God protect me from gloomy saints." She also said, "The closer we get to God, the simpler it becomes." And like a lot of people my age and not my age, I am looking for simplicity.</div>
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Love. Light. Dark. Rain. Sunshine. Anything that blooms. Anything that sings. Big hugs.</div>
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I want to be a center of peace in my people's ravaged lives. Joy, solace. Love. A hand up. A pat on a back. Love.</div>
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Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06095554727537194370noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4451532184879223403.post-23685953951314298512019-10-21T03:05:00.001-07:002019-10-21T03:05:57.805-07:00The Vision ThingI'm thinking I need a vision thing. What do I want my environment to look like?<br />
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I don't mind the people and the animals, really. I just want less stuff. I want to be able to cook and write and sit and talk and be.<br />
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I want a kitchen table big enough to feed everyone and strong enough to hold the crafts and homework and long talks that will go there.<br />
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I want my windows as clear as possible, so the sun can shine in.<br />
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I want light (not necessarily white) walls and wood floors.<br />
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I want comfortable furniture.<br />
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I want pictures and paintings and sculptures that mean things to us. Not too much. Enough.<br />
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I want color.<br />
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I want the house to smell of fresh air and coffee and lemon verbena.<br />
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I want my yard to be a great living space. I want a table and chairs. Maybe an arbor. Plants to eat and anything that blooms.<br />
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I want the yard to have native plants that attract bees and butterflies.<br />
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I want a hammock chair.Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06095554727537194370noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4451532184879223403.post-61831329966799440422019-10-20T03:48:00.000-07:002019-10-20T03:48:01.806-07:00My Climate ChangeWhen one has been away from one's blog for two years, one is expected to give an explanation. <br />
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Wow. Time flies.<br />
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Yes, I don't want to talk about the last two years. I'll say that right now, I find myself in a place I didn't make for myself (completely) and wouldn't choose for myself. <br />
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Oh wait, let me start again. I am grateful for what I have today. I have a husband I love dearly and usually like a whole lot. I have three sons and three grandsons, whom I love endlessly and mercilessly. I have enough stuff to keep all of us and a few others comfortable. I have a new church family that is warm, kind, and curious, and perfectly willing to let us in without asking us why we need to be there. I have old friends and the best close and extended family I could want. <br />
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What I'm looking to change, though, is my climate and my environment. Personally and in my home. A home that currently houses five or six adults and three or four children, as well as seven cats and two dogs. And it's a mess. It's full of things that we don't want or need.<br />
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In the past twelve years, we have collected our own junk AND other people's junk. Moving and need a place to leave your furniture "for a little while?" Come on over. We have two full rooms (I mean FULL) of mostly other people's crap mixed in with our own crap.<br />
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And so, step one of my personal quest to improve my environment is to clear out the crap. <br />
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Have I mentioned we are on the Hoarder's Scale? No dead bodies, I don't think... maybe some lost animals. Yarn. Beads. Furniture you wouldn't sit on. Clothes I don't remember owning. Folger's coffee containers that would be really cute if painted and labeled to hold stuff. Toys. Books that have molded. Did I mention the yarn? And about twenty of any kitchen gadget, since we can't find it and have to go out and buy one. I'm thinking we could be wealthy if we quit replacing stuff we already have.<br />
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So let's see how we do this week...Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06095554727537194370noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4451532184879223403.post-22615540080890412702017-11-04T07:08:00.000-07:002017-11-04T07:08:34.642-07:00BlogBlast For Peace 2017<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">My Facebook Feed has been bitter and angry lately. I don't want it to be all cute kitties and recipes (although I have nothing against those things.) I am just tired of facing the truth.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">OK, that's a statement of privilege if I've ever made one. And so, let me clarify. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I am not taking a break from truth. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The truth of people who think people of color are complaining about institutional racism and violence in order to ruin a good Sunday afternoon. The truth of people who think women should learn to take a joke and a quick poke in the privates so as to not ruin a good man's life. The truth of people who fear and hate those who are different from them that they want to stop their existence. The truth of people whose faith is based on personal supremacy and suppression of thought. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Even I can't take a break from that. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I know those things. Sometimes I need to look at it again so that I don't forget. I also need to see what lies people believe in good faith. You know what I mean. I need to hear their fears and presumptions in order to reach across the chasm. I need to explore my own fears and presumptions in order to build a bridge.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">My Diocesan Bishop, Andrew Waldo, is said to ask us to make "Charitable Assumptions." This means that when someone says something that sounds snarky, I should listen with a whole heart before snapping back. And then, instead of snapping back when it turns out they are being snarky, I should listen to the fear and brokenness behind it. AND THEN, (even if they are a jackass and deserve one of my best sarcastic ZINGERS), I ought to respond with love, not necessarily passivity, and NOT jack up the argument. Jesus wasn't a wimp, remember, but he didn't give way to hurtful slaps. (Ok, he appears to roll his eyes at some of the questions he's asked, and it's been said that his response to the rich man who wanted to be his follower might have had a sarcastic edge to it, but you know what I mean.)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Shoulds and oughts shouldn't and oughtn't be taken on lightly. And I haven't taken these on lightly. Frankly, I suck at this and am making such baby steps that it does seem that I'm going backwards some days. That's where I am right now. Every once in a while, I am an instrument of peace. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Please join me.</span>Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06095554727537194370noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4451532184879223403.post-63434832323916561092017-11-02T05:38:00.002-07:002017-11-02T05:39:18.470-07:00If you want Peace, work for JusticeIn two days, I will blog4peace. I am looking for my old blog4peace posts, and I can't find the first one I did. I remember I was blogging a good bit, and reading other people's blogs. I didn't know what to say about Peace. I guess I had a globe. And I wrote: "IF you want peace, work for JUSTICE."<br />
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This was a poster I had on my wall when I was about 12 or 13. Justice.<br />
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Justice is a big word now. Sort of like the year the media discovered Africa and found out about famine and civil war and slavery in the 20th century. JUSTICE.<br />
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I am confused about why anyone would fear the word justice: no I'm not.<br />
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I fear Justice when I know I'm wrong. When I know that my world is based on inJustice. When I know my world only works because other people are working harder, eating less, living less than I am, so that I can have My Life. It's the discomfort I felt when I went on a tour of a lovely plantation house and tried to imagine the gentile ladies and gentlemen and the fine food and the fine clothes and the dancing... and I couldn't see anything but the enslaved people carrying the food and making the dresses and working in the field. I know, I'm a spoil sport. Sorry.<br />
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I once told my aunt Ellie, whom I loved and admired, that I loved nice things but couldn't really enjoy them when I thought of the injustice and poverty in the world. How do you deal with it? I asked. "I don't think about it," she said.<br />
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I tried not to think about it. It would have been so much easier. And sometimes, even now, I try not to think about it. I can do that. I'm an old white lady with a house, a husband, and three children who help me more often than not. I can forget about it.<br />
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I feel frustrated at the line of thought that goes: "Identity Politics" is the cause of stress and conflict in America (and other places, I guess.) If you wouldn't identify yourself as black or Mexican or Muslim or Catholic or a woman or a homosexual, you wouldn't have a problem. Because we are in a post-racial America. And it's white. Oh, wait, they don't say that.<br />
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I feel frustrated because I can't understand how anyone can actually believe that, and I know that they do. I feel frustrated because I don't love these people as much as I loved my aunt, and I can't forgive them as easily.<br />
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Let's say it: I am an old white lady. I am comfortable where ever I go. If I am the only white lady in a restaurant, I STILL feel like I own the place. I can ignore color or sex or sexual preference or ethnicity. I can kiss my husband in church. I can speak to police officers about my rights and their responsibilities. I can walk down the street looking at houses in fancy neighborhoods.<br />
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Not everyone can.<br />
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Someone who says "Identity Politics" tells me something about themselves. They are short sighted, at best. They may see more clearly if they listen to their friends with different "identities," and maybe their world will change. I'm sorry. It sucks, not being able to forget about it. But it sucks more if you live it. Have a cookie.<br />
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<br />Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06095554727537194370noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4451532184879223403.post-73959378170513003802016-11-04T05:44:00.001-07:002016-11-04T05:44:37.012-07:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Particularly in this time and place, in South Carolina, USA on the eve on an historic election, it is hard to preach peace. There is so much anger. Those of us who grew up liberal in the very conservative south thought we knew about the anger, racism, and misogyny. We, or at least I, thought it had at least gone underground. To basements of frat houses full of PBR and mixed nuts, shacks in the woods full of ammunition and potted meat, all night pool halls with smoke and mirrors. Even there, it seemed that most people knew it wasn't right. Women can lead, be your boss. A black man can be president. Children are to be loved.<br />
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And somehow, it's all out again. People say horrifying things like, "I'm just saying what everyone is thinking," and I say, "NO! That's not ok."<br />
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And then, "the other side" says terrible things too. Ignorant, redneck, pathetic. Deplorable. And I wonder, how did it get that way? How do we judge, who are we to condemn each other. What can we say to each other.<br />
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Just a little while ago, I basked in shared stories with people who came to different conclusions from different places with different fears. We spoke of fears and we spoke of hopes. We heard each others stories and we reflected on how they were like our stories. We listened to each others dreams and saw the differences but weren't afraid. <br />
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And that's what I hope for November 9 and on and on. Throughout the nation and throughout the world. Tell me your story. I'll tell you mine. Let us be still.Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06095554727537194370noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4451532184879223403.post-67660931677665435702016-01-03T04:35:00.001-08:002016-01-03T05:34:38.478-08:00Traditions<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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This story is from Nepal, as shared by Tuula Valkonen in her book Deep Talk:<br />
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<i>There was a monastery at the edge of the desert, where the people and animals gather around the water and trees.</i><br />
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<i>As a teacher and his students were beginning their evening meditation, the cat that lived in the monastery began to make a lot of noise.</i><br />
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<i>The teacher declared that the cat should be tied up for the duration of the meditation.</i><br />
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<i>Years later, the teacher died, but the cat was still always tied to the post every evening.</i><br />
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<i>When the cat finally died, they got a new cat which was also tied to the post every evening.</i><br />
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<i>Centuries later the teacher's follower's followers wrote theses about the religious significance of tying the cat to the post during meditation.</i><br />
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I wonder what traditions we have in our community. I wonder what are necessary. I wonder what are not necessary.<br />
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Tradition, familiarity, comforting actions are all important to us as humans and as members of a community. <br />
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Mothers teach their children how to hold their mouths when they make biscuits so that they will have the fluffy yummy kind and not the hockey puck kind. Fathers teach their children to wear the stinky jersey and sit in the right seat when watching their favorite team play so that the team will win. Parents teach their children how to pray in the right way, not a frivolous or superstitious way (like the neighbors).<br />
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New Year's Day, I ate Hoppin' John, pork, and collards because it is the tradition. I learned that other people MUST eat black eyed peas, but they don't make them into hoppin' john. I learned some people think it's bad luck to do laundry on New Year's Day, a fine tradition in my mind. <br />
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Unless we freak out if our tradition is not followed or unless that stinky shirt is REALLY stinky, we can have our traditions and superstitions and quirks without harming ourselves or others.<br />
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Tradition can be very important. They are part of our story. Who we are. Moses and the Hebrew people didn't spend 40 years in the desert because God was using Google Maps. They needed time to learn what it meant to be free people of God. They needed time to learn their traditions.<br />
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The break down of tradition can be chaotic. Colonialism destroyed the traditions of the indigenous people, often putting a broken, illogical tradition in their places. When the Colonizers left, they left a void that was often filled with a patch-work of half-remembered traditions and new ideas that didn't always fit. And so we have the Taliban and Isis, and authoritarianism instead of community.<br />
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When someone dies, mostly you don't have to come up with a way of celebrating life and grieving loss. We have traditions. We have traditions for weddings, baptisms, bar mitzvahs, quinceaneras, and graduations. We have traditional food and festivals. We don't always follow them, but they are there to fall back on.<br />
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Tradition helps us know how to act.<br />
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And then their are The Traditions. <br />
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The ones that exclude. The ones that belittle. The ones that are dangerous.<br />
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The priest is always a man. It's a tradition.<br />
Only white people are members of this club. It's a tradition.<br />
But we always make freshman drink until they puke. It's a tradition.<br />
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We find reasons for our traditions, we write theses. It's always been like that. <br />
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Our family traditionally drinks its collective self into a coma and dies just after procreating. It's tied to our ancestry as great warriors and farmers. It's always been like that. It's a tradition.<br />
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Our voters traditionally choose the dimmest bulbs on the porch to make laws --- it keeps them busy so they won't ruin the family business. It's always been like that. It's a tradition.<br />
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Our church traditionally is lead by clergy and lay people who consider themselves to be as close to flawless and possible and therefore feel comfortable casting the first, second, and third stones. They are confident in their knowledge and goodness. It's always been like that. It's a tradition.<br />
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I wonder which of our traditions have value.<br />
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I wonder which are cats tied to posts at the edge of a desert?Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06095554727537194370noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4451532184879223403.post-3673342222687131132016-01-01T03:56:00.000-08:002016-01-01T03:56:16.699-08:00Happy New Year World<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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My New Year's Eve tradition is... well nothing. Sometimes I go to a party, sometimes I hang out with my sister (which is always a party), and sometimes I read and go to bed early because there is nothing on television except New Years Rockin' Eve and I don't know any of the musicians. It works for me.<br />
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New Year's Day is my day. I make pork loin, hoppin' john, and collards for my family and for my sister's family --- for whoever is awake and eating. My brother and his husband are in Denmark, which is part of their tradition. Not necessarily Denmark, but travel.<br />
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In my family, we usually divide cooking duties at feast times. On Thanksgiving, one of my favorite days, my brother does something exciting with turkey and dressings and a couple of other things. My sister makes an incredible bourbon sweet potato casserole (no marshmallows) and brings a ham. I make cardiac mashed potatoes (whipped potatoes, Greek yogurt, white cheddar, butter, cream cheese, garlic...), probably green bean casserole, and maybe a pumpkin cheesecake. Although certain foods are required, the traditional part is that we all pitch in.<br />
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Christmas Eve, my brother makes a wonderful wild rice and ham soup. In the past two years, we've enjoyed it after our church Christmas Eve service where my husband and grandsons sing. That's working out for me. It's relaxed and happy. The soup is delicious. <br />
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Christmas Day, my sister makes "Do-ahead breakfast" from a recipe our mother got from a friend in the days when breakfast casseroles were new. It is bread, sausage, cheese, eggs --- soaked together over night and baked in the morning. It's the best. Although, like the soup, we could have it another time, we don't usually. Tradition.<br />
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And here we are for New Year's Eve. Pork for health (nothing ironic there). Collards for money. Hoppin' John for luck. Corn bread to sop it up. Pineapple upside-down cake because I said so.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNLGdSZ_wYrO850SlwDgsMrIwYmiIxnsghP3VBp6k2w_N-YM6YzbyVSIt4sOCZbHpEIorrIiBw5h-PcmLQDjiPI6-c58XBN2cUzHVvUhWkT8gyOs02q4rl0s3fln9Myu6km0SO891eWks/s1600/new+years+meal.jpe" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNLGdSZ_wYrO850SlwDgsMrIwYmiIxnsghP3VBp6k2w_N-YM6YzbyVSIt4sOCZbHpEIorrIiBw5h-PcmLQDjiPI6-c58XBN2cUzHVvUhWkT8gyOs02q4rl0s3fln9Myu6km0SO891eWks/s200/new+years+meal.jpe" width="200" /></a>We have had this meal since we were children, although in the past it was, frankly, not the best meal of the year. Mom hated collards, but we ate a tablespoon in the hopes of getting money in the coming year. The whole house stunk from over-cooked collards, which were slimy and limp. We usually commented, I wonder how bad it'd be if we didn't have that much? Not taking a chance though. Dad made the Hoppin' John, which in his case was Uncle Ben's perverted rice and a can of black-eyed peas with salt and pepper. The pork was usually pork roast.<br />
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The thing about tradition, as with all of life, is to figure out what is essential to you, what is non-negotiable, and then to play with the rest.<br />
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I make two (at least) pork loins that are marinated in something wonderful. I cook it until the second it won't kill us, and take it out. It usually works.<br />
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My Hoppin' John starts with the trinity of celery, bell peppers, and onion cooked in bacon grease. I use the bacon in the hoppin' john and the collards. And breakfast. I use jasmine rice and (yes) canned black-eyed peas. I could soak the damn peas, but who cares? I use black pepper and a little salt, and also cayenne, cumin, and turmeric (because I put that in everything these days.) Sometimes I use red, yellow, and orange peppers because they are pretty. I'm thinking of chopping some tomatoes because they are there.<br />
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My collards are not cooked enough for many people, but just enough for most in my family. I add bacon but I toss the leaves in olive oil and throw the whole mess in a pot. I season with nutmeg and whatever else smells good (hmmm, what about turmeric?). It has to cook longer than spinach, but not so long that it looks like the cat threw up a lizard.<br />
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This year I'm making Jiffy Corn bread and a pineapple upside down cake. Well, I say I am. If my stove doesn't break and if I don't get too involved in my book and if I don't start too early on the mimosas. Because traditions are important.<br />
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Happy New Year!Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06095554727537194370noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4451532184879223403.post-33270077938592175512015-11-04T11:08:00.001-08:002015-11-04T11:08:44.020-08:00Blog4Peace: November 4, 2015<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">This is a verse that is often used at weddings --- so often that it may seem trite. Yeah, yeah, yeah, love is patient, love is kind.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">When I read it, I don't necessarily think of weddings, although it's good to have that kind of love if you're married and everything. For me, it is easy to have that kind of love with my husband. For one thing, if one of us isn't patient or kind, we have the next best thing, forgiveness. </span><br />
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<span style="color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">It's also easy for me to have this kind of love with my children. They are mine, after all. I might get pissed off, but I will always love them. If I forget, I think of them as little babies, and of the absolute over-pouring of love I felt when I held them. It's a little messier, now that they talk and all, but I still love them totally, without condition.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">As I have traveled on my journey toward God, I've figured something out. One thing. God loves us no matter what, and all that God asks (and this isn't a condition, it's just a Good Thing) is that we love each other as God loves us. Without condition. Without stopping. Through anger and frustration and (my worst problem) annoyance and pig-headedness.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Some people have trouble loving strangers. They don't see pictures of small boys washed ashore in far-off lands and think, damn, that kid could be mine. They don't see soldiers and babies and sad-faced women and think, that is mine. I do. I don't know why, but my heart is full of love and empathy and sympathy for people I don't know.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Some people need to know someone to love them. If they know about the person's troubles or dreams or favorite ice cream, they can find a connection and love them. I can too, I guess. But I have a harder time loving someone who I have to talk to and (heaven forbid) listen to on a regular basis. I have a harder time loving bigots and fear-mongers who I hear, right now. I have a harder time loving a neighbor who calls the pound because my cat walks in her yard. I have a harder time loving someone who likes a different kind of ice cream or religion or baseball team than I do. I have a harder time with someone who can't freaking use a turn signal, for Pete's sake.</span><br />
<span style="color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">But God didn't say, love others who aren't annoying. Love others who love chocolate and cheese (not together) as much as you do. Love your own kind. God said Love everyone. Love your annoying neighbor. Love your bigoted boss. Love your friend who doesn't love cats.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">For me, I pray for something more than tolerance. I pray to think of these people as if they were my friends or my family, people who I like and for whom I cut some slack. It doesn't always work. It's a journey, right? For others, I wonder if they can pretend that the dead children, the sad women, the angry soldiers are their friends; people who like strawberry ice cream and dogs and baseball. Maybe if we pretend that the rest of the people in the world are ours, we will love them. And maybe that will give us peace.</span>Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06095554727537194370noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4451532184879223403.post-91276812468966804882015-10-07T05:39:00.002-07:002015-10-07T05:39:50.119-07:00Day 2 #30DaysofLove Challenge<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.32px;">Day 2 </span><a class="_58cn" data-ft="{"tn":"*N","type":104}" href="https://www.facebook.com/hashtag/30daysoflove?source=feed_text&story_id=1223775760981456" style="background-color: white; color: #3b5998; cursor: pointer; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.32px; text-decoration: none;"><span aria-label="hashtag" class="_58cl" style="color: #627aad;">#</span><span class="_58cm">30DaysofLove</span></a><span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.32px;"> Challenge</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.32px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.32px;">Today I saw colleagues at work surround each other with a beautiful blanket of support. A few among us are struggling with family illnesses, deaths, personal sorrows, worries and the like. Today business-as-usual stopped long enough for hugs and shoulders and long-standing love between friends. What kind of love did you witness today?</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.32px;">OK, still behind, but this is easy, given the circumstances:</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.32px;">Everybody with a truck or john-boat (and this is Columbia, SC, so a lot of people have one or both) went out to help their neighbors. Rich neighborhoods, poor neighborhoods, businesses, animal shelters. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.32px;">Gotta love social media. People have been found, pets reunited with their people, friends from far away have been comforted.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.32px;">#blog4peace #30DaysofLove</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.32px;"><br /></span>Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06095554727537194370noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4451532184879223403.post-73904816409332522942015-10-07T05:17:00.000-07:002015-10-07T05:17:00.157-07:00Two days behind: Day one: Who is the one person in your life who inspires you to love?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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In my defense, I'm late because my city and my state have flooded to an extent we haven't seen since the Pleistocene Era, when most of us weren't alive and there were no weathermen to tell us which way the wind blows.<br />
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We are ok, in my house. We are now handing out water, because (who knew it?) in floods, the water system goes out and even if you have running water, you can't drink it. Before today, you couldn't buy water, and so people from places with water have trucked it in for us. This hasn't been easy, either, because many of the roads, including interstates, are washed out.<br />
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Infrastructure isn't sexy, but it sure does make life easier.<br />
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In truth, I might have been late anyway, because that's what I do. And it is a hard question.<br />
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The One. The One Person. The One Person who inspires you to love? Oh my.<br />
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I could pick either of my parents. Their compassion and sense of justice and mercy is the bedrock of my life. I could pick my brother and sister, my first friends and still my best friends. Crazy as we can be, we love each other and eat together on a regular basis, and that's something.<br />
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I could pick my kids, because, for me, having a child opened up a whole new cistern of untapped love. Having a second and third child reminded me that love is not divided, it multiplies. Don't get me started about my grandchildren. There is always enough.<br />
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There are a few people I could pick, but I think I'll pick my husband and love of my life, Bob. When I met Bob, I liked him alright, and I think somewhere in my self-damaged heart, I loved him. I have no idea how he looked at my bedraggled, broken self and loved me, but he did. <br />
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And in the 30 years since then, we have loved each other. In sickness and health. When things are great and when they really truly suck. When it's flooding and when there hasn't been rain in six months. On car trips and in vacation condos with 10 other people. Alone, at Brookgreen Garden or Ray's Diner (our places). <br />
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Because of Bob, I have my own cistern of love. I am loved and so I can give away as much love as the whole damn world needs. It will never run out.<br />
#blog4peace <a class="_58cn" data-ft="{"tn":"*N","type":104}" href="https://www.facebook.com/hashtag/30daysoflove?source=feed_text&story_id=10153619644866308" style="background-color: white; color: #3b5998; cursor: pointer; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 16.08px; text-decoration: none;"><span aria-label="hashtag" class="_58cl" style="color: #627aad;">#</span><span class="_58cm">30DaysofLove</span></a>Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06095554727537194370noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4451532184879223403.post-65959696049115030072015-10-07T03:53:00.004-07:002015-10-07T03:55:14.031-07:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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#blog4peace<br />
<br />Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06095554727537194370noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4451532184879223403.post-43000844176793114632015-03-14T04:42:00.000-07:002015-03-14T04:42:04.650-07:00If the good old days were so good, why don't you live them?I've seen some things on Facebook that follow a similar theme and they make me wonder. One set says something like, "If I talked to my Mom and Dad like my kids (or other people's kids) talk to me, I'd get the crap beat out of me." Another set says something about how as kids we played in vacant lots, ate sugar, walked to school, took aspirin, had vaccinations, etc etc etc ad nauseum, like and share if you aren't dead yet.<br />
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And this is all well and good, but it makes me wonder, if you liked those things so much, why don't you raise your own kids like that? <br />
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So, your kids are rude to you. Who taught them that? Who says you can't teach your children to be polite and respectful to you and to others? Who keeps you from bursting their privileged bubble and telling them that you love them very much but Copernicus called and they are not the center of the universe? Who made them think they were the center anyway? OK, you can't beat the crap out of your kids, but how does that teach respect anyway? Why didn't you raise kids you can send out in public and know they will be respectful, helpful, and kind? <br />
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No, don't answer that. I don't care. Just quit whining.<br />
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Part two: I drive my kids all over the place, pay for expensive lessons and teams, and they can't do anything by themselves. <br />
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STOP!!!!! Stop driving them all over the place. Stop paying for lessons they don't want but you are doing because you think they need structure. Let them go play in vacant lots. If you've put that little Facebook poster up, you probably don't live somewhere that is too dangerous to let your kids play in the front yard. And by danger, I mean random shootings and rabid coyotes, not imaginary predators. Please, you taught your kid not to get into a car with strangers, let them practice it.<br />
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Stop meeting their every want. "I had to leave work to bring lunch to my son at school." Why? I've seen your son, it's not going to kill him to miss a meal. It hasn't killed mine. And then, funny thing, they forget less often. <br />
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If you want to drive your kid around, pay for lessons, bring them lunch ---- go ahead, but quit whining about it. Just do it, but recognize it's your choice. If you are afraid of the PTA president who looks at you funny if your socks don't match, too bad. Funny looks don't kill. Not preparing your child for reality might. It probably won't, but it might.<br />
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And, yeah, I've brought forgotten projects, field trip money, and all kinds of stuff to school for my kids. Some days you do it, because their lesson is too hard for you to learn.<br />
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I'm not saying don't pay for lessons, teams, or instruments/gear/stuff. If your kid really wants to play... whatever... I say cool. There are lots of life lessons from team stuff, musical instruments, scouts... but remember the lesson is theirs not yours. Support your kids, but don't be your kids.<br />
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As the Facebook posts say, our parents and grandparents didn't make a profession out of parenting. Even stay at home Moms did a lot of other things while their kids went outside to play in the drainage ditch... I mean lovely creek. Just relax, do your job. Love your kids. Let them grow up.Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06095554727537194370noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4451532184879223403.post-81081881767679553082015-02-04T04:08:00.000-08:002015-02-04T04:08:50.733-08:00My great big Agnostic FuneralA couple of weeks ago, I went to a meeting of Faith Formation leaders from the Episcopal Diocese of Upper SC. It was a wonderful group with a dynamic interesting speaker. I thought about a lot of things, and I thought about things differently. I went away inspired in my work with the children of St. Michael and All Angel's Episcopal Church, brimming with thoughts to share with the kids and the marvelous teachers.<br />
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But one comment/mini-discussion threw me off. It didn't offend me, but it gave me a small ray of AHA! Well, more like a hmmmm. Something to think and pray on for awhile.<br />
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The speaker, Kyle Oliver, asked if anyone had ever been to a non-religious funeral. Only a couple of people raised their hands, that I could see. He said, "Wasn't it odd? Didn't it feel wrong?"<br />
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And I said, very softly, no, it felt wonderful.<br />
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I was not always a Faith Formation leader in an Episcopal Church. I was baptized and raised Catholic, and went to church and catechism classes until high school. I was confirmed on my 13th birthday... but that's another story. I was Catholic because my father was raised Catholic and my parents believed that it's important to be a member of a church. Not for faith formation, but because in SC, the first question anyone asks you is "What church do you go to?" St. Peter's Catholic Church is the wrong answer, but at least it is an answer.<br />
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My parents were agnostic or atheist, I'm not really sure. I believed in God from a very young age, and don't know what it feels like to not believe. But I do know that belief --- real belief, real experience of the Holy Spirit --- is a gift and not everyone has it. My parents were Good People. They treated others as they would like to be treated. They found the good in people, they spoke out for the speechless. While they were not religious people, they acted in a way that would be called Christian around here.<br />
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And so their memorial services were not religious ceremonies. In both cases, people who loved them and people whom they loved came together to celebrate their lives. It was humbling to realize how much each of my parents affected other people's lives. The services were joyful and sad. We laughed, we cried, we told inappropriate stories. Afterwards, we drank too much and laughed and cried some more.<br />
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And so, when Father Oliver asked if it was odd, I thought no. And then I thought, how in the world do you expect to attract people of good faith (small "f") if you think they are odd? If your attitude is, here, I have the truth for you and you are obviously suffering and stupid. I write this, and can't really hear Father Oliver saying this, but, y'know, that's kind of what he said. That's kind of what I hear people say at my church when they talk about Atheists and Agnostics --- talking about people as if they are debauched baby-killers. <br />
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If your way to God is through Jesus Christ, God doesn't like it when you block the path from others. God doesn't like it when you call God's people odd. I'm pretty sure... She didn't tell me in so many words.<br />
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One of my favorite hymns is "They will know we are Christians by our Love." Not our tracts, not our lectures on how not to be odd, not our bruised knees. They will know we are Christians by our Love, and with the Grace of God, they will want to be with people like us. And maybe we can love and appreciate the face of God in all people, even those who don't pray like we do or even pray at all.Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06095554727537194370noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4451532184879223403.post-86376831796186050402015-01-16T03:33:00.001-08:002015-01-16T03:33:10.510-08:00Kindergarten day one: real or pretend?OK, first of all, let me say that I have nothing against Penny from The Big Bang Theory and truly meant to defend her right to be or act like a bimbo or a housewife or a theoretical physicist, especially if she is funny. So let it go, Bob. <br />
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The thing with Penny from the Big Bang Theory and with many many other people, is that they are playing and they think they are real. There is nothing wrong with playing, but it is important to know "real" and "imaginary." Remember kindergarten? That's one of the standards. Real. Pretend.<br />
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And so Penny from the Big Bang Theory plays at being a housewife. Cool. Then there are those who play at being homeless. Or black. Or blind. Or in a wheelchair. I suppose they believe they can develop empathy if they experience something.<br />
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But here's the thing: that's not how it works. That's not how any of this works!<br />
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Empathy is the ability to sense the feelings and experiences of another. It should lead to compassion. It shouldn't lead to the smug sense that you KNOW how it feels to be (fillintheblank) and can now be the impassioned spokesperson for the underprivileged.<br />
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Maybe if you are particularly non-empathetic you need to actually experience something, but then it is your experience not theirs. And it is going to be different.<br />
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If you dress in a dirty $300 parka and sleep in the park instead of your home in order to experience homelessness, you are not experiencing homelessness. You are camping. <br />
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If you roll around in a wheelchair to experience paralysis, but can get up and open the door for yourself when you choose to do so, you are not experiencing paralysis. You are riding in a wheelchair.<br />
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Any time you can wash off your black face, take off your blindfold, get up and walk home, you are not experiencing, you are playing.<br />
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Maybe you will have an aha! moment, and that's cool. Use it. But empathy comes from listening, hearing, seeing, feeling, without being. You don't have to literally walk a mile in someone else's shoes.<br />
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If you are privileged, and you probably are in some way, be aware of what you have been given. And use those gifts to help other people. Even if you aren't exactly sure of what others are dealing with --- listen, then help.<br />
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And keep your hands, feet, and other objects to yourself.Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06095554727537194370noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4451532184879223403.post-40688503757688183742015-01-01T06:03:00.003-08:002015-01-01T06:03:39.127-08:00A special kind of stupid<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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It takes a special kind of person to stand on the shoulders of giants and say, "Really, this is the view? I've seen this."<br /><br />And that is what Kaley Cuoco-Sweeting (of Big Bang Theory) and many other women like her are saying when they say, "I am not a feminist."<br /><br />Mrs. Sweeting even said it herself, albeit with a shrug:<br /><br /><i>"It's not really something I think about," she told Redbook magazine for its February issue, on newsstands Jan. 6. "Things are different now, and I know a lot of the work that paved the way for women happened before I was around ... I was never that feminist girl demanding equality, but maybe that's because I've never really faced inequality," she said. </i><br />And so you slap the women who did face inequality (and still do, Don't be stupid, girl.) <br /><br /><i>Cuoco-Sweeting, 29, who married husband Ryan Sweeting, 27, on New Year's Eve last year, said that she cooks for him "five nights a week: It makes me feel like a housewife; I love that. I know it sounds old-fashioned, but I like the idea of women taking care of their men. I'm so in control of my work that I like coming home and serving him," she told the magazine. </i><br /><br />News flash: it is a hell of a lot more fun to cook five nights a week and dress in slutty underwear when it is your choice and not what you have to do. She plays housewife, but she isn't someone who is responsible for the daily drudgery of housekeeping without a creative (sort of) outlet of acting or something else, without a choice. <br /><br />Kaley and everyone else need to send a great big thank you to all the women who did take the chance and fight the battles so we can play a housewife or a stupid slut. and so we can truly be actors, writers, doctors, and anything we want. Men need to thank these women for freeing them from the restrictions of cavemen mentality. We need to thank the men and women who broke free from Victorian role playing and gave us the privilege of saying (no matter how delusionally) "I have never really faced inequality."<br /><br />And every damn body who benefits from the fights of those women (and men) needs to stand up and say, "I am a feminist." And if you want to be a feminist who wears slutty underwear and cooks every night, go for it. NOW you have the choice.Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06095554727537194370noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4451532184879223403.post-74246177832954796002014-11-09T04:27:00.000-08:002014-11-09T04:27:41.008-08:00Perhaps today is a good day to die<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">When I posted the Blog4Peace post on November 4, I noticed that I'd blogged four times in four years, and three of them were Blog4Peace. I also noticed that I hadn't blogged in 2013, even a little one. And I remembered why, sort of.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">In October of 2013, my father was diagnosed with cancer. When it was found, it was in both lungs and his liver. Considering that the man went to the doctor on a very regular basis, getting all recommended tests, taking his medication, doing what he was told, it seemed unreasonable that cancer hadn't been detected earlier. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">That is what detected at all is serendipity. His doctor of eight years, who replaced a wonderful doctor who had moved his practice to another city, "went out of business." With the help of friends, we found a new doctor who examined Dad and listened to his concerns. I was there, because Dad felt he was losing his memory. Dr. Yousefian found Dad to mentally facile and seemed confused that Dad thought he was confused. I explained that Dad's mental ability started here (putting my hand far above our heads) and now he felt it was here (putting my hand only a little above our heads.) Dr. Yousefian understood.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Dad had routine blood work and we set up a follow up appointment. The blood work revealed infection somewhere, and so Dad took antibiotics. He had a very bad reaction, and so we went back. Dad told Dr. Y that he'd had a cough for a while (a year or so) and Dr. Y ordered an x-ray. Then a CT-scan. Because Dad had pneumonia, but something else too. Cancer. For about a year, Dad had been taking Robitussin (as suggested by his old doctor) for lung cancer. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Dad read about lung cancer and liver cancer, although he didn't say anything to us. Between the shock and the reaction the the antibiotics, Dad kind of slipped from us mentally. I can't imagine how this diagnosis would feel to him. He was a reserved man who would not share his feelings easily. It all went inside.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">And my brother and sister and I were faced with his unnamed fears and our unspoken fears. And it was pretty hard. For a while he couldn't sleep well and would get up, falling twice. My sister, her husband, and daughter bore the brunt of this, since he lived with them. My son and daughter-in-law stepped in the help during the night, but you can't really take a mental burden from anyone else. Especially when you are carrying your own.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">One day, early on, my sister called me to say that Dad wouldn't get up. He said he was going to die. We should all gather at his bedside. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">All the way over, I prayed. I prayed, "Not today" and slight variations all the way from Hopkins to Forest Acres. Not today. I know it will be someday, but not today.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">We went in Dad's room, where he was lying on the bed with an angry expression. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Dad, you need to get up.</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>No I don't.</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Really, Dad, you need to get up and go sit in the living room.</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i><br /></i></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>No I don't.</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>So you've decided to die today?</i>, I asked, not tearing up.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Hell no</i>, he said. Indignant.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">We look at him.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Then you have to get up</i>.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">He gets up. He goes to the oncology center, where they give him fluids, test everything, say encouraging things to him in cheery firm voices.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">While we are waiting for the doctor to come by, Dad looks up, kind of bemused.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>I guess today isn't the day</i>, he mumbles.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Of course not, I think but don't say out loud. God told me it wasn't today. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Someday. But not today.</span>Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06095554727537194370noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4451532184879223403.post-17676052985176954672014-11-04T03:16:00.000-08:002014-11-04T03:16:15.274-08:00Dona Nobis Pacem 2014<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">If you only write one blog a year, make it the blogblast for peace on November 4. And here we are.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Last year, a person who has been in my life a very long time said to me that blogging for peace was all well and good, but I had to know that it was a waste of time. Over the last year, he has continued to keep me updated on all of my poor choices and misconceptions about life, until I finally decided to put him on permanent ignore.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The point of this small rant is that we don't have to fight every battle, prove every point, convince every single person that we are right. Most of the time, it doesn't matter whether we are right or wrong. An amazing number of things we do in the world are issues of personal choice --- what vegetables to eat, what sweater to wear, whether or not to take your vitamins. Even whether to live or die. But people argue about them as if they are moral imperatives. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Then there are cultural norms disguised as moral imperatives. Food, again. Do you eat beef, pork, puppy? Who cares? (Other than the puppies... that is just wrong.) Do you wear long dresses or pants, do you cut your hair, wear make up? Women, too, face these issues. Who cares? Everyone knows you don't wear white after Labor Day, and once we can get that straight, all else is choice.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">These are the things we fight about, in our homes, our neighborhoods, our churches, our nations, and our world. These are the dumb things. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">And all of these things: land, power, what to eat, what to wear, how to pray; the need to control other people, all of these things are about fear. Fear that I won't have enough or that someone else will have more. Fear that I am not dressing right or that someone else looks better. Fear that I won't be loved enough. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I know, too simplistic. But I have become a simplistic person. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">As a Christian, I believe that we are to love God and to love others as God loves us. That is simple.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">We have enough, let go of that piece of bread and give it to your sister. We have enough, let go of that need to control and give it to your child. We have enough, be your true self and let others be their true selves. That is the moral imperative.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I can't control the monsters --- the people so controlled by fear that they hurt others. But I can refuse to be one of the monsters. At least for today, with God's help.</span>Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06095554727537194370noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4451532184879223403.post-81528387969155430772014-07-09T03:55:00.001-07:002014-07-09T03:55:30.879-07:00Where have you been?<span style="color: #d9ead3; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">It has been almost two years since I have posted. I'm not even sure this thing works anymore. I know I need to revise my "favorite blog" list.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #d9ead3; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Facebook has taken the place of blogging for me. Well, that and stuff. I read my friends' posts, like cute kitty pictures, share inspirational pictures, LOVE pictures of their kids and pets. I know more about my own family because of Facebook. I am friends with an amazing first cousin I haven't seen in forty years, probably. I see her children, I am awed by her wit and insight. I think about how she and my other cousins and second cousins and even more distant cousins are so much like me in many ways. Different in other ways (like, no, I'm not going to hobble a half-marathon). It's really cool.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #d9ead3; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">For a marginal introvert-low conflict person like me, it's heaven. I can socialize and comment and even stir up controversy. I can ignore people without hurting their feelings. I can make people laugh. I can piss people off. It's really fun. And the best part. I can walk away.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #d9ead3; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">And then walk back again, which is what I might be doing here, with this blog.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #d9ead3; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">These are some things I'm thinking about. </span><br />
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<span style="color: #d9ead3; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Ethics, morality, and social conventions. Mostly in tax preparation, since that's what I do, but also in every day life.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #d9ead3; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Business and religion. I'm looking for internal consistency here, like in a good fantasy/sci-fi novel. But my own belief is that I must be a practicing Christian in all parts of my life. That means I can't love my neighbor and screw my clients or employees. (Figuratively. Gross.)</span><br />
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<span style="color: #d9ead3; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">My religion and marriage. I am an Episcopalian. This is a fairly recent discovery on my part, but it was pretty cool when I found out other people thought like I do. It can't be easy, though, and there are Episcopalians who think like me on some things but not others. And marriage is pretty important to me. I'd like to explore marriage in Christianity, and in the Episcopal church in particular. After all, the founding of the church was precipitated by a dispute about marriage, or lack thereof. I'm not entirely sure marriage is an issue of morality at all. I think it's social convention. Love, respect, protection --- those are moral issues.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #d9ead3; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So let's see. </span><br />
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<br />Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06095554727537194370noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4451532184879223403.post-73496157868183576292012-11-04T03:47:00.000-08:002012-11-04T03:47:58.856-08:00November 4, 2012 Blogging for Peace<span style="color: #3d85c6; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">If you only blog once a year, I said, blog for peace. Which, it appears, I am doing. The once a year thing. And the blogging for peace.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #3d85c6; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">On September 12, 2001, my uncle, a Roman Catholic priest known for practicing what he preached, awoke to messages of deep sorrow on his answering machine. People were afraid, people were sad, people were angry. Once caller said, "Father Duffy, when I come to church on Sunday, don't you dare preach peace."</span><br />
<span style="color: #3d85c6; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #3d85c6; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I asked what he preached and he looked at me like he often did --- kindly, with hope that one day I wouldn't be so dense.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #3d85c6; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">He preached reconciliation. Which is what our life as Christians is about. It is also what the lives of non-Christians is about, but the words may be different. We fall down. We get up again. We fall down. Like toddlers, we struggle to reach our parents, our creator.</span><br />
<span style="color: #3d85c6; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #3d85c6; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And the love that the creator feels for us is all encompassing. Jesus said, there are two things I want from you. Love God. Love your neighbor as you love yourself, and as God loves you. Someone (I have heard it was a lawyer) asked, well, that's easy, but who is my neighbor. And Jesus looked at him as he often did, kindly, with the hope that one day he wouldn't be so dense, and told the story of the good Samaritan.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #3d85c6; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Jesus didn't say, love those to whom you are related. Love the people in your gated community. Love people who wear the same clothes that you do, and where the same political buttons. Jesus said love everybody.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #3d85c6; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And this is my prayer for Peace. Love God (in whatever form you find her) and love your neighbor (in whatever form you find her) as you love yourself.</span><br />
<span style="color: #3d85c6; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #3d85c6; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And preach peace. Everyday, even when it hurts.</span>Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06095554727537194370noreply@blogger.com3