It new and old being back on the grounds of First Parish for the rehearsal Friday and the wedding Saturday. Much was familiar, and some things were very new. The Remembrance Corner exists! This is a project that had been underway for years, and had gotten more focused in the months before I left, thanks to some very dedicated church members. It’s quite an addition. The gardens around the church are also looking really good.
I still knew my way around, and I was also aware that I was a visitor. I no longer had keys to the building, the copy room, the office that I once called mine.
The wedding itself was lovely. It was good to see some of the familiar and friendly faces I knew from my years at the church, and to see the bride and groom and their families so happy together. The weather was agreeable, too -- after a deluge Friday evening, Saturday was dry and warm, but not unbearable, as it often is this time of year.
In the evening, I went with a friend to see the one-man show of Stan Strickland, one of Boston’s resident jazz musicians. It’s called “Coming Up for Air”, and through it he tells his life story through music and song. Very engaging to see. It was playing at a new theater in Cambridge on Mass. Ave., but that was the closing night. His next stop will be Edinburgh.
Sunday morning was leisurely. I took my time getting out of bed, and gathered my things to be checked out by noon. There I was, on the fifth floor of the parking garage about to pull out of the hotel, and I noticed just how brilliant the partially cloudy sky was. I took some time to be with it, before getting into the car and driving away. Coming back over to Roslindale, I had to take the long way around, as the (Caribbean Festival?) was happening in Roxbury, and there were many police blockades.
I paid some attention to how I moved around the snarled traffic. I like that, at least where driving is concerned (and I’m not running late), I’m at ease with changes in route or plan. I had to go way around Roxbury – all around Franklin Park, through Dorchester, Mattapan and Hyde Park – to get to Roslindale. But I felt my way, watching the signs, and learning to trust the moments of uncertainty. And I got where I was going just fine.
And now, the break is truly over, exactly six months from my last sermon at First Parish of Arlington. I have a check-up with my doctor of the past seven years tomorrow, and the movers arrive Tuesday afternoon. I will make my way down to New Jersey at that point, too, and I start work Friday, August 15.
Some have asked if I will be blogging after my leave is over. I’m going to take a break from blogging, though I suspect I will resume at some point. For those who have been reading this one and would like to be alerted when a new one starts, please send me an email at smithcarel@aol.com and let me know.
And to those who have read and commented on Six-Month Break, thank you. I’m glad to know that you’ve been interested in the journey enough to follow along. The format really gave me a chance to make a record of my travels and share as the path unfolded.
Many of you know that one of my goals when I set out on the break was to finish the novel that has been in the works for about the past two decades. That didn’t happen. I can see that I didn’t create a context for myself to support that work. What the novel needs is consistency: of my attention, and of location. With the blog and with my morning pages, I’ve established the consistency of a regular writing pattern. In New Jersey, with a place to call home for the next several months, I will have a consistent location. I look forward to seeing what emerges from that.
And, I’m glad for the book that has emerged in raw form – the memoir of these several past months. I remember being frustrated with myself when I was in Provincetown those three weeks late in the winter because the novel wasn’t what was coming out. When I stopped berating myself for not doing what I thought I was going to be doing and just got with the flow of what was happening, I was able to relax into the process and appreciate it for what it was.
Now the whole six months seems like a dream, part of the longer dream of my whole life, where nothing stays for very long. I guess long-term relationships are like that. Where do we return to, in hopes of not being alienated? I have been re-reading Laura Kipnis’s searing polemic Against Love in recent days. Is she ever adept at skewering the sacred cow of romantic love in modern Western culture. However, I think she missed the deeper need that romantic love serves. In a world of changing faces and places, I think such attachments fill the need for constancy, and serve as a kind of a guard against loneliness and isolation.
I asked myself as I drove from Cambridge, and the wedding party that knew me, to my friend's house in Roslindale, "If I were to get in trouble right here – an accident, an aneurism, a blown-out tire – who would know who I am?" There’s a quality of life that seems to be about shuttling from safety zone to safety zone, to hold back the unpleasant and unpredictable aspects of existence. I haven’t had a consistent place to stay over the past several months, but I have had regular pay-checks, and access to health care, and a reliable, paid-for vehicle that I own to drive. Out of that relative stability emerged a six-month adventure now closing as quickly as it began.
I am left with sense of providence. I’m not always reliable to follow my intuition, or to act consistently with what I say are my best intentions. I can’t always rely on people to tell the truth, or to behave in ways that promote honor, integrity, love and peace. But I do find that the universe is providential. The old folks used to say, “The Lord will make a way somehow.” Even older folks said, “The Way doesn’t do anything, but it leaves nothing undone.” What is necessary is somehow always near, always available – What is necessary is often not what I think it is. Oh, for eyes to see, to truly see.
Monday, August 11, 2008
Week 25 of 26: Trespasses, or Back to Boston
I left Easton Mountain shortly after my light breakfast in the Lodge Monday morning (July 28), and after saying goodbye to the staff and fellow volunteers who were close by. It was a clear day, a good day for driving through the gorgeous and extremely green New York countryside. I did have the sense of turning away from the part of my leave that was oriented towards being on-leave. Time to resume the thinking and mind-set of a parish minister again … not that it is ever far from me. As I said to someone recently, that identity is part of my core now, as much as being United Methodist or a native Mississippian. Like the trunk of a tree, there might be lots of other rings that grow around the core, but that core doesn’t change.
“Lead-foot” might be another one of those core identities. Every few years, I get a speeding ticket while I’m just zooming along I-95, or I-40, or in this case, the MassPike. I didn’t even see the state police, or if I did, I was in a state of denial. By the time he pulled me over, he said to me, “Not only did you pass me, but then you get right in front of me, going (insert excessive mph here)!” I couldn’t argue. I was trying to make it on time for an appointment, and stopped paying attention to my surroundings. I didn’t put up a fuss, and he knocked five miles off the violation he clocked me at. Still, a three-digit fine seemed silly to have earned, especially since, even with all that, I still made it to my appointment with time to spare.
Afterwards, I said to myself, No need to delay. Just pay the fine and be done with it as quickly as possible. I couldn’t find my checkbook, so I walked to the nearest post office, got a money order and mailed it right away. Done. Great. I walked back around to my car on a side street off Mass Ave, and there was a ticket under the windshield wiper for my expired inspection sticker. It became invalid at the end of June, while I was still in Florida. I knew that as soon as I crossed over into Massachusetts, it would be in violation, but I thought I wouldn’t get caught the very first time I parked on the street. I was wrong. Forty bucks worth of wrong, to be precise. But I couldn’t get mad. You drive too fast, you get a ticket. You let your sticker expire, you get a ticket. These things are almost natural laws. Still, I was feeling nostalgic for being out in the woods, with no need for locks or state patrol officers or sticker inspectors … can it be that it was all so simple then, just that morning?
I was reentering urban life, and not particularly enjoying it.
Parking on the campus of BU for the Transitional Ministry Training was pretty stressful, too, especially because I forgot to arrange for parking when I registered. I got it worked out Tuesday, but not before missing my lunch and being late for the afternoon session that day.
The training itself was very valuable. About 30 colleagues were there, including Rev. Alma Crawford, who I haven’t seen in years. She was actually my introduction to UUism back in the early 90s in DC, when she was serving a small congregation on Capitol Hill, and we were both seminary students at Howard. In fact, this is the first time we were in a classroom environment together in 16 or 17 years. That seems unreal to me.
What a great context to get focused on the work that lies ahead in the fall, and to revisit some of those ongoing questions about ministry: What are my personal and professional boundaries? What’s appropriate ministerial attire at the church picnic? How do we establish credibility in a new congregation? What does it take to be a career interim minister? How do we guide and support congregations that have been traumatized? An added bonus is that these and other questions gave me lots to think about for future sermons. I looked out the window of the conference room and right onto Commonwealth Ave, to see men moving dresser drawers, young people jugging, people waiting for buses, in the midst of lots of asphalt and concrete. Mountainsides full of trees were not so near and prominent in my field of vision.
By Thursday, I had spend three and a half days straight in seminar mode, which ended up being more draining than I thought. A non-UU colleague put me up overnight in Roxbury, and my housesitting for a friend in Roslindale began Friday afternoon, with a little glitch: I had forgotten the passcode for her alarm system. I thought the clue for how to disarm it was by the control panel, but I couldn’t recognize it as it was disguised among some other numbers. Thirty seconds later, the alarm want crazy. Incredibly loud, long (10 minutes stretching into eternity), painful and violent. A neighbor vouched for me when the police came, and things calmed down.
Still, after that incident, I didn’t step outside the house until Monday afternoon. I needed some down-time, and more than I thought. I did manage to watch the documentary Chisolm '72: Unbought and Unbossed on dvd, about Congresswoman Shirley Chisolm’s presidential bid. It’s amazing to me that so little is said this year in particular about this woman who paved the way for the first black male likely to be elected, as well as the first white female. Chisolm was ahead of her time, and has gone largely under-appreciated for her contribution to this new era of US politics.
One week left. I’ve got some running around to do, but the date is set for the move with the moving company next Tuesday, and the wedding is on track for this weekend. Now’s the time to reflect on the meaning of all these six-months, and the break itself.
“Lead-foot” might be another one of those core identities. Every few years, I get a speeding ticket while I’m just zooming along I-95, or I-40, or in this case, the MassPike. I didn’t even see the state police, or if I did, I was in a state of denial. By the time he pulled me over, he said to me, “Not only did you pass me, but then you get right in front of me, going (insert excessive mph here)!” I couldn’t argue. I was trying to make it on time for an appointment, and stopped paying attention to my surroundings. I didn’t put up a fuss, and he knocked five miles off the violation he clocked me at. Still, a three-digit fine seemed silly to have earned, especially since, even with all that, I still made it to my appointment with time to spare.
Afterwards, I said to myself, No need to delay. Just pay the fine and be done with it as quickly as possible. I couldn’t find my checkbook, so I walked to the nearest post office, got a money order and mailed it right away. Done. Great. I walked back around to my car on a side street off Mass Ave, and there was a ticket under the windshield wiper for my expired inspection sticker. It became invalid at the end of June, while I was still in Florida. I knew that as soon as I crossed over into Massachusetts, it would be in violation, but I thought I wouldn’t get caught the very first time I parked on the street. I was wrong. Forty bucks worth of wrong, to be precise. But I couldn’t get mad. You drive too fast, you get a ticket. You let your sticker expire, you get a ticket. These things are almost natural laws. Still, I was feeling nostalgic for being out in the woods, with no need for locks or state patrol officers or sticker inspectors … can it be that it was all so simple then, just that morning?
I was reentering urban life, and not particularly enjoying it.
Parking on the campus of BU for the Transitional Ministry Training was pretty stressful, too, especially because I forgot to arrange for parking when I registered. I got it worked out Tuesday, but not before missing my lunch and being late for the afternoon session that day.
The training itself was very valuable. About 30 colleagues were there, including Rev. Alma Crawford, who I haven’t seen in years. She was actually my introduction to UUism back in the early 90s in DC, when she was serving a small congregation on Capitol Hill, and we were both seminary students at Howard. In fact, this is the first time we were in a classroom environment together in 16 or 17 years. That seems unreal to me.
What a great context to get focused on the work that lies ahead in the fall, and to revisit some of those ongoing questions about ministry: What are my personal and professional boundaries? What’s appropriate ministerial attire at the church picnic? How do we establish credibility in a new congregation? What does it take to be a career interim minister? How do we guide and support congregations that have been traumatized? An added bonus is that these and other questions gave me lots to think about for future sermons. I looked out the window of the conference room and right onto Commonwealth Ave, to see men moving dresser drawers, young people jugging, people waiting for buses, in the midst of lots of asphalt and concrete. Mountainsides full of trees were not so near and prominent in my field of vision.
By Thursday, I had spend three and a half days straight in seminar mode, which ended up being more draining than I thought. A non-UU colleague put me up overnight in Roxbury, and my housesitting for a friend in Roslindale began Friday afternoon, with a little glitch: I had forgotten the passcode for her alarm system. I thought the clue for how to disarm it was by the control panel, but I couldn’t recognize it as it was disguised among some other numbers. Thirty seconds later, the alarm want crazy. Incredibly loud, long (10 minutes stretching into eternity), painful and violent. A neighbor vouched for me when the police came, and things calmed down.
Still, after that incident, I didn’t step outside the house until Monday afternoon. I needed some down-time, and more than I thought. I did manage to watch the documentary Chisolm '72: Unbought and Unbossed on dvd, about Congresswoman Shirley Chisolm’s presidential bid. It’s amazing to me that so little is said this year in particular about this woman who paved the way for the first black male likely to be elected, as well as the first white female. Chisolm was ahead of her time, and has gone largely under-appreciated for her contribution to this new era of US politics.
One week left. I’ve got some running around to do, but the date is set for the move with the moving company next Tuesday, and the wedding is on track for this weekend. Now’s the time to reflect on the meaning of all these six-months, and the break itself.
Monday, July 28, 2008
Week 24 of 26 (addendum): Praying for Unitarian Universalists and Their Neighbors and Friends in Knoxville
Dear Friends:
I was alarmed to hear that there was another church shooting in our country yesterday, and then my jaw dropped to find out that it was the Tennessee Valley Unitarian Universalist Church in Knoxville that had been attacked. My reaction was equal to what people say in some neighborhoods when a crime occurs: How could this happen in our denomination? I asked myself. And now the reality sets in, that UUs are no less vulnerable to hate crimes, or being drawn into a sick person's externalized psychodrama than any other faith tradition. Just because we see ourselves as nonthreatening doesn't mean that others hold the same view.
The details are still unfolding, and I am watching our denominational website, www.uua.org, to keep posted myself. We can be thankful for the heroes and heroines who lept into action to mitigate the violence done, especially usher Greg McKendry, 60, who gave his life when he stepped between bullets and helpless church-goers. I hear the other person who was fatally wounded, Linda Kreager, 61, was a visitor that day, there to see her grandchild perform in a version of the musical Annie.
Let our thoughts and prayers be with those families who have lost loved ones, and those who anxiously wait to know how their lives will be different after this senseless act. And, if you are so inclined, I invite you to join me in posting a word of encouragment on the blog set up by the UUA for the Tennessee Valley UU Church. I'm very appreciative of how our UUA President Bill Sinkford, members of the UUA Trauma Response Team and other representatives of our wider movement are speaking and acting out our values on the ground. My heart goes out as well to my colleague, Rev. Chris Buice. I can hardly imagine what he must be going through at this incredibly sad and painful time in the life of his congregation.
Here at the Transitional Minister Training at Boston University, my colleagues and I are remembering the people at TVUUC, and asking ourselves, Could it happen at my congregation? What would I do? Can I understand the motivation of someone to act out so viciously? Could I forgive? The questions are endless. I pray that the grief of those most effected by this heinous crime is not.
I was alarmed to hear that there was another church shooting in our country yesterday, and then my jaw dropped to find out that it was the Tennessee Valley Unitarian Universalist Church in Knoxville that had been attacked. My reaction was equal to what people say in some neighborhoods when a crime occurs: How could this happen in our denomination? I asked myself. And now the reality sets in, that UUs are no less vulnerable to hate crimes, or being drawn into a sick person's externalized psychodrama than any other faith tradition. Just because we see ourselves as nonthreatening doesn't mean that others hold the same view.
The details are still unfolding, and I am watching our denominational website, www.uua.org, to keep posted myself. We can be thankful for the heroes and heroines who lept into action to mitigate the violence done, especially usher Greg McKendry, 60, who gave his life when he stepped between bullets and helpless church-goers. I hear the other person who was fatally wounded, Linda Kreager, 61, was a visitor that day, there to see her grandchild perform in a version of the musical Annie.
Let our thoughts and prayers be with those families who have lost loved ones, and those who anxiously wait to know how their lives will be different after this senseless act. And, if you are so inclined, I invite you to join me in posting a word of encouragment on the blog set up by the UUA for the Tennessee Valley UU Church. I'm very appreciative of how our UUA President Bill Sinkford, members of the UUA Trauma Response Team and other representatives of our wider movement are speaking and acting out our values on the ground. My heart goes out as well to my colleague, Rev. Chris Buice. I can hardly imagine what he must be going through at this incredibly sad and painful time in the life of his congregation.
Here at the Transitional Minister Training at Boston University, my colleagues and I are remembering the people at TVUUC, and asking ourselves, Could it happen at my congregation? What would I do? Can I understand the motivation of someone to act out so viciously? Could I forgive? The questions are endless. I pray that the grief of those most effected by this heinous crime is not.
Week 24 of 26: A Cabin in the Woods
This post is going to be brief: I am within an hour of leaving Easton Mountain in upstate New York on my way to Boston University for an Interim Ministry Training that starts this evening.
I moved into my cabin a week ago today. I really loved it ... for me it was the perfect marriage between being in the great outdoors and having the creature comforts that were essential. It rained almost all week long, and not just light sprinkles. Big buckets of torrential downpours. And it was magnificent to watch it, the flashes of lightning through the big windows in the night, the fireflies flashing here and there, the sound of the frogs on the pond, and the birds in the morning ... and often heard footfalls around the cabin, too loud and heavy to be a squirrel or chipmunk, unlikely to be another human ... rather than to be afraid with only a window screen separating me from the forest, I chose to think of them as the sound of my spirit guide or guardian, keeping watch for me in the night.
The young people seemed to have enjoyed themselves during Queer Spirit Camp. I mostly stayed at a distance, tending to the tasks that were mine regarding the functioning of the place. Monday night, I did have a chance to go into Troy with some of the other staff and volunteers, to a knitting/spinning circle that some of them belong to in Little Italy, that meets at a coffee shop called Flavours. A nice spot.
Okay, that's it for now ... next stop: Beantown.
I moved into my cabin a week ago today. I really loved it ... for me it was the perfect marriage between being in the great outdoors and having the creature comforts that were essential. It rained almost all week long, and not just light sprinkles. Big buckets of torrential downpours. And it was magnificent to watch it, the flashes of lightning through the big windows in the night, the fireflies flashing here and there, the sound of the frogs on the pond, and the birds in the morning ... and often heard footfalls around the cabin, too loud and heavy to be a squirrel or chipmunk, unlikely to be another human ... rather than to be afraid with only a window screen separating me from the forest, I chose to think of them as the sound of my spirit guide or guardian, keeping watch for me in the night.
The young people seemed to have enjoyed themselves during Queer Spirit Camp. I mostly stayed at a distance, tending to the tasks that were mine regarding the functioning of the place. Monday night, I did have a chance to go into Troy with some of the other staff and volunteers, to a knitting/spinning circle that some of them belong to in Little Italy, that meets at a coffee shop called Flavours. A nice spot.
Okay, that's it for now ... next stop: Beantown.
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
Week 23 of 26: Out in the Sticks, and Deeply Grateful
Monday morning (July 14) began with yoga. Tim, who I understand is the longest-term resident here at Easton Mountain, led it every morning this week. My first experience of yoga goes back to PBS in the 70s, when I was a child, watching Lilias, Yoga & You, but I haven't had any kind of regular practice since then. Maybe this is an opportunity to bring this aspect of self-care and mindfulness back into my life as I begin my service at a new congregation. I don't enjoy all of the positions -- somehow I dread downward dog -- but at the end of it, when I've made it through the full hour, I feel awake and alive.
Also Monday, my work in support of the upcoming programs began in earnest. I agreed to take on the laundry room, and see to it that the towels and sheets were cleaned, sorted, folded and ready to go as needed onto the beds, outside the sauna and by the hot-tub. It took the better part of two days to get it handled, but with the help of others working on it, we managed it. I couldn't help thinking of a show that I saw and loved at the Boston Center for the Arts, and that was Caroline, or Change, an extremely moving musical by Tony Kuschner. Jacqui Parker, who I know from my days with the Boston African American Theatre Festival, was great in the title role. Caroline felt oppressed and stifled by her laundry work, and I didn't at all last week -- it was of my choosing, which I think made much of the difference. And, unlike Caroline, I'm not trying to raise two children on a meager income, I have health insurance and access to good medical care, I live and grew up in the United States in the post-legalized segregation era ... and I thank the generations of women, in my own family and beyond, who did such work because they had limited employment options. They secured a future for me and so many others, such that we can choose from a wide range of possibilities, including laundry work as meditation and an expression of solidarity, rather than an economic necessity.
Wednesday, Dexter* arrived for a few days from metro New York. In addition to being someone involved in the creation and leading of worship, he also is a composer and lyricist. I had a chance to hear some of the pieces that he's been working on that may one day end up as show-tunes on Broadway. He encouraged me to go forward with a project I'd been rolling around in my head for some time, and that was to write lyrics for a musical based on the novel that continually moves and inspires me: Zora Neale Hurston's Their Eyes Were Watching God. Friday, when I wasn't loading and unloading the washers and dryers, I was trying to tease out rhymes and tunes, with mixed degrees of success ... still, I had three rough drafts of songs/scenes worked out by noon Saturday, and I'm glad for that.
My work shifted later in the week to the care of the lower level of the lodge, which is the main house on the grounds. Before I began, some of the other volunteers and members of the EM residential community had gone through and cleaned it after the departure of the guest from the previous week, and I can feel the difference. It's fresh, renewed ... similar to the experience I would have after we did 'spiritual housekeeping' at First Parish in Arlington. My goal is to have that experience of freshness be sustained through my attention to how the place looks, and to its sense of order and purposefulness.
There were two groups of a dozen or so men each who came: one that started Wednesday, focused on healing the spirit, and the other starting Friday, for men who do various forms of bodywork (massage, reiki, yoga, etc.). There was good energy among them, and at the same time I found myself verging on speechlessness at some points at the subtle and overt racialized language white men directed at me and the few other 'men of color' on the grounds, and even the attacking language that one man of color can use on another. For certain, I'll leave paying even more attention to my own speech, and the power I have to affirm or undermine other people's experience of wholeness and inclusion simply by the words I allow out of my mouth.
And, when I perceive such sleights, it becomes another opportunity to practice forgiveness and cultivate my sense of humor. Every situation, as far as I can tell, holds the possibility of being workable and/or transformative.
Saturday, I went for a walk in the garden, where a good amount of the produce that ends up on our plates here is grown. It seems to be guarded by a few very vigilant and aggressive flies and bees, so it's a little bit like going through a gauntlet to get there. It is lovely, however -- quite varied with both flowers and food-bearing plants, and laid out in a labyrinthine way that includes some of the meadow's original growth. And there, at different points throughout, were wooden placards with handwritten quotes on them. The first one I saw and drew me in enough that I went back to write it down was this one from Goethe: "What is the hardest thing of all? What seems the easiest to you: to use your eyes to see what lies in front of them."
Both Saturday and early Monday, I felt a profound sense of gratitude for my eyes, my lifelong friends, so often taken for granted, and even abused through overuse or strain. And yet they have always been there, making the life I know and love possible. I can see ... I can see. Every morning I open my eyes, and the miracle begins again, whether acknowledged for what it is or not. Glory -- glory in the highest.
By yesterday morning, most of the men from the previous week's programs were gone, and the young adults for Queer Spirit Camp had begun to arrive. And I started to pack for my move from my room (with private bath) in the guest house, to one of the woodland cabins -- which is pretty close to Thoreau's abode on Walden Pond, including not having electricity.
* a pseudonym
Also Monday, my work in support of the upcoming programs began in earnest. I agreed to take on the laundry room, and see to it that the towels and sheets were cleaned, sorted, folded and ready to go as needed onto the beds, outside the sauna and by the hot-tub. It took the better part of two days to get it handled, but with the help of others working on it, we managed it. I couldn't help thinking of a show that I saw and loved at the Boston Center for the Arts, and that was Caroline, or Change, an extremely moving musical by Tony Kuschner. Jacqui Parker, who I know from my days with the Boston African American Theatre Festival, was great in the title role. Caroline felt oppressed and stifled by her laundry work, and I didn't at all last week -- it was of my choosing, which I think made much of the difference. And, unlike Caroline, I'm not trying to raise two children on a meager income, I have health insurance and access to good medical care, I live and grew up in the United States in the post-legalized segregation era ... and I thank the generations of women, in my own family and beyond, who did such work because they had limited employment options. They secured a future for me and so many others, such that we can choose from a wide range of possibilities, including laundry work as meditation and an expression of solidarity, rather than an economic necessity.
Wednesday, Dexter* arrived for a few days from metro New York. In addition to being someone involved in the creation and leading of worship, he also is a composer and lyricist. I had a chance to hear some of the pieces that he's been working on that may one day end up as show-tunes on Broadway. He encouraged me to go forward with a project I'd been rolling around in my head for some time, and that was to write lyrics for a musical based on the novel that continually moves and inspires me: Zora Neale Hurston's Their Eyes Were Watching God. Friday, when I wasn't loading and unloading the washers and dryers, I was trying to tease out rhymes and tunes, with mixed degrees of success ... still, I had three rough drafts of songs/scenes worked out by noon Saturday, and I'm glad for that.
My work shifted later in the week to the care of the lower level of the lodge, which is the main house on the grounds. Before I began, some of the other volunteers and members of the EM residential community had gone through and cleaned it after the departure of the guest from the previous week, and I can feel the difference. It's fresh, renewed ... similar to the experience I would have after we did 'spiritual housekeeping' at First Parish in Arlington. My goal is to have that experience of freshness be sustained through my attention to how the place looks, and to its sense of order and purposefulness.
There were two groups of a dozen or so men each who came: one that started Wednesday, focused on healing the spirit, and the other starting Friday, for men who do various forms of bodywork (massage, reiki, yoga, etc.). There was good energy among them, and at the same time I found myself verging on speechlessness at some points at the subtle and overt racialized language white men directed at me and the few other 'men of color' on the grounds, and even the attacking language that one man of color can use on another. For certain, I'll leave paying even more attention to my own speech, and the power I have to affirm or undermine other people's experience of wholeness and inclusion simply by the words I allow out of my mouth.
And, when I perceive such sleights, it becomes another opportunity to practice forgiveness and cultivate my sense of humor. Every situation, as far as I can tell, holds the possibility of being workable and/or transformative.
Saturday, I went for a walk in the garden, where a good amount of the produce that ends up on our plates here is grown. It seems to be guarded by a few very vigilant and aggressive flies and bees, so it's a little bit like going through a gauntlet to get there. It is lovely, however -- quite varied with both flowers and food-bearing plants, and laid out in a labyrinthine way that includes some of the meadow's original growth. And there, at different points throughout, were wooden placards with handwritten quotes on them. The first one I saw and drew me in enough that I went back to write it down was this one from Goethe: "What is the hardest thing of all? What seems the easiest to you: to use your eyes to see what lies in front of them."
Both Saturday and early Monday, I felt a profound sense of gratitude for my eyes, my lifelong friends, so often taken for granted, and even abused through overuse or strain. And yet they have always been there, making the life I know and love possible. I can see ... I can see. Every morning I open my eyes, and the miracle begins again, whether acknowledged for what it is or not. Glory -- glory in the highest.
By yesterday morning, most of the men from the previous week's programs were gone, and the young adults for Queer Spirit Camp had begun to arrive. And I started to pack for my move from my room (with private bath) in the guest house, to one of the woodland cabins -- which is pretty close to Thoreau's abode on Walden Pond, including not having electricity.
* a pseudonym
Monday, July 14, 2008
Week 22 of 26: (Maryland, Pennsylvania, New Jersey and) New York States of Mind
Stayed with my old friend Bertram* in Baltimore for two nights, and at last, sat down to work on the wedding I will officiate the second weekend in August.
I got up early Wednesday morning and drove up to Philly, to meet with Kermit*, a brother in the spirit who does sacred healing and ritual work in the west side of town. In fact, he was in the middle of a ritual when I got there, so we didn't actually meet until a bit later. That worked out fine: I was able to hang out in the window-corner at the Green Line Cafe, a very pleasant spot to eat one's pain chocolat and sip on a latte while checking email and journaling. Around mid-afternoon, when he was finally free, I drove him out to Pendle Hill where he sometimes stays while leading workshops. It was good to have the chance to talk with him, and get his take on some of the ideas and questions that have been turning over in my head these past several weeks.
It rained on my way back into West Philly for my evening dinner with the bride and groom. We went to the neighborhood Eritrean restuarant, which I imagine at one point was an Ethiopian restaurant. I'm happy that they like the draft of the wedding. I'll get their adjustments back in the coming days, and we'll soon settle on the final version of their ceremony.
I left around 8:15, which gave me time to get up to River Edge, New Jersey, before it got too late ... I was glad I googled all my directions for the week while I was in Baltimore. I got to the Central Unitarian Church parsonage around 10:30, and my departing colleague Justin Osterman was the perfect host. He walked me through my next home (as of August 11 or so). I liked the space and the improvements he'd made. The guest bed was very comfortable, and I fell into a deep sleep at the end of a full day.
After breakfast, Justin toke me over to the church, where I meet the church administrator, Shailja, for the first time. We'd talked on the phone a few times before, and I can see why Justin enjoyed working with her so much. She's very personable and conscientious of her work ... able to anticipate needs and concerns well in advance. A great skill to have in church life! The two of them helped me lighten my load for the balance of my leave. Where I started out five months ago with a full trunk, full back seat, and full passenger seat, that Thursday I was almost down to just a full trunk. I told Shailja I would be back Friday morning to lighten up more. Later, when I would park my car near my old friend Jaime's* apartment in the South Bronx, I didn't want to even have to think about emptying out the cab so no one would be tempted to break in.
Justin took me on a driving tour of River Edge, Paramus, Oradell, North Hackensack and Ridgewood. We ended up having afternoon coffee at on of the Starbucks at one of the ritzier malls out of the many malls in Paramus, along the very developed commercial strip. I'm glad the church and the parsonage are on streets that are a bit removed from all the six-lane traffic and retail busyness for which the town is known.
That night, I went to a book reading and discussion at Gay Men's Health Crisis downtown on 24th Street. Jaime invited me. The author, Terrance Dean, is fielding questions about his memoir Hiding in Hip-Hop: On the Down-Low in the Entertainment Industry. I introduced myself to him afterwards and congratulated him, and I told him I was working on a book or two myself. When I told him one of my projects is a memoir, he asked me if I had read Eat Pray Love. I replied yes, and that the first of the books I expect to publish will be based on my own journey over my sabbatical leave (What would be a good working title? Hmm ... maybe The Six-Month Break?). Jaime and I went to dinner with two of his friends and then called it a night. I headed back out to Jersey.
Friday, I said so long to Justin, and dropped more things off at the church. Shailja had already created new letterhead, with me listed as the Interim Minister. Like I said, she's one step ahead. I go down and visit with a friend in East Orange, then end up parking in Harlem. I head downtown, and, after I tend to some outstanding business and Jaime is free, we catch the train back up to my car and drive over to his place. Saturday afternoon, I got a rush ticket to see Passing Strange, the Tony-nominated musical about a young African-American man from San Francisco who goes off to find what is real in life in Amsterdam, and then Berlin. The production was (and is) closing in a few days, so that was the only chance for me to catch this show on Broadway (though Spike Lee is said to be making a film of it). I loved it. It's crazy, kaleidoscopic, funny and a touch manipulative, but in a forgiveable way. I'm very glad a god friend recommended it to me. I had a great theater companion, Karen*, who was behind me in the ticket line. She is also a writer and travel-lover. I hope we are able to stay in touch.
And, five minutes after I stepped out of the Belasco Theatre, who came breezing down 44th Street but Jaime? I was supposed to meet him in Brooklyn at the Audre Lorde Center for a monthly meeting of Adodi, the black gay men's spiritual group he belongs to. Riding out with him was better. The discussion was about black gay men and depression. I had an insight while the conversation was going on -- maybe one of the friends I reached out to while I was in DC wasn't just ignoring me: Maybe he's withdrawn and depressed. Something to follow up on.
We went to a restaurant down the street and around the corner in Ft. Greene, and as it turned out, there was drama about the check at the end of the evening. I hate drama about the check at the end of the evening, which seems to be a given when you have eight or more people on one tab. I was glad I had paid my portion and was standing outside talking on my cell phone when the confusion started. Jaime and I didn't get back to his place until almost 2:00 a.m.
Still, I managed to get myself up and packed, and I drove down to the Fifteenth Street Society of Friends in the East Village for my first Quaker Meeting by 11:00 a.m. I've been thinking a lot about the Quakers lately, especially their encouragement toward simplicity and trust in Spirit to open doors along life's journey. This was absolutely the least ornate worship hall I can remember entering. It was along the lines of the colonial style that has become so familiar to me after six and a half years in New England, but with pews on all four sides facing the center. I did have the experience of anticipation, not knowing from which mouth Spirit might speak ... from the other side of the room? The person behind me? Me myself? ... the possibilities were as numerous as the 70 or so people who drifted in over the hour. I fell into deep silence ... and was half asleep for much of the time. I hope I looked like I was meditating. Four men and one woman spoke, on themes of love, community, reconciliation, contributing to the lives of others
-- and I did leave feeling refreshed and connected. I thought about how different this was from ecstatic dance, the drumming circle, the rock band and the ordained minister-led services I have participated in over the past several months -- none any more or less valuable or valid than the other, and all expressions of communion with That Which Is Beyond Ourselves.
I left the church, and drove up I-87, all the way up to Albany, and out to Easton Mountain, the rustic retreat center that I'll be assisting at over the next two weeks. I found out last night that next week will be third time EM has been host to a camp for queer young adults, ages 18 to 25, from a spectrum of locations, ethnicities and gender identities. I'm glad to know that I am part of the preparations for this week-long event, that will provide a sense of connection and community. I'm contributing to the prevention of depression among queer young adults, and that's something to feel great about, especially having been in their shoes myself 20 to 25 years ago.
* a pseudonym
I got up early Wednesday morning and drove up to Philly, to meet with Kermit*, a brother in the spirit who does sacred healing and ritual work in the west side of town. In fact, he was in the middle of a ritual when I got there, so we didn't actually meet until a bit later. That worked out fine: I was able to hang out in the window-corner at the Green Line Cafe, a very pleasant spot to eat one's pain chocolat and sip on a latte while checking email and journaling. Around mid-afternoon, when he was finally free, I drove him out to Pendle Hill where he sometimes stays while leading workshops. It was good to have the chance to talk with him, and get his take on some of the ideas and questions that have been turning over in my head these past several weeks.
It rained on my way back into West Philly for my evening dinner with the bride and groom. We went to the neighborhood Eritrean restuarant, which I imagine at one point was an Ethiopian restaurant. I'm happy that they like the draft of the wedding. I'll get their adjustments back in the coming days, and we'll soon settle on the final version of their ceremony.
I left around 8:15, which gave me time to get up to River Edge, New Jersey, before it got too late ... I was glad I googled all my directions for the week while I was in Baltimore. I got to the Central Unitarian Church parsonage around 10:30, and my departing colleague Justin Osterman was the perfect host. He walked me through my next home (as of August 11 or so). I liked the space and the improvements he'd made. The guest bed was very comfortable, and I fell into a deep sleep at the end of a full day.
After breakfast, Justin toke me over to the church, where I meet the church administrator, Shailja, for the first time. We'd talked on the phone a few times before, and I can see why Justin enjoyed working with her so much. She's very personable and conscientious of her work ... able to anticipate needs and concerns well in advance. A great skill to have in church life! The two of them helped me lighten my load for the balance of my leave. Where I started out five months ago with a full trunk, full back seat, and full passenger seat, that Thursday I was almost down to just a full trunk. I told Shailja I would be back Friday morning to lighten up more. Later, when I would park my car near my old friend Jaime's* apartment in the South Bronx, I didn't want to even have to think about emptying out the cab so no one would be tempted to break in.
Justin took me on a driving tour of River Edge, Paramus, Oradell, North Hackensack and Ridgewood. We ended up having afternoon coffee at on of the Starbucks at one of the ritzier malls out of the many malls in Paramus, along the very developed commercial strip. I'm glad the church and the parsonage are on streets that are a bit removed from all the six-lane traffic and retail busyness for which the town is known.
That night, I went to a book reading and discussion at Gay Men's Health Crisis downtown on 24th Street. Jaime invited me. The author, Terrance Dean, is fielding questions about his memoir Hiding in Hip-Hop: On the Down-Low in the Entertainment Industry. I introduced myself to him afterwards and congratulated him, and I told him I was working on a book or two myself. When I told him one of my projects is a memoir, he asked me if I had read Eat Pray Love. I replied yes, and that the first of the books I expect to publish will be based on my own journey over my sabbatical leave (What would be a good working title? Hmm ... maybe The Six-Month Break?). Jaime and I went to dinner with two of his friends and then called it a night. I headed back out to Jersey.
Friday, I said so long to Justin, and dropped more things off at the church. Shailja had already created new letterhead, with me listed as the Interim Minister. Like I said, she's one step ahead. I go down and visit with a friend in East Orange, then end up parking in Harlem. I head downtown, and, after I tend to some outstanding business and Jaime is free, we catch the train back up to my car and drive over to his place. Saturday afternoon, I got a rush ticket to see Passing Strange, the Tony-nominated musical about a young African-American man from San Francisco who goes off to find what is real in life in Amsterdam, and then Berlin. The production was (and is) closing in a few days, so that was the only chance for me to catch this show on Broadway (though Spike Lee is said to be making a film of it). I loved it. It's crazy, kaleidoscopic, funny and a touch manipulative, but in a forgiveable way. I'm very glad a god friend recommended it to me. I had a great theater companion, Karen*, who was behind me in the ticket line. She is also a writer and travel-lover. I hope we are able to stay in touch.And, five minutes after I stepped out of the Belasco Theatre, who came breezing down 44th Street but Jaime? I was supposed to meet him in Brooklyn at the Audre Lorde Center for a monthly meeting of Adodi, the black gay men's spiritual group he belongs to. Riding out with him was better. The discussion was about black gay men and depression. I had an insight while the conversation was going on -- maybe one of the friends I reached out to while I was in DC wasn't just ignoring me: Maybe he's withdrawn and depressed. Something to follow up on.
We went to a restaurant down the street and around the corner in Ft. Greene, and as it turned out, there was drama about the check at the end of the evening. I hate drama about the check at the end of the evening, which seems to be a given when you have eight or more people on one tab. I was glad I had paid my portion and was standing outside talking on my cell phone when the confusion started. Jaime and I didn't get back to his place until almost 2:00 a.m.
Still, I managed to get myself up and packed, and I drove down to the Fifteenth Street Society of Friends in the East Village for my first Quaker Meeting by 11:00 a.m. I've been thinking a lot about the Quakers lately, especially their encouragement toward simplicity and trust in Spirit to open doors along life's journey. This was absolutely the least ornate worship hall I can remember entering. It was along the lines of the colonial style that has become so familiar to me after six and a half years in New England, but with pews on all four sides facing the center. I did have the experience of anticipation, not knowing from which mouth Spirit might speak ... from the other side of the room? The person behind me? Me myself? ... the possibilities were as numerous as the 70 or so people who drifted in over the hour. I fell into deep silence ... and was half asleep for much of the time. I hope I looked like I was meditating. Four men and one woman spoke, on themes of love, community, reconciliation, contributing to the lives of others
-- and I did leave feeling refreshed and connected. I thought about how different this was from ecstatic dance, the drumming circle, the rock band and the ordained minister-led services I have participated in over the past several months -- none any more or less valuable or valid than the other, and all expressions of communion with That Which Is Beyond Ourselves.I left the church, and drove up I-87, all the way up to Albany, and out to Easton Mountain, the rustic retreat center that I'll be assisting at over the next two weeks. I found out last night that next week will be third time EM has been host to a camp for queer young adults, ages 18 to 25, from a spectrum of locations, ethnicities and gender identities. I'm glad to know that I am part of the preparations for this week-long event, that will provide a sense of connection and community. I'm contributing to the prevention of depression among queer young adults, and that's something to feel great about, especially having been in their shoes myself 20 to 25 years ago.
* a pseudonym
Sunday, July 6, 2008
Week 21 of 26: Up from the South
I got to Savannah early in the evening Monday. I hadn't been there in sometime, and forgot how wonderfully mossy the trees were. I stepped out of the car and into the sticky air. I couldn't stop sweating from the heat or itching from the mosquito bites. My host, Lenoir*, greeted me warmly. He was out on the spacious front porch with his partner's son's girlfriend, Lili*, and his partner's son's daughter, Katia*. Lili, I found out later over a dinner of pig feet, big beans and rice, was half-native Hawaiian -- her mother was part of a Hawaiian touring group, and they met in her father's home state of Tennessee, where she was raised. She went back often to Maui, but hadn't been to the Big Island in a while. Jack*, Lenoir's partner, came home late from a drama rehearsal, and we had a chance to talk before he turned in for the night, very tired from a full day.
Late the next morning, after Jack went to work, Lenoir took me over to the beach on Tybee Island, where we went bike-riding. The sun was high and bright, and there was precious little shade, but it was much cooler by the water than it had been in town. I was surprised that the white sand was fine, wet and compact enough to ride on. It was very wide, too, like the beach at Ogunquit when the tide is out. We rode a few miles north, then came back down through the main street. I noticed they had a turtle culture there, too -- specifically green turtles. I was tempted to stop and buy mementos, but then I realized Lenoir had my wallet in his knapsack -- I didn't have any pockets -- and he was too far ahead of me to get his attention before we'd passed all the shops. I treated him to lunch at Huey's, a sweet New Orleans-style restaurant on the Savannah River among the historic buildings. Have I been here before? Not really, but it sure does bring to mind Portsmouth, New Hampshire. Back at the house, I load up the car and begin the drive up to Hickory, North Carolina.
Again, I arrived late in the afternoon. My hosts, Paul* and Silas*, lived in a very large and beautifully restored home. Wednesday morning, Paul and I had coffee (Silas is at work), and Paul made several suggestions of things to do in the area. I made the 35-minute trip to the town of Blowing Rock, up in the Blue Ridge Mountains. The road twisted and turned as the elevation increased, and it was cooler up there than it was down in Hickory. It's another resort town, with with lots of quaint shops, beautiful scenery and people out on a sunny day. On the way in, I sampled salted fried peanuts ... who knew that they wouldn't be greasy, and you could eat the shells? I had a late lunch of cajun-spiced trout at the Speckled Trout Cafe'. Walking back down the street, I was really struck with the beauty of the Presbyterian Church. I picked up some sweets from Kilwin's (including dark chocolate-covered rice crispy treats -- *yum*) to take back to Paul and Silas. I also visited the Blowing Rock itself, which has an "Indian legend" attached to it, of a brave who falls (or jumps?) off a cliff, but because of his woman's love, the wind blows him back safely into her arms. When I get back to Hickory, I go dining with my hosts at the Tap Room downtown. The next morning, I pack up, say goodbye to Paul (Silas is already at work) and head over to the Hickory Furniture Mart. For furniture shopping, I've never seen anything like it. Dozens of quality furniture sellers with acres and acres of floor space in one very large complex. One could spend days there -- not unlike trying to see everything there is to see in the Louvre or the Smithsonian. Shortly after I began looking around, I realized that I didn't have the dimensions or colors or even a sense of the parsonage for Central Unitarian Church, so I couldn't even begin to browse with any seriousness. I window shopped for about an hour, then hit the road heading up to Lynchburg to connect with David and Katy.
I arrived a little after six in the evening. It was great catching up with David and Katy, who were already married when we were the US contingent at the World Council of Churches Ecumenical Institute outside Geneva, Switzerland in the fall of 1992. We were 48 students from 33 countries around the globe, some of whom have recently begun to reconnect on Facebook. David now is the pastor of a church in Lynchburg, and Katy works for a nonprofit there. They have a highly creative and gifted 10-year-old son, who I met for the first time on this trip. We dined at WaterStone, a new pizza restaurant down on the James River. They took me on an night tour of the town. It's very picturesque, and from some vantage points of the hills sloping down to the valley, I began to think of it as a miniature San Francisco, but with a jet d'eau in the river similar to the one in Lake Geneva. The Unitarian Church is also on an incline, with a beautifully incorporated addition behind it.
Friday morning, David made excellent omlettes, as we listened to the voices of NPR's on-air personalities and reporters read the whole Declaration of Independence, which is one of their rituals on the Fourth of July. We went by the gift shop of the point of honor, and David graciously showed me the cemetery and other places of interest before I got on the highway to Washington. It rained a good stretch of the way. I arrived in DC a couple of hours before dark, and have been with family friends since. I marvel at how my nieces and nephew in my extended family have grown since I saw them the last time I was in town, back in March. Today I went with a dear old friend, her son and a playmate of his, to see the movie Wall-E, a family film that worked well on a number of levels. Before the film, that same friend and I went to All Souls Church in Washington, where I know just about all the ministers there from other periods in my life. I'm thinking more and more about taking up the work of ministry myself again in about 35 days.
Tomorrow I leave for Baltimore, then on up to Philly and New Jersey, before a couple of weeks in upstate New York.
*a pseudonym
Late the next morning, after Jack went to work, Lenoir took me over to the beach on Tybee Island, where we went bike-riding. The sun was high and bright, and there was precious little shade, but it was much cooler by the water than it had been in town. I was surprised that the white sand was fine, wet and compact enough to ride on. It was very wide, too, like the beach at Ogunquit when the tide is out. We rode a few miles north, then came back down through the main street. I noticed they had a turtle culture there, too -- specifically green turtles. I was tempted to stop and buy mementos, but then I realized Lenoir had my wallet in his knapsack -- I didn't have any pockets -- and he was too far ahead of me to get his attention before we'd passed all the shops. I treated him to lunch at Huey's, a sweet New Orleans-style restaurant on the Savannah River among the historic buildings. Have I been here before? Not really, but it sure does bring to mind Portsmouth, New Hampshire. Back at the house, I load up the car and begin the drive up to Hickory, North Carolina.
Again, I arrived late in the afternoon. My hosts, Paul* and Silas*, lived in a very large and beautifully restored home. Wednesday morning, Paul and I had coffee (Silas is at work), and Paul made several suggestions of things to do in the area. I made the 35-minute trip to the town of Blowing Rock, up in the Blue Ridge Mountains. The road twisted and turned as the elevation increased, and it was cooler up there than it was down in Hickory. It's another resort town, with with lots of quaint shops, beautiful scenery and people out on a sunny day. On the way in, I sampled salted fried peanuts ... who knew that they wouldn't be greasy, and you could eat the shells? I had a late lunch of cajun-spiced trout at the Speckled Trout Cafe'. Walking back down the street, I was really struck with the beauty of the Presbyterian Church. I picked up some sweets from Kilwin's (including dark chocolate-covered rice crispy treats -- *yum*) to take back to Paul and Silas. I also visited the Blowing Rock itself, which has an "Indian legend" attached to it, of a brave who falls (or jumps?) off a cliff, but because of his woman's love, the wind blows him back safely into her arms. When I get back to Hickory, I go dining with my hosts at the Tap Room downtown. The next morning, I pack up, say goodbye to Paul (Silas is already at work) and head over to the Hickory Furniture Mart. For furniture shopping, I've never seen anything like it. Dozens of quality furniture sellers with acres and acres of floor space in one very large complex. One could spend days there -- not unlike trying to see everything there is to see in the Louvre or the Smithsonian. Shortly after I began looking around, I realized that I didn't have the dimensions or colors or even a sense of the parsonage for Central Unitarian Church, so I couldn't even begin to browse with any seriousness. I window shopped for about an hour, then hit the road heading up to Lynchburg to connect with David and Katy.
I arrived a little after six in the evening. It was great catching up with David and Katy, who were already married when we were the US contingent at the World Council of Churches Ecumenical Institute outside Geneva, Switzerland in the fall of 1992. We were 48 students from 33 countries around the globe, some of whom have recently begun to reconnect on Facebook. David now is the pastor of a church in Lynchburg, and Katy works for a nonprofit there. They have a highly creative and gifted 10-year-old son, who I met for the first time on this trip. We dined at WaterStone, a new pizza restaurant down on the James River. They took me on an night tour of the town. It's very picturesque, and from some vantage points of the hills sloping down to the valley, I began to think of it as a miniature San Francisco, but with a jet d'eau in the river similar to the one in Lake Geneva. The Unitarian Church is also on an incline, with a beautifully incorporated addition behind it.
Friday morning, David made excellent omlettes, as we listened to the voices of NPR's on-air personalities and reporters read the whole Declaration of Independence, which is one of their rituals on the Fourth of July. We went by the gift shop of the point of honor, and David graciously showed me the cemetery and other places of interest before I got on the highway to Washington. It rained a good stretch of the way. I arrived in DC a couple of hours before dark, and have been with family friends since. I marvel at how my nieces and nephew in my extended family have grown since I saw them the last time I was in town, back in March. Today I went with a dear old friend, her son and a playmate of his, to see the movie Wall-E, a family film that worked well on a number of levels. Before the film, that same friend and I went to All Souls Church in Washington, where I know just about all the ministers there from other periods in my life. I'm thinking more and more about taking up the work of ministry myself again in about 35 days.
Tomorrow I leave for Baltimore, then on up to Philly and New Jersey, before a couple of weeks in upstate New York.
*a pseudonym
Monday, June 30, 2008
Week 20 of 26: Generally Assembled in South Florida
The Monday evening before the start of General Assembly, I went out with my host Paula* in Ft. Lauderdale and a friend of hers, Bill*, in North Miami on Bill's four-seater boat, docked behind his house on a canal. It was very cloudy, and the coulds got darker while we were out. The travel advisory on his radio was telling everyone in our area to stay inside, and it was the case that almost no one else was on the water. We passed by very humble homes and estates valued in the tens of millions of dollars as we made our way out. At one point, the waters got very choppy, and it seemed it could rain any minute, big bucks of rain ... and then there were a few drops, and then ... nothing. our outing was about 45 minutes, but in the end, the biggest problem was (were?) the mosquitoes that bit at us as we were boarding. The sky was fantastic in its ominousness, though. I would share pictures, but I've misplaced the cable to download pictures from my camera to my computer. Once I can do that transfer, I will share some ...
Tuesday morning I out to Hollywood, where I was hosted by Miguel*, a native of Spain via Argentina. He has a beautiful hound named Segundo* who shared the guest room with me. I spent about all that day and evening getting set up for General Assembly, ironing my clothes, doing some cooking so there would be something to eat late nights when I came in. I cooked, in fact, the last of the kidney beans I brought back from the countryside of western Kenya, which had been grown and given to me by the mother of a friend born there. I claim her mother as one of mine now ... I made a vegan chili that turned out well.
Wednesday afternoon, I arrived a GA, which was in the convention center inside the Port Everglades. They make you show your government-issued ID to get in the port area and the center itself, only barely glancing at it -- a security measure that would seem only to detain those not bright enough to get fake IDs or to take the GA shuttle bus from the hotels, for which there was no security check upon disembarking. Anyway, I was glad to have a message from Kim, one of the members of Central Unitarian Church of Bergen County (NJ), for me posted on the message board. I met her at the volunteer office, and a little later, at the in-gathering for the Metro New York District, I saw her again, this time with Mary Fran, the President of the congregation. When I got me badge-necklace with "I (heart) Metro New York" all around it, it was a bit like arriving in Hawaii and receiving a lei. It seemed to say, "Welcome. You belong here with us now." I like that feeling.
Mary Fran, Kim and I dined at a very pleasant Thai restaurant a few blocks from the convention center, getting to know each other a bit and discuss the church. At the line-up for the Banner Parade, part of the opening of GA every year, I met Britt again. She's CUC's Director of Religious Education, and had been so friendly helping me get oriented when I preached there in March. Mary Fran and Kim carried the church's new banner in the parade. It was really something to see all of those banners from hundreds of congregations across the country passing through the midst of the thousands of people gathered. Churches can seem so isolated from each other at times, and this was a visible affirmation of the connection between them -- between us -- from coast to coast and beyond.
It was good to catch up with friends and colleagues, and to meet some new ones over the course of those five days. I enjoyed hearing the inspirational stories of the breakthrough congregation -- those that have experienced dramatic growth in recent years -- and attending the worship service, including the Service of the Living Tradition, which honors those transitioning into and out of professional ministry, and the large Sunday morning service. The biggest highlight this year for me was the Ware Lecture, this year featuring Van Jones, co-founder of the Ella Baker Center for Human Rights in Oakland, Cal. He's doing tremendous work and has a powerful and prophetic vision of environmental advocacy as it relates to socio-economic justice. He challenged those of us gathered to prepare to lead, because in this transitional time in our country and in the world, when it's clear that we can't sustain the level of consumption and mindlessness that we've indulged in for the past few generations, the planet needs those of us who have been protesting "the system" to actually become part of the transformation of the system. He was funny, engaging, passionate, informed ... think a younger, hipper version of Barack Obama. In fact, the adulation of the audience at the end of his lecture Saturday night was not unlike what one sees at rallies where the Democratic Party nominee speaks.
I stayed up most of Saturday night packing. I left Miguel's condo at 5:00 a.m., the same time he did as he was heading out to work. I went to IHOP for breakfast off Rte 1, near the convention center, and found a quiet 3rd floor lookout point inside the center. I watched as the banners came down, noting that they really did bring an abundance of color, personality and softness to the otherwise sterile interior of the building.
Sunday afternoon, after worship and after an afternoon workshop, I drove from the convention center up to Palm Beach Gardens. My colleague Pallas was willing to put me up for the night, as she and her partner Lloyd are packing up to move to Santa Cruz. I helped stack and rearrange some of the boxes in their moving pod before she, Lloyd and I went for dinner at the Waterway Cafe, and she and I went for a walk on the beach nearby. She and I stayed at the home of a gracious friend of hers a few minutes away from her close-to-empty house, and Lloyd stayed behind. We're all back now. They are packing, and I'm about to get on the road to ... Savannah.
* pseudonyms
Tuesday morning I out to Hollywood, where I was hosted by Miguel*, a native of Spain via Argentina. He has a beautiful hound named Segundo* who shared the guest room with me. I spent about all that day and evening getting set up for General Assembly, ironing my clothes, doing some cooking so there would be something to eat late nights when I came in. I cooked, in fact, the last of the kidney beans I brought back from the countryside of western Kenya, which had been grown and given to me by the mother of a friend born there. I claim her mother as one of mine now ... I made a vegan chili that turned out well.
Wednesday afternoon, I arrived a GA, which was in the convention center inside the Port Everglades. They make you show your government-issued ID to get in the port area and the center itself, only barely glancing at it -- a security measure that would seem only to detain those not bright enough to get fake IDs or to take the GA shuttle bus from the hotels, for which there was no security check upon disembarking. Anyway, I was glad to have a message from Kim, one of the members of Central Unitarian Church of Bergen County (NJ), for me posted on the message board. I met her at the volunteer office, and a little later, at the in-gathering for the Metro New York District, I saw her again, this time with Mary Fran, the President of the congregation. When I got me badge-necklace with "I (heart) Metro New York" all around it, it was a bit like arriving in Hawaii and receiving a lei. It seemed to say, "Welcome. You belong here with us now." I like that feeling.
Mary Fran, Kim and I dined at a very pleasant Thai restaurant a few blocks from the convention center, getting to know each other a bit and discuss the church. At the line-up for the Banner Parade, part of the opening of GA every year, I met Britt again. She's CUC's Director of Religious Education, and had been so friendly helping me get oriented when I preached there in March. Mary Fran and Kim carried the church's new banner in the parade. It was really something to see all of those banners from hundreds of congregations across the country passing through the midst of the thousands of people gathered. Churches can seem so isolated from each other at times, and this was a visible affirmation of the connection between them -- between us -- from coast to coast and beyond.
It was good to catch up with friends and colleagues, and to meet some new ones over the course of those five days. I enjoyed hearing the inspirational stories of the breakthrough congregation -- those that have experienced dramatic growth in recent years -- and attending the worship service, including the Service of the Living Tradition, which honors those transitioning into and out of professional ministry, and the large Sunday morning service. The biggest highlight this year for me was the Ware Lecture, this year featuring Van Jones, co-founder of the Ella Baker Center for Human Rights in Oakland, Cal. He's doing tremendous work and has a powerful and prophetic vision of environmental advocacy as it relates to socio-economic justice. He challenged those of us gathered to prepare to lead, because in this transitional time in our country and in the world, when it's clear that we can't sustain the level of consumption and mindlessness that we've indulged in for the past few generations, the planet needs those of us who have been protesting "the system" to actually become part of the transformation of the system. He was funny, engaging, passionate, informed ... think a younger, hipper version of Barack Obama. In fact, the adulation of the audience at the end of his lecture Saturday night was not unlike what one sees at rallies where the Democratic Party nominee speaks.
I stayed up most of Saturday night packing. I left Miguel's condo at 5:00 a.m., the same time he did as he was heading out to work. I went to IHOP for breakfast off Rte 1, near the convention center, and found a quiet 3rd floor lookout point inside the center. I watched as the banners came down, noting that they really did bring an abundance of color, personality and softness to the otherwise sterile interior of the building.
Sunday afternoon, after worship and after an afternoon workshop, I drove from the convention center up to Palm Beach Gardens. My colleague Pallas was willing to put me up for the night, as she and her partner Lloyd are packing up to move to Santa Cruz. I helped stack and rearrange some of the boxes in their moving pod before she, Lloyd and I went for dinner at the Waterway Cafe, and she and I went for a walk on the beach nearby. She and I stayed at the home of a gracious friend of hers a few minutes away from her close-to-empty house, and Lloyd stayed behind. We're all back now. They are packing, and I'm about to get on the road to ... Savannah.
* pseudonyms
Monday, June 23, 2008
Weeks 13 through 19: Thumbnail sketches!
For those of you who have been waiting on an update on this blog, thanks for your patience! I allowed myself to get quite behind. Part of it is that with all the possible bells and whistles that can be added (i.e., photos, links, videos), I found myself daunted by the idea of sitting down to pull all those components together. Technology is a wonderful thing, but I keep hearing Brother Thoreau saying, "Simplify, simplify." So that's what I'm doing now.
So, paying attention first to language to describe some of the highlights of the past seven weeks, here's what's quick and easy to share:
Week 13 of 26
May 5-11: The Search Is Over (New Jersey in the Fall)
On Saturday the 10th, I had a phone interview with the Interim Search Committee for the Central Unitarian Church in Paramus, New Jersey. At the end of the interview, they said they wanted to present me as their candidate for Interim Minister starting this fall. I gladly accepted, three months to the day I completed my last service at First Parish Arlington. The 10th also now falls almost exactly in the middle of my leave -- I will begin work August 15. Sunday afternoon, I made it down to the black sand beach for the weekly dancing and drumming circle, which is where this photo was taken from. There were about 200 people there, enjoying the waves, the music, the sun, the wind, the energy ... I realize that I'm in the midst of a loose tribe of people, brought together by different circumstances and at least some shared interests in this breath-taking location. Thinking about encroaching development, I wonder how long it will last, but it will always last, I think, even if seekers and dreamers have to find a new place to live simply in such natural beauty.
Week 14 of 26
May 12-18: Aloha, Hawaii - Aloha, San Francisco
I gave a reading at the Cafe at Kalani of material I'd been working on from the start of my two weeks there. I was most encouraged because some of the twenty-somethings among the 20 or so people gathered said that they were inspired themselves to put some of their reflections and experiences on the page. I went snorkeling for the first time Tuesday, and Wednesday, a friend and I went to where the lava field meets the ocean in Kalapana and up to Volcanoes National Park, in part to make beautiful offerings of fresh fruit and leis to Pele' and her sister, the goddess of the ocean. A glorious final day in Hawaii. Thursday was all day traveling, Kona to Honolulu, Honolulu to SFO. Stayed at the Fools Court of the Faithful Fools in the Tenderloin for a night, went and stayed with my late Uncle Bud's girlfriend in Oakland Friday night, then back at the Fools Court Saturday. Sunday morning, Alan, the friend who had made offerings with me in Hawaii, 
was back home in SF, and we went to Glide Memorial Church, a short walk from where I was staying. After the service, we went to Cafe Gratitude in the Mission -- highly recommended for all souls into spiritual affirmation, raw/low-heat delicious food, transformation and possibility. Later in the afternoon, I met one of Alex's friends, Todd, who lives in his own South of Market lighting/music studio. He asked me if I would like him to play something for me. I thought he was going to put something on the speaker system but instead he shared a lovely original composition:
Week 15 of 26
May 19-25: Home to Holly Springs/Return to the Big Easy
Up early in the morning Monday to make my flights, SFO to Denver, Denver to Memphis. My nephew picked me up and drove me to my mom's in Holly Springs. The moon was rising very big in the east (that's it in the middle of the image) as we were about to turn into the driveway. Friday, I took the bus from Batesville down to New Orleans to pick up my car from Alex. She was trying a new beautiful hairstyle and was settling into her new place of off Tchopochoulas on Harmony. Saturday, we go to an outdoor festival known as the Mid-City Bayou Boogie. It was extremely 
warm, and there wasn't much shade. I remembered that when my six-month break started, I was in the freezing cold of Cape Cod, with snow on the ground. In that moment, it seemed like a very long time ago in a place on another world. That evening we went to an ensemble performance at the Ashe' Cultural Arts Center. Sunday night, after dinner, we went for a humid, mystical walk on the Meditation Path under luminous moonlight in Audubon Park.
Week 16 of 26
May 26 - June 1: Remembering and Speed Racing
Monday, Alex made breakfast, and played Quincy Jones' A Soulful Messiah. It was an occasion to reflect on the meaning of Memorial Day and shed tears for war-dead men and women, and those in harm's way now, and martyrs like Medgar Evers and Dr. King, with a prayer for Barack and Michelle Obama. The IMAX theatre showing Hurricane on the Bayou was closed, so instead went to see the latest Indiana Jones movie ... it was entertaining enough, and we were both glad to be in an air-conditioned building. I got up very early Tuesday and drove back to Holly Springs, and went straight to lunch with Ricky, my old grade school pal who now lives in Wareham, Mass.
Saturday, I went out to Millington, Tenn. where the Memphis NASCAR track is. About a dozen laps around the track was my cousin's gift for her husband for his 50th birthday, and he seems to have enjoyed it a lot. He had three bonus laps that he gave to me. I rode with an experienced driver, who went 100-105 mph in the straight-away, and 85-90 in the cuve. Exhilarating. Like skydiving, it wasn't high on of my lifetime to-do list, but when the opportunity presented itself, I rolled with it. Glad I did. Went to my brother Edwin's church in Oxford Sunday.
Week 17 of 26
June 2 - 8: Letting Go, and a Close Call
Much of these days were spent working with my mother on clearing out some of the many possession she accumulated over the past 50 years of living in the home she and my father made together. We discarded several very large garbage bags full of stuff, from the back porch, the kitchen cabinets, a closet, the freezers ... I felt some what nostalgic especially when we got to the travel souvenirs, but we kept pushing through. I went to my childhood ophthalmologist to get a prescription for new eyeglasses and see what could be done about the irritation in my eye Friday in Memphis. Saturday morning, we got word that my niece, Joani, who is expecting her first child in July, and her boyfriend were in a car accident caused by an unlicensed and uninsured fellow motorist in Memphis. My mother, aunt and I went over to the Med to see her in the afternoon. She was shaken up and bruised, but thankfully nothing was broken and the baby is fine, though they kept her in for observation for four days.
Week 18 of 26
June 9-15: Seeing Clearly, Remembering and Renewing
We went back over to the Med in Memphis to see Joani Tuesday. She was sitting up and the neck-brace she was wearing before was off. She expected to be released as soon as the doctor came and gave her the all-clear, and within a few hours, she was out of there. We are all very glad for that. Friday afternoon, I went to a mall in Memphis to get fitted for and order my new glasses. Once back in town, Mother and I drove over to the football field for Relay for Life, an American Cancer Society community event, that is brilliant in its design. It brings people together to raise money and awareness of cancer, while commemorating those loved ones lost to the disease. Mother bought memorial candles (put in paper bags with the names of the deceased) for my dad, her parents, and her brother. I was heartened because I could see the generations passing, and people coming together across black and white lines in my hometown, which has so much racialized tension woven into its history. I think my dad would have been very happy for to see this annual event is thriving.
Week 19 of 26
June 16 - 22: On the Road Again -- Beinvenido Fort Lauderdale
I finished reading Elizabeth Gilbert's book, Eat Pray Love. I can see why so many people recommend it and enjoy it. At the top of the week, it was getting to be time for me to pull up from Mississippi and start making my way down to Ft. Lauderdale for General Assembly. I thought I would come back to Mississippi after it was over, but I knew what actually made sense was to keep going up from there to New York, New Jersey and Massachusetts. Fortunately, my glasses were ready in short order, and I picked them up Wednesday. I washed clothes Thursday and helped Mother get her organize a few last things, and then Friday I was back on the road. I stayed overnight with a friend in Chattanooga, then drove down to Atlanta and gave my new Godmother a ride to a luncheon she was going to (our only chance to visit), and got on down to Orlando by sunset Saturday. I had a great 12 hours there, before getting up and driving down to Ft. Lauderdale. I went to worship with the friend I was staying with, and the speaker that morning was actually someone I met through my younger brother Lee, who used to live in South Florida years ago. Tiny, tiny little world. Last night, my host, a very strong environmentalist, took me with her as she went to monitor loggerhead turtles hatching and making their run for the sea. It was a nest that had already hatched 15 the night before, but Sunday night, there were two more! What a holy sight to witness. They seem to have been
thrown off by the (unlawfully) illuminated crown of a tall building about a mile away ... they instinctively follow the light of the moon to the ocean, and can be misled by man-made lights. So MaryBeth had to pick them up eventually and put them on the right path to the ocean. When they get close enough, the tide caught them and carried them away. Only one in a thousand live to be adults. Bye, bye, little turtles! May you be the ones that live long and prosper!
So, paying attention first to language to describe some of the highlights of the past seven weeks, here's what's quick and easy to share:
Week 13 of 26
May 5-11: The Search Is Over (New Jersey in the Fall)
On Saturday the 10th, I had a phone interview with the Interim Search Committee for the Central Unitarian Church in Paramus, New Jersey. At the end of the interview, they said they wanted to present me as their candidate for Interim Minister starting this fall. I gladly accepted, three months to the day I completed my last service at First Parish Arlington. The 10th also now falls almost exactly in the middle of my leave -- I will begin work August 15. Sunday afternoon, I made it down to the black sand beach for the weekly dancing and drumming circle, which is where this photo was taken from. There were about 200 people there, enjoying the waves, the music, the sun, the wind, the energy ... I realize that I'm in the midst of a loose tribe of people, brought together by different circumstances and at least some shared interests in this breath-taking location. Thinking about encroaching development, I wonder how long it will last, but it will always last, I think, even if seekers and dreamers have to find a new place to live simply in such natural beauty.Week 14 of 26
May 12-18: Aloha, Hawaii - Aloha, San Francisco
I gave a reading at the Cafe at Kalani of material I'd been working on from the start of my two weeks there. I was most encouraged because some of the twenty-somethings among the 20 or so people gathered said that they were inspired themselves to put some of their reflections and experiences on the page. I went snorkeling for the first time Tuesday, and Wednesday, a friend and I went to where the lava field meets the ocean in Kalapana and up to Volcanoes National Park, in part to make beautiful offerings of fresh fruit and leis to Pele' and her sister, the goddess of the ocean. A glorious final day in Hawaii. Thursday was all day traveling, Kona to Honolulu, Honolulu to SFO. Stayed at the Fools Court of the Faithful Fools in the Tenderloin for a night, went and stayed with my late Uncle Bud's girlfriend in Oakland Friday night, then back at the Fools Court Saturday. Sunday morning, Alan, the friend who had made offerings with me in Hawaii, 
was back home in SF, and we went to Glide Memorial Church, a short walk from where I was staying. After the service, we went to Cafe Gratitude in the Mission -- highly recommended for all souls into spiritual affirmation, raw/low-heat delicious food, transformation and possibility. Later in the afternoon, I met one of Alex's friends, Todd, who lives in his own South of Market lighting/music studio. He asked me if I would like him to play something for me. I thought he was going to put something on the speaker system but instead he shared a lovely original composition:Week 15 of 26
May 19-25: Home to Holly Springs/Return to the Big Easy
Up early in the morning Monday to make my flights, SFO to Denver, Denver to Memphis. My nephew picked me up and drove me to my mom's in Holly Springs. The moon was rising very big in the east (that's it in the middle of the image) as we were about to turn into the driveway. Friday, I took the bus from Batesville down to New Orleans to pick up my car from Alex. She was trying a new beautiful hairstyle and was settling into her new place of off Tchopochoulas on Harmony. Saturday, we go to an outdoor festival known as the Mid-City Bayou Boogie. It was extremely 
warm, and there wasn't much shade. I remembered that when my six-month break started, I was in the freezing cold of Cape Cod, with snow on the ground. In that moment, it seemed like a very long time ago in a place on another world. That evening we went to an ensemble performance at the Ashe' Cultural Arts Center. Sunday night, after dinner, we went for a humid, mystical walk on the Meditation Path under luminous moonlight in Audubon Park.Week 16 of 26
May 26 - June 1: Remembering and Speed Racing
Monday, Alex made breakfast, and played Quincy Jones' A Soulful Messiah. It was an occasion to reflect on the meaning of Memorial Day and shed tears for war-dead men and women, and those in harm's way now, and martyrs like Medgar Evers and Dr. King, with a prayer for Barack and Michelle Obama. The IMAX theatre showing Hurricane on the Bayou was closed, so instead went to see the latest Indiana Jones movie ... it was entertaining enough, and we were both glad to be in an air-conditioned building. I got up very early Tuesday and drove back to Holly Springs, and went straight to lunch with Ricky, my old grade school pal who now lives in Wareham, Mass.
Saturday, I went out to Millington, Tenn. where the Memphis NASCAR track is. About a dozen laps around the track was my cousin's gift for her husband for his 50th birthday, and he seems to have enjoyed it a lot. He had three bonus laps that he gave to me. I rode with an experienced driver, who went 100-105 mph in the straight-away, and 85-90 in the cuve. Exhilarating. Like skydiving, it wasn't high on of my lifetime to-do list, but when the opportunity presented itself, I rolled with it. Glad I did. Went to my brother Edwin's church in Oxford Sunday.Week 17 of 26
June 2 - 8: Letting Go, and a Close Call
Much of these days were spent working with my mother on clearing out some of the many possession she accumulated over the past 50 years of living in the home she and my father made together. We discarded several very large garbage bags full of stuff, from the back porch, the kitchen cabinets, a closet, the freezers ... I felt some what nostalgic especially when we got to the travel souvenirs, but we kept pushing through. I went to my childhood ophthalmologist to get a prescription for new eyeglasses and see what could be done about the irritation in my eye Friday in Memphis. Saturday morning, we got word that my niece, Joani, who is expecting her first child in July, and her boyfriend were in a car accident caused by an unlicensed and uninsured fellow motorist in Memphis. My mother, aunt and I went over to the Med to see her in the afternoon. She was shaken up and bruised, but thankfully nothing was broken and the baby is fine, though they kept her in for observation for four days.
Week 18 of 26
June 9-15: Seeing Clearly, Remembering and Renewing
We went back over to the Med in Memphis to see Joani Tuesday. She was sitting up and the neck-brace she was wearing before was off. She expected to be released as soon as the doctor came and gave her the all-clear, and within a few hours, she was out of there. We are all very glad for that. Friday afternoon, I went to a mall in Memphis to get fitted for and order my new glasses. Once back in town, Mother and I drove over to the football field for Relay for Life, an American Cancer Society community event, that is brilliant in its design. It brings people together to raise money and awareness of cancer, while commemorating those loved ones lost to the disease. Mother bought memorial candles (put in paper bags with the names of the deceased) for my dad, her parents, and her brother. I was heartened because I could see the generations passing, and people coming together across black and white lines in my hometown, which has so much racialized tension woven into its history. I think my dad would have been very happy for to see this annual event is thriving.
Week 19 of 26
June 16 - 22: On the Road Again -- Beinvenido Fort Lauderdale
I finished reading Elizabeth Gilbert's book, Eat Pray Love. I can see why so many people recommend it and enjoy it. At the top of the week, it was getting to be time for me to pull up from Mississippi and start making my way down to Ft. Lauderdale for General Assembly. I thought I would come back to Mississippi after it was over, but I knew what actually made sense was to keep going up from there to New York, New Jersey and Massachusetts. Fortunately, my glasses were ready in short order, and I picked them up Wednesday. I washed clothes Thursday and helped Mother get her organize a few last things, and then Friday I was back on the road. I stayed overnight with a friend in Chattanooga, then drove down to Atlanta and gave my new Godmother a ride to a luncheon she was going to (our only chance to visit), and got on down to Orlando by sunset Saturday. I had a great 12 hours there, before getting up and driving down to Ft. Lauderdale. I went to worship with the friend I was staying with, and the speaker that morning was actually someone I met through my younger brother Lee, who used to live in South Florida years ago. Tiny, tiny little world. Last night, my host, a very strong environmentalist, took me with her as she went to monitor loggerhead turtles hatching and making their run for the sea. It was a nest that had already hatched 15 the night before, but Sunday night, there were two more! What a holy sight to witness. They seem to have been
thrown off by the (unlawfully) illuminated crown of a tall building about a mile away ... they instinctively follow the light of the moon to the ocean, and can be misled by man-made lights. So MaryBeth had to pick them up eventually and put them on the right path to the ocean. When they get close enough, the tide caught them and carried them away. Only one in a thousand live to be adults. Bye, bye, little turtles! May you be the ones that live long and prosper!
Monday, May 19, 2008
Week 12 of 29: Leaving Kohala, Arriving in Puna
Monday, April 28
In the morning, Tragom does an aromatherapy consultation with me. He mixes up a powerful concoction that is a combination of 12 essential oils -- including lavender, ancient lime, manouka and tobacco -- plus jojoba oil. But first, he asks what my intention is. After some struggle to articulate it, I settle on this: “To manifest the spirit of aloha and freedom in my interactions and in my writing over the duration of my two and a half weeks left in Hawaii.” In the afternoon, Beth, Tragom and I go walking down to the lighthouse nearby. It’s incredibly windy. Brutal and beautiful coastline. Not much of a place for doing anything in the water, I don’t think, because the water is so choppy and dangerous, and so far down, but an excellent place to feel the force of Mother Nature, who conjures up all sort of things over here.
Tragom, Beth and I go to pick up our winnings from the home of one of the organizers of Saturday's auction. We call Peter, from whom I won the two-night rental, and he can’t make it work for tonight. However, he will have it ready starting tomorrow night. Peter, in fact, was one of the people who introduced himself to me at the auction. We talked about change, and my concern about the impact so many "newcomers" were having on the life of the island and the descendants of those who were first there. Peter, an older, silver-haired gentleman said, "Change is coming whether we want it to or not. The question is how do we have it be change that we want instead of change that we don't want?"
Tuesday, April 29
I get up and start to breakdown the room and pack: Deflating the air-bed, folding the sheets, washing my clothes. I go to drop my things at Peter's place up in the hills. The guest studio is beautiful and spacious. Vog covers the horizon in the distance. Late in the afternoon, Tragom and I go to the beach by the resorts in Kona, and then meet Beth and her sister Elaine for dinner at Merriman’s. Beth treats -- she's just closed with one of her clients on a property.
Wednesday, April 30
I go to Kevin's (he's friend/hairdresser to Beth and Tragom) in Waimea. We met briefly at the Sweet Honey concert Saturday night. We go to the grocery store, and he buys our sandwiches for lunch. We head for the beach. Not so many people out there. I see someone I want to meet, who is with someone else, and I don't press it. I note the wave of attachment that swept over in in such a short time, though ... After I leave him around the middle of the afternoon, I head down to the King Kamehameha Royal Hotel in Kona, where I'm going to my first luau. The meal is good, though I don't understand what it is about poi that Hawaiians like so much, other than it is a familiar staple to them. I bet some of them would say the same thing about my mother's cornbread, which I love.
The show, while entertaining, informative, well-paced and colorful -- is clearly a presentation intended for it's largely mainland/mainstream "family values" US audience. A dance in honor of US military personnel and veterans -- dancers performing in tee shirts and jeans to a contemporary patriotic song -- seems to be the equivalent of the expectation that Barack Obama would wear a flag lapel pin. While we call Hawaii the 50th state in the Union, we could also call it an invaded and occupied nation, not so different at all from other nations the US has invaded in recent and forgotten times. Nothing against military personnel, but the mere acknowledgement of what's so.
This conundrum surfaces regularly, in subtle and overt ways. The big, tall Hawaiian host at the gate of the luau apologized as we patrons were entering for having to sell flower leis. "We want to give them to you for free, but since we don't own our land anymore and can't afford the taxes, we have to sell whatever we can to be able to stay here." He gives a little chuckle, but he and anyone paying attention know this is no laughing matter. He went on to say, "And if you didn't like the traffic coming here -- Guess why we have traffic? That's right: because you're here." Cue the laugh track again.
I'm glad to be here. And I wonder again, as I have been wondering, how does the spirit of aloha survive in such an inherently oppressive environment? Or does its essence thrive and become more radiant because the word as a symbol is so vulnerable to commercialization, trivialization and misuse?
Thursday, May 1
I get up and say farewell to Peter. He’s a very kind gentleman. I have lunch at the café across the way from Beth’s office. I see a beautiful bright green, spotted gecko on the floor by my table that if I could, I might try to put on as a bracelet (can't take a picture ... I left my camera in the car). Now to make the long drive down to Kalani. Winding roads and/or breathtaking scenery all the way. Make it all the way out to the retreat center in time for dinner, in spite of stopping at Pizza Hut in Hilo to get a snack. The stranger I saw at the beach works in the kitchen at Kalani. Small, small world. I’m feeling inspired.
Friday, May 2
Great to spend time with new friends Ron and Brad. We go out to dinner at Ning’s, the Thai restaurant in beautiful downtown Pahoa. They invite me to come to volleyball Saturday afternoon, and they will lead me there after I turn onto the road to Opihikao.
Saturday, May 3
I get there to the turn off, and there they are, just like they said they would be. The game is fun and funny to watch. I even get out and knock the ball about a bit. At some point, I strike up a conversation with Luther, a 25-year-old who is touring the world while working on farms. I invite him to the art/fashion extravaganza that is happening that night at Emax at Kalani. He comes over with me. I have dinner while he has coffee and gets to meet some of my Kalani buds. We go for a swim and enjoy the spa. I drop him off at his place on the farm.
Sunday, May 4
I went to the Farmer’s Market in Kea’au, just before coming back to go to ecstatic dance. It takes me a while to get into it. But once I release my inhibitions, I’m just as playful and sweaty and energized as anyone else. I can see why for some people, this is there Sunday morning spiritual experience and regular practice. The rain is spectacular here … usually big deluges with no thunder or lightning, and then the rain's over.
In the morning, Tragom does an aromatherapy consultation with me. He mixes up a powerful concoction that is a combination of 12 essential oils -- including lavender, ancient lime, manouka and tobacco -- plus jojoba oil. But first, he asks what my intention is. After some struggle to articulate it, I settle on this: “To manifest the spirit of aloha and freedom in my interactions and in my writing over the duration of my two and a half weeks left in Hawaii.” In the afternoon, Beth, Tragom and I go walking down to the lighthouse nearby. It’s incredibly windy. Brutal and beautiful coastline. Not much of a place for doing anything in the water, I don’t think, because the water is so choppy and dangerous, and so far down, but an excellent place to feel the force of Mother Nature, who conjures up all sort of things over here.Tragom, Beth and I go to pick up our winnings from the home of one of the organizers of Saturday's auction. We call Peter, from whom I won the two-night rental, and he can’t make it work for tonight. However, he will have it ready starting tomorrow night. Peter, in fact, was one of the people who introduced himself to me at the auction. We talked about change, and my concern about the impact so many "newcomers" were having on the life of the island and the descendants of those who were first there. Peter, an older, silver-haired gentleman said, "Change is coming whether we want it to or not. The question is how do we have it be change that we want instead of change that we don't want?"
Tuesday, April 29
I get up and start to breakdown the room and pack: Deflating the air-bed, folding the sheets, washing my clothes. I go to drop my things at Peter's place up in the hills. The guest studio is beautiful and spacious. Vog covers the horizon in the distance. Late in the afternoon, Tragom and I go to the beach by the resorts in Kona, and then meet Beth and her sister Elaine for dinner at Merriman’s. Beth treats -- she's just closed with one of her clients on a property.
Wednesday, April 30
I go to Kevin's (he's friend/hairdresser to Beth and Tragom) in Waimea. We met briefly at the Sweet Honey concert Saturday night. We go to the grocery store, and he buys our sandwiches for lunch. We head for the beach. Not so many people out there. I see someone I want to meet, who is with someone else, and I don't press it. I note the wave of attachment that swept over in in such a short time, though ... After I leave him around the middle of the afternoon, I head down to the King Kamehameha Royal Hotel in Kona, where I'm going to my first luau. The meal is good, though I don't understand what it is about poi that Hawaiians like so much, other than it is a familiar staple to them. I bet some of them would say the same thing about my mother's cornbread, which I love.
The show, while entertaining, informative, well-paced and colorful -- is clearly a presentation intended for it's largely mainland/mainstream "family values" US audience. A dance in honor of US military personnel and veterans -- dancers performing in tee shirts and jeans to a contemporary patriotic song -- seems to be the equivalent of the expectation that Barack Obama would wear a flag lapel pin. While we call Hawaii the 50th state in the Union, we could also call it an invaded and occupied nation, not so different at all from other nations the US has invaded in recent and forgotten times. Nothing against military personnel, but the mere acknowledgement of what's so.
This conundrum surfaces regularly, in subtle and overt ways. The big, tall Hawaiian host at the gate of the luau apologized as we patrons were entering for having to sell flower leis. "We want to give them to you for free, but since we don't own our land anymore and can't afford the taxes, we have to sell whatever we can to be able to stay here." He gives a little chuckle, but he and anyone paying attention know this is no laughing matter. He went on to say, "And if you didn't like the traffic coming here -- Guess why we have traffic? That's right: because you're here." Cue the laugh track again.
I'm glad to be here. And I wonder again, as I have been wondering, how does the spirit of aloha survive in such an inherently oppressive environment? Or does its essence thrive and become more radiant because the word as a symbol is so vulnerable to commercialization, trivialization and misuse?
Thursday, May 1
I get up and say farewell to Peter. He’s a very kind gentleman. I have lunch at the café across the way from Beth’s office. I see a beautiful bright green, spotted gecko on the floor by my table that if I could, I might try to put on as a bracelet (can't take a picture ... I left my camera in the car). Now to make the long drive down to Kalani. Winding roads and/or breathtaking scenery all the way. Make it all the way out to the retreat center in time for dinner, in spite of stopping at Pizza Hut in Hilo to get a snack. The stranger I saw at the beach works in the kitchen at Kalani. Small, small world. I’m feeling inspired.
Friday, May 2
Great to spend time with new friends Ron and Brad. We go out to dinner at Ning’s, the Thai restaurant in beautiful downtown Pahoa. They invite me to come to volleyball Saturday afternoon, and they will lead me there after I turn onto the road to Opihikao.
Saturday, May 3
I get there to the turn off, and there they are, just like they said they would be. The game is fun and funny to watch. I even get out and knock the ball about a bit. At some point, I strike up a conversation with Luther, a 25-year-old who is touring the world while working on farms. I invite him to the art/fashion extravaganza that is happening that night at Emax at Kalani. He comes over with me. I have dinner while he has coffee and gets to meet some of my Kalani buds. We go for a swim and enjoy the spa. I drop him off at his place on the farm.
Sunday, May 4
I went to the Farmer’s Market in Kea’au, just before coming back to go to ecstatic dance. It takes me a while to get into it. But once I release my inhibitions, I’m just as playful and sweaty and energized as anyone else. I can see why for some people, this is there Sunday morning spiritual experience and regular practice. The rain is spectacular here … usually big deluges with no thunder or lightning, and then the rain's over.
Saturday, May 17, 2008
Week 11 of 29: Aloha, Hawaii (The Arrival)
Monday, April 21
I’ve got five parish interim ministry options on the table. I feel good about these. I’m contemplating what it would be like to start a ministry "of my own" in the Memphis area, especially one that honored the history that has gone on there before. Victor was off from work today, and took me around to many areas … We went downtown, passing by City Hall, then over to the Cathedral of Our Lady of the Angels, a modern wonder of a worship space. Up toward the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion and the Walt Disney Concert Hall. Then around to
the Watercourt at California Plaza, down by the Angels Flight Railway, and to the Grand Central Market for a lunch of gigantic chicken burritos. From there we catch the subway over to Hollywood and Vine, and see the Walk of Fame, the Chinese Theatre, and the McDonald/Wright Building of the L.A. Gay & Lesbian Center. We make it back to the house late in the afternoon. I am trying to set up an interview before I leave town.
Tuesday, April 22
Victor went to work, so Wayne and I are out and about today. We go to Earth Day on Wilshire Boulevard, and then he takes me over to LACMA, the LA County Museum of Art. Again, another spectacular place to view art, and their collection is modern and forward-looking, or at least the parts of it I saw. I get back to the house before Victor comes home from work and I pack and am ready to go. He takes me over to Linda and Barry's in Santa Monica. I have dinner with Barry, and turn in. I can remember back when the room over the garage was just beginning to be added on, and now that’s where I will be based for the next two nights. It’s very spacious, and with artifacts from ancient cultures along the Pacific Rim.
Wednesday, April 23
Linda and Barry’s cleaners come. I am at home just about all day, online, trying to put some things in order before I leave the mainland. I have an interview tomorrow morning for a position. In the evening, I have dinner with someone I worked with remotely years ago on a project, but never met face-to-face. We ate at the Lighthouse, a sushi buffet in Santa Monica that had some tasty options. It feels strange to be leaving for remote parts of Hawaii, when all the interim opportunities are heating up so quickly.
Thursday, April 24
As I am prepping for one interview today, I get calls from two other places that are interested in talking with me about a position, and one of them is a non-parish opportunity. I’m feeling quite flush. The interview goes well. Then it’s back to Barry and Linda’s to finish packing and make the dash to the airport. I never figure out where the FlyAway shuttle that Linda recommended is. Barry drops me off in the vicinity at the end of his lunch-time at home. I end up at the Santa Monica Youth Hostel, and it has a shuttle service to the airport. I am on the phone when the driver comes around the first time, and I don’t get that he’s my ride and he doesn’t get that I’m his fare. I go back in and ask the desk clerk to call again after he's pulled off. It's going to take at least 45 minutes for him to get back around. Over an hour later, I’m about to catch a cab on the street when he pulls into view. The traffic is horrendous, but after picking up another traveler from another hotel, we are on our way there. We make good time, and I am able to get on my Hawaiian Airlines flight with no problem. It is very warm and breezy in Honolulu at 10:00 p.m. or so. My cousin Fred takes me back to his place. I can’t believe I’m here.
Friday, April 25
Fred makes a full breakfast, then we hit the ground running. We take the bus downtown. He shows me the modern State Capitol Building, and the 'Iolani Palace where Queen Liliuokalani was held under house arrest. I bow at the feet of her statute. When I see that someone has left a lei at her feet, I wish I had brought the beautiful fresh orchid one Fred place around my neck last night, but it is in the refrigerator. On the palace grounds, under a gigantic tree, we stumble upon a mid-day concert of the Royal Hawaiian Band, established early in the 19th century. It’s a fine experience, emceed by (the current? a former?) Miss Hawaii, and with a beautiful hula dancer named Pi’ilani. From there to the tower at the port, and down through shopping districts and hotels. I bought a copy of What Is This Thing Called Aloha at one of the stores. I love it. It gets into the spirit of what I wanted to study here. We have a big lunch at Ruby Tuesdays, and go down through Waikiki listening to musicians play and watching dancers dance at sundown. It’s really idyllic. We take pictures at the statue of Duke Kahanamoku, the legendary surfer. Then we take the bus back home. I turn in and get up early to make it to the airport.
Saturday, April 26
The driver of the cab and I have a good talk on the way to the airport next morning. A man of Hawaiian ancestry, he’s looking at moving to Reno, a city where he will be able to afford to buy a house. Landing at Kona seems a bit like landing on another planet. I left behind the metropolis of Honolulu, and touchdown in the middle of a black, dry lava field that stretches far and wide as the eye can see. I get my luggage with no problem, and I drive from Kona up to Hawi. Beth’s directions are impeccable. I meet her at her office. We go to lunch across the street from the real estate office she works out of. Then we go by the house and chill out for a minute. She goes back to work, and I take a nap. In the early evening, we go to an auction (live
and silent) for a very small local hospital. In addition to getting some great deals on gifts, I also bid successfully on three nights at guest houses: one night at $50 at one place, and the other at $25 per night for two nights. I couldn't have planned it better if I tried! From the auction, we go directly to the Sweet Honey Concert in Waimea. Fantastic. We go to greet Ysaye backstage afterwards. I’m delighted to be sharing this evening with Tragom and Beth.
Sunday, April 27
I am hanging out with Beth and Tragom for breakfast of lox, capers, cream cheese, bagels and egg. I have a preliminary interview with a member of a Search Committee in the Northeast. Beth and I are going to join Tragom later for a visit to the ManKind Project, a weekend experience for men that he’s been a part of for some time. Before we get there, though, Beth and I stop off at the pasture in the farm area in the hills where her horse is kept. I get to see and experience the beauty of “natural horsemanship” something Beth and her friend Chris and Chris’s
beautiful children have been practicing for some time now. For example, rather than leading the horse to be ridden, the would-be riders go ahead, and let the horses follow them. And the horse(wo)men spend time building relationship, rather than just jumping on the horse and riding. It was great. The graduation at the ManKind Project was good to see as well. I’m glad so many men are finding ways to connect with themselves and with each other.
I’ve got five parish interim ministry options on the table. I feel good about these. I’m contemplating what it would be like to start a ministry "of my own" in the Memphis area, especially one that honored the history that has gone on there before. Victor was off from work today, and took me around to many areas … We went downtown, passing by City Hall, then over to the Cathedral of Our Lady of the Angels, a modern wonder of a worship space. Up toward the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion and the Walt Disney Concert Hall. Then around to
the Watercourt at California Plaza, down by the Angels Flight Railway, and to the Grand Central Market for a lunch of gigantic chicken burritos. From there we catch the subway over to Hollywood and Vine, and see the Walk of Fame, the Chinese Theatre, and the McDonald/Wright Building of the L.A. Gay & Lesbian Center. We make it back to the house late in the afternoon. I am trying to set up an interview before I leave town.Tuesday, April 22
Victor went to work, so Wayne and I are out and about today. We go to Earth Day on Wilshire Boulevard, and then he takes me over to LACMA, the LA County Museum of Art. Again, another spectacular place to view art, and their collection is modern and forward-looking, or at least the parts of it I saw. I get back to the house before Victor comes home from work and I pack and am ready to go. He takes me over to Linda and Barry's in Santa Monica. I have dinner with Barry, and turn in. I can remember back when the room over the garage was just beginning to be added on, and now that’s where I will be based for the next two nights. It’s very spacious, and with artifacts from ancient cultures along the Pacific Rim.
Wednesday, April 23
Linda and Barry’s cleaners come. I am at home just about all day, online, trying to put some things in order before I leave the mainland. I have an interview tomorrow morning for a position. In the evening, I have dinner with someone I worked with remotely years ago on a project, but never met face-to-face. We ate at the Lighthouse, a sushi buffet in Santa Monica that had some tasty options. It feels strange to be leaving for remote parts of Hawaii, when all the interim opportunities are heating up so quickly.
Thursday, April 24
As I am prepping for one interview today, I get calls from two other places that are interested in talking with me about a position, and one of them is a non-parish opportunity. I’m feeling quite flush. The interview goes well. Then it’s back to Barry and Linda’s to finish packing and make the dash to the airport. I never figure out where the FlyAway shuttle that Linda recommended is. Barry drops me off in the vicinity at the end of his lunch-time at home. I end up at the Santa Monica Youth Hostel, and it has a shuttle service to the airport. I am on the phone when the driver comes around the first time, and I don’t get that he’s my ride and he doesn’t get that I’m his fare. I go back in and ask the desk clerk to call again after he's pulled off. It's going to take at least 45 minutes for him to get back around. Over an hour later, I’m about to catch a cab on the street when he pulls into view. The traffic is horrendous, but after picking up another traveler from another hotel, we are on our way there. We make good time, and I am able to get on my Hawaiian Airlines flight with no problem. It is very warm and breezy in Honolulu at 10:00 p.m. or so. My cousin Fred takes me back to his place. I can’t believe I’m here.Friday, April 25
Fred makes a full breakfast, then we hit the ground running. We take the bus downtown. He shows me the modern State Capitol Building, and the 'Iolani Palace where Queen Liliuokalani was held under house arrest. I bow at the feet of her statute. When I see that someone has left a lei at her feet, I wish I had brought the beautiful fresh orchid one Fred place around my neck last night, but it is in the refrigerator. On the palace grounds, under a gigantic tree, we stumble upon a mid-day concert of the Royal Hawaiian Band, established early in the 19th century. It’s a fine experience, emceed by (the current? a former?) Miss Hawaii, and with a beautiful hula dancer named Pi’ilani. From there to the tower at the port, and down through shopping districts and hotels. I bought a copy of What Is This Thing Called Aloha at one of the stores. I love it. It gets into the spirit of what I wanted to study here. We have a big lunch at Ruby Tuesdays, and go down through Waikiki listening to musicians play and watching dancers dance at sundown. It’s really idyllic. We take pictures at the statue of Duke Kahanamoku, the legendary surfer. Then we take the bus back home. I turn in and get up early to make it to the airport.
Saturday, April 26
The driver of the cab and I have a good talk on the way to the airport next morning. A man of Hawaiian ancestry, he’s looking at moving to Reno, a city where he will be able to afford to buy a house. Landing at Kona seems a bit like landing on another planet. I left behind the metropolis of Honolulu, and touchdown in the middle of a black, dry lava field that stretches far and wide as the eye can see. I get my luggage with no problem, and I drive from Kona up to Hawi. Beth’s directions are impeccable. I meet her at her office. We go to lunch across the street from the real estate office she works out of. Then we go by the house and chill out for a minute. She goes back to work, and I take a nap. In the early evening, we go to an auction (live
and silent) for a very small local hospital. In addition to getting some great deals on gifts, I also bid successfully on three nights at guest houses: one night at $50 at one place, and the other at $25 per night for two nights. I couldn't have planned it better if I tried! From the auction, we go directly to the Sweet Honey Concert in Waimea. Fantastic. We go to greet Ysaye backstage afterwards. I’m delighted to be sharing this evening with Tragom and Beth.Sunday, April 27
I am hanging out with Beth and Tragom for breakfast of lox, capers, cream cheese, bagels and egg. I have a preliminary interview with a member of a Search Committee in the Northeast. Beth and I are going to join Tragom later for a visit to the ManKind Project, a weekend experience for men that he’s been a part of for some time. Before we get there, though, Beth and I stop off at the pasture in the farm area in the hills where her horse is kept. I get to see and experience the beauty of “natural horsemanship” something Beth and her friend Chris and Chris’s
beautiful children have been practicing for some time now. For example, rather than leading the horse to be ridden, the would-be riders go ahead, and let the horses follow them. And the horse(wo)men spend time building relationship, rather than just jumping on the horse and riding. It was great. The graduation at the ManKind Project was good to see as well. I’m glad so many men are finding ways to connect with themselves and with each other.
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
Week 10 of 29: The Pilgrimage ... and Goin' Back to Cali
Monday, April 14
I go to a bookstore where some of Alex’s things are stored to look up the phone number of her landlord in Gulfport. I write it down, and then go to deliver her completed application to the mailbox of the shotgun apartment she wants to rent Uptown on Lowerline. Then I spend some time in Audubon Park … what a lovely, lovely place. I got a little anxious when I saw all those cranes swooping around the lagoon by the golf course. I could see the inspiration for Hitchcock’s The Birds. We leave there and take the ferry over to Algiers for dinner – a big plate of fried shrimp and catfish for me, and that plus fried oysters for Alex. On the ferry back, Alex strikes up a conversation with a man who studied with the singer Rhiannon of the group SoVoSo. I heard them once and bought their cd, back in the Bay Area. Small, small world.
Tuesday, April 15
A day of last things, and starting to make the transition. I get caught up on all of Oprah and Eckhart’s A New Earth “webinars” except for one. I stick pretty close to home. I finish off the last of the andouille sausage for dinner.
Wednesday, April 16
I spend the day getting the house in order, making sure everything is spic-and-span for the return of the resident of the unit where Alex and I have been staying. She let me know a day or two before that the large desktop computer I brought down for her wasn’t going to work for her purposes, so I offered it to the man at the dry cleaners across the street. He gratefully accepted it and said he would give it to his teenage son. That freed up a lot of space in the trunk. I load up the car, and go to pick up Alex. We go by her new hosts, where she will be staying. They offer dinner of a spicy chicken stew for later, and we accept. But first we go to where I will be staying, in Metairie. We drop off my bags, and head back to Alex's new hosts, stopping off at Whole Foods to buy wine. It’s a delicious meal, made by a young couple that likes to cook together. I can taste the love in what they’ve made. We are getting to know each other, as we move in and out of watching the Obama/Clinton debate on ABC. I get back to Metairie, and my host has made prepared fresh Louisiana strawberries for me and Alex.
Thursday, April 17
My wonderful host, a member of Community Church of New Orleans, makes me breakfast. She hosted six other church members back when their homes were flooded during Katrina (she herself only got wind damage), and has very colorful and varied works of art throughout the house. She looks beautiful in purple as she gets ready to go to her bridge meeting. She takes me to the fabulous Jefferson Parish Public Library, where she is returning dvds and videos. Then she takes me by the church, and I have a chance to see the progress that has been made since Alex brought me there back in the spring of 2006. I spend some time talking to the church member there who has volunteered to be the office person that day. I leave and get lost on the way back to the house. I try to wait for my host to get back from bridge, but I need to leave by 3:00 to pick Alex up from her appointment. As it turned out, the she heard back from the rental agent for the unit on Lowerline, she got it! We scramble to get the deposit together and make it over to the unit, only to find out that there was confusion about what the deposit would be. It ended up not working out. We got water from Walgreens and hit the road. We went across Lake Ponchartrain to Slidell, and waited for probably 45 minutes to get two subs made. The guy behind the counter at Subway said they had run out of everything – national television ads are promoting a special deal that everyone is coming in for, but they have no more supplies to work with than in ordinary weeks. Finally got back on the road, only to realize that we were going the long way. Instead of across the Lake and over to I-55 straight up toward Memphis, we were going east, through Gulfport and Hattiesburg. The plan was that we would get there by 10:00 or 11:00, but we didn’t arrive until almost 1:00 a.m. It was an uneventful drive on sparsely-traveled highways and roads, so I was glad for that.
Friday, April 18
I get up and make breakfast for the my mom, Alex and me. It’s raining like crazy, but still we brave the weather and go to the Pilgrimage, Holly Springs’ annual tribute to the glory days of its distant antebellum past. This year was the 70th anniversary – if I’m not mistaken, this has been going on since the release of Gone with the Wind in 1938. When I was growing up, we never even thought about going, as black people – it was that charged just after integration back in the 60s and 70s. Now, with my dad having been the first black mayor for 12 
years, and his being part of the welcome to the "pilgrims" coming to see the fabulous mansions, houses, estates and young and old white citizens in period costumes (of the ruling class, of course, not the enslaved), I felt like it was my birthright all the more. It was a good day. I’m glad that out of that troubled era in the history of the town, the state, the region and the nation, that the beauty of the homes is something that can be celebrated, not unlike the pyramids, the castles, and other remnants of past "civilizations" in other parts of the world.
We had lunch at Phillips Grocery, over by the old railroad
tracks. They’ve been there since 1948 -- the building was a saloon way back before that, in the old, old days. Phillips is listed as one of the 100 best hamburger joints in the nation, and deservedly so. I tend to go for broke and order the Phil-Up Cheeseburger, a well-seasoned hamburger with cheese, bacon and ham. Total carnivore yum. And the down-home ambiance and everything-and-the-kitchen-sink décor are the real thing – what chains like TGI Friday’s and Appleby’s try to imitate starting from opening day.
In the evening, we go to a free concert at the Chapel of Rust College. This is the Rust College Acappella Choir, that my mother toured with back in the mid-50s. Like other historically black colleges, Rust sometimes depended on income generated by those tours to stay financially viable as a school. It was so moving for me. I can remember being a little child and listening to the choir on albums, and later in person, when I was in middle, jr. high and high school. The singers were so much older than me then. And now, I see these young people, who again, are old enough to be mine. And then I realize, Wait. They are mine. And I am delighted that they are still singing those songs, some that I sang in high school and many that I remember vividly – “I Here a Voice a’Prayin’”, “Didn’t My Lord Deliver Daniel,” and the Rust College alma mater, “College Mine.” Many of my mother’s peers were there as well, the adults who grew me up, now in their sixties and seventies. And yet the song continues … Hallelujah.
I stay up almost all night packing and getting organized for being gone the next four weeks.
Saturday, April 19
I’m at the airport by 5:00 a.m., and on my flight to Denver by 6:15. Alex drops me off and heads back down to Gulfport. I sleep all the way to Denver, and virtually all the way from Denver to LAX. My friend Victor is there to pick me up right at baggage claim. We get. He takes me by his house, and I drop my bags. His partner Wayne joins us, and we hit the ground running. They take me to the Cara Walker exhibit at the Hammer Museum, and then we go over In-and-Out Burger for lunch. Next, we are at the Fowler Museum at UCLA for the exhibits Mami Wata, Make Art/Stop AIDS, and one other. Back at the house, Victor, who’s got roots in Louisiana, made a delicious shrimp etouffe for dinner. I get a good night’s rest.
Sunday, April 20
Wayne makes breakfast. Victor and Wayne drop me off at Culver City at the Agape Spiritual Center, where Rev. Michael Beckwith is the pastor. He’s not there because the Annual Revelation conference is happening elsewhere in town. But the guest speaker, Ishmael Tetteh, is dynamic, funny and very engaging. I look around at the rainbow of cultures and colors in the crowd, feel the love in the room and hear music and a message that resonate with me and think, “What a great place. I can see why people love it here.” When they pick me up, we go over to the Getty Museum, a place I’ve been meaning to go when I’ve been in LA but not made it, until
today. It’s fantastic, both as a work of architecture and as a repository of extraordinary art. In the evening, we go to the theater district and catch Great Expectations: The Musical at a black box theatre. I’ve not read the book yet, but now I’m going to. I have to say I related to the young man who sought to see the world, and later came to question why he had traveled so far when all he needed had been right where he started … at the same time, as the old saying goes, “I wouldn’t take nothin’ for my journey now.”
I go to a bookstore where some of Alex’s things are stored to look up the phone number of her landlord in Gulfport. I write it down, and then go to deliver her completed application to the mailbox of the shotgun apartment she wants to rent Uptown on Lowerline. Then I spend some time in Audubon Park … what a lovely, lovely place. I got a little anxious when I saw all those cranes swooping around the lagoon by the golf course. I could see the inspiration for Hitchcock’s The Birds. We leave there and take the ferry over to Algiers for dinner – a big plate of fried shrimp and catfish for me, and that plus fried oysters for Alex. On the ferry back, Alex strikes up a conversation with a man who studied with the singer Rhiannon of the group SoVoSo. I heard them once and bought their cd, back in the Bay Area. Small, small world.
Tuesday, April 15
A day of last things, and starting to make the transition. I get caught up on all of Oprah and Eckhart’s A New Earth “webinars” except for one. I stick pretty close to home. I finish off the last of the andouille sausage for dinner.
Wednesday, April 16
I spend the day getting the house in order, making sure everything is spic-and-span for the return of the resident of the unit where Alex and I have been staying. She let me know a day or two before that the large desktop computer I brought down for her wasn’t going to work for her purposes, so I offered it to the man at the dry cleaners across the street. He gratefully accepted it and said he would give it to his teenage son. That freed up a lot of space in the trunk. I load up the car, and go to pick up Alex. We go by her new hosts, where she will be staying. They offer dinner of a spicy chicken stew for later, and we accept. But first we go to where I will be staying, in Metairie. We drop off my bags, and head back to Alex's new hosts, stopping off at Whole Foods to buy wine. It’s a delicious meal, made by a young couple that likes to cook together. I can taste the love in what they’ve made. We are getting to know each other, as we move in and out of watching the Obama/Clinton debate on ABC. I get back to Metairie, and my host has made prepared fresh Louisiana strawberries for me and Alex.Thursday, April 17
My wonderful host, a member of Community Church of New Orleans, makes me breakfast. She hosted six other church members back when their homes were flooded during Katrina (she herself only got wind damage), and has very colorful and varied works of art throughout the house. She looks beautiful in purple as she gets ready to go to her bridge meeting. She takes me to the fabulous Jefferson Parish Public Library, where she is returning dvds and videos. Then she takes me by the church, and I have a chance to see the progress that has been made since Alex brought me there back in the spring of 2006. I spend some time talking to the church member there who has volunteered to be the office person that day. I leave and get lost on the way back to the house. I try to wait for my host to get back from bridge, but I need to leave by 3:00 to pick Alex up from her appointment. As it turned out, the she heard back from the rental agent for the unit on Lowerline, she got it! We scramble to get the deposit together and make it over to the unit, only to find out that there was confusion about what the deposit would be. It ended up not working out. We got water from Walgreens and hit the road. We went across Lake Ponchartrain to Slidell, and waited for probably 45 minutes to get two subs made. The guy behind the counter at Subway said they had run out of everything – national television ads are promoting a special deal that everyone is coming in for, but they have no more supplies to work with than in ordinary weeks. Finally got back on the road, only to realize that we were going the long way. Instead of across the Lake and over to I-55 straight up toward Memphis, we were going east, through Gulfport and Hattiesburg. The plan was that we would get there by 10:00 or 11:00, but we didn’t arrive until almost 1:00 a.m. It was an uneventful drive on sparsely-traveled highways and roads, so I was glad for that.Friday, April 18
I get up and make breakfast for the my mom, Alex and me. It’s raining like crazy, but still we brave the weather and go to the Pilgrimage, Holly Springs’ annual tribute to the glory days of its distant antebellum past. This year was the 70th anniversary – if I’m not mistaken, this has been going on since the release of Gone with the Wind in 1938. When I was growing up, we never even thought about going, as black people – it was that charged just after integration back in the 60s and 70s. Now, with my dad having been the first black mayor for 12 
years, and his being part of the welcome to the "pilgrims" coming to see the fabulous mansions, houses, estates and young and old white citizens in period costumes (of the ruling class, of course, not the enslaved), I felt like it was my birthright all the more. It was a good day. I’m glad that out of that troubled era in the history of the town, the state, the region and the nation, that the beauty of the homes is something that can be celebrated, not unlike the pyramids, the castles, and other remnants of past "civilizations" in other parts of the world.We had lunch at Phillips Grocery, over by the old railroad
tracks. They’ve been there since 1948 -- the building was a saloon way back before that, in the old, old days. Phillips is listed as one of the 100 best hamburger joints in the nation, and deservedly so. I tend to go for broke and order the Phil-Up Cheeseburger, a well-seasoned hamburger with cheese, bacon and ham. Total carnivore yum. And the down-home ambiance and everything-and-the-kitchen-sink décor are the real thing – what chains like TGI Friday’s and Appleby’s try to imitate starting from opening day.In the evening, we go to a free concert at the Chapel of Rust College. This is the Rust College Acappella Choir, that my mother toured with back in the mid-50s. Like other historically black colleges, Rust sometimes depended on income generated by those tours to stay financially viable as a school. It was so moving for me. I can remember being a little child and listening to the choir on albums, and later in person, when I was in middle, jr. high and high school. The singers were so much older than me then. And now, I see these young people, who again, are old enough to be mine. And then I realize, Wait. They are mine. And I am delighted that they are still singing those songs, some that I sang in high school and many that I remember vividly – “I Here a Voice a’Prayin’”, “Didn’t My Lord Deliver Daniel,” and the Rust College alma mater, “College Mine.” Many of my mother’s peers were there as well, the adults who grew me up, now in their sixties and seventies. And yet the song continues … Hallelujah.
I stay up almost all night packing and getting organized for being gone the next four weeks.
Saturday, April 19
I’m at the airport by 5:00 a.m., and on my flight to Denver by 6:15. Alex drops me off and heads back down to Gulfport. I sleep all the way to Denver, and virtually all the way from Denver to LAX. My friend Victor is there to pick me up right at baggage claim. We get. He takes me by his house, and I drop my bags. His partner Wayne joins us, and we hit the ground running. They take me to the Cara Walker exhibit at the Hammer Museum, and then we go over In-and-Out Burger for lunch. Next, we are at the Fowler Museum at UCLA for the exhibits Mami Wata, Make Art/Stop AIDS, and one other. Back at the house, Victor, who’s got roots in Louisiana, made a delicious shrimp etouffe for dinner. I get a good night’s rest.Sunday, April 20
Wayne makes breakfast. Victor and Wayne drop me off at Culver City at the Agape Spiritual Center, where Rev. Michael Beckwith is the pastor. He’s not there because the Annual Revelation conference is happening elsewhere in town. But the guest speaker, Ishmael Tetteh, is dynamic, funny and very engaging. I look around at the rainbow of cultures and colors in the crowd, feel the love in the room and hear music and a message that resonate with me and think, “What a great place. I can see why people love it here.” When they pick me up, we go over to the Getty Museum, a place I’ve been meaning to go when I’ve been in LA but not made it, until
today. It’s fantastic, both as a work of architecture and as a repository of extraordinary art. In the evening, we go to the theater district and catch Great Expectations: The Musical at a black box theatre. I’ve not read the book yet, but now I’m going to. I have to say I related to the young man who sought to see the world, and later came to question why he had traveled so far when all he needed had been right where he started … at the same time, as the old saying goes, “I wouldn’t take nothin’ for my journey now.”Monday, May 5, 2008
Week 9 of 29: Driving to Atlantis
Monday, April 7
I got up and drove from Oxford over to Batesville, and then straight down I-55 to New Orleans. It was a great sunny day to drive. I was surprised, in a conversation I had on the phone with someone I met at the King observance, and just listening to talk radio, to have just a sense of how deep and strong the roots of hostility toward people who outside the presumed norm are, whether that is based on weight, sexual/affectional orientation, or other factors. Sometimes here, I find it hard to be with the ways that Christianity and the Bible are invoked to justify that hostility. It’s true that living in the places that I’ve lived, especially New York, the Bay Area and Boston – and often in Unitarian Universalist settings – I’m not often confronted head-on with such bitterness in the name of religion.
Coming across the elevated highways, I do have a sense of driving
to Atlantis, there’s so much water, and it seems so high. Touching down in New Orleans, I am feeling relaxed already. There’s so much I love about being here, and at least for this next week, I’m in a sweet apartment inside a castle in the French Quarter that has a swimming pool in the courtyard (but it was too cold to swim). We walked to a nice restaurant on Toulouse for dinner. I had crawfish etouffe … very tasty.
Tuesday, April 8
I drove Alex to work, and I got caught up on my blog.
[… and then I fell behind again. Now I’m at 33,000 feet over the Pacific Ocean for the next five hours … what a great time to catch up on my blog! As long as my battery lasts …]
Wednesday, April 9
Spent a good part of the morning straightening up the house, which was already in very good shape. In the evening, I spent some time exploring the Quarter.
Thursday, April 10
A very, very warm day. Didn’t venture out of the house much but when I did, I felt completely drenched. I met one of the organizers of the French Quarter festival events who was up from Florida. The energy of the city was beginning to buzz more, with people beginning to arrive for the weekend.
Friday, April 11
Another scorcher. I walked from the Castle through the Quarter, down to the Mississippi. I sat on its banks and listed to the great music of the French Quarter Festival playing down by the waterfront hotels in the distance. It was perfect there, as the sun was setting, and people were walking along the levee to be closer. After the sun went down, I walked back through the Quarter, down Bourbon Street. Some vignettes:
Woman: This ain’ coffee, baby … (laughs) If you want coffee, you can go to one of the nice restaurants down the street and they’ll give you some coffee!
I get to the Krystal’s down on Bourbon near Canal. I’m waiting in line to order a hot chocolate and thinking, It’s 80 degrees out there. What am I going to do with hot chocolate? I go back to a cocktail stand and order a peach daiquiri instead.
“I thought you were all working together.”
“What did you give him, a five?
“Unh-uhn.”
I keep walking and sipping on my daquiri, but look back long enough to see him and the other boys gathering around the box where I had left my contribution.
Saturday, April 12
I hang out with Alex and her friends who are in town from Gulfport, to celebrate the birthday of one of them. Alex’s friends will go to The Vagina Monologues (Oprah is scheduled to appear!) later in the evening. Alex and I go looking for an apartment where she will stay once the beginning of May rolls around.
Sunday, April 13
Breakfast at the corner diner at Burgundy and Esplanade, a block from where we are staying. There’s a woman there that we I saw the night before as the door to our unit was open onto the courtyard swimming pool. We find out her boyfriend lives in the same building. She’s a self-described Creole Unitarian Universalist attorney, and we talk about what’s working and not working in New Orleans, UUism in the Crescent City, after we’ve finished our breakfast. Most interesting … and to think I wanted to walk out right after we got there because it was a smoke-filled room.
I got up and drove from Oxford over to Batesville, and then straight down I-55 to New Orleans. It was a great sunny day to drive. I was surprised, in a conversation I had on the phone with someone I met at the King observance, and just listening to talk radio, to have just a sense of how deep and strong the roots of hostility toward people who outside the presumed norm are, whether that is based on weight, sexual/affectional orientation, or other factors. Sometimes here, I find it hard to be with the ways that Christianity and the Bible are invoked to justify that hostility. It’s true that living in the places that I’ve lived, especially New York, the Bay Area and Boston – and often in Unitarian Universalist settings – I’m not often confronted head-on with such bitterness in the name of religion.
Coming across the elevated highways, I do have a sense of driving
to Atlantis, there’s so much water, and it seems so high. Touching down in New Orleans, I am feeling relaxed already. There’s so much I love about being here, and at least for this next week, I’m in a sweet apartment inside a castle in the French Quarter that has a swimming pool in the courtyard (but it was too cold to swim). We walked to a nice restaurant on Toulouse for dinner. I had crawfish etouffe … very tasty.
Tuesday, April 8
I drove Alex to work, and I got caught up on my blog.
[… and then I fell behind again. Now I’m at 33,000 feet over the Pacific Ocean for the next five hours … what a great time to catch up on my blog! As long as my battery lasts …]
Wednesday, April 9
Spent a good part of the morning straightening up the house, which was already in very good shape. In the evening, I spent some time exploring the Quarter.
Thursday, April 10
A very, very warm day. Didn’t venture out of the house much but when I did, I felt completely drenched. I met one of the organizers of the French Quarter festival events who was up from Florida. The energy of the city was beginning to buzz more, with people beginning to arrive for the weekend.
Friday, April 11
Another scorcher. I walked from the Castle through the Quarter, down to the Mississippi. I sat on its banks and listed to the great music of the French Quarter Festival playing down by the waterfront hotels in the distance. It was perfect there, as the sun was setting, and people were walking along the levee to be closer. After the sun went down, I walked back through the Quarter, down Bourbon Street. Some vignettes:
Vignette #1
Me, to a woman holding a coffee cup with a black lid on top: Where did you get your coffee?Woman: This ain’ coffee, baby … (laughs) If you want coffee, you can go to one of the nice restaurants down the street and they’ll give you some coffee!
I get to the Krystal’s down on Bourbon near Canal. I’m waiting in line to order a hot chocolate and thinking, It’s 80 degrees out there. What am I going to do with hot chocolate? I go back to a cocktail stand and order a peach daiquiri instead.
Vignette #2
A woman in a strapless top is holding beads three stories above me. "Hey, you!" She hollers down. She gestures like she’s going to pull her top up. I shake my head, hold my hands in prayer pose and bow slightly. "Oh, come on!" she says. I keep walking. It is only later when I see a man flash his chest to a woman for beads that I realize what the woman who hollered to me wanted me to do.Vignette #3
A string of four boys, the oldest not more than 15, is tap-dancing on the street. Each has a box in front of them. Patron of the arts I am, I put a $10 bill in the box of the boy that is nearest to me. As I am walking past the other boys, one of them says to me, “You not gonna give the rest of us any?”“I thought you were all working together.”
“What did you give him, a five?
“Unh-uhn.”
I keep walking and sipping on my daquiri, but look back long enough to see him and the other boys gathering around the box where I had left my contribution.
Saturday, April 12
I hang out with Alex and her friends who are in town from Gulfport, to celebrate the birthday of one of them. Alex’s friends will go to The Vagina Monologues (Oprah is scheduled to appear!) later in the evening. Alex and I go looking for an apartment where she will stay once the beginning of May rolls around.
Sunday, April 13
Breakfast at the corner diner at Burgundy and Esplanade, a block from where we are staying. There’s a woman there that we I saw the night before as the door to our unit was open onto the courtyard swimming pool. We find out her boyfriend lives in the same building. She’s a self-described Creole Unitarian Universalist attorney, and we talk about what’s working and not working in New Orleans, UUism in the Crescent City, after we’ve finished our breakfast. Most interesting … and to think I wanted to walk out right after we got there because it was a smoke-filled room.
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