We live at a time when the economy, energy and the environment are all giving us clear reminders that we live on a finite planet, with finite resources. Our economy is based on a model of continuous growth which is clearly unsustainable—just think of a cancer cell. Our energy is overwhelmingly based on petroleum which is a non-renewable energy source that is nearing if not surpassing peak production. And our environment is showing great signs of stress and injury as we pursue both endless economic growth and oil energy.
Change is upon us. Whether we like it or not, we will have to live with the physical consequences that our current system has created. We can continue with the status quo—denying anything is wrong and continuing to live resource intensively. Or we can start the work of transforming our society into an integrated, holistic, sustainable whole. I believe this is the challenge of our time.
And I believe that magic—in the pagan, witchcraft sense—has much to offer for helping us achieve this transformation. Because the principles of magic are rooted in psychology and are in tune with the findings of neuroscience and physics, they can provide valuable tools for both the inner transformation and community transformation needed to successfully transition to a healthier world.
Much of my understanding of Magic and Witchcraft comes from the writings of Starhawk, and from her book The Spiral Dance in particular. When I first read this book I was surprised. I had read many spirituality books, and all of them had some great little nuggets of wisdom or information, but all of them also had parts that I could not agree with. Starhawk’s book was different. In reading a book on magic, I had expected to hear arguments about why I should believe in the Goddess and Magic, but instead she presents the idea of manifest deity:
“People often ask me if I believe in the Goddess. I reply, “Do you believe in rocks?”… In the Craft we do not believe in the Goddess—we connect with Her; through the moon, the stars, the ocean, the earth, through trees, animals, through other human beings, through ourselves. She is here. She is within us all. She is the full circle: earth, air, fire, water, and essence—body, mind, spirit, emotions, change” (91-92).
Basically, she is saying that the word “Goddess” is just a short cut way of describing everything that we can see and touch and feel and hear. I may not be comfortable with the specific words used, but this concept fit with both my spiritual sensibilities and with my scientific mind.
I had also expected to be told what to do and how to do it. Instead, Starhawk presents suggestions for rituals and spells, but specifically says that what is really important is finding what works for me. In talking about the tools of Magic, Starhawk says, “The mind works magic, and no elaborately forged knife or elegant wand can do any more than augment the power of a trained mind. The tools are simply aids in communicating with Younger Self, who responds much better to tangibles than to abstracts” (75).
Which leads me to where Magic and Psychology intersect. Starhawk says, “Learning to work magic is a process of neurological repatterning, of changing the way we use our brains…” (123). This fits in exactly with information from the different fields of brain research. I love reading about brains. It is fascinating to learn how the different parts of the brain work, the role that biochemistry plays, and how the environment impacts our brains.
One of my favorite brain books is My Stroke of Insight by neuroanatomist Jill Bolte Taylor. This book describes her experience of having a stroke and how she fully recovered. Because of her work as a neuroanatomist, she knew the exact science of what was happening in her brain as the stroke was occurring. However, the actual experience gave her huge insights into how our brains really function and just what they are capable of.
Jill’s stroke was in the left hemisphere, which is the half of the brain responsible for linear, logical, linguistic thinking. The right side of our brains is nonlinear, holistic and visuo-spatially oriented. On the morning of the stroke, Jill’s left brain stopped and started working over and over again. When it was working, she knew that she was having a stroke, and knew that she needed help. When her left brain shut down, she could no longer track her experience or make a plan. Because of this, it took her several hours to successfully call for help.
Jill says, “I remember that first day of the stroke with terrific bitter-sweetness. In the absence of the normal functioning of my left orientation association area, my perception of my physical boundaries was no longer limited to where my skin met air. I felt like a genie liberated from its bottle. The energy of my spirit seemed to flow like a great whale gliding through a sea of silent euphoria” (67).
With her left brain silenced, Jill was able to experience a oneness with the universe, a sense of detachment to the things of the ego, and an all encompassing peace and compassion. One of the main points in her book is that, in this society, we spend too much time in our left brain, and not enough time in our right, and that the world would be a much more peaceful place if we balanced this out.
This fits with what Starhawk says about magic. She says that rituals and spell casting are just ways of tapping into and evoking our right brain—the part she calls “Younger Self.” She says that we put on flowing capes and light candles and dance to drum music not because there is something inherently magical about those things, but because our right brain responds to play and fun and pleasure. This is why she says that you have to find rituals and tools that work for you—what is play for me might not be play for you. My right brain may respond well to moonlight dancing, while yours might respond best to biking through the park. Because our right brains are holistic, the best way to tap into them is by tapping into our senses—what we see, hear, taste, touch and smell.
Which brings us back to manifest deity—Goddess, God, the Great Mystery—is all found in things that we directly experience. It is not found in logical, left brain abstractions, but in our right brain experience of wholeness and interconnection. I believe that it is a balance between these two halves of our brain that enables us to be fully human.
I want to talk a little about physics now. I have little formal education in the hard sciences, but I greatly enjoy reading about the different hard science fields. I have been told that there is no way to give a truly precise explanation of physics without mathematics. Most of us don’t speak mathematics, so we have to settle for the less precise explanations found in words. So here is what I understand of quantum mechanics: All things are made up of both matter and energy. Energy is always moving, and is not contained by matter. I like the explanation that mathematical cosmologist Brian Swimme gives in his book The Universe is a Green Dragon. In this book he translates his knowledge of cosmology and physics into a poetically accessible story. Here is how he explains this concept:
“When you look at the moon, you are absorbing the moon just as the ocean absorbs minerals.
In terms of quantum mechanics, you as an individual body are represented by a particular quantum state. This includes the interactions of all the elementary particles of your body. Now imagine a patterned wave of light flowing into you. Some of the photons of this light wave interact with your own elementary particles, and through this interaction your quantum state is changed… Your particles are new in the sense that they have absorbed something from the photons and entered a new state of being.
This means that when you stand in the presence of the moon, you become a new creation. The photon’s interactions have entered into the quantum state of your entire ensemble and you are, through these interactions, a moon-person… The elementary particles of your body have absorbed an influence and in that sense they—and you—are brand, spanking new, a human being resonating everywhere with moonlight.”
Research on the transfer of energy between humans—which is a given in quantum physics—is still relatively new, but it fits with the experiences most of us have had in our own lives. Haven’t you ever been around someone who drained your energy? Or haven’t you felt disproportionately energized after being around a particularly optomistic friend? The work of Jan Fowler and Nicholas Christakis of Harvard University in 2008 reveals that happiness might be contagious. This aspect of physics—that we are constantly interchanging energy with the world around us—supports the idea that we can affect the world beyond our own skin by affecting the energy flowing through us and between us.
Which brings me back to Magic. One of the definitions of magic is “the art of changing consciousness at will.” Starhawk says, “Magic requires first the development and then the integration of right-hemisphere, spatial, intuitive, holistic, patterning awareness. It opens the gates between the unconscious and the conscious minds.”
In other words, you cast a spell to align your mind, body and spirit with your will, and through your will, you work to obtain what you desire. So, if you need a job, you cast a spell for a job in order to align your mind, body and spirit with the idea of a manifesting a new job. And then you go out and do some serious job hunting—search the want ads, fill out applications, send in resumes and so on. Magic in our world is not the instant gratification Harry Potter magic. It is not enough to wish that something were so—you have to do both inner work and outer work.
Why not skip the spell and just do the job hunting? There is scientific research that shows that doing both increases your chances of being successful. For example, in 2010, one of the scientific projects reported in the publication The Week showed that people who had a lucky charm and who believed in that lucky charm set higher goals and felt more confident.
You can say that this is the placebo affect, but I think the placebo affect proves just how incredibly powerful our minds are. Think about it—you take a sugar pill and, by the power of your mind alone, you make yourself heal. That’s pretty powerful. Witchcraft believes in the power of our minds and works to harness that power to our benefit and the benefit of our world.
This is why I say that Magic has much to offer us in the challenges we face today—with our economy, energy, and environment all showing signs of crashing up against the realities of physical limitations—we need to develop a clear and strong vision of a healthier, happier, sustainable world. And then we need to engage our senses, tap into Younger Self with pleasure and play in order to harness our own inner energies and align our wills with our vision in order to manifest that vision.
Blessed Be.
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
To Be Clean Again
The view out the airplane window
like a mirror of my mind
brownish grey
everywhere a diffuse heavy haze
smudged thick in patches
more stew than iced tea
And the ridges
snaked convolutions
snowtopped peaks
shine bright white,
valleys layered with old snow lying
like nicotine stained fingers
shriveled on the edges
We need a good long scrubbing
Followed by a thorough dowsing
An invigorating downpour of water
Rainforest fresh or
Newly released from glacial depths
A cleansing to wash away the
Accumulated ooze and grime . . .
To emerge clean, pure, renewed
Dare I say--reborn?
But the purest rainforest
fall and glacial melts are
tainted too
There will be no simplistic
one-time cleansing
no easy fix-it-all deluge
no purification by proxy . . .
The scrubbing will be long and hard
I look out the window as we slowly
descend
I wrote this poem at the end of the century. It came back to me today as I was thinking about my weekend in the deep woods, trouble at work, financial insecurity, and running behind on too many promised projects. I stood in the shower under a deluge of hot water and thought about how fiercely positive I was two weeks ago when I wrote my Cost of Living blog. I wanted to follow that blog up with tools of hope—and here I am, feeling brownish grey and shriveled on the edges. How can I preach hope when I feel so hopeless?
Perhaps I need to spend some time talking about hopelessness before I can get back to hope. After all, one of the problems with this society is our tendency to think that if we can just get to that one, magical spot, then everything will work out and we will live happily ever after; if we just get to a place of hope, it will stay bright and shiny in our hearts forevermore. The truth is that everything ebbs and flows, including hope. The trick is not to keep hope glowing non-stop—the trick is making it through the dark until the next tide comes in.
I was in the woods this weekend. Specifically I was in the Mendocino Woodlands State Park at a camp in the middle of 700 acres of redwoods, next to a thin rocky creek, at the bottom of a long, dusty mountain road (http://mendocinowoodlands.org/home.html). There have been Unitarian Universalists camp gatherings held there for at least 30 years. This was my first time and there are many stories I could share, but that is for another time. What I brought back with me that I want to share here is the dark depths of the forest. Even at high noon, the sun merely filtered faintly down to dimly light the soft needle paths, the floor of ferns and rocky outcroppings stretching steeply up on either side, hemming me in with rock and thick soil, and trees as tall as city buildings. The silence was profound and left my ears ringing with the void until they adjusted. Then I could hear…..something. The soft hum of life, barely on the edges of my awareness. I sat in a small patch of sunlight on a moss covered log and listened to the almost-silence, and let the forest seep into my soul.
We were surrounded by young redwoods—young, by redwood standards since the area had been clearcut in the 1930’s. The remains of ancient, old redwoods were everywhere—burned out trunks as large SUVs still standing as living reminders of some long ago fire. Redwoods can keep growing even when their cores get burned out. These stumps were not stumps because fire killed them—they were stumps because humans cut them down. Even so, some survived. Redwoods send out roots that grow up into new trees. The new trees are exactly the same as the old trees genetically, so you can say that these trees are thousands of years old, although only the youngest growths are still viable. There is a critical difference, however. The new trees are growing in a different environment, one that encourages fast growth. Because of this, the new redwoods are soft. Old redwoods can be almost as hard as steel—difficult to cut and very sturdy. While we still have redwood forests, we will never again see trees of steel. That environment is gone, forevermore.
We have done so much damage to this planet. We have lost so many species, polluted so much of our water and air, lost so many forests. And we have built such amazing things—telescopes that can see far out into space, spaceships that have shown us the moon, seacraft that have allowed us glimpses of the ocean depths. We have looked inside the human genome and found amazing complexity, and miraculous cures. The yin and the yang—creation and destruction. There must be balance. It is a rule of nature, a rule of physics, a truth that all religions have recognized even if they have not always practiced it.
This brings me back to my poem—to be clean again. Isn’t this what we all yearn for—a return to balance? Aren’t we all just exhausted by the constant, niggling fears? By the never-ending, low-level insecurity that runs through all of our lives? Don’t we all feel grungy and dusty from slogging through all of the day-to-day grime of life? Doesn’t a deluge of pure, clean water sound fantastic and refreshing? Oh, to be clean again!
And so I came home from the woods, filled up with their deep silence, and I realize how incredibly thirsty I am for change—and just how far away that change is. The reality is that change takes lots of hard work. Lasting change means doing lots of mundane, every day cleaning—rolling up our sleeves and scrubbing out those sinks, cleaning up the toilets, and washing down the walls. Change means that sometimes we will inherit difficult things to deal with: losing a job, going bankrupt, racking up medical debt, feeling overwhelmed, dropping into depression, losing faith. Sometimes hope is just too hard to reach for. Sometimes it is all we can do just to keep breathing. And that is OK. Sit with the deafening silence, sit still and breathe. Wait until our ears adjust and we can once again hear the faint flow of life that is busy living all around us.
InPeace, Nikki
like a mirror of my mind
brownish grey
everywhere a diffuse heavy haze
smudged thick in patches
more stew than iced tea
And the ridges
snaked convolutions
snowtopped peaks
shine bright white,
valleys layered with old snow lying
like nicotine stained fingers
shriveled on the edges
We need a good long scrubbing
Followed by a thorough dowsing
An invigorating downpour of water
Rainforest fresh or
Newly released from glacial depths
A cleansing to wash away the
Accumulated ooze and grime . . .
To emerge clean, pure, renewed
Dare I say--reborn?
But the purest rainforest
fall and glacial melts are
tainted too
There will be no simplistic
one-time cleansing
no easy fix-it-all deluge
no purification by proxy . . .
The scrubbing will be long and hard
I look out the window as we slowly
descend
I wrote this poem at the end of the century. It came back to me today as I was thinking about my weekend in the deep woods, trouble at work, financial insecurity, and running behind on too many promised projects. I stood in the shower under a deluge of hot water and thought about how fiercely positive I was two weeks ago when I wrote my Cost of Living blog. I wanted to follow that blog up with tools of hope—and here I am, feeling brownish grey and shriveled on the edges. How can I preach hope when I feel so hopeless?
Perhaps I need to spend some time talking about hopelessness before I can get back to hope. After all, one of the problems with this society is our tendency to think that if we can just get to that one, magical spot, then everything will work out and we will live happily ever after; if we just get to a place of hope, it will stay bright and shiny in our hearts forevermore. The truth is that everything ebbs and flows, including hope. The trick is not to keep hope glowing non-stop—the trick is making it through the dark until the next tide comes in.
I was in the woods this weekend. Specifically I was in the Mendocino Woodlands State Park at a camp in the middle of 700 acres of redwoods, next to a thin rocky creek, at the bottom of a long, dusty mountain road (http://mendocinowoodlands.org/home.html). There have been Unitarian Universalists camp gatherings held there for at least 30 years. This was my first time and there are many stories I could share, but that is for another time. What I brought back with me that I want to share here is the dark depths of the forest. Even at high noon, the sun merely filtered faintly down to dimly light the soft needle paths, the floor of ferns and rocky outcroppings stretching steeply up on either side, hemming me in with rock and thick soil, and trees as tall as city buildings. The silence was profound and left my ears ringing with the void until they adjusted. Then I could hear…..something. The soft hum of life, barely on the edges of my awareness. I sat in a small patch of sunlight on a moss covered log and listened to the almost-silence, and let the forest seep into my soul.
We were surrounded by young redwoods—young, by redwood standards since the area had been clearcut in the 1930’s. The remains of ancient, old redwoods were everywhere—burned out trunks as large SUVs still standing as living reminders of some long ago fire. Redwoods can keep growing even when their cores get burned out. These stumps were not stumps because fire killed them—they were stumps because humans cut them down. Even so, some survived. Redwoods send out roots that grow up into new trees. The new trees are exactly the same as the old trees genetically, so you can say that these trees are thousands of years old, although only the youngest growths are still viable. There is a critical difference, however. The new trees are growing in a different environment, one that encourages fast growth. Because of this, the new redwoods are soft. Old redwoods can be almost as hard as steel—difficult to cut and very sturdy. While we still have redwood forests, we will never again see trees of steel. That environment is gone, forevermore.
We have done so much damage to this planet. We have lost so many species, polluted so much of our water and air, lost so many forests. And we have built such amazing things—telescopes that can see far out into space, spaceships that have shown us the moon, seacraft that have allowed us glimpses of the ocean depths. We have looked inside the human genome and found amazing complexity, and miraculous cures. The yin and the yang—creation and destruction. There must be balance. It is a rule of nature, a rule of physics, a truth that all religions have recognized even if they have not always practiced it.
This brings me back to my poem—to be clean again. Isn’t this what we all yearn for—a return to balance? Aren’t we all just exhausted by the constant, niggling fears? By the never-ending, low-level insecurity that runs through all of our lives? Don’t we all feel grungy and dusty from slogging through all of the day-to-day grime of life? Doesn’t a deluge of pure, clean water sound fantastic and refreshing? Oh, to be clean again!
And so I came home from the woods, filled up with their deep silence, and I realize how incredibly thirsty I am for change—and just how far away that change is. The reality is that change takes lots of hard work. Lasting change means doing lots of mundane, every day cleaning—rolling up our sleeves and scrubbing out those sinks, cleaning up the toilets, and washing down the walls. Change means that sometimes we will inherit difficult things to deal with: losing a job, going bankrupt, racking up medical debt, feeling overwhelmed, dropping into depression, losing faith. Sometimes hope is just too hard to reach for. Sometimes it is all we can do just to keep breathing. And that is OK. Sit with the deafening silence, sit still and breathe. Wait until our ears adjust and we can once again hear the faint flow of life that is busy living all around us.
InPeace, Nikki
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
Cost of Living
For most of the past year, I have worked as the Administrative Director for the Butte Environmental Council. I inherited an administrative mess, a financial tangle, and an almost non-existent development program. Working on part-time hours, with the assistance of amazing co-workers, consultants and interns; a supportive board; a patient and generous membership; and committed regular volunteers—we have succeeded in stabilizing the organization. We have survived, although just barely. We have not—yet—been able to thrive. Even with all of the hard work I have done on the BEC budget and finances, we are still struggling financially.
In looking at my own, personal finances, the struggle is repeated. As a part-time employee, I make $1720 a month, gross, from my BEC work. This works out to about $1290 net per month. Of this, 20% of my gross income goes to pay for my student loans. However, looking at gross income is not a very accurate picture of reality, since I can’t pay bills with gross pay—it’s the net pay that counts. So, actually, my student loan payment is closer to 28% of my monthly income. That leaves me $960 a month to pay for rent, utilities, gas, and food each month. This doesn’t count things like car insurance, car repairs, credit card debt (which, yes, I have), or my out-of-pocket medical expenses since my part-time job does not come with health insurance. Even with all of the hard work I have done, I am still struggling financially.
This is not a unique story. I hear this every where I go: church, friends, other organizations, family members all talk about how tight money is, or how hard it is to find work, or having to take on extra work just to make ends meet. Nonprofits are cutting back, letting employees go to save the larger whole, or they are failing and throwing everyone into the unemployment lines. Heck, even my bank failed last week!
And yet, I do not want to focus on the negatives. All of the struggle sets the stage we are on, but it does not write the play. We still get to choose what we do with the money that we do have. We still get to choose what we do with our lives both in work and at home. We can freeze up in fear, close up and shut down; or we can open up to the amazing opportunities that can be found within and together in community. We can reach deep inside and find reservoirs of generosity and passion that we never knew existed. We can reach out to find others who can make us stronger, smarter, more energized. We can live our lives out of a place of hope and love.
This is why, even with my own little financial drama, I still find ways to give money to BEC every month as a BEC Angel. It is why I continue to attend fundraisers for local nonprofits doing great work. It is why I take the time to have breakfast with a friend, or go for a walk with my mom, or drive four hours to see my sister in Oregon. Keeping the flow going is what feeds the hope, and hope is what keeps us moving forward, growing, changing, making things better.
I am not saying don’t ever despair, don’t ever worry or fear. I often wake up at four in the morning worrying about BEC’s finances and my anxiety can keep me from falling back to sleep. There is a place for worry and fear and even despair. Those black depths are a part of the human experience and denying them only drives them underground.
What I am saying is that we need to work harder at actively cultivating hope and love and passion. Fears are a dime a dozen. They are cheap and easy, and fear is too often our default in this society. We need hope, and we need to do the work that grows hope. We need to work at growing creativity and thoughtfulness. We need to support people and organizations and experiences that will move us out of the either/or status quo of materialism and into something brighter, healthier, cleaner. We do that with our time, with our talent, and with our money. We do it within our selves, and we do it together, in community.
Financially speaking, I would do much better getting out of the nonprofit sector. A better paying job would make my expensive graduate education worth the cost, as well as better enable me to pay for it. However, the cost of living is much more than the bills we pay or the debts we owe. The cost of living is in the courage and perseverance it takes to work for something better, because working for something better is not easy. It is hard work. It is also good, rewarding, hopeful work.
InPeace & Hope, Nikki Schlaishunt
In looking at my own, personal finances, the struggle is repeated. As a part-time employee, I make $1720 a month, gross, from my BEC work. This works out to about $1290 net per month. Of this, 20% of my gross income goes to pay for my student loans. However, looking at gross income is not a very accurate picture of reality, since I can’t pay bills with gross pay—it’s the net pay that counts. So, actually, my student loan payment is closer to 28% of my monthly income. That leaves me $960 a month to pay for rent, utilities, gas, and food each month. This doesn’t count things like car insurance, car repairs, credit card debt (which, yes, I have), or my out-of-pocket medical expenses since my part-time job does not come with health insurance. Even with all of the hard work I have done, I am still struggling financially.
This is not a unique story. I hear this every where I go: church, friends, other organizations, family members all talk about how tight money is, or how hard it is to find work, or having to take on extra work just to make ends meet. Nonprofits are cutting back, letting employees go to save the larger whole, or they are failing and throwing everyone into the unemployment lines. Heck, even my bank failed last week!
And yet, I do not want to focus on the negatives. All of the struggle sets the stage we are on, but it does not write the play. We still get to choose what we do with the money that we do have. We still get to choose what we do with our lives both in work and at home. We can freeze up in fear, close up and shut down; or we can open up to the amazing opportunities that can be found within and together in community. We can reach deep inside and find reservoirs of generosity and passion that we never knew existed. We can reach out to find others who can make us stronger, smarter, more energized. We can live our lives out of a place of hope and love.
This is why, even with my own little financial drama, I still find ways to give money to BEC every month as a BEC Angel. It is why I continue to attend fundraisers for local nonprofits doing great work. It is why I take the time to have breakfast with a friend, or go for a walk with my mom, or drive four hours to see my sister in Oregon. Keeping the flow going is what feeds the hope, and hope is what keeps us moving forward, growing, changing, making things better.
I am not saying don’t ever despair, don’t ever worry or fear. I often wake up at four in the morning worrying about BEC’s finances and my anxiety can keep me from falling back to sleep. There is a place for worry and fear and even despair. Those black depths are a part of the human experience and denying them only drives them underground.
What I am saying is that we need to work harder at actively cultivating hope and love and passion. Fears are a dime a dozen. They are cheap and easy, and fear is too often our default in this society. We need hope, and we need to do the work that grows hope. We need to work at growing creativity and thoughtfulness. We need to support people and organizations and experiences that will move us out of the either/or status quo of materialism and into something brighter, healthier, cleaner. We do that with our time, with our talent, and with our money. We do it within our selves, and we do it together, in community.
Financially speaking, I would do much better getting out of the nonprofit sector. A better paying job would make my expensive graduate education worth the cost, as well as better enable me to pay for it. However, the cost of living is much more than the bills we pay or the debts we owe. The cost of living is in the courage and perseverance it takes to work for something better, because working for something better is not easy. It is hard work. It is also good, rewarding, hopeful work.
InPeace & Hope, Nikki Schlaishunt
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
Dreaming Deeper
My dreams seem so much smaller now. When I was a child I used to dream about making best friends with a wild horse. Together we would explore the world and have great adventures. When I was a little older I dreamed about having super powers. Together with my team of fellow super heroes, we would do great deeds, stopping bad guys and saving damsels in distress. Then I learned a little something about politics and how the world really runs, and I dreamed of growing up to be President or a Senator. I imagined I would have a strong partner by my side and together we would strike down injustice, right wrongs, and save the world—the dynamic duo!
In high school I got a little lost. For a while I had that partner, that special someone who saw injustice as I did and was as committed as I was to doing what it takes to right wrongs. But I wasn’t able to see a future for us because there were no models for what we had. What super hero was gay? What Senator? This was before Ellen, before Will and Grace. I had no idea how to fit ‘gay’ into my dynamic duo dream, so I bounced around aimlessly for a while, feeling all alone in the world.
When I met Scott, I thought that I had found a perfect match—he was practical where I was starry-eyed. This wasn’t a pie-in-the-sky, tilting at windmills batch of dreams. This was regular, ordinary, doable dreams: marriage, children, a house, a dog. It wouldn’t matter what I did for a career—anything would do because the root would be the family we would create. It was a good idea, and—while it lasted—it was a good dream. What we found out was I needed extra-ordinary dreams, and Scott did not.
Enter Brad. A social justice warrior, living on the fringes of society, working in the trenches, righting wrongs by day and playing music and talking politics with friends by night. I think we were both surprised by the intensity of our first meeting, a sense of recognition, of fitting together perfectly. Except for my having a husband, of course. So we went along for a long time, trying to be just friends, ignoring the elephant in the room that our meshing was so much more…
Together, we have been through many challenges. Mostly those challenges have been how to pay the bills and put food on the table—subsistence challenges. Not the sort of world-changing work I had hoped for, but life is often like that. Even so, we have persevered. We had dreams of moving to California, of getting jobs that would make a difference in the world, of having a home of our own, and friends, and community. Years later, we are here. We live in California and we both have non-profit jobs that pay enough that our dream of having a home of our own is actually within reach.
So, why don’t’ I feel better? I think I have learned to settle for less. I have learned to reach only for the easy dreams, the exciting start of the journey, the outside packaging, instead of going deeper. Instead of spending evenings mixing creativity and politics and community building, I watch murder mysteries on TV and make pithy postings on Facebook. Instead of saving the world with my partner by my side, we work on our laptops, alone in the same room. Instead of reaching for those starry dreams of a shared housing community, I have dreams of a single home with a single family. Anything else is too exhausting. This is middle age, huh? Too tired to dream anymore.
And that pisses me off. Just because I am in my forties, I can no longer dream of magic and saving the world? Just because my heart has been broken time and time again, I am going to give up and settle for less? Just because I fear losing my home, my partner, my income, I am willing to trade in dreams of a better world for a make-do world? I don’t know that I like this person that I have become. This person with the small, practical dreams. Like The Waitresses say, “I want magic in my real world!”
Maybe I do not have the fiery energy of youth any more, but that cannot stop me from reaching for the stars, for dreaming the impossible and working to make it real.
I’ll just have to pace myself and take more naps!
In high school I got a little lost. For a while I had that partner, that special someone who saw injustice as I did and was as committed as I was to doing what it takes to right wrongs. But I wasn’t able to see a future for us because there were no models for what we had. What super hero was gay? What Senator? This was before Ellen, before Will and Grace. I had no idea how to fit ‘gay’ into my dynamic duo dream, so I bounced around aimlessly for a while, feeling all alone in the world.
When I met Scott, I thought that I had found a perfect match—he was practical where I was starry-eyed. This wasn’t a pie-in-the-sky, tilting at windmills batch of dreams. This was regular, ordinary, doable dreams: marriage, children, a house, a dog. It wouldn’t matter what I did for a career—anything would do because the root would be the family we would create. It was a good idea, and—while it lasted—it was a good dream. What we found out was I needed extra-ordinary dreams, and Scott did not.
Enter Brad. A social justice warrior, living on the fringes of society, working in the trenches, righting wrongs by day and playing music and talking politics with friends by night. I think we were both surprised by the intensity of our first meeting, a sense of recognition, of fitting together perfectly. Except for my having a husband, of course. So we went along for a long time, trying to be just friends, ignoring the elephant in the room that our meshing was so much more…
Together, we have been through many challenges. Mostly those challenges have been how to pay the bills and put food on the table—subsistence challenges. Not the sort of world-changing work I had hoped for, but life is often like that. Even so, we have persevered. We had dreams of moving to California, of getting jobs that would make a difference in the world, of having a home of our own, and friends, and community. Years later, we are here. We live in California and we both have non-profit jobs that pay enough that our dream of having a home of our own is actually within reach.
So, why don’t’ I feel better? I think I have learned to settle for less. I have learned to reach only for the easy dreams, the exciting start of the journey, the outside packaging, instead of going deeper. Instead of spending evenings mixing creativity and politics and community building, I watch murder mysteries on TV and make pithy postings on Facebook. Instead of saving the world with my partner by my side, we work on our laptops, alone in the same room. Instead of reaching for those starry dreams of a shared housing community, I have dreams of a single home with a single family. Anything else is too exhausting. This is middle age, huh? Too tired to dream anymore.
And that pisses me off. Just because I am in my forties, I can no longer dream of magic and saving the world? Just because my heart has been broken time and time again, I am going to give up and settle for less? Just because I fear losing my home, my partner, my income, I am willing to trade in dreams of a better world for a make-do world? I don’t know that I like this person that I have become. This person with the small, practical dreams. Like The Waitresses say, “I want magic in my real world!”
Maybe I do not have the fiery energy of youth any more, but that cannot stop me from reaching for the stars, for dreaming the impossible and working to make it real.
I’ll just have to pace myself and take more naps!
Friday, January 8, 2010
News From Nikkiland 2009
Famine & Feast
It has been a year of Famine and Feast. We started out the year not able to make ends meet. Brad was still unemployed and I had two jobs that just didn't pay enough to cover our bills. Without the support of family, friends and strangers (w received two annonymous $300 checks in March) we would have ended up homelss. While mom and Dan would have given us shelter, we stil lwould have lost our apartment and faced bankruptcy.
In May, Brad was hired as the Executive Director of the Torres Community Shelter (irony? serendipity?). Compared to jobs in the private sector his salary is tiny. Compared to the financial dire straights of our spring, his salary is great riches! My work situation has, likewise, improved. In Arpil I started working as a grant wirting assistant for Tempra (that's her name) which was better hours and money. Then in July I started working again for the Butte Environmental Council (BEC) in a leadership role this time. On the sad side, this meant leaving my daycare work; on the happy side, this meant almost double the money. Again, small by comparison to the private sector, and huge compared with our great lack just months before.
Career
Early Childhood Education (ECE): This past spring was heavy on ECE advocacy and learning for me. Jen and I went to two different ECE conferences, and took several different classes, most of them having to do with growing brains. [For more on this subject, see my February 13 and March 20, 2009 postings.] Sadly, I left this field in July. I greatly miss the children, the mini-farm, and working with Jen.
Grant Writing Assistant: In April I started working for Tempra as her grant writing assistant. I have learned a ton about writing grants and other development work from her, and yet there is still much more to learn. I enjoy the work, even though some of it is tedious, and I greatly enjoy working with Tempra.
Butte Environmental Council (BEC): I was asked by the Board to return to BEC to help with the transition and to provide the leadership they knew they needed. We have done a ton of work, and still more remains! The Board fired the Executive Director the end of June, and that case is stil not settled. Since then I have waded through records and finaces and contracts, and I can tell you that we have inherited a very challenging set of difficulties that will take at least another six months to work through. BEC has been able to keep active with our advocacy and education work, but unless we can up the income, we will eventually have to cut hours or loss staff, which will mean we will have to decrease our efforts and, thus, our effectiveness. So, my work is cut out for me! Overall, it is challenging and rewarding work and has been a great learning experience.
Volunteer Work
UUFC: I started my second year on the Board at my church in July. We said good-bye to our interim minister in June and welcomed Sydney and Dennis, a retiring minister couple, as our new part-time ministers in August. They have been wonderful to work with! There have been some unique challenges on the board this year--working to solve our space issues, and getting our personnel policies into order.
Rogue Theatre: In July I handed over the treasurer position to Delisa and took over her secretary role. In June we had another Drag-e-okee event, and Brad sang dressed in drag (photos available for viewing on Facebook!). We also decided to add a formal season opening gala, which we are calling the Rogue Bacchinalia. In October we (well, mostly Betty) did a 24-hour Dance-A-Thon, which raised a good chunk of money and was lots of fun even though attendance was low. This year I also participated in the Fringe Festival, and wrote a ten minute play that was very well received.
Friends & Family
As most of you know, my Grandpa Leeth died in May. [See may 8 and May 15, 2009 postings for more details.]
In June, Brad's mom Joanne, daughter Sarah, two granddaughters Marisa and Breanna, son Austin, and his girlfriend Iris, all came to visit Chico for a week. We got a hotel room for Joanne, Srah and the girls, while Austin and Iris stayed in our living room. We had a great time showing them around Chico and the parks and just visiting.
In July I went to my second California World Music Fest. I drove up with Dan, stayed in my own tent in Jen's camp, and then drove back with Jen, Kiran and Elias. The music was awesome, as always; the weather was killing hot. I spent the entire afternoon at the inside venues, trying to cool down on the cement floors. Hopefuly next year will be less hot! Also in July, friends and family joined us at the Chico Outlaws baseball game where the Torres Shelter was the featured nonprofit. Brad threw out the opening pitch, and we all got the best seats--behind homeplate on a couple of couches out of the sun.
In August, my mom and I drove up and picked up Summer for a weekend away. We went to Klamath Falls, stopping at the Lake in the Woods on the way. It was a low key vacation, but very nice to just hang out together. Later that month our friends Tim and Joel came up to Chico for a side visit from the San Francisco vacation. After, they decided to move to SF. Joel is now in San Mateo waiting for Tim to fix up and sell his house so he can move too. I am very excited they will be so close!!!!!
In September, I wanted Brad to see Mendocino, so I booked us a campsite at McKerricher State Park. It is in a patch of woods next to the beach and is a lovely little place. It was, however, very cold and foggy the weekend we were there. We had a nice time visiting shops and galleries in Mendocino, hiking down the cliff to the beach, visiting glass beach in Fort Bragg, and walking the boardwalk at McKerricher.
In October, I returned to Mendocino with my family. My mom, sister Summer, and my Aunt Karen and her three grown daughters, Melanie, Debbie, and Michelle, all rented a house in Casper. It was beautiful with wonderful ocean cliff views, a hot tub in the back, and a wood stove. Summer was sick the whole time, which was disappointing. She was able to join us for some shopping and we also played games and talked and snacked by the wood stove. We all grew up together, so it was great to be able to spend some extended time together as adults. We all agreed to do it again next year!
Halloween: Our increased income made it possible for me to fly back to Milwaukee for my church ladies' annual Halloween gathering, and to catch up with my friend Kristin and her family. It was freezing that weekend, but being able to leisurely catch up with Kristin and spend time with Greg and their children Maya, Evan, and Adia made it worth it. At our Halloween gathering, we all wore our best witch outfits and we got to hand out candy to the trick-or-treating children. I also got to be there when the group gave Lori the stole we had commissioned for her. She graduated from seminary and we had wanted to do something special for her. It is an amzaing stole, and she was very touched. I also got to hear her preach, since she happened to be doing the sermon at Kristin's church the weekend I was there!
In November, Brad's dad, Jim, took a train out to visit us. He stayed with us for a week. Both of us had to work most of the time, but I was able to take him out to Bear Hole one day when I was free and Brad was not. Brad and I had Thanksgiving at Mom & Dan's. Most of Dan's family came up too. After dinner we both went by the Shelter to help out with the festivities there. There were plenty of people helping, so we didn't stay as long as we had thought we would need to.
In early December, Brad and I flew back to Milwaukee to celebrate Christmas with his family. We stayed with his mom and Aunt Di, and the day after we arrived Austin and Iris, Sarah and the girls, and Jim all came over to open gifts and drink the chocolate martinis that Joanne learned to make! We had a very nice day of celebration. We spent the week working remotely, visiting friends. and surviving the cold.
Famine & Feast Reprise
From When Things Fall Apart by Pema Chodron: "Fear is a universal experience. Even the smallest insect feels it. We wade in the tidal pools and put our finger near the soft, open bodies of sea anemones and they close u. Everything spontaneously does that. It's not a terrible thing that we feel fear when faced withthe unknown. It is part of being alive, something we all share. We react against the possiblity of loneliness, or death, or not having anything to hold on to. Fear is a natural reaction to moving closer to the truth."
It is a time of great change. Where once we walked secure on firm earth, we now find ourselves slipping on shifting sands--gritty, silty-slick. We are struggling to find a new balance, a way to negotiate this new terrain. We find ourselves facing the unknown, looking for a way back. There is no way back, there is only moving forward.
Fear is a natural reaction. But we don't have to make choices out of fear--closing up, separating. We can choose to make our choices out of hope, out of love, out of faith in ourselves and each other. We can choose to open up, to grow closer. This is the great gift of these uncertain times.
May you all be blessed with a great blossoming.
It has been a year of Famine and Feast. We started out the year not able to make ends meet. Brad was still unemployed and I had two jobs that just didn't pay enough to cover our bills. Without the support of family, friends and strangers (w received two annonymous $300 checks in March) we would have ended up homelss. While mom and Dan would have given us shelter, we stil lwould have lost our apartment and faced bankruptcy.
In May, Brad was hired as the Executive Director of the Torres Community Shelter (irony? serendipity?). Compared to jobs in the private sector his salary is tiny. Compared to the financial dire straights of our spring, his salary is great riches! My work situation has, likewise, improved. In Arpil I started working as a grant wirting assistant for Tempra (that's her name) which was better hours and money. Then in July I started working again for the Butte Environmental Council (BEC) in a leadership role this time. On the sad side, this meant leaving my daycare work; on the happy side, this meant almost double the money. Again, small by comparison to the private sector, and huge compared with our great lack just months before.
Career
Early Childhood Education (ECE): This past spring was heavy on ECE advocacy and learning for me. Jen and I went to two different ECE conferences, and took several different classes, most of them having to do with growing brains. [For more on this subject, see my February 13 and March 20, 2009 postings.] Sadly, I left this field in July. I greatly miss the children, the mini-farm, and working with Jen.
Grant Writing Assistant: In April I started working for Tempra as her grant writing assistant. I have learned a ton about writing grants and other development work from her, and yet there is still much more to learn. I enjoy the work, even though some of it is tedious, and I greatly enjoy working with Tempra.
Butte Environmental Council (BEC): I was asked by the Board to return to BEC to help with the transition and to provide the leadership they knew they needed. We have done a ton of work, and still more remains! The Board fired the Executive Director the end of June, and that case is stil not settled. Since then I have waded through records and finaces and contracts, and I can tell you that we have inherited a very challenging set of difficulties that will take at least another six months to work through. BEC has been able to keep active with our advocacy and education work, but unless we can up the income, we will eventually have to cut hours or loss staff, which will mean we will have to decrease our efforts and, thus, our effectiveness. So, my work is cut out for me! Overall, it is challenging and rewarding work and has been a great learning experience.
Volunteer Work
UUFC: I started my second year on the Board at my church in July. We said good-bye to our interim minister in June and welcomed Sydney and Dennis, a retiring minister couple, as our new part-time ministers in August. They have been wonderful to work with! There have been some unique challenges on the board this year--working to solve our space issues, and getting our personnel policies into order.
Rogue Theatre: In July I handed over the treasurer position to Delisa and took over her secretary role. In June we had another Drag-e-okee event, and Brad sang dressed in drag (photos available for viewing on Facebook!). We also decided to add a formal season opening gala, which we are calling the Rogue Bacchinalia. In October we (well, mostly Betty) did a 24-hour Dance-A-Thon, which raised a good chunk of money and was lots of fun even though attendance was low. This year I also participated in the Fringe Festival, and wrote a ten minute play that was very well received.
Friends & Family
As most of you know, my Grandpa Leeth died in May. [See may 8 and May 15, 2009 postings for more details.]
In June, Brad's mom Joanne, daughter Sarah, two granddaughters Marisa and Breanna, son Austin, and his girlfriend Iris, all came to visit Chico for a week. We got a hotel room for Joanne, Srah and the girls, while Austin and Iris stayed in our living room. We had a great time showing them around Chico and the parks and just visiting.
In July I went to my second California World Music Fest. I drove up with Dan, stayed in my own tent in Jen's camp, and then drove back with Jen, Kiran and Elias. The music was awesome, as always; the weather was killing hot. I spent the entire afternoon at the inside venues, trying to cool down on the cement floors. Hopefuly next year will be less hot! Also in July, friends and family joined us at the Chico Outlaws baseball game where the Torres Shelter was the featured nonprofit. Brad threw out the opening pitch, and we all got the best seats--behind homeplate on a couple of couches out of the sun.
In August, my mom and I drove up and picked up Summer for a weekend away. We went to Klamath Falls, stopping at the Lake in the Woods on the way. It was a low key vacation, but very nice to just hang out together. Later that month our friends Tim and Joel came up to Chico for a side visit from the San Francisco vacation. After, they decided to move to SF. Joel is now in San Mateo waiting for Tim to fix up and sell his house so he can move too. I am very excited they will be so close!!!!!
In September, I wanted Brad to see Mendocino, so I booked us a campsite at McKerricher State Park. It is in a patch of woods next to the beach and is a lovely little place. It was, however, very cold and foggy the weekend we were there. We had a nice time visiting shops and galleries in Mendocino, hiking down the cliff to the beach, visiting glass beach in Fort Bragg, and walking the boardwalk at McKerricher.
In October, I returned to Mendocino with my family. My mom, sister Summer, and my Aunt Karen and her three grown daughters, Melanie, Debbie, and Michelle, all rented a house in Casper. It was beautiful with wonderful ocean cliff views, a hot tub in the back, and a wood stove. Summer was sick the whole time, which was disappointing. She was able to join us for some shopping and we also played games and talked and snacked by the wood stove. We all grew up together, so it was great to be able to spend some extended time together as adults. We all agreed to do it again next year!
Halloween: Our increased income made it possible for me to fly back to Milwaukee for my church ladies' annual Halloween gathering, and to catch up with my friend Kristin and her family. It was freezing that weekend, but being able to leisurely catch up with Kristin and spend time with Greg and their children Maya, Evan, and Adia made it worth it. At our Halloween gathering, we all wore our best witch outfits and we got to hand out candy to the trick-or-treating children. I also got to be there when the group gave Lori the stole we had commissioned for her. She graduated from seminary and we had wanted to do something special for her. It is an amzaing stole, and she was very touched. I also got to hear her preach, since she happened to be doing the sermon at Kristin's church the weekend I was there!
In November, Brad's dad, Jim, took a train out to visit us. He stayed with us for a week. Both of us had to work most of the time, but I was able to take him out to Bear Hole one day when I was free and Brad was not. Brad and I had Thanksgiving at Mom & Dan's. Most of Dan's family came up too. After dinner we both went by the Shelter to help out with the festivities there. There were plenty of people helping, so we didn't stay as long as we had thought we would need to.
In early December, Brad and I flew back to Milwaukee to celebrate Christmas with his family. We stayed with his mom and Aunt Di, and the day after we arrived Austin and Iris, Sarah and the girls, and Jim all came over to open gifts and drink the chocolate martinis that Joanne learned to make! We had a very nice day of celebration. We spent the week working remotely, visiting friends. and surviving the cold.
Famine & Feast Reprise
From When Things Fall Apart by Pema Chodron: "Fear is a universal experience. Even the smallest insect feels it. We wade in the tidal pools and put our finger near the soft, open bodies of sea anemones and they close u. Everything spontaneously does that. It's not a terrible thing that we feel fear when faced withthe unknown. It is part of being alive, something we all share. We react against the possiblity of loneliness, or death, or not having anything to hold on to. Fear is a natural reaction to moving closer to the truth."
It is a time of great change. Where once we walked secure on firm earth, we now find ourselves slipping on shifting sands--gritty, silty-slick. We are struggling to find a new balance, a way to negotiate this new terrain. We find ourselves facing the unknown, looking for a way back. There is no way back, there is only moving forward.
Fear is a natural reaction. But we don't have to make choices out of fear--closing up, separating. We can choose to make our choices out of hope, out of love, out of faith in ourselves and each other. We can choose to open up, to grow closer. This is the great gift of these uncertain times.
May you all be blessed with a great blossoming.
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Of Babies and Bathwater
At the BEC membership meeting last night, several people used the phrase “Don’t’ throw the baby out with the bathwater.” This morning I was reviewing all of the many stories and opinions shared and I realize that babies and bathwater is a very appropriate metaphor in this case. Afterall, isn’t it the recognition of water as a precious and limited resource that has us all so concerned about BEC and advocacy?
There seems to be an endless, renewable supply of water here in Northern California. Even in dry years it still rains and snows and the creeks and rivers don’t run dry. Well, mostly they don’t run dry. As a community we are slowly coming to realize that water is not limitless, and yet the majority still use sprinklers to water large lawns (and the sidewalks, more often than not), take long showers, wash our cars in our driveways, all without much thought to how we might better conserve this resource. Nor do the majority think about just how easily we might lose this easy, mostly free access to a valuable necessity. Without water, life is not possible.
Babies are pretty important too. They are the means by which we perpetuate the species and they are pretty darned cute. Although perhaps a little less cute after being up all night screaming. Still, we don’t throw them out when they scream because babies need us to care for them or they would not be able to survive. We can’t expect babies to feed themselves or pay the bills. It is not reasonable to expect babies to show respect and empathy for their parents’ need for sleep by limiting their crying to daylight hours only. However, we do expect babies to grow and learn.
Last night I heard seventeen years worth of talented, committed, passionate former board members, staff, and volunteers speak. The story was pretty much the same throughout those seventeen years: Each started out excited by the goal of protecting our environment and making BEC the best organization possible to achieve that end. Each person worked very hard at helping Barbara, and each found Barbara turning her formidable, aggressive advocacy skills on them. BEC has had seventeen years of repeatedly draining the organization of great workers and refilling with new great workers in what seems to be an endless cycle.
Water is a valuable and limited commodity. The consequences of our actions, of our thoughtless use of water as an endless, renewable resource, have led to the draining of all of California’s aquifers except for the one we all live above—the Tuscan Aquifer. Clean, plentiful water is an inextricable part of a healthy ecosystem, of which our human community and economy are an interconnected part. When one part is sick or abused, that sickness or abuse ripples out to affect the whole.
Human creations like organizations function in very much the same way. We are all part of the ecosystem—the office workers, board members, and star advocates alike. The system only functions well when the whole works together, each doing their part to create a larger, healthier whole. Both water and babies are important and neither should be discarded lightly. I think the current BEC board is no different than the many past BEC boards in valuing both, and I do not think they made this decision quickly or lightly.
There seems to be an endless, renewable supply of water here in Northern California. Even in dry years it still rains and snows and the creeks and rivers don’t run dry. Well, mostly they don’t run dry. As a community we are slowly coming to realize that water is not limitless, and yet the majority still use sprinklers to water large lawns (and the sidewalks, more often than not), take long showers, wash our cars in our driveways, all without much thought to how we might better conserve this resource. Nor do the majority think about just how easily we might lose this easy, mostly free access to a valuable necessity. Without water, life is not possible.
Babies are pretty important too. They are the means by which we perpetuate the species and they are pretty darned cute. Although perhaps a little less cute after being up all night screaming. Still, we don’t throw them out when they scream because babies need us to care for them or they would not be able to survive. We can’t expect babies to feed themselves or pay the bills. It is not reasonable to expect babies to show respect and empathy for their parents’ need for sleep by limiting their crying to daylight hours only. However, we do expect babies to grow and learn.
Last night I heard seventeen years worth of talented, committed, passionate former board members, staff, and volunteers speak. The story was pretty much the same throughout those seventeen years: Each started out excited by the goal of protecting our environment and making BEC the best organization possible to achieve that end. Each person worked very hard at helping Barbara, and each found Barbara turning her formidable, aggressive advocacy skills on them. BEC has had seventeen years of repeatedly draining the organization of great workers and refilling with new great workers in what seems to be an endless cycle.
Water is a valuable and limited commodity. The consequences of our actions, of our thoughtless use of water as an endless, renewable resource, have led to the draining of all of California’s aquifers except for the one we all live above—the Tuscan Aquifer. Clean, plentiful water is an inextricable part of a healthy ecosystem, of which our human community and economy are an interconnected part. When one part is sick or abused, that sickness or abuse ripples out to affect the whole.
Human creations like organizations function in very much the same way. We are all part of the ecosystem—the office workers, board members, and star advocates alike. The system only functions well when the whole works together, each doing their part to create a larger, healthier whole. Both water and babies are important and neither should be discarded lightly. I think the current BEC board is no different than the many past BEC boards in valuing both, and I do not think they made this decision quickly or lightly.
The thing with bathwater and babies is that sometimes you need to change the bathwater, and sometimes the baby needs to grow up.
Sunday, May 17, 2009
Grandfather
My earliest memories of my mom’s dad are from when I was about four years old. Grandpa got up very early, cooked himself breakfast and then went off to work long before the rest of the house was up and about. Except for me. I loved getting up with him. He made the most delicious waffles, with real melted butter and maple syrup that he had sent to him from back in Michigan where he was from. I would sit at the big long dining room table with my plate full and watch him cook bacon on a grill thing that sat on the dining room table while he tended the waffle iron, which was also on the kitchen table.
I loved the smell of the bacon and the fresh perked coffee, although I didn’t have (or want) either of those. I knew that it was something of an interruption, having me there to tend to and serve, so I tried not to ask too many questions or talk too much. This was very difficult for me because even back then I was very loquacious (and filled with ‘satiable curiosity!). I am certain that sometimes I tried his patience. Still, there was something so special about those mornings that whenever I spent the night at my grandparents, I would go to sleep reminding myself to wake up early enough to have breakfast with grandpa, and I was so disappointed with myself when I woke up late and he was already gone….
In the High and Far-Off Times, my grandfather, O Best Beloved, was born Giles Garth Leeth in Clare Michigan, May 11, 1922. During one of our conversations last summer, he told me about his childhood summers on the farm, and how sad his grandmother was later after selling the farm and moving to town. He told me that one of his jobs on the farm was to go out and find the newborn calves because they would curl up in the pasture and make themselves very small and hard to find, but they had to be brought in where they could be kept safe. He told me that as soon as he learned to read he read everything he could get his hands on, including women’s magazines. In high school he won a city-wide spelling contest and the prize was a trip to the 1938 World Fair in New York City.
Grandfather was a navigator in the Army Air Corps in WWII. He graduated with a BS in engineering in 1949, and later went through a course of study in atomic energy before there was such a thing as a degree in nuclear engineering. He worked for G.E. and for Tempo (a research arm of G.E.) for 34 years, developing project plans for a variety of different areas, including propulsion and nuclear technology. Even in his last year of life he was tinkering around with different engineering inventions. He loved problem solving real-life issues and coming up with concrete engineering solutions.
He also loved to joke around. He told me lots of stories last summer about all the jokes he and his engineering buddies would play on each other at work. One I remember involved the creation of a very long sling shot which the engineers used to launch paper clips into the cubicle of the physicists at the other end of the room. (They quickly pieced together a white flag which they hoisted up over the cubicle wall.)
Grandpa loved golfing and backpacking. Some of my earliest memories are of grandpa getting ready to go on a hiking trip. He loved going up into the mountains, getting away from people and life as we know it. When I was nineteen, he agreed to take me on a hiking trip. I had never even gone camping before. He packed for me, helped me pick appropriate clothes to wear and bring, and we drove to the east side of the southern Sierras. We planned a three day, two night trip. The first day we hiked about eight miles and 800 feet in elevation and I was exhausted, but he just kept on going. It was breath-takingly gorgeous. Colors were startling fresh and vivid—the spring greens stretching every where, splashed with bright yellow flowers, and a liquid blue sky above. And the water! We camped next to a small creek that was melting directly off of the glacier, and I had never tasted anything so delicious.
The next morning I came out of the tent when I thought I heard an airplane overhead. “No,” Grandpa said, “That’s an earthquake.” It was a loud, gravelly roar like a jet engine with rocks in it. “I had no idea that earthquakes made noise!” I told him. Way up there in the mountains, with no people or buildings or cars and such, the earth shifting is a full-sensory experience—sound, sight, feel. He said it looked like rain, so we should head back instead of trying to stay another night. I had been looking forward to a light day hike and some rest before tackling the return hike, but that was not to be. He kicked my butt, walking all the way back to the car, stowing his backpack and coming back for me and taking my backpack before I could finish the last mile. I got to the car just as the rain started in earnest.
I never asked to go again. He didn’t think women could really do real hiking, and I had proven him right. I wasn’t about to ask for another round of humiliation. It’s too bad, though, because I probably could have gotten acclimated, and it truly was magically beautiful. But, at nineteen, I had no idea that some things you just have to work hard at before you can do them.
When I was a child, grandfather used to read to me. He read short stories, books, poetry. My favorite poem was “The Cremation of Sam McGee” by Robert W. Service. My favorite book was the Just So Stories by Rudyard Kipling and my favorite story in that book was “The Elephant’s Child.” The language was lovely and juicy and full of texture and life. For example (and you really should read this out loud for the proper affect): “That very next morning, when there was nothing left of the Equinoxes, because the Precession had preceded according to precedent, this ‘satiable Elephant’s Child took a hundred pounds of bananas (the little short red kind), and a hundred pounds of the sugar-cane (the long purple kind), and seventeen melons (the greeny-crackly kind), and said to all his dear families, ‘Good-bye. I am going to the great grey-green, greasy Limpopo River, all set about with fever-trees, to find out what the Crocodile has for dinner.” I think this is why I am a writer. [If you want to know what the Crocodile has for dinner, O Best Beloved, you will have to read the story yourself!]
My grandfather loved words (another reason why I am a writer). Back when I was just a child and eating breakfast with grandfather, sometimes he would teach me new words. I am sure, out of desperation when I just could not keep quiet for two minutes in a row (do you know how long two minutes is to a four-year-old?), he would try to keep my mind so busy that I would have to shut up and let him read his paper and drink his coffee in some peace. (Come to think of it, that is also probably at least partly why he taught me how important it is to chew your food thoroughly, at least sixty times per bite he said…) In particular, I remember having a long conversation about the word ‘irrelevant’. We discussed it until we were both satisfied that I clearly understood its meaning and use. And I used it too, on my Kindergarten teacher. She was trying to get me to do what she wanted by using a distraction technique, to which I promptly replied, “That’s irrelevant!” (Score one for the ‘satiable Elephant’s Child!)
My grandfather was Old School. He believed that boys and men are smarter and stronger than girls and women, mainly because girls and women are “too emotional” to be smart or strong. He believed that the hard sciences were the only real thing in the world and studying anything else, like psychology or political science, was fluffy silliness. And don’t even get him started on the frivolity of religion! Mostly he would just snort and mentally place you in the “idiot” category.
Even so, his strong points were very good strong points. I was double-blessed in the careful cultivation of my curiosity from my grandfather and his daughter, my mother. He valued a sense of curiosity, and encouraged children to ask lots of questions and do lots of thinking about the possible answers. A strong questing, curiosity is my legacy and it is a rich and never-ending treasure trove.
I will miss you, O Best Beloved.
I loved the smell of the bacon and the fresh perked coffee, although I didn’t have (or want) either of those. I knew that it was something of an interruption, having me there to tend to and serve, so I tried not to ask too many questions or talk too much. This was very difficult for me because even back then I was very loquacious (and filled with ‘satiable curiosity!). I am certain that sometimes I tried his patience. Still, there was something so special about those mornings that whenever I spent the night at my grandparents, I would go to sleep reminding myself to wake up early enough to have breakfast with grandpa, and I was so disappointed with myself when I woke up late and he was already gone….
In the High and Far-Off Times, my grandfather, O Best Beloved, was born Giles Garth Leeth in Clare Michigan, May 11, 1922. During one of our conversations last summer, he told me about his childhood summers on the farm, and how sad his grandmother was later after selling the farm and moving to town. He told me that one of his jobs on the farm was to go out and find the newborn calves because they would curl up in the pasture and make themselves very small and hard to find, but they had to be brought in where they could be kept safe. He told me that as soon as he learned to read he read everything he could get his hands on, including women’s magazines. In high school he won a city-wide spelling contest and the prize was a trip to the 1938 World Fair in New York City.
Grandfather was a navigator in the Army Air Corps in WWII. He graduated with a BS in engineering in 1949, and later went through a course of study in atomic energy before there was such a thing as a degree in nuclear engineering. He worked for G.E. and for Tempo (a research arm of G.E.) for 34 years, developing project plans for a variety of different areas, including propulsion and nuclear technology. Even in his last year of life he was tinkering around with different engineering inventions. He loved problem solving real-life issues and coming up with concrete engineering solutions.
He also loved to joke around. He told me lots of stories last summer about all the jokes he and his engineering buddies would play on each other at work. One I remember involved the creation of a very long sling shot which the engineers used to launch paper clips into the cubicle of the physicists at the other end of the room. (They quickly pieced together a white flag which they hoisted up over the cubicle wall.)
Grandpa loved golfing and backpacking. Some of my earliest memories are of grandpa getting ready to go on a hiking trip. He loved going up into the mountains, getting away from people and life as we know it. When I was nineteen, he agreed to take me on a hiking trip. I had never even gone camping before. He packed for me, helped me pick appropriate clothes to wear and bring, and we drove to the east side of the southern Sierras. We planned a three day, two night trip. The first day we hiked about eight miles and 800 feet in elevation and I was exhausted, but he just kept on going. It was breath-takingly gorgeous. Colors were startling fresh and vivid—the spring greens stretching every where, splashed with bright yellow flowers, and a liquid blue sky above. And the water! We camped next to a small creek that was melting directly off of the glacier, and I had never tasted anything so delicious.
The next morning I came out of the tent when I thought I heard an airplane overhead. “No,” Grandpa said, “That’s an earthquake.” It was a loud, gravelly roar like a jet engine with rocks in it. “I had no idea that earthquakes made noise!” I told him. Way up there in the mountains, with no people or buildings or cars and such, the earth shifting is a full-sensory experience—sound, sight, feel. He said it looked like rain, so we should head back instead of trying to stay another night. I had been looking forward to a light day hike and some rest before tackling the return hike, but that was not to be. He kicked my butt, walking all the way back to the car, stowing his backpack and coming back for me and taking my backpack before I could finish the last mile. I got to the car just as the rain started in earnest.
I never asked to go again. He didn’t think women could really do real hiking, and I had proven him right. I wasn’t about to ask for another round of humiliation. It’s too bad, though, because I probably could have gotten acclimated, and it truly was magically beautiful. But, at nineteen, I had no idea that some things you just have to work hard at before you can do them.
When I was a child, grandfather used to read to me. He read short stories, books, poetry. My favorite poem was “The Cremation of Sam McGee” by Robert W. Service. My favorite book was the Just So Stories by Rudyard Kipling and my favorite story in that book was “The Elephant’s Child.” The language was lovely and juicy and full of texture and life. For example (and you really should read this out loud for the proper affect): “That very next morning, when there was nothing left of the Equinoxes, because the Precession had preceded according to precedent, this ‘satiable Elephant’s Child took a hundred pounds of bananas (the little short red kind), and a hundred pounds of the sugar-cane (the long purple kind), and seventeen melons (the greeny-crackly kind), and said to all his dear families, ‘Good-bye. I am going to the great grey-green, greasy Limpopo River, all set about with fever-trees, to find out what the Crocodile has for dinner.” I think this is why I am a writer. [If you want to know what the Crocodile has for dinner, O Best Beloved, you will have to read the story yourself!]
My grandfather loved words (another reason why I am a writer). Back when I was just a child and eating breakfast with grandfather, sometimes he would teach me new words. I am sure, out of desperation when I just could not keep quiet for two minutes in a row (do you know how long two minutes is to a four-year-old?), he would try to keep my mind so busy that I would have to shut up and let him read his paper and drink his coffee in some peace. (Come to think of it, that is also probably at least partly why he taught me how important it is to chew your food thoroughly, at least sixty times per bite he said…) In particular, I remember having a long conversation about the word ‘irrelevant’. We discussed it until we were both satisfied that I clearly understood its meaning and use. And I used it too, on my Kindergarten teacher. She was trying to get me to do what she wanted by using a distraction technique, to which I promptly replied, “That’s irrelevant!” (Score one for the ‘satiable Elephant’s Child!)
My grandfather was Old School. He believed that boys and men are smarter and stronger than girls and women, mainly because girls and women are “too emotional” to be smart or strong. He believed that the hard sciences were the only real thing in the world and studying anything else, like psychology or political science, was fluffy silliness. And don’t even get him started on the frivolity of religion! Mostly he would just snort and mentally place you in the “idiot” category.
Even so, his strong points were very good strong points. I was double-blessed in the careful cultivation of my curiosity from my grandfather and his daughter, my mother. He valued a sense of curiosity, and encouraged children to ask lots of questions and do lots of thinking about the possible answers. A strong questing, curiosity is my legacy and it is a rich and never-ending treasure trove.
I will miss you, O Best Beloved.
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