2018-09-11 Cincinnati

9/11 Deaths x 365 days/year x 17 years

2,996 individuals died on 9/11/2001 because of the hijackings and crashes perpetrated by the al-Qaeda fanatics.

Nothing was the same.

2,996 families dealt with the sudden, senseless, and violent death of a loved one.

Nothing was the same.

2,996 neighborhoods lost a resident.

Nothing was the same.

2,996 networks lost a member.

Nothing was the same.

***

About twice as many individuals (5,900) died from HIV that same day.[1]

…and the next,

…and the next,

…for 365 days that year,

…and 365 days per year every year,

…and the years continue.

The use of anti-retroviral medicines has halved the daily death toll.  But even now, on 9/11/2018, we are losing to AIDS about as many people as we lost on the original 9/11, in the World Trade Center, Pentagon, and Shanksville, Pennsylvania slaughter.  And we’ll lose as many tomorrow, and the next day, and every day.  And the days keep coming.

“Statistics are human beings, with the tears wiped off.”[2]

[1] Over three times as many individuals (9,589) were newly infected with HIV on 9/11/2001.

[2] Paul Brodeur, Outrageous Misconduct, 1985.

2018-09-10 Cincinnati

The Pronoun Conundrum

I am often frustrated by the awkwardness of using “his or her” in writing about someone of either sex.  I don’t like to solve the dilemma with a grammatically incorrect “their.”  In public speaking I usually alternate the male and female pronouns.

So what about an alternative format?  Several have been suggested.  Here’s a version of the Ze fix:

Current Pronoun	Substitute
He, She	Ze
His, Her	Zir
Him, Her	Zir
His, Hers	Zirs
Himself, Herself	Zirself

Trying to practice what I preach, I used these substitutes in a recent letter to Lawson’s brother-in-law [C-J or John] and sister-in-law [Jane], telling them how much Lawson and I basked in the visit from our sister-in-law’s daughter [Jill] and zir children [Beryl, Kaedon, and Olivia].

Dearest C-J & Jane,

    Lawsie & I had the best time with Jill, Beryl, Kaedon, and Olivia.  What a troupe!  

    Of course it’s no surprise what a great mother Jill is.  After all, ze has you two as role models, not only in raising zir (Jane), but also in helping to raise Knut (John & Jane).  Jill has a great combination of love for zir children, while also setting limits.  The kids are extremely well-behaved, without being meek.  Not at all.  They’re full of personality, much of which must come from Jill’s example.  Ze has fun with zir kids – like mapping their route to Canada to see as many waterfalls as possible.  And ze got Kentucky bonnets for Beryl & Olivia, which further linked them to the culture.

     Each of the children was marvelous in zir own way.  Kaedon asked Laws, “Explain your relationship to me?”  After Laws explained, Kaedon proudly said, “May I call you Great Uncle Lawson?”  And of course Laws was overjoyed.

    Olivia was so observant.  Ze noticed our refrigerator, hidden behind beautiful wooden panels, and said, “Your refrigerator is charming!  Your food is hiding!”

     Beryl is a wonderful big sister, without being bossy.  Ze’s protective, and has Jill’s gift of empathy.  Ze was more concerned that Olivia and Kaedon felt comfortable in their beds than ze was for zirself. 

    Meanwhile Jill SEWS CLOTHES!  Beryl wore a delightful, colorful dress, both designed and fabricated by Jill.

    I’ve rarely seen children that young so interested in adults – Lawsie and me.  They are interesting and they interact with us.  They connect.  They’re enthusiastic.  Kaedon says, “I LOVE salmon,” when I tell zir the dinner menu.  The next morning, all 3 want to help Laws make the French toast.  

    Of all my fun with Jill and zir children, my favorite was seeing Jill and the 3 children in the big bed in the west guest room (the “treehouse”) telling each other about their days – working backwards.  What a wonderful tradition.  It naturally leads to gratitude, which is one of the best recipes for physical and emotional wellbeing.  

    Laws & I are sorry that we won’t overlap with them in Canada, but look forward to other chances to get to know them even better.  We are ecstatic to overlap with you both, plus Seth, Paula, & Sofia.  

    Big hugs from the heartland,

    Sister Vicky

The letter is close to incomprehensible.  See how much easier this is:

Dearest C-J & Jane,

    Lawsie & I had the best time with Jill, Beryl, Kaedon, and Olivia.  What a troupe!  

    Of course it’s no surprise what a great mother Jill is.  After all, she has you two as role models, not only in raising her (Jane), but also in helping to raise Knut (John & Jane).  Jill has a great combination of love for her children, while also setting limits.  The kids are extremely well-behaved, without being meek.  Not at all.  They’re full of personality, much of which must come from Jill’s example.  She has fun with her kids – like mapping their route to Canada to see as many waterfalls as possible.  And she got Kentucky bonnets for Beryl & Olivia, which further linked them to the culture.

     Each of the children was marvelous in her own way.  Kaedon asked Laws, “Explain your relationship to me?”  After Laws explained, Kaedon proudly said, “May I call you Great Uncle Lawson?”  And of course Laws was overjoyed.

    Olivia was so observant.  She noticed our refrigerator, hidden behind beautiful wooden panels, and said, “Your refrigerator is charming!  Your food is hiding!”

    Beryl is a wonderful big sister, without being bossy.  She’s protective, and has Jill’s gift of empathy.  She was more concerned that Olivia and Kaedon felt comfortable in their beds than she was for herself. 

   Meanwhile Jill SEWS CLOTHES!  Beryl wore a delightful, colorful dress, both designed and fabricated by Jill.

   I’ve rarely seen children that young so interested in adults – Lawsie and me.  They are interesting and they interact with us.  They connect.  They’re enthusiastic.  Kaedon says, “I LOVE salmon,” when I tell her the dinner menu.  The next morning, all 3 want to help Laws make the French toast.  

   Of all my fun with Jill and her children, my favorite was seeing Jill and the 3 children in the big bed in the west guest room (the “treehouse”) telling each other about their days – working backwards.  What a wonderful tradition.  It naturally leads to gratitude, which is one of the best recipes for physical and emotional wellbeing.  

   Laws & I are sorry that we won’t overlap with them in Canada, but look forward to other chances to get to know them even better.  We are ecstatic to overlap with you both, plus Seth, Paula, & Sofia.  

   Big hugs from the heartland,

   Sister Vicky

 Ms as an honorific for girls and women regardless of marital status has become ubiquitous and the norm in just one generation.  Replacing the 3^rd person singular pronouns in speaking and writing would be overwhelming, to say nothing of the books already in print.

The Ze solution may not work.  But that doesn’t mean we should stop seeking a solution.  One of my favorite quotations comes from Thomas Edison during his attempts to invent the light bulb: “I have not failed. I’ve just found 10,000 ways that won’t work.”

2018-09-09 Cincinnati

Pater Noster – Capitulum Quintum

Continued from 2018-09-08

As we forgive those who trespass against us:

            This part of the Lord’s Prayer may seem altruistic – “Look, Mom, I’m forgiving!”  If so, great.

Its more immediate and palpable effect is freeing me of my grudges, resentments, and annoyances.  Wiser folk than I have figured out that forgiveness benefits the forgiver as much as the forgiven.

And awestruck am I every time I think of Shakespeare’s words with my 2^nd most favorite[3] of zir poems:

The Merchant of Venice [words in bold (below) represent the bipartite bounty of forgiveness]

Act 4, Scene 1, Portia pleads to Shylock

The quality of mercy is not strained.
It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven
Upon the place beneath. It is twice blest:
It blesseth him that gives and him that takes.
‘Tis mightiest in the mightiest; it becomes
The thronèd monarch better than his crown,

His scepter shows the force of temporal power,

The attribute to awe and majesty
Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings;
But mercy is above this sceptered sway.

It is enthronèd in the hearts of kings;

It is an attribute to God Himself;
And earthly power doth then show likest God’s
When mercy seasons justice. Therefore, Jew,

Though justice be thy plea, consider this:
That in the course of justice none of us
Should see salvation. We do pray for mercy,
And that same prayer doth teach us all to render
The deeds of mercy. I have spoke thus much
To mitigate the justice of thy plea,
Which, if thou follow, this strict court of Venice
Must needs give sentence ‘gainst the merchant there.

 

But this part of my prayer is (embarrassingly) shorter than my list of self-perpetuated trespasses.

***

…to be continued…

[1] “Greatest” in both its major senses:

“Greatest” – the component of the Lord’s Prayer on which I spend the most amount of time.

“Greatest” – most “wonderful,” “awesome,” “good.”

[2] Despite not believing in a tangible/ describable/ real Divine Being that “hears” me (much less one that “obeys” me, answering my prayers as I’ve articulated them), I do talk to “God” this way – as though there is a Being that’s listening and caring and acting.  As I’ve matured, I recognize that this part of my praying is a prelude to my listening.  Whoever/ whatever “God” is, she/he/it/they/the blob does communicate with me.

[3] Lest you forget, my favorite Shakespeare poem is zir Sonnet 116: “Let me not to the marriage of true minds”

Let us [sic] not to the marriage of true minds 

Admit impediments. Love is not love 

Which alters when it alteration finds, 

Or bends with the remover to remove.

 

O no! it is an ever-fixed mark 

That looks on tempests and is never shaken; 

It is the star to every wand’ring bark, 

Whose worth’s unknown, although his height be taken. 

 

Love’s not Time’s fool, though rosy lips and cheeks 

Within his bending sickle’s compass come; 

Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, 

But bears it out even to the edge of doom. 

 

If this be error and upon me prov’d, 

I never writ, nor no man ever lov’d.

 

Lawson recited this to me, first on our wedding day, and many times thereafter.  We aspire to this definition of love.

 

 

2018-09-08 Cincinnati

Pater Noster – Capitulum Quartum

Continued from 2018-09-07

Forgive us our trespasses:

This verse is the greatest[1] part of the Lord’s Prayer.  I go through my activities of the day, those I’m glad about (and I say “thank you”) and those I regret.  These latter events comprise the trespasses for which I seek forgiveness.

One of my best friends in med. school had a great image for getting rid of negative or otherwise destructive emotions.  “Let ‘em fall.”  My friend meditated, and I followed zir image: sitting Indian-style, hands on my knees, all the badness of my life could succumb to gravity, and just roll off my head, my shoulders, my back and front.

Wells’s and Ale’s daughter Isabel, age 4, is obsessed with the Disney movie Frozen, as are thousands of other American girls.  “Let it go,” is the theme song.  Is it the same theme?  I know not.

A typical litany of trespasses would be,

Dear God,

Please forgive me for putting myself first all day long, thinking that the world revolves around me and that I’m more important than anyone else. 

Please forgive my streak of competitiveness with HR, because she was asked to curate Mandela’s letters.  Please forgive my envy of all the Rs – N, the beautiful and fit judge, O, the witty millionaire, H, the editor, NE, the motivational speaker, L’s intelligence, Y’s future. 

Please forgive my not sending a wedding present to S&P, L&W, and anyone else I’ve forgotten.

Please forgive my not telling Courtney and Reed that Seth’s and Paula’s wedding was back “on” after telling them that it had been canceled on account of Hurricane Irene. 

Today, I ask forgiveness for my selfishness.  Please forgive my thinking about money so much. 

Please forgive all the ways I’ve hurt people, and please let me know when I hurt people so I can at least apologize and try never to do it again.  Please let them know I didn’t mean to hurt them.[2]

My soul is comforted as I feel God telling me (I sometimes hear words, in the voice of Sophia) how I am lovable, I was made for love, I am loved, and love is all that matters.  God lets me know that She made all the Rs for specific reasons and none of those reasons are why She made me the way She made me.  She made me a unique Victoria and only I can fill those shoes, just as only the Rs can fill the shoes She cobbled for them.

***
…to be continued…

2018-09-07 Cincinnati

Pater Noster – Capitulum Tertium

Continued from 2018-09-06

Who art in Heaven:

Heaven is not a place “up there,” “beyond the clouds,” “beyond the sky.”  Duh, double duh.  Then what is it?

Heaven is the place – not geographic or physical, but setting – where Love rules.  Can we have heaven on earth?  Oh yes.  Whenever Love conquers selfishness: there’s heaven.  Whenever I focus on giving rather than getting: there’s heaven.  Whenever Lawson forgives me: there’s heaven.  When I forgive Lawson: there’s heaven.

***

Hallowed be thy Name:

            With fewer than 20 phrases in The Lord’s Prayer, it’s surprising that “hallowed be thy name” would make the cut.  What does this mean to me?  I’ve similarly wondered why “Thou shalt not take the Lord’s name in vain,” would make the top ten,[1] either.

The most I can figure out from this is that we humans shouldn’t be overly confident that we have it all figured out.  Have an openness, even a respect, for that which you don’t know or don’t understand.

Thy kingdom come:

I interpret this as a plea.  I’m saying, “Please, bring your kingdom to me.”  God’s kingdom = heaven.

Thy will be done:

This reminds me that I have very little control over my life, although I wish I had control of some big things – like who would win the congressional seat in Ohio’s 2^nd District in 2006.  Obviously, I didn’t win.  Was my loss God’s will?  Perhaps.  I am not sure that there is an “intervening” God that decides certain things and “does” them.  For me, I’m reassured that my job on Earth is to do the best I can with the hands[2] I’m dealt.

I believe I have countless choices every day; I am not a puppet being controlled by an external Being.  From the small (should I turn off the lamp so I can see the night sky over the North Channel better?) to the large (should Lawson & I attend my college roommate’s daughter’s wedding in Hawaii?) to the huge (should I work fulltime and volunteer less for SOTENI?), I have the power.  I can extinguish the light, I can buy airplane tickets, I can teach SOTENI’s brand new Director to execute my current assignments and work fulltime at UC.

But, more significantly, I do not have the power to create a pleasing view of the channel, to ensure that the airplane lands safely in Honolulu, or to guarantee that SOTENI’s Director will adequately fulfill her duties.  I do not have the power to promise to wake up healthy tomorrow, much less live ‘til 94 like Mom.

Earlier today I was bemoaning the fact that I’m not Barack Obama, and then added, “But at least I wasn’t born Adolf Hitler.”

An expansion of the theme is often called the Serenity Prayer: May I have the courage to change things for the better, the patience to accept things that I cannot change, and the wisdom to know the difference. 

On Earth as it is in heaven:

This explicitly says that we can have heaven right here, right now.

Give us this day our daily bread:

For millions of years, homo sapiens and our forebearers spent almost all their time gathering, farming, and hunting for food.  Most of us now gather our food from a grocery store.  We pay for it with our labor, which has been transmogrified into money through our paid work – our jobs.

But, if we needed only food – and a safe, secure, and warm abode – for survival, how many hours would we have to work to survive?  I am not suggesting a return to a hunter-gatherer or subsistence-farming existence.  Oh no.  But I do advocate our recognizing that all we really need can be obtained in just a fraction of our time-space allotment.  And, to the extent we have excess resources, we can choose how to spend them.

***

…to be continued…

[1] An aside:

Moses came down from Mt. Sinai carrying the two tablets of commandments dictated by Yahweh.  He greets the awaiting Jews saying, “Well, I’ve got some good news and some bad news.”

“The good news first!” the Jews clamored.

“The good news is I got Him down to 10,” boasted Moses.

“Then what’s the bad news?” asked the crowd.

“He [sic] wouldn’t delete ‘adultery.’”

 

[2] Every day I am dealt a new hand, or at least a few new cards, from God.  The Big Determining Hand obviously arrived on Planet Earth October 27, 1953.  But every day my “birth-hand” has modifiers.  Today?  Lawson is sick, so I will be late for our retreat on racism and implicit [sic] bias so I can stop by the drugstore and get some loperamide to slow down his diarrhea.

2018-09-06 Cincinnati

Pater Noster – Capitulum Secundum

Continued from 2018-09-01

Father:

OK, this is a tough one.  Allow me to address two interrelated salient issues.

• The anthropomorphism of God. What human qualities does He [cf: my essay on “Ze”] have?  What is your definition of God?
• The maleness of God and why it matters.

Just as I internally modify the Nicene Creed with an unspoken “try to,” I picture a “whoever/ whatever you are” when I say “Father.”  There’s no way God is a friendly, white, possibly bearded, definitely over-sized, grandfather in the sky.  Duh.  But describing it/her/him/them is hard.  And one of the obstacles I have not yet overcome is recognizing that if I don’t believe in a God “with ears,” then how can he/she/it/they hear me?

Sometimes I conceptualize God as a big blob – shaped like the bizarre bubbles that come from super-sized wands on the beach in Santa Monica or the banks of Lake Geneva.  This blob has qualities beyond my comprehension.  It doesn’t obey Newton’s laws, follow the rules of quantum mechanics, or conform to Einstein’s theories of general or special relativity.  Just as an ant cannot comprehend how smart a human being is, I cannot conceive of the intelligence, power, or construct of God.

Could such a being be all-knowing, all-loving, and all-powerful?  Could Ze have awareness of measly me?  I don’t rule it out as a possibility, but it’s too preposterous to hang my hat on.

So, if I don’t believe in a sentient Supreme Being, why do I bother with using this appellation?  Because:

• Tradition
• I haven’t found a better metaphor.
• I do believe that there are Forces bigger/ stronger/ older/ hardier than I am, and I’m open to the possibility that the mightiest of all actually has a quality similar to consciousness/ awareness, and just maybe this consciousness/ awareness has some perception of me. I’m grateful that physicists have figured out so much about the workings of the universe, and I look forward to their continued breakthroughs.  But I expect to die before a mere mortal figures out how the Big Bang began, much less why it happened.

In addition to my “Blob” version of God, I have other formations of God:

• Sophia, as the Source of all.
• Jesus Christ, as Jesus of Nazareth.
• Jesus Christ, as my magical, perfectly-fitting, perfectly-protective flying carpet. He transports me around Planet Earth in full love, palpable comfort, and ineffable oneness with the universe (even though we never fly beyond the stratosphere).

Again, what is your conception of God?

As to the male-female thing.  There are probably books written about this, so forgive my exegesis which may be rather simplistic.

Our language is gendered.  That is, we differentiate humans on the basis of biological sex.[1]   English is actually less gendered than many languages, which give gender to inanimate objects, like hands are feminine, while feet are masculine.

When you think of “father” what images appear?  Protector.  Power.  Doer.  Provider.

“Mother?”  Loving.  Caring.  Protector.  Nurturer.

***

…to be continued…

[1] In college, my roommate’s boyfriend loved to pose hypothetical questions and taunt us with brain teasers.  Once he asked, “A father and a son were driving in the countryside and had a serious automobile accident.  The father was killed instantly.  The son sustained serious brain injuries.  An ambulance arrived and took the son to the nearest hospital.  He was rolled immediately into the operating room.  The neurosurgeon arrived, looked at the boy, and said, “I can’t operate on him.  This is my son!”

How could that be?

My embarrassing confession: it took me more than a second to figure it out.

2018-09-05 Cincinnati

Jacuzzi Agonistes

A common exercise in Values Clarification workshops is to write as many sentences as come naturally, all beginning with, “I want…”[1]

“I want a hot tub.”

I have wanted a hot tub much of the time we have lived at Interwood, where we’ve lived the past five years.  It’s not that I long for a relaxing jacuzzi every night, or crave stripping down and floating after every long day at work, or even imagine that’s where I’d like to reconnect with Lawson after every day spent apart.

I just want to partake of the conversations, singing, and otherwise connecting that a jacuzzi uniquely enables.

So what’s the problem?

The problem is I feel guilty wanting a jacuzzi.  I fear feeling guilty every time I pass the jacuzzi, attacked by an automatic and relentless thought, “I am a bad person,” complete with an imaginary slap at the back of my own hand.

How can I justify spending hundreds thousands of dollars on pleasure?  There are mothers who can’t feed their children tonight.  There are children who will die of starvation tonight.  Not just suffer.  Not just cry.  Not just wail.  But actually die.

 

 

 

[1] Are you as dumbstruck as I that human beings on planet Earth would actually need permission and somehow improve by writing “I want…” sentences?

2018-09-04 Cincinnati

The Daughter of PKs

My Mom’s father was an Episcopal priest; my Dad’s father, a Presbyterian minister.  Each of them called themselves – and each other – “PK” for “preacher’s kid.”

Each of them was also the kid of a preacher’s wife.  But they didn’t call themselves – or each other – “PWK” or in any other way allude to that similarity in their upbringing.

***

My father died a year and a half ago, and I love thinking of my 94-year-old mother still singing this, substituting “Howard Wells” for “Billy Ray.”

Son of a Preacher Man

Dusty Springfield

Billy Ray was a preacher’s son
And when his daddy would visit he’d come along
When they gathered around and started talkin’
That’s when Billy would take me walkin’
Out through the back yard we’d go walkin’
Then he’d look into my eyes
Lord knows, to my surprise

The only one who could ever reach me
Was the son of a preacher man
The only boy who could ever teach me
Was the son of a preacher man
Yes he was, he was, ooh, yes he was

Bein’ good isn’t always easy
No matter how hard I try
When he started sweet-talkin’ to me
He’d come’n tell me “Everything is all right”
He’d kiss and tell me “Everything is all right”
Can I get away again tonight?

The only one who could ever reach me
Was the son of a preacher man
The only boy who could ever teach me
Was the…

 

2018-09-03 Cincinnati

Boo-Yay

            Consider this game next time you’re gathered with a group of dear friends or even strangers.  This game foments almost as many laughs as a game of Charades or Celebrities-Plus.

One person leaves the room.  While ze is gone, the group chooses an activity the absent person must do upon returning.  For example, ze might have to kiss every guest on the cheek, but zer spouse on the lips.  Or ze might have to sit down on the floor and clap zer hands.

The person is called back.  As ze enters, the group begins to shout “Yay” as ze gets closer to the place where the activity must occur and “Boo” as ze moves in the wrong direction.  Similarly, the crowd shouts “Yay” and “Boo” as ze moves/ does/ acts more or less correctly.

I’ve played only once.  Does anyone know variations that make it more interesting?

2018-09-02 Cincinnati

Latin in Church

I hope entitling my last blog “Pater Noster” didn’t turn anyone off.  I don’t mean to be pretentious.  “Pater Noster” conjures for me my mother’s catholic respect for historic liturgy.  She’s the daughter of an Episcopal priest, high church, if you please.  High church, or “Anglo-Catholic,” refers to Episcopalians who retain elements of the Roman Catholic tradition such as using Latin in church, certainly celebrating Communion at (almost) every service, genuflection, crossing yourself, incense, etc.

Those rituals reflect a relationship with the divine leaning on respect/ awe/ possibly fear.  A representative hymn would be “Holy, holy, holy.”

Holy, holy, holy! Lord God Almighty!
Early in the morning our song shall rise to thee;
holy, holy, holy! merciful and mighty,
God in three persons, blessed Trinity!

Holy, holy, holy! All the saints adore thee,
casting down their golden crowns around the glassy sea;
cherubim and seraphim falling down before thee,
who wert and art and evermore shalt be.

Holy, holy, holy! Though the darkness hide thee,
though the eye made blind by sin thy glory may not see,
only thou art holy; there is none beside thee,
perfect in power, in love, and purity.

Holy, holy, holy! Lord God Almighty!
All thy works shall praise thy name, in earth and sky and sea;
holy, holy, holy! merciful and mighty,
God in three persons, blessed Trinity! 

Contrast this theology to the low church paradigm where (simplistically), you walk arm-in-arm with Jesus.  Jesus is your friend.  A typical hymn is “In the Garden.”

I come to the garden alone,
While the dew is still on the roses,
And the voice I hear, falling on my ear
The Son of God discloses.

(Chorus)
And He walks with me,
And He talks with me,
And He tells me I am His own.
And the joy we share as we tarry there
None other has ever known.

He speaks and the sound of His voice
Is so sweet the birds hush their singing.
And the melody that He gave to me
Within my heart is ringing.

Chorus

I’d stay in the garden with Him,
‘Tho the night around me be falling.
But He bids me go; through the voice of woe,
His voice to me is calling.

Chorus

             Weekly mass in Roman Catholic churches was usually held in Latin until ~ 1968 after the decision-makers at “Vatican II” decided the average Joe or Jane should understand what was going on during church.  My grandfather Stuart held a belief similar to the Catholics that he, as a priest, connected with God on behalf of his congregation.  In fact, his major role as “father,” was to serve us lay people as our intercessor.

As a child, my mother once complained to her father after church, “Daddy, I can’t understand what you’re saying when you’re praying.”

Grandpa Stuart answered, “I’m not talking to you.”