Colorado Sweat

After I moved to Colorado from Chicago in the fall of 2002, I would often take great delight in telling those still embedded in the great metropolis, how much nicer the weather was here. 

Not to mention that we had more mountains.

Things are changing.

Last winter, checking the nation’s weather in our local paper, I began to notice that things were not necessarily warmer and drier snuggled up against the Rocky Mountains.

I didn’t brag as much.

Now it is, without question, summer.

Again checking in the local paper, I have noted that the temperatures in Chicago are more reasonable (70s and 80s) than here (90s and an occasional 100+).

Recently there was a small item in our paper that confirmed my worst fears. It seems that summer temperatures and humidity are rising faster in my part of the country than most others (including Chicago). 

It’s that non-existent global warming thing again … only it’s not global, it’s local.

This summer, more than its nearly 14 predecessors, I find that I more frequently have to protect myself with antiperspirant and strategically placed talcum powder.

I now defend myself, as it were, from Colorado sweat.

At least we still have the mountains.

Where Do We Go From Here?

[I read this Sunday, July 3, following a spoken reflection on the value of sports (Go Broncos!) as an alternative to violence. Since then, headlines have reflected an apparently unending cycle of violence.]

 WHERE DO WE GO FROM HERE?

Until today, I was not a sports fan. My primary physical chemical is estrogen, not testosterone. And I fear that even the Broncos cannot stem the increasingly vitriolic rhetoric and the escalating violence in this country.

How do we hold on to our nascent ideal of universal rights and values? How can we stem the torrents of partisan, seemingly irrational, contention that pervades government chambers and invades our homes through robo-calls and junk emails? What do I do with the surges of anger I feel toward demagogues and the National Rifle Association? How do we move away from verbal and physical violence and return to inching toward peace and justice? Like most UUs, I look for clues in the words of great souls and thinkers.

One of those has to be Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. The title of his last book was “Where Do We Go From Here, Chaos or Community?” Never mind that it was published 48 years ago. There is probably no better question to ask right now. He had one answer – one that I think we need to read and listen to and learn from. He wrote: "The ultimate weakness of violence is that it is a descending spiral, begetting the very thing it seeks to destroy. Instead of diminishing evil, it multiplies it. Through violence you may murder the liar, but you cannot murder the lie, nor establish the truth. Through violence you may murder the hater; but you do not murder hate. In fact, violence merely increases hate. So it goes. Returning violence for violence multiplies violence, adding deeper darkness to a night already devoid of stars. Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate: only love can do that."

 ‘Only love can do that’. … How wimpy. How profound. How do we get there?

There’s another book that has clues. It’s our grey hymnal. If you open it to the beginning pages, before the first hymn, you will find a list of UU principles and an acknowledgement of the sources from which we draw those principles. It’s okay with me if you stop listening to me and read them right now. For those of you still paying attention, check out the first principle: “We affirm and promote the inherent worth and dignity of every person.” [Even demagogues I suppose.] If you scan down to the sources section, there’s this phrase: “Words and deeds of prophetic women and men which challenge us to confront powers and structures of evil with justice, compassion and the transforming power of love.”

Love again. Wimpy and profound. How do we live this?

There’s a smaller book … one of the world’s most valuable – a United States passport. I renewed mine recently. Looking through its yet un-stamped pages, I discovered quotations inconspicuously printed throughout. Of the ten individuals quoted, only one was female. The estrogen representative was Anna Julia Cooper. We used her quote when we lighted the chalice: “The cause of freedom is not the cause of a race or a sect, a party or a class – it is the cause of humankind, the very birthright of humanity.” I had never heard of Anna Julia Cooper. I looked her up. She was born in 1858, the daughter of a slave woman and her white slaveholder. After the Civil War, Anna enrolled in a school for freed slaves. She did well, teaching math part-time at age 10. Married at age 19 and widowed at 21, she enrolled in Oberlin College where she earned degrees in mathematics. She joined the faculty of a high school for African Americans in Washington, D.C. There she taught math, science and Latin (and eventually served as its principal). She was a popular public speaker, encouraging higher education for African American women … all the time working toward a doctoral degree. In 1925, at age 67, she received a doctorate from the Sorbonne having written her dissertation on “Slavery and the French Revolutionists”. . . in French. She raised two foster children and five adoptive children. From 1930 to 1941 she served as president of the Frelinghuysen University for working adults in Washington, D.C. She died in her sleep at age 105.

 I never knew any of that, but knowing all of that, I am even more moved by the quotation printed in my passport: “The cause of freedom is not the cause of a race or a sect, a party or a class – it is the cause of humankind, the very birthright of humanity.”

 And it is. And it reflects “the inherent worth and dignity of every person.” And the faith that “Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate: only love can do that."

 Hold on to those thoughts. Hold on to these truths. They are as close as we humans get to getting it right. And it is only by holding on to these truths that we can inch toward a social order based on universal rights and values.

Calendars and Contributions

They accumulate like unwanted inches around my waistline – the avalanche of requests for my contributions . . . in return for a splendid calendar … or a warm glow. 

It’s July 2016 and I am already prepared to plan the entire coming calendar year. Or would be if I filled in the 365 blank slots on my nascent collections. So much for living in the moment. 

Today was hot. My only air-conditioned room is my upstairs study. 

There, in various piles and files and folders nestled an astounding collection of missives from worthy organizations awaiting my generous donations. 

I recycled about two thirds of them. The remaining third will be pleased, I hope. It’s the best I could do. 

And the fire department can rest a little easier. There’s at least a bushel less paper awaiting spontaneous combustion. 

 But I cannot hide from the heat forever. Having cleared so many nooks and crannies I can descend my staircase assured that my checkbook and I have moved the world a little closer to paradise – or at least something a little closer to the way we/I would like it to be. 

And my cat, having almost given up hope, will finally get his dinner.

LATE BLOOMER

Today is the first day of summer. We are immersed in myriad greens. The tulips and daffodils have come and gone. The trees with fragrant pastel blossoms have slipped into lush, darker foliage, providing welcome shade. 

But if you look closely amid the shades of shade you may discover a smattering of white beauty above the roses and remaining iris. It’s the late blooming tree—the catalpa. 

If you were to examine just one of its blossoms, you would be entranced by its delicate ruffles and gold powdered center. But you probably won’t because the catalpa is too tall and its clusters of blossoms too numerous and out of reach. 

I think I’m going to make it my official tree. Like me, it is a late-bloomer. It encourages me – as I approach my dotage – to remember that beauty can be produced in any season. Even summer. 

To be honest, the catalpa isn’t purely beneficial. It grows long, slender seed pods that can clutter yards and alleys. That just makes the analogy more accurate – beauty can exist even if faults and bad habits lurk in the shadows. 

Truly, Mim’s official tree.

49 CANDLES

There were about 30 of us gathered in the century-old church, seated in wooden pews, looking toward the altar.

There were 49 candles in rainbow colors arranged on the shimmering cloth.

At the beginning of the little service, each of the 49 candles was lighted. 

Later, we walked single-file up the center aisle. Each of us blew out a candle after a name was read. Some of the names were hard to pronounce. 

The age of the victim was read with his or her name. Some of the ages were incomprehensibly young. 

Some of us had to come up a couple of times. We began to understand that 49 is an incomprehensible number.

Each time a name was read, the steeple bell was rung.

Do not ask for whom the bell tolls. It tolls for all of us.

It Takes A Village

Because I live alone, some may assume that I am self-sufficient. Hardly. 

When earlier this week, I connected with a podiatrist, it occurred to me that I have legions working on my behalf. I decided to count them. 

Here’s a list – in no particular order. Some of these help on a regular basis, some only occasionally. 
 A general practitioner *** A dentist *** An optometrist *** An oculist *** An allergist *** A naturopath *** A dermatologist *** An audiologist *** A chiropractor *** A masseuse *** A QiGong instructor *** A Pilates instructor *** A mower of lawns *** A washer of windows *** A shampoo-er of rugs *** A garden helper *** A veterinarian *** A house cleaner *** A house painter *** A handyman *** A pharmacist *** A minister *** A trimmer of trees *** A car mechanic *** A garbage collector *** A recycling collector *** A yard-waste collector *** A mailperson *** A meter-reader *** A roofer *** A plumber *** A hairstylist *** A manicurist *** An editor *** Several grocers (and, indirectly, farmers and packagers and truckers, etc.) That’s a total of 35+ -- plus a podiatrist – that’s 36+. 

 [In addition, theoretically, various elected officials are acting on my behalf] A national senator *** A state senator *** A national representative *** A state representative *** A president *** A governor *** A mayor *** A city council person *** And an assortment of law enforcement personnel 

 No one is really on their own. We are all part of an interdependent web, supporting (for the most part) each other. Probably something we should remember.

Seeing Through Silence

Everyone, it seems, is perpetually listening to something. Everyone, it seems, is permanently connected to a device transmitting music or information or some form of entertainment.

Everyone may be missing a lot.

Recently I participated in a mindfulness retreat in the tradition of the Buddhist priest Thich Nhat Hanh.

I’ve been to other such retreats. I know the drill. No talking.

No talking to your roommate/s.

No talking at meals.

No talking while walking.

And of course no talking during sitting meditation or Dharma talks. [The latter are the Buddhist equivalent of sermons.]

Try it for a day. It’s an interesting practice. At first, you may suspect you are going a bit crazy. All kinds of thoughts race around, tumbling over one another in your head – a veritable cacophony.

Stay with it. Focus on breathing – in/out, deep/slow.

The jumble of thoughts may sneak back. Keep breathing. Eventually, there will be a profound silence. And in that silence, a sense of the holy may envelope you.

Breathe it in.

Actually, you don’t have to do this for an entire day. You could find (as I did) large boulder in a mountain meadow where you can sit long enough to actually see your surroundings – see the beauty, the wonder.

Not a bad idea.