Saturday, June 23, 2012

G.A.

One great thing about being a Unitarian is that, bottom line, we believe in making this world a better place, not because we're trying to get to heaven, but rather, because many of us don't believe there is a heaven, and it's our sacred duty to do what we can right here, right now.  This is it.

Anyway, I'm in Phoenix at the UU General Assembly with a couple thousand other Unitarians, travelling with a couple other adults and eight youth.  What's amazing about this group of young people is just how kind they are toward one another.  They're checking in with us regularly, taking care of themselves and each other, and allowing themselves to be inspired by the events.  They're attending workshops and worship, laughing, being moved, and generally, getting along.  Seeing them, and hundreds of other fine youth from around the country, makes me optimistic for the future.  

There's also plenty to spoof on here as well.  Garrison Kielor would have a field day.  But I won't go there at this moment, because it feels a little wrong -- like going to a party and laughing at the hostess behind her back.  Let's just say that it's the kind of event where, after a talk by one of the foremost experts on water rights and water issues in the world, someone stands up and asks us all to stop flushing the toilet while we're here.  That sort of sums up the sweet, naive energy that is easily spoofed, but I guess I'm more in the mood to be grateful that people care that much.

There is language here, I guess its religious language, and it feels awkward to me.  Rather than going to a street party, we had a "community celebration with our partners".  This evening, we're going to "bear witness"  at Tent City, an outdoor encampment of people being held by Immigration and Customs Enforcement.  It's currently about 110 degrees outside, and people are being held in un-airconditioned tents in the desert for the crime of moving to the U.S. to be with the rest of their family, or for economic opportunity.

When my ancestors moved here escaping the potato famine, they were greeted on Ellis Island by the Statue of Liberty.  It's a whole different deal now.  We aren't so excited about the huddled masses, yearning to breathe free anymore.  Two people die each day crossing the desert to get into this country, and volunteers who leave water out for immigrants are arrested for littering.  And the wall, oh, don't even get me started.  But it's heartening to hear from groups who organize volley ball games across the border, using the wall as a net.  People who are taking big risks to save lives.

At any rate, I hope it goes well this evening, and youth aren't overwhelmed by the injustice of humans being held in such inhumane conditions.  I hope counter-protesters don't show.  There are rumors circulating that the detainees will be moved before our vigil.

Our youth are keeping a sense of humor through it all.  Some of them are hoping to have dinner at Hooter's first, to bear witness, first-hand to the obectification of women.  They're quick and funny, and have caught on to how people can claim religious language to justify just about anything. 

Okay, standing at a cyber cafe, surrounded by people wearing shirts that say "Standing on the Side of Love", which, according to Bill Sinkford, is our location.

Peace.
Betsy


Thursday, June 14, 2012

The End of the Rat Race


First week off and so far, so good.  I’m not writing nearly as much as I had imagined.  For a long time now, like 20 years, I’ve been too busy to manage my house and it’s environs, so there are little situations everywhere that represent something that’s eventually supposed to happen.  Half-completed knitting projects, mosaics, disorganized art supplies, garden projects.  Things that were almost too depressing to look at, because you don’t want to abandon them – giving up, and all that it means.  

But on the other hand, the projects never start where you think they should.  You see a half-completed knitting project, for example, and can’t just pick it up and begin to knit, marching steadily toward a beautiful new sweater. It’s more like, pick it up, try to remember what it was going to be, untangle the yarn that’s gotten married to three other half-baked projects, try to locate the pattern or at least remember where you were headed – was it going to be a sock, or a hat, or a blanket for some baby who’s surely grown up by now?  Try to remember why you stopped.  Was it simply a lack of time, or was there a fatal flaw?  Did that person break up with you before you finished the hat?  Locate the rest of the yarn you need, and the proper needles.  

This stuff is frustrating when you only have a tiny bit of time, because you get to the part of having everything assembled, and the bell rings -- time’s up, and the next time you get back to it, you have to start all over again. 

But now that I've got nothing but time as far as the eye can see, I’m all about pulling the couch out and vacuuming behind it, picking the slugs from my garden one by one and tossing them into the tall grass where they breed and send their babies back to the garden, making fresh rhubarb muffins for breakfast in the morning, creating lists of things I’ve always wanted to do that I might actually have time for now, like learn to play piano, grow trees from scratch, make flash cards of stuff I want to memorize, revisit the Dewey Decimal System, read more, knit hats for everyone I know, spend time with friends, take care of their babies, learn why worms don't care when the compost pile gets hot, create more with paper mache, build a scarecrow, sort the beads by color, hang out with Todd's puppy, read about crows, revise my whole iPod system, answer the phone when it rings instead of hiding under the desk, swim in the lake every day, ride my bike, build a beautiful yet functional deer fence, do yoga, hike, gather food, write write write… oh, yeah, and look for work.  

My last week at the job was the kind that made me so ready to be done.  On my last day in the Permit Center, a guy comes in, and he looks like a washed up professional wrestler.   I learn later that indeed, he is.  Kind of meaty but flabby, and missing a bunch of teeth. Strangely, he had the four in the front, but none in the back.  I don’t know much about wrestling, but you must get hit more on the side than in the front?  (And in a weird coincidence that I won't elaborate on here, one of the other regular developers who's also missing teeth, but the front ones, also came in to the P. Center at the same time.  Two big guys, who, between them, had only one full set of teeth. Right?)

“I want to know if there are wetlands on this parcel.”

I pull it up on the computer, and see that it’s within a city’s jurisdiction.  “I’m sorry, you’ll have to contact the city.”

“No, they sent me here.”

I never know what to say when people do that.  It’s definitely not true.  Like, you go to your hairdresser and say, “My faucet is dripping.” And the hairdresser says, “Yeah, you’ll have to contact a plumber.”  

And the person says, “Yeah, I went to the plumber, and they said to seek out a hairdresser…” You know it’s a lie, but how do you get it so you both agree on that? 

“Hmm, I’m not sure why they’d send you to the County.  We don’t issue permits for properties within the City limits, and they have their own regulations regarding wetlands, and we don’t assist with that.”

“Well, they said to come ask you if there are any wetlands on the property.”

What that would be like is, “Hey fox, why don’t you run over to the farm next door and see if they have any rules about eating chickens, and come back and tell us what you learned.  And whatever they tell you, we’ll honor, and not do any fact checking.”  But I can’t say that to him.  Maybe because he’s a professional wrestler, or maybe because it’s my last week and I feel oddly weepy, like if I tangle with him at all, it will end up weird.

 “Well, I can tell you what the inventory shows, but it’s nearly 30 years old, and isn’t considered very complete or accurate.”  I pull up the layer, and it doesn’t show any wetlands.  I give my little disclaimer spiel, “this doesn’t mean that there aren’t wetlands, but just that, with the cursory inventory effort that was conducted in the 1980’s using aerial photographs, none were identified, blah blah blah.”

“Yeah, you’re wrong.  It shows as wetland on iMap.”  He’s getting belligerent, and I’m in that short fuse part of my last week, like, really?  I have to take this, and then be unemployed?  Not to bore you too much, but iMap is just a different path to the same data.  Like, let's say you went down aisle 3 to get to the dairy section, and I went down aisle 2.  If there’s no half and half, it isn’t going to appear just because we back up and go through aisle 3 to get there.   But I do it, because I’m in the habit of placating the haters.  I open iMap, and it doesn’t show a wetland.  I go through the disclaimer spiel again, which, to be candid, represents a cross between being thorough and being passive aggressive. 

He gets really angry now.  “It showed as wetland on my computer at home.  Do I need to print that out and bring it to you?  Huh?  Is that what you're gonna make me do?”

I’m thinking, nope, I’m pretty sure I don’t need anything at all from you.  I want to give him a metaphoric scenario:  'Look, it’s like you called me as a wrong number, and now you want to show me the scrap of paper you were reading from when you misdialed. Um, really, you can just hang up.'  But I don't.  And since this is in person, where I can get a good view of the areas in his mouth where teeth should be, there is no hanging up.  

“Uh, no, I don’t really think that’s necessary.  Your question was, in the 1980's, did King County think there was a wetland on this property?  The answer is no.”  I try to have that definitive, move along buddy tone in my voice, but he's having none of it.

“No we’re not done here.  When I look this up at home, it shows up as orange.   Now I come all the way here and you tell me it’s not a wetland.” 

I can't tell if I'm just irritable in general, or if he's irritating, or if it's my inappropriate prejudice towards the untoothed, or if it's his aggressive behavior.  “Hmm.  What did the legend say orange meant? It sounds like you had another layer turned on.”

“Well, I assume it would be wetlands.  What else would it be?”

How do you move off the dime with someone like this?  I wish I could say I had been patient, and carefully turned on the 300 plus layers, one at a time, to see what made the parcel turn orange, and helped him interpret that, but I just didn’t have it in me. “Maybe you could go look at it on your computer, and then look at the legend to see what orange means.  I don’t know offhand.”

“Fine,” he says angrily, as he stalks out.  

I go back to my desk, and retrieve a voice mail that goes something like this:

FIRST YOU MADE ME PLANT TREES, AND THEN YOU PLOWED THEM ALL DOWN.  YOU NEED TO GET OUT HERE RIGHT AWAY AND YOU CAN PAY FOR THE REPLACEMNTS.  AND PLANT THEM.  CALL ME.  IMMEDIATELY."

I do, I call her right back and leave a message:  “I'm not sure exactly what you’re talking about, but apparently you’re under the impression that I’ve damaged some trees on your property?  You might want to call my boss, because this is my last day…" 

I check my e-mail and see one from my attorney, saying that the guy who keeps trying to sue me is appealing the state supreme court’s dismissal of the case, and is continuing to try to sue me personally.  

Anyway, it’s fun to be off leash right now, and I’m hoping there’s enough fear of living under a bridge to propel me into action.  I can't tell if I'm more terrified of jumping into the rat race again, or living under the bridge. Okay, true confessions:  at this very moment, I'd choose living under the bridge.


Sunday, June 10, 2012

Horoscopes: the Disturbing Scientific Discoveries Edition

I was looking at an article in the Smithsonian about the most disturbing scientific discoveries of all time, and thought, huh, now there's some horoscope material...

Aries (3/21 – 4/19): The Earth is not the center of the universe.  Some of these discoveries, while at first disturbing, become business as usual after a few prison terms and a long, long time, like 400 years (if you're Catholic).  Aries, we don't have 400 years.  Join up, and keep gracefully orbiting around whatever seems deserving.  Don't worry about whether it's the actual center of anything.

Taurus (4/20 – 5/20):  The microbes are gaining on us.  They evolve so rapidly, Taurus.  But can't we evolve too?  Or at least try to get along with the microbes?  Why must we annihilate everything?  This week, evolve quickly, try to get along, eat locally, speak your truth with an open heart.  Don't worry too much about whether penicillin is effective -- something's gonna get you, whether it's that bus that's hurtling towards you, a resistant strain of tuberculosis, or a bad attitude.

Gemini (5/21 – 6/21):  There have been mass extinctions in the past, and we’re probably in one now.  Wow, it's harder than I thought to make horoscopes out of this stuff.  Like, hey, have a great week, we're all going down!  But try to do just that.  As Hemingway said, "you lose, of course.  The point is how you conduct yourself while you're being destroyed."  Chin up, Gemini.

Cancer 6/22 – 7/21:  Things that taste good are bad for you.  The theory is that historically, humans needed to quickly grab food with lots of salt, sugar, carbs because that stuff was was scarce and easily stored.  Now, it's not scarce at all, but we have those preferences embedded, leading to a rise in popup ads that say, "lose belly fat instantly!"  (Is that a shameless way to draw readers to this blog? Yes, it is.) But Cancer, we can learn to love stuff that doesn't taste great at first, like IPA, for example, and coffee.  I for one don't find this a very disturbing discovery.  Carry on your merry way.  Eat kale.

Leo (7/23 – 8/22):  E=mc².  The disturbing thing here, according to the article, is that when the constant is squared, and that constant is the speed of light, well, even the smallest multiplier creates a bucketload of energy.  I'm not disturbed, Leo.  Are you?  I think that was just a way for the Smithsonian to make you feel smart.  Like, "oh, right, I know that formula.  Einstein, right?  Yeah, I totally knew that."  But if anyone has a bucketload of energy, send some my way, wouldja?

Virgo (8/23 – 9/22):  Your mind is not your own.  Is this even disturbing?  I don't think it really is.    What I think is disturbing, though, is this, which won't come as a surprise to any of you, but seriously.  Sabbotaging the economy sounds sterile and impersonal, but what it boils down to is greedy people messing with the financial lives of lots of hard-working people.  Right?  Now that is disturbing.  But, because you're you, Virgo, I'll follow that up with two pieces of good news:  Brandi Carlisle's new album is awesome, and Slate has started a new podcast about language!  Check it out!

Libra (9/23 – 10/22):  We’re all apes.  I for one find this exciting.  We're all evolving constantly in large and small ways, or at least we wish we were, or could if we gave in to it.  What's disturbing is that my podiatrist iintends to cut me off from the steroid injections, because he believes I've had my fill.  It's hard to understand why that didn't get in the article, Libra.  The more obvious disturbing thing here, though, is that I even have a podiatrist.  I know!

Scorpio (10/23 – 11/21):  Cultures throughout history and around the world have engaged in ritual human sacrifice.  Did you hear The Moth podcast this week?  Rachel Dratch talks about going on a date with a guy who mentions that he wonders what human flesh tastes like.  That's taking curiousity to new and creepy levels, Scorpio.  Stay curious, but sheesh.

Sagittarius (11/22 – 12/21):  We’ve already changed the climate for the rest of this century.  Yikes.  I think this is the scariest one.  There's gonna be a lot of suffering this century, Sagittarius.  Be kind.  Share what you have.  Give freely.  Come to me for salt, which I have lots of.  Oh, and a hat. I can make hats.

Capricorn (12/22 – 1/19):  The universe is made of stuff we can barely begin to imagine.  The uncanny thing here, Capricorn, is that your week will be made up of precisely that.  Forget the normal stuff, like Tuesdays and laundry and walking the dog.  Stuff you can barely begin to imagine will happen.  Hang on.

Aquarius (1/20 – 2/18):  John Edwards was flirting with the alternate juror.  Yeah, that wasn't in the article, but still...   A fatal flaw is a fatal flaw; you don't just get to turn it off because you're on trial, even if it is super awkward.  Don't let the fear of being awkward stop you, this week, Aquarius.  Just move along your merry way.


Pisces (2/19 – 3/20):  The purported wonders of pomegranite juice don't hold up to rigorous scientific scrutiny.  But that's no reason to stop loving it, Pisces, and maybe discovering super natural powers that it may actually possess.   In fact, so much doesn't hold up to scrutiny, but don't give up on stuff.

Tuesday, June 5, 2012

I'll be back. . .

I've been busy creating this, and other tasks related to commanding the wolf to step back a few feet from the door.

But I do want to invite all of you to a special storytelling workshop this Sunday from 2:30 - 4:30 at the Woodinville Unitarian Universalist Church.  It's going to be really fun, and we'll learn more about telling stories and coaching the stories out of our loved ones, and it's free, and Jeannie Yandel will be leading it.

AND, I plan to make brownies, which will also be free, and with any luck, some of the Tent City residents will join us and we'll have a chance to hear some really interesting stuff.

Please come if you can.

I'm excited to report that the author Celeste Ng has selected m y modern love essay to read for the Modern Love podcast next week. Suc...