What are the alternatives?

I feel a little dumb asking this question, but if it's been answered in the news media or other sources, I've missed it.

I am among the many who deplore the massive collection of data by the NSA and the lack of transparency which accompanies that collection.  We knew dimly that it might be taking place, as a result of the Patriot Act of a decade ago, and we are divided on whether Edward Snowden acted courageously or traitorously.

My question is "what is the alternative to cybersnooping, collection of data from all Americans in an effort to uncover terrorist activities which will harm the American people?"  I have heard only the dismay and anger caused by this action by our government agencies and nothing about alternatives which might be used instead.

How are we to protect our nation in this cyberage?  How else might we discover the sources of harm to our people?  We deplore the diminishment of privacy for all American citizens, but what is the alternative?

I strongly believe that, in order to protest effectively, we need to advance better alternatives to the objectionable actions we deplore.

I am interested in your thoughts.

Tsunami Thoughts

So, according to the latest information, in this idyllic beach town of Gearhart, Oregon, there is NO PLACE which can escape The Big One.  At least within a walking distance of 15 minutes.  "The Big One", you may recall, is an earthquake of 9.1 or so on the Cascadia fault which will cause serious structural damage and a lot of chaos.  "They" say that The Big One is inevitable, it's been 300 years since the last one and that's about the length of time in between earlier Big Ones.  So any day now, obviously. 

It's why I go to bed at night with the prayer "please God help me cope if anything happens", and wondering if I would have the fortitude to leave the cats shut up in their room while I walk out the door with my gallon of water and suitcase full of supplies.

Tsunami preparation requires a whole lot of forethought about proper preparation, and it's not just the decisions about which clothes to take, the nonperishables and water, the sleeping bag and rain fly, the campstove and fuel.  It's about my capacity to lug all the stuff they recommend, about my capacity to leave my cats behind because I can't possibly get them in cages AND carry them in addition to everything else, about my interest in … in…  in what?  Living?  Starting over? 

This boils down to, of course, my thoughts about death and life.  It's a theological issue that I've had to put front and center many times over the years, with congregants who are on the far edges of their lives, with survivors, with kids who've lost a parent, with terminal patients who want to end their lives.  And, of course, with myself.

If I felt the ground move, if I felt the earth shudder in an immense tremor, if I knew in my rational mind that I had only 15 minutes to get my stuff together and move quickly to high ground, what would I do?  I will not have time for rational decisions on the spot.  I need to have those decisions made in advance:  grab my supplies and go?  or stay and go down with the cats?

I've joked around with friends and family about it.  I've said, "darlings, I've lived a full and satisfying life.  I may just walk west, instead of trying to outrun the tsunami."  They don't know if I'm really joking or if I'm serious.  I don't know either.

These recent revelations about the chances of anyone in Gearhart surviving a 9.1 tsunami are sobering, to say the least.  We'd have to run for over a mile east in order to escape those waves.  I don't know if I could do it, particularly if I'm trying to lug all the supplies that they advise we collect.  How are any of us single, older women supposed to do that? 

And what's so bad about ending one's life in the ocean?  I can certainly think of worse ways to go.  I don't like the idea of washing up on shore dead and creeping out some rescuer, but maybe the fish and birds would get to me first.  Not such a terrible way to go.  Green, for sure.  But maybe hard on loved ones who have to decide about the memorial service when they don't have a body.

I've said I need to have these decisions made before the earthquake hits.  But in the moment, I may act on instinct, rather than rationality.  To make my best effort to survive makes a lot of sense.  But to leave the cats behind because I can't save them----that bothers me more than the Big One.

Tsunami thoughts prelude

From the Seaside Signal, a local newspaper: 

"... the Gearhart City Council last week learned from Smith that residents have almost no place to run.
In fact, Gearhart has something that no other coastal town has: an “optional high ground assembly area.”
It’s a stretch of higher ground at the Gearhart Golf Links that, in 95 percent of the tsunamis, stays dry. It might stay dry in a large tsunami, but in an extra, extra large tsunami – where the magnitude of the Cascadia earthquake reaches 9.1 – even that wouldn’t be available, Smith said.
The new tsunami map for Gearhart, shows that “optional” assembly point as a crosshatched strip running along either side of the golf course and bordered by Gearhart Lane and Highlands Lane.
But, overall, “Gearhart doesn’t really have any good options for high ground,” Smith told the Gearhart City Council last week.
“The city of Gearhart is really at a disadvantage,” Smith said.
In a distant tsunami, water would surge up to U.S. Highway 101 south of Fifth Street, surrounding Gearhart Elementary School. Water also is expected to follow Neacoxie Creek throughout town, north to Gearhart Lane.
The worst case – or an “extra-extra large” tsunami, which would occur after a magnitude 9.1 earthquake — is expected to stretch way beyond U.S. Highway 101, past the end of Salminen Road, where the city’s water tank is located.
Another narrow crosshatched “optional high ground” strip runs east of Dooley Lane north beyond East Pine Lane, but that strip is only a potential oasis in the middle of a tsunami sea. And that’s only in a “large” tsunami, not in the worst case, Smith pointed out.
After listening to Smith, City Councilor Al Carder asked her what the likelihood would be that someone would reach the “optional” area near the golf course.
“If they’re on the west side of the Neacoxie, their access and egress is going to be gone,” Carder said. “We’re toast. We’re toast.”
Smith said she understood Carder’s concern.
“Yes, I can’t sugarcoat it,” she said. “It’s dire if (the tsunami) is an XXL. There will be a lot of fatalities in this area.”"

Stay tuned for my thoughts about this very personal threat.

Minister in Residence

Ever since I agreed to serve the little Pacific UU Fellowship by doing pastoral care as needed plus a sermon every month or so, for a small honorarium, I've been puzzling about what we should call this kind of ministry.

It's not really consulting ministry, it's not exactly part-time (or rather, it is extremely part-time and not anywhere near equivalent to what a quarter-time minister would do), I certainly won't ask for the kind of contract I've had in other, truly part-time/consulting ministries, and so there is a dearth of names for the ministry I'm offering.

As I've thought about what I'm really offering to this small bunch of committed folks, I realized that perhaps the greatest thing I'm doing is being present.  I live here.  I don't visit for a long weekend into which multiple meetings and classes and services must get crammed.  If a pastoral emergency arises, I don't have to drive for hours to see to it; if there is a congregational event, koffee klatch, crisis, I'm present, I'm a resident of the community.

Because I'm a longtime "church-lady" type (thank you, Sarah Schurr for that name), I go to church every Sunday.  I'm present at the door saying hi to folks as they arrive, I'm there during coffee hour and the monthly potluck, I bring refreshments when it's my turn, I pledge, I sing with the PUUF "Fab Five".  I'm present.

One of the things I learned at a visceral level during seminary, particularly during my Clinical Pastoral Education unit and my internship, is that my presence (probably ought to use a capital P) is my most valuable contribution.  Even if I can only hold a hand, even if the person is still going to feel sick, sad, deeply pained, even if I can't change a thing, my presence is valuable.

So it occurred to me to borrow from the Arts community, which uses the term "in residence" to describe visiting artists, writers, actors, and musicians; I will be PUUF's Minister in Residence.  For as long as I can.

What comes around goes around...

and I got caught in that whirlpool a week or so ago.  I cringed as I heard from my favorite family member how I had hurt him awhile back by criticizing him at a hard time in his life.  I'd spoken without thinking:  oh, you shouldn't have done that! I'd said, not remembering how it had felt to me decades ago when my own mother was critical of me over religious issues.

I was the family apostate when I was younger.  I still am, I guess, as I have jettisoned much of my childhood faith while others have stayed staunchly traditional in their religious beliefs.  But I deeply resented my mother's efforts to tell me I was wrong and I avoided communication with her on all but the most superficial level for a long time.

If she was going to criticize, I was going to withdraw.  I'd avoid going to visit, I'd stop sharing the joys in my life, I'd throw away the "helpful" articles and disregard all her advice.  So there, Mom!  Take that!

My folks mostly avoided criticizing me, but I knew they worried about my behavior---my love life, my religion, the way we were raising our child.  When my dad died, my mom lost the anchor that had kept her from being cautious with her words.  And when she had recovered a bit from her grief, she turned her sights on me.

I knew she was doing it out of her love for me, but I couldn't tolerate the envelopes thick with clippings from various religious magazines, the leading questions about what I believed, the frequent mention of the prayers she sent heavenward in hopes that I would be repentant and return to the fold.

Eventually my sister told her to quit.  "It's not helping, Mom" she said bluntly.  "You'll just drive her away."  And my mom, to her credit, quit bugging me.

Before she died, my mother and I had reached equilibrium and could share our lives on a much better level, but I had never had the courage to discuss with her what had made me so angry with her.

I must have done something right with my favorite person, as he did have the courage to tell me what I'd done to hurt him.  I couldn't hear it at first; it took me awhile to remember and acknowledge what I'd done.  But he persisted and I'm grateful.

During the period of reflection which followed our conversation, I came to realize something very important:  I am no longer responsible for the choices he makes.  That's not my job.  That's his job and he does it pretty well.  I may not like all his choices, but that's okay.  I don't have to like them all.  But I do have to let go of any sense of responsibility for them.  He can handle them just fine and if he ever wants to ask what I think, I know he will do that.  When and if he does, I will listen and offer my thoughts.  But criticism is only hurtful.  I just hope I can always remember that!

Where is my chalice? and the candle? and the...

other accoutrements of ministry?  I unearthed my tattered copy of the grey hymnal and its mates, the teal one and the explanatory one, but I couldn't find the tallow-bedecked porta-chalice which I always use at "away" teaching gigs.  "Away" means, of course, not at my home congregation, not using my home congregation's chalice and other worship aids.

But now the Pacific UU Fellowship IS my home congregation and its chalice and candles are upstairs in the sanctuary and awkward to carry down to the fellowship hall, where I will be teaching UU 101 for the first time to this congregation.  I hadn't expected to get back into ministry activities so soon, but when six or seven new members showed up and were welcomed in without knowing a lick about Unitarian Universalist history, theology, or anything else, I volunteered to teach the class.  And that's today.

I have no idea what has happened to my own set of worship aids, but I suspect that when I packed up for my move last summer, they either were donated to the Whidbey folks or stored so deeply that they just haven't surfaced yet.  I wasn't thinking clearly about what I might need in the future.  I think I assumed that I would never need them again and so it didn't matter where I left them.  Folly!

I couldn't even find my packet of UU101 materials and have had to recreate them from a folder on my laptop which still existed.  Luckily, dear Mavis at UUCWI had made jpgs of some of them, so I have a copy of each document we used there.  Whew!  Thank you, Mavis!

We have ten people signed up for this UU 101 session and I just hope we have enough chili to feed everyone plus any visitor who decides to stay this afternoon.  The session will be held right after the worship service, starting with lunch and the sharing of spiritual journeys before we get into the nuts and bolts part of the session.

I am looking forward very much to teaching this class, but it makes me very aware of the danger of stepping on toes when doing things differently from how they've always been done.  Fortunately, so far I have managed to walk the tightrope between tradition and innovation and haven't fallen off onto some sacred cow.  We'll see how today goes.

The contrast between this tiny fellowship of 30 members and my former congregation of 100+ members is dramatic, but that ancient bugaboo of all institutions remains:  a handful of people do all the work.  

A thrilling moment in time...

Yesterday's momentous and historic marriage of my friends Dave Bieniek and Ervin Knezek, at Freeland's Trinity Lutheran Church by the Rev. Jim Lindus, brought back to me one of the most exciting and meaningful times of the whole Marriage Equality campaign, the Town Hall meeting with Senator Mary Margaret Haugen of District 10, who had come to Whidbey to listen to her constituents about the issues that concerned them.

The hall was packed for the 2 p.m. Saturday meeting, about a year ago, and early topics included education, ferry policies, budgetary issues.  But the hall's occupants were largely gay and lesbian citizens who had come to ask her to be the 25th "yes" vote on legislation before the Senate which would give all loving couples the right to marry, regardless of gender.

I had scribbled a few notes because it felt important, as the UU minister in town, to make a religious statement about the issue.  I didn't know if there would be detractors or other ministers opposing marriage equality, but I wanted to support my friends in the gay/lesbian community.  So when the topic arose, I asked to be recognized and stood to speak.  The response from the gathered body was unexpected and gratifying.  See the video here:  http://www.streamica.com/#v/p2pD1W9uVbg
Senator Haugen, later in the legislative session, did become the 25th senator to sign onto the legislation, which became law, was challenged, survived a referendum vote in November 2012, and became Washington State Law.

Yesterday, at the wedding, I sat in tears remembering the long years of hard work by the Religious Coalition for Equality, of which I was a charter member, Equal Rights Washington, Pride Foundation, Human Rights Campaign, Washington United for Marriage, PFLAG and others.  We managed to get legislation okaying domestic partnerships, increasing those initial benefits to full-marriage-type benefits, and then to a bill signed by our governor Chris Gregoire authorizing marriage equality in the state.  It was, of course, challenged by its opponents, but Referendum 71 passed a state-wide vote in November 2012 and became the law of the state.

So as I sat in the Trinity Sanctuary, my tears were joyful and reverent.  The men and women who packed the house yesterday afternoon were there to celebrate Dave and Ervin's marriage, of course, but also to celebrate Hope, hope that perhaps the bad old days of ridicule and shame and secretiveness and fear were receding into the past, that anyone in that room now might have this civil right and privilege to marry the partner they loved so dearly.

I felt pleased that I had been part of this grand design and when the two young women sitting next to me introduced themselves and I spoke my name, they recognized me from the town hall meeting.  What a thrill to find that my words that day had meant so much to them, had perhaps turned the tide for Senator Haugen, and had left a lasting impression on Whidbey's bglt community.  It made the wonderful day of this marriage even sweeter.

And when Rev. Lindus spoke those final, cementing words "by the power invested in me by the state of Washington, I pronounce you partners for life", the tears on my face were of awe and wonderment that this day had truly arrived.

Now, on to Oregon where the issue of marriage equality will likely be on the ballot in November 2013. 

The Re-Call to Ministry

When I retired from my ministry at the UU Congregation of Whidbey Island after 9 years of satisfying and useful service to those lovely folks eight months ago, I had in mind to wait a couple of years before I offered to be helpful to the lovely folks at the local UU fellowship in Astoria.  I was pretty sure I needed to really wind down, have fun, make new friends outside the UU community, and distance myself from ministry for a good long time. 

Maybe I'd never go back.  Maybe I'd really served my call and the Power Beyond Human Power would let me be.  I'd done various kinds of ministry for almost fifty years by that point, assuming it's okay to count my four previous careers (welfare caseworker, home missionary, junior high school teaching and school counseling) as ministries of sorts.  Maybe it would be most satisfying to be involved with non-human-services as a volunteer, for a change.

Maybe.  Or maybe not.

I've lived here in Gearhart for almost six months now, enjoying every minute of it, making new friends, getting involved with the local Land Conservancy, going to presentations about the coastal environment, walking the beach, joining the locals at the little bakery in town for Saturday morning coffee, taking classes in the community college's seniors division, and going for hikes with the hiking club.  I have even been keeping company with a very nice man, to some extent, and experiencing the joy of being with a man who is not off-limits.

And every Sunday I'd get up, dust off one of my Sunday outfits, and go to church at PUUF, aka Pacific UU Fellowship.  I've known this congregation for a long time and have preached there several times over the years.  It's a strong little group, very informal and mom-and-pop-ish, but good leadership, good UU identity, very active in the community's social justice work.  And no minister, over the years, except for one experiment with a setup whereby a UU colleague came for a long weekend every month and crammed in as much ministry as possible in a few days or, in another setup,  a colleague would visit one Sunday a month for preaching services only.  Other Sundays were covered by lay leaders and other visiting speakers, primarily UU colleagues.  They did their best with their resources and their contacts within UUism and have provided meaningful worship for members and friends for several years.  But they had no pastoral care available and several members whose health and lives were getting iffy.   But for awhile,  I was happy just to sit in the pew and be served.  For several months, at least.

My first clue that the ministry seed had not gone totally dormant was shortly after Christmas when a traditionally low-attendance service turned out to have quite a lot more people present than expected and the plan to just sit and talk casually over coffee wasn't going to be enough for the 30 or so who showed up.  I found myself unable to keep from throwing a conversational gambit on the table and encouraging people to take part.  I was almost embarrassed that it came so easily and I worried that I was being inappropriate.  But nobody seemed to mind and everyone seemed to enjoy a more directed conversation. 

It made me think.  It made me wonder how long I was going to try to suppress the ministry seed, because it was clear from that moment on that it wasn't dormant any longer.  I started thinking about whether the congregation might be interested in my help at some point---maybe an occasional sermon, maybe a little pastoral care.  Oh, and maybe a couple of coffee klatches, like I'd done on Whidbey to reach members who lived at quite a distance from the meetinghouse.  And gee, there were several new members---maybe I could offer a new members class.

You're getting the picture, I'm sure.  Eventually I wrote out an actual proposal, bounced some ideas off our DE and another colleague who had been coming once a month for a few years to preach and was ready to lessen her involvement, and I presented my proposal (with many caveats about not wanting to work very hard) to members of the leadership.

To make a long story short, in March I will begin officially offering pastoral care, a membership class, and maybe those coffee groups, for a small monthly stipend.  In September, I'll add preaching once a month for an additional stipend.  PUUFers are thrilled and so am I.

Maybe I'll even have something to write about at Ms. Kitty's again!

What the "Christmas Season" means to me these days

I've been thinking a lot, during these weeks of Christmas fervor, about what Christmas means to me, not only now that I'm not in active ministry but also now that I am a UU, a "scientist", a theologian, a scholar, in my thinking.  I've been trying to discern just what Christmas actually means to ME, not the hyped up portrayals of "the Christmas spirit" or the "giving season" or the legends and stories associated with the season.

What are my Christmas habits?  I no longer give extravagant gifts to family members; I don't decorate the house; I don't increase my charitable giving except with the donations I make to selected charities in my siblings' names.  I don't go shopping in busy places.  I don't worry about what gifts I might get.  I am always very happy on Dec. 26 that the season is over and we have a week of relative quiet before the new year begins.

What do I believe about Christmas, now that I know that Jesus undoubtedly wasn't born on Dec. 25, that the legends that surround his birth, life, and death are mostly romantic stories designed to put forth various doctrinal agendas, that the actual history around his birth, as best it can be discovered, has been subsumed by the cultural need to dress it up in miraculous terms.  What do I actually believe?

I believe the things I know to be true, true by rational standards such as critical thinking, scientifically gained knowledge.  I am skeptical about hyped-up dramas about giving or miraculous events or "wonder" or the value of maintaining the Santa fiction for children.  I resist looking at red and green and gold decor in the stores; I don't want to hear carols on loudspeakers; I don't want to hear or read sappy mawkish writings about Christmas spirit, though I must admit there are a few that tickle me or put a lump in my throat.

Yet I don't feel like Scrooge.  This time of year is precious to me and it has nothing to do with a doctrinally-induced religious season.  It is precious and even sacred to me because of what the earth is doing, what human beings are experiencing, what the tide is bringing up on the shore, where the birds are going, how the constellations wheel in the night sky.  It matters deeply to me that the sun sets early and rises late, because that's true, a faithful repetition of nature's patterns that we can count on.

It matters to me that the rains and snows come because they represent the season we're cycling through; I don't need constant sunshine nor do I resent the water in the air and the slush on the roads (unless I have to drive in dangerous conditions!).  I like it that the leaves have left the trees and are rotting on the ground.  That's the way it's supposed to be, according to the winter season.  I like it that we have weird weather at the times of seasonal change; it's like nature's adolescence as it readies for the next stage of earth's life.

For me, the earth is the sacred story.  Its rhythms and processes and regeneration are the miracles, the dependable, eternal faithfulness that no home-made deity can reproduce.  The earth has taught humankind everything we know, from how to survive in harsh conditions to the most intellectually difficult imaginings of the theoretical scientists.  We learned it all from studying the world around us and applying what we learned to our dreams.

More valuable to me than all the lessons and carols, the lights and the merrymaking, the giving and the receiving of gifts, is the chance to be still, to witness the earth moving as the stars revolve, to be part of the grand cotillion of the universe as it wheels throughout space and time.

My small human life is expanded by this experience and I offer to the universe my contributions:  walking along the tide line and seeing the new gifts of the sea, gathering friends for a meal and conversation, giving tenderness to those I meet and receiving their warmth in return.  These times are real.  They mean something true.  This is the meaning of the season for me.

Conversations and the significance of Nov. 18.

My dad, Merritt Bernhardt Ketcham, was born in Missouri on this date in 1907, so he would be 105 today.  He died way too young, before he had a chance to meet his grandson Michael Gilmore or granddaughter Susanna Martin, my sister's daughter, though his death in 1970 meant that he had time with his first grandchild, Joel Martin.  He would have enjoyed knowing Tennyson Ketcham, my brother's daughter, born several years after his death.  Happy Birthday, Daddy, wherever you are.  Your spirit remains with us.

Saturday mornings, if I feel I can afford the carb splurge, I stop by the local bakery/coffee shop on my beach loop walk.  It's about 10 minutes from my house and only open during the off-season on Saturday and Sunday mornings.  I had the good fortune to be introduced to this local gathering spot by a new friend, Pat, who is a longtime resident.  We met there for coffee shortly after we connected at a North Coast Land Conservancy event and have been meeting there almost every Saturday morning ever since.

Yesterday, I got there a little early and took a seat among these new acquaintances, chiming in on the conversation occasionally.  It was all guys when I got there and I've noticed that conversations tend to change when women show up, but I like hearing the things men talk about (if not locker-room type stuff), so I asked a few questions about the topic (the non-existence of frost heaves at the coast) and learned a few things in the process.

After awhile, I heard a couple of guys at the next table talking about something interesting; a guy I didn't know was telling his friend the geologist (whom I did know) that what he was learning about rocks and geologic time was making him wonder about the theology of his Missouri Synod Lutheran congregation.  At a lull in the conversation, the geologist guy introduced me to the MSL guy and I joined them.

This led to a sharing of stories about our experiences growing up in various churches and the events that had brought us to the current religious (or non-religious) place we are today.  It was rich and revealing and I've been thinking about it ever since.

I notice that many times my best conversations are with men.  For sure that was true yesterday.  I often have good conversations with women as well, but they are different.  We have different topics---relationships, news about each other, our creative efforts, our personal lives.  With men, I've noticed that the topics are often about technology, science, and, of course, sports.  I can hold my own with science and technology, even if it's just listening and asking questions; sports----gag!  Not interested. 

Yesterday, I noticed that MSL guy and geologist guy stayed pretty superficial on the topic until I joined them and injected a personal story into the mix---how I moved from a conservative religious upbringing to a very liberal religious stance.  Then their stories came out as well.

I think men are slow to tell their personal stories until they have heard someone else's story and since women are quicker to do this, women often start this thread of conversation. 

I think hearing personal stories gives people a chance to think of their own stories and link to the one they're hearing.  But you have to have an invitation to tell your story; it's hard to just burst into a story that nobody has asked to hear.

A preacher has been given an open invitation to tell his/her own story---I think it's why I was a pretty good preacher, because I shared my own stories, and many people commented that they appreciated my openness.  All my sermons had a personal connection.

As a listener to sermons, I hope for a story that will tell me how my life is related to the speaker's life.  It makes the sermon more engaging for me.  It's important, however, for the story not to be self-serving or insensitive.  You can't boast or appear arrogant unless you acknowledge it and resolve it in a sensitive way, a fact I've learned the hard way.

As I get more comfortable with new friends, I find I'm not as averse to their knowing that I'm a retired minister. I really avoided identifying myself in that way for several weeks; now I'm not so shy, though I only reveal it if asked.  I was initially afraid people would jump to stereotypical conclusions, but I'm finding that's not happening.  Most are only mildly interested.  Guess it's not really about who I WAS, but who I AM.  Nice.

It's weird being here among active ministers....

and candidates when I have no interest, any longer, in being one myself.  Beyond answering the question "how's retirement?", I have little to say and the topics up for discussion, here at our fall UUMA retreat, mostly don't interest me.

Other of the retired ministers here have similar interests to mine, but few active ministers or candidates are interested or even have reason to be interested in our lives as retirees, so we talk among ourselves but don't much share these interests with others,

I have asked the nominating committee to take me off the Ethics/Collegiality committee, where I have served for most of the time I've been in this chapter.  I want the freedom not to come to retreats, if I choose, so I am going to turn down any new job they want to offer, at least right now.  I have served every year in some capacity and have done my time!  I turned down (for the first time) a request to play the piano for worship, last night.  It's the first time I have refused to do that; my piano skills are rusty and playing for worship means I can't just relax into worship.  I don't feel like doing that ever again.

I've been enjoying our colleague Mark Morrison-Reed's offerings this week, however.  He's retired and has found joy in reframing his ministry into teaching and writing.  I think his approach (and his wonderful story of transformation) is a good one and one I might consider, but I'm not there yet.  I do not want to work with people right now and maybe never again, at least in the ways I have over the past 50 years.

Mark's morphing into community ministry has appeal, but if I did that, I would limit my outreach to the natural world of land and animals, with maybe an occasional wedding, memorial service, and pulpit supply thrown in.  Organizational development duties make me tired these days  No board or committee meetings, no matter how delightful the members, for me.  No settling of disputes or listening to the cantankerous dissenter.  No administrivia.

I retired because I didn't have any energy left or any new ideas for a new year.  I no longer felt like lending my strength to repetitive activities or to local political issues.  I was even getting tired of activities I loved, though I loved the people involved and hated to leave them.

I had come to realize that all my life I have worked with people in one way or another:  as a welfare worker, a missionary, as a teacher and counselor, and as a minister.  My so-called "leisure" activities have been similar:  church, music groups, Mensa, social justice politics, book clubs, support groups, and the like. 

I'm not hoping to give up on people---I am an extrovert, after all---but I would like to be less responsible for them.  I am relieved to be out of WA issue politics, though I care deeply about the results of the upcoming elections.  I am relieved that Dennis, with his high energy, is eagerly taking on what I started at the church and will take them in new directions.

I am pleasantly surprised to find such comfort in learning about the coastal landforms and their characteristics and needs.  It's been so pleasant to meet people who are similarly interested, to focus on water and wildlife and sand and the natural habits of the land, to be side by side with others, learning rather than being expected to lead.

Incidentally, in looking back over my life and thinking about a conversation a week or so ago in the Science Exchange group, I realize that I am really a "middle child" in birth order, even though I'm the oldest surviving child.  I am a follower who has learned to be a leader in some ways.  I'm a supporter with a few good ideas and some willingness to take initiative, a cheerleader for others' efforts.  I go along, but in my own individual ways.  I tend to distinguish myself with wisecracks more than wisdom, though I have a lot of wisdom to share.  I'd just rather be funny than serious.

One of the delights of groups like the Science Exchange and Mensa is that my wisecracks are better accepted there.  They're not as appropriate in many other settings and I have been accused, as a minister (and rightfully so), of being "flip".  I suspect this tendency to be a wiseacre has turned off a few cute guys, as well, to my regret.  But I see the funny side of things so often, see patterns in events that bring forth smartalecky remarks.  I never mean to offend, but "Funny Girl" was a movie and real funny girls don't always get the cutest guys.

I just hope for one who gets my jokes and can make a few himself.

10,000 steps

I don't remember where I heard that ten thousand steps daily is something we need to strive for if we are to get adequate exercise.  Maybe Dr. Oz or somebody similar made the comment during the tag end of some Oprah show back when I was catching ten minutes of Oprah before NBC segued into the 5 p.m. news.  In any case, it stuck in my mind and I've made some half-hearted stabs at it:  bought a pedometer but neglected to make sure I set the a.m./p.m. button right, so it was always clicking off at noon and resetting to zero.  I'd get 3 or 4 thousand steps under my tennies and then back to zero.  I didn't have the resolve to change the setting and stuck the pedo in a drawer till the battery died.

But once I moved to the coast and had plenty of time for lengthy walking, I dug the pedometer out, reset it with a fresh battery, and have been totting up ten thousand and more steps daily.

I'm sure there's a sermon in there somewhere, with analogies galore about multiple steps in multiple processes to multiple solutions and resolutions.  But I'm not looking for sermon fodder right now.  Instead, I've been thinking about geography as I step off those miles in 2.5 foot strides.  And, in case you're wondering, 10,000 steps times 2.5 divided by 5280 is almost 5 miles, 4.734 miles to be more precise.

Geography and its attendant natural features have shaped my life; it may have shaped yours too, if you lived in places marked by hills and valleys, tiny ditches and broad fields.  My life stories all seem to include some geographic attribute, some characteristic supplied by nature, not human-made.

Some of these stories are worth noting, I think.  I can see traces of those shapings in my daily life right now.  I recall walking with my mother down steep Steele street between SE 39th and 37th and noticing a rivulet of rainwater trickling down the gutter.  It was rainbow-stained with oil, working its way around the gravel and leaves in its downward path.  I have a memory of moving little sticks and pine needles into its path to see what would happen.  My mother let me experiment without hurrying me on.  And even today I find myself watching currents, seeing how they eddy-up at bends in the stream, how logs and debris in the path divert or dam up the flow.  Currents, from tiny rivulets to irrigation ditches, to huge rivers like the Colorado and the Columbia, and now to peaceful Neacoxie creek out my back door, are, to some extent, predictable.  Currents in my life give shape as well, as they encounter blockages, downward and upward slopes, and wear away the excesses I've accumulated.

As I walk my daily three mile loop through town and out through the dunes to the beach, I notice differences in sand.  The dry summer produced soft, squeaky sand that is hard to trudge through with long strides; I'd head for the shoreline closest to the water, where the sand was hard and damp, easier to walk on.  But inevitably I'd have to slog upslope through soft sand that shifted underfoot, causing my steps to slide back slightly and making the whole beach walk less pleasant and more tiring.  I hated that part of the walk but was resigned to it because the rest of the walk was wonderful----until I discovered something.

In Outward Bound, decades ago, we learned something called the "rest step", which made going up steep slopes much easier.  It was simply pausing infinitesimally with all the weight on the lead foot while the following foot "rested" briefly.  Trying this on the soft sand dunes, I discovered that small steps accomplished the same thing, that my foot didn't slide around when I kept all my weight on it.  (I think this is better understood kinesthetically, rather than by reading about it.)  Hills, no matter what they're made of, are more manageable when approached mindfully, whether you're going up or down.
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Other geographic features that have shaped me:  volcanoes sticking straight up out of the land; creeks disappearing into impenetrable forest; loud, big ocean waves; tidepools with unimaginable life; deep, rocky canyons; waterfalls descending from mysterious sources; timberline paths; pathless forests.

I find that I am more and more shaped by the land I have inhabited and which I walk daily.  Ten thousand steps on crumpled pavement, on wet sand, on needle-covered sidewalks, on forest trails, and on the surfaces of my home.

What's an Extrovert to do...

when the blues strike in a new and unfamiliar home?

Yesterday was a bit of a blue day.  I intended to go to the ENCORE (50+ educational activities) Science Exchange class in Astoria.  I'd tried to attend last week but got there and discovered that the class had been rescheduled for a different day.  Darn!  So I put it on my calendar for the correct day of the week but didn't think to ask if the locale had been changed.  I showed up yesterday at the right time, but still no class.  I was peeved!  So I spent a couple of hours grousing to myself, scanning the paltry info I could find on website and printed materials, leaving piteous messages on the voice mail of a couple of ENCORE volunteers, and feeling sorry for myself.

Of course, once I actually talked to someone about the situation, I felt better.  It was a classic case of volunteers just not being able to cover the mountain of tasks involved in a new start to the year, not Ms. Kitty being ostracized.  And I will be able to go next week on the right day and to the right location.  The volunteer who called me to apologize was so nice, non-defensive, and she called me "honey", which I ordinarily would not welcome, but it was just what I needed to cool down.

Later, on my second walk of the day, I thought about why I was feeling blue that day, wondering if this was going to be the magical new start I'd hoped for, whether my back pain would ever go away completely.  On my first walk all I could do was gritch to myself about the similarities between a congregation which drops the welcoming ball for a newcomer and an educational organization which isn't well-organized in its approach to welcome.  Both the religious seeker and the education seeker feel rejected and may quit trying.  I sure was considering quitting the search.

But I had to take responsibility for some of this.  I didn't ask about the possibility of a new location for the class; it wasn't necessarily my responsibility but I could have asked.  The biggest responsibility for me is that I MUST take the initiative in finding new social groups here.  They aren't going to just fall into my lap; I have to go out and find them.

The euphoria of being on the coast, of working on creating a home, of visiting old haunts, of exploring this little town----the euphoria is dimming and I'm realizing that finding my niche here is a big job, sorting through people, activities, providing necessities.  Now that much of the physical stuff is done, the social stuff needs to take highest priority, as my extrovert self is hungry for socializing.

So I'm thinking about what more I can do in that department.  I will definitely visit the Monday night jam in Cannon Beach.  I want to see if one of the local chorales needs singers.  I want to organize a jam with some musicians here at my house.  I want FUN!

I have been walking two or three times a day and my weight is back down below 160, even with the snacking I've been doing.  The exercise is certainly the key!  Yesterday I fixed my pedometer and clocked over 10,000 steps, which is about 5 miles for me.  That was in two walks, one of which was only about half an hour.  The earlier one was an hour long.

My back continues to ache and may be working up to a couple of days of spasms.  I haven't overdone physically but I am newly aware of the tension and stress that has built up with the demands of settling in.  I thought all my tension and stress was behind me, but the move has taken more of a toll than I knew.

No blues today!  I'm going into Portland to see my sister and, with her, visit our Aunt Sigrid, who has had some rough times lately.  Jean and I will lunch, shop, and gab.  She's a good companion and a fierce Lexulous competitor.

The Ethics of Asking for Favors

I had intended to go on the annual Bridgewalk over the Columbia River today.  A friend had offered me her ticket to walk; it's an official 10 k. run/walk from one side of the river to the other and I've wanted to do it.  I thought this would be my chance and was glad to take her up on it.  But when I read the brochure she gave me along with the instructions for picking up the ticket and t-shirt, it clearly stated "tickets are not transferable" and "anyone caught with a transferred ticket will not be allowed to return".

I called her and voiced my concerns but she wasn't particularly concerned.  She has done this walk several times and was pretty sure that the restriction was only for runners, that nobody would have a problem with my using her ticket.  She suggested that I just go and pick up the ticket and packet and do it in her name.  I didn't want to insult her generosity but I just couldn't do that.  I thanked her for offering the ticket and told her that I didn't feel I wanted to take the chance and I wasn't comfortable asking the race officials for an exception to the rule.

So I've been thinking about where that discomfort comes from, because it's something I've experienced before---from the other side.  As a school teacher and counselor, I always had to deal with kids and parents who wanted an exception to the rule.  It was hugely annoying to be asked to circumvent the scheduling policies and give a kid Ms. Soandso for algebra instead of Mr. Whozit.  Or to let a kid cut into the lunch line so that he could go to the band room sooner.  Or to ask Mr. Whozit to change a grade.

As a minister, too, I had to deal with people who wanted to circumvent a policy:  to hold a fundraiser which set aside a Finance committee policy; to re-join the congregation despite the turmoil s/he had caused when s/he was a member previously, despite the disruptive behavior and covenant of right relations; to move a child from one RE class to another to avoid someone.

There's always the standard answer:  if I let you do it, I'll have to let others do it.  Everyone hates to hear that old saw, but it's true.  One camel's nose under the tent and what have you got?  A herd of camels trompling on your stuffed dates, that's what.  And I can be funny about it here, but it's gotten me into difficulty in the past and has caused me to harden my heart about circumventing rules and policies.

And it's made me resistant to asking others to circumvent stated rules, to do me a favor, to give me special consideration.  Of course, this kinda backfired when our son was having struggles in school; we delayed asking for help for him until we were all going crazy trying to cope.

It can also get mixed up with my "strong woman" persona, the one that doesn't like to ask for help for any reason!  As I age, it gets harder and harder to justify.  I know that someday I will have to rely on others for my needs.  Perhaps I will start practicing that particular skill.  But next year I will apply for my own ticket to do the Bridgewalk!

Good grief! It's been almost a month...

since I last posted at Ms. Kitty's.  So let me give you a rundown on what retirement in Utopia has been like so far.

Here's some of what I wrote this morning, sitting at the Pig 'n Pancake, the only place nearby that opens at 6 a.m.  It's my replacement for the Freeland Cafe, whose friendly waitress Ursula greeted me every Sunday morning at 6 for so many years.

Well, I have just about put all the "transitional" matters of the move into place and am finding that I can now do the exploring and visiting of new places that is part of the larger picture.

So far I've done 4 North Coast Land Conservancy events, walked quite a bit around my new environs, made one new friend through NCLC and reconnected with a couple of others I know slightly, gone to Ecola State Park, Ecola Creek Forest Reserve, walked the local beach almost daily, looked around Astoria a bit, and revisited Cannon Beach, Seaside, and other favorite spots a few times.  I also drove up to Long Beach, Oysterville, and Willapa Bay.

I want to become more familiar with Astoria, walk the south Seaside beach, visit the South Jetty again and find Neacoxie Creek there, go to Cape Disappointment, and drive some of the roads that are new to me.

I want to brave the acoustic jams I've found out about.  I plan to do the Astoria/Megler Bridge walk next Sunday, even if I have to bail out before I make it all the way.  A friend gave me her ticket and it's something I've wanted to do.  My only qualm is the minor back pain I tend to get from long walks.

My routine has kind of settled in.  This morning I'm at the Pig 'n Pancake for Sunday breakfast.  It has good food, a nice waitress, and is open early.

The cats are still hungry and yowling at an early hour but I am willingly waking up after 7 hours of sleep, so I am often up at 4:30 willingly and not grousing about it.  I'm getting a nap after lunch, usually, so I don't mind.  I think it mattered more to me when I had long, busy days ahead and worried about missing my sleep.  

The Oregonian doesn't arrive as early as the Seattle Times did, but I get up and have my coffee while checking things electronically.  I don't get as much email as I once did, having unsubscribed from drewslist, the Whidbey craigslist bulletin, but what I get is meaningful, if not demanding.  The paper is usually there by 6, which is time enough for me.

Sundays are PUUF days but I can just enjoy services rather than feel responsible for them.  After church, my day is open:  farmers' market?  lunch with a PUUFer?  visiting some Astoria spot?  Usually I've just come home, had lunch, a nap, and read a book or gone somewhere, taken a walk in the late afternoon, done some laundry.  I'm not exhausted, as I often was after having preached.

Monday is a shopping day, going to Fred Meyer's early enough to miss the crowds but not so early that the fish counter isn't yet stocked.  Now that I've gotten most of my household necessities, I'm not making trips to FM every couple of days any more!

It's such an unaccustomed luxury to be able to read in an easy chair in the middle of the day, rather than only at nap or bedtime.  I'm not used to this!  I'm also watching a certain amount of TV at night, though not the election-ridden news.  I'm catching up on my Big Bang Theory reruns and approaching  the saturation point.

I've had both a massage and a haircut, both satisfactory.  I have an ophthalmologist and have her reassurance that my eyes are fine and that I only need to watch for changes, in case the epiretinal membrane affects my vision seriously.  I have a doctor's appointment in a couple of weeks at which time I expect to find that my bloodwork reveals the benefits of weight loss and exercise.

That's as far as I got this morning; buckwheat pancakes, bacon, and coffee were my breakfast of choice and bought me an hour of writing time as I lingered over the last refills of my cup.

It's a beautiful day here on the north coast.  In a little while, I'm going to put on a real dress and nice jacket and go to church.  I realized that if I'm going to get any more good out of my dress-up clothes, I'm going to need to wear them to church!  Otherwise I ought to give them away and I am not yet ready to do that!

My weight remains "at goal".  I'm  splurging occasionally but staying on the WW food I learned to love---the salads, soups, and smaller portions---while walking daily at least an hour (3 miles).  I haven't gone over goal more than a pound and that feels great.  I've learned that splurging just needs to be paid for----a gooey sticky bun at the local bakery needs to be compensated by a salad lunch, a small supper, and a good long walk.  I can have these treats regularly; I just have to pay for them.  Weighing two or three times a week helps me keep track.

Here's a picture a friend took at the Meerkerk Bluegrass Festival Saturday the 25th, the last performance of Bayview Sound before my move to the coast.

Making a new home

I've been here in my new digs (temporarily) since Sunday but don't yet have internet service, so I'm writing blog posts in rtf. docs and saving them for when the cable guy/gal comes to hook me up to the web, the TV, and the phone system.

My bandmates gave me quite a send-off party last Saturday night; lots of music and food and drinkables, but the best part was the wonderful company.  I'm really going to miss singing with this group of folks.  Not just the band but all the musicians who have been my primary social group while I've been living on the island.

I moved here in March of 2006 and found out about an acoustic jam group that met weekly on Thursday nights at a local cafe.  I attended off and on but didn't really get attached until we began meeting in a place more conducive to group singing.  It was then that I made connections; my voice and ability to harmonize accurately and hold a true pitch made me a welcome addition to a fairly motley crew which mainly dinked around on instruments and did little actual singing.

Before long, a few of us realized that we had a nice sound and when our jam group was invited to sing a few songs for a local charity, five of us worked up a few songs and sallied forth.  We did mostly benefits in return for free food, but gradually we got a few paying gigs here and there.

Now we have had enough paying gigs that we actually have a bank account and an LLC.  The band is trying to decide how to replace me and they haven't made any decisions.  They say I'm irreplaceable and have even said embarrassing things like "Kit has the best set of pipes on the island".  That's nice to hear, but it isn't anywhere near true.  I do have a good singing voice and I have learned to stay on pitch, but I lack the vocal virtuosity that a jazz or pop singer would have.  I just sing things straight with very few embellishments or improvisations.  I do like to use facial expressions and hand movements to spice things up, and I can because I don't have to hold an instrument. 

I would like them to find another singer who can play an instrument like the banjo or dobro, which we don't currently have.  Then they could really do the bluegrass which they love.  I think they would be fine without me.

LATER:

I'll be heading back to Whidbey tomorrow morning for three more days, topped off with our final gig together as a band.  Bayview Sound (that's us) will be opening for the Meerkerk Bluegrass Festival at noon on Saturday the 25th.  I'll probably hang around long enough to hear the other bands and schmooze with other attendees, maybe check out the Meerkerk grounds---it's a beautiful rhododendron garden and nursery, beautiful all year round.  They put on a summertime show and we've opened the show for them before.  It's the reason I've stayed all summer on Whidbey.

But after the gig, I'm free to go.  The plan is to get the car packed after the show and Sunday morning head south with the cats.  I hope they're good travelers, but I fear that Lily will not be.  She has been no farther than from Vashon Island to Seattle and then from Seattle to Whidbey, years ago.  Oh well, toots, you're a North Coast cat now!

Lots of things got done today----new TV bought and cable/internet/phone installed, new laundry appliances, more unpacking and squaring away.  Even the guest room is set up for guests.

When I return on Sunday, it will feel like a true home.

Going from 30 to 60 to 80 and then back down to 30

It sounds like a highway related moment, but it also describes the animal related events of the past week or two, here on Harrington Hill.

Faithful readers will recall that certain mysteries were bedeviling me:  "thin" places in the fencing system, disappearance of vital life-sustaining pellets, "diva" behavior on the part of one mare, that sort of thing.  Those mysteries have not all been solved, but in a few, clarity has evolved.

Before I go on, I would like to say that this has been a generally clarifying experience, these two months of animal husbandry on the Harrington Hill spread.  I am extremely glad to have been invited to act as caretaker during my friends' fishing stint up north because I've learned some things about myself and about caring for animals---particularly other people's animals.  And it has had similarities to my experience in ministry.

Going from full-speed-ahead ministry (even though it was ostensibly half-time) to no-speed-at-all retirement would not have been easy.  Going from ministry at top speed to horse and dog wrangler atop a hill overlooking Saratoga Passage and Mt. Baker was like going from 60 to 30 overnight.  Animal care has shaped my days:  up at 5 (no, that hasn't changed even though I don't have my cats with me), catch up on the email, feed the dogs, check on the horses, have breakfast, more horse care, 6-8 walks with the dogs during the course of the day, slotting my own activities in and around my duties to the animals.  This has all been fine, easy, and leisurely, at least for the first four weeks.

I should have known, when "diva mare" and her BFF mysteriously moved from pasture to pasture without human intervention, that more was in the works.  That the diva had discovered something interesting:  the electric fence was no longer working.  And since the entire property is electrically-protected, this was going to be a problem.  I didn't know this yet, but I was about to learn.

A week ago, I moved the horses from pasture 3 to pasture 4.  The grass is getting a little sparse because it's the dry season, but pasture 4 is expansive and it looked like it would be fine.  The plan was that I would continue to move them back and forth from the paddock where they are fed and spend the night into pasture 4 every morning.  But early last week I went out to move them and discovered that they had kicked out a section of fence in the paddock, making it unusable.  Phone call to Alaska ensues.

Plan B:  keep them in pasture 4 continually and feed them hay and pellets there at night.  Okay.  At least until I caught one of the geldings (presumably at the command of Diva Mare) working on the slats of an old wooden gate and splintering and dislodging one of its boards.

Plan C:  I find an old unused metal gate not far away and, using duct tape, bungee cords, and hayrope, affix it to the wooden gate so they can't do any more damage OR break out into the yard.  Later that day, I discover that another old wooden gate has been damaged enough that all five of the horses have managed to get into a piece of pastureland that is not well-fenced.  My suspicions are confirmed:  the electric fence is disabled for some reason and is not guarding the perimeters. 

Plan D:  I find a second old unused metal gate on the property and, using 200 feet of rope, just in case, lash it into the gap where the old wooden gate used to be.  I lure all five horses back into pasture 4 and make another emergency phone call to Alaska, from whence relief is summoned in the form of a local horse family.  The Kellers come to the ranch, re-electrify the fence, check on the perimeter, and save my bacon.

Since then, all has been quiet on the HH front.  The horses are getting a great deal of attention from me; it's hay in the morning, hay in the noonday sun, hay in the evening, a dose of pellets midmorning, and carrots or apples whenever I think of it.  I want these horses to stay happy!  Because if they're happy, I can sleep at night.

Plan F:  if necessary, there are two small paddocks which are tightly fenced with both metal and heavy wood slats where the five can be imprisoned temporarily.  I don't think we will have to do this to them, but at least it's an option.

Saving grace:  Paula, one of the owners, will be home on Wednesday night.  The hardest part of all of this has been doing it alone, as the neighbors who were willing and able to help have just not been  available when I needed them.  One of the hazards of working with volunteers!

But here's what has been so valuable about the whole experience:  I've discovered coping qualities in myself that I've never had to use before.  Fixing fences and gates with baling twine, ropes, and bungee cords?  Nope.  Comforting a dog who has just had a seizure?  Nope.  Protecting a scapegoat mare from a diva mare?  Nope.  Understanding that fences have to be secure or animals are not safe?  Not for a long, long time.  Having full responsibility for eight beautiful, valuable, beloved animals who belong to somebody else and who have needs that I don't fully "get"?  Nope, not that either.  Being willing to do it anyway and learn what I need to know "on the hoof", as it were?  Yep, that one I've always had and that's the one that has bailed me out in this situation:  my commitment to doing what needs to be done, to the best of my ability.

It's been a little bit like my early days in ministry, when I was learning things they couldn't teach in seminary:  how to coax powerful personalities into cooperation when they weren't sure they wanted to cooperate with me; offering sustenance to a wide variety of needs without giving up my own needs completely; doing the best I could with the resources I had and not kicking myself if I goofed up; finding the lesson in the crisis rather than just the anger and worry.

I've loved this experience.  I'm so glad to have had it, even with the crises.  And, as I told Paula recently in one of our advice-filled phone conversations, now, if I ever want to revamp my resume, I can put "horse and dog wrangler" down as a job skill.

Ah, the mysteries of ranch life...

have bedeviled me now for the past week or so.  Nothing too drastic, just small mysteries that wrinkle my (already-somewhat-wrinkled) brow, cause me to request advice from faraway fisherwoman owner, and ask myself "what next?"

How did Smarty and Ellie (two of the horses, Ellie being the boarding horse) get from pasture 3 to pasture 2 without human intervention, since all the fences appear intact?  How did they later get from pasture 2 to pasture 1?  Oh wait, I know the answer to that one:  they tore down the electric gate.  So, okay, how did they do that without getting a shock? 

Why does the dapply-white mare occupy the low end of the pecking order?  And why is she the one most bugged by the bugs?  Why do all the others chase her away when she comes near? 

Why do I no longer have any desire to ride horses?  I enjoy being around them but I feel no urge to saddle up and ride out, even with other riders.

Where did all the dog food go?  I just emptied a 40 pound bag of pellets into the storage bin.  It should have lasted longer than a couple of weeks.  I'm pretty sure the dogs haven't been into it; they would have a hard time concealing their thievery.

Where did all the horse pellets go?  One week ago, I emptied a 50 pound bag of pellets into the storage bin (with help from bandmate Lynn, hunky guy).  Methinks somebody has "borrowed" some for other horses, but there is no proof of this.

Where did three of the horses go one day?  Why doesn't anyone let me know when they take three of the horses out for a ride?  It's okay with the owner that they ride the horses, so that's not the mystery.  I would just like to know when they do it.

Where did all the dogs go for hours on end?  Are they with the riders?  Are their collars impaled on some branch in the woods?  Did the mama dog have another seizure out there where I can't see?  Is that where the boy dog ran into whatever made his eye swell up and start itching?

All small mysteries, few of them with major consequences, but they give meaning to the cliche "inquiring minds want to know".  I probably don't need to know, but I would like to.

Gigging at the old folks homes

Earlier this year our band, Bayview Sound, was invited to perform at the Friday afternoon Happy Hour at a local assisted living facility in Freeland.  I've had several folks from the congregation in residence at Maple Ridge over the years and appreciate the beautiful facility, the kind staff, and the good cheer of most of the residents.

It reminded me a bit of Canterbury Inn, the assisted living facility in Longview WA where my mom lived for several years; I had the pleasure of visiting her there many times, getting acquainted with her friends there, and meeting the staff.  She was happy there and well cared for, her multiple health difficulties receiving the treatment they required.

Our first performance at Maple Ridge was a success and we have been invited back several times.  We have enjoyed this gig so much that we asked the folks at CareAge, a nursing home in Coupeville, if they were interested in our performing for them, and we have been to CareAge several times as well this year.

CareAge is a facility for aged residents with very limited mobility and dementia/brain injury patients.  I have had parishioners in residence at CareAge in the past and was pleased with the standard of care they received.  Maple Ridge is a facility for people who can still live more or less independently, with minimal care, though they may have limited mobility and may be experiencing some memory loss.

What I've noticed is that as humans age, we seem to become more intensely the person we have learned to be over our lifetimes.  If life has been harsh, if we have been unhappy or angry much of our lives, we are even more unhappy and angry as our abilities decline and our circle of friends diminishes.  If life has been harsh, if we have been ill-treated much of our lives but have had a few experiences that give us hope, we seem to have a less-angry, somewhat happier approach to old age and the losses we experience.

If life has been privileged and cushy, if our demands have been treated with deference and compliance, we continue to expect that this will continue and, because of the nature of aging and its demands on our resources, we are apt to be fretful, angry, depressed, and hard to get along with as we age.  If we have had any life at all---harsh, loving, privileged, whatever---we face old age with certain ingrained behaviors that can make our last years miserable or fulfilling.

I've been wondering how the sweet-natured folks I've been meeting at CareAge and Maple Ridge have come to this place in life:  a joy to serve, a pleasure in conversation, a blessing rather than a burden.  And I've been wondering how the grouchy folks at these facilties came to be so grouchy:  demanding, difficult to satisfy, always unhappy, repellant rather than inviting.

Pain, of course, is a factor.  So are loss of hearing and sight and memory and mobility.  Many physical discomforts can make us frantic, begging for relief, but these discomforts are borne by some with equanimity, even good cheer and hope.  For others, it's just too much to overcome.

Staff personnel treat everyone with the same good care and attention, to the best of their ability.  But who could blame them for being impatient on occasion, for being slow to answer the incessant buzzer from the same room over and over.  We ourselves would doubtless struggle with these situations.

Is there anything we can do to learn the art of growing old, to ingrain those traits that will make our old age happier, and to let go of the traits that will surely diminish our ability to enjoy the life we have left?

I figure I have 15-20 years left.  I've been working on the physical health piece now for quite awhile.  I still have some aches and pains but I'm in pretty good shape otherwise.  Mentally, the crossword puzzles and jumbles and quizzes that I'm addicted to are keeping my brain working, more or less.  But spiritually?  attitudinally?  I'm still thinking about how these may be affected by aging.