My Morning in Meats

Yesterday, I wrote this Facebook post:

"And in today's Adventures in Being an Administrator: a man showed up, asked for me by name, and said he was here for the biohazardous waste. We had been expecting a pick up, so I showed him to the storage containers. Later, when he gave me the signed manifest and I put it in the binder, I realized he was from a different company.

There's a logical possibility: we're in the process of changing companies, and he's from the new company.

But because it's South Florida, where things can get strange, my brain blazes with other possibilities. It's too bad that I have no interest in writing a crime novel or a mystery or horror."

I did not record the strange interchange that came next.  I got a phone call from a colleague in Ft. Lauderdale, the man in charge of facilities, in charge of ordering supplies of all sorts, the man with connections to our new owners.  He asked if anyone on our campus was participating in the hot dog eating contest.

I explained that I was a little hazy on the details.  Were we supposed to eat hot dogs and report our time and amount of hot dogs?  Was the school buying the hot dogs?

I didn't ask my larger questions:  who came up with this idea for a school that offers primarily programs in the health care fields?  Who wants to eat hot dogs anyway?

The man asked if I would ask around my campus and see if I could find 2 people who might be interested.  He'd get back to me with details.  I didn't hear from him again yesterday.  

I did, however, have a strangely hilarious conversation with one colleague.  When I said that I had been sent to ask if she was interested in a hot dog eating contest, she gave me an inquisitive look.  We talk of our daydreams of organic tea shops that have delicious scones, not our dreams of barbecues.  She said, "Would it be vegan hot dogs?"

We asked ourselves how we would cook them.  I said that I only liked grilled hot dogs, but I certainly didn't want to be the one grilling hot dogs outside in this heat.  I remembered a hot dog day we did for students, the difficulty of hot dogs in crock pots, the uneasy balance between chilled and scorched.  And oh, the smell, the horrible smell of warm, cheap hot dogs.

I thought of all the people on my campus.  The competition is designed for employees, and not a one of us on my campus has any business eating lots of processed meat.  We are almost all female, almost all of us over the age of 40, many of us with health issues or headed that way . . . of course, that last part could describe almost any adult in the U.S.

Honestly, nobody has any business eating a lot of hot dogs in a short period of time.  Now if we had a watermelon or peach eating contest . . . 

Later, I thought about what a strange morning it was--first the biohazardous waste guy shows up to pick up the rotting corpses of last term (safely stored, according to the law, of course) and later I'm asked about hot dogs and the lack of enthusiasm for a contest to shovel a lot of them down our throats.

Caring for My Anxiety, the Kairos Time Edition

I spent the week-end managing my anxiety, or trying to manage it.  Let me say from the beginning that I realize that my anxiety is just a pale shade of what many people suffer.  My anxiety is the type that might occur if Dread and Anxiety had a baby, a baby that was cute but had tantrums and sour moods, while Dread and Anxiety had a whoop-it-up kind of night but then sobered up in time to go to work.

I have no idea if that metaphor would make sense to anyone else, but it came to me this morning, and I wanted to record it.  This past week-end, my infant anxiety slept fitfully, which meant I had some peace here and there, but I spent much of the week-end pacing the floor with the infant in my arms, trying to calm it back to sleep.

So what was making me anxious?  Let me make a list so I remember:

--I was worried about the housing market, about all that we should do to get our house ready for sale, about the pricing of the house that we have yet to get fully ready to put on the market (touch-up painting, that kind of thing, nothing major).  As I wrote to a friend:  "I worry that we'll price ourselves so high that no one will even make a counteroffer."

--Several weeks ago, I was anxious that we would sell the house before we had a place to go, but now I'm anxious that we'll have months of both mortgage and rent payments.

--Saturday morning, my spouse wasn't feeling well, so we couldn't do the touch-up painting we planned to do.  And then we took a long afternoon nap.   I haven't been sleeping well, so I was both grateful for the sleep and anxious about all that we didn't accomplish.

--Sunday I was in charge of church.  Now being in charge of church doesn't usually make me anxious, but since the pandemic, we have added live streaming, which means there's a technology piece that I didn't feel completely confident of my ability to make happen.  I understood the process of setting up the camera and the internet, but I had never done it all on my own before.  Happily, it went well, but that anxiety was an undercurrent to much of the week-end.

--There was also some dread about the future.  The condo collapse in Surfside, Florida seems like a harbinger of climate doom, along with the record setting high temperatures in the Pacific Northwest.  The COVID-19 variants seem like a news story we'll be tracking for years, as we wonder if we need booster shots, or just how to get everyone vaccinated in time.

Throughout the week-end, I was able to be aware of my simmering anxiety and to do some self-soothing:  cooking, sleeping, reading good books, watching the comfort TV of cooking shows or home design shows, the ones with beautiful camera angles and lighting.  Unlike my younger years, I didn't handle my infant-grade level of anxiety by lashing out at those I love or going out on a punishing run.

And along the way, I was able to get some of the chores done and some of the work of preparing the house:  some weeding, some sorting.

Most important, I was able to remember one of the lessons of kairos time:  if the next step of a project isn't coming together, some times, it's best not to force it.  If you let it go for a bit, it might be easier in the not-too-distant future.  Or it might mean that one should put the project aside for a longer time.

I realize the hazard here is to determine what's a laziness issue and what's a kairos time issue.  But with time, it's easier.  I'm also better at knowing when it's good to push through lethargy, and when it will be downright harmful either to myself or to those around me.

I have spent much of my life wondering why I can't avoid my anxiety; if I can realize the fact of my mounting anxiety, why can't I short-circuit it?  But during my onground intensive for my spiritual direction certificate program, I heard that we may not ever be able to avoid our negative feelings, but if we can recognize them and be aware as we are making decisions and working in and around those negative feelings, then we've become more spiritually evolved.

So I'm going to call this week-end a win in terms of caring for myself while in a state of anxiety.

Horrifying Headlines and Miracles of Nature

On Friday, June 18, I saw this headline in The Washington Post:  "Three dead, two missing after group of tubers plunge off 8-foot dam along N.C. river."  My first thought was that a pile of potatoes had gone over a dam to injure people below.

But then I read the article, which is much more ordinary, but no less horrific.  The tubers in question were humans in innertubes, rafting down a river.

It has been a week of horrifying headlines.  I spent much of yesterday toggling back to accounts of the collapse of the condo building in Surfside Beach, even though I knew it was much too early for anyone to know the cause of it.

But I also want to remember this week as one of natural wonders.  I began the work week seeing dolphins in a tidal lake near me, and I'm finishing the work week seeing a rainbow in the sky:

I also noticed the pots of milkweed that we grew from seed.  Why does that ability to grow a plant from a seed always seem like a miracle?

Later this week-end, we'll enjoy this pineapple, grown from a pineapple top that we planted years ago.  It, too, feels like a miracle.

Lapses and Collapses

About an hour ago, I saw a random tweet about a building collapse in Miami.  I assumed it was downtown, maybe one of the hotels.  But when I went to a local news website (WSVN), there was nothing, so I thought maybe it was a hoax.

But then I saw this story in The Washington Post.  Surfside is not far from the hotel district in Miami, but it is more northern.  It is on a barrier island.  The article says that the structure was built in the 1980's and that condos there have been listed for $600,000+, which is more upscale than some beach condos, but not the high end luxury units.

In short, it's not a slummy kind of building, the kind that everyone knew would collapse at some point.  So, why did it collapse?

At this point, we don't know.  At this point, rescue teams are trying to get people out.  As my brain wrapped itself around this strange news, I had several thoughts:

--I'm glad we don't have EMS classes on my campus today, because it's a safe bet that most of my instructors are on the site of the collapse.

--Construction from the pre-Hurricane Andrew era, especially the early 80's, is notorious for having issues.  Still, this kind of collapse seems to signal something more major.

--Could it have been an explosion of some kind?  Maybe a gas line?  Was someone constructing something in a kitchen, like meth?  Storing fertilizer improperly?  Those last 2 seem less probable.

--It's interesting that my thoughts did not go immediately to terrorism, but to the instability of beachfront property in a time of sea level rise. 

--As I've watched condo towers being constructed on every vacant lot, some of them quite small vacant lots housing quite large towers, I've wondered about the stability of the ground underneath.  As Ft. Lauderdale has had more and more sewer/sewage problems, I've wondered about the wisdom of adding more and more to a problem that has yet to be solved.

--Are these problems even solvable in a time of sea level rise?

--We are moving to a high rise later this summer, so my thoughts did go there.  But we will not be on a barrier island.  Our building was built in 2007, and its withstood Hurricane Irma.  Of course, the building that collapsed has survived hurricanes too.

Again and again we are reminded that although we may think we've attained a level of safety and security, the grounds can shift beneath our feet and rather quickly we're sliding into the sea.

Language Skills and Gendered God Talk

I am part of the group that is doing worship planning/service creating for our upcoming Synod Assembly.  We are meeting via Zoom, but the Assembly will be held in person.  However, it won't be the same kind of Assembly--there won't be displays or a prayer chapel or musical groups that will move us between segments.  We will minimize the singing during worship.

I might ask why we are bothering to assemble in person at all, and as we plan, we are aware that much can change between now and the mid-September week-end of the Synod Assembly.  I have my eyes on that new Delta variant, and I'm trying not to revert to my Cassandra self, forecasting doom.  And then there's the issue of all the money that gets spent on an in-person Assembly.  But these are not the topics I want to write about today.

Yesterday a group of us met on Zoom to look at the worship services that were created for last year's cancelled Assembly.  Our goal was to see what we could still use, and the happy news is that much of it was still workable.  We had a lot of language about significant anniversaries like the 50th anniversary of the ordination of women that we will take out.

We talked about the music, about who will be singing/playing and when, and about the settings we will use.  I felt my usual stab of envy--how I wish that music came effortlessly to me.  I come from a family of musicians, so I know that nothing is effortless.  Their capacity with music comes from many years of practice, practice, practice.

We needed someone to rewrite the petitions for the prayers, and I volunteered.  And then again, when we looked at the closing service, I volunteered for another writing task.  The leader said, "You'll be our wordsmith."  He said it in a way that made me feel valued.

And then I realized that I was once again assuming that everyone has the same kind of skills that I do, and thus, I tend to undervalue the talents I do have while wishing for talents I haven't developed.  I forget how intimidating writing prayers can be.  

As we were looking at the worship services, I found myself getting irritated at all the Father God language.  I thought, wait, I'm on the worship planning team.  Speak up!  And so, I raised my hand.

I said, "I've been at Synod Assemblies for years, and I'm always irritated by this gendered language of God.  I prefer God the Creator, but if we must have Father God language, could we also make reference to God our Mother?"

Let me stress that I am not some wild-eyed Gen Y kiddo.  I am about to turn 56 years old, and I am surprised to still have to be making this request decades after my fellow feminists first started advocating for inclusive language when it comes to God talk.  My fellow worship planners looked to be about my age or maybe 10 years older, and yesterday, I was the only female on the call.

I expected to be shot down; I was prepared to argue my point further, but I didn't need to.  Happily, my suggestions found agreement or at least no one voiced disagreement.  Our leader said, "Sure we can do that.  I'll make a note to change to expansive language when it comes to God."

Hurrah!

I think that most worshippers will not notice the absence of the gendered language of God.  A reference to Creator God gives people the space to think of that God as a father or a mother or of their favorite art teacher.  Those of us who notice gendered language will appreciate the absence of Father God, and those who need that language will still get it when we use the Lord's Prayer.  I won't fight that battle when it comes to the Lord's Prayer or the creeds, but for the prayers we're writing, we can make the language more inclusive.

In later years, maybe we'll finally live into the call to be all inclusive; maybe the larger church will rewrite the creeds and the Lord's Prayer.  And I expect that in later years, some young whippersnapper who can't be a day over 56 will let me know how my own notions of expansiveness are so very 2020's.

Sand, Bone, Wave, Storm

Today my writing time is much shorter.  I have grades due tomorrow for one of my online classes, so I've spent much of my writing time grading research essays.  

I did manage to play with a poem idea this morning.  On Friday, during the closing worship service of my certificate in spiritual direction program, we did an Ignatian exercise where we imagined ourselves in the boat with Jesus in the storm.  Were we disciples?  The cushion?  The boat?  The storm?

I wrote down some ideas that came to me as I imagined myself as the storm.  And then yesterday, I played with the voice of the sand and came up with a poem-like thing that was just 9 lines long, with no stanza breaks, which is very unusual for me.  

This morning, I wrote a bit more.  I also made word lists of words starting with s, w, t, and b.  I wrote this tweet:  "Still working on what is becoming a poem series or one poem struggling to emerge out of various drafts. Images of sand and bone, sea and wave and storm, salt and skeleton and sacrifices demanded."

Yesterday's morning was more delightful.  I want to record this Facebook post so that I remember:

"On my morning walk, I saw dolphins in North Lake--and I think I saw a baby dolphin or two (smaller back fins). Were they learning to fish? Were they having morning play time? Taking a morning swim?

The day is much more enchanted when it begins with sunrise staining the sky and the water and dolphins gliding through the lake near the shore."

And now, administrator life awaits.  Let me prepare.

Activism, Self-Care, and Transformations

Sunday morning, I listened to this episode of It's Been a Minute with Sam Sanders, an interview with Sarah Schulman.  Her latest book is a documenting of ACT UP.  It's the kind of interview that makes me want to read the book, but I know from past experience that I might get it and feel like I've already read it, because the interview was so wonderful.  So I'll wait for the library to get it.

I already knew a lot of the history, but she gives some interesting background.  For example, she notes how much activism changed once the camcorder was invented.  Before that invention, video equipment, which would include a boom mike, was too cumbersome (and expensive) to use.

It's the kind of interview that makes me feel bad about my own activism, that makes me feel guilty about even thinking I had any kind of activism credibility.  I know that's not her intention.  Those AIDS activists did amazing things, and Schulman reminds us that they were fighting for their lives--literally.  Many of those activists were very sick, and they didn't have much time.

I've done a variety of types of activism, from giving money to going to demonstrations, writing letters and making phone calls and monitoring institutions.  But is it enough?  I could argue that we haven't made the kind of changes that those ACT UP folks did.

But that would be wrong.  We worked to get marital rape bills changed and arms treaties ratified and abortion rights protected.  I think of the work of my campus to get a bus route and a bus stop.  That may seem minor, compared to changing the laws that made experimental drugs more widely available to patients with terminal illnesses.  But for people who don't have to walk a mile or two to the nearest bus stop, that work was critical.  I hope.

Later yesterday morning, as I drove home from a quick trip to restock provisions, I listened to the radio program On Being, which featured a different type of interview, Alex Elle discussing self care as a form of activism on behalf of oneself, and one's future and past self too.  She talks about a friend who encouraged her to go public with her writing and told her that if she changed one heart, that would be one heart changed, which would be significant.

I liked her interview more than her Instagram site.  I do realize I'm in the minority in that preference.  Or maybe it was because I was listening to the Sarah Schulman material again that explains why I found the Instagram site so much less satisfying than the human interview.

I do know that we are less able to advocate for others if we're not even advocating for ourselves.  I do understand that many people aren't taught the self-care lessons that Alex Elle offers.  

But I also wonder how our society would be transformed if we emerged from our self-care ready to fight more passionately for those who need our care.