Am I a writer?

Read and write.  According to Ernest Hemingway and Stephen King, that’s what it takes to be a writer.  I think it’s fair to add that a writer needs to have the gift or calling, the honed skill, and the passion too.  Me, am I a writer?  Do I have what it takes?

Of all of the above requirements, I can say that I am widely read.  I have devoured books as quickly as potato chips from the time I was able to read on my own.  Daily I eagerly awaited the mail hoping for a delivery from one of the book clubs my parents had let me join.  When a new book arrived I quickly unleashed it from its packing and sat down in Daddy’s roomy black chair to begin a new adventure.  Immediately I entered into the story whether it be a biography, classic, or the recounting of a famous event.  As 5:00 p.m. neared my mother would tell me to set the table for dinner and I would call out that I’d get to it after I finished the chapter.  Then the end of that chapter would leave me hanging, and I would start the next one and so on until my mother’s voice became harried or angry, her patience tried.  Most of these books were recently rediscovered when I cleaned out the attic at my parents’ house upon their passing.  They reside on my bookshelves, reminding me of the happiest of childhood times.

I also enjoyed other sources of reading material from “Highlights” to Scholastic books.  And then there were visits to the city’s public library, The Burnham Anthenaeum, a big solid-looking building on Church Street, just across from the park.  My eyes never strayed to the side of the street with the swings and climbing apparatus, no, my focus was entirely on my favorite destination.  Once inside, I would stand in awe, admiring the pillars, marble, and huge staircase, and then I’d breathe in the familiar scent of the wooden bookcases and moldings.  There, to the left and on the bottom shelf, was the Laura Ingalls Wilder series of “Little House” books.   I read them all.  I plowed through other series too, the Bobbsey Twins, okay but not a favorite, and Nancy Drew.  Our sixth grade classroom library was composed solely of the Hardy Boys books, so I even read those.

During my high school years I was exposed to wonderful literature from around the world, and once I finished college and had time to read what I wished, I revisited many of those authors from Tolstoy and Dostoevsky to Vonnegut.  During the summers of my teaching years, I  often read two books a day, all “beach reading” from the local library.

My focus is different now having reached that point in my life where I realize that there is so little time and so many books.  Consequently, my reading has become increasingly selective.  Currently I am making my way through memoirs and literature suggested by writers as well as “how to” books on writing.  I don’t know if I am preparing myself to write or merely testing myself.  Do I have a gift for writing?

I don’t know.  Much of my writing has been formal and work related--grants, long reports, instruction manuals, and articles for journals.  More recently I wrote editorial columns for a small local newspaper and had some memoir pieces published as a result of the spiritual writing retreats I’ve attended.  Now I have this blog that is supposed to provide me with an opportunity to write and the discipline to make timely entries.  I have failed on the second.  But it is the encouragement of others I have received for many years that spurs me on, and I find myself at 60 with this new purpose.  Skills can be learned, but now is the time to discern my gift and my passion.  Not for the faint-hearted.

Zoe's tale of horror

Zoe thinks she is being stalked.  She keeps a protective eye on her dinner and water dishes.  The iRobot roomba has threatened her territory.

I came home from an afternoon of shopping and found Bob sitting at his computer with an alert Zoe, ears up, on his lap.  “How was your day?” I asked. 

“I’m just exhausted.” Bob replied, “Don’t your hear the noise?”

Then it came to me.  He had purchased a new toy.  Sure enough, the roomba was swirling under the chairs and beds, doing the hula down the hallway, and heading back to its dock to be recharged.  I think I heard Zoe breathe the inevitable sigh of relief when the quiet returned.  Bob calls the robot “Mr. Roomba,” but Zoe is convinced it’s actually possessed and has dubbed it “Chucky.”

Since Bob retired, we’ve split the housework.  He’s in charge of floors, while I dust and clean the bathrooms.  With the faux wooden floors we have throughout the condo and the light coming in through the three sets of sliding glass doors, dust bunnies seem to be reproducing at an exaggerated rate.  Bob turned toward technology to replace his time behind the electric broom.  I’d be more satisfied with its performance if it did a better job on corners and mopped.  Probably the next generation will be so programmed.  (Now was I talking about roombas or men?)

Zoe has adapted pretty well to the robot now and usually escapes to our bed for a rest when she recognizes it has awakened.  However, since we moved a chaise lounge to the end of the bed, she has found another favorite place to nap.  It has long been my dream to have a fainting couch to snuggle in during the hours I spend reading, and this is a delightful luxury.  Luckily, Zoe shares it with me.  Bob, in jest, calls it the most expensive dog bed ever, and when I put our pole lamp with its three lights by it, he named it Zoe’s personal tanning couch.  She is unaware of all this though as she lays her head on the pillow and dreams of chasing the black squirrels.

Stormy weather

Our neighbor saw the vortex.  We stood stunned, unable to move even when we knew we should be concerned for our safety.   Large branches were flying off of the long-lived tree in front of the pier.  As the wind and rain increased, the right third of the tree began swaying almost rhythmically, its branches dipping close to the sand.  We expected to hear the crack and see it in repose on the ground.  Then, the storm increased in intensity, and we had no view at all.

This was the second storm of the morning.  The first, in the early hours, left us without electricity, without a way to brew coffee.  Seemed like a good idea to climb back in bed until the rain had stopped and the sun appeared.  Without access to computer or television, we read.

It was the darkness that alerted us to the approaching storm.  We had no other warning than the disappearing page.

Seventy to eighty mile-per-hour winds and two water spouts on Lake Macatawa were reported.  Our neighborhood had been ravaged.  Hundred-year-old trees lay fallen over electric lines, streets, houses, and cars, while the power plant was rendered impotent from a direct hit by a lightning bolt.  

It was Monday.  What an inauspicious way to begin a week.

Red velvet cake

Red velvet.  The cake.  The best cake in the world.  My love for this confection started some forty years ago when I dined at an antebellum home turned restaurant in Biloxi, Mississippi.  It has never wavered.

Red velvet.  The name as it’s spoken and the vision of velvet material prepare one for the exquisite taste and texture of this dessert.  It starts with four layers of Chocolate Devil’s Food cake made tender by the use of buttermilk and red by the addition of a generous amount of red food coloring.  Cream cheese frosting tops each of the layers and is to the eyes and the tongue a perfect counterbalance.

Does this delicacy represent a tug of war between good and evil?  Or is it simply a representation of both its deliciousness and amount of calories?  No matter, it is a dessert not to be missed.  A taste of heaven, I’m sure.

And now I just discovered that Marble Slab Creamery is offering red velvet ice cream.  Yes, it’s something that should be sampled.  Tonight.

The REAL joy of biking

Do you remember learning to ride your first bicycle?  My dad steadied me with a hold on the handlebars and seat and ran by my side as I pedaled down Coronado Drive.  It turned out that balancing  wasn’t difficult for me but learning to stop was.  Thankfully my father hadn’t become too winded by the time I was able to brake and put my feet down   For me, speed, distance, and freedom took on new meanings.  I imagine it does for all new bikers.

Last Sunday, at the Union Avenue Christian Church in Litchfield, IL, I was reminded of that adventure when a pediatrician spoke to the congregation about the five-day Tour d’Haiti that he and twenty-some other bike riders had participated in.  Over the course of 200 miles, the men visited Haitian children’s villages and gave away 200 Mongoose bicycles to orphaned and abandoned children.  The video presentation was heart-grabbing, while some of the statistics he shared were heart-wrenching.  For example, it’s estimated that there are over 250,000 orphans in Haiti, 100,000 in Cambodia, 85,000 in Chad, and nearly a million orphans or other vulnerable children in Rwanda.  These children need cared for, educated, and loved.

The Global Orphan Project (transforming lives through orphan care), www,globalorphanproject.org, is doing just that.  Although not affiliated with any denomination, the heart of this ministry is to “exist and operate as an expression of Jesus Christ’s radical love in a fallen world.”  It’s mission is based on James 1:27 Religion that God our father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after orphans and widows in their distress, and to keep oneself from being polluted by the world.

Donations go to meet the critical unmet needs of children and for investment in agricultural and economic development to make local orphan care sustainable.  Donors can also sponsor a home or village. All administrative overhead and fund raising expenses have been covered by some very generous givers.

Please visit the web site and see this money at work  Then see how you can become involved.  You have the chance to be God’s hands and feet in a very concrete way.  You have the power to transform the lives of orphaned and abandoned children. 

Ruminations on my birthday--Part ll

My friends and relatives treated me royally on my special day.  I didn’t get any of those “over the hill” cards or ones that mentioned Metamucil, sagging boobs, or my memory.  The only card that I received with a “60” on it came from my Aunt Carolyn and Uncle Eugene and actually raised my spirits.  It read, “60 is about feeling excited to be alive at a time when you’re free to really live.  60 is about knowing yourself--and truly liking who you’ve become.  But most of all, 60 is about celebrating the beginning of the most beautiful years of your life.  Enjoy.”  Reading that, who wouldn’t be glad to be 60?

My other cards mentioned growing mellow with good wine, having a day filled with delicious moments, and my being a blessing (okay, that may be a stretch).  Best of all, Jeremiah (my grandson) and his significant other, Betsy, even gave me permission to “Be naughty.”  My Facebook wall was filled with well wishes--all from people very precious to me.  Presents?

I was showered with presents, ones that reflected my interests--from the latest Anne Lamott book, to food given to a church food pantry in my name, to a pair of handmade earrings, to chocolate covered strawberries.  I loved every single thing I received.  Paula asked me what Bob gave me.  It wasn’t jewelry or an exotic trip; it was something better.

Bob gave me a girls’ week in Holland with my best friend from H.S., Barbara.  I had not seen her for three years, and I ached to be with her.  Had there been a prize for “Worst 2010,” she would have won it, and I needed to see with my own eyes that she was surviving and healing.

In addition, there is something very special about friends from childhood.  They are usually among the few who knew us when we were young (before we had a career or made families of our own) and who knew our birth families.  As B. Kathleen Fannin says in Reverence and Revelry, “They can reflect to us who we used to be so that we better understand who we have become,” or as George Herbert said, “The best mirror is an old friend.”

Actually Barbara is even more than that.  Her husband has labeled us “identical best friends,” and I think he’s spot on.  Our personalities, strengths, and interests are very similar.

Our time together was delightful as we shared old favorites such as “Steak & Shake” and found some new.  Most mornings we sat in front of our computers, awakening slowly with our first cups of coffee, before we decided whether to have a quiet or adventurous day.  It was a balanced week.  On my birthday, she put a white bow around her neck, and we had a great laugh--one of many.  The end of the week arrived, and it was difficult to part.

This wasn’t the end of my celebration.  There was birthday cake and candles with Lana and Kent when we briefly returned to Savoy, and I’m hoping to share time--and perhaps, wine, chocolate, and cake--with friends and family in the next few months.  Perhaps 60 is a good time to have fellowship with all those one loves.

John O’Donohue in Anam Cara: A Book of Celtic Wisdom speaks about the autumn time of life being “a time of great gathering…a time for harvesting the fruits of your experiences…gathering lost moments and experiences, bringing them together and holding them as one.”  He suggests that one “come to see aging not as the demise of your body but as the harvest of your soul…”  I wonder what that will look like?  I wonder if this is part of my increased yearning for God?  I wonder if this is part of my need to write?

I hope it will be a good harvest.

War no more

I have signed petitions and sent e-mails to President Obama, but these group actions seem to have had little impact toward ending the war in Afghanistan and ending our occupation of that country.  Please read this wonderful column by Jim Walls.  What can we each do to effectively change current policy and bring our troops home?


The War Must Not Go On!

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Last evening, President Obama made his long-awaited announcement on beginning withdrawal of the 103,000 U.S. troops from Afghanistan. The president announced that 10,000 of these troops will be withdrawn by the end of this year, starting in July, and 23,000 more by the end of summer 2012. That will leave approximately 70,000 troops in Afghanistan, roughly double the number of troops (34,000) when he took office in 2008. The president said these remaining troops will be withdrawn “at a steady pace” going into 2014.

But that’s not good enough. President Obama had an opportunity to pivot his policy on the war in Afghanistan -- to focus on the still real threats of terrorism, rather than on failed wars of occupation with massive numbers of troops on the ground. Public opinion polls now consistently show that 50 to 60 percent of the American people want the troops to come home. Two-hundred-four members of the House, from both parties, voted in late May for the McGovern-Jones amendment -- which calls for an accelerated withdrawal and a responsible exit from Afghanistan. Two members of Congress, Jim McGovern and Walter Jones, one Democrat and one Republican, were the authors of that measure and have been the real leaders of political and moral conscience on this war. Twenty-eight bipartisan senators also called for an accelerated withdrawal in a recent letter to the president. A wide array of political leaders, from both parties -- including senators Carl Levin, Max Baucus, and Richard Lugar, and Republican presidential candidates Jon Huntsman, Mitt Romney, and Ron Paul -- are expressing reservations about the war strategy. Obama could have built on these changes in public opinion and announced a dramatic change in war policy for Afghanistan. But last night, he did not.

We constantly hear the message, “Support the troops.” It’s on bumper stickers, at ball games, and on banners in airports. As a Christian who opposed the two wars our troops have been fighting in Afghanistan and Iraq, I can say that I do support the troops. They are primarily young, from lower-income and working families, who in the current economy have few other options. The military promised them the opportunity for a job, training, and perhaps the chance go to college on their return. But that promise to young people with few other options came at a high price. So far, 1,552 Americans have died in the war in Afghanistan; 11,200 have been wounded. In one study of the 300,000 returning veterans from Iraq and Afghanistan who sought help from Veterans Affairs health centers, nearly 37 percent of those treated for the first time were suffering from mental health problems such as post-traumatic stress disorder, depression, or alcohol problems. These problems too often result in suicide. During the first half of 2009, more American soldiers committed suicide than were killed in combat in Afghanistan and Iraq. In June 2010, an average of one soldier a day committed suicide. Furthermore, 11 percent of Iraq and Afghanistan veterans are unemployed.

Of course, there are very few children of members of Congress, or of finance and business executives, in the military. Those who run the country are not sending their children to fight the wars they continue to prolong. Frankly, war is good business for those who run the military-industrial complex that former President Eisenhower warned us about. Generals always recommend more war because it’s their business. It gets them promotions and advances their careers. And they often distort the facts to stay in business -- claiming progress in order to justify continued war -- when there really is no significant progress at all. Meanwhile, more young people get killed or damaged for the rest of their lives, and the cost for so many innocents is even higher. That can simply no longer be justified in Afghanistan.

The president acknowledged and honored the sacrifice of the troops, and said we need to shift from nation-building in Afghanistan to nation-building at home. But the meager reduction of troops he announced last night simply doesn’t support either goal. I heard on Morning Joe this morning that John McCain has more staff on Capitol Hill than the CIA reports al Qaeda now has in Afghanistan. And the threat of Bin Laden was not ended by the war in Afghanistan, but by focused intelligence and counter-terrorism in Pakistan. Yet, after the president’s announcement last night, the United States will still have nearly 100,000 troops in Afghanistan for the rest of this year, and will spend more than $100 billion in the coming year. It seems the war in Afghanistan will go on and on and on.

To truly support the troops who are fighting and dying in Afghanistan, we must commit our resources where they are most needed. We must make the courageous decision to end the war in Afghanistan much faster than the president called for last night. Incremental and gradual drawdowns of troops over many years is not the correct response to a failed war. We needed a pivot to a new policy last night -- but we didn’t get it.

The president’s decision to finish his first term with twice as many U.S. troops in Afghanistan as when he took office is a political and moral mistake. This week, nearly 40 religious leaders delivered a letter to the White House saying “we are united in the belief that it is time to bring the U.S. war in Afghanistan to an end.” We must now build on that to mobilize resistance to the war across the religious community. It’s time for the faith community to help lead the movement that will bring this unnecessary and unjust war to an end. The president’s message last night was “the war goes on.” Our message on Afghanistan must be: War No More.