Earlier this year, in an article in The Christian Century (January 8, 2014, Vol. 131, No. 1), Peter Storey , the former president of the Methodist Church of Southern Africa and of the South African Council of Churches pays tribute to Nelson Mandela. In he notes that "Mandela was a master of grand and small acts of inclusion." He talks about Madela's genius for ubuntu, being aware that one's life is bound up with the lives of all other beings, including our opponents.
I believe that there is a terminal dearth of this concept in our culture. So many are willfully ignorant about the effect of their lifestyle on the health of the earth, and of how pollution and water scarcity harm and shorten the lives of millions around the world. It seems so insignificant, the disposable water bottle, the light left on all night, the joyride on a Sunday afternoon. We can afford it; where's the harm?
Is it really so much trouble to separate recyclable items from the rest of our trash? Do we really need to have inedible items triple wrapped when we buy them?
I heard some comment on the recent report on global warming, a politician who declared it is pointless for us to lessen our carbon footprint unless China and India do the same. That's one of the dumbest things I've ever heard. It makes a difference. It all makes a difference. Maybe it doesn't prevent a global catastrophe, but it could at least delay it for a few years, a decade, a generation. And a lot could happen in that time. With any luck our children will be smarter about such things than we are. And they will not hesitate to live with the understanding that we all live together or we will all die together.
Wednesday, May 7, 2014
Milestones
Apparently I am no longer "a woman of a certain age."
You know the term, it's what the French use for any woman between the ages of, oh, 29 and 55. It's basically "middle aged." I know that technically I no longer fall within those parameters, but I thought I was passing.
Then last year my hairdresser started calling me "Sweetie." I let it go. Well, mostly. I did complain to my husband about it, but I didn't make much of it.
Then bag boys started calling me "Miss". Now, when they first start calling you "M'am" it's a kick in the teeth. That's how you know you've become "une femme d'une certaine age." But when they start calling you"Miss" again -- you're old. They call old ladies "Miss."
On our vacation, we stopped for dinner at Friendly's. I pointed out to my husband that he qualified for the Senior's deal -- I do not. I reminded him of it when the waiter took our order. The waiter turned to me and said, "Do you want me to put yours in as a Senior order, too?"
"NO!" I sputtered. But the damage had been done.
Yesterday I ordered coffee at a well known chain and the server gave me the senior discount without asking. Today the cashier at the office supply store called me "Honey."
Let me come clean. I have what might reasonably be called a "matronly" figure. But I have a fairly youthful, non-grey haircut, and I keep my clothing reasonably modern, though not ridiculously young.
How did I become a Senior Citizen? I'm still about 25 in my mind! I know I have wrinkles, but I'm healthy and active, the only pills I take are vitamins. I'm a grandmother, but I'm still working full time in a fairly demanding job. I can still rock and roll.
There was a time when people were anxious to reach the status of being an elder -- when their life experience was valued. I feel like my generation forfeited that when we declared you couldn't trust anyone over 30 (even though I was barely in my teens when it happened) and we can't now demand the respect that we denied our elders. Maybe an unconscious understanding of that is why so many of my peers are trying desperately to remain young. I'm not trying to remain young. I just don't want to be old.
One of my grandmothers died when she was my age. The other was "dying", though it took her nearly another 30 years to do it. I've got so much to do, how can I ever do it all in the next 30 years? I don't even know if I can complete my unfinished projects in that amount of time!
So now I'm wondering-- do I pass gracefully, serenely into the final stage of my life or go kicking and screaming all the way?
You know the term, it's what the French use for any woman between the ages of, oh, 29 and 55. It's basically "middle aged." I know that technically I no longer fall within those parameters, but I thought I was passing.
Then last year my hairdresser started calling me "Sweetie." I let it go. Well, mostly. I did complain to my husband about it, but I didn't make much of it.
Then bag boys started calling me "Miss". Now, when they first start calling you "M'am" it's a kick in the teeth. That's how you know you've become "une femme d'une certaine age." But when they start calling you"Miss" again -- you're old. They call old ladies "Miss."
On our vacation, we stopped for dinner at Friendly's. I pointed out to my husband that he qualified for the Senior's deal -- I do not. I reminded him of it when the waiter took our order. The waiter turned to me and said, "Do you want me to put yours in as a Senior order, too?"
"NO!" I sputtered. But the damage had been done.
Yesterday I ordered coffee at a well known chain and the server gave me the senior discount without asking. Today the cashier at the office supply store called me "Honey."
Let me come clean. I have what might reasonably be called a "matronly" figure. But I have a fairly youthful, non-grey haircut, and I keep my clothing reasonably modern, though not ridiculously young.
How did I become a Senior Citizen? I'm still about 25 in my mind! I know I have wrinkles, but I'm healthy and active, the only pills I take are vitamins. I'm a grandmother, but I'm still working full time in a fairly demanding job. I can still rock and roll.
There was a time when people were anxious to reach the status of being an elder -- when their life experience was valued. I feel like my generation forfeited that when we declared you couldn't trust anyone over 30 (even though I was barely in my teens when it happened) and we can't now demand the respect that we denied our elders. Maybe an unconscious understanding of that is why so many of my peers are trying desperately to remain young. I'm not trying to remain young. I just don't want to be old.
One of my grandmothers died when she was my age. The other was "dying", though it took her nearly another 30 years to do it. I've got so much to do, how can I ever do it all in the next 30 years? I don't even know if I can complete my unfinished projects in that amount of time!
So now I'm wondering-- do I pass gracefully, serenely into the final stage of my life or go kicking and screaming all the way?
Sunday, May 4, 2014
The view out the window
Today I saw cherry blossom petals caught on a spider web.
They shook in the wind, on a nearly invisible thread, like prayer flags
lifting hopes and yearnings to heaven,
ornamented by dew drops that glistened like prisms.
They shook in the wind, on a nearly invisible thread, like prayer flags
lifting hopes and yearnings to heaven,
ornamented by dew drops that glistened like prisms.
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