Life in the Slow Lane

On the morning of Christmas Eve, I set out to buy the ingredients for the next day's holiday potluck. I zipped through Greenlife and Ingles with all the other last minute shoppers, studying my list and periodically whistling along with the piped-in carols. The feeling in the air was an odd mix of frantic and excited; shoppers rushed around with smiles alternating with grimaces. I found myself in a very jolly mood, eagerly anticipating time with good friends and grateful that the mall and walmart were nowhere near my destination list.

Waiting in the checkout line, I remembered a last minute item and assured the Man Behind Me "I would be right back." Fearing the glares of my fellow line-waiters, I ran across the store. "You could have walked downtown and back," the Man Behind Me grumbled when I returned, "at the rate this checker is going." Our gal did indeed seem to be moving at a snail's pace; she had a weary look about her. I wondered if she was sick, or sad. "It might be the best thing for us," I cheerily replied, "the Universe trying to get us all to slow it down." The Man stared at me for a minute, wondering if he should take offense at my chipper chiding. He decided not to and smiled, "Maybe you're right."

This interlude held a little more significance for me this year, since the potluck I was preparing to attend was being hosted by friends who are involved in the "Slow Food Movement"--a worldwide "eco-gastronomic" (!) membership of folks dedicated to counteracting the fast food culture by creating events and discourse around food appreciation and food justice issues.

Founded in 1989 when Italian activist Carlo Petrini protested the opening of the first MacDonald's in Rome, Slow Food has rapidly grown in recent years to 85,000 active food loving members in 132 countries. My friends had just returned from the international convention, Terra Madre, held in Turin, Italy, and were excited to share their passion with friends and family with a Slow Food Christmas feast.

My Slow Food hosts had invited us to create meals based on local foods, grown organically, with fair trade values, etc. This proved to be a interesting assignment; I admit I just take for granted that I can get bananas when I want them. What IS grown locally and in season during winter in western North Carolina? I wondered if we would be having 17 different renditions of squash casserole, so I started paying attention--talking with the produce pros at Greenlife, and rising to the challenge of finding something interesting to cook. I was delighted to find NC grown yams for my favorite holiday sweet potato pie, along with a variety of salad greens and beets to make a roasted beet and green salad with local goat cheese and Georgia pecans.

Christmas afternoon, I arrived at the common house in Pacifica, a new co-housing community in Carrboro, NC. The table overflowed with all manner of eco-gastronomic offerings: cabbage with roasted potatoes and lentils, winter leek and sausage casserole, arugula salad (grown right on the property), spicy collards, holiday cole slaw, homemade bread, and more. Feast indeed! With not a squash in sight. And in typical slow food fashion, we lingered for several hours, refilling our plates as new offerings arrived, and rambling over all manner of topics from favorite recipes to politics to discussion of whether one resident's request to install a woodstove would find consensus with his neighbors. (Sure, living in community sounds great, but then you have to deal with all the other people! But they're doing it with messy grace and authentic joy. It's amazing to witness.)

At the end of the night, we swept and cleaned and put everything back in its place in the common house, then walked the 50 yards toward home. The sky was full of stars (visible since the ambient light is minimal by design). We paused, inhaling the night, happy and full.

So, I plan to slowly enjoy the remaining 12 Days of Christmas, these waning winter days that extend like spiritual speed bumps between December 24 and January 6. These 12 days invite me to savor the year, reflecting rather than rushing pell mell into 2009.

I pray you, too, find some savoring in Slow.

Have Yourself a Grinchy Little Christmas!

"And the Grinch, with his Grinch-feet ice cold in the snow, stood puzzling and puzzling, how could it be so? It came without ribbons. It came without tags. It came without packages, boxes or bags. And he puzzled and puzzled 'till his puzzler was sore. Then the Grinch thought of something he hadn't before. What if Christmas, he thought, doesn't come from a store? What if Christmas, perhaps, means a little bit more?"
---- Dr. Seuss (Theodor Seuss Geisel). How the Grinch Stole Christmas! New York: Random House, 1957

Contrary to the speculation of my extended family, I do not "hate" Christmas. Au contraire! I still revel in the sparkle of decorations, the crisp, evergreen scent of trees adorned with a history of family treasures, and--in the vicinity of little Cindy Lou Whos--the unmistakable crackle of electricity generated from the anticipation of what treasures Santa will bring this year. Yes, I still love Christmas. I even tour the neighborhood light displays while playing my Charlie Brown Christmas cd. But don't tell anybody.

But, like many adults, I have also wrestled with the pang of nostalgia and melancholy that can haunt the last days of December. As the month glides through its choral concerts and holiday craft fairs, it seems like hopefully moving toward a lush desert oasis that draws closer and yet remains always just beyond reach. The buildup is overwhelming! What Super Santa could possibly satisfy this cultural craving? God bless him.

I was in my early 30's before I finally surrendered to the reality that the traditional Christmas observance just didn't work for me. The frantic buying didn't suit my temperament or my budget. Not having kids, the Christmas morning ritual of present opening just seemed worn out and contrived. The presents are nice and thoughtful, but often didn't quite hit the mark. Besides, did we really need that L.L. Bean fleece vest or the latest teeny weeny digital camera?

So, as of 2003, I officially resigned from the ritual gift exchange. (Though my stepmom keeps sending a few presents--sigh. She says it makes her happy and I can't stop her. True.) Now new traditions and rituals have emerged, cobbled together with remnants of the old--midnight mass and carols at the Episcopal church--and unconventional--snorkeling in Key West on Christmas Day. Talk about sparkly gifts swimming around!

My favorite so far was with a group of similar-minded single friends in 2004. We decided to spend our Christmas in the North Georgia mountains, at the Len Foote Hike Inn, one of Georgia's best kept secrets. http://hike-inn.com/ Accessible only on foot (a pretty easy 5 mile hike) the rustic lodge is outfitted with double bunk rooms, hot showers, a chef on staff and comfy common areas with windows showcasing the beautiful forest. Well fed, we spent Christmas Eve doing puzzles, playing scrabble, and roasting in front of one of the wood stoves. Each person brought one gift for the group: cookies, a poem, a song, a candle, which we shared before heading off to bed. On Christmas morning, the innkeepers gently rang a gong for those who wanted to see the sunrise. Sleepy-eyed and clutching our coffee mugs, we shuffled over to join the other guests in a room with 180 degrees of windows. The golden red sun rose quietly over the Appalachians. That was it.

Merry Christmas!

It came, joyfully, without packages, boxes or bags. I think the Grinch really had it right after all.

The "ping" that connects us

I received this Advent reflection (below) in my inbox today. I wish I had written it--it so eloquently articulates what prompted me to start this blog. What a great holiday gift! I hope it speaks to you as it did to me.

Advent has always been a meaningful time in my spiritual life. A few years ago, I made the decision to opt out of the hype and pace of pre-holiday December. Advent has become a time that feels in rhythm with the reflective, quiet, waiting feel of winter.

I used to think of this season as waiting for the "birth" of Christmas to reveal itself. Now I experience it more as a sinking into what is-- knowing that Creation is constantly growing in and around me. And, in the quiet, I can hear the 'ping of connection that lets me know that all is well and more will be revealed. Blessings on your advent and this season of peace.

"Advent Readings from Iona" by Brian Woodcock & Jan Sutch Pickard, Wild Goose Publications, 2000.

Advent began in a dramatic way one year when seven potholers emerged unscathed after ten days underground, in France's largest rescue of its kind. Trapped by flooding, forty metres down, they managed to stretch their three-day supplies and survive the freezing conditions. People searching the cave system had been drilling through rocks and lowering microphones without detecting any signs of life. Two groups of people, each listening for the other in the darkness, In 'ping the other was there. Neither had known for certain, but they had kept going as if life depended on it. Which it did.

Listen! I am coming!' Saved by the listening. And by looking. And by not giving up. Real humanity is sometimes buried very deep. In our society and within ourselves. Sometimes we can only hope it is there;we cannot know for certain. But it can be found and reached, touched and healed.And, little by little, brought back to the surface.

It is possible, if there is listening. Listen from deep within. And listen on behalf of others. Whole communities can find their humanity if a few keep on listening. It is not always necessary to listen for words and instructions. To listen simply for signs of life is enough to make the connection. But those who come to our rescue will need to listen as well. For even God listens -very close to us, down in the darkest places, patiently seeking us out.Listening is our salvation. Listening, and not giving up. We are saved by a listening God.

Listening for a Change!

Like many other Americans (those both jubilant and disappointed), I am still digesting the fact that Barack Hussein Obama II is the 44th President-Elect of the United States of America.

There are lots of implications to be explored in this historical event, but the one that is most exciting from the perspective of this blog and this blogger is this short excerpt from his election-eve speech: "and I will listen to you, especially when we disagree." Hallelujah! Listening has been officially endorsed by the white house. What a concept!

What would the political process look like if we actually listened for a change--especially when we disagree. What would our foreign policy and relationships with the nations of the world be if we actually made it a priority to hear and understand their points of view. Not that we haven't done this to some extent with diplomatic efforts. But it's never been the centerpoint, only the stepchild of the strategy of force. Bullies don't listen, they push you down or twist your arm.

What would it be like if our elected officials, business leaders and diplomats learned how to use Nonviolent Communication in decision making to hear the feelings and needs of other human beings http://www.cnvc.org/.

What if we did it differently--and directed the energy of fighting across the aisle and across the border, into understanding and constructive action. Imagine what could be accomplished.

My vote on Tuesday was not only for this man but for the ideals that he is bringing to the table. The origin of the word "vote" is from the Latin votum "a vow, wish, promise, dedication". In this light, voting becomes a pledge of action that continues on after the election results are finalized and the winner is announced. My vow, my wish, my promise and my dedication is to support President Obama's efforts to listen, to build community, and to restore the trust, respect and vibrancy of our great country. And that is something I really want to hear about.

stuff and more stuff

"Our enormously productive economy...demands that we make consumption our way of life, that we convert the buying and use of goods into rituals, that we seek our spiritual satisfaction, our ego satisfaction, in consumption...we need things consumed, burned up, replaced and discarded at an ever-accelerating rate."

Victor LeBow, Free Enterprise:The Opium of the American People, 1972

I just moved into my housesitting job for September. I've been doing a lot of that over these past 12 months, kind of a modern study in nomadic culture. When I was in Mongolia in 2002, I was amazed at the concept of the yurt and moving every 4 months. Little did I know that I'd be having a similar experience in my own not too distant future!

In preparation for this pilgrimage, I let go of most of my "stuff" with care, keeping only the things that really mattered to me. Want more insight into your attachments? Have a yard sale! I hovered over the books like Meryl Streep in Sophie's Choice. My face recoiled in horror as an excited shopper planned to use my framed Chihuly prints to showcase his Batman comics!

Even after all of the letting go, I was still left with a lot of "stuff", which is now strewn across the country in various safehouses awaiting my next domicile. (Hopefully that will happen soon, as I am wearying of the constant movement of this extended road trip.) One thing about carting your stuff around is that you will really start to pay attention to what you use, what you buy and how much it weighs!!

I never considered myself a "materialistic" person--though how could this really be true--let's face it, I was born and raised in a culture where consumerism is the fundamental religion. Nevertheless, I always said I didn't get the shopping gene and tried to keep things relatively simple. So it's been somewhat of a shock to see all the stuff I've still been carrying around. How much I use, or more accurately, don't use, as I cart my belongings between house stops. I'm not advocacting for a commune mind you, but there is something to be said for sharing stuff. It sure does cut down on the use of resources and the need for disposal.

But that would throw a wrench in the system and then what would we do? Annie Leonard spent the last ten years researching The Story of Stuff and her 20 minute documentary is simplified, but worth watching. http://www.storyofstuff.com/

Take a look around at your stuff. Try for a month to be conscious of how much you actually use, appreciate, touch. What does it mean to you? What would it mean to let go of it? What would be left? Or what would fit in the gap left behind?

Berry Good

My summer adventures in Western North Carolina continued this weekend with a field trip to a most succulent destination: berry picking at The Long Branch Environmental Education Center in Leicester, NC. http://www.longbrancheec.org/

This fertile and fruitful oasis was found 35 years ago by eco-visionary Paul Gallimore and his wife. Long before the organic and raw food movements were a rumble in the tummies of green farmers (and a ringing in the register of green marketers), Paul was steadfastly and quietly nurturing 1600 acres of organic berry patches, apple orchards and gardens. He's recently compiled his experience and wisdom into a tome called "Healing Appalachia".

The not-for-profit center charges a minimal fee for harvesting the fruits of the earth and provides as little or as much eco-education as you can digest during your stay. Hosted by volunteers like our guide, Steve, a 20-something nutritionist whose glow and enthusiasm practically bellowed "I'm high on healthy!", you can almost feel the antioxidants doing their magic right on the spot. (I felt a twinge of guilt about the decidedly non-vegan north carolina bbq I'd eaten with gusto the night before. But boy oh boy, was it good!)

I wandered in awe with my bucket as I took in the abundance of nature's generosity. The berries were bursting from the bushes, full and juicy from last week's torrents. I could hear the "thump" of apples falling from the trees, ripe and full. The center will be pressing cider soon in an attempt to use up some of the bumper crop. We buzzed from bush to bush like bees, gathering some, nibbling some, our fingers sweet and faintly blue.

And yet in the midst of all this abundance, I felt some sadness too. How is it possible that there are people right here in Buncombe County, not to mention Africa, South America and Asia who go to sleep and even die hungry? Nature's way is the way of abundance, not for the sake of productivity, (can you imagine the berry bush anxiously awaiting it's performance review?) but for the sheer joy of it. How can we as humans be have a grace to receive that goodness? And have the courage and creativity to be a channel for it. There is, as economist Jeffrey Sachs and others assert, no tangible reason that poverty needs to exist. http://www.earth.columbia.edu/pages/endofpoverty/index

Could it be true? Is there really enough--more than enough--to share? Looking at berries spilling over my countertop, I want to say, to know, the answer is YES!

water symphony

It's raining in Western North Carolina tonight!

This is a big deal, as we are in a drought--"extreme drought" according to the experts. All of nature is parched and thirsty, rivers are low, crops languish, and flowers droop.

It's hard to believe that patter of the rain would be such a joyous and welcome sound for me, after leaving Seattle unable to settle comfortably into its seemingly unceasing precipitation. But this morning when I woke up and saw the drizzle, my heart jumped with excitement for the good fortune. I worried that it was only a drizzle, not enough to soak the roots and seep down good and soggy, giving the plants a deep drink of nourishment.

Then tonight I heard the sound of pouring buckets, the cowbell tone of drops bouncing off the eaves, water pouring through the trees in my backyard. Glorious sound! I'm sitting on my deck, listening, letting the shower symphony wash over me, filling me back up after this long dry journey home.

Tomorrow will be green and juicy and full of gratitude.

The Power of Play

I've been half-jokingly calling this summer of transition my "Asheville summer camp". I truly think you'd have to make a sincere effort not to play in such a glorious location. From long walks along the peaceful Swananoa to dancing in drum circles in Pritchard Park, I've been surrendering to the spirit of play that seems to bubble up just from being here.

One of my favorite playgrounds is water, and Western North Carolina has a host of pristine rivers, streams and lakes--though most have been severely affected by the prolonged drought in the southeast. Nevertheless, I was delighted to find a near perfect swimming hole at Hooker Falls in the Dupont Forest. Though hardly a wilderness area, it's a gathering place for all shapes, sizes and colors of swimmers, looking for a respite from the August heat. The squeals and giggles remind me of otters chasing each other through the slippery rocks. What other choice do you have but to jump in too?

In my serious pursuit of recreation, I was also delighted to listen to Krista Tippet's interview with Stuart Brown, the Director of the National Institute for Play. Dr. Brown's years of study in medicine and psychiatry ultimately led him to become the nation's first champion of play when he started the institute at the age of 62. Hear more about the science of play and it's invaluable role in our formation as humans and the hope of the planet. http://speakingoffaith.publicradio.org/programs/play/

With that kind of scientific backing, I may just play the whole rest of the summer! Y'know, for the good of the planet and all.

Can you hear that picture?

When you look at something do you hear sounds? No, not the sound made by the particular object like dog: barking. It's kind of like when some people hear certain music they see colors. This is the opposite. If so you have a rare form of synaesthesia, interesting article: http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/health/7545888.stm

Listening to the otter

I've been attending a great contemplative prayer group at Servanthood House in Asheville. Every Monday through Friday morning, they gather and sit in silence for half an hour and then visit on the porch of the historic home that serves as a center for prayer, healing, and fellowship. Today our convener offered a short reflection on the Mary and Martha story from the New Testament. It's always been a favorite of mine, and I suppose I needed to hear it today.

For those who aren't familiar with the story, Mary and Martha are sisters who are part of Jesus' community of supporters. They host him at their home one evening and Martha gets bent out of shape because she's slaving away in the kitchen while Mary "sat at the Lord's feet and listened to what He was saying". When Martha complains to Jesus, he responds "Martha, Martha, you are worried and distracted by many things; there is need of only one thing. Mary has chosen the better part, which will not be taken away from her" .

Now how's that for a countercultural approach to our human doing-ness? Jesus never was much for worshipping at the altar of our western notion of "productivity". From what I can tell, he never held a salaried job in the three years documented of his ministry. He'd go up on the mountain to hang out with God for days at a time. Yet his embodiment of Spirit and his message to humanity lives on, shaping our world 2,000 years after his physical body is gone.

I suppose the Mary story resonates since this is a summer of listening for me. Listening for guidance on the next leg of the journey, staying quiet enough to hear the still small voice that sometimes doesn't even use actual words. Today it spoke to me through a carving of an otter placed casually on the altar of the meditation room. Otters have always been a powerful totem for me, representing the sacredness of play and partnership. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kavoAsYkjq4 Like today's visit from the otter, the messages I receive often don't make sense in the left brain way that I'm used to and comfortable with. But when I'm willing, I hear and comprehend in a place beyond the thinking, doing part of me.

Now the big challenge is, will I listen...as in "follow the direction"? Will fear steer me back into strategic planning and compulsive doing to make me feel safe? Hopefully not. But if I do, then is the opportunity to return again to the listening. There is Mary sitting cross-legged at the feet of Jesus. And there is the otter, speaking its playful invitation to come out of the kitchen and do what really matters.

The sound of...silence?

I'm summering in Asheville this July and August...for those who don't know it, recently named one of the happiest places in the U.S by NPR correspondent Jerry Weiner in "Geography of Bliss" http://www.ericweinerbooks.com/content/index.asp. Well, technically he didn't say that, but give a tourism board an inch and there ya go. I say they deserve it. I've met a lot of really happy people here!

In my opinion, it's a title much deserved by this charming jewel nestled in the Appalachians. Surrounded by a moutain range more gentle than majestic, supposedly one of the oldest ranges on the planet, they say the mountains have "grandmother energy". I believe it. Even the air feels gentle, the people are friendly and the eclectic mix of indie folk music, spendy tourists, healers, academics and old southern money give it the feel of all the scraps of grandma's quilt coming together to make a treasure both beautitful and unique.

Until you start to hear the chainsaws. Ah yes, the downside of being discovered, of growth, of progress is that everyone wants a piece of it, literally. Nearby, another condo development is being constructed and the lot is being systemically cleared and prepared for new Ashevillians. That's not a bad thing. Of course we need housing and responsible planning and jobs for the hardworking folks that are building the condos and mcmansions. But it is just downright painful each morning to hear the chipring birds and cicada songs abruptly drowned out by the bulldozer yanking tree stumps their bearings and the growling of mulchers grinding them to so much rubble.

Ok, yes I'm a tree hugger. Literally. My dad has a picture of me trying to wrap my arms around a giant douglas fir in the Olympic National Park. I love being surrounded by them, hearing the breeze blow through the leaves, sitting under them in the shade. And yes, I love a good fire too and appreciate the 2x4's that hold up my roof. But I still lament that we rip them down indiscriminately, without ceremony, without acknowledgement of their place in the ecosystem, their beauty, and their invaluable carbon monoxide transforming contribution to our well-being.

The empty clearcut lot is silent as I pass it now, kind of like a cemetery but without the peace. It looks like battlefield where the bulldozer won. The Ashevillians are fighting to save a hundred year old magnolia tree that graces the town square. http://www.citizen-times.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=200880807124 I hope they do it. That victory cheer would be a sound worth listening for...