Dare to dance...average

The President inspires me. Ok, this sentiment is neither revolutionary nor unique. Our 44th Commander in Chief embodies "role model" as an orator, a leader, and simply as courageous human being.

But I'm talking about the dancing. When he and Michelle stepped into the Inaugural Balls on Tuesday night--in just about the brightest and most visible spotlight one can imagine--they weren't all that great at the foxtrot. Clearly that was one activity that was cut in the rehearsal department, understandably, say, after "delivering Inauguration Address", and "giving crisp salutes".

From my point of view it takes guts to be willing to "dance average", or even badly, in front of people. Especially when you're the President. I may also be saying this because I'm learning how to dance, so as I'm stumbling across the floor and tilting and whirling and occasionally crushing toes, it helps to think that even celebrities and role models can look a little stiff on the dance floor.

Still, one could clearly see that joy and delight in each other that propelled the first couple with slightly awkward steps across a global stage. The pundits may have declared that "the Obamas' performance level dipped in the dance department" (groan), but to me, it was just another example of how this leader and his strong and beautiful partner continue to invite me into challenges that may be just beyond my comfort level. That call me to stretch, twirl first, and let my courage catch up to me afterward. So I'm going to keep dancing, even if I'm average. Besides, I'm in it for the joy.

The image of the Obamas makes me want to make a slight adjustment to Elizabeth Alexander's beautiful innaugural poem: "praise song for dancing forward in that light". Indeed, "what if the mightiest word is Love?" Love that is forgiving, cuts us some slack, celebrates doing the dance imperfectly rather than sitting against the wall. What if as a country, as families, as co-workers, we chose this kind of Love--and to dance into it, swirling, tipping, dipping, smiling...average.

Laissez les bon temps roulez!

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It would be wrong to disparage the rain--we so desperately need it in our drought-ravaged region. But today's weather in Western North Carolina was so distinctly Seattle-like that I was having flashbacks to the interminable days of clouds and wet during the winter months in the northwest. The good news in the southeast is that we are reasonably certain that the dismal skies today will yield to sunny ones before too long. This southern girl is soooo glad to be back!

Though the day was dreary, it also marked the colorful celebration of Epiphany, or Twelfth Night, ending the 12 days of Christmas and beginning the season of Carnival--a period dedicated to decadence that culminates in Mardis Gras and the beginning of the more austere season of Lent. Asheville is celebrating in high style with a festive night of costumes, masks, zydeco and great New Orleans fare with traditional King Cake at Ed Boudreaux's Bayou BBQ.

With the current economic situation as bleak as today's gray skies, it seems that the traditional Carnival motto, Laissez les bon temps roulez! (roughly translated "Let the Good Times Roll"), seems a courageous and faithful rebuke to fear and gloominess. It is an invitation to celebration, to abundance, to color, life, dancing and fun. In short, it may be what we need more than anything right now. I'm keenly guarding my attention these days--will I focus on the negative and link my well-being and future to the grim narratives of newscasters? Or keep my gaze open to evidence of a Universe of plenty that is all around?

In the past 6 days, I've witnessed numerous examples of miracles of opportunity and expansion:

• a friend landed a job within 24 hours of posting his resume online
• a neighbor transferred to a better position that is a mile from her house, in an organization where there are "never" openings
• a real estate agent closed on her 3rd home sale in the last 4 weeks
• a friend's daughter was contacted by a former client asking to correct a billing error in which they owed her $6,000.

I am not suggesting that we ignore the suffering, struggle and concern that so many of us are facing in these uncertain times; there are real challenges to be met now and in the days ahead. The brutality in the Middle East continued today, there is violence and deprivation all around. But, at least for today, I choose to put my faith in abundance, in joy, and to nibble a sweet bite of king cake, and declare (if only in a whisper) "Laissez les bon temps roulez!"

May they roll with you and yours as well.

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?