Short Sleeved Shirt

I have read about it.                                                                                                                                         I have heard about it on radio and T.V.                                                                                                            Today, I experienced it first hand.

  I guess it all started when I got dressed this morning. I needed a short sleeved shirt. I had to go to the Doctor for a tweaking of my blood pressure medication, and a calibrating of my home BP machine... With all of the BP cuffs on the docket, short sleeve was definitely the best choice. It's my day off, so I immediately gravitated toward my favorite Tee. I made it last year - using my Faux Batik method. It is a beautiful blue color, and the lettering came out perfectly, with a really interesting negative image fading around each letter. One word, emblazoned across the chest - COEXIST. With each letter representing a different culture - just like the Bumper Sticker. I added my super cool turquoise and pearl choker, some big silver hoop earrings, and, of course a pair of pants -  I was ready to roll. After all of the cuffing and uncuffing at the Docs, I headed to the Teeter in search of some Coconut Flour for a new recipe.
   I grabbed up my favorite low cal popcorn from the rack by the front entrance, a case of Cherry Seltzer water, found the Coconut Flour - added that to the buggy, and was on my way to grab some chocolate almond milk (Yes, I am back on my diet), when I found my way blocked by a Shopping Cart. The pusher of said cart, a beefy, bald, scowling 30 something man, came around beside me. Leaning over, he pointed towards my shirt and with a snarl, said in a menacing tone - "Just what is that supposed to mean?"
   Now, the pre-stoke me, the one that was not inclined to back down from a fight, would have pushed my buggy into his and said "Just what the heck (probably not the word I would have used) do you THINK it is supposed to mean?"    POST stroke me, tightened my grip on the cart to steady the shaking and panicked me. I looked around - we were alone on the aisle. I took a deep breath and said something to the effect of "well, it means that you should have an open mind towards all people, living in harmony - not hating folks just because of who they are and what they believe. That you should live out The Great Command, and love others as Jesus loved us" I could have expounded on my explanation and schooled him in the fact that Jesus often used the marginalized, the least, the "Other" in his teachings. I could have told him that Jesus himself consorted with all types of people...There are so many other things I could have said. But that was all that would come out...I didn't have enough breath for more, because by this time I was visibly shaking, and my knees were threatening to buckle. He stared at me for a time, said some version of "hummpppff", and moved his buggy, allowing me to pass.
    No chocolate almond milk for me. I headed straight to the cashier. As I waited in line, I periodically looked over my shoulder. There he stood, on the same aisle, looking at some food item or another. I felt exposed...furious.... vulnerable. The cashier (one of my favorites) asked me if I was OK, after she noticed my hands shaking so badly I could hardly handle the money. I nodded, anxious to be finished with the transaction. As I got into my car, unleashing the tears I had been holding back, it occurred to me I didn't feel much safer in my car. The car which sports a bright yellow Hippie Chicks Rule bumper sticker.

    Now lets be clear. I never felt like I was in any specific physical danger. I think his intent - his delight - was to intimidate.

  And therein lies the problem. I have read about it. I have heard about it on the Radio and TV. And now, I have experienced it first hand. There is a segment of the population in our country that have become emboldened by the careless and dangerous words of those that lead us. Words that are tinged with inuendo. Words that grant tacit empowerment to those that lean towards bigotry and hate.

   And there we are. I don't know what to do about it. I only know that it sickens me. It angers me. It terrifies me.

     So, here I am. Back in my chair....under my red blanket. Since I fell ill, any strong emotion - good or bad, leaves me so mentally and physically exhausted that I can barely function. Even though I feel like I am not breathing, my finger pulse ox meter assures me that I am getting enough oxygen. I am still shaking so badly that my back is threatening to surrender to muscle spasms. I am wishing that I had that dadgummed Chocolate Almond Milk.

    This was not some FaceBook meme that leaves me confounded with the way of our world. This was not Lester Holt reporting on some incident in a distant state.  This was not hearsay, or some bit of vaguery. This was ME - in the Broad Daylight - in the Teeter - in my little southern town.   I will stop crying. I will stop shaking. I will keep on keepin on.   I will wear my shirt again, and should I meet this kind of hate and intimidation again, I hope I will once again stand my ground - shaking and all.

MAUNDY

    Tonight I had the great privilege of participating in the most beautiful, moving, Maundy Thursday service.

                     Maundy.      Translates into Command.

Tonight we remember the last command of Jesus of Nazareth.       Love.   Love one another.


   In our Homily, we were asked to ponder what our last words would be.....our last command to those we love. What would we want them to know.


    I didn't really have to ponder. The proof of my last words hang on the bulletin board in my office - steps away from the place I wrote them.....4 months ago tomorrow. I knew that something devastating had occurred in my body. I used the last of my spoken words to ask for paper and pen. I wanted my family to know that my last thoughts, if that's what they turned out to be, were of them. I tried to write that I wanted  them all to be careful as they traveled to the hospital. I attempted to write that I loved them. I remember when the realization hit - that I could no longer use my hand or brain to form words or letters on the paper -as a last act, I underlined the important words....Love. Children. Care. John.

                                                           LOVE.

  Our country dropped a bomb today. The largest non nuclear bomb ever made or used. A MOAB - Mother of all Bombs. A terrible misnomer. Madness....Monstrosity....Murderer - those would be appropriate "M" words for the acronym.
Not Mother.....not that which is synonymous with Love and Care. Life giving and Fertile with creation, not desecration.
                   
                                 Love.                                 And its' antithesis.

   At about the same time this bomb was dropped, a three year old in a far away land knocked on the door to his home, having returned from an adventure in the park. With him was my Baby Girl. As the Mother stood on the other side of the door and playfully inquired "Who's there?", the young Master piped up proudly....announcing himself and his boon companion using both first name and surname. The thing is....he gave my Baby Girl HIS last name. When corrected by his Mother, he told her in no uncertain terms that My Girl was HIS FAMILY, so of COURSE she had the same last name.


                                                       LOVE.   Across nationality and culture.

Us - Them.   Right - Wrong.    Black - White.     Rich - Poor.    Resident - Alien.   Straight - Gay

   We have become an adversarial people. Made blind and narrow in our rabid quest to be Right.  We have ignored the Maundy in the Thursday.    The great, last command. Love.....Love one another. No conditions, or exclusions.....no index of those deemed unworthy.    Love. One Another.

All Good Gifts

   I remember where I was standing. I remember my exact thoughts...."What a wonderful time to be alive, and to be a parent". What was the momentous event that precipitated such a heady thought? The new shopping carts at the Teeter....the ones that had the two forward facing green plastic seats attached to the regular buggy. PERFECT for a 5 year old, a 2 year old and a new baby. I could strap the two big kids in the green seats, put the baby carrier in the regular buggy - badabing, badaboom. I was invincible. I COULD shop with three children!
     I passed just such a buggy earlier this afternoon, as I left that same store. As I smiled at the young Mother, and her two littles, I chuckled at my young Mom self and thought how little my younger self could have imagined the day I have had today.
     Early this morning, I kissed Babiest Girl at the door as she left to drive herself to the fancy pants school - one town over.(That alone would have been enough to render my younger Mother self  verklempt!) I had just poured myself another cup of decaf (thanks, stroke) and settled in my chair to watch a little Good Morning America (NOT the TODAY SHOW, my show of choice, which I haven't been able to watch in WEEKS, THANKS Dish Network and NBC and the RIDICULOUS contract dispute), when my phone rang. MILAN calling! Baby Girl on the Video Chat! Through the miracle of technology, I was able to join her picnic lunch in the park at the Freedom Arch. (Sunday morning before Church, I was able to join her on a Bike ride past the Castle!) The sun must shine differently in Italy, because she was bathed in this glorious mid-day golden light - her face so beautiful, relaxed and happy as she made the most of her time before she picked up her charge at preschool.
    My phone rang once again, just as I was beginning to consider lunch. This time, for the first time in two months (exactly two months today, but who is counting), it was ZAMBIA calling! Peace Corps Boy was on the video chat. For 45 minutes I tried to control the tears of joy as we talked about his life in Africa, his bed bug rashes, food, birds, snakes, wild animals, his new friends, his new life......all the while, he was moving - changing positions so I could see his surroundings - the exotic place that is now his home. The sun shines differently there too. He looked so good. So happy. So fulfilled. You will be glad to know that I refrained from asking him to pull up his shirt, so that I could diagnose the bed bugs for myself.(Diagnosing maladies of all kinds is a hobby of mine....don't ask - I wanted to be a Doctor...). As the sun was getting low in the horizon, he had to go. His compatriots were waiting on him there in the training center, so they could make the 30 minute bike ride back to their respective villages  before it got dark. I have never wanted anything so much as I did at that moment - I wanted to be able to reach through the screen and the miles for one hug.....just one. He ended the call with a dazzling smile and his signature two syllable "Bye" (Bie-eee). 
    I sat in the silence, tears streaming down my face, looking at my phone - marveling at this device that in less than 4 hours had let me see  and talk to two of my Children - on two different continents. Marveling at the fact that I HAVE two children on two different continents.
   I have a friend from childhood....he lives far away from our home town now, but every day, I drive past a stretch of land that has three houses in a row. In them live my friends' parents and his sisters and their families. I am THAT kind of Mama. The one whose fondest dream would be that we would all live beside each other - separate, but together. If I were a betting gal, I would place sure money on the fact that this dream will likely never come true. My consolation and amazement lies in the technology that allows me to have mornings like this one....Where I can spy with my own little eyes the beautiful faces of my children....share their experiences and hear their beloved voices. 
   It is not lost on me, that my ancestor - Alexander Graham Bell made all of this possible, by his invention of the phone - So,  I give thanks to my very distant cousin, (perhaps I should also thank Al Gore for inventing the interwebs) for the phone calls I received today......I give thanks to my Children for remembering to call their poor old Mama....I give thanks to God, for all good gifts around us. I say to myself - what a wonderful time to be alive and to be a parent.