Yesterday, as I posted earlier, I had a marvelous time. First, in the morning, several of my playgroup moms came for our monthly coffee, though this was the largest group we'd had. It was great to chat with them all, at leisure over coffee and sweets. We don't usually get two whole hours and more for conversation. I see some of them intermittently, but not usually as a big group. It was like old times, six years and more ago when all had infants (for almost all, our first). We would get together weekly at each other's houses, eat lunch, and share (see here, in only my fourth post). There was laughter, tears, questions, advice. For years, through second children, deaths of parents and family and even one of those infants, divorces, diagnoses, moves, job changes and losses, and all the vicissitudes of life, we came together regularly. But now, it doesn't happen as much. When it does, though, the easy camaraderie of lives shared, no matter how long we've been apart or how much we still have in common, comes back and fills us with happiness. Or, at least it does me, which is why I'm so glad they gather at my house monthly now.
And then, I met someone brand new, which was an equally wonderful treat: I got to meet Shelley, of My Little Chickadees, and the great coincidence. We laughed in the beginning that others had wondered if it were safe for us to meet since we'd only met online--one of my playgroup friends even stayed around to make sure Shelley looked okay! She had apparently heard the same fears from her husband--but she said I'd been vetted by Mrs. S and I said she'd been vetted by the whole Orthodox Church! So we were safe. And had a delightful time. We have many things in common, particularly viewpoints on parenting and cooking and such (though not scrapbooking, I'm afraid. Sorry, Shelley, I tried.) I look forward to many more discussions--of books, bread baking, and spirituality. And those are just the topics we know about! Thanks for coming over, Shelley! I can't wait to do it again.
It's days like that keep me in good spirits. Thanks, y'all.
Friday, January 13, 2012
Thursday, January 12, 2012
Coming Soon
Even with the dreary, wet (but not snowing) day, I had a glorious day with friends, old and new. But more about that later, probably tomorrow, as I had my u/s today (no clots! re-confirmed) and have PT tonight.
Wednesday, January 11, 2012
Did You Know . . .
. . . that gas is the funniest thing in the world?
And therefore my kids are the funniest kids in the world?
Oh, my. They were laughing hysterical and shaking their tushes and tooting on purpose. And then starting singing about it! First, the standard, "Beans, Beans the musical fruit," but then they branched out with their own composition (oddly, part of the tune of the "Candyman" song in Willy Wonka. I can't explain it.):
"Mango lassies . . . will make you gassy!"
Oh, and if gas and gassy kids are funny, gassy songs are the funniest!!!!
How do first graders toot on command?
And then I had to go and give them ammo for tomorrow, with greasy Chinese chicken dumplings for dinner!
But you know what? I was laughing and singing too.
But that was it. I don't have that skill.
And therefore my kids are the funniest kids in the world?
Oh, my. They were laughing hysterical and shaking their tushes and tooting on purpose. And then starting singing about it! First, the standard, "Beans, Beans the musical fruit," but then they branched out with their own composition (oddly, part of the tune of the "Candyman" song in Willy Wonka. I can't explain it.):
"Mango lassies . . . will make you gassy!"
Oh, and if gas and gassy kids are funny, gassy songs are the funniest!!!!
How do first graders toot on command?
And then I had to go and give them ammo for tomorrow, with greasy Chinese chicken dumplings for dinner!
But you know what? I was laughing and singing too.
But that was it. I don't have that skill.
Twinkies: In Memoriam?
Hostess has apparently filed for bankruptcy. And though they will still be baking, this might mean the end of America's love-to-hate, hate-to-love sugary indulgence soon. I haven't had one in years (well, a fried Twinkie at a fair once . . . because you have to try it to believe it. Eh.), but liked them as a child--the orange cupcakes were my all-time favorites. I haven't let the kids have them. And now they might never get to try one. Part of me feels like they've lost out on childhood just a bit. Maybe we'll need to have a nostalgic run to the corner store this weekend . . . they'll keep til the kids are older, right?!
New Goal
After posting ad infinitum (hopefully not ad nauseum) about all my health issues recently, I'm going to take a break from that. I don't want to think of myself only in medical terms. So while, sure, some medical things will be going on in the background--heart monitor and ultrasounds tomorrow afternoon, the cessation of my taking my pain drug (side effect of sleep trouble--been up since 2, no nap, not tired!), visit to my pain doctor on Tuesday, etc.--I don't want to dwell on them here (but I still welcome your support and conversation, for which I am grateful), and will only mention them if something really extraordinary happens.
Let's talk about something else.
Let's talk about something else.
Tuesday
Well, my cold feels better. . .
Must have been the fluids and steroids at the ER today.
Let me start from the beginning. I had had a few leg cramps behind my knee--nowhere and nothing I'd had before, sharp and pinchy and powerful--and they moved. My heart was also racing. So I called my GP. She wasn't in. And when I said I thought I should see someone, they said tomorrow. So I thought some more (including thoughts about changing GPs, to someone with other doctors and real nurses and more hours--this was 1 pm on Tuesday and she wasn't in all day, with no coverage!)
And Googled it. Remembering my sister had mentioned DVT (deep vein thrombosis) as a side effect of being in bed too much, which I had been with my cold, and also knowing I was on relatively new pain meds, I wanted to see a doctor (but my pain guy is in NYC).
So Mama came home and we went to the hospital. And they were more worried than I was! It was like my own personal ER episode. They took my vitals and a man showed up with a chair and insisted I get in. Now. Then we were in cardiology with 3 people swarming around, attaching all sorts of wires and poking me with needles. Two nurses were even arguing about what order the stickies went on, slowing down the whole thing. Nurse Hathaway would have put an end to that! I learned that my heart was "tachy"--or racing (their words are always so much more dramatic and mysterious. And alarming.)--and that my blood pressure was low, apparently an odd or dangerous combo.
And it went away almost as soon as I was hooked up! Though, the leg cramps continued intermittently. But they monitored me for 4 hours, gave me fluids, and did a CT Scan (with steroids and benadryl in case I was allergic to the dye). No blood clots, which was my fear. The cardiologist wants me to wear a 24-hour heart monitor just to check, and have a follow-up leg ultrasound to recheck for clots; I'll be getting that sometime Wednesday, I think. And I'm supposed to see my GP. I wonder if I'll get in.
Anyway, I feel good actually. Except I've been up since 2 a.m. Not worried, not in pain, just awake. Because even with the ER, I didn't do much today. So now I've cleaned the kitchen, sent some email, and am finally blogging.. I should've just blogged this before bedtime, once I called my folks and my sister (gotta worry everyone, you know. After the fact.) I might be asleep if I had.
Must have been the fluids and steroids at the ER today.
Let me start from the beginning. I had had a few leg cramps behind my knee--nowhere and nothing I'd had before, sharp and pinchy and powerful--and they moved. My heart was also racing. So I called my GP. She wasn't in. And when I said I thought I should see someone, they said tomorrow. So I thought some more (including thoughts about changing GPs, to someone with other doctors and real nurses and more hours--this was 1 pm on Tuesday and she wasn't in all day, with no coverage!)
And Googled it. Remembering my sister had mentioned DVT (deep vein thrombosis) as a side effect of being in bed too much, which I had been with my cold, and also knowing I was on relatively new pain meds, I wanted to see a doctor (but my pain guy is in NYC).
So Mama came home and we went to the hospital. And they were more worried than I was! It was like my own personal ER episode. They took my vitals and a man showed up with a chair and insisted I get in. Now. Then we were in cardiology with 3 people swarming around, attaching all sorts of wires and poking me with needles. Two nurses were even arguing about what order the stickies went on, slowing down the whole thing. Nurse Hathaway would have put an end to that! I learned that my heart was "tachy"--or racing (their words are always so much more dramatic and mysterious. And alarming.)--and that my blood pressure was low, apparently an odd or dangerous combo.
And it went away almost as soon as I was hooked up! Though, the leg cramps continued intermittently. But they monitored me for 4 hours, gave me fluids, and did a CT Scan (with steroids and benadryl in case I was allergic to the dye). No blood clots, which was my fear. The cardiologist wants me to wear a 24-hour heart monitor just to check, and have a follow-up leg ultrasound to recheck for clots; I'll be getting that sometime Wednesday, I think. And I'm supposed to see my GP. I wonder if I'll get in.
Anyway, I feel good actually. Except I've been up since 2 a.m. Not worried, not in pain, just awake. Because even with the ER, I didn't do much today. So now I've cleaned the kitchen, sent some email, and am finally blogging.. I should've just blogged this before bedtime, once I called my folks and my sister (gotta worry everyone, you know. After the fact.) I might be asleep if I had.
Monday, January 9, 2012
Reading Days
Remember those days in college before final exams that were reserved for studying? My university gave us two; Mama's gave her almost a week (I guess those Ivy League finals are harder!). It was always an unusual limbo--no schedule but lots to do, excitement about upcoming vacation but anxiety about tests. I don't miss the finals, but I did like those days of reading and solitude.
Sure, my whole life right now, between 8 a.m. and 3:45 p.m., resembles those times. And I'm especially engaged right now with a variety of books and topics, having received several books for Christmas and working on colonial history for the historic house.
Sure, my whole life right now, between 8 a.m. and 3:45 p.m., resembles those times. And I'm especially engaged right now with a variety of books and topics, having received several books for Christmas and working on colonial history for the historic house.
- As part of my continued spiritual quest and also readings on pain/illness/medicine (How to Be Sick by Toni Bernhard and The Sound of a Wild Snail Eating by Tova Bradley fall into this category, too), I'm reading Larry Dossey's Healing Words on the relationship between prayer and medicine. I'm finding it a fascinating read, not only for the exploration of published scientific studies of the relationship of healing and prayer, but for little insights such as people heal better/faster if prayers are vague and "thy will be done"/"hope for the best outcome" rather than specific.
- Gretchen Rubin's The Happiness Project has me thinking on resolutions and the life I want to live (while providing memorable tidbits like it takes six seconds for a hug to induce happy chemicals in the body).
- Below Stairs: The Classic Kitchen Maid's Memoir that Inspired Upstairs, Downstairs and Downton Abbey, by Margaret Powell, as I get ready for the second season of the latter.
- From the used bookstore, for fun, The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Society and The Ungarnished Truth: A Cooking Contest Memoir--A Woman, a Chicken Dinner, a Million Dollars.
- Heaven is for Real and The Shack, part of my therapist's homework to consider other people's spiritual lives. The former is very Born-Again Christian--about a real little boy who was very ill and later told his parents about going to heaven, meeting dead relatives, and seeing Jesus's rainbow horse--but not as difficult to finish as I expected, despite the pleas to "know Jesus in your heart." I'll start The Shack, which is fiction, soon.
- Continuing my reading in Buddhist studies, I've read It's Easier than You Think and Happiness is an Inside Job,both by Sylvia Boorstein, but I'm not sure which book I'll tackle next so, for Buddhism, I'm perusing Best Buddhist Writing 2011.
- For a reading group at the kids' school, I'm reading Mind in the Making by Ellen Galinsky. After Nurture Shock, it's kind of repetitive but I'll keep reading.
- For the historic house, A Guide to Historical Artifacts of Colonial America by Ivor Noel Hume, once head of archaeology at Colonial Williamsburg.
- Shine and Shadow, a book of meditations by UU minister Kathleen McTigue
- All my magazines, mostly food and parenting . . . .
Obviously, I pick and choose, go back and forth, depending on mood or activity. As Rubin notes in The Happiness Project discovers, growth, or learning, generates happiness. Doing my best.
My Turn
First Gommie and Pop caught it and suffered a painful flight home with bursting ears, which still hurt a week later. Then Mama got it, becoming sicker with a cold than I have seen her in our nearly 18 years together.
And now, as of waking up at 5 am with a hot throat, stuffed nose, and burning eyes, I have it.
Gargling, saline mist, extra vitamin C, chicken soup (literally, no vegetarian qualms here), washing hands, tea with honey, and a call to the doctor who saw me for a well visit on Thursday . . . and I'm feeling mediocre.
And nervous. It was my last cold, that morphed into bronchial asthma, that precipitated the late-night-while-I-was-asleep disc herniation/pelvic joints event that left me unable to sit. Don't really want to do that again.
So, as I'm reading Larry Dossey's Healing Words on medicine and prayer, I'll ask you to send good vibes, wishes, prayers our way . . . .
And now, as of waking up at 5 am with a hot throat, stuffed nose, and burning eyes, I have it.
Gargling, saline mist, extra vitamin C, chicken soup (literally, no vegetarian qualms here), washing hands, tea with honey, and a call to the doctor who saw me for a well visit on Thursday . . . and I'm feeling mediocre.
And nervous. It was my last cold, that morphed into bronchial asthma, that precipitated the late-night-while-I-was-asleep disc herniation/pelvic joints event that left me unable to sit. Don't really want to do that again.
So, as I'm reading Larry Dossey's Healing Words on medicine and prayer, I'll ask you to send good vibes, wishes, prayers our way . . . .
Thoughtful
A day is vast.
Until noon.
Then it’s over.
For the whole poem by Jane Hirschfield and many other thought-provoking poems and posts, check out Thinking Faithfully, a blog by Rev. Kathleen McTigue.
Sunday, January 8, 2012
Saturday, January 7, 2012
Cookie Time!!!
And Savannah Smiles, a new lemon cookie covered in powdered sugar to celebrate the 100th anniversary of the founding of Girl Scouts by Juliette Gordon Low.
Sis is very excited to be selling cookies again for her Daisy troop. So, friends and family, if you would like to purchase cookies for $4 a box during the month of January (with delivery in March), please contact me offline. We can also facilitate the donation of cookies to military personnel and the local food pantry.
Sis says thanks!
Friday, January 6, 2012
My Epiphany
It's fitting that I post this today, being the Feast of the Epiphany and all, but I've had some personal spiritual insights recently that I want to share. I don't have answers, but I'm asking new questions.
I believe in something.
I'm open to the possibility that there is more going on than I understand, than anyone understands. I'm not talking about God specifically. Just . . . something.
Sounds simple, sounds easy, sounds obvious. But it isn't. And it's been a long time coming. Sort of.
So this is going to be something of a spiritual biography, starting at the beginning. Because in reflecting on where I've been, I realize that I've been searching for and seeking this "something" for a long time, even if I would have said that I hadn't been (incorrectly remembering just monolithic doubt) . . . because I would have said there was nothing to find.
I've been told that when my grandmother Bammie died, one of the first things I said was that when I died I wanted to come back as a dog. I was four. They had no idea where I picked up that notion. We weren't a religious family. At all. No church. No religious affiliations (both of my parents had been raised Methodists but that's as far as it went). No spiritual beliefs. Which I'm guessing is why I didn't plan to go to heaven when I died. We celebrated Christmas and Easter but secularly. Except my dad insisted on the reading of the biblical Christmas story each year before we could open presents.
In childhood, I was much more interested in the Greek gods than the Christian one. I read all the mythology books I could get my hands on. Once I even built a temple to Poseidon on the beach. My Aunt J, the only churchgoer in my extended family that I knew of, asked if I really believed in mythology. Being precocious, I told her I found it as likely as anything else and that the Greeks didn't think their stories were untrue myths. In fact, the Greek gods made sense to me--each one in charge of a few facets of life, with their own very human personalities and stories. Just larger than life. I especially identified with Athena, goddess of wisdom.
I was also fascinated with the paranormal, always getting books on ghosts, ESP, or unexplained mysteries from the book club or watching similar shows on Atlantis, Easter Island, and Stonehenge on tv. I also watched that HBO special on Nostradamus (which terrified me). I had the whole Time-Life book series Mysteries of the Unknown. And I remember believing it all.
And I went to church some in elementary school. If I spent the night with a friend, I'd go to church with the family on Sunday, didn't matter where. Methodist. Presbyterian. Catholic. Southern Baptist. When I spent the weekend with my great-grandmother, we went to her church, a small, small-town congregation of, well, I can't recall if it was Lutheran or Presbyterian or Methodist. I do remember one service though, a fiery, hellfire and damnation, "come to Jesus" sermon at which I was almost moved to go up to the altar, save for one thought: my parents would burn in hell and we would be separate. At ten-ish years of age, that was scarier than brimstone and so I stayed put. I actually attended a Southern Baptist church for about a year, again around 5th grade, enjoying the instant camaraderie of classmates who went there and liking the school-like atmosphere (I loved school!)--I went to Saturday retreats, a daughter-father dinner, Vacation Bible School, and even sang in the choir's production of Come, Messiah, Come (ask me, I can still remember the songs!). I loved the weekly bulletins and had a white zippered Bible I thought was pretty. It wasn't about God for me, really, but about community. At some point I quit going. I don't remember why, especially as I think I came very close to being baptized. I was instantly ignored by all my "friends." That was the end of church for me for a long time.
Then in high school, I joined the Atheists of America and was fascinated with Madeleine Murray O'Hare and the court case against school prayer. Especially because by this time I refused to say the Pledge of Allegiance because of the "Under God" part. I became fervent in my atheism.
In college, I went to chapel once, for the Christmas Eve service, because I thought you had to attend it to go to the all-school holiday reception afterwards. By sophomore year, I knew you could skip it. And so I did. I took a history of religion in America course to meet a requirement and enjoyed learning about the waves of religiosity in American history. I even enjoyed visiting services as part of my coursework--a Catholic mass in Spanish, a reformed Jewish shabbat, and a three-hour evangelical (but unaffiliated) service of a predominantly African-American congregation. Also, some LDS missionaries and a Wiccan visited class. I was the only atheist and didn't talk much in class. But I still got an A. I was more interested in religion as history or art or theological differences or culture. Not as spirituality or belief. Otherwise, the only churches I went to were in Rome during my summer abroad (in 1992, where I met Lambeth, who was in the same program, along with his wife--20 years ago!)--I loved visiting churches there to enjoy the art work and architecture. I would sometimes even pretend to pray so I could visit the special side chapels reserved for that purpose. I noticed that Italians had a very pragmatic approach to mass--many would show up just in time for communion, standing in back by the door, and leave right after, so it "counted." I was even blessed by Pope John Paul II three times (once in an audience and twice in St. Peter's Square) and have some rose rosary beads from the Vatican gift shop. I was strangely drawn to the Vatican, to all things Catholic that summer, but not in a spiritual way, I was especially fascinated by all the nuns in their various robes. My mom laughed that I would probably become a nun because I liked costumes and I liked joining groups! (Coincidentally, one of my cousins, also non-religious in his upbringing, did become a Catholic monk in France. And that side of the family wasn't even Catholic!)
The decade or so that followed college is spiritually empty, with no church, no exploration, only the continued belief that there was nothing else out there, nothing paranormal or metaphysical or spiritual. And that when you died, you were dead. This last bit occasionally saddened me--I would have liked to have believed in something more and was sometimes disappointed that I didn't believe. I couldn't fake faith, though, and so had none.
Mama had a more traditionally religious upbringing, in the Catholic church and 12 years of Catholic school, encouraged by her Buddhist parents who saw Catholicism as just another variation of a spiritual path. Mama liked talking about religion with her friends, who were often Orthodox Jewish women. After coming out, however, she left the Church but without giving up what she characterizes now as her Chinese ancestor-worship/Buddhist polytheism. But being casual in her beliefs, she didn't mind my lacking any.
As a member of a tight-knit lesbian community in Chicago in the later 1990s, I met people of a variety of faiths--some Unity, some Metropolitan Community Church, and several Wiccans. I was a member of a chorus and we sang several Earth Mother songs and I began to read about paganism--Starhawk, Diane Stein, Z Budapest, and others. Mama and I experimented (oooh, that sounds like Christine O'Donnell) with observing the sabbaths in our own way and tried some rituals but never really felt comfortable with spells or potions. It was my first adult attempt at engaging in spiritual practices and I liked the connection to the earth, nature, the seasons, and history. I think you could mark this as the beginning of my spiritual journey as an adult. But, imbued with feminism and a tinge of lesbian separatism (still popular with my friends in Chicago who were activists in the 1970s), it was still decidedly anti-church and anti-God.
Five years later found us in Connecticut at a Unitarian Universalist church, the suggestion of a lifelong UU friend, though I honestly don't remember how she came to suggest it and us to listen in the first place. This was pre-children (though I don't remember if it was pre-thinking about children. I mean there is that joke, "Show me a UU and I'll show you an atheist with children."). I vaguely recalled that my mom had once said I might like Unitarians, because they read the Giving Tree and didn't talk about God. And she was right, I loved UU. I've posted here several times about how meaningful the principles are to me, how important the community. And as my church has faltered, I've been bereft. But for me, spirituality wasn't really a part of church, which was securely secular humanist in nature.
Eventually, through UU, I came to learn about meditation and finally happened upon Buddhism (this might be a family tradition--I understand my paternal grandfather became very interested in Buddhism), which has provided me great insight into life. Of course, Buddhism can be studied philosophically--there are books about atheism and Buddha and Buddhism without Beliefs. And that's how it started for me . . . .
Until recently. Until after this 18-month journey of injury, pain, and disability. I had been meditating and praying, more as a personal practice. I was adapting and redefining spiritual language to fit my liberal religious UU faith. I was becoming more comfortable with so-called "God talk." And then this whole PT thing started, with healing energies and actual profound changes. Nothing the allopathic doctors have done has helped; there is something about my mystical, magical PT and her various techniques--osteopathic manipulations, cranio-sacral, IMT (Integrative Manual Technique of Sharon Weiselfish), chakra healing, acupressure--that I can actually feel--her slightest pressure literally sends shockwaves coursing through my legs. Qi. Chakras. Diaphragms. It's not rational, explainable, quantifiable, scientific, but it does happen And it does help, the only thing that has. She says I don't have to believe for it to work. If I am healed through energy, do these energies exist? Or, put more dramatically, "If my back gets better, is there a God?" Everything came together, a lifetime of vague wanderings coalesced. And people who have had spiritual experiences witnessed to me and I listened with an open heart and non-judgment instead of my usual cynicism and rational explanations. And I realized I liked thinking about believing in something, even something as vague as energy or connection. It has promise and possibility. I've obviously been looking for something for a long time.
Sure, I worry that I am gullible and vulnerable, grasping at straws to get better. Sure, I imagine this could all be explained more rationally. Sure, it might be in my mind, a placebo effect. Sure, the spontaneous healing could be the result of 18 months of other treatments coming together. I'm not joining a cult or shaving my head. I'm just entertaining some adjustments to my worldview, refining what I believe in, a mind-body-spirit paradigm shift, if you will. These ideas are not harmful or dangerous to me or anyone else. Whether or not they are true probably doesn't matter much (isn't that what Karen Armstrong says in The Case for God? I haven't read that one yet). I think they call that faith.
Does this mean I believe in God? No. Still no. Not in the traditional sense. I don't believe there is a omnipotent creator with power over us all. I do however sense more of a connection between us, perhaps what Buddhists call the universal consciousness, or some people call source energy. In telling a few people (mainly my spiritual friends) in the last couple of days (it actually only came together for me late Tuesday night!), I compared this experience to being a new kitten or a rosebud--fragile, new, a beginning, beautiful. I can't really find the words to express what I'm not sure I'm talking about. I'm still not sure what it all means. What I believe. What effect it will have. What I'm going to tell the kids. Even what I'm telling you . . . and mind you, "coming out" with even this bare minimum of belief is more challenging for me than being a lesbian because it speaks more to my core identity of being secular than being straight ever did. Especially because I doubted and yes, laughed at and denigrated the other side frequently enough. I'm ashamed of that now. Maybe a little fearful of being in that position myself. But not enough not to say something.
And so I keep walking this very meandering path that I have been walking all my life, just taking another turn and seeing some new scenery. It's a lovely journey. And it feels great.
I believe in something.
I'm open to the possibility that there is more going on than I understand, than anyone understands. I'm not talking about God specifically. Just . . . something.
Sounds simple, sounds easy, sounds obvious. But it isn't. And it's been a long time coming. Sort of.
So this is going to be something of a spiritual biography, starting at the beginning. Because in reflecting on where I've been, I realize that I've been searching for and seeking this "something" for a long time, even if I would have said that I hadn't been (incorrectly remembering just monolithic doubt) . . . because I would have said there was nothing to find.
I've been told that when my grandmother Bammie died, one of the first things I said was that when I died I wanted to come back as a dog. I was four. They had no idea where I picked up that notion. We weren't a religious family. At all. No church. No religious affiliations (both of my parents had been raised Methodists but that's as far as it went). No spiritual beliefs. Which I'm guessing is why I didn't plan to go to heaven when I died. We celebrated Christmas and Easter but secularly. Except my dad insisted on the reading of the biblical Christmas story each year before we could open presents.
In childhood, I was much more interested in the Greek gods than the Christian one. I read all the mythology books I could get my hands on. Once I even built a temple to Poseidon on the beach. My Aunt J, the only churchgoer in my extended family that I knew of, asked if I really believed in mythology. Being precocious, I told her I found it as likely as anything else and that the Greeks didn't think their stories were untrue myths. In fact, the Greek gods made sense to me--each one in charge of a few facets of life, with their own very human personalities and stories. Just larger than life. I especially identified with Athena, goddess of wisdom.
I was also fascinated with the paranormal, always getting books on ghosts, ESP, or unexplained mysteries from the book club or watching similar shows on Atlantis, Easter Island, and Stonehenge on tv. I also watched that HBO special on Nostradamus (which terrified me). I had the whole Time-Life book series Mysteries of the Unknown. And I remember believing it all.
And I went to church some in elementary school. If I spent the night with a friend, I'd go to church with the family on Sunday, didn't matter where. Methodist. Presbyterian. Catholic. Southern Baptist. When I spent the weekend with my great-grandmother, we went to her church, a small, small-town congregation of, well, I can't recall if it was Lutheran or Presbyterian or Methodist. I do remember one service though, a fiery, hellfire and damnation, "come to Jesus" sermon at which I was almost moved to go up to the altar, save for one thought: my parents would burn in hell and we would be separate. At ten-ish years of age, that was scarier than brimstone and so I stayed put. I actually attended a Southern Baptist church for about a year, again around 5th grade, enjoying the instant camaraderie of classmates who went there and liking the school-like atmosphere (I loved school!)--I went to Saturday retreats, a daughter-father dinner, Vacation Bible School, and even sang in the choir's production of Come, Messiah, Come (ask me, I can still remember the songs!). I loved the weekly bulletins and had a white zippered Bible I thought was pretty. It wasn't about God for me, really, but about community. At some point I quit going. I don't remember why, especially as I think I came very close to being baptized. I was instantly ignored by all my "friends." That was the end of church for me for a long time.
Then in high school, I joined the Atheists of America and was fascinated with Madeleine Murray O'Hare and the court case against school prayer. Especially because by this time I refused to say the Pledge of Allegiance because of the "Under God" part. I became fervent in my atheism.
In college, I went to chapel once, for the Christmas Eve service, because I thought you had to attend it to go to the all-school holiday reception afterwards. By sophomore year, I knew you could skip it. And so I did. I took a history of religion in America course to meet a requirement and enjoyed learning about the waves of religiosity in American history. I even enjoyed visiting services as part of my coursework--a Catholic mass in Spanish, a reformed Jewish shabbat, and a three-hour evangelical (but unaffiliated) service of a predominantly African-American congregation. Also, some LDS missionaries and a Wiccan visited class. I was the only atheist and didn't talk much in class. But I still got an A. I was more interested in religion as history or art or theological differences or culture. Not as spirituality or belief. Otherwise, the only churches I went to were in Rome during my summer abroad (in 1992, where I met Lambeth, who was in the same program, along with his wife--20 years ago!)--I loved visiting churches there to enjoy the art work and architecture. I would sometimes even pretend to pray so I could visit the special side chapels reserved for that purpose. I noticed that Italians had a very pragmatic approach to mass--many would show up just in time for communion, standing in back by the door, and leave right after, so it "counted." I was even blessed by Pope John Paul II three times (once in an audience and twice in St. Peter's Square) and have some rose rosary beads from the Vatican gift shop. I was strangely drawn to the Vatican, to all things Catholic that summer, but not in a spiritual way, I was especially fascinated by all the nuns in their various robes. My mom laughed that I would probably become a nun because I liked costumes and I liked joining groups! (Coincidentally, one of my cousins, also non-religious in his upbringing, did become a Catholic monk in France. And that side of the family wasn't even Catholic!)
The decade or so that followed college is spiritually empty, with no church, no exploration, only the continued belief that there was nothing else out there, nothing paranormal or metaphysical or spiritual. And that when you died, you were dead. This last bit occasionally saddened me--I would have liked to have believed in something more and was sometimes disappointed that I didn't believe. I couldn't fake faith, though, and so had none.
Mama had a more traditionally religious upbringing, in the Catholic church and 12 years of Catholic school, encouraged by her Buddhist parents who saw Catholicism as just another variation of a spiritual path. Mama liked talking about religion with her friends, who were often Orthodox Jewish women. After coming out, however, she left the Church but without giving up what she characterizes now as her Chinese ancestor-worship/Buddhist polytheism. But being casual in her beliefs, she didn't mind my lacking any.
As a member of a tight-knit lesbian community in Chicago in the later 1990s, I met people of a variety of faiths--some Unity, some Metropolitan Community Church, and several Wiccans. I was a member of a chorus and we sang several Earth Mother songs and I began to read about paganism--Starhawk, Diane Stein, Z Budapest, and others. Mama and I experimented (oooh, that sounds like Christine O'Donnell) with observing the sabbaths in our own way and tried some rituals but never really felt comfortable with spells or potions. It was my first adult attempt at engaging in spiritual practices and I liked the connection to the earth, nature, the seasons, and history. I think you could mark this as the beginning of my spiritual journey as an adult. But, imbued with feminism and a tinge of lesbian separatism (still popular with my friends in Chicago who were activists in the 1970s), it was still decidedly anti-church and anti-God.
Five years later found us in Connecticut at a Unitarian Universalist church, the suggestion of a lifelong UU friend, though I honestly don't remember how she came to suggest it and us to listen in the first place. This was pre-children (though I don't remember if it was pre-thinking about children. I mean there is that joke, "Show me a UU and I'll show you an atheist with children."). I vaguely recalled that my mom had once said I might like Unitarians, because they read the Giving Tree and didn't talk about God. And she was right, I loved UU. I've posted here several times about how meaningful the principles are to me, how important the community. And as my church has faltered, I've been bereft. But for me, spirituality wasn't really a part of church, which was securely secular humanist in nature.
Eventually, through UU, I came to learn about meditation and finally happened upon Buddhism (this might be a family tradition--I understand my paternal grandfather became very interested in Buddhism), which has provided me great insight into life. Of course, Buddhism can be studied philosophically--there are books about atheism and Buddha and Buddhism without Beliefs. And that's how it started for me . . . .
Until recently. Until after this 18-month journey of injury, pain, and disability. I had been meditating and praying, more as a personal practice. I was adapting and redefining spiritual language to fit my liberal religious UU faith. I was becoming more comfortable with so-called "God talk." And then this whole PT thing started, with healing energies and actual profound changes. Nothing the allopathic doctors have done has helped; there is something about my mystical, magical PT and her various techniques--osteopathic manipulations, cranio-sacral, IMT (Integrative Manual Technique of Sharon Weiselfish), chakra healing, acupressure--that I can actually feel--her slightest pressure literally sends shockwaves coursing through my legs. Qi. Chakras. Diaphragms. It's not rational, explainable, quantifiable, scientific, but it does happen And it does help, the only thing that has. She says I don't have to believe for it to work. If I am healed through energy, do these energies exist? Or, put more dramatically, "If my back gets better, is there a God?" Everything came together, a lifetime of vague wanderings coalesced. And people who have had spiritual experiences witnessed to me and I listened with an open heart and non-judgment instead of my usual cynicism and rational explanations. And I realized I liked thinking about believing in something, even something as vague as energy or connection. It has promise and possibility. I've obviously been looking for something for a long time.
Sure, I worry that I am gullible and vulnerable, grasping at straws to get better. Sure, I imagine this could all be explained more rationally. Sure, it might be in my mind, a placebo effect. Sure, the spontaneous healing could be the result of 18 months of other treatments coming together. I'm not joining a cult or shaving my head. I'm just entertaining some adjustments to my worldview, refining what I believe in, a mind-body-spirit paradigm shift, if you will. These ideas are not harmful or dangerous to me or anyone else. Whether or not they are true probably doesn't matter much (isn't that what Karen Armstrong says in The Case for God? I haven't read that one yet). I think they call that faith.
Does this mean I believe in God? No. Still no. Not in the traditional sense. I don't believe there is a omnipotent creator with power over us all. I do however sense more of a connection between us, perhaps what Buddhists call the universal consciousness, or some people call source energy. In telling a few people (mainly my spiritual friends) in the last couple of days (it actually only came together for me late Tuesday night!), I compared this experience to being a new kitten or a rosebud--fragile, new, a beginning, beautiful. I can't really find the words to express what I'm not sure I'm talking about. I'm still not sure what it all means. What I believe. What effect it will have. What I'm going to tell the kids. Even what I'm telling you . . . and mind you, "coming out" with even this bare minimum of belief is more challenging for me than being a lesbian because it speaks more to my core identity of being secular than being straight ever did. Especially because I doubted and yes, laughed at and denigrated the other side frequently enough. I'm ashamed of that now. Maybe a little fearful of being in that position myself. But not enough not to say something.
And so I keep walking this very meandering path that I have been walking all my life, just taking another turn and seeing some new scenery. It's a lovely journey. And it feels great.
Thursday, January 5, 2012
More Get-Well-Soons
- for Mama, who has infections in her ears and sinuses
- for Gommie and Pop, also sick with infections
- for CJ, who has pink eye
- and everyone who is sick right now
On Sand Tarts
You know the cookie--round, even ball-like, or crescent-shaped, covered in powdered sugar, filled with a crumbly, dry cookie and lots of pecans.
They were long my very least favorite cookie. I didn't like the nuts and I didn't like the sandy texture; they were always such a disappointment.
Until recently. Both last Christmas and this, I found myself liking the sandies, even choosing them over other cookies. For our baking bonanza this year, Mama Teacher made sandies--and they were delicious! And there were none left in our house, the only cookie that was completely gone without sharing. Mmm, mmm, good. My favorite cookie from the church holiday bake sale? Sandies made with mini-chips instead of pecans.
And then out of the blue, Gommie called me asking about sandies, looking for my paternal grandmother's sand tart recipe. And awhile later I found it, in her distinctive handwriting, in a little recipe book my aunt photocopied from the treasured original. I made a copy for Gommie.
Finally, I've been eyeing a recipe, "cocoa wedding cookies," that is a chocolate sand tart with mini-chips and pecans. I didn't get to make it over the break but hope to make a batch before morning coffee next week. Right now, I just can't imagine a better cookie than that!
-=-=-=-=-=-
Mama Teacher's Snowball Cookies
1 cup butter, softened
1 cup sugar
1 tsp vanilla
2 cups flour
1 1/2 cups finely ground pecans
1/4 tsp salt
1/2 cup powdered sugar
Beat butter, sugar and vanilla in a bowl with mixer until creamy. Blend in flour, pecans and salt. Refrigerate 1 hour. Shape dough into 1-inch balls. Bake at 350 for 10 - 12 mins. Cool then roll in powdered sugar.
-=-=-=-=-=-
Grandmother's Sand Tarts
(transcribed from picture)
2 sticks butter
2 cups flour
2 teaspoons vanilla
8 tablespoons sugar
1 cup chopped pecans
Roll into crescents or balls--bake 30-45 min at 300F.
Mommy Hungry
-=-=-=-=-=-
Cocoa Wedding Cakes
2 cups pecans
3 1/2 cups confectioner's sugar
2 cups cold butter (4 sticks), cut into pieces (do not use margarine)
2 teaspoons vanilla extract
3 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
2/3 cup unsweetened cocoa
2/3 cup semisweet chocolate mini-chips
Preheat oven to 325F.
In food processor, pulse pecans with 1 cup confectioner's sugar until pecans are finely ground. Add butter and vanilla and process until smooth. Add flour and cocoa and mix evenly (I had to do this in my mixer because it wouldn't fit in my processor). Add chocolate chips and combine.
With floured hands, shape dough by rounded teaspoons into 1-inch balls. Place balls 1" apart.
Bake cookies until begin to firm to touch (the original recipe says "lightly browned"--how do you tell that with cocoa cookies??), 16-18 minutes. Transfer to rack to cool slightly.
Sift remaining confectioner's sugar onto paper to roll cookies into it OR, as we did, sift sugar over cookies on cooling rack. To cover completely, sift more powdered sugar on when completely cool and ready to serve.
makes appx. 108 cookies
Good Housekeeping's The Great Christmas Cookie Swap Cookbook
Other Variations:
Snowball Cookies
1 cup butter, softened
1 cup sugar
1 tsp vanilla
2 cups flour
1 1/2 cups finely ground pecans
1/4 tsp salt
1/2 cup powdered sugar
Beat butter, sugar and vanilla in a bowl with mixer until creamy. Blend in flour, pecans and salt. Refrigerate 1 hour. Shape dough into 1-inch balls. Bake at 350 for 10 - 12 mins. Cool then roll in powdered sugar.
Mama Teacher
Snowball Cookies
3/4 c butter
1/2 cup white sugar
1/4 tsp salt
1 egg
1 tsp vanilla
1 3/4 c flour
1 cup powdered sugar
Diretions
1. preheat over to 350
2. line a baking tray with foil
3. in large bowl, cream together the butter and sugar using electric
mixer
add salt, egg, and vanilla,
mixing constanly
Slowly add the flour and
continue mixing until the ingreadients are well-combined
4. use hands to shape it into round, 1-inch balls
place each ball 2 inches apart
on baking tray
5. bake for 15 min or until bottoms are golden
let cool for 5 min on a wire
rack
6. while the cookies are baking, sift the powdered sugar into a large
plastic bag
7. after they have cooled, place in bag and gently shake
Snowballs (Russian Tea
Cakes)—One of Miss L’ mom’s specialties
6 oz shortening and 2 oz butter (or 8 oz butter)
½ cup confectioner’s sugar
2 tsp vanilla extract
2 cups flour
½ tsp salt (optional)
1 cup coarsely ground nuts (pecans, walnuts, pine nuts, etc)
Additional confectioner’s sugar for coating
Heat oven to 325 degrees. Blend
shortening and /or butter, sugar, and vanilla.
Stir the flour with salt and beat into shortening. Stir in nuts.
Drop by heaping teaspoonfuls onto nonstick baking sheets or roll into
1-inch balls. Bake at 325 for 20 – 25
minutes, until golden Remove and
cool. Roll twice in confectioner’s sugar
Miss L’s Mom
J.D.’s Russian Tea
Cakes
2 sticks softened unsalted butter
1/2 cup confectioners' sugar
1 tsp vanilla
1/2 tsp salt
2 1/2 cups flour
3/4 walnuts, finely ground in food processor or blender
2 cups confectioners' sugar for coating
Heat oven to 400 degrees Beat
butter, sugar, vanilla and salt until blended.
On low speed beat in flour and walnuts until blended. Roll dough into 1 inch balls and place 2
inches apart on ungreased cookie sheets.Bake 10 min (cookie may crack
slightly). Roll hot cookies in remaining
2 cups sugar until coated and cool on cookie rack. Once cooled roll again in confectioners' sugar. Enjoy!!
Italian Nut Balls—Another of Miss L’s
mom’s specialties
¾ cup sugar
1 tsp salt
¾ cup butter, softened
2 egg yolks, reserve whites
½ tsp vanilla
½ tsp almond extract
2 cups flour
2 egg whites, slightly beaten
1 cup chopped nuts
Your favorite jelly
Mix sugar, salt, butter, egg yolks, vanilla extract, and almond extract
on medium until well blended. Slowly add
flour at low speed. Roll dough into 1
inch balls. Dip into egg whites. Roll in chopped nuts. Place on greased cookie
sheet, 2 inches apart, and make a deep depression in the center of each. Bake
at 350 for 10 – 12 minutes. Fill with jelly while still warm.
Mini-Chocolate Chip
Snowball Cookies
1 1/2 cups (3 sticks) butter or margarine, softened
3/4 cup powdered sugar
1 tablespoon vanilla extract
1/2 teaspoon salt
3 cups all-purpose flour
2 cups (12-oz. pkg.) NESTLÉ® TOLL HOUSE® Semi-Sweet Chocolate Mini
Morsels
1/2 cup finely chopped nuts
Powdered sugar
PREHEAT oven to 375° F.
BEAT butter, sugar, vanilla extract and salt in large mixer bowl until
creamy. Gradually beat in flour; stir in morsels and nuts. Shape level
tablespoons of dough into 1 1/4-inch balls. Place on ungreased baking sheets.
BAKE for 10 to 12 minutes or until cookies are set and lightly browned.
Remove from oven. Sift powdered sugar over hot cookies on baking sheets. Cool
on baking sheets for 10 minutes; remove to wire racks to cool completely.
Sprinkle with additional powdered sugar, if desired. Store in airtight
containers.
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