The Dog Blog

This is my dog. Tito.

I didn't think I would ever be someone who writes about her dog, but here I am. A couple weeks ago, something began to happen to him. It started as a sort of hiccup-y twitch, then shaking. Then he started to walk as though each step hurt, which soon became obvious that it did. For a couple of days, he improved but then, it started again and got worse. Tito is a dog who has two speeds: on and off. You don't go for walks with him; you go for meanders. Sniffing and investigating, joyfully bouncing up to every dog, person, and cat you see, hoping for whatever attention or treat is available. But when this whatever happened, he didn't want to go out; he only wanted to curl up on his pillow. Then, he only wanted find a place to hide -- like under a desk or the back of a closet -- and sleep.

I began to panic. Tito is not an old dog; he turns five on June 24th.

When we first saw him as a puppy, I *adored* him immediately. We were just looking at different dogs as a way to learn about breeds and behaviors. We hadn't planned to get a puppy, certainly not right then. I had never had a dog, never spent time with a puppy, but this little guy.... When I saw him, that was it.

When we brought him home, I assumed that my kids would be his primary companions. No one told me that that's not how it works. I didn't know the rule: you don't choose the dog...the dog chooses you. Tito chose me.

He loves all of us because I think he understands the fundamental truth that love has no size and that he can love all of us 100% and there's still love to go around. But what I didn't expect was that I became his person. You dog people know what I mean.

I have had cats and guinea pigs, both of which I loved dearly and two of whom loved me back in wonderful ways. I had no idea how it could be with a dog. The absolute devotion has ruined me for life.

So, the first trip to the vet was inconclusive. The second trip to the vet, I was adamant: something was wrong; this was not normal behavior. This time, the vet agreed and guessed that it was a tick-borne illness. It I wanted to pay $300 in bloodwork, we could determine exactly which one...OR ... we could begin treatment. Knowing that the antibiotics would be the same regardless, we started. I gave him a pill for pain and a syringe of foul-smelling -- CHICKEN-FLAVORED!! -- viscous antibiotics once a day. 

It took almost a week to see improvement. Today, day seven, my baby is almost back to his old, silly self, so I am crossing fingers that we really got it. Like I said, I didn't think I would ever be someone who either had or wrote about a dog. But this guy...this little ten-pounds of fluff and adoration has changed me.

The world may be a crappy, terrible place much of the time these days. But Lord, there are dogs.

Thank God for dogs.

Mother's Day

Yesterday was Mother's Day. I preached a very brief "sermonette" as I called it at First Parish in Milton, and what I focused on was the history of it, and NOT the idea of chocolate, flowers, and obligatory phone calls to mothers.  Of course, anyone who cares for children should be appreciated regularly. I am not even going to think about how long it will be before this country makes the raising of children and families a priority.

But the interesting thing about "Mother's Day" is that originally, it had nothing to do with what it's become now.

In 1872, Julia Ward Howe -- you know: Battle Hymn of the Republic Julia Ward Howe - proposed an annual Mothers' Day for Peace.  For thirty years, it was honored but only primarily here in the Northeast. A Unitarian, she worked to end slavery, helped to initiate the women's movement in many states, and organized for international peace—all at a time, she noted, "when to do so was a thankless office, involving public ridicule and private avoidance."

Sounds kind of familiar, right?

Part of what I found so moving was a proclamation that Howe wrote in 1870 called the Mother's Day Proclamation. It goes like this:

Arise then...women of this day!
Arise, all women who have hearts!
Whether your baptism be of water or of tears!
Say firmly:
"We will not have questions answered by irrelevant agencies,
Our husbands will not come to us, reeking with carnage,
For caresses and applause.
Our sons shall not be taken from us to unlearn
All that we have been able to teach them of charity, mercy and patience.
We, the women of one country,
Will be too tender of those of another country
To allow our sons to be trained to injure theirs."
From the bosom of a devastated Earth a voice goes up with
Our own. It says: "Disarm! Disarm!
The sword of murder is not the balance of justice."
Blood does not wipe our dishonor,
Nor violence indicate possession.
As men have often forsaken the plough and the anvil at the summons of war,
Let women now leave all that may be left of home
For a great and earnest day of counsel.
Let them meet first, as women, to bewail and commemorate the dead.
Let them solemnly take counsel with each other as to the means
Whereby the great human family can live in peace...
Each bearing after his own time the sacred impress, not of Caesar,
But of God -
In the name of womanhood and humanity, I earnestly ask
That a general congress of women without limit of nationality,
May be appointed and held at someplace deemed most convenient
And the earliest period consistent with its objects,
To promote the alliance of the different nationalities,
The amicable settlement of international questions,
The great and general interests of peace.

Howe wasn't the only one with these ideas. There were other women working on this at the time. . These women believed motherhood was a political force that should be mobilized on behalf of the entire community, not merely an expression of a fundamental instinct that led them to lavish all their time and attention on their children.

And this made me think of the Women's March on Washington. Strength in numbers? You bet. A call for justice and peace? Absolutely. Peace didn't happen in 1870 but it's too important to give up on.

Your encore for the week? That's easy -- put on your pink pussy hat and get out there and work for a better world for all.

Happy Mothers Day!

Net Neutrality

Okay, friends - Today's post has to do with a subject that I thought we'd settled: Net Neutrality. Basically, this is the God-save-us simple premise that ALL content going out on internet service providers (ISPs) will arrive on your devices at equal speed. Right now, all ISPs and the government has to keep the speeds equal.

But now, of course, we are in an era of uber-pay-for-play and Drumpf's FCC appointee -- Ajit Pai -- has pledged to take a “weed whacker” to the standing rules. It doesn't take a genius to do the math here. Pay for play? You have no idea.

I had been really pissed about this recent turn of events but had been chalking it up to another Drumpf-era pile of insanity. But last night, I happened to watch John Oliver's show. (As an aside, it scares me how much I adore him and I can only say that I pray he has body guards when he goes out with his family.) He tackled this issue in last night's episode which -- if you are above the age of 12 --  you should see. Definitely NSFW language but oh, so on-point.

If you have time to watch the episode, here it is:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=92vuuZt7wak&feature=youtu.be

If not, I will cut to the chase. John Oliver walked through the latest political shenanigans, as he did several years ago on THE SAME TOPIC, and also as he did, rallied those of us with functioning brain cells to give the FCC some choice words on why we NEED TO KEEP NET NEUTRALITY A LEVEL PLAYING FIELD.

What he pointed out, though, is that the government has made it *extraordinarily difficult* to figure out HOW to do this. So, he -- BRILLIANT man -- created a URL that we can go to which takes us directly to the page where the comments section is.

And the name of this URL: "GOFCCYOURSELF". Honest to God, have I mentioned how much I love this man???

So DO IT. If you don't know anything about net neutrality, then Google it. Right now, you can Google with the same speed as Bing. (Though really, why would you want to use Bing?)  Do a quick read and then weigh in. Yes, you will have to give your name and address. Don't be paranoid. It's too important.

The encore? We keep something sane in this country.

Thanks for listening.

www.gofccyourself.com

Thoughts on love, loss, meeting two of your s/heroes on the same day, and remembering what matters

This year has been a hard one, as my friends know, going back to the fall. Last November, in addition to the horror of Trump being elected, someone who I adored at work had a sudden brain aneurysm and died within three days. It hasn't been the same at HDS ever since. Things never will be the same, of course, and yes, I know: that's life. But.

But Harry Huff was one in a million , one in a million billion trillion. To know him was to love him which we all did, deeply. In the last few weeks I have described him variously this way: A musician, a teacher, and someone who I was lucky enough to sing with and call friend. Harry Huff was “Minister of Music” at Old South Church, Director of Music and Adjunct Faculty at Harvard Divinity School and just the most marvelous, funny, loving, kind man. 

 

Harry was a child prodigy with perfect pitch, who taught himself to play the piano and organ. He came from Tennessee and ADORED Dolly Parton. He could riff on Duke Ellington's sacred music as easily as he could perform Bach. Old South had a packed house for his memorial service.  He was so talented...and kind...and generous of spirit.  Others knew him better than I, but the fact is that if you were his friend, you felt like you were the *only* person on the planet who mattered to him.

So the loss of Harry was and still is inconceivable to me.

The day after he died, I stayed in bed all day crying, listening to his recording of "Will There Really Be a Morning " over and over, and created a Facebook page dedicated to his memory.  I could probably write a book about Harry but I'm already crying so I will get to my point. 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5cmhDDLCSI0

This past Friday and Saturday, HDS threw the biggest party of its life, as the school concluded its year-long Bicentennial celebration. Two days of programming were planned, with Saturday being a special all-class reunion for alums. There were panels and lectures, tours and toasts, an address from President Drew Faust and of course, lovely music, fancy desserts in tiny cups on trays and beautiful flowers.
We had several tents surrounding our main building to hold all the people and the activity. But the funny thing is that when the first panel discussion began on Friday morning, I didn't go. I had some financial odds and ends to take care of and as I sat at my desk running reports, I realized I just wasn't feeling like a party-girl. The end of April is the end of the academic year, the point at which even in NON-celebratory years we are just plain worn out.  And I? I was feeling like there was a cloud of exhaustion over me, and I just didn't want to party. The all-campus party was scheduled to kick off at 4, and I thought I would make an appearance then leave.

When the music began to plan, I thought about Harry, which didn't help. I thought: God, Harry would have LOVED this. He loved celebrations and this one would have blown his mind.

After lunch, I decided to go over to the garden and spend some time measuring the beds for a chicken manure delivery. The sun had come out after a cloudy morning. I pulled the tape measure horizontally down and across each bed, feeling the warmth on my back. I looked at the oregano, sage, rosemary and lemon balm and the bed of garlic that had returned from winter sleep.  The rhubarb had doubled in size over the past week. I tallied up the square footage and realized that the garden had done what it always did for me: it brought me back to life.

As I was crossing to go back to my office, I heard someone call my name. It was an alum who I'd been wanting to get to know for at least two years. I had been reading her marvelous blog: Beauty Tips for Ministers for years. Going by the moniker PeaceBang, she is a UU minister, an incredible writer and a clear-eyed thinker.  We had met once briefly and had corresponded, promising to get together for iced coffee but just hadn't found time to get together. But there she was, standing on the sidewalk. We got cold beverages and sat in the sun for almost two hours. PeaceBang was exactly the kindred spirit that I thought she would be. That was my first gift of the day.

At four when the party began in earnest, I joined the crowd under the tent. Three different people told me that a woman who we'd heard was coming to HDS in that fall as a writer-in-residence was there at the party. Terry Tempest Williams is another one of my s/heroes. She is an activist and conservationist and a beautiful writer. I had been giddy with excitement, hearing that she would be coming so I couldn't believe she was there then. It was hard to even move in the tent because it was so crowded. Just about when I was thinking I wouldn't see her until the fall, someone who knew her saw her and called me over. The person who introduced us had already shown her the garden and told her that she had to meet me because I care so much about sustainability on campus.  I am not gonna lie: I was so overwhelmed that I gushed, as I shook her hand. I have no idea what I said and I hope I didn't embarrass myself, though I may have.  It was a surreal moment. One of MY idols saying how much she was looking forward to getting to work with me next year.

I left that night, just floating on air.

On Saturday, I went back for alumni day because I had offered to give tours of the garden and our labyrinth. All morning, I had many wonderful conversations with the alums from my almost thirteen-years at HDS. So many good hearts, out doing work in the world in countless ways, trying to make a difference. But there were three in particular, three whose stories I will hold close to my heart, not because of any particular success or goal, but because they have all been through hell and are going through it still. They are persevering, working on personal issues of health -- physical and mental, and institutionalized racism, yet still holding onto forward motion, going towards the ideals that brought them to HDS in the first place. It's one of the blessing of HDS, that these stunning, creative, hopeful souls come every year.  I am privileged to be able to know them while they are with us and after they graduate. I get to listen to them and celebrate with them in their successes and then offer them tissues, tea, and M & Ms, when they come to the office in tears. I am honored to be held in their trust.

It's all one long interconnected story. That's the thing. It's about trust, community, and connection. The weekend held magic. I couldn't see it or feel it at first, but there was an amazing energy, contained in community.

This week, we will begin to interview applicants to replace Harry. It's an inconceivable task. I don't want to do it, but I will.  The story goes on and like music, it doesn't end.

And the encore for this week? It's persistence. Keep on keeping on, friends. You know I have your backs.

Why Earth Day Pisses Me Off

Today's encore is about trash -- or more specifically: landfill. The stuff that gets thrown away and ends up in our earth.

This week has been "Earth Week"; today is Earth "DAY". Don't get me started on this topic, the fact that we choose one week to try and fix the horrific actions done to the planet and then congratulate ourselves about it. I am not going there because it's so ridiculous that I'm not wasting words.

Yet.

I lead the Green Team at HDS which I enjoy because I get to obsess over the state of these issues with like-minded people. People who honest-to-God think about this stuff all the time. We planned events for each day of this week, designing them to keep up the educational push.

I know. I'm at Harvard. In Cambridge. Arguably one of the epicenters of progressive actions.

Yet. Yet it would surprise you how much doesn't get thought about. Partly this is undoubtedly due to the nature of our institution whose power source is prestige. Yes, there is an element of entitlement but certainly where I am-- the Divinity School-- there is real passion for social justice. Thank God. Thank Goddess. Thank Goodness.  Where I am, I have institutional support for this work.

Something I resent a lot is the fact that corporations make it so hard to do the right thing... or God save us...the less-harmful thing. One tiny example of this is the amount of plastic put into our world. I loathe plastic bags. But if you go into any store to buy bags for say, lunch sandwiches, the ONLY options available are plastic bags. Polyethylene bags don't biodegrade, though they do photodegrade, which means we end up with teeny tiny plastic fragments for hundreds of years. Great. The point is that there IS another, at-least-better option for your lunch: waxed-paper bags. I buy them but there is only ONE store in my town -- our local health food store, of course -- that carries them. There is a brand called "If You Care" which I think is fabulous. Talk about calling people out.

DO YOU CARE? Of course you do, only it takes someone like me, a persistent pain in the ass, to help you think about options.

My sense is that if our consumer culture is about spending, spending, spending -- then why wouldn't corporations at least care to keep life going, so they can continue to make money? Honestly, wouldn't it make financial SENSE to keep the planet healthy? How stunningly short-sighted are you when you don't even care enough to make this kind of choice -- i.e. less plastic -- commonly available?

And yes, a lot of plastic can be recycled but ONLY if a lot of people put in a lot of energy separating it and processing it. Each community has access to various processing systems and I will tell you : YES, it is complicated. I wish I could tell you that figuring out what can be recycled, what can be composted and what can't was a simple subject. I know there are complexities to it and yet, I still hope that you will care to figure it out.

The best advice? Keep it simple. Use less. Buying less stuff means less to dispose of. I think corporations should be responsible for all the excessive packaging but that's a story for another day. For today, just focus on less to go into the waste stream.

My mantra comes from the Depression: "Use it up; wear it out. Make it do or go without."

I am no saint, friends -- but I do believe these are holy words.

So, my encore for today? Go take a walk outside. Take a walk in the woods, if you're near woods. Go find something green and below it, some dirt. THAT'S a real Earth Day, friends. Get out there and be in it. THAT will do you good.

A Few Words About Food Justice

"Food justice" is a fairly new term for the "radical" idea that everyone should be able to get enough healthy food wherever they live. It's a term I use but wish I didn't need to. I mean: we need a buzz word for this?  It breaks my heart to think that we have to have a mission just to be sure that everyone has access to not just something to eat but FOOD, good food -- and it's critical to social justice. If you only have access to junk food without options or hope, how can you have a life?

     

Some amazing people I know who walk the walk are the folks at Faith Kitchen, which runs out of a Lutheran Church in Cambridge, MA. (Link to the right!) Twice a month, they commit to feeding those who are hungry. No questions asked. We grow produce to help provide part of these meals.

   
   Naturally, growing the food was my entry point. I got connected with them because I had been asked to help some students start a garden, which we did, and once we figured out how to use our space, we quickly realized that we needed to do something with all the pounds of tomatoes and herbs and peppers we found ourselves harvesting.

     As someone who is compelled to garden, I jumped at the chance to make these connections. If you grow food, you know what you're getting. It's like magic. Each year, the seed and the sprout become life. It's an annual miracle. How can you not love that?

    At the end of March, I did something I'd wanted to do for several years. I brought together the  people who run Faith Kitchen with some of us who tend the HDS Garden and we had lunch. Except for the one person who comes to pick up our produce on meal days, no one from the Kitchen sees any of us from the garden, though we are all aware of our link. But on March 23rd, eleven of us spent a hour talking about the work of gardening and the work of feeding people, both bodies and spirits. The word "community" kept coming up.

   And the encore for this, in case you're wondering: I already knew how amazing each of these individuals was. The idea of bringing them together was the goal. I knew wherever our conversation would lead, it would be lively. (It was.) The challenge: how to deepen our connections.  In a word: what else can we grow?  The work of this spring has begun. I will let you know what comes next.

Below are pictures from our lunch and showing off our baby seedlings!


 

                                                       

                                                   

                                                                       

                                                           

On Taking My Own Advice

So here I am, taking my own advice. Who would have guessed?

The advice came in the form of a sermon I have given on multiple occasions, the first time in 2011 for my beloved Unitarian Universalist seminarians at Harvard Divinity School where I work. This nugget of counsel in the sermon came from my Dad in his work as a substance-abuse counselor at a V.A. in White River Jct, Vermont.

"As long as you're breathing, there's hope." he said.

He said it frequently, to remind both his patients who were struggling or who had relapsed, as well as to himself, that if they were alive, there was always possibility for change.

Because he knew that sometimes, it does come down to that: a day. An hour. A minute. Just hanging onto that hope. And for as many people as I have dutifully repeated it to over the years, it wasn't until the past few months that I became someone who needed it myself.

The curious piece is that for as many times as I offered it up, in my mind it was that word: hope that was the flag leading the parade.

HOPE, friends. I give you hope! Who doesn't want that? Go out there and hang your hat on that sweet, tantalizing possibility.

But these words, these words that I knew and repeated over and over ...weren't helping. They were great but they were just...words. Yeah, sure there was hope. Right.I didn't feel hope, didn't feel  anything.

Any then, I stopped. I stopped myself and began to meditate.

Breathe in, breathe out. Repeat. Breathe in, breathe out. Repeat.

I found that what I had was breath. And another. And another. Hope was never about hope. Hope was about breath. And another.

If Dad was here now, we would have a discussion about this. And I would tell him that I love his mantra, but I need a new one.

As long as you're breathing, there's hope? Maybe.

As long as you're breathing, there's breath. ----------------------------------------------


If you are curious to see what I said in this sermon, here is a link. This was recorded at First Parish, Milton, MA

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TdrjGOpZi6s