MORE ON EMPTY FOOD SHELVES

My friends who starred in my earlier blog re food shelves sent the following, with permission to publish it. It seems pretty obvious that the private sector is overwhelmed, not up to handling this systemic problem on its own.

For a third paragraph on the Food Shelves blog—we went shopping again and this week the shelves at the Food Bank were even more empty.  We were told that there had not been a delivery from a local supermarket in over a month.

Paragraph four—I’m writing a message in the monthly church news letter to inform the church folk of the situation.  I will suggest that if we brought just one food item whenever we came to church, it would really help to fill the food boxes.  Also, if groups that meet weekly or monthly did the same, it would be even better.  We’re starting that with my monthly book group—not a church related activity—but the members are community minded.

WATERCOLORS

A women’s retreat at Mount Calvary on Saturday, October 15, 2011 –

Let justice flow down like waters

Let the waters flow through my hands on the way to healing the world, knowing it won’t happen in my lifetime

Let my hands remain open, un-grasping sharing

Let me celebrate the wrinkles, the spots. Let them be my gifts to the waters of life and grace.

And then came the watercolors:

           

The little box of paints looked and felt delicious, like the new box of crayons on the first day of school

First painting – just play. What emerged was pretty, flowing pastels.

Second painting – send my prayer to God. Not so pretty. I tried hands reaching out. Ugly emerged.

Third painting – receive God. More lovely, flowing pastels.

No budding artist. Still, I brought them home. And they all looked better upside down.

As Job’s "friends" learned, we don’t have the power to control God with our prayers – only ask and maybe, in time, receive.

EMPTY FOOD SHELVES

While I was In Maine I accompanied my friends Harriet and Bob on the beginning of their monthly stint picking up food from the central warehouse to stock the shelves of their church outlet. The first step was to do an inventory of needs at their site. I don’t have words to describe what happened to the pit of my stomach when they unlocked the door and we walked in. EMPTY SHELVES! There were, I think, ten jars of peanut butter and a few sad looking boxes of pasta, with another few stray items. I didn’t even feel grateful that I don’t have to feed my family off such shelves, I just felt shame and intense sadness.

It was even worse when they returned from their expedition the next day to the warehouse. Those shelves were lacking as well. They intended to bring back enough supplies to fill boxes based on a list posted on the wall, but there would not be enough items to complete the list. On the day when the unit is open, people coming to pick up their share will find big gaps – even toilet paper was missing.

I learned in my High School English course that there should be at least three paragraphs here. But what should I put in this last one?

A WEEK IN MAINE

         

First days – cold, rainy, wrapped up in layers topped by raincoat with hood. End of week, bright sunshine, temperatures approaching 80. No matter the weather, being with good friends is always warm, with the collective ongoing struggle with a New York Times Crossword puzzle. On Sunday an organ recital deep-massaged our bodies at the Basilica in Lewiston. Of course, Freeport is a Monday stop for lunch and dropping a minimal amount of money  – a Nine West handbag on sale for $22.00 – but I didn’t even go to L.L. Bean this time – doesn’t seem right, somehow.  

What else? A fabulous exhibit of Edward Hopper paintings. I confess, I do like recognizing the subject. Dinner with more friends by the Maine shore with a view of their private island. Another time found me with my annual fix of boiled live lobster by the sea (indoors this time, though. It was one of the cold and dreary days.) As an invited guest for a class on the Hebrew Bible I found gratification that “Mrs. Job” had it pretty much right about the heritage of Jacob and Esau. Visiting the Shaker Village offered order, peace, and beautifully crafted products,

Somewhere around 1980 I flew in to Portland on Bar Harbor Airlines – six rows of single seats on each side, a cooler up front with choice of sodas if one chose to open it. Only one of my little Bichons could ride in his cage on my flight. The other one had to wait for the next trip.

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More recently I flew into Portland on a cozy little plane with two seats on each side – maybe ten rows. Forgive me, I don’t know airplanes. All I know is that this time the rows were three by two and so long there were lavatories at each end of business class – and stuffed full. The waiting line for the rental car was forty-five minutes long, almost as long as it took the luggage to come out for the two big planeloads of passengers who had just arrived

Before I left the state a visit to a most amazing museum proved that Portland is not the small town I once thought it was. The harbor bustles with art displays and shops of crafty wares and interesting foods. The more things change, though, the more they stay the same. Maine is still the place to go for calm and quiet

OCTOBER 5, 1955, WINOOSKI, VERMONT

No coat needed. Only the balerina length wedding gown, the crayon yellow sun, the sweet, dusty smell of the brightly dying autumn leaves, Lou with his drugstore necktie to make up for the one he forgot to bring, and nineteen other caring people including Father Boucher. Lou's family had attended a pre-nuptial Mass, while the rest of us received a private communion at the local Lutheran church.

I think we both knew we were making a mistake, but we were committed, and remained committed for almost 20 years. A magnificent day in Vermont! Here I'm sharing my annual quiet remembrance.

LOVE/GRACE

http://www.forbiddenknowledgetv.com/videos/religion--spiritual-practice/spiritual-reality-near-death-experiences-2010.html#.Tn5N-tSuBgQ.email

Whether it's Heaven or a protective nervous system, these people experienced a life-changing event.

MUST I ALWAYS BE CHEERFUL?

This one breaks all kinds of rules – especially the one about keeping the blog entry brief. I promise to be less wordy in the future if you’ll stick with this one to the end.

For most of my life with my mother, and especially during her eleven years in a nursing home before she moved on out of this life, I perceived it to be my job to save up happy stories to tell her. I was pretty good at it too. She was totally shocked when I told her I was getting a divorce – no inkling there was anything unhappy in the relationship.

It got to be a habit. I have to store up happy things to tell. Well, guess what! I don’t always feel like telling happy stories.

Like, be careful what you ask for. I managed to refinance my mortgage at a reduced rate of interest, which meant my bank got a copy of the appraisal – a huge downgrade in the value of my home – so they had to reduce my line of credit by 75%.

Last evening, after several insomniac nights, I had no energy to do anything but watch the vigil for Troy Davis which ended in tragedy.

I decided to try one last effort to sell my books. Paid for a neat new website that connects with a neat new facebook page, this blog, and Twitter. I committed to a regular monthly fee. They are really great – very helpful. But I’m not good at selling – no movement.

I broke a kind of a rule for therapists – when the therapy round is done, don’t contact former clients. My e-mail contact with a former client asking how she was doing resulted in a response indicating she was doing well and asking about me. I sent a two-sentence description of what I’ve been up to and referred her to my blog for more information. She was hurt by what she perceived as a put-off, wrote me back in anger, basically telling me to get out of her life. My truly heartsick response was met with silence.

See!? I don’t feel like being cheerful.

Oh, but wait. What can I learn from this?

1)    Telling happy stories. Actually, I did admire Polyanna when I finally got to read her, but there’s another basic rule of therapy – honesty. My mother wouldn’t have been shocked at my divorce news if I’d been open with her all along.

2)    Hey Mona, I don’t feel sorry for you about your mortgage thing. You have a lovely home to live in, and the remnants of an equity line of credit. Just don’t forget those who have none of this.

3)    The execution of Troy Davis? I can only hope attitudes will continue to turn against the death penalty. I understand there is a generation change. Thank goodness for young people!

4)    Selling my books? Well I will try – this coming Saturday even. But. Mona, just be glad for the time you have to write and do what you enjoy.

5)    Hurting my former client? How many times do I have to learn to be careful with words. How easy it is to read them differently from the way they were written! I learned that back in the days of writing multiple-choice questions for my classes. I always took the test with them, regularly getting one wrong even though I’d written and reviewed them myself.

6)    The “rule” against connecting with former clients? I’ll continue to break it. So many wonderful relationships.

So, I guess my insomnia will continue for people living in terrible situations that I can’t fix, but for which I can continue to do my small part.

My High School yearbook said of me “All succeeds for those who are sweet and cheerful.” (What an insipid comment). Well, guess what!...