Small Kindnesses

So I was in Atlanta to be with my daughter and family over the Christmas holidays.  Wasn't feeling up to snuff but it was fun to be there, nevertheless.

On Christmas Eve a neighbor called to say they had extra guests for their Hanukkah dinner and ran out of chairs.  Within five minutes they saw my grandchildren at their front door, each carrying a dining room chair.  Fortunately we didn't need the chairs because we ate in the family room in big overstuffed chairs with me wrapped in a comforter.

I love the New York Times Magazine so my daughter saves them for me.  What a bedtime treat.   I love Judge John Hodgman's column "The Ethicist."  He doesn't offer advice, he delivers justice. The topic could be Bar Trivia, Cat Taxidermy or Office Baking Contests.

But a big surprise to me was a poem I read on Christmas Eve.  You know how I feel about civility and how we need it even more desperately these days, at every level of society.  It's truly a huge part of my basic faith system. The poem is by Danusha Lameris, poet laureate of Santa Cruz County, California.  It's a great reminder for all of us leading into 2020.

SMALL KINDNESSES

I've been thinking about the way, when you walk 
down a crowded aisle, people pull in their legs
to let you by.  Or how strangers still say "bless you"
when someone sneezes, a leftover
from the Bubonic plague.  "Don't die," we are saying.
And sometimes when you spill lemons
from your grocery bag, someone else will help you
pick them up.  Mostly, we don't want to harm each other.
We want to be handed our cup of coffee hot,
and to say thank you to the person handing it.  To smile
at them and for them to smile back.  For the waitress
to call us honey when she sets down the bowl of clam chowder,
and for the driver in the red pick-up truck to let us pass.
We have so little of each other, now. So far
from tribe and fire.  Only these brief moments of exchange.
What if they are the true dwelling of the holy, these
fleeting temples we make together when we say, "Here,
have my seat."  "Go ahead - you first."  "I like your hat."

Danusha Lameris

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Google vs. Old School

My minister, David Miller, occasionally refers to Google in his sermons but always references it as "Google, The Source of All Knowledge."  It always gets a little laugh because everybody knows that it's complicated and not always totally without bias.

But this week I noticed the water pressure at my kitchen sink was weak.  My first thought was "Oh, oh, there's a slow leak somewhere in the pipes and soon the place will be flooded and I'll have to move out for several months while my condo's being gutted and rebuilt."

But then I decided to Google it and discovered what was probably wrong and how to fix it and, after watching an attached YouTube video, I fixed it!

But at the other end of the spectrum are books and fine art and such that I want to see "hands on."  Like in a library or a museum.  A while back a friend of mine gave me a "Page-A-Day" calendar containing great works of art.  It's "old school."  I have to manually (what a bother) change the page every day.  I love this calendar.  Every day is a beautiful surprise.

Yesterday was my birthday.  When I changed the page I saw this painting by the Italian portrait painter Vittorio Matteo Corcos.  It was done in 1896 and hangs in the National Gallery of Modern Art in Rome.   It's titled Dreams.  I guess since it was my birthday I was taken by this young woman who probably had big dreams.  It made me think of my own big dreams as a young woman.  I hope hers were fulfilled.

And later, of course,  I Googled it and discovered I could buy a coffee mug with her likeness on it.  Practical but not whimsical.


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Eleanor Oliphant is Completely Fine

A few weeks ago my niece, Sheri, sent me a copy of this New York Times bestseller.  It's a weird and painful take on a weird and pain filled life of a 29 year old women.  She is horribly wounded and terribly lonely.

The book is also incredibly funny.

Eleanor has no social skills and no sense of humor whatsoever and is clumsy, at best, in her communication with others.  She finds it imperative to tell people what she thinks but is totally closed off about herself.  She has a job but no friends and has "completely fine" weekends in her apartment drinking vodka until she passes out.

One of my favorite lines is when she finds herself in an old lady's apartment.  She describes the kitchen this way.  ...and there was a large calendar with a lurid photograph of two kittens in a basket.  

(This reminded me of myself getting after David for sending checks to so many causes because of the photos of sad children and puppies on the appeal.)  

Eleanor does not care for show tunes.  How do we know this?  Here is her description:

There is no such thing as hell, of course, but if there was, then the sound track to the screaming, the pitchfork action and the infernal wailing of damned souls would be a looped medley of "show tunes" drawn from the annals of musical theater.  The complete oeuvre of Lloyd Webber and Rice would be performed, without breaks, on a stage inside the fiery pit, and an audience of sinners would be forced to watch-and listen-for eternity.  

 In the beginning we don't see how she can possibly be fixed, but eventually Eleanor is befriended by an awkward but kind man named Raymond who opens the door to Eleanor's new life.  It's hard and she almost dies before choosing to be healed.

This is a fantastic book for folks who've suffered childhood traumas that most normal people cannot imagine.  Eleanor finally faces the reality of an evil mother who is still controlling her.  And, in turn, finally is strong enough to put a stop to it.

Did I say that this is an incredibly funny book?

Reese Witherspoon thinks so and is teaming up with MGM to produce the film about our Eleanor.


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The Gospel According to Brad Paisley

A while back we celebrated All Saints Day in church.  This is the day we honor all those who've gone before us, especially during the past year.  Their photos appear on the big screen in an extremely moving candlelight ceremony.

But this year our pastor of Congregational Care, Gary, asked that we do a new thing and provide photos of us holding our loved one's photo.  It was very cathartic and a beautiful new touch.

Then, this past week we wrapped up a group I've been attending for a while by having communion in the chapel which was, likewise, a moving and healing experience.

So what great hymn of the church was played during this service?  It turned out to be Brad Paisley's hit song "When I Get to Where I'm Going," backed up by Dolly Parton holding a photo of a loved one who's pasted.

I loved hearing this song.  It's not for those who "know" exactly what's on the other side.  It's for those of us who have faith (some days only the size of a mustard seed) that it will be good beyond measure.

When I Get to Where I'm Going

When I get to where I'm going
On the far side of the sky
The first thing I'm gonna do
Is spread my wings and fly

(Chorus)
Yeah when I get to where I'm going
There'll be only happy tears
I will shed the sins and struggles 
I have carried all these years
And I'll leave my heart wide open
I will love and have no fear
Yeah when I get to where I'm going
Don't cry for me down here. 

I'm gonna walk with my grand daddy
And he'll match me step for step
And I'll tell him how I missed him
Then I'll hug his neck


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