Wayback Machine Resurrects Some Old Posts

I found some posts from my former blog using the Internet Archive. Here they are:


Thursday, July 1, 2004

Creativity in sculpting and molding

I mentioned in the preceding post that I sculpted a bit. Except for a brief period when I worked in soapstone (which is soft enough to cut with a paring knife), I've mostly carved on wax candles. I got rid of the wick (so no one would be tempted to burn my artworks) and carved away with my paring knife.

This started when I was in junior high school and a friend showed me some used candles that were going to be thrown away. I asked for them and took a paring knife to them. I cut abstract shapes that had smooth curves that fit nicely in a hand and could be stroked and polished with the hand as a kind of 'worry bead' tranquilizer. I gave them away to friends as they reached completion. For me the fun was in making them.

Then later I decided that the wax I had cut away from the candles shouldn't be wasted either, so I started collecting the shavings and melting them down. It was too boring to just let them cool and harden in a tin can (my usual crucible, because it was disposable and I could just peel it off the wax after it cooled) to turn back into candles or a simple cylindrical shape that wouldn't be big enough to carve.

So I stumbled onto a method of stirring the wax as it cooled, to keep it all soft and hot (and able to stick to itself) as long as possible. Then, when there was only a very little of the wax still liquid, I would reach into the can with my bare hand, pull out the wax, and mold it by hand into (usually) a sphere with a flat bottom. All the stirring gave the wax a marbled look, and when it had hardened overnight, I could smooth off the inevitable bumps with the paring knife and polish the sphere with a piece of cotton cloth (rags from an old sheet or shirt work the best).

People didn't know what to do with these molten artworks when I started handing them out. There was no wick, so they couldn't burn them; what were they for? To look at and feel, I would say.

Then came a time when I made a molten object in the shape of a flat polygon about half an inch thick, and gave it to a good adult friend (I was still in high school, or maybe college), and she exclaimed that I had given her a thread waxer that she would use on the thread for sewing buttons. It wasn't quite what I had in mind, but it was pretty cool that someone had found a use for my output.

Later, I saw in Chinatown intricate ivory carvings that were ornate spheres inside ornate spheres, inside ornate spheres - and each one could move independently. That seemed way beyond my capabilities (and the strength of wax), but I did figure out how to make what I call a cageball. Imagine a child's gyroscope, which has three metal rings at right angles to each other. Ignore the central post that actually spins. I'd take a short, wide, cylindrical candle and carve it into a sphere. Then I'd draw lines on the sphere to mark the three rings, each ring about a half inch wide. Then I'd dig down towards the center of the sphere in the areas between the rings, until the rings were uniformly about three quarters of an inch deep. I would polish the rings at this stage, while they were completely supported by the wax beneath. Then I'd reach in with the paring knife (nowadays I also have some very thin, narrow rasps that I'm using instead for the close work) and cut underneath the rings until the center of the sphere separated from the rings and was also spherical. Then I'd polish some more and voila - a cage ball.

Once, long ago, I made a three-link chain out of a tall cylindrical candle. That required a lot of measuring and math, and creating full-size blueprints from two or three different angles. That carving I kept for myself, but one of the links broke not that long ago. So, I recently bought a tall candle that might work. We'll see about that.

There isn't much of a moral to this story, just that the desire to prevent waste can inspire creativity, as can the creativity of others.

Sunday, June 20, 2004

Creativity

"In the beginning, God created ... ." Among God's creations are people created "in our image, after our likeness ... ."

At that point in the Bible, what do we know about God's image and likeness? That God is creative! It is the nature of the Divine to create things and people.

So we, too, must therefore be creative in our essential nature. Most people have children, thereby creating other people. Many people create artworks: graphic arts, performance arts, music, sculpture, fiber arts, writing, etc. etc.

I think that everybody has a creative urge, a story to tell, a soul to build, life's experience to pass on. We have each experienced life from our own unique angle, yet our most idiosyncratic views and adventures usually convey a universal truth.

Writing and singing are my primary arts, followed by other forms of music-making, knitting, and a bit of sculpting. Years ago, I also acted in plays and theater pieces.

I've written a diary for many years, and my career began with writing - for a legal research service, for an appellate court justice, then for a legal publishing company. Nowadays I primarily manage publications and edit, but I love to get a lick in at writing an original paragraph or two, time permitting. Outside work, I used to be a member of Mothertongue Readers' Theater, with whom I wrote part of a theater piece in which I performed. Not to mention the valedictory address I gave at my high school graduation and other speeches and sermons I've written and delivered from time to time.

I've sung in many, many choral performances, usually of sacred music, and occasionally as one of the soloists. I've conducted many services, both Christian and Jewish, that included my chanting solo or leading congregational singing. I've sung solo at weddings and funerals and parties. Songs often say what I can't otherwise find the words to say.

My major musical outlet these days is playing recorder (a flutelike woodwind instrument that comes in many sizes) with others and conducting other recorder players. (I didn't mention my music degree with an emphasis in conducting, did I? After discovering that I wasn't cut out to earn a living as a musician or music teacher, I went to law school.) I mostly play for my own pleasure, but have started to conduct occasionally for pay and to perform in the occasional concert or church service. Taking ink on a page and translating it into beautiful sounds (sounds that convey various moods) is very gratifying and creative.

Anyway, my point is that everybody does something creative in their life, even if it's only managing to survive under incredibly adverse conditions. Let's try to pay attention to what images and thoughts we are conveying in our creative acts and be alert to the stories being told by those around us.
3:17 pm pdt

Thursday, June 17, 2004

Happiness unsought

I love the aroma of jasmine blossoms, and will stick my nose into a cluster of them at nearly every opportunity. However, the aroma that wafts unsought to me from a sizable planting of jasmine is sweeter by far and causes me to sigh with happiness.
3:03 pm pdt

Monday, June 14, 2004

A chuckle for the day

God told Moses that there was good news and there was bad news. Moses asked for the good news first. God said, "You will lead my people Israel out of Egypt into freedom. Pharaoh's heart is hardened against you, but he will relent after I bring plagues upon Egypt: the rivers will run with blood instead of water; there will be swarms of frogs, and gnats, and flies; the cattle will fall ill and die, and all Egyptians will be covered with boils; and I will destroy their crops with hail and locusts; there will be total darkness over the land for three days; and finally all the firstborn sons of the Egyptians will die."

Moses said, "That's the good news? I wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy. But if it gets us out of Egypt, all right. What's the bad news?"

God said, "You have to write the environmental impact report."
8:26 am pdt

Friday, June 11, 2004

Acting with bravery

Well, I really wrote myself into a corner with the last entry. I've been attending an early music festival and was planning to attend concerts, audit a recorder master class with a visiting artist, and play recorder at a general playing session. Nothing very challenging.

A master class, in case you don't know, is when a small group of, say, musicians meet with a distinguished practitioner and teacher of their art for one-on-one instruction in front of the rest of the class and, usually, some auditors. The students each bring a selection that they have been working on and play it for the group, then the teacher (usually) compliments them on what went well and corrects or improves what could be better.

Well, I ran into a friend last night who told me that the master class still had a space in it and that I should sign up for it. Did I tell her that I'd been in two recorder master classes (thankfully without auditors) before, and that they scared me spitless, and - more to the point - tended to make me stupid and inept? No; she already knew that, because we'd discussed the topic before in the context of two other workshops based on master classes that I had decided not to attend.

What did I do? I said, sure, I've been working on a sonata movement for possible use in a church service, and if the class needs another body, why not? The class would be the next day, and would be over in about 18 hours. So I went to the class organizer and volunteered to complete the roster.

That night I slept horribly and not long enough; in the morning I was still experiencing indigestion that began in the middle of the night; and my hands were icy cold. If agreeing to perform in the face of that kind of fear isn't bravery, I don't know what is.

I hadn't listened to any recordings of the piece and was just playing it so it sounded pretty to me. However, this piece, one that is known by everybody who has ever studied recorder, apparently is usually interpreted in rather different ways, so the teacher asked me what I thought the piece meant and the mood it was trying to create (with the clear undertext - why in the world are you playing it like this?).

I floundered for some time working out an answer, and we finally agreed that my take on it was 'serene'; not sad, not leaping with happiness, just beautiful and largely peaceful. I asked him to supply his own adjective and let my try to play it like that, but no. He said we would work with my view of the piece, and see how much variety we could add to it while keeping it serene. He made many suggestions that had me playing each phrase of the music a bit differently, with a different character. Nevertheless, all of it together still had a serene and beautiful quality. I sure wish someone had made a tape recording of the entire class, so we could compare our first performances with how we played at the end of our sessions.

Anyway, the moral of the story is that I acted bravely by taking on the empty slot. I managed to get up there and play well and learn a few things that I could use in playing even better the next time I perform Baroque music. And I should be more ready to take on another master class, and learn what another teacher has to give me.
8:04 am pdt

Wednesday, June 9, 2004

Whistle a happy tune

I just read an inspirational newsletter that quoted Aristotle as follows:

We become just by performing just actions, temperate by performing temperate actions, brave by performing brave actions.

This concept has traveled the ages well, in many forms, probably because it is true. From Marcus Aurelius ("The happiness and unhappiness of the rational, social animal depends not on what he feels but on what he does; just as his virtue and vice consist not in feeling but in doing.") to the King and I (whistling a happy tune will "fool yourself as well"; "you may be as brave as you make believe you are) to the psychologists, with their cognitive dissonance theory (if people act as if they believe something, they tend to change their beliefs to accord with their actions).

Many religious traditions urge their adherents to act justly, with kindness and respect for all, etc., without worrying about their feelings, because the appropriate feelings will follow. If we wait to feel, say, compassion for our worst enemies, it could be a long time before we do anything worthwhile.

For good or ill, when we look back at our behavior, we often tell ourselves that we're that kind of person. I was rude to so-and-so, I don't have very good manners. Or, I stuck my neck out with so-and-so or doing such-and-such, maybe I'm kinda brave.

Let's (and I'm certainly including myself in this one) try to find an opportunity to act justly, temperately, or bravely today, however we may feel about the situation.
9:34 am pdt

Sunday, June 6, 2004

Robert Frost and many worlds

I had promised myself not to litter these postings with links, so I'm going to type out the Frost poem, The Road Not Taken, which I was thinking about yesterday and which continues to linger in my mind:

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that, the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I--
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

I just read about the background of this poem. It appears that Frost went for walks with a friend who kept choosing the path that would show Frost the best view, plant, or whatever, but wound up at the end of the walk wishing that he had taken the other path. This regret did not accord with Frost's temperament, so he wrote this poem to subtly satirize how seriously his friend took the relatively trivial choice between two actual paths in the woods. Hardly anybody has apparently gotten the joke, perhaps because Frost was such a good writer that people were reading for serious, uplifting meaning instead.

I asked a friend what she thought his choice was, and she said that everybody makes choices all the time that divert us from one path to another. In science fiction, and perhaps based on science, there is a theory that every choice creates a new universe based on the results of that choice - and some form of this theory has been enshrined in movies as disparate as "It's a Wonderful Life" and "Back to the Future." It's pretty cool to be able to imagine that Frost took the other road in a different life and got to play out all the results of that decision.

I wrote a sermon some 18 years ago on the text "Therefore choose life." Making choices is not my strongest suit, and many of mine are made by default, by the passing of time. So in the sermon I was primarily talking to myself:

Choose life? I have trouble choosing what to eat, or where to go on vacation. I am filled with anxiety when faced with decisions, because I just know that if I don't make the perfect decision each time, somehow I'll be weighed in the balance and found wanting, and something awful will happen to me.

So, what help do I get from the words - therefore choose life? To me they say: look for the choice that affirms life, that preserves life, that enhances the quality of my life and of the lives of those around me. It also says: choose in a lively way - with optimism and courage, in the belief that there is a God who cares for me and for the rest of the world. ...

And here is another meaning to choosing life: it means growing. All living creatures grow - they are always looking for food and light, absorbing them, and developing into more mature beings. So I, as a living creature, could not expect to be fully mature all at once. However, a rosebud is perfect for a bud, as a fully opened rose is perfect for a flower. So I am perfect, at whatever stage of development I have reached, as long as I continue to grow. Choosing life, then, involves growing: intending to grow, seizing opportunities to grow, making changes, trying experiments, admitting defeat, and trying something else. I think God wants us to grow up - to become more and more mature - honest, compassionate, trustworthy, appreciative, courageous, creative, alive.

And here's another thing about making choices. Sometimes we can't make a new choice, or even conceive of the possibility that we have a choice, until we become willing to let go of the old choice. Part of being able to choose life is turning away from death - being willing to reevaluate a past decision and consider trying something else. ...

Another way of looking at spiritual growth says it's like travelling to a distant city. We can get there in many different ways; we can go by car, skateboard, taxi, train, plane, or hovercraft. And even if we go slowly, or take a detour, we will still get there sooner or later if that is our goal.

That's how it is with choosing life. We don't have to make the precisely correct decision each time, or follow the exact pattern ordained for us. As long as we're trying to grow up, and trying to make choices that affirm and enhance our lives and the lives of those around us, that's enough. We are each of us perfect, no matter what stage of growth we have reached, as long as we continue to grow. Therefore choose life, that you may live - both you and those who come after you.

10:10 am pdt
Thursday, June 3, 2004

City sightings

I've been thinking about writing a book, or essays, or something, and have started to keep a notebook of unusual images or other thought-provoking items I run across in the course of the day.

Today I saw a motorcycle that was customized to look like a dragon, with a wonderful dragon head mounted in front in a lively color scheme that continued down the body of the vehicle. Later, I saw an old, stone building with a tile roof reflected in the glass skin of a modern high-rise. Both images caught my attention.

The first made me smile with pleasure at the artist's creativity and whimsy, and also made me wonder why the people around me weren't also smiling and enjoying it. Had they not noticed it in their single-minded focus on where they were going and who they were talking with (in person or on a cell phone)? Or were they too jaded or closed off or not fond of dragons or what?

The second image struck me as having something to do with the persistence of good, older constructions along with newer ones that are striking in their own way. New things don't necessarily have to replace what went before; they can co-exist along with what is worth saving. Maybe this can apply to people, too. We learn new skills (perhaps talents, perhaps people skills), but we can retain a childlike wonder at the unexpected incongruities, pleasures, and charms that come our way.
7:17 pm pdt

Wednesday, June 2, 2004

Gratitude and laughter

I've been thinking about/praying this song in the mornings while walking to my bus stop. I'm sure that it has more verses, which I might find if I spend an hour or so searching through reams of music, and even the verses I think I remember may be partly my invention. The distinguishing feature of the music (kind of a camp song) is that each verse is sung a half step higher than the previous one. Can anyone remember (or create) any more verses?

Thank You for giving me the morning.
Thank You for every day that's new.
Thank You that I can know my worries
Can be cast on You.

Thank you for all my friends and family.
Thank you for all the folks that live.
Thank you for even greatest enemies
I can forgive.

Thank You I have my occupation.
Thank You for every pleasure small.
Thank You for music, light, and gladness.
Thank You for them all.

Thank You for many little sorrows.
Thank You for every helping hand.
Thank You that everywhere Your guidance
reaches every land.

Thank You I see Your word has meaning.
Thank You I know Your spirit here.
Thank You because You love all people
those both far and near.
(or, Thank You because I feel Your peace
that comforts every fear - but this version may well be my invention)

In other news, I have a friend I talk with on the phone once or twice a week or so, and we have wonderful conversations. We share our current triumphs and challenging/frustrating/painful situations (also known as darned growth opportunities), but the best part of it is that we laugh about it. We somehow strike sparks of humor off each other and guffaw about the most difficult and problematical things. It's lots of fun to have a good laugh. Laughter is very healing (as Norman Cousins and many others have found). And it can open one to a better perspective on the situation. May we all have a good friend to laugh with (or with whom to laugh, if you want to be a stickler about grammar).
6:34 am pdt

Monday, May 31, 2004

Recent (and less recent) spiritual writings

Here's a prayer that one might consider praying (silently or aloud, as the situation warrants) before beginning a conversation that is apt to be difficult:

Dear God, In the beginning You spoke and it was so. Please help __ and me to communicate clearly now, to speak with candor, and to be honest with ourselves and each other. Please help us to say and to hear truths that may be hard with kindness and respect, and with the comfort of Your unshakeable love. And please guide us to the best possible outcome. Thank You, and amen.

And here's a sermon I've been working on:

In one of my favorite books, an old pastor who had struggled with mental illness all his life prescribes three prayers to a young woman with similar problems. As a person with pretty iffy nerves myself, I memorized his prescription, and try to pray the prayers when needed. They are these: "Lord have mercy"; "Thee I adore"; and "Into Thy hands." He said, "If in times of distress you hold on to these, you will do well." Let?s take a closer look at these three prayers and how they contribute to mental health.

I have sung the prayer Kyrie Eleison (which is Lord Have Mercy in Greek) many times in choral performances of the Catholic mass. It always struck me as odd that the opening of the otherwise Latin mass should be in Greek, until I read that Greek was the liturgical language of the early church before Latin. However, since the Kyrie prayer never was translated, I suspect that the familiar Greek version had become so important to the faithful that they wouldn't accept a translation.

We may want to pray for God?s mercy when we have pains and problems in our lives. And we all have them, at one time or another. As one of Job?s comforters said, loosely translated, "Trouble comes to us all as inevitably as sparks fly upwards from a fire." Pain is part of life. That's why we need God?s mercy.

However, as my mother once told me, pain is inevitable, but suffering is optional. What she meant was that problems themselves are inevitable, but we don't have to respond to them in a way that makes them worse. As an example, I offer my times of, thankfully mild, depression. That's painful enough. But sometimes I would make matters worse by feeling guilty about being depressed. That additional grief was optional, and nowadays, again thankfully, I usually opt out. If we pray to God for mercy, that may help give us the perspective we need to determine if there's any suffering going on that we can avoid.

Moving on to the next prayer. Adoration can be a hard idea for our twenty-first century minds. I, for one, have to stick with the archaic language, "Thee I adore," because the modern equivalent, "I adore You," belongs on a Valentine. Even when using 'adoration' in the spiritual sense, though, we may wonder what it means to adore an invisible and sometimes inscrutable or silent God. Well, one way to get started is by appreciating something visible - God's creation: the beauty of the mountains, sky, sea, and bay; of flowers, trees, birds, and animals; and of you, me, and all the people God has created.

All these good things in life are gifts from God, and our mental health is improved when we remember to be thankful for them. And then we might get to thinking that the creator and giver of these gifts is a being who is worthy of praise. And from there it is only a short step to being able to say, "Thee I adore." Science has confirmed the pastor?s knowledge that appreciation of God is good for one's mental health. I read about some research whose conclusion seemed to be that appreciation is physiologically incompatible with fear. So, if we're struggling with, say, anxiety or panic, which are my issues these days, finding something to appreciate or be thankful for can really help. I've tried this recently, and I'm here to tell you that it works.

Sometimes we find ourselves in unpleasant situations that we have tried and failed to control, or over which we have no control whatsoever. This is where the "Into Thy hands" prayer comes in. Praying that prayer means that we are simply asking for the best possible outcome and are willing to let God decide what that outcome should be. This doesn't mean that we can?t want a certain outcome or that we shouldn't try to bring it about, just that we need to know when to give up and let go, put the matter into God's hands, and stop beating our heads against a wall.

I'd like to conclude with another favorite text of mine, one that comes to me often when I walk along the Embarcadero and enjoy looking at the Bay Bridge, the Bay, and the East Bay hills beyond. A very loose translation, from Psalm 121: "I lift my eyes to the hills, where heaven meets earth, and am reminded that my help comes from God, who made heaven and earth." The God who has mercy on us, whom we adore, and into whose hands we can safely put all our problems, this God created heaven and earth and is the source of our help.

If in times of trouble we can remember to pray one of the three prayers, or any prayer, we have already begun to lift our eyes, and thoughts, up from our troubles to God, and our prayer is already being answered. Kein y'hi ratson (which is Hebrew for 'So may it be').

So, that was the sermon on prayer, which is us talking to God (and, incidentally, ourselves).

Here is the text of a song I wrote (twenty-five years ago) about God talking to us:

In the pause between thoughts, between breaths, You speak.
Your word, although quiet, is clear.
You call us to laughter, to giving and love,
to living a life without fear.

You have told us the past cannot hold us back.
You say we can change and be new.
Your love gives us courage to trust You and try;
we know that Your promise is true.
6:09 pm pdt

More Writings to Come

I took another all-day writing workshop last Saturday, and started an 8-week class, "Introduction to Creative Writing," last night, so I'll have plenty of pieces to post. The teacher of my current class, Linda Watanabe McFerrin, pointed out that we all write in our lives -- shopping lists, e-mails, reports for work, etc. And one of our homework assignments this week is to make something of one of these quotidian forms.

We had to introduce ourselves at the class by saying what we have written, and I've been writing in styles as diverse as sermons and my monthly column for the Windway, which is the newsletter of the San Francisco Chapter of the American Recorder Society. Maybe I'll post a few columns here -- at least two people I've run into at recorder events have said (unprompted) that they enjoy reading them.

For some time, I've been toying with the thought of writing a murder mystery set at a recorder workshop, and I made the mistake of mentioning at the class last night, and writing the opening and closing sentences of a short story or novel on that topic. Now I'm going to have to put up or shut up. But Linda seems to be good at pointing out what is good and less good about our attempts to write, and at coaching writers to include more of the former and less of the latter. Stay tuned.

Latest Writing Workshop

I went to a full-day workshop on exploring my writer's voice yesterday, and did a lot of writing there. Here are some of the pieces that I wrote there:

"I pray each morning thanking God for the people who are or have been in my life, even if they intimidate or aggravate me. I ask God to teach me that I, too, belong to the human family. Recently it occurred to me that at times I may be the one who is intimidating or aggravating someone else. And that ability is part of what makes me human."

We were asked to pick a postcard from a large selection on a table and write about what drew us to it:

"The intense, beautiful blue color called to me from across the table -- I don't much care what it is, but I want to have that sapphire snapshot to look at. Pacing myself, I waited until most of the cards were laid out on the table before reaching for it -- sure that others would be attracted by its beauty and want it for their own, but they didn't grab it; it was mine. Finally I could see the image and read the legend -- it's a night picture of the California Coast, with a large rock in the background and smaller rocks in the foreground, tule fog hovering over the ocean, and a crescent moon in the sky. Something about the words or image, or both, brought a lump to my throat.

I have lived on the California Coast, north and then south and then north again, for 43 years; first with my father, then with my mother, then with a roommate or two, and then alone. There's something a bit lonely about the picture. It's empty of people, buildings, books, beach towels. It has no sunshine, smiles, surfers, or snow cones. No sandy tacos on the beach, smelly sunscreen, mother smoking on her beach towel and backrest, turning increasingly tan while I burn and freckle.

I once became separated from my blackwatch plaid air mattress in Santa Monica, in water over my head, complete with rip tide and undertow. Waves kept pulling me down. I looked around for help and saw a man standing nearby in water that to him was only waist deep. I waved my arm and cried "Help!" He looked at me in disbelief. "I said, Help," I yelled again. He walked over to me, took my hand, and drew me into the shallows. I hope I thanked him, and hiked back to my mother -- the rip tide had carried me maybe a block down the beach. I don't remember quite how I described my experience. She seemed to be taking it very calmly, but she was determined to reclaim the air mattress. She walked with me down the beach, surprised at how far we had to go. Then she saw a kid playing with it. She, with the authority of not only a mom, but also a senior lifesaver, told one kid to go get the mattress from the other kid. He did, and we returned to our beach towels in triumph."

Then we were asked to write about something we hate as if we loved it:

"I just love being in crowded streetcars, especially when I have to stand. Where else can you so intimately experience your neighbors' tastes in clothes, music, perfume, or cell phone conversations? You get to be part of a single organism swaying with the motions of the car. Being short, I can't reach the overhead bars, so I am limited to standing in spaces near vertical poles, and often get to negotiate access to them with my companions, or, better still, have someone leaning against my hand while I grasp the pole.

Another aspect of being short, my face comes to the middle of most people's backs or chests, which can be cosy, or even pleasurable, depending on whose body part I'm up against. And I don't really need to be able to look out the windows anyway; a nice recorded voice announces the stations.

The exercise and balance-building qualities of riding while standing are also beneficial. In fact, my feet often become so painful that I am eager to get out of the car and walk the rest of the way to my office."

Pesach and Easter

Easter Sunday falls in the middle of Passover this year. They usually are close, because the Last Supper was a Passover seder. In a Christian church on Easter Sunday is not the best place for a Jewish person to be, but there I was this morning, playing Telemann duets on the recorder with Andrew Levy. We didn't sing the hymns, nor join in most of the prayers (I could get behind most of the prayers, but not with the Christ language); we just played music for the prelude, offertory, and postlude. The San Francisco chapter of the American Recorder Society meets there once a month, and provides service music once a month as rent.

In this day and age, we Jews thankfully have no fear of pogroms, although anti-Semitism is not dead, and synagogues still experience vandalism, even in San Francisco. But St. John's United Church of Christ, where we played this morning is a very progressive denomination, so it was fairly comfortable.

I spent most of yesterday at my synagogue, to get training in how to visit the sick (and supply other services to congregants in need thereof), and wound up on a new committee whose goals are to provide those services ourselves, in the near term, and to mobilize the entire congregation in support of each other. Later that day, we had a havdallah service (marking the end of Shabbat) preceeded by a presentation by the synagogue's participants in the San Francisco Organizing Project-led effort to bring about universal health care in San Francisco. I've gotten involved in this effort as homework for my Bat Mitzvah class.

Traditionally, Passover involves cleaning the heck out of one's home and not eating grains and starchy vegetables. The Biblical injunction is to avoid 'leaven,' in commemoration of the fact that the Israelites had no time for bread to rise as they fled Egypt. The only bread that the rabbis permitted was matzah - flour and water that were baked soon after they were mixed. Nowadays, though, Jews may eat cookies and cakes baked with flour substitutes or special kinds of flour. Which seems to me to be missing the point. We're to eat no leavening - flat foods made in haste. So I'm avoiding grain products that actually have leavening agents in them - regular bread, cookies, and pastries. I would be lost without my breakfast cereal, so I'm eating Grape Nuts, shredded wheat, and granola, but skipping Cheerios, which have baking soda. Another synagogian and I had crepes for dinner last night. That's flat food; and I'd feel OK about tortillas and rice. Not sure about pita; it rises some. So I had a lamb shwarma pita sandwich last week without the pita. It sure was tasty. And I look forward to Passover because that's when egg matzahs are available; and I just love to have matzahs scrambled with egg, with berry syrup on it. Hardly the bread of affliction.

Plant Virtue

For most of my life, I've thought of myself as having a black thumb - not green, not even brown, but black. Most plants put under my care took one look at me and died. This situation saddened me a bit, but I didn't obsess over it. I just gave up on plants.

Ten years ago, my company moved into new offices in San Francisco. My boss came by with three little potted plants and offered me one to welcome me into the new space. I asked her which one would be the hardest to kill, and she gave me a pothos. I looked it up online, learned that it belonged to the ivy family and liked to be moist, and developed a routine of watering it on Mondays and Fridays that seemed to suit it. Ten years later, it's still alive, and I'm constantly amazed.

In retrospect, I thought that I must have had some moral shortcoming to be unable to nurture a plant. So many people rave about caring for plants that I felt sub-human, a plant-killer.

Now that I have successfully tended a hardy little plant for an entire decade, I must conclude that my thumb is actually brown.

Calm under pressure

Thomas Jefferson wrote:

Nothing gives one person so much advantage over another as to remain always cool and unruffled under all circumstances.

I was recently looking into a Jewish spiritual practice called mussar, and the first desirable characteristic to be developed in that practice is to maintain one's equilibrium at all times, avoiding both highs and lows. This smacks of the Buddhist practice of detachment. There's also that poem, by Rudyard Kipling?, about keeping one's head while others are losing theirs.

I don't fly off the handle much, but do occasionally veer towards depression or anxiety. Which is why I take a prescription mood stabilizer.

If avoiding unpleasant mental states is not sufficient motivation to try to remain calm, perhaps it would be worth it to gain some advantage by thinking rationally while others are being governed by emotion.

No Luck so Far

I haven't been able to reach my website guru to see if he can help me transfer my old entries. Apparently blogging software is all proprietary and it's no simple matter to translate entries made using one program into entries that are usable by another program. Oh well.

I'm taking a refresher class in Torah chanting these days. I first studied it about 20 years ago, but haven't kept up the skill. I don't think we used a textbook then. We got a cassette tape, which I promptly transcribed into sheet music - which I do still have. Nowadays, we have a textbook that comes with a CD, and the music is transcribed in the back of the book. But in the strangest key! So I'm transposing the music into a key that makes musical and vocal sense to me, and also notating phrases that illustrate how the motifs fit words with more or fewer syllables than is ideal.

I'm starting to wish I'd also signed up for the Hebrew class that's running concurrently, but I decided not to take it because I already have a rudimentary grasp of the alphabet and vowel symbols. It'll be OK.