What the Ancients Wear

Laundry (Wash It), Essay (Write It), Melon Patch (Weed It), Tikkun Olam (Work It), & More from My To-Do List

Alice Learns to Bake?

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“What in the world do y’all wear up there?” Pablo asked me the last time I was home. I’d arrived in what looked like a white cotton nightie — long and plain, crisp and clean as new snow — with a light-blue-and-white-checked pinafore-style apron over it. Bit of  “Alice in Wonderland Goes to Baking School,” I mused as I unloaded my backpack… or, better, reminiscent of the Von Trapp children.

Absently I sang a few bars of Dîtes-moi pourquoi…” before I remembered:

Nothing wasted…

The dress and apron had once served as a sort of uniform at a 19th-century convent orphanage. Earlier still, the dress fabric had been bed sheets, and dozens of tablecloths had given their lives so the orphan girls could have aprons, which, I think, were more than decorative.

In Mama and Daddy’s living room, I was spinning gleefully in dizzying circles, generous fold upon fold of white cotton spreading out around me… managing heroically to avoid tripping on the hem… and loving the country quaintness of the dress and pinafore… though if Pablo had knocked on the front door five minutes later I’d have already changed into Levi’s and a flannel shirt, which I prefer to voluminous dresses, especially white dresses, no matter where I’m staying.

But nowhere on earth, not even at the United Nations, are you likely to see a more eclectic assortment of clothing styles than on the Ridge. Visitors and newcomers, expecting to find the Ancients living and dressing like Quakers or Mennonites… or huddled in caves, clad in animal skins… gape at the array of red-and-gold saris, white turbans, and Italian suits… along with the odd pinafore and the preponderance of jeans and flannel shirts.

What is of ultimate concern to me?

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Pablo and I spent the warm afternoon on Sister Alma Rose’s grass-green wraparound porch. I had been assigned a short essay: an answer to the question “What is of ultimate concern to me?”

Pablo worked on his own essay, because that’s the sort of thing Pablo considers fun. Sister Alma Rose shelled peas and looked at our drafts, as we had asked her to. She knows better than we do when we are bullshitting, which is to say, writing what we think will please our mentors rather than what is in our hearts.

Here is my draft, about 60-percent complete. I’ll spend all the time it takes, because one certainly desires to know what is of ultimate concern to one, n’est-ce pas?

TO FOLLOW MY BLISS, joyfully occupy my place in the universe, effortlessly expand to accept and release streams of love always… thus to nourish the world… thus to swim in the tide of abundance (in the spiritual sense, but I wouldn’t say no to a cushy cabin cruiser and a circle of friends and maybe a roasted chicken).

Without my striving or struggling, my ultimate concern is to get out of God’s way so that God’s love can flow through me unobstructed. I pray, “God, surprise me.” I open my heart to accept the blessed assignment of repairing the world (tikkun olam, in the Kabbalah; or even, à la Gregg Braden, attuning my heartbeat to that of the planet — many metaphors are helpful).

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I could have said merely “to love one another” (Mother Teresa: “Spread love everywhere you go”), but there is also the clearing away of barriers and stumbling blocks.

Or I could have said “to love God and have no other Gods,” but that too means waking up and shedding addictions to stuff, to people and their regard, and to cream-cheese pie with hot fudge on the side… while remaining capable of enjoying cream-cheese pie and so forth.

The Ancients, most of them, are not ascetics. You will not see obesity on the Ridge, but there is no shortage of cream-cheese pie. Sugary desserts are enjoyed in moderation, usually after a meal.

After I’d been a year on the Mountain, immoderate displays of obscenely sweet pastries and frozen treats turned my stomach; but not so long ago, I could stick a spoon into a just-opened jar of hot fudge… slip into a trance… and emerge from it with an empty jar, a sticky chin, and a seriously offended stomach.

Love is not one of my attributes. It is my essence, as it is yours. When I move with confidence and courage and in integrity, no matter what I do I am love in motion and cannot help but bless the world.

So simple a message, and I still forget, and my mentors won’t allow me to tattoo it on my forehead….

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Coffee Bliss

Coffee Beans Growing on Costa Rican Plantation

I. A Gratitude Prayer

Thank you, God, for saxophones, Alaskan
salmon, Richard Gere, and some
environmentalists. And dental floss, the kind
on little pointed sticks.

Wooden coffee grinder

A new old-fashioned coffee grinder (allbestwallpapers.com)

Thank you, wise and whimsical
Creator, for the color brown
and all its rich and earthy variations—ecru,
beige, tan, terra-cotta, coffee, chestnut,
chocolate, cinnamon, mahogany, and burnt
sienna.

Friends.
And ancient secrets, mysteries, and lore.

Back in my onetime bedroom with its
balcony and tall, broad windows, I felt
utterly replete from mid-March through
September in the early mornings from the
hour the dark receded and the cardinals
started cheering, through the dawn and in
the tumbling roly-poly breeze (before it
turned cold in the autumn and I had to close
the storms and sashes), cha-cha-cha-ing with
each other, sun and wind, and having placed
my bed against the sill I needed only turn my
head to see the spectacle or better yet to sit
and sway and feel the pleasant stirring on my
neck as daylight filled the room like
shortcake baking. Thanks
for that.

Not Just a Cup, but a Just Cup (thanksgivingcoffeecompany.com)

Then comes to bask, the cat

I’m grateful for those stubborn plants, grape
ivy, for example, and those orange lilies no
one seems to like once they have staked a
claim on half the flower bed, and irises and
hostas, lilies of the valley, mums late
summer, yellow, red, and gold… grateful, in
the main, for flowers.

And all the person-power that’s invested in a
single Sunday newspaper. The Great Escape,
my favorite film, or up there, anyway.
Fiestaware, especially those chunky bowls
and small juice pitchers, disklike.

Mom and Dad (great picks), my sister,
brother, kids and nieces, grandchildren and
in-laws. Lite cream cheese. The U.S. mail, a
bargain, like the telephone. A hundred years
ago, who would have known?

—to be continued

Murder Threats on YouTube

Rock engravings in Gobustan, Azerbaijan, dating from ten thousand years BCE

Rock engravings in Gobustan, Azerbaijan, dating from ten thousand years BCE

Because of the greatness of your strength,
your enemies, O God Almighty, cringe before you.
Before you all the earth shall bow,
shall sing to you, sing to your name!”
Let our joy then be in you,
for you, God, rule forever.
Your eyes keep watch over the nations;
let rebels not rise against you. —from Ps. 66

Free Speech or Hate Speech?

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Take survey HERE

Loreena McKennitt 2009

Loreena McKennitt 2009

Sister Alma Rose is appalled. She doesn’t like being appalled. It’s not her style… though she suspects that Loreena McKennitt would be appalled as well.

On May 18 (“The Purest Race” in Sister Alma Rose Has the Last Word), our dear friend Fanny McElroy cited vitriolic antisemitic comments related to a “sophisticated, beautifully crafted” fan-created video found on the popular media-sharing website YouTube. Fanny discovered the antisemitic comments when she added her own comments, praising the video’s creator for beautiful work. The video accompanied  folk-singer Loreena McKennitt’s song “Night Ride Across the Caucasus,” first recorded on McKennitt’s 1997 album The Book of Secrets.

In just a few minutes’ browsing of other videos, Fanny came across murder threats against Zionists, Chinese, and people of unspecified race or ethnicity.

Click here for video, comments, background, and a brief, anonymous survey on how you feel about these threats and other comments. You can, of course, view the information without taking the survey. It is short, however, only four yes-or-no questions; and your anonymity is guaranteed if you choose not to enter your name. 

Children's puppet theater

In keeping with the Caucasus region’s tradition of children’s puppet theater, “Stories from Our Yard” uses locally-designed puppets to deliver its message

What does YouTube permit?

Here is an excerpt from YouTube’s Community Guidelines:

We encourage free speech and defend everyone’s right to express unpopular points of view. But we don’t  permit hate speech (…which attacks or demeans a group based on race or ethnic origin, religion, disability, gender, age, veteran status, and sexual orientation/ gender identity). [Emphasis ours] …Predatory behavior,  stalking, threats, harassment, intimidation, invading privacy, revealing other people’s personal information,  and inciting others to commit violent acts or to violate the Terms of Use are taken very seriously. Anyone caught doing these things may be permanently banned from YouTube.

Wedding dance, Georgia, the Caucasus region

Wedding dance, Georgia, the Caucasus region (Source: ConcordTravel.ge)

Fanny says that the principal subject of McKennitt’s song, according to McKennitt’s album insert, is alchemy, while the video seems to depict a traditional wedding among the peoples of the Caucasus (more at “The Purest Race“).  “The video makes artistic use,” says Fanny, “of what appears to be, but probably isn’t, old black-and-white footage, blurry, flickering… mixed with vivid new footage. Some of the same landmarks appear in ‘old’ and ‘new’ footage, which consist mostly of wedding scenes, dancing, and people on horseback, probably underscoring the continuity of culture over time. It is beautifully done, with — I think the phrase is ‘high production values.'”

Endangered Ateni Sioni church in Georgia dates from the 7th century

Endangered Ateni Sioni church in Georgia dates from the 7th century

The antisemitic comments on YouTube refer to neither alchemy nor wedding, Fanny reports, but rather to the nationalist biases and aspirations of the “Caucasians” (that is, the peoples of the Caucasus).

On May 17, Fanny flagged the comments and reported them according to prescribed YouTube procedure, informing YouTube that the comments violated YouTube Community Guidelines. She resubmitted her objections a few days later. To date (June 8), YouTube has not deleted the comments and has not responded to Fanny’s report.

Fanny writes,

Please. This is important. We are asking you to take a brief (4-item) survey (anonymous unless you choose to give your name) about vitriolic anti-Semitic & anti-Chinese YouTube messages. You’ll see a mere handful of ugly postings, but such messages are abundant on YouTube in defiance of YouTube guidelines.

Is this abuse of free speech? A big unfunny joke? Were the rules changed when my back was turned? Or is it felt that people not allowed to speak openly will go underground? I imagine there’s already plenty of “underground.” Please take the survey and share this request with others. Thank you…. Fanny

MOI, Fanny

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Prayer Works Wonders

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The Battle of the Barbers, conclusion

If you need to refresh your memory, please see “The Battle of the Barbers,” part 1 and part 2.

There is, as you know if you have been paying attention, a large meeting room in the library, and that is where half the town gathered on Sunday after church, it seems like, though there were maybe about two hundred people, really, Daddy says I tend to exaggerate so I am trying to see and describe things more accurately —

I, Fanny

I, Fanny

— what Daddy said, actually, is, “If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a million times, don’t exaggerate! —

… and we were gathered, as you will also recall, to resolve the matter of The Competing Barbers: Henry Hunter, who had set up The Other Barber Shop across the street from the barber shop of his father, Bill the Barber, whom I previously reported as being 150 years old, but I will amend that age estimate, in the interest of accuracy, and, having asked Mrs. Bill, I am forced to report that he is only a little more than half that age, 78, to be precise, though he looks much older, as I tactlessly exclaimed to Mrs. Bill…

Henry Hunter with a customer

Henry Hunter with a customer

… but she sweetly ignored my rudeness and told me that a combination of arthritis, workaholicism, lack of exercise, and a tendency to raid, several times a day, the soda and candy-bar machines he has in his barber shop, have all made him age prematurely, but she is sanguine — a word I learned recently, which means “optimistic and cheerful” — that if she can just get him to their villa on Corfu, all those problems will be solved in one fell swoop — a phrase that originated, we think, with Shakespeare, and that refers to the “fell” (savage, cruel; same root as felon) descent of a hunting bird.

The Revelation at the
Hilltop Library

Synopsis of previous episodes: [Mr. Bill was getting on in years and in any case, no matter what the customer asked for, Mr. Bill always gave him a crew cut.] So as soon as Henry Hunter’s barber shop opened, the customers came in droves, apparently believing, though they would soon discover that they were sadly mistaken, that Mr. Bill wouldn’t mind if his old customers didn’t patronize his shop as long as they were taking their unruly hair to be cut by Henry Hunter. This was doubly unfortunate in that Henry Hunter’s barber shop is right across the street from Mr. Bill’s. It is also a very delicate situation, this rivalry, I mean, because Henry Hunter is Mr. Bill’s only son.

Sister Alma Rose has heard about the entire misbegotten affair from Mrs. Bill, who is very worried about her husband because his heart is “hinky” and she’s afraid he will have a heart attack one of these days, that’s how angry he gets at Henry Hunter, his face turns about as red as Mrs. Bertie’s unbecoming lipstick. And of course she’s concerned about her son. She wonders whether Bill’s vicious campaign might actually drive Henry out of business. Secretly, Mrs. Bill wants Mr. Bill to retire so that they can go live in their villa on Corfu. Who knew?…

little_boy_with_crew_cut_istock

Little boy with crew cut

Several employers have asked the mayor to Do Something, because none of their employees is getting any work done, they are having noisy partisan arguments about Henry Hunter vs. Mr. Bill instead. Mayor Atticus Hines, unable to cool things off through his official status, has appealed to a higher authority: He has asked Sister Alma Rose to restore peace and quiet to Hilltop, one way or another.

Residents of Hilltop are nothing if not creatures of habit, and two of the strongest traditions are Sunday Dinner and Sunday Afternoon Football on Television, and Mr. Bill is the biggest Football on Television fan of them all, which is one of the reasons that Mrs. Bill is so desperate to get him to Corfu — not that Mrs. Bill doesn’t like professional football, in fact she adores football, she grew up in Wisconsin and she is a Cheesehead, big time, but watching football is just another sedentary thing that Mr. Bill does that makes Mrs. Bill fret. Mr. Bill eats his big Sunday dinner, then he sits down to watch the game, and then he takes a nap, and after that it’s nearly bedtime, but first — a snack! Probably another helping of dessert. (Mrs. Bill, to her credit, has tried Not Making Dessert, but if she doesn’t, then Mr. Bill goes to the corner store and buys one of those heavy, lard-laden fruit pies.)

Cheesehead hat, by Allen Wonder

Cheesehead hat, by Allen Wonder

Sister Alma Rose did not just fall off the turnip truck, and so it was no accident that she scheduled this meeting for 1 p.m. on Sunday, because another Hilltop Tradition is that everybody goes to church, Sister Alma Rose’s strategy being that everyone is already Out and About.

Prayer works wonders

So there we all were, the assembled semi-multitude, and of course the mayor had to reiterate what everybody already knew, to wit, why we were there and who the perpetrators were, et cetera, ad infinitum, and after the mayor’s fifteen-minute speech, Sister Alma Rose stepped up onto the podium, looked pointedly at Mr. Bill and his son, Henry Hunter, and then she said in her y’all-better-mind-me-or-else voice,

“Will y’all please join me in silent prayer? Let us pray.”

Now, there is an unwritten, unofficial time limit for silent prayer, after which feet start to shuffle and coughs become more frequent and people even whisper audibly to one another, and as the silent-prayer time in that library stretched from ten to fifteen to twenty minutes, which was my own personal time limit, I looked around the room and I could see that some folks were genuinely absorbed in silent prayer but others were looking anxiously at their wristwatches (or, in a few cases, pocket watches) or toward the rest rooms, and the sound of stomachs grumbling was audible, and I looked up at Sister Alma Rose, her large, brown hands folded tidily upon the lectern, and I could see that she was either oblivious or pretending to be oblivious to the restlessness in the room.

Pocket watch

Pocket watch

The silence, or the approximation thereof, crept on, and a few people had actually slipped out of the room — you could hear cars starting in the parking lot — until 1:45, and there was mutiny in the ambience, until Mrs. Bill cleared her throat, rather loudly, for Mrs. Bill, and heads shot up all over the room, as if there were a giant puppeteer up in the rafters yanking on strings, and the room was suddenly more nearly completely silent than it had ever been during “silent prayer.”

“Bill,” said Mrs. Bill in a low, clear voice — and here she looked apologetically at Henry Hunter — “it was I who set Henry up in  his barber shop.”

There was, of course, the collective gasp, and it occurred to me that the Packers were playing that afternoon and that the kickoff was at 2:00, which explained why Mrs. Bill had been among the most restless individuals in the room.

Henry Hunter looked down at the table and Mr. Bill, along with everyone else in the room, gaped at Mrs. Bill, who was searching among the spectators for Dr. Deirdre Barstow, who stood quickly, apparently in order to get Mrs. Bill off the hook, if only for a moment.

Beach in Acharavi village on the Greek island ...

Corfu; image via Wikipedia

“Mr. Bill,” said Dr. Deirdre Barstow, “I don’t think I’m violating any privacy laws by saying that I have suggested many times to you that it is time for you to retire, because you are ruining your health, and I don’t understand why you have been holding on to that villa in Corfu unless you intend to be an invalid by the time you get there. The sunshine will be salutary for your arthritis,” she went on, “and the Mediterranean diet for your heart, and you can stop working yourself to death and start sailing and hiking and all the other things you used to enjoy before you became a workaholic barber.

“It’s time for Henry to take over, Mr. Bill,” Dr. Deirdre Barstow concluded. “I didn’t suggest this particular strategy to your wife, of setting Henry up across the street, I mean, and creating this rift between the two of you, but I do know that both Mrs. Bill and Henry had your best interest at heart.”

* * *

And so it was that Henry Hunter moved into the house of Mr. and Mrs. Bill, who spent most of the year at their villa in Corfu, and on their visits home Mr. Bill looked tan and sleek and hardy while Mrs. Bill looked as if she had spent most of the winter trying to find a way to view Green Bay Packers football games, and it is rumored that Henry Hunter mailed her videotapes of the games, but as to that, I could not say for sure. As for Henry himself, he retained “The Other Barber Shop” and by the grace of God found a very able barber by the name of Bill, and leased Bill’s old barber shop to the new Bill.

“Do y’all see, Miss Fanny?” Sister Alma Rose said to me as we walked up the hill to Sister Alma Rose’s farmhouse after the meeting at the library. “God is good, and prayer works wonders.”

The Greek island of Strongili

The Greek island of Strongili

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SISTER ALMA ROSE’S MORNING PRAYER: GRATEFUL FOR THE FLAT TIRE

To Abir, the Strong One:

Abir, Strength of my strength, the Pit is not bottomless after all. I know that because I went SPLAT when I landed. And then Y’all lifted me out and healed my brokenness and, in Y’all’s grace, made me an instrument of healing. A small instrument, to be sure—a piccolo, not a bassoon, but I expect soon to be a flute.

My heart like to burst with gratitude… that great sweep of wind that carries me when my feet won’t and my wings don’t have room to spread.

Praise to Thee, Abir, Strong One: I am obliged to Sister Anita for her admonition: “Thank God for everything… even the flat tire. When the tire goes flat or the radiator boils over, you were headed in the wrong direction anyway.”

Praise to Thee, Abir, Strong One: I am obliged to Sister Jerry for this prayer ritual:

Bring a loved one to mind. See them in as much detail as possible, imagining the loving light shining down on them and washing through them, revealing the light within their own heart. Imagine this light growing brighter, merging with the Divine light and enclosing them in the egg of light. Then bless them:

May you be at Peace, May your heart remain open,
May you awaken to the light of your own true nature,
May you be healed, May you be a source of healing for all beings.
~~~from Pocketful of Miracles  by Joan Borysenko, PhD.

Praise to Thee, Abir, Strong One: I am obliged to Sister Judith for this candle-lighting prayer:

I’m in a Bubble of Light and only LIGHT can come to me…and only LIGHT can find me. LIGHT above me, LIGHT below me. LIGHT behind me, LIGHT before me. I’m in a Bubble of Light and only LIGHT can come to me.

 

In the darkest hour, I lit candles for

Pete F., Edie, Jack, Josefina’s heartache, Mary Ann, Shay, Pauline, Yvonne, Kay, Joni, Berta, Elaine, Theresa, Shannon, Susie, Jerry C., Tracy, Jackie, Chad, Raydelle, Pat, Deborah, Cathy, Cate, Caroline, Cathy, Helen, Kevin’s family, Kim, Michaela, Claudia, Joanne, Elizabeth, Carol, Jane, HF and friends, Nick, Elizabeth, a family who lost a child and a home to fire… and, as always, Jan, Margie, Susie, Elaine B., Jane F. K., Jane H., Susan, Riley, DF, Billy, Eric, John C., the families of Nancy, Jack N., Eli, Marian, Sherry, Chris, Paige, Sara, Karen, Mary L. 

I am obliged to Sister Yvonne for this inspiring video of a neuroanatomist who suffered a stroke on the left side of her brain and emerged with some amazing insights.

http://video.aol.com/video-detail/tedtalks-jill-taylor-2008/711630680

In Thy Grace, Abir, Strong One, reveal to me the Opportunity that looks for all the world like Poverty, the Reliance on Thy strength that looks for all the world like Illness. Amen.

If you haven’t done so, scroll down to the Bing & Bowie post below; it will bless your day.