After great pain

I'm still speechless after the shootings in Newtown last Friday. I have nothing to offer but sadness.

Here are a couple of things that have helped me:

Mr. Rogers' wonderful wisdom:

"When I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would say to me, "Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping." To this day, especially in times of "disaster," I remember my mother's words and I am always comforted by realizing that there are still so many helpers – so many caring people in this world."

And Brene Brown's insights and observations:

Prayer and activism are not mutually exclusive.
For many of us they are inextricably connected. We don’t need to criticize those who are praying. You don’t have to pray or even believe in prayer, but be respectful (or at least quiet). 

Politics is easier than grief.
To skip over feeling and rush to policy-making dehumanizes the process and weakens policy.

Blame is simply the discharging of pain and discomfort.
It has nothing to do with accountability. Accountability requires long, difficult, respectful conversations. Blame fizzles out with rage, where accountability is in for the long haul. 

Self-righteousness is a sign of fear and uncertainty.
It has nothing to do with activism or change. The loudest and most vitriolic among us are often the most afraid. As my friend Harriet Lerner says, “Change requires listening with same level of passion that we feel when we speak.” 

You can't shame a nation into changing any more than you can shame a person into changing.
Shame is much more likely to be the source of destructive, violent behaviors than it is to be the cure. We need courage, vulnerability, hard work, empathy, integrity (and a little grace wouldn't hurt).

I'm going to be quiet for a bit longer now. And listening. What has helped you in the past few days?

Review: The Leftovers

I'm not really sure if I'm writing a review per se. I'm still trying to figure this one out.

The Leftovers starts with this premise: what would people do if a rapture-like event happened? And what would happen if it didn't look like what anyone expected? Would you rename it, as the people in this novel do, the Sudden Departure?

When I talked to a friend of mine about this, she said she would set up a huge database to run the information on all of the people who had disappeared to find out what they had in common. Which makes sense. And perhaps somewhere in some government office in this alternate world, someone is doing this. But that is not this novel.

This is not a plot-driven book; it's character-driven -- something that rarely works for me any more unless I am really intrigued by the people, as I am here. And I'm not sure why they are so interesting to me, except that the author allows their confusion to shine through in different ways. The book focuses on one family: mother, father, two kids (one starting college, one starting high school) and how they respond. There's another woman who gets a spotlight, whose husband and two children both disappeared. I liked them all. I sympathized with them all.

I can see how this book might frustrate you if you're looking for answers. What's in that database? What really happened? But I think one of the points of this book is, there is no common denominator why one person is taken and another stays; sometimes you will never know why things happen. And isn't that life as well? Why does one person get cancer and another doesn't? Why is one person in a car accident and not another? You can find some commonalities, but you just can't get it all nailed down, settled, and answered. Live your life as best you can, but it's not about whether or not you will be rewarded. And be kind to one another; you do not know what they have seen or experienced.

Candy Cane Camellias

We had a beautiful weekend here last weekend and I dumped a whole lot of mulch on the beds, hoping to keep the dahlia bulbs warm enough so I don't have to dig them all out and store them under the house for the winter.

Everything's pretty much kaput now except the azaleas and these fabulous camellias. They make such a mess, dropping everywhere, but for right now at the start of the bloom, they are so wonderful and cheery with their peppermint stripes. So festive. I just wanted to share.

Sunday Funnies, December 9

Answering the age-old question: how to spell...ummm...the religious holiday that Jews are celebrating at this time?

Various & Sundry, December 8: Art, Life, Peace

A few quick things before I dash to drop the first of the deposits at the White Elephant Sale...

In art news this week, check out these fabulous trompe l'oiel pieces from John Pugh. For example, these aren't windows:

And that is not a reflection of a truck in the window. Isn't that amazing?

In a similar vein of amazement, check out these beach creatures:

Oh, heck, while we're at it, here's some architecture for dogs.

Speaking of architecture and animals, I loved this obituary for John Heyworth who turned his family estate into a wildlife park. Isn't that picture a kick? How lovely, though, to be remembered thusly: "A kind, modest man, he was a devoted patron of the estate’s living, and served for more than 50 years as a church warden." And had rhinos.

How do you want to be remembered? And how do you want to remember your life? A friend of mine passed along this great article on the Top 5 Regrets of the Dying. It's a beautiful article. Please check it out.

In another deeper turn, an anthropologist wrote this initial reflection on what peace looks like as an empirical reality, exploring in particular the behavior of a town called Le Chambon-sur-Lignon which has a history of welcoming the outsider going back centuries, which made it possible for the whole town to be involved in the work of hiding Jews during WWII. I'll be interested in hearing more about this woman's research. But here's what she says for the moment:

Peace is knowable — in gorgeous, imperfect detail — down to the level of everyday habit and choice. And what are those choices? To walk down streets with unfamiliar faces and to open your own countenance as you do; to buy baskets of fruits from someone whose accents are not your own; to allow the happy, teary scramble as your children figure out how to play with new arrivals to their school; to open the door at the threshold of your home even when storms threaten outside; to hear of the vivid suffering of others even when it weighs down the heart; to invite to the hearth, to break bread, together now. The foot crosses the threshold, the face is open, the habits — discernible to the eye — over time, become fixed (and knowable) and sure. 

Dave Brubeck

I drove home yesterday listening to all the Brubeck at my disposal -- Time Out and Jazz at Oberlin. But I had not realized until I read the obits yesterday about Brubeck's religious music in support of racial equality. (I also hadn't realized he grew up in my neighborhood, being born in Concord and attending Mills College.)

But check out his work The Gates of Justice. The texts he uses are perfect for Advent, too. A snippet below:

Sunday Funnies, December 2, 2012

I've posted this before, but at a less timely time of year, and I think it behooves us all to take time to listen to noted jurist, Daily Show correspondent and Mac pitchman John Hodgman advise us on the proper time to put up Christmas decorations. Enjoy.

Photo of court-ordered "sadness tree"