Hollywood

Just back from California - and the Hollywood Pitch Festival (speed dating for writers looking for agents, managers, production companies...) All went well. Did lose my voice from talking. Did meet some really great people. Did secure funding for at least one project (just did that Monday, actually - after the fact....)

I drove as well - hadn't had a road trip in awhile. It was fun, but a little too whirlwind... had to get back to take care of the law - hmm... that sounds like I'm the sheriff or something.

Turkey Babies

I have posted in the past about Tom, the wild turkey wandering the grounds of my office complex. A couple weeks ago, I saw Tom and his lady friend pecking at seeds in the grass so I knew he (and they) were still around.

Then one day, I heard a turkey gobble - slightly different from the normal gobble, but definitely with that turkey guttural sound with it too. Then I heard a "cheep, cheep" sweet sound. Then I heard a gobble - and a cheep - and a gobble - and a cheep... and thought, what the heck is going on?

I went to my office door - and saw a baby turkey! Oh my gosh, did he look sweet. He had gotten separated from his mama, and was standing on the brick walkway in front of my office door that leads up the steps to my office. Mama Turkey was down the way along the grass, on the brick path that starts a few feet to the right from where the baby stood. All the baby knew was that his Mom was directly in front of him as the crow flies - and as the turkey flies, if they flew, but it appears they do not (at least not when they are babies).

I watched as the baby - cheep, cheep - tried to jump up towards the sound of his mother's gobble (rather than realize that if he first waddled away from her voice to the right, he would find a crossing brick pathway perpendicular to where he stood that could get him to her much more easily). By jumping toward where he heard her, this baby turkey kept landing - smack dab! - into the low concrete wall that lined the pathway of the bricks leading to me. Ouch! (I thought, as I watched him smack his face into the wall, trying to follow his mother's gobble and get to her). Ouch, and ouch again (I thought, as he tried this trick two more times).

For as much as I did not want to get in the way of the call of nature (and turkey), I felt I could not just stand there and watch him hit his head against the wall - both proverbially and literally - so I did what I knew would help: I opened the door to my office.

He turned towards the sound I made to his left and looked - startled by my actions - and instinctively took off to run away from that sound, and me. He skedaddled a few feet to his right, and in that direction was the pathway that his mother had taken, and where she stood (some yards away) waiting for him to join her.

I knew he'd find her now. I didn't have to see the reunion to know it would happen as I watched him round the corner and take off on the pathway towards where she was.

But curiosity got the better of me anyway, and I stepped out of my office and walked the path that he had gone - only to see a passel of them (is it a gaggle or flock?) - gathered with the Mom - oh my gosh, how cute was that!! - there were about five or six brothers and sisters that patiently waited with Mama for their unfortunate wayward brother to join them.

And so there they were - turkey babies! Looking suspiciously like goslings (is the best I can describe it).

This was the best photo I was able to take - it is not particularly good - but it does show, just next to the shadow, the baby turkey scurrying away from me and toward the brick path that leads to his left (and to his mother):



And then here is a photo of his mother with the other babies (though the siblings are nearly impossible to see) around the corner from where he was:

Affordable Care Act

It's a week later and I'm still rife with thoughts and opinions about the outcome of the Supreme Court's decision upholding the Affordable Care Act.

When I saw the outcome last week, I called my mother. She said that she had just heard too. She and I had discussed potential outcomes earlier in the month. She said, "It's just like you said it would be." I responded, "It is nothing like I said it would be." Other than the ultimate outcome of affirmance, I suppose - which I had calculated the chances of that happening at 60 percent (for the entire thing), and at 80 to 85 percent (for all but the individual mandate). I had the vote at 6-3 for all or all-but (possibly 5-4 for all and 6-3 for all-but), with Justice Kennedy being the determining factor and Chief Justice Roberts - looking to his legacy in part, being a careful jurist in part - siding with Justice Kennedy siding with affirmance.

So really, the only thing I guessed correctly was that Roberts was aware of the significance of this vote. I hear it is the first time in a 5-4 vote that he has sided with what they call the "liberal" faction of the Court (Justice Brennan would be horrified by the use of that term for all those four - who are excellent jurists, don't get me wrong - but back when Justice O'Connor became thought of as one of the "liberals" on the Court, the term "liberal" no longer meant what it used to mean).

What I have stated privately to a person or two is my disappointment in Justice Scalia. He is the one who has spearheaded an increasingly expansive view of the Commerce Clause - until now. His rhetoric during oral argument of this case in April (I did read a lot of it) just solidified my growing concern that he is first a political animal and only as an afterthought a careful jurist. It hurts my heart to see this, especially because he is so intelligent. But it does seem these days that he has no qualms about becoming a weapon against fair and careful justice whenever it suits him, regardless of inconsistency with his previous opinions. That is bad for the Court, and bad for the country.

I really do love the law - I respect its process and believe we should be able to trust in it. The fact that Justice Scalia took such a hard right turn away from where he has been headed with his interpretation of the Commerce Clause... well, it deeply disappoints this officer of the court. The other justices - Alito, Thomas, even Justice Kennedy - I believe their dissent in this case. Justice Scalia? I don't believe his dissent, because I sincerely believe - knowing what I do about his past decisions dealing with the Commerce Clause - that he would have affirmed if the ACA were nicknamed Bushcare. That kind of partisanship on the Court is sheer poison to the rule of law in this country.

It all gives me despair - and yet hope too, as I keep realizing how much there is to appreciate about our Chief Justice's approach, especially in light of Justice Scalia's behavior. I still think the law should have been found legal under the Commerce Clause, given the progression of the law surrounding the Commerce Clause in recent years. But I am satisfied with the outcome that the Court did reach. It allows me to maintain hope in our rule of law.

I saw this article this a.m., which outlines a lot of what I believe about this decision about where it was headed. (I disagree with the Chief Justice's summary of what would have happened had the Court affirmed the ACA via the Commerce Clause, by the way - there was a way to allow it, and to interpret "interstate commerce" when it comes to health care that would have justified it under the Commerce Clause while not creating the "slippery slope" that he outlines in his opinion - which is why I thought there would have been a different outcome on that issue.) What is interesting about the article is that the rollback of the Commerce Clause is exactly what the Chief Justice would have been expected to do (and exactly what I would have expected Justice Scalia not to do). So Justice Scalia has cut himself off at the knees, so to speak, by letting there be this 5-4 decision that reigns in the Commerce Clause when he has, in the past, used the Commerce Clause to advance all sorts of federal regulation. It would seem that, perhaps this one time, Justice Scalia's too-clever-by-half approach may get in the way of hard turns he may wish to make in the future when it comes to upholding application of the Commerce Clause in laws he does like.

Anyway, here is a link to the article - it's worth the read: http://www.slate.com/articles/news_and_politics/scocca/2012/06/roberts_health_care_opinion_commerce_clause_the_real_reason_the_chief_justice_upheld_obamacare_.html

In Memory

Today is the anniversary of the 1946 Spokane Indians baseball team bus crash. It also (I learned last week) is the saints day for John the Baptist. I don't think I ever knew that. It feels like a nice coincidence.

It is on this day that the team's bus crashed as it was crossing Snoqualmie Pass. Nine of the 16 men on the bus died. Eight of the nine who died had served in World War II. It was the first season after the war.

It was a great team. They were good men. I take this moment to remember them.

A Good Day

Yesterday, in Pennsylvania, two juries rendered two verdicts.

One jury found senior Catholic church official Monsignor William Lynn guilty of one count of child endangerment. That jury did not accept his defense that he had to accept the bishop's decision not to stop a known pedophile priest - not to report that priest to the police - not to keep that priest away from children, but to send him back into ministry, and to children. Instead, the jury held him responsible for his own actions - his own lack of action.

A second jury found former Penn State football assistant coach Jerry Sandusky guilty of 45 counts of child sexual abuse. That jury did not accept Sandusky's story that he did not abuse those children (now adults). Instead, the jury listened to the testimony of Sandusky's victims and believed they told the truth.

For all those sexually abused (for those who have spoken up and have not been believed, for those who have not spoken up because they knew they would not be believed - for those who have spoken up and have been shocked to be believed - and still mourned for those who were not so lucky - for those who were abused simply because those in authority never stopped the abuser even though they knew who the abuser was and what that abuser did - and would do....)

for all those people, often silent and silenced voices....

Yesterday was a good day.

Three Ravens

A few weeks ago, I wrote of a raven who flew at my car's passenger side door - so closely that I could see his talons curled up in to his underbelly - it had been black on black, but I saw them all the same.

In the past week or so, I have seen two other ravens.

Well, I have seen many ravens, actually - there are many, in Spokane - they often travel in flocks - a "hell," I believe it is called when they gather together like that (no, a "murder" it is - I stand corrected - and that is for the crow and not the raven) (these have been so large that they can't be crows) (that's the rule).

In any case - I recently have seen two more ravens in striking locations, like I saw the first. These new two so strikingly have appeared from what seems like nowhere that, as with their brother from a few weeks ago, they are imbedded images in my brain for ever - or at least for now.

One of these two stood up on the tip of the top of the building next to my office building - and seemingly waited until he caught my eye, so that I first could see him so perched for a moment - just a moment! - before he fell forward and downward in dramatic dive.

Here is a photo - not of the bird but of the roof on which he stood (at its highest point)...



... because, before I even thought of taking a photo, it was too late - he already had taken his dive, and come within feet of the ground before circling back up and flying away.

And then there was a third Raven. This one also startled. I was driving on May 30 in late afternoon to a parish in Spokane - St. Aloysius, a Jesuit parish on Gonzaga U's campus. I was headed there because it was the anniversary of the death of Joan of Arc, and it seemed fitting to light a candle and say a prayer on her behalf at that location. As I drove on Sharp Avenue, I sensed a presence outside my window - and yet I knew there was no car to my left, driving along my side. I glanced to see what the presence was. It was a Raven - my third in a matter of weeks. He flew alongside me, at almost-eye level - perhaps a bit above that, but not by much - and stayed so for about a block - until, I'm sure, he was confident that I had witnessed his parallel flight - and then he swooped up and away, with an imperceptible nod.

I felt - what should I say - approved? Yes - that whatever I was doing was acknowledged, appreciated - approved.

(And notice: I did not modify "imperceptible" with the word "near" - for I do not know that I even saw the nod that I'm describing.)

It was a trio of ravens on a trilogy of days. Perhaps that is what a flock of ravens should be called - a trilogy.

Remembering...

photo by Kent Landerholm, located here

Two days ago, I remembered that ten years ago was the first day I had ever researched Joan of Arc.

I remember the day because it turned out to be the anniversary of the day that (they say) she recanted the voices. Four days later, on May 28, she recanted the recantation. On May 30, they killed her by fire for heresy.

She has always been my hero (I am not alone in this). But ten years ago (two days ago) was when first I realized what a week she had, starting on May 24 in 1431.

The synchronicity of researching her on that day in 2002 began with a dream I had had in the early a.m., in which a lovely energetic young woman showed up with a entourage of assorted beings (including a quiet, thin young man and a penguin) (hey, it was a dream). In the dream, she said something to me in French, but mostly spoke in English, telling me that she had come from San Jose, and that there was, in Spokane, a Pogo lounge (after Walt Kelly's "Pogo," made up of a similar entourage, when you think of it) (again, people, it was a dream - it doesn't all have to make sense). (Later, I looked up the French word - it translated as "grant" - as in money). Still in the dream, she and the entourage stood at the top of my friend's garden, above and beyond, in a location that does not exist in the garden-for-real. She said that they really liked Spokane because "they let us hang in Spokane" (emphasis on hang) (not from a noose, but loose, like in the '60s) (is what I thought). She said this a few times. Then we started singing "Go Go Pogo" and dancing to it (me down below, she from her ledge) (a song I learned at the age of 3). I woke up from the dream thinking that this young woman was fun - she made me laugh - and that she was the kind of person who drew people to her. I felt lucky that she had come to find me, to talk to me. I wondered where this Pogo lounge was, in Spokane... I thought it would have a red interior.

When I told this dream to an intuitive person, he asked me if I had ever researched Joan of Arc. I said that I had not. And so began my journey.

By 11 a.m. that morning (May 24, 2002), I had learned that on May 24, 1431, Joan of Arc had (supposedly) recanted the voices - with the promise from her captors that, if she so recanted, they would let her partake in the Eucharist and they would return her clothes to her so that she would no longer have to dress like a man. After she recanted, they did neither of those things. By May 28, she had recanted the recantation. It gave her captors the leverage they had been seeking. They declared her a heretic, and burned her to death on May 30.

I have always felt like that young woman on that ledge in that dream was some form of Joan. Jeanne. She was so lively and young and genuine, that I have always felt that youthful side to Joan of Arc - she had intensity too, don't get me wrong (she was, after all, a warrior). But she is multi-dimensional to me, and full of life, in part because of that dream.

In all these 10 years, I had always seen her tortured-soul day as May 24 - not the day she died, but the day that she recanted the voices. And in all these 10 years, I'd believed that she had recanted. I'd read researchers' opinions that she had not really recanted (it is not recorded, as far as I know, so it is an issue for debate), but my gut had told me that she had.

This would have been one big recantation. It was the voices (of Archangel Michael, and Saints Catherine and Margaret) that told her as a young teen that she must save France - find its leader, win France back. It is what led her to become the military leader that she became - if only through her faith in the mission (though it was more than that too).

If she had recanted those voices, she would have been saying that none of it were true. And my gut told me that she had done just that, when I first learned of it 10 years ago.

But then this past Thursday.... Suddenly I believed that she had not.

This is what I now think happened.

On that day - May 24 - they asked her to recant the voices. Rather than staying silent, she said something that did not recant. But just her speaking (and because of their desperation to "get" her, after months of trial where she had avoided conviction) allowed them to twist her words into what they wanted to hear - wanted to claim that she had said. That is when they announced her recantation. My sense that she had actually recanted came from my sense of her guilt of what happened that day - but her guilt, and what happened, did not actually mesh.

And that is what I think I figured out, two days ago.

There are examples in her trial where it is recorded that she stymied her prosecutors like that. When they asked her if she was in a "state of grace" is an example.... If she had said "yes," she would have been considered arrogant and a heretic for making that assumption. If she had said "no," she would have been without authority to claim that she heard voices.

Her answer: "If I am not, may God put me there; and if I am, may God so keep me."

It is a brilliant answer, inspired, and evidence that this 19-year-old girl was receiving guidance beyond herself to manage her own defense without human counsel against a prosecution team that already had decided her ultimate fate of guilt, regardless of how they achieved it. These were the kinds of answers that drove her captors crazy.

And on that day - May 24 - not a trial day, and so no court reporter (or the equivalent) - when they asked her to recant, I now think that she gave a similarly inspired answer that was not a recantation. But there apparently was no recording of what she actually said, so they used the fact of her speech - the fact that she spoke at all - to condemn her anyway. And her soul regretted the lapse.

Each year, for 10 years, I've tried to hold space during this week for the agony in the ethos that I feel, from what I feel is her regret. Each year, the pain has lessened - until this year, when it felt like it was hardly there. And with the lessening has come, for me, increased understanding. But it wasn't until this year that I actually believed in my gut - hey, wait - she never recanted at all. Perhaps it was the lessening over time that lifted the guilt so that the nuances of what actually might have happened could be felt. I don't think that I think this now because I'm desperate to believe it. I'm the one who was willing to believe, ten years ago and for ten years, that she had just made the mistake of negotiating a deal with unscrupulous men so that she finally could have the Eucharist she so desired. It would have been a reasonable choice. It would have been human. But now, I think it's just true - she didn't recant, but she regretted speaking aloud at all without someone present to record her words.

I did do what I felt she would want, two days ago on May 24. I went to a Catholic church mid-morning, lit a candle, and said a prayer. I'm not Catholic, so I'm very awkward at this ritual. I have been awkward for 10 years now, as I have tried for ten years to honor this impulse during this time (during this week in particular). I did it anyway this past Thursday, regardless of skill, as I felt she would want me (others) (everyone) to do this.

The impulse has receded in recent years - actually, and ever since the Pope stated explicitly that non-Catholics shall not partake of the Eucharist, I have felt it optional. (We non-Catholics are unclean, or so it appears that the Pope believes). Strange, isn't it? A woman attempting to honor Joan of Arc during the anniversary of a time when she was not allowed the Eucharist suddenly is unable to do so because she herself is not allowed the Eucharist.

And now here's another odd thing: the parish in Spokane where I have gone - started going, back in 2002, for these quiet rituals - happens to be in a building where abuse occurred, decades ago. When I started going to this parish, I did not know of the abuse. When I went back this past Thursday, I almost didn't go - it is a tainted building, after all. And then I thought - was it no coincidence that it was this church that I had started using in 2002 as a place to go, to honor the young Maid of Orleans? (years before I even became involved in fighting for victims of priest sex abuse, and almost before I even knew anything about it)... Or had I been drawn to the building intuitively - in an effort to respond to a desire for healing... healing all around... It isn't the building's fault, that a priest abused a child there - that a priest forced it to witness, and hold secret, the horrible thing that the priest had done.

What I'm enjoying about this week, so far, 10 years later - is how much lighter it feels this week than it did 10 years ago.

photo by kimncris, located here

And did you know - that all the saints whose patronage include "opposition of Church authorities" are women - with all but Joan of Arc and Teresa of Avila connected to the U.S. (except one, who was from Australia)? Yes, the Catholic rabble rousers are Jeanne d'Arc, Teresa d'Avila, and women from the New Worlds. :)

And then there was the trial 23 years later - also recorded - where Joan of Arc was absolved, and her prosecutors themselves (from 23 years ago) found to be in the wrong. Justice was delayed, but was not denied. Or so it would seem.

And of that trial - the "Rehabilitation" - 23 years later, Mark Twain recounts (as fictional narrator of a contemporary, on the last page of "Personal Recollections of Joan of Arc"):

"It was beautiful to hear the Duke d'Alencon praise Joan's splendid capacities as a general, and to hear the Bastard [Jean Dunois of Orleans] indorse these praises with his eloquent tongue and then go on and tell how sweet and good Joan was, and how full of pluck and fire and impetuosity, and mischief, and mirthfulness, and tenderness, and compassion, and everything that was pure and fine and noble and lovely. He made her live again before me, and wrung my heart."

Mine, too.

Post Street - Then And Now

So here's something weird -

This is a link to photos of a street corner in Spokane - Sprague and Post - that talks about a building where I worked - the Peyton Building (10 North Post) - when I first moved here. It was in the Peyton Building that the Spokane Indians baseball team had offices in 1946 - which is how I've been writing the movie script of my baseball novel "Until the End of the Ninth" (pretty quickly having people in the 10 North Post building). And here is a feature in the Spokesman Review newspaper this week, highlighting that very block - as though nothing has existed in Spokane but this street corner, for about a century now.

10 North Post is in the middle of the block going up and out of the left side of the photos. It is the first building that is tall in the 1900 photo.

http://www.spokesman.com/then-and-now/morris-peyton-blocks/

And here are copies of the photos that are provided in the link - the 1900 photo comes from the Northwest Room of the Spokane Public Library (a great researching resource), and the modern photo was taken by Jesse Tinsley of the Spokesman Review:

Tom's Back

Tom Turkey's back - and he's brought the ladies with him.

These photos are taken right outside my office. I took the last two photos from inside my office. He's gobbling now, too. And he's perfectly happy to have his photo taken with his feathers puffed out, unlike a week or so ago (here is where I wrote about him before). I do think it's for a benefit - but I don't think it's for my benefit. There are three or four hens in the same area, paying close attention to all his prancing and gobbling.

It must be spring.






notice the hen on the other side of the wooden platform....

A Story To Remember

It is my grandmother's birthday today. She would have been 95. She passed away in 2002. We still miss her.

My mother wrote an email early this a.m. to share with our family a story of her parents as she remembered them from long ago. She gave me permission to share what she wrote.

Here it is:

I remember that during World War II my dad worked long hours. Once a month mom and dad would go out for a night on the town. I remember that mom would get all dressed up and would smell so wonderful, using her good perfume. I was always so envious and wanted to go along also but had to stay home with a babysitter and my little brother Tom.

The next day (Sunday) mom would answer my questions about their night out - dinner, dancing (mom loved to dance and dad was a pretty good dancer also), and dad always bought mom a gardenia to wear. The flower was mounted on a cardboard backing in order to facilitate the pinning on your dress process. I usually got to wear the gardenia and dad would dance with me too. It made me feel a little bit better.

I thought my mother was the most beautiful woman in the world when she got all dressed up on those nights that she and my father went out. I believe the Palmer House was one of their favorite places to go. I would fantasize that I some day I would be grown-up like my mother and could go out dancing with my dad.

Tom Turkey

I have but one brief moment - a moment delayed already for a week, and so should not wait a moment longer - but I do think if I can take time to write about Chicken Gal, then I ought to give due time to Tom Turkey - a name less inspired than the Chicken Gal name, but proper all the same...

(it reminds me of when I named a paper machete Dharma head "Tako-Chan" when I lived in Japan - apparently it was like naming him "Johnny Boy" here - though my Japanese friends only laughed and graciously never took offense - none was meant, of course - he was named with affection only)

In any case... back to Tom.

There he was, last week - standing beside my car, at my office complex - at a building away from my own (that darn construction and consequent parking congestion)... It was the first day I was glad to have the construction, for the inconvenience led me to the Other Lot, and it was near the Other Lot where Tom stood.

I know it was a "he" because of that red thing across his nose. I'm no farmer - of no kind! - though I come from farmer stock - from way back - so I suppose it could be in my blood to know that the red thing across his nose (or would that be called a "beak?") meant that he was a "he" and not a she. And I did call him "he" in person (or in turkey, as the case may be).

But no, it was only confirmation after the fact that led me to know that his red nose thing meant he was male.

But it was a good guess, don't you think?

In any case... there I was, going to my car after a long day's work (they've been long these days - can't you tell? it was March since last I wrote here) - and then there he was -

He didn't caw or anything - or gobble, yes gobble is what they do - but it startled me just the same. Really, I wasn't expecting a turkey next to my car when I walked to it.

He fluffed out his fur - feathers, I mean - it just looked like fur, so puffed he became - I didn't know why he puffed like that - I thought perhaps it was to say "hello" - he didn't seem fearful, though he didn't seem to like me either - and yet I was so pleasant! How could he not have been charmed? Perhaps he was charmed a little - he did let me take photo after photo - but only with his feathers down (and like that, they looked like feathers)

We went back and forth across the brick wall for awhile, me asking him please, please fluff your feathers out - and him waiting until I put down my cell phone before he would - each time! - he'd wait, then fluff when the camera was in repose - it was as though he thought I'd take a part of his soul if I caught him on camera in the act of a fluff - and perhaps he was right - perhaps there was something about allowing that moment to be - just to be - without any recordation of it -

Though it would have been nice if I could have caught him in the act, so to speak.

In any case... such was our moment... and my moment with you now, telling about this moment from last week... thanks for listening, or for sharing too (if only in your mind, as you remember your own tales of turkeys - do any of them include a moving one that was not on a table in November?)

Chicken Gal

Cluck. And then cluck again.

Yes, it was just another day in Spokane. There I was, leaving Huckleberries (our local organic food store and all-around reliable neighbor). And there she was, sticking her neck out, and back in - out, then in - and then out again - as she pecked the grass for a seed or two in front of the house across the street, looking wholly out of place (and dangerously close to a store that loves its free-range chicken).

I thought of telling her to back away, girl - back far, far away from the eyes of those that scan the streets from the store's back door - but I took out my phone instead, and took a photo of her bobbing head.

There we were, on 10th and Monroe, smack dab in the middle of the lower South Hill - me with my camera, her with her intentions... I tried to catch her on her head bob up, not down, but she eluded my endeavors - though at one point, she looked up as if to say, "All right, take the photo. Take it now!" But her pause in action came just at the moment that my thumb got stuck to the side. By the time I clicked, she had bobbed back down again.

Still, I did get a shot or two - of her on the lawn - of her approaching the driveway - of her crossing the driveway - to get to the other side, perhaps? It was a punchline in the making...

There was a point when I remembered the wafting of scents of grilled teriyaki chicken cooking inside this lovely store - not today, but other days - and I thought, no - it can't be that she's escaped from there. Can it? But just as I wondered, a boy - two of them - came out from the back of the house where she was. They were laughing and looking, searching for - yes, a stray chicken. One stood in front of the gal, a hand on either side of her and then, in one instant, he caught her between his hands and scooped her up. I heard them say something about "Animal Control" and I said (from the other side of the street), "Is she yours?"

"Yeah," the boy carrying her said. "She gets out a lot."

She likes those seeds on your lawn, young man.

I didn't think to ask her name. Hen, I think. Or Chicken Gal. That, I like. It is how she shall now and forever be known, at least on this blog. Her name - what we called her - was Chicken Gal.

Yes, this is Spokane - where you can meet whatever farm or wild animal you might want - a Fat Robin or a Raven, a baby Skunk and now this Chicken - oh, and the Coyote - don't forget the Coyote. The Trickster, is how we knew him. I wonder how he is?

Spokane. It's a town of adventure, no matter how small. Just look. You'll see.

WOW and Sarah

Apparently "War on Women" is being abbreviated "WOW." Wow, indeed.

The Republicans have been making such bad choices. It's like how my 4-year-old nephew describes the game of football: "Bad choices. Good choices. Watch the flag!" I find it difficult to believe that Republicans don't understand this - in the context of football or politics. But they don't, apparently. It's been like watching a train wreck, in slow motion - and then watching it wreck again (with the non-uterined humans creating the biggest collisions).

Spokane's local paper, The Spokesman Review, decided not to run the Doonesbury columns last week that commented on Texas' mandatory sonogram law. That was just one of the reasons I had last week to say, "Wow." I loved one of the letters to the editor (which the Spokesman did print, to its credit), entitled "Where Is Doonesbury?" - It read in its entirety, "My husband has been yelling about this all day, and I’m about a hundred times madder than he is!"

In the midst of the Republican party's one-two punch on women (eliminating contraception funding while simultaneously, state-by-state, requiring these sonograms), I have also happened upon a couple of Facebook entries that talks about how women need to be submissive to their husbands. This was sort of a weird parallel, and were postings by two different people who I really like (well, I guess I should like them - they are my Facebook friends). I do think this female legislation will find its way to the trash bin over time, as I do not see it as sustainable in the end. But perhaps it is driven in part by this intense desire by sane people to read the Bible as saying that a wife is supposed to just do as she is told....

This was, at least, how the two Facebook postings interpreted that portion of the Bible.

I'm an inconsistent reader of the Bible. I'm more spiritual than religious and so am eclectic in how I gather my God information. But I was raised Lutheran, love biblical stories, and certainly have deep respect for the Bible, and what it is wanting to tell us. I'm a little more Jewish in my approach to the Bible, I think - meaning, I would have loved studying the Talmud (the Jewish writings that interpret and explain the Torah - known in Bible-world as Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers and Deuteronomy). I'm likely one of the few out there who "gets" how Ezekiel's Chariot epitomizes metaphysical alchemy. I love the Psalms. Job perplexes me - both the book and the man. Oh, and I won "Bible Baseball" in third grade - a board game - because I memorized the most Bible verses in Sunday School (though that had less to do with the Bible and more to do with my competitive spirit - I wanted to win!). So I may not read the Bible every day, but I do have some nuanced understandings of it.

When I read these Facebook postings - all feel-good and generic, without any explanation of how submission was supposed to work in, for instance, a domestic violence relationship - I thought, this can't be right. I've always known this submission thing was a little off because - well, because God made me and I am not built to be submissive, and I just don't believe that God would make me who I am just to have a cosmic joke - a good laugh at my personal expense. In fact, I've spent a lifetime growing out of "good girl" mode - a lifetime of learning to challenge imbalanced authority because it was in my DNA to do so, even as it was also in my DNA to be well-behaved. And yes, I've never been married, so maybe it ends up a non-issue. But I just can't imagine God would make me who I am and also state that all women need to be submissive.

So when I saw these Facebook postings, I did what I often do when it comes to the Bible (or any writing of authority, for that matter): I dug. I went to the source - well, to interpretations of the source, as I can't read the Bible in its original language. I found some cool things - like the word "submissive" has been perhaps incorrectly translated - it should read "cooperative" - things like that. At one point, an author pointed out that the Bible (the "submission" thing is in a letter in the New Testament, btw) states to be submissive "like Sarah." And anyone who knows about Sarah knows that sounds like code for "don't be submissive." It would be as if the Bible said, "Be without opinion, like Beth." Ha! I would know exactly what that meant, if I read it.

So here is the thing about Sarah: I always thought, "Sarah's a b----." She was great, and Abraham's wife, and Isaac's mom and all, but there plenty of moments in the Bible where I just thought, "Sarah can be such a b----."

Then I read a wonderful book - Orson Scott Card's "Sarah." It helped me understand - Sarah was just being tough as nails - was just attempting to figure out how to serve God's will, and manage Hagar and the birth of Ishmael - a situation Sarah created but then became caught up in, without easy answers. She was strong. She followed what she understood God to tell her. Abraham had to do what she said. She was not just being mean. She was being clear - and a model for women like me, caught in our own challenging circumstances, learning to stand firm even as human authority attempts to contradict. "Submissive like Sarah" - that's something I can do. And for as strong-willed and headstrong as I am, I can be pretty malleable when I feel guided spiritually to take a certain path - I will take it, against all odds because I feel I must. "There is nothing easy within this challenge except the challenge itself." So that would be "submissive like Sarah" too, I think.

Maybe WOW and Sarah are not related topics - maybe I should have written two separate posts for them. But it feels like they are well tied together - hence the substance of this entry.

This is a great article on the Sarah submission topic: http://newlife.id.au/equality-and-gender-issues/submission-respect-1-peter-3_1-6/

And this is a great article of one woman's experience in Texas with regard to sonograms: http://www.texasobserver.org/cover-story/the-right-not-to-know

Bird Haven

My car must be a magnet, or have a magnet in it.

This morning started with two big robins around it - perhaps related to my Fat Robin of a couple entries ago? They scooted away only when I made clear my intention to not hover but actually get in the car and drive to work. Hardly had they scattered and I was on my way - rounding a corner in my quiet neighborhood - when a raven flew at me, as though he was going to skid into the passenger window pane. Only at the last moment did he avoid collision by flying up and away towards a tree. He came so close that I saw his underbelly, and his clawed feet curled up beneath him. I'm surprised I saw his feet so clearly (black on black, as it were), but there they were. As was he. In the moment, I think I was much more concerned about his safety than he was.

I wonder about the attraction. It isn't as though I'd just washed the car.

Cool Dream

So I woke up yesterday having scored a touchdown in my sleep. This is not a metaphor.

There I was, playing for an NFL team - I do not know which one (my only angst) - and then there I am, on third and goal, the go-to running back, holding the football, running to the end zone, looking for my lane... when suddenly it is all open in front of me - only one defender stands in the way - he's not much taller than me - he's the one who looks like a deer in the headlights, I'm the one who knows what is going on... I run into the end zone, untouched, scoring the touchdown (no spin moves needed, and hardly a leap, zig or zag)...

And then I woke up. What a great dream. The only sad part was that I woke up before I had a chance to do my touchdown celebration. I would have liked to have seen how that looked. Oh, and I was a little perplexed that I didn't know which team I was playing for. I believe it was the home team though - our uniforms were white, as I recall.

In my awake state, I remembered an earlier part of the dream. It was still the NFL, but it was a scrimmage rather than a game. I scored a touchdown as running back during the scrimmage too, but at the time I thought they were probably just letting me score because I'm a girl and it didn't count and they were just trying to be nice.

But then in the game - it was a real game (dreamland real) and I scored again. This time, nobody was trying to be nice. This one counted.

It wasn't the first time I'd dreamed that I was a player in the NFL. There was one other time - I was a running back in that dream too - for the Philadelphia Eagles (I love the Eagles) - but that time, there was no touchdown - it was in the middle of the field - there was a much better defense - I was barely able to go forward - I needed to use my spin move - which I executed flawlessly, by the way - until that dream, I didn't even know that I had a spin move!

What was different about yesterday's dream was that I didn't know which team I was on - which team had drafted me. In past NFL dreams, it's always been the Eagles. Besides the dream as a player, I've dreamed once that I was the walk-on coordinator (clipboard and all), once that I was a confidante to the coach (Ray Rhodes at the time), once that I was a spectator during preseason training camp and sat with Bo Jackson as we talked over the Eagles' prospects for the year (he seemed like such a nice man).

It does surprise me that I keep playing the position of running back in these dreams. I'm more of a defense person - love, love watching corner backs play - such athleticism. It's how I usually practice law too - on the defense - criminal defense is where I got my start in the law - my first plaintiff case, I was almost confused - I had to initiate everything! The lawsuit, the discovery requests... And in soccer, I almost always play defense. So you'd think in dreamland, my subconscious would have me play defense. I guess my subconscious has other things in mind.

I do love football. Of course I love many sports - heck, I wrote a novel about baseball! - but football ends up being my go-to sport, for some reason. Baseball too, at times. At least I can play baseball (in softball form). And baseball is more often a metaphor to me - a metaphor for life - how there is no deadline, and how whatever happens is up to the teams. If nobody makes a move, the game will go on for infinity. If nobody scores, then nobody wins - or loses - or wins, though. And isn't that key? In my baseball novel (Until the End of the Ninth, about the Spokane Indians' minor league team in 1946 that dies in a bus crash midway through the season), there is a section that talks about baseball's structure. It is in the context of the Indians having beaten the team from Victoria, B.C., on May 16, 1946 (40 days before the bus crash) by tying up the game in the 9th inning and finally winning in the 12th:

It took a lot, to beat Victoria like that. More than perseverance, more than hope - faith too, and maybe a commitment to the mundane. Always a commitment to the mundane. Playing day in, day out, game after game, pitch after pitch - and then, in a moment's silence, when all seems statically standstill, someone does something to change the flow, or create it.

And isn't that the way life can be?

Maybe I'll dream about baseball tonight.

Fat Robin

Just outside my window, just the other day, was a big ole robin - rotund, from all the worms he had been eating - and I thought, egads man - don't you know it's winter here? Where in the heck are you finding all those worms? He was not in any way telepathic as far as I could tell, as not once did he look my way to acknowledge my consternation. Funny, funny bird.

Ways to Write

Here is a list of my writer role models in no particular order - because they are brilliant and because: Murasaki Shikibu (she was first!); William Faulkner (he didn't give a f--- what anyone else thought); Mark Twain (he had a writer's heart and a marketer's brain); e.e. cummings (in the end, he welcomed any one - despite what Sherman told him); Emily Dickinson (she wrote even when nobody read or discovered); Margaret Mitchell (she wrote to last); David Siedler (he showed such lovely, strong humility); Edgar Allan Poe (such a mind); Bertolt Brecht ("Wo ist Gott?"); Charlotte Bronte (she had such wild and wooly ways); Jean Rhys (she wrote in obscurity) - on and on... thanks.

Great Story

So I called a good friend of mine yesterday - Gail, who lives in Greensboro, North Carolina. She had met the president a few months ago and she told me...

Wait. Some back story first.

I met Gail back when I was campaigning for Barack Obama in 2008. Initially I went to her church because I was going to be poll watching at that church on the primary polling day (a Tuesday, so two days later) and thought it made sense to meet some people at the church itself. It was a raucous, wonderful time, with singing to the rafters (as the expression goes). I looked essentially like nobody else there (color-wise - it was a primarily African American church), but that didn't seem to matter to anyone. I was completely welcomed and embraced (figuratively and actually, as I remember). Then when Tuesday rolled around, I went and stood outside the church in lawyer mode to ensure that everyone had a chance to vote and have a voice. That's when I met Gail. She was sitting outside as well, also doing poll work. It turned out she had missed me at church because it was one of the very rare Sundays that she hadn't attended. She otherwise was one of the pillars at the place (such a great church - I love that church). She and I hung out all day and became great friends - though that is just the way she is anyway. As her father says, she has never met a stranger. She is a lovely, amazing person. There are few people out there as special as Gail.

When I came back to Greensboro a few months later - in the fall of 2008 - she and I decided we would go out together and register people to vote. I told her I'd take care of everything - get the list of where we would go, etc. When we met to get to where we were going, we decided she should drive and I would give directions. When I told her where we were going, she abruptly stopped her vehicle. Excuse me? She must have said. We are going where? I told her again. She just looked at me. I told her that I had asked for an assignment in a poor neighborhood - that way, we were sure to get all kinds of people who hadn't registered to vote yet. Mm hmm, she said. As we got the neighborhood, Gail (a former police officer) seemed to be holding back as she followed me from door to door but told me that I was the one who had to do the talking (until she couldn't help her gregarious self and would join in each conversation at the tail end). Then her pastor called her on her cell phone and I got a glimpse of what was on her mind: "Beth's got me in the 'hood," she told him. "And me without my handgun. She doesn't know any better, but I've got my phone in one hand and my keys in the other. Anything happens, we'll make a run for it!" I just laughed and chided her - "this place is fine," I said. "Everyone's been so nice!" She just rolled her eyes. As far as she was concerned, I was a babe in the woods - or the 'hood, as it were.

Fast forward to last fall (and yesterday, when I heard the story). Turns out, President Obama decided to work out at Gail's gym last October - a gym near where he was staying at the time. Gail had come with some freshly made pound cake to give to the staff there, saw all the secret service cars, and wondered, what the heck... She got permission first, that it would be okay to talk with him, then waited for her chance and came up when he was in between machines and told him she was a great supporter of his and that she had campaigned for him back in 2008 and then told him that she and her "white, blond-headed girlfriend" from Spokane, Washington had done some voter registration that year in the rougher side of town - she told him, "I should know, I'm former law enforcement and I had clients" from down there. And she told him that we had no problems whatsoever. (And while she was too polite to tell me this yesterday, I'm pretty sure she told him how naive that "white, blond-headed girlfriend" was, dragging her to that neighborhood.) (Except we did have just a marvelous time!) Funny funny. Then she asked him to take the four pieces of pound cake that she had, and he said, "Gail, what are doing to me? I'm here to work out!" but he couldn't turn down that homemade baking (and he shouldn't have - she is one marvelous cook). She ended up getting a photo taken with him and being on Cloud 9 about the encounter.

In fact Gail did more than what she told him, because she also drove people to voting locations at the general election, and spent a lot of time helping one elderly woman in particular get her voter registration straightened out because of some bureaucratic red tape that had been put in her way. Another person would have given up, but Gail knew that it mattered to this woman to be able to vote and she wasn't going to let her down. That's how Gail is. She also took her eldest son to the inauguration, to stand on that lawn with him and know that she was present for that moment in history. It was a great intention that she had. I wish I could have figured out a way to help her get a better seat - or a seat at all - or even just a little bit of a view. But I imagine there was something special for her to just being there at all. And then last fall - did I mention? - she got to meet the president in person and got to give him some of that delicious pound cake that she makes. That likely made up for inauguration day's obstructed view.

The New Year

So far this new year, stagnant things have been moving at breakneck speed. Yes, that's about the best I can do to describe the current motifs running through my life. I wish I could say more - or had more to say. This will have to suffice.

In the meanwhile, I suddenly am finding the Republican primary race interesting. The debate yesterday morning on "Meet the Press" was really good. For one of the first times, I saw why Texans like their governor. I was disappointed when I didn't wake up this morning until most of "Morning Joe" was over, and ended up missing much of the commentary. (That still means before 6 a.m., you Easterners.) (And yes, I'm watching "Morning Joe" again.)

I also feel slightly optimistic - just oh, slightly so - because the unemployment rate keeps lowering. I worry about people, hoping they are making ends meet. This employment news makes me feel slightly better on their behalf. I do understand some of what they are going through. (One gift of having had financial struggles during this lifetime - I can have a real sense of what it means to worry about whether to spend that five dollars on a non-essential item.) But what must it mean, to wonder if your children will be fed today? Or housed in a warm place?

Oh, and I watched football this weekend - well, not so much on Saturday, but on Sunday, I watched. What a game that was, between Denver and Pittsburgh.

But mostly I'm hanging in there, watching and waiting for 2012 to unfold. I think it will be a very good year.

And on that note - having written the above, I keep hearing this song in my head - Sinatra's voice. The only live performance I can find of it on youtube is this one - it's long - but then I watched it - magical - to watch the evolution, the work in progress - what a song - and this will be the theme for me for 2012.

Down Town

Can't seem to stop humming this sweet song -