​I am joy!
 
I have recently made yet another move. This time I have moved from Florida back to Wheeling where I lived for many years.  I packed, arranged for a mover, crowded many treasures in my car and soon I was settling into new home.  This is just the most recent of many moves I have made.  I have sorted, discarded, given away and moved as few as four and as many as 120 boxes of joy.  One might ask how one packs and moves joy?  How much does a moving company charge to move joy?  Are there special boxes in which to pack it?  Actually, joy gets packed into boxes of various sizes and strengths.  Some of these boxes will be badly handled and arrive with only the fragments of the objects which contained the joy.   Yet, none of the damage will destroy the joy – the joy of the memories which are attached to each of the paintings, pottery creations, china, silver, books or clothes. 
 
In each seemingly inanimate object is a historical novel.   Historical novels house a truth which is uniquely wrapped in paper of various hues and shades of red, blue, yellow, black, white and all the colors which are created as the primary colors play with each other on  the blacks and whites. They are my memories of long evenings with friends over a dinner lovingly cooked, of the gift of a piece of art created and given with love, of pain, confusion, grief and disappointment shared as buckets of tears that threaten to destroy the illusion of permanency, of shared walks, talks, silence, and love making.  They are the memories of the amazing smile of our son when we brought him home after his emergence from the safety of the womb.  It is the memory of sitting with dying family and friends.  It is memory of the sunset which colors the world with pure light which we know is pure love.   It is the memory of a favorite line in a poem or the touching scene in a writing; even the tears which are evoked as the pain of war and other violence is shared.
 
Joy is love. Joy is sharing. Joy is delight, an unexpected smile or hug, a phrase well turned in a new book, the smell of cooking, the soothing caress of a gentle breeze. Joy is Shelia and Jan creating a safe place to share one’s written creation.   Joy is lines in a face, smiling eyes, an open, smiling heart, a skip, a hug which lifts one off one’s feet.  Joy is.
 
Written  September 18, 2016
 
Word count:  431 words

​Are  you safe?
 
I am humbled by the concern.
 
Are you safe in that neighborhood
 
on the edge where the hurt, anger and
 
violence is perhaps more naked
 
than in nice neighborhoods with
 
manicured lawns and often enough distance
 
to hide the hurt, the violence, the addiction,
 
and the threat of arrogance armed with the
 
latest weapons?
 
Are you safe in the neighborhood where
 
churches create both the light and the shadows?
 
Are you safe where the anger and the love
 
demands to be seen?
 
Don’t you yearn for the quiet of the more refined?
 
The quiet which masks the arrogance which
 
graciously lets you know that God loves you in spite of
 
of your misguided, left leaning, tree hugging, non-violence!
 
“In spite of” never feels quite safe to me.
 
Am I safe?
 
Yes, I respond, I am safe to love.
 
I believe we will not heal if we refuse to see the pain
 
as well as the joy, hope and faith which will shout
 
from the churches today.
 
Thanks for your concern.
 
 
Written September 18, 2016
 
 

​The energy of memories
 
I did not write a blog today. After working out, running a couple of errands and stopping at the library I had an appointment with a client for an hour. Then it was time to decide what remaining pieces of artwork would get hung and which would go into temporary storage.  The process of selecting and hanging art as well as finding space to display the other art pieces such as pottery commanded a lot of emotional presence. Each piece has a history. In many cases I know the artist and in all cases I know which ones were gifts (most of them).  The lovely tall pottery pitcher conjures up the presence of the potter,  her son, his adoptive parents, her parents, a couple of men she dated and some mutual friends.  Mercy!  Then there are the Socratic book ends which were a gift one Christmas from my then wife who is also my son’s mother; the wonderful paintings by Pat J who so powerfully captures The Well Rounded Woman and the thoughtful man whose name I have forgotten. This brings into the room her husband who was also an artist, her three children  and a host of others who are part of the Cooperative Art Gallery in Center Market. When I think of her I am reminded of Martin Luther King Jr and the non-violence as a living truth. This reminds me of the now departed Liz whose two works I hung with love -  a sense of her smile etched into my memory.  Not to be forgotten are the portraits by Anne F of my friends Lee  and Frank who died within a week of each other.  They bring with them twenty or thirty other people.   Oh yes, no less that four of Barb’s paintings (original piece or copy of a piece) embrace me each time I sit down to eat. She brings with her L, H, J, J, S, T, L and a host of others.
 
I could continue to describe the art, the artist, the memories and the large extended family.  Soon there would be hundreds if not more spirits of loving, creative energy surrounding me.   Sometimes I stop to chat as I make my way from the living room, past the kitchen counter, through the book lined hallway and into the bath or bedroom/study. The trip can take quite a long time.
 
If we are lucky the legacy we each leave to and with each other is one of love, stimulating thought, the passage of time, creativity and much laughter.
 
Part of aging, if we are very blessed, is knowing we are being held by all this energy as one moves or floats from one room to another. I am sure that the memories include, if I search hard enough, some harsh words, disappointment, judgment, forgiveness, sadness  pain. Yet, these are not the feelings which float to the surface and survive. 
 
I silently smile and bow to the collective memory of those who have shaped much of who I am today. I am humbled and grateful.
 
Written September 17, 2016
 

Ministering to the pain
 
It is Friday and normally on Friday I can download the podcast of the current On Being program on which Krista Tippett has conservations with people I would love to talk with over dinner at my house.  Since that is not usually possible, I listen to and read the conversations.  This morning  she was talking to Ruby Sales who “is the founder and director of the Spirit House Project. She is one of 50 African Americans to be spotlighted in the new Smithsonian National Museum of African American History and Culture in Washington, D.C.”   She is also a student of theology.  
 
Wikipedia states that theology is the study of the nature of the divine.  Words which are frequently associated with the word or concept of divine are God, Allah, Buddha (for some), he/it/she who represents the totality of all beingness  or he/she/it who represents that which gives meaning and purpose to the life of all that exist, but especially to the life of we humans.
 
Since the beginning of the presidential campaign in the United States I have often written about my belief that we  need to attend to the yearning and the pain of those who find or feel that Donald Trump is the answer to what ails this country.  I have also written about the yearning of those we have labeled terrorists and who are willing to die for their belief that they are doing the will of Allah.  This is one of the reasons that I paid attention to Ms. Sales saying:
 
“What is it that public theology can say to the white person in Massachusetts who’s heroin addicted? That’s why Donald Trump is essential. People think he’s speaking to that pain that they’re feeling. I don’t hear anyone speaking to the 45-year-old person in Appalachia who feels like they’ve been eradicated — because whiteness is so much smaller today than it was yesterday, because there’s nothing wrong with being European American. That’s not the problem. It’s almost like white people don’t believe that other white people are worthy of being redeemed.” 
 
Mrs. Clinton’s recent comment: “"half" of Donald Trump's supporters are "deplorables," meaning ... "You can put half of Trump supporters into what I call the basket of deplorables,"  which was repeated in various news media sources.”   Spiro Agnew, if he were alive, might use his famous phase, effete snob, to describe such a comment.  In this case he would be absolutely correct.  To fail to identify the pain of those who feel that the United States has broken the bond of trust which was inherent in the values they understood to be integral to being an United States Citizen and, thus, entitled them to be rewarded for their hard work, dedication to a certain value system as they understood it – on with its center in God country, and a decent standard of living.   It does not matter that the dream was not available to many people of color, women and members of other minority groups such as the GLBT community.  It also does not matter that we have a better understanding of our relationship with Mother Earth, that we are a global community, that good paying industrial jobs are no longer available because of many complex factors, that religion might be used to oppress others and is far removed from helping many evolve spiritually.   Pain is pain. If we fail to identify with the pain we will dishonor the sacredness of the person.
 
If we truly believe that all of creation is sacred (Is there a more accurate term to describe our equal worth?) than we need to look beneath the anger to the fear and beyond the fear to the pain.   We must, I believe, honor the common bond which can unite all of us. Whether it is in intimate family relationships, the work place, the local community,  or the national community, we all have a need to feel that we have worth and to know that we can do our part to take care of  and protect our families.   To feel that the needs of the others are important and one does not count is very painful. While it may be tempting to call this poetic justice, it misses the point.  If we want to be understood we must first make a good faith effort to understand.   If we continue to discount the pain of those who may have bought into a system of belief which discounted the pain of others we will merely continue to cycle of pain and violence.
 
I recall being a Midshipman at the U.S. Naval Academy. At that time the new midshipman arrived in the summer filled with the pride of being accepted only to be systematically indoctrinated into  what seems to be a test of endurance (what some called hazing).   It was an exhausting, painful time when it seemed to many of us that any bit of self-esteem we might have had when we arrived was pure illusion and not deserved.  Yet, once the year was successfully completed, the now upper class person could not wait to inflict the same test on the new Midshipmen.  (At that time it was all males. Women have been equal members of the student body for many years now.)
 
Mrs. Sales grew up in the Southern Baptist Church which could, at times, be very focused on separating the wheat from the chaff and maintaining the right to define who was wheat and who was chaff. (This was pre-gluten consciousness.)  Yet, this focus could not, for many of us, prevent us from knowing that the essence of the teaching of Jesus was unconditional and inclusive.  Later I would understand Buddha  teaching the same truth.   When Jesus  spent time with Judas, the prostitute or with others he was present with and in love. He met them at the point of their pain. 
 
In my mind Mr. Trump speaks to the pain of those who some call deplorable.  The fact that he does  this while discounting others means to me that he has fallen into the same trap that Mrs. Clinton has fallen into.  Although one may not think of Mr. Trump as an effete snob in fact he had put many into the deplorable category.   Neither will win the hearts and minds by discounting the pain of those they think of as the other.
 
Written September 16, 2016

​Need versus wants
 
Earlier this week I was with the 8th graders  with whom I am leading a weekly discussion about current affairs.  We were discussing how we can help refugees and others who do not have the basics for survival – home, food, clothing, means of support.    We agreed to begin to think about how we spend our resources of time, energy and money which led to an agreement to begin to think about wants versus needs.  As with all dealing with others in my roles as friend, parent, teacher, counselor and community member the challenge is to not suggest that others do something I am unwilling to do. This question of want versus need is particularly timely for me since I am in the process of moving.  Two years ago I moved from a large Victorian house and home office which I had remodeled to a two-bedroom villa in Florida.  I got rid of a lot of “stuff” including furniture, books, kitchen dishes, some cooking equipment and some clothes.   When I got to Florida I supplemented the furniture which was in the condo with a desk, bookcases, a secretary I took with me and a few other small pieces.  Once I was moved in I continued to weekly get rid of at least a small box of things I decided I no longer needed.   Yet, when I got ready to move I found that I wanted to bring some 114 boxes of stuff in addition to artwork and clothes I “stuffed” into my car.  I left most of the furniture and many of the items in the garage including saws and other tools.    I am now waiting for the arrival of the moving van which will bring the boxes of stuff in addition to bookcases, a small CD player and speakers and a few lamps.  Obviously, I brought much more than I need.  Since I thought I would be living in about the same size villa or condo that I had owned in Florida, I brought more than enough “stuff” to fill that amount of space.   I did not find a condo and now am renting a very charming one-bedroom apartment.  Clearly, I am going to have more stuff than I can cram into this space while still insuring that I create the illusion of being a non-cluttered minimalist.  As I am unpacking I am again going to have to face the question of wants versus needs. Wait!  There may be a third category.  Obviously I do not need all the artwork I have already hung on the walls in addition to the smaller pieces packed in boxes and arriving on the moving van.   Is art work a need?  Clearly, it has been collected over the years which means that I lived a perfectly good and satisfying life without it for many years.  It must be a luxury item. On the other hand, one does need beauty and reminders of friends that one admires and from whom one learns.  Since most of the artwork has been created by people I know, each piece is imbued with the history of particular relationship and, thus, nurtures me.  Yes, but how many reminders do I need?  If something happened - say a fire – and I lost the artwork could I still have a quality life? Of course, I could. I would have to create some other reminders of these relationships. 
 
I could thus go through each box of “stuff” and ask what I would need if I suddenly lost the contents via a fire, flood or some other occurrence over which I had no control.  Would I really want or need expensive Wedgewood China, Irish Crystal, silverware and tablecloths at this stage of my life?  I did not entertain much while in Florida. Of course, this was partly due to the fact that I knew few people and people I did know tended to eat out a lot.
 
I challenged the 8th grade students to begin to question whether it was more important to feed a refugee or to make a particular purchase.  I now have to ask myself the same question. While getting rid of stuff does not equate with purchasing stuff in terms of liquid assets, I can still challenge myself to think about what I want and what I need to live and enjoy a comfortable life.  I have already purchased a few pieces of used furniture and a couple of new pieces – a mattress, a simple bed frame, a fold down couch which will serve as a guest bed, and some scratch and dent tables for the living room. 
 
Of course there are the clothes. Fortunately, I have gotten rid of a lot of them, but compared to how I grew up, I have many more clothes than I need.  Growing up we had clothes for school, clothes for Sunday, and work/play clothes – one set for each as I recall.   With five children and two adults in a small three room house I am not sure where even those few clothes were stored.
 
This exercise challenged me to think about a range of values, my life style choices, about my need for comfort and survival, whether or not I am influenced by the wide variety of people in my social circle and many other factors.  I also must think about my motives. Am I trying to be virtuous or leave the impression with others that I am virtuous or am I doing something because it feels right for me? 
 
Of course, there is always the possibility that I will forget to have some fun with this exercise; that I will forget to laugh at myself.  After all, I could convince myself that this is a very serious matter which would lead to self-righteousness and judgment of others. Yikes!   Enough already.  Perhaps I could just notice and make gentle decisions while unpacking!  Now, there is a thought!
 
Written September 14, 2016

​The weaker gender
 
For many years I have been part of a national group of males who have explored cultural concepts of masculinity and how those concepts affect our individual, family and community health.   I am also a parent of a delightful son, a psychotherapist who has often worked with men and, of course, an observer and chronicler of my own journey as a male. 
 
I have long been aware that most cultures are patriarchal and patrilinear.   In books such as The Chalice and the Blade by Riane Eisler the question of whether earliest humans were patriarchal or matriarchal is challenged. Where one stands on this issue depends on what method one accepts for dating artifacts. Regardless and despite a history of some powerful female rulers which history recorded as closely resembling that of male leaders, for the most part, societies have used the authority of religion and the God of one’s choosing to assert that males and females are biologically more suited to certain roles and characteristics.  There have always, of course, been exceptions. Still, the way one defines such characteristics as leadership, strength and organizational skills determines both the nature and outcome of one’s so called scientific research.
 
I was thinking of these issues the past few days when listening to one of the leaders in examining male roles and relationships, Michael Kimmel.  His Ted Talk, “Why gender equality is good for everyone – men included” is a good overview of the subject.   (One can find copies of his many books on this and related subjects on Amazon or other book seller’s web sites.)   I also listened to a Ted Talk by Julie Lythcott-Haims, “How to raise successful kids-without over-parenting”.  As is true with many of the Ted Talk speakers she also invites one to consider the paradigms for success we are teaching our children.   A male friend emailed me just this morning with a new appreciation for what is involved in full time parenting – particularly single parenting.  Most of the time this friend works out of town and is home primarily for the fun part of parenting.  He wrote this morning: “Have had the boys, been being a real parent instead of a part time dad. It is tough.  Going to school at different times, homework, studying for test.”  He did not mention housework, maintaining friendships, working on spiritual growth, working full time and all the other components of holistic care of self, home, and family.
 
We males continue to base many personal, family, community, national and international decisions on the following assumptions:
 

• We are physically stronger.
• We must be better at multi-tasking since all leadership positions requires that skill.
• We are superior decision makers.
• We are less emotional and less emotionally needy

We teach these truths to children from the time they are very young. In fact, most research shows that if we think that a baby is a male we will handle him less and differently than if we think the baby is female.  We also know, of course, about male and female toys, clothes or activities which are different than female toys, clothes and activities.  Although some cultures, including in the United States, have made considerable progress in questioning and changing these rules, they are still firmly entrenched in our hearts and minds.  The differences in raising our children can result in self-fulfilling prophecies in how we function as adults which, in turn, affects how we define success.
 
In fact, there are some biological differences in males and females.  These include:

• Males tend to do better in speed and females tend to do better in terms of endurance.
• Obviously and much to the relief of we males –certainly this male- females are able to carry and bear children.
• Females seem overall to have a higher tolerance for emotional and physical discomfort becaue of either biology or culture.  Females tend to keep functioning and taking care of the home and family even when they are sick. On the other hand, there are many examples of males and females functioning with a high level of physical and emotional discomfort when in combat situations, working in emergency rooms or in other high, constant stress situations.
• Women who have been in combat situations may or may not experience higher rate of PTSD even allowing for the higher rates of sexual trauma for women.  Whether this is related to the definition of trauma, the fact that women biologically and culturally may be more sensitive to relationship trauma or some combination of factors has yet to be clearly shown as far as I can determine.

 
There are other differences and perceived differences.  For example, although many women believe that they are worse in math, if we think of math as a language to describe relationships then women who manage family budgets, do needle work, adjust recipes and do a myriad of other tasks requiring the understanding of relationship of various factors, then most women seem to be very skilled at math.
 
In short, it seems that many of we males have a great deal to learn from females about strength, multi-tasking and making relationships a priority – relationship with self, family and others.  Perhaps we males also need to consider the possibility that we are less fragile and more capable than we think that we are.  In fact, it may be that we have convinced ourselves that we need females to take care of us rather than learning what it means to be a full partner in all area of life. If we males are going to be equal partners and parents we need to be prepared for long days and evenings, multi-tasking, working when we are ill, and redefining success in terms of relationship health.
 
Written September 14, 2016
 
 
 
 
 



 

​School Bells – Current Affairs – Grade 1 –Week 5
 
This was the week I promised to bring home made chocolate chip cookies for the students.  All the parents had agreed it was okay as long as I made them without nuts.  I had enlisted the help of Sam and Paul to help bake last Saturday.   This week I had asked the students to talk with their families about the issues Steve had raised – how to make it safer for those riding bicycles.  There have been many bicycle-related accidents and even deaths in this area. Few of these accidents take place on the bike trails.  Often individuals are riding to get to the bike trails, going to work or running errands.   Some streets have bike lanes and some do not.
 
I hear the students coming now.  They are soon settled into their seats. Immediately a hand goes up.
 
Sue:  Do we have cookies Mr. Jim?
 
Me: We sure do.  Shall we wait a bit?
 
There was a loud chorus of “Nooo!”
 
Me:  Okay.  How about two cookies each now?   Sue and Tommy, will you help pass out the plastic bags with the cookies in them?
 
Sue and Tommy quickly pass them out and then take a bag for themselves.
 
Sofia:  These are the best cookies ever Mr. Jim.
 
Me: Thanks Sofia.
 
Okay class, did everyone talk with their families about how to make it safer for bikers, especially when not riding on the bike trails?
 
Steve:  My parents and I talked about always wearing a helmet.   I said it is too hot. Then we looked on the internet.  It really is safer. So I guess.
 
Me: Very good Steve.   Let’s write down that suggestion.
 
Tara:  My brother in college offered to help. We went out to three different busy places and wrote down what happened.
 
Me: You mean intersections - places where two different streets meet.
 
Tara:  Yes.
 
Me: What did you two observe?
 
Tara: Lots of bikers did not completely stop and look for cars.   Also, some stopped and went with walk signs and some with the green car lights.  It was confusing.
 
Me:  Does anyone know the law?
 
Steve:  My dad and I looked it up.  In our city, kids our age ride on the sidewalk and obey the walk and do not walk signs. My brother is 13 and has to ride in the street.  He has to obey the traffic signals.
 
Sam:  Lots of times I ring my bike bell and no one hears me because they have on stupid head phones.
 
Me:  I understand that in Germany if one wears headphones while riding a bike, one has to pay a fine.
 
Susie:  What about the walkers Mr. Jim?  I ring my bell and they do not hear me either.
 
Me:  Good point.   I understand why runners and walkers like to listen to their music or other stuff but they cannot hear bells.
 
Ahmes:   Could someone make a bell which everyone heard?
 
Me:  You mean like the emergency signals which interrupt radio and television programs?  Perhaps.  I wonder how annoying that would be for the runners and walkers.   Some of the bike trails have separate lanes for walkers and bikers.
 
Sam:  What about skateboarders?
 
Me: Good point.   What other suggestions came up?
 
Tara:  What if you had to have a license to drive a bike?
 
Me:  You mean then everyone would have to at least prove they knew the rules.
 
Tara:  Yes.
 
Me: What else?  How about clothing?
 
Sofia:  My parents say never ride without clothes!
 
Lots of snickers!
 
Me: Very good Sofia. It is best to not ride without clothes!!  Should we wear special clothing?  Has anyone noticed what people working on the roads wear which makes it easier to see them?
 
Tommy:  My parents make us wear a vest like that.
 
Me:   Good idea.
 
Sam: What about poor kids.
 
Me: What about them Sam?
 
Sam: Could we get someone to donate some vests and give them to kids at our school?
 
Me: That is a wonderful idea for a project Sam.  If we want to do that we would have to make a plan.  Shall we set a date to do that?
 
Yes, came the chorus of voices.
 
Me:  I have an idea. How about we approach the principal about this class giving a program on bike safety to the other kids in this school? Would everyone help?
 
YES!
 
Me:  Okay.  I will talk to the principal.  In the meantime, I will write down all these suggestions. Everyone did a great job with this assignment.  It seems as if there are a lot of things we can do to be safer and help others be safer when riding bicycles.  While Tara and Susie pass the bags with one more cookie, how about Tommy and Ahmes pass out the assignment for next week.  We are going to discuss Sue’s concern about money for research to find a cure for conditions such as what Sue has.
 
The four students pass out the cookies and the papers.
 
Me: Great job. You kids are awesome!  Have a good week.
 
GOODBY MR. JIM!!!
 
WRITTEN SEPTEMBER 13, 2016

​School Bells – Current Affairs – Grade 8 – Week 5
 
The last time I met with the 8th grade current affairs class I had asked them to talk to each other and their family member as well as doing some research about the refugee issue. One of the class members, Amena, who is from Syria had brought up the topic.  The questions I suggested all of us think about were:
 

• What should we do to help the refugees?
• Is there a way to stop the wars and other conditions which creates refugees?
• What should be done when there are millions of people who need homes, food, clothing, jobs and education?
• What are we willing to share?

 
I have written these questions on the white board.  Here come the young people now.
 
Me: Good morning everyone.
 
Class:   Good morning Mr. Jim.
 
Me:  Today we are to talk about the Amena’s concern about the millions of refugees.  Amena, why don’t you remind all of us what your concern is.
 
Amena:  Everyone knows that I am from Syria.  When our town in Syria became dangerous my parents decided to leave.  We were lucky that we had relatives here and my mother had a job offer to teach at a university.  The university and our relatives helped us get a green card for a year.  We do not know what will happen at the end of the year, but the university wants her to stay and teach.  Many of my classmates were not so lucky. Some of them have, along with their families, died. Others have gone on boats and we do not know if they have lived. A couple of people we know are now in Germany and were able to email us. 
 
Me:  What was it like to leave your country Amena?
 
Amena:  It was good and bad. We were glad to leave the violence, but sad to leave our beautiful home.  We were only able to take some suitcases. We do now know what has happened to our relatives, our house or all our things. We are still staying with my father’s relatives. They are very nice, but it is not the same.  Before it got so bad my father was a doctor and my mother was a professor.  We had many friends and relatives.
 
Me: We are glad you are safe and here, but sad that you had to leave your home.  Class, there are millions of refugees.  What can we in this class do and what should we do as a country to help?
 
Will:  We already have homeless and lots of poor people here.   Some people are afraid that some of the Muslims are terrorists and should not be allowed to come here.
 
Me:  Amena is Muslim. Do you think she will hurt us?
 
Will:  Mr. Jim that is dumb. Of course she will not hurt us. She and her family are really nice.
 
Paul:  We do not think of her and her family as Muslim. She is Amena and they are our neighbors. We really like them.
 
Susie:  My mother and dad says that there are Christians who were members of groups like the KKK who think all black people are bad.
 
Will:  Yes, my dad’s dad had relatives who had been hung by the KKK.
 
Me:  So is the class saying that we have to be careful not to assume that all Christians are violent or all Muslims are violent.
 
Abdul:  Our Inman says it is wrong to be violent. He says God wants us to find ways of living in peace.
 
Me:  Are you all suggesting that the way to stop some of the fighting and wars is to get to know each other as people?
 
Tom: My cousin lives in Israel and he and his family regularly meet with other Jewish people and Palestinian people to get to know each other.  He says that when the people get to know each other that they want to find a way to share and live in peace.
 
Me: In this class we are from a variety to cultures and religions and it seems like everyone treats each other with respect.
 
Abdul:  Yes, I feel safe here.  Even at the Mosque some do not feel safe because there have been some threats.   We are sad.
 
Me: That is very sad.   I hear everyone saying that long term fighting will not result in us getting to know and respect each other.  The second question I suggested we think about was:
What should be done when there are millions of people who need homes, food, clothing, jobs and education?
 
Is there anything we can do?
 
John:  My mother and dad suggested that every time we think we need something new we talk about it as a family. We have been talking about the difference in wants and needs,
 
Tom: That is really good but a few dollars will not buy much?
 
Me:  If we look up the number of 8th graders in the United States would find that there are between 2 and 4 million.    If we just took the lowest number and multiplied by $5.00, that would be $10 million dollars. If we multiplied that by 5.00 a week for 8 months that would be how much Susie?
 
Susie: That would be $320 million dollars. That is a lot of money?
 
Me: How many think that many families – not all – spend more than $5.00 a week for wants which are not needs?
 
All the hands in the class go up.
 
Me: So individually we do not have a lot of power but collectively we have a lot of momentary power.  Can we make a difference in resources available?
 
Paul:  Uncle Jim are you saying we have a lot more power than we think we have?
 
Me: Sounds that way. If we have that much monetary power how much power to we have if we learn that we can learn to get along with each other.  Does that work the same as the monetary power?
 
Will:  Sounds like it.  Sometimes we have been really poor but when we get together for a family dinner everyone brings something and there is a lot of food.  There are also Christians and Muslims, gay and straight, black, white, yellow and other colors.
 
Me:  It seems we have already begun to discuss the last questions, but perhaps we can continue the discussion another time since we are out of time for this week.  For next week talk with your family and see if you can get everyone to help make a list of how much of the budget is spent on wants and how much is spent on needs.
 
You all did really well. I am so impressed. Thanks.
 
Ring.  Ring.  Ring.
 
Me:  Have a good week.
 
Written September 12, 2016
 
 

​Home
 
These days, as I am sure is true for many others, I am acutely aware of the millions of individuals and families who are homeless.  There are, on the streets of every city I have visited or in which I have lived, many individuals who live out of their garbage bags, shopping carts, wagons or some combination of same.  In most cities there are park benches, sidewalks, small or larger wooded areas, areas under bridges and other places where these individuals and families camp. Some take advantage of the often limited number of beds in shelters.  The shelters often have restrictions – partly for safety.    A few cities where the weather is likely to get cold enough to result in frostbite or other physical damage have some version of a winter freeze shelter.  Volunteers often staff these shelters and other volunteers sign up to make and bring soup.   Then there are the millions of refugees, some of whom are living in refugee camps and some attempting to make their way to a country where they can work, create a home, and become a part of the community.   For many this will also mean learning a new language and new customs.
 
I have lived in many different cities, each of which have their own traditions and customs. Some  such as the community of Hoonah in Alaska, offered the opportunity to learn new customs and a new way of accepting one’s role as an integral part of the environment as opposed to just imposing oneself on the environment.
 
As a male, certainly here in the United States and many other countries of which I am personally aware, the custom has been for the female to create the home. We “strapping” males may be called upon to perform certain tasks but the design and organizing is left to the females.  There are, interesting enough, males who design spaces and all the furniture, appliances and “stuff” which goes into the space.  These are, of course, paying jobs.   I am not sure of the breakdown between male and female interior designers but it seems as if that is a profession where some females have not had to poke their heads through a glass ceiling quite as often.
 
At any rate, as a male who has both lived with others, lived many years alone I have never thought of using a professional interior designer.  It has been my job to create a space which is something more than a bachelor pad waiting “a woman’s touch (complete makeover).  For some reason, early on I was acutely aware of the health benefits of coming home to a space which daily says, “Welcome home Jim.  Let me take care of you.” This meant for me liberal use of inexpensive fabric, used furniture (occasionally an antique when shopping in Buck’s County Pennslvania), occasionally new pieces, much paint and all those personal photos and mementoes which together painted a picture of love.  Once  settled in,  the smells of cooking would another layer of home.  Often when living in  spaces shared with the richness of the spices which people brought from their former home country, my cooking smells would mix with theirs as our individual homes morphed into an apartment home.
 
The space which my home occupied was, at times, a studio with a bath shared with another studio occupied by Japanese woman with whom I shared the dance of graceful bowing.  Other times it was an 1880 well-crafted home in need of TLC.  Other times it was a house shared by others with similar social concerns.  In the later places I sometimes overstepped boundaries and took over the redesigning of the space. This was not appreciated.
 
Most often of the more than 45 spaces I have rented, bought or shared it was up to me to create a home.
 
I am again in the process of doing that. I have left my very luxurious 2 bedrooms, 2 bath  and garage condo within easy bike riding distance of the beach to return to Wheeling, WV where I lived and worked for many years.   I had hoped to buy one of the few condos available, but did not find one which suited my desire to be downtown, easily accessible and affordable.   So, I arrived in Wheeling having to search for an apartment which would become my new home.   Although I did ship many boxes I only shipped a few  pieces of furniture – bookcases, a file cabinet, and a couple of other small pieces –which will  eventually make their way to the space I have rented – a one-bedroom apartment in a formerly restored older building.      A friend helped me get a mattress and  haul in the art work I had  brought in the car on two separate trips from Florida.  I had also brought many of my hanging clothes in the well stuffed (literally) car. 
 
I then set about hanging some of the art work, shopping for used furniture and a couple of new pieces (couch, mattress, small storage cabinets, buying tons of cleaning supplies, coffee (I brought my coffee pot) paint to touch up scraped places, and inviting the loving support of friends.   I am still awaiting the arrival or even an estimated date for the arrival of the moving van.  In the meantime, I have art, a few precious mementoes I brought in the car, food, cleaning supplies, fresh paint, a mattress, desk, printer, a lovely used Thomasville dresser, one used wing chair, a small dining table with two folding leaves, and  4 lovely comb backed Ethan Allen dining chairs.  I have ordered a simple frame for the bed, a scratched table which will be a perfect nightstand, a shoe rack, a missing door shelf for the refrigerator and an over the stove micro wave some dear friends will help me install.  I have scrubbed hallway and inside the apartment, did some touch up painting as well as the ornate trim on the mantle, and created storage places in the bathroom.  
 
In the past two years I transitioned from a 3300 or so square foot Victorian house to a two bedroom, two bath, garage condo with huge closet spaces to a one-bedroom apartment with limited closet space, no garage and so  place for a washer and dryer (laundromat here I come).
 
Soon, when the moving van arrives, I will unpack good china, colorful fiesta ware for every day, linens for the bedroom and dining room, vases, more art work, books, a CD player, many CDs some of which contain music recorded by friends and some played by such amazing people as Joshua Bell, much kitchen equipment, a few more clothes, a few framed pieces of family history such as my grandmother’s 1948 pre-nuptial agreement she insisted on when she remarried my grandfather.   All of these times are imbued with layers of living in the midst of love.   They do not fit a decorator scheme  but together they form a dance of energy which will say home.  When others, including my son, come to visit, they will smell, see, touch and be embraced by this home.
 
Somehow this will be created with the input of male and female friends but without the necessity of a wife who is responsible for my emotional and spiritual health.   Not surprisingly nearly all my male and female friends share this ability to create a home. More accurately we each bring pieces of love and often practical assistance to birth this creation.
 
Home on this day of national mourning in the United States (9/11); on this day of remembrance of strength, courage, perseverance and grief is where many will gather today. They will gather to laugh, grieve, perhaps have political arguments, and most of all to embrace in a sacred space – the home.
 
Written  September 11, 2016

​Unsaintly saints
 
Every day it seems, if I bother to listen, I am reminded saints arise out of the most unsaintly behavior.  Today, a dear friend reminded me the woman who is to be canonized as a Saint on September 11 was a woman whose faith and connection with any higher being was often non-existent.  Yet, even during the lowest of times, she would ask others to pray for her and she continued to be a loving, humble woman who ministered to those who  mirrored her own suffering. Even though the details of her suffering may, at times, have been different than that which encircled the life of those she served, they were, in fact, mirrors. Perhaps it is the depth of her suffering and sense of disconnection from God which allowed her to fully empathize with the suffering of others. 
 
Within a Ted talk by the author, speaker and political activist, Courtney E. Martin entitled The New American Dream is contained the story of an important part of her lineage; a grandmother married to an alcoholic; a grandmother who birthed and raised 21 children.  Ms. Martin’s willingness to honesty face the suffering and courage of this lineage is just one of the factors which has led her to be part of a revolution which has been going on for some time – a movement to  redefine success in the context of community which is not “subdivided” by lawns and white pickett fences – a movement which inclusively enlarges the concept of family and makes economic and other decisions based on the needs of the family instead of on financial  success or professional status.
 
Friday night I attended an open 12 step speaker meeting.  This is a  meeting for addicts who are and may want to recover; a meeting which allows some of us who are not part of that program to attend.  I love attending these meetings because I know that I will hear a story of suffering and redemption.   Sometimes the speaker is nervous, unsure of themselves and by academic standards not a poised, powerful or eloquent.  Sometimes, as was true last night, the speaker is a bright, attractive, extremely articulate and poised person. Dale Carnegie would give her an A.  Her story of addiction - the gutters and road to recovery -sometimes included years of self-righteousness and over confidence in a disconnected, independent, self-directed recovery program.   Her recovery program, which is also one’s spiritual growth program, was less that consistently admirable and certainly not saintly.  Yet, there she stood in this lovely building which once housed a home for a religious group, sharing her experience of intermittent, bumbling strength and hope.    The story which any recovery person has to share may vary in detail, but is never one of a person who is very saintly.  Yet, the speaker at a speaker meeting can be powerful because they have been to the trenches  in which faith, self-respect, humility success and saintliness did not visit  They are so far removed from what we consider saintly that one could not imagine them being humbly honored by no less than Pope Francis; that simple man who does not seem to be very Popish and certainly not very saintly.  It seems to some that Pope Francis questions all that is considered sacred by many in the Roman Catholic church.
 
It should be no surprise that the saintly never become saints.  In fact the concept of saint seems an oxymoron.  Only the non-saints have any hope of fully understanding and ministering to suffering.
 
That sweet sounding, booming, confident, pious man or woman of God will never be welcomed into the cardboard tent of the homeless child or adult living in the mini-park of Los Angeles or the slice of wood like area in the some cold, snowy city or village.  It is the Mother Theresas, the wife of an alcoholic with 21 children, the homeless man, woman or child who have had the courage to face their unsaintly doubts, fears, and disconnection from the we of God who has a chance of becoming a saint.  It is left to them, the Mother Theresa’s, to honor the existence of all saints by standing in for them.
 
Written September 10, 2016