Happy 90th, Dad!

During this Memorial Day weekend, my dad, a WWII veteran, celebrates his 90th birthday. My dad and his four brothers all served in World War II and they are all still alive today. The oldest is 92.

When I was a kid, I thought my dad knew everything. I remember when he used to come tell me goodnight after I had snuggled into bed. Before he got to my room, I would think up at least one question to ask him because I knew that would keep him with me longer. I asked questions about how we see color, about lightening, and about the universe. More than having an interest in the answers, I wanted my dad to spend time with me. I'm sure I asked "Why?" or "How?" at least ten times just to keep him sitting on the side of my bed.

I don't remember at what point my dad quit knowing everything. He was always the one I would call when something needed fixing - I knew that, no matter what, he was the best at such things. But when it came to the big questions of life, for the longest time, I got the idea that somehow I surpassed him in wisdom.

Now all of my dad's "fix-it" skills and knowledge are stored away somewhere where no one can find them. Gone are all of the smart and wise answers he used to give me as he sat in the dark on the side of my bed. But now, more than ever, I realize that my dad is the very best dad a woman like me could have. Through his beautiful example, I am learning about life lived in pure kindness, effortless patience, and endless gratitude. How lucky am I to be able to learn from the best of 'em?

Happy Birthday, sweet Dad!

A Wild World

I was stopped, waiting for traffic to pass so that I could make a left-hand turn. I heard nearby thunder. It passed me by in the form of a camouflage-painted jeep which had all kinds of outdoor gear and cycles attached to its top and back end. The thunder was actually John Lennon belting out "Give Peace a Chance" so loudly that I could understand the words when the jeep was a half a block away.

Maybe the louder we sing about peace and the more we offer our music to anyone around, whether they want it or not, the higher the chances we really will have peace in our world.

Or maybe the guy driving just likes the song.

A lot.

Graduations

At my ripe, ol' age, I'm rarely invited to high school graduations, because my peers usually have offspring who are already out on their own. This year, though, we're receiving a whole slew of graduation announcements and invitations.



And at this young, spritely age in which I find myself, I am also receiving many announcements of memorials to attend.

Changes, changes, and more changes.

Nothing stays the same. And yet, we are amazed every time it changes. Funny creatures that we are.

In the next couple of weeks, I'll be attending a memorial for a woman who died in her 80s and another memorial for a woman who died in her 40s.

Of the death of the 40-something woman, some may say, "Oh, she died so young." I remember Stephen Levine, the man who helped me to be able to tolerate the concept of death, saying something like, "A child dies at 5 years old. You think it's bad that he graduated early?" I don't know if the woman who died in her 40s graduated early or not, but I'm certain that I can't see the bigger picture of these things, so I can't judge the goodness or badness of it.

It's truly an honor to be able to be a part of community in honoring the transitions of life.

For those who have graduated from high school or college, we will acknowledge a job well done and then wish them well in their next adventure.

And for those whose memorials we will attend, those who have graduated from this school we call life, well, we will also acknowledge a job well done and then also wish them well in whatever comes next.

Our Beautiful New Roof

Talk to me about "illegal aliens"

as if they are less than worthy of our respect and care;

as if any human CAN actually be "illegal".

Talk to me about these individuals

as if they are a "them"

instead of us.

Tell me about your prejudices

once YOU have worked a 13-hour day

into the dark

for not great pay,

replacing a roof

then cleaning up

so immaculately

that no one can tell you were ever there

except by looking

at the beautifully shingled roof.





What would YOUR life be like without the immigrants you think are taking away our jobs and benefiting from our social services?

Slip Slidin' Away

Last night I dreamed of huge, clear, crystal, icy walls and crevices.



Mr. CFP and I were riding on these clear, beautiful slopes on something like a scooter on skis. There were other people doing the same. It was fun and exhilarating. Freeing.

We "skied" down slopes of translucence until we were on a flatter area, surrounded on three sides by glass-like cliffs. There were two ways out, as far as I could tell: to either try to go back up these slippery, vertical walls (impossible), or to go down a steep incline into a dark, unknown.

I don't know what I chose. Can't remember if I woke up or just bailed out of the dream.

As I think about it now, I think that my first inclination when things get hard or confusing often, but not always, is to take the leap into the unknown. So far, I have survived those jumps.

I am struck by the fact that, in this dream and many times in life, I didn't think of an option #3 - that someone might come along and give me a hand out of the situation. I seem to trust jumping into the abyss more than trusting that there is someone who may help me when I need it.

My "American West" mentality of "I can just do it myself"?

That way of thinking seems to bring isolation, lack of intimacy, and hardship where hardship isn't necessary.

Going for authenticity and vulnerability has not been one of my strong qualities, but lately I've been thinking that it truly cannot be more scary than jumping down a big, black hole.

"What do I mean by vulnerability? First of all, I call it 'radical vulnerability' because to allow vulnerability in yourself and others runs counter to deeply entrenched, negative perceptions in our culture where vulnerability is all but taboo. By vulnerability I mean a profound openness. Think of the word as a coin. On one side is the openness that exposes you to the potential of being harmed. On the other side is the openness that allows you to be receptive to a depth of connection to others and all their thoughts and emotions, their humanity.

When we let ourselves experience vulnerability in this second way we nurture the full range of our reactions and expressions to the world; all our yearnings, our needs, our shyness, our humility, our hope. This doesn't mean we walk around with our beating hearts in our hands. Rather it means that we are wise enough to embrace moments of openness in ourselves and in those around us when they offer opportunities to transform our lives and the lives of others."

- Birute Regine EdD

Waking Up

The first sunny, dry day in what seems like a very long time. We got up early and headed to our nearest and dearest hiking area. The air was full - a symphony of bird songs, along with a sweet perfume which caused my nose to grin and my lungs to laugh.

Green doesn't last long here in this semi-arid land, but almost non-stop rains and snows have turned everything a lush emerald. Ahhhhhh, take it in while it's here...

Along the way,
... a black-crowned night heron. They usually feed at night, but if there are young to be fed, they can be found hunting during the day. I wonder where this guy's family lives.



At our usual watering hole, I looked up to find a mother robin in her nest. I think she's still sitting on eggs - I heard no cheeping.

But I did hear a couple of meadowlarks. Their song is my favorite.

Pure joy.







(Photos by Mr. CFP)

One Foot in Front of

I don't know why I don't feel any different today. Aren't we supposed to feel like a giant weight has been lifted off of our shoulders when we QUIT OUR JOB? The decision is made, the notice given, the desk cleaned out, the goodbyes said.

But I feel no different than I did two weeks ago, a month ago, or even last year.

Surprised ya, didn't I?

On Thursday of last week, I knew that my time at my two-day-a-week job was done and it was time to move on. When the gut nods its head in agreement with a decision, I have found that I must listen or pay the consequences.

Ms. Gut once popped a bleeding ulcer in order to get me out of something, thus saving my life by almost creating the need for removal of nearly half my stomach.

I didn't automatically become a gut listener after that event, but over time, I have learned to see that there is more wisdom in this body than there is in all social conventions combined. I am willing to step off the cliff and risk a rocky landing in order to follow the path that seems to be mine, rather than to feel safely nestled in what most would say was a wonderful set of circumstances in my job.

So now what???

Tune in next week to find out:

Does Carol decide to become a television-watching, bonbon-eating housewife?

Or does she lead a march of of hundreds of thousands against all things harmful to earth and humankind?

Does Carol become a prolific gardener, accomplished cook, perfect housekeeper, and sexy, doting wife?

Or does she leave home for months on end, exploring the highest peaks and most remote mountain villages?

Ahhhhhh.... the possibilities...

Unveiling

Below is the email that I just sent the instructor of our photography "playshop".

(For some background, he told us that he is writing a book about the fear people have of having their photos taken - that's all I'm going to say about that.)

I wanted to thank you again for the great experience in the workshop the last two weekends. I had fun and I also learned a lot. My learning only partly had to do with cameras and photos.

Before I went to the class on Saturday, I was already doing work around the discomfort I have felt regarding having my photo taken. When you talked about the "epidemic" that we live with and the book that you are writing, that helped me to continue exploring my thoughts. Then, playing with having my photo taken - over and over - was very liberating.

I stand with Women in Black every Saturday (so I had to miss it twice in order to attend your workshop). Because of Mother's Day, we were invited to stand along the sidewalk leading into the sanctuary of a local church yesterday.

We were standing with our banner and signs along both sides of the sidewalk going into the church, so people entering or leaving were flanked on both sides by silent witnesses to peace. I saw, with such wonder, how people would walk in or out of the church as if they were in a rush to get somewhere, even though their surroundings were drastically changed from the norm and it would seem that they would stop and notice. Some people would see a familiar face in the vigil and acknowledge that person, but no one slowed down and looked at each of us and read every sign. I thought about how, in the same circumstances, I would do the same. I knew it would not be because I didn't want to look at everyone and all of their signs, but because I would not want to be looked at.

What a profound realization! Focusing on the "I" would keep the wonder and the connection with "what is" further away than arm's length! How is a life to be lived fully in THAT kind of space? I can't afford to live a live focused on an "I" when there is so much love and wonder all around.

I feel so blessed by spending the time with you and the others in the class. It was beautiful. I am no longer afraid of f-stops and shutter speeds (even though I still mess them up a lot), nor am I afraid of having photos taken of this face which I look out of in order to see this amazing world.

Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

Now, for the unveiling...












(Photos by Mr. Carol for Peace. Modeling by Yours Truly)

I wanted to post about how, through the amazing amount of oil that we are pouring into her waters, we are destroying our Mother . How we can't live without these waters and the life that they support.

If you view my blog through an RSS feed, you have probably seen THREE aborted blog posts on this subject. Geez. Every time I tried to type the title to the post, SOMEONE would hit a key that would publish my unfinished post.

I began to think that, for some reason, I wasn't supposed to talk about this subject. Especially on Mother's Day when I should be celebrating both the fact that I have the most awesomest offspring AND a mother who has put up with me all of these *&(+% years.

I can't plug up the geyser that BP and others have allowed to occur - the geyser that is destroying any balance of life in the oceans south of my country.

But I CAN celebrate the woman who birthed me and I can live in awe of the beauty of giving birth to my wonderful son and daughter.

And I can feel the sadness that comes when we watch the abuse of someone/something that we hold precious.

Here is the link I wanted to share: Is Gulf oil rig disaster far worse than we're being told?

And here is a quote from the article:

There's no telling where this continuous stream of oil will end up and what damage it might cause. Theoretically, we could be looking at modern man's final act of destruction on planet Earth, because this one oil rig blowout could set in motion a global extinction wave that begins with the oceans and then whiplashes back onto human beings themselves.

We cannot live without life in the oceans. Man is arrogant to drill so deeply into the belly of Mother Earth, and through this arrogance, we may have just set in motion events that will ultimately destroy us. In the future, we may in fact talk about life on Earth as "pre-spill" versus "post-spill." Because a post-spill world may be drowned in oil, devoid of much ocean life, and suffering a global extinction event that will crash the human population by 90 percent or more.

We may have just done to ourselves, in other words, what a giant meteorite did to the dinosaurs.

Maybe this isn't the last straw in our attempts to annihilate everything on this planet.

But I know that we don't treat those we love with such reckless indifference.

It's about time we treated our Mother as though we loved her.


(Take that, Blogger. I refuse to try to title this post. I will NOT be published before my time.)

Portraits - Oh My!

Today.

Day 2 (of 2)

Today is the day of the Portrait. This is BIG!

Photos of moi have historically been all the excuse necessary to create a flood of extreme critiques.

Loving the lined faces of others, I find this face I wear to be, well, a bunch of unappreciated lines.

Seeing the beauty and soul in the eyes of others, I don't even notice those when looking at my face. I only see those LINES.

It's as if as long as I don't see myself, you can look at me and not see me, either. But when I see myself, the truth is exposed.

Today the truth will be exposed. I have no choice (other than putting my face on the heating pad and feigning fever).

No. I'm going to face the truth, dammit!

Besides, I just found a video to help me learn How To Look Great in Photographs, he he...

I Am Haunted

How can one human being stand to participate in the caging in of another?

Last night we joined the vigil that occurs once a month at the local I.C.E detention center. Well over 100 of us gathered to protest at the street. Update: the vigil is in the Denver Post this morning - they said there were 215 people!





We then heard poetry and witnessed a performance by the Romero Troupe where they sent the message that we need to wake up - the media are lulling us to sleep by their messages and we are allowing our fellow humans to be diminished because of that (thus, we are diminished).

The pain of having families torn apart, having husbands and brothers disappear.

We encircled, to the degree that we could, the fenced-in, razor-wired building where human beings are warehoused.




I will never forget how haunting it was to see the faces of the men as they looked at us from out of this cage of a setting. So close. Yet we couldn't make any contact other than our chanting and waving. These people are no danger to any of us and yet, they are locked up as though they are mass murderers.



Last night it was hard for me to get the scenes from the evening out of my head. I haven't been touched to my core like this in a very long time. Anger, sadness, compassion, confusion.

There is so much beauty in this world and yet I sometimes find it really hard to admit that I am a part of this human race...


P.S. I have received emails from people who are afraid that the "illegal aliens" (don't get me goin'...) are stealing our social security and harming us in so many other ways. If you are one who believes this, but you would like to learn about the facts, please contact me via my contact form here: http://www.carolforpeace.com/contact.html

P.S. again. These photos were taken by Mr. CFP.

What Thinkest Thou?

Today was day one of a two-Saturday photography class.

The name of the class is Revealing the Sacred - A Photography Playshop. I've never taken a photography class before but I liked the name of this class and it came at a good time - right after I returned home from Whidbey Island, bringing some not-so-great photos with me.

We were to take photos in black and white today so that we could learn more about light while not being drawn to focus on color. Next week, I am to bring a print of a photo from today that speaks to me.

Oy.

Which one of these would you choose?

(You can click on any photo to embiggen.)