Here in my “office” at home, I have before me reproductions of two greeting cards I wrote for Hallmark a number of years ago. They both deal with Gratitude as the “secret” to joyful living. “The secret of a joyful heart/is living gratefully/receiving as a gift whatever comes/to you and me…” says one. “To have a grateful attitude/is always to believe/ that everything in life/is but a gift that we receive…” says the other.

Chirpy, aren’t we?

I won’t retract my admonition that gratefulness—as opposed to greediness, regret, blame, etc.—is the better path to joy. Gratefulness includes kindness, generosity, appreciation, and other expressions of an outward-looking attitude that leads to human connection and spiritual health. The words I’m having trouble with today are “everything” and “whatever.” And the word “gift” as well.

Life is life. Poverty, disease, oppression, politics. Being the target of bigotry, violence, injustice, natural disaster. If these are “gifts” then from whom? And why? That’s a classic question people who pay attention to religion would call “theodicy”—essentially, why do bad things happen to good people? Or, indifferently, to everyone?

I wouldn’t call such conditions “gifts” anymore. And I wouldn’t say Gratefulness brings ultimate relief. Perhaps in the depth of horror and despair, the human spirit always has something to give. That is not for me to insist.

In abundance, however, I may not remain ungrateful or refuse to re-gift.

At this moment, it appears that Life isn’t finished with me. So I’ll try to follow my own advice from another Hallmark Card near at hand:

“Give yourself away. For free. Give away your time, ideas, abilities, praise. Especially praise. Generosity reaps unexpected dividends. Give yourself away. You’ll be rich in everything that counts.”

Bob says, “Are you done? I’d be grateful for some Fancy Feast.”

“I gradually came to realize that I was old enough to die.”
–Barbara Ehrenreich (Natural Causes)

I’m making a list of reasons why I expect to live a long time:
Given Things
Pretty good genes
No serious chronic diseases
No debilitating accidents
Good teeth

Lucky Breaks and Good Choices
Lifelong economic security (always had a job)
Good education
Loving relationships (parents, siblings, spouses, friends)
Spiritual/religious engagement
No children (by choice)

Things I Do
Exercise (variously cardio, weight-bearing, yoga) since age 25
Active weight management (in various forms) since age 17
Low-carbohydrate eating since age 55 (no sugar, no starchy foods, no “fast food”)
Thyroid medication (since age 35)
Supplements (various, including multi-vitamin, glucosamine/chondroitin, fish oil, CoQ10)
Good dental hygiene

Nevertheless, I think I’m old enough to die. What’ll it be?

RELATIVITY
 
Someone thought to mete out time,
how long it takes to pass.
So many drops from bowl to bowl.
So many grains through glass.
 
But time is merely here to there.
Sit still. Sit still and see
how time will disappear at once,
and you may simply be.
  
Barbara Loots (Windshift)

This morning, I step carefully down three flights of stairs with a bundle of dirty clothes in my arms. I’m thinking, as I often do, how inconvenient it is to have the washer and dryer in the basement. I load the clothes—the “darks” this time—twiddle the dials to the proper settings, throw in some detergent, push ON. Then I turn to my other business in the basement, my workout space. Half an hour for the laundry, half an hour for the squats and lunges and chest presses. Then I load the wet stuff into the dryer, and go about my day.

Inconvenient. Really??

In today’s hometown newspaper, I find this: “Every day, children in Kansas City miss class because they don’t have clean school uniforms. To address this issue, the United Way of Greater Kansas City’s Loads of Love KC is installing washers and dryers inside public school buildings.”

Clean clothes. How privileged I am to take them for granted. I think of families that can’t afford to have the machines in their own homes, in the basement or anywhere. How many bundles per week for how many people? How many quarters and dollars plunked into commercial machines? How much time to carry the loads to the laundromat—perhaps you don’t own a car?–and then wait around for it all to get clean and dry, perhaps trying to keep a toddler entertained or study for your GED or fill out a few job applications? Money and time–steep challenges for many hard-working families.

Children without clean clothes face daunting obstacles to success at school. Feelings of shame. Bullying. Anger. Every. Single. Day.

According to the report, Whirlpool’s Care Counts laundry program is leading the way in an effort to support laundry facilities in schools. “Teachers reported 89 per cent of students had increased classroom participation, while 95 per cent had increased motivation in class.” There’s more to the story, and the bottom line locally is this: “We’ve seen amazing results.”

Most of the headlines in the morning paper are overwhelming. Trade wars, sleazy political ethics, gun violence, refugees, and deportations. If I followed sports, I might also add the dismal news of a losing team or a disgraced coach. Where and how can I make a difference?

Tomorrow I’ll be marching with a crowd of people advocating for sensible and restrictive laws for gun ownership. Today…I’m thinking about clean clothes and how to secure them for children. I’m glad to know that some big businesses in the laundry business are helping out. After all, that is in their best interest, right? Check out what’s going on near you to help keep kids in clean clothes coming to school to get educated.

I hear a buzz in the basement.

The young adults who spoke at my church yesterday lifted my heart. About a dozen high school men and women–poised, articulate, and wise enough in their own experience to be deemed adults indeed–brought me a sense of hope and pleasure that pushed aside, for a time, the threatening cloud of dreadful headlines, the shaken confidence in our country and, for some, even in our faith.

One young woman in particular spoke about the challenges faced by girls of her generation, first referencing the recent roll-out of a dress code at her school. Among other things, she pointed out that most of the dress code related to the rules the GIRLS are required to observe. The general idea seemed to be that it is the fault of the GIRLS if the boys cannot control their eyes, hands, thoughts, and comments. Further, the speaker related an incident in which, during a sports event involving both boys and girls on a team, her strategy for success was summarily dismissed by the male cohort. (I thought, just wait until she finds herself in a committee meeting, a political contest, a board room. That’s when being invisible and unheard diminishes the chances of everybody winning on an even larger scale). Finally, the young woman expressed dismay that the definition of “feminism” had been reduced to “man-hating.”

How have things changed so little since I was in high school more than fifty years ago? The only comfort I could offer this young speaker, besides my wholehearted support for her courage and conviction, was the quote, from someone, that nothing worth doing can be accomplished in one lifetime. With hers added to mine…perhaps we women will move closer to equal humanity. Someday.

I wrote the poem below decades ago. I wanted to encourage a young woman I knew then to take charge of her own destiny. I hope she did. Meanwhile, I know that my voice and my choices have not been wasted. I hold out the strength of sisterhood to both my sisters and my brothers who understand and embrace the love of the Creator for everything and everyone that is. Equally. Infinitely.

 
ADVICE TO A YOUNGER WOMAN
 

We used to say when we’d been
loved and left again,
I think I’ll move to a different town
and start all over as a virgin.
 
Who knew how possible it was?
 
We misplaced the truth
and fixed our minds on facts
as women do
who think they can defend
themselves. Thus our war
begins. We drag up the past
and aim it at our own hearts.
We try to set down the future
like a map.
Safe, but hungry
we take refuge inside walls.
 
My young friend, you flash your eyes
like mirrors signalling distress.
 
Start over.
 
Imagine yourself courageous
at the gate of a different town,
prepared to live in that one place always
alone, without weapons, at peace.
 
You will become
that pure being about whom
the whole universe
revolves.
 
 

Barbara Loots
 
 
Published in Helicon Nine
Collected in Road Trip
 

Today is Groundhog Day-—Candlemas on the Christian calendar. Either way, it means we’re half-way to spring. I’m feeling better already. However…

In recent news reports, a certain conservative Republican candidate in the state of Missouri, running for the U. S. Senate against the courageous, conscientious, independent Democratic incumbent Senator Claire McCaskill, made a speech at a Christian event during which he averred that the sexual revolution of the 60s and 70s caused the worldwide scourge of sex trafficking.

Say what? This is wrong on so many levels it’s hard to know where to start. Aside from the fact that sexual slavery in one form or another has been going on since ten minutes after Creation, the implication of this candidate’s belief is that if women would just behave themselves, none of the current public outbreak of male sexual misbehavior would be happening. Oh yes. Blame the women. Again. Darned alluring those girls with their birth control pills.

Another Missouri Republican legislator claims that he expects his wife to have dinner on the table every night when he comes home, because that is the Biblical model. Say what?? I differ on religious interpretation, citing a source even this guy would (I think) consider authoritative. It’s the oft-quoted passage of the Book of Proverbs that begins, “A good wife who can find?” (See Proverbs 31:10ff). This good wife? She is a skilled weaver, an importer of foreign goods, manager of a large staff of servants and workers, a real estate tycoon, wine maker, manufacturer, entrepreneur, fashionista, and, yes, a great mom. “Her children rise up and call her blessed.” If said legislator would let his wife out of the kitchen he might find out she’s a better CEO than cook. The Bible says so.

Incidentally, that same chapter of Proverbs advises this (31:6ff). “Give strong drink to him who is perishing and wine to those in bitter distress; let them drink and forget their poverty, and remember their misery no more.” So there. That could be the answer to the whole problem of poverty in America. Can’t say it hasn’t been extensively tried.

As I approach the limit of my biblical allocation of years, I realize that time is running short on my opportunity to speak out on behalf of humanity—men, women, children, all of us. I’m trying not to waste it. My new book of poetry, WINDSHIFT, is a small whisper in the uproar. Yet it represents a lifetime of experience, observation, and perhaps even wisdom. Hope you’ll take a look. I’m pleased to link to a review that lifts my heart. Thank you, Bill.

Bill Tammeus Faith Matters

And I haven’t yet acknowledged the new year begun. I don’t have to tell you that my heart and mind, like everyone else’s, have been preoccupied, distracted, alarmed, and annoyed by political shenanigans. Where is the moral center? Where is the spirit of cooperation and leadership? Where is the common sense?

This very day, the government of the United States is shut down. I’m assured that the mail will be delivered–always a hopeful moment of anticipation in my day. My social security allotment will drop into my bank account on schedule. I suppose that soldiers are on duty somewhere to protect me from foreign invasion of a military kind. Yet I am deeply concerned about those whose mortgages, medical bills, and meals depend on the paycheck they may not get. My vote in November can’t help with that today.

Besides all that, Bob the Cat is suffering a reaction to a vaccine she was given yesterday at the vet. For now, keeping an eye on her is all we can do. She is the focus of all helpless anxiety for me today.

Did I mention that I have received the printed book proof of my new poetry collection? In just a few weeks, I expect to see WINDSHIFT published and available on amazon. I’ll let you know when that happens. As the wit Don Marquis once quipped: “Publishing a book of poems is like dropping a feather into the Grand Canyon and listening for the echo.” Nevertheless, I’m excited about it, and hope you will be tempted to check it out.

Meanwhile, I continue my daily practice of turning to the Psalms. I’ve been using The Scottish Book of Common Prayer, discovered in my husband’s random library. The old-fashioned language often brings puzzling new words to my attention; but it also serves to focus my attention on the eternal truth of the human experiences and emotions unfolded there day by day. Stay tuned: a good God prevails.

Here are some bits from Psalm 112, which is where I have arrived today.

Blessed is the man that feareth the Lord: he hath great delight in his commandments…. 

4 Unto the godly there ariseth up light in the darkness: he is merciful, loving, and righteous. 

5 A good man is merciful and lendeth: and will guide his words with discretion. 

6 For he shall never be moved: and the righteous shall be had in everlasting remembrance. 

7 He will not be afraid of any evil tidings: for his heart standeth fast, and believeth in the Lord.

This is a blatant self-congratulatory plea for you to go and do likewise: GIVE BLOOD. Maybe you haven’t thought about it lately. Maybe you’ve tried and failed in the past. Maybe your health won’t allow it. Maybe you just can’t get past the ICK FACTOR. I’m just inviting you to think about it now, and re-examine your reasons or excuses for not doing it. Go ahead. I’ll wait.

Yesterday, when I was tired of reading, tired of Netflix, and tired of doing nothing, I trekked over to the Community Blood Center. I passed the screening. I gave up a pint (or a pound) of O Negative whole blood, which is the so-called universal donor type. That means anyone in trouble with their own blood supply can use some of mine. That’s a pretty good reward for six-and-a-half minutes of easy bleeding.

Sounds gross, doesn’t it? The nice person beside the lounger informed me that this was my 150th donation. I vividly remember the first time I donated blood. I was a college sophomore, and we were giving blood for shipment to Viet Nam. Sorry to say, donated blood still goes to war to this day. But I hope this particular pint stays closer to home. In a next-day Thank You and survey I received by email, the Community Blood Center linked in a recording of an adorable 11-year-old girl claiming five additional years of life (so far) thanks to the transfusions available to her. Now that’s taking unfair advantage, don’t you think? I’d go back to the Blood Center tomorrow if I could, for that little girl.

The irreverent poem below will be included in my new poetry collection coming out in 2018. I don’t like to think I’m making a deal with God with this blood donor business. But I never fail to give thanks that I enjoy the health to do it. So…go on. Give it a try.

“DONOR” NOBIS PACEM
 
 
I’ve shed more blood than Jesus.
There’s really nothing to it.
From time to time, I’ve saved a soul
and didn’t die to do it.
 
I haven’t got a golden crown
for gallons I have given,
no promise of eternal life,
no glory ride to heaven,
 
no mystic explanation,
no complicated creed.
A bag of hemoglobin
fulfills the human need.
 
O beautiful the bleeding heart,
O negative the way
that leads to the salvation
of someone’s child today.
 
My body manufactures cells
that oxidize like rust.
O Lord replenish them, I pray,
until I turn to dust.
 
 
Barbara Loots

I’m old. I have all the stuff I’ll ever need. Right now. Clothes? They last a long time, and old is new again sooner or later. Cars, appliances, computers, phones? Replace if necessary (ie. terminal breakdown). Gazillion channel tv? I’ve already discussed that.(See archive August 2016– DON’T. WATCH.TELEVISION). Furniture? Got it covered. And covered again, for that matter.

What, exactly, do I NEED to spend money on? Electricity is good. Food is good, especially if I can find fresh, local stuff and skip the expensive chemical kinds. Clean water is good, and most of us can get it out of the tap instead of plastic bottles. Travel is good, according to me, and buying a plane, train, or automobile trip to someplace beautiful or historic or related to family can definitely be worth the price. Giving is good, and the holiday season presents me with an avalanche of opportunity–but that’s not the same as “buying stuff” for my own consumption, is it? Personal satisfaction, yes. A few bucks can buy that.

I’m cultivating the art of ignoring advertisements. That’s difficult when every newsfeed on screen or paper includes colorful interruptions insisting that I need something I never heard of before. Truth be told, I’m resistant to purchasing an app, let alone a new car, for fear I’ll never figure out how it operates. Like I said. I’m old. But the allure of advertising is wasted on me.

In the further confessions of a junior curmudgeon, I don’t shop for fun. I never did. If I want something, I go get it. I don’t wander around looking for something to want. Even on the internet. Doesn’t shopping make your head explode?

Because I have an abundance of worldly goods already, I claim no virtue in the overall decision to stop buying stuff. However, I see the refusal to “buy into” the cultural persuasion that more is better, new is better, bigger is better as akin to voting. Yes, voting and backing out of consumerism: those are two powers I can claim against the Forces of Evil. I wish there were a clearer way of transferring the surplus of my household (and the whole country) to the suffering multitudes near and far. Meanwhile, I’ll give my votes and my resources to the best ideas I can find.

NEW YEAR’S EVE
 
 
The clever nest has shaken from the tree
to land here on the sidewalk at my feet,
as winter clears away last year’s debris
and sweeps its brown detritus down the street.
 
So much depends on something letting go,
a loosening of ties, a stripping clean,
a useful emptiness by which I know
of singing birds that I have never seen.
 
Barbara Loots
 
Published in Mezzo Cammin (online journal)
 

Dear Faithful Readers. All six of you. I’m sure that you are friendly and sympathetic to my infrequent reports from life, and I thank you. Today I must shed my sunny optimism for something harsher and more, well, realistic. That is, I have come to view the person occupying the big desk at the White House as the apotheosis of Evil. (Go ahead. Look it up. I’ll wait…..)

I’d go with definition number two in Webster’s Collegiate: the perfect example, not (definition one) a divinity. However, there’s evidence that others would grant that Evil permission to exercise power in support of what they consider Divine Law. Therefore I see a deep-seated idolatry at work.

This Evil perpetrates destruction, destruction, destruction–the exact opposite of the original plan for the universe, including human life, which is creation, creation, creation. This Evil acts through division: dividing faith from faith, nation from nation, race from race, rich from poor, and alas! men from women. We are being ripped apart into tribes speaking different languages, violently opposed to one another.

I cannot look at or listen to this Evil without feeling sick. It requires exhausting energy merely to keep looking away. Yet I know that looking away is not the answer. I and all others of good will must actively resist, beginning with the conviction in our own hearts and minds that goodness, compassion, and lovingkindness among all humanity is the prevailing trajectory.

Here’s something I’ve found helpful.

During my summer retreat on the island in Canada, I began reading the Psalms, one each day. Upon returning home, I continued this practice, choosing a version I had at hand which uses a quaint and elevated language. It is the Psalter in the Scottish Book of Common Prayer. Here’s a wee sample, at random, from Psalm 37: Fret not thyself because of the ungodly: neither be thou envious against the evildoers…Put thou thy trust in the Lord, and be doing good: dwell in the land, and verily thou shalt be fed.

Psalm after Psalm the message is this: There are bad people out there. Always have been, probably always will be. Fix your eyes and your thoughts totally on the good and live in that stronghold. This moment in history–an eyeblink in terms of the cosmos–is neither unique nor permanent. Each of us, however, must fulfill our purpose for good.

The bumper sticker version: Love One Another. No Exceptions.

Thank you for you.

When my old Winthrop professor Dr. Eells tented his fingers and intoned Shakespeare’s “Brevity is the soul of wit,” I took it to heart. (Never mind the irony of Polonius.) Indeed, I began my career as a writer of greeting cards, with lyric poetry on the side–the very definition, in two ways, of trying to pack maximum meaning into minimum words. However, neither Shakespeare nor Professor Eells anticipated Twitter.

By this time in the history of digital communications, I qualify as a dinosaur. At some point, my best correspondent and I abandoned snail mail for email. Gone was the pleasure of receiving thoughtful, personal, inspiring, usually funny, and often lengthy screeds in the mailbox. Gone was the benefit to posterity of countless letters saved in dated paper files. Gone was the reward of real conversation, albeit at a distance, where two friends had the leisure to listen to each other through the medium of the written word. Now we regularly exchange emails, which have some of the characteristics of our former conversation: thoughtful, funny, mutually inspiring. But in most cases, these excellent discussions disappear into the permanent, but as far as I know, inaccessible void of the digital universe. That’s a terrible loss.

Now, with family and friends, I’m up to speed on texting. Messaging is very helpful in coordinating coffee dates, quipping about the latest social shock, and enjoying photos of the kids. But clearly texting is not suitable for philosophical ramblings. For one thing, I still haven’t learned to use my thumbs, and for another thing, those “suggested words” often produce hilarious accidents. Texts are for information, not thoughts.

I draw the line at Twitter. I don’t have an account. Don’t try to persuade me. If you want to “follow” me, come back here. It’s all right that so far, my “fans” are few. They are loyal and true. At least I have established a location where, to the extent anything on the internet spins into the future, I will have set down some actual thoughts.

My next poetry collection, titled WINDSHIFT, is currently in the works from Kelsay Books. Sometime in 2018, I’ll give you a heads-up. All the poems are short. All the thoughts are as deep as a lifetime. Many of the poems are delivered with the sense of humor which helps us all survive. I’m dedicating this book to Dr. Eells. Somewhere between Twitter and War and Peace, I’ve found my place, thanks to him.

Here’s a poem from way back, unpublished. Notable for brevity at least.

 
LOOK OUT, GIRL
 
You start
waving around loaded memories like that
and first thing you know
you’ve shot yourself
in the heart.
 
 

Barbara Loots