REDONDOWRITER'S SACRED ORDINARY

Say What? Pneumonia?

I have had upper respiratory problems for the last several years. Though they have made no direct correlation to the radiation I had while being treated for breast cancer twice, I personally believe there is some kind of connection. There is some scarring showing in the upper left lung, the pulmonologist says, possibly due to radiation. I'm also prone to asthma now. I strongly refuse to give in to fear thinking and I tend to minimize any illness I have since I've been divorced--22 years now. I've grown a little hardened to my own aches and pains, I think, perhaps as a form of denial, but more out of stubborness. Remember "Strong Woman Number" from "I'm Getting My Act Together and Taking it on the Road?" (I loved that musical and see it whenever it plays little theater.)

When I start to come down with a cold, it usually turns into a nasty cough and then bronchitis. Because it was the long weekend, I didn't attempt to get any anti-biotics like I am supposed to. This morning I dragged myself to the doc as a walk-in--and I'll be damned! After a chest x-ray, he diagnosed me with streptococcal pneumonia--light case--both lower lungs cloudy. I'm on an antibiotic, albuterol to clear the bronchial tubes--and the dreaded cough syrup with codeine which I'll bypass unless I get desperate.

But, instead of pushing myself because I think I'm being a baby, I've retreated mainly to bed with more books and I have a pile of DVDs. I want my momma--except she's been dead since 1967. That longing to have mom come to take care of us never leaves--no matter how old we get.

Keep me in your prayers, please.

The Origin of Taps

All across America today, people celebrated Memorial Day--a day of remembrance for our veterans and for our military serving today. I am opposed to the current war, but I feel deep gratefulness to all those who have served and are currently serving our country. I got up this morning with bronchitis, but did throw on some clothes to go see the hometown parade which was going by only a block from my house. As I watched the bands go by, the cars, the local civic groups, Cub Scout troops, the Harley Club, and even the clown, I felt so proud to be an American.

Several color guards marched down Catalina St., but these are the young men and women from Redondo Union High School's ROTC. Redondo HS celebrates its 100th anniversary in June.

And there is always a clown in a parade, isn't there? The whole celebration today got me thinking as I came back home to write and read the day away (I think I have bronchitis--off to see the doc tomorrow). What exactly are we commemorating today? And where did the custom of taps come from? Every military funeral I have ever been to plays Taps--that mournful playing of horns and the gun salute at the end. Google gave me this link: Memorial Day.

There is a myth about the origin of Taps that is circulating about the Internet. The true story is that in July 1862, after the Seven Days battles at Harrison's Landing (near Richmond), Virginia, the wounded Commander of the 3rd Brigade, 1st Division, V Army Corps, Army of the Potomac, General Daniel Butterfield reworked, with his bugler Oliver Wilcox Norton, another bugle call, "Scott Tattoo," to create Taps. He thought that the regular call for Lights Out was too formal. Taps was adopted throughout the Army of the Potomac and finally confirmed by orders. Soon other Union units began using Taps, and even a few Confederate units began using it as well. After the war, Taps became an official bugle call. Col. James A. Moss, in his Officer's Manual first published in 1911, gives an account of the initial use of Taps at a military funeral:

"During the Peninsular Campaign in 1862, a soldier of Tidball's Battery A of the 2nd Artillery was buried at a time when the battery occupied an advanced position concealed in the woods. It was unsafe to fire the customary three volleys over the grave , on account of the proximity of the enemy, and it occurred to Capt. Tidball that the sounding of Taps would be the most appropriate ceremony that could be substituted."

Words to Taps
(Note: there are no "official" words to Taps but these are most common.)

Day is done,
gone the sun,
From the hills,
from the lake,
From the skies.
All is well,
safely rest,
God is nigh.

Go to sleep,
peaceful sleep,
May the soldier
or sailor,
God keep.
On the land
or the deep,
Safe in sleep.

Love, good night,
Must thou go,
When the day,
And the night
Need thee so?
All is well.
Speedeth all
To their rest.

Fades the light;
And afar
Goeth day,
And the stars
Shineth bright,
Fare thee well;
Day has gone,
Night is on.

Thanks and praise,
For our days,
'Neath the sun,
Neath the stars,
'Neath the sky,
As we go,
This we know,
God is nigh.

Exploring the Masks That We Wear

Do you ever have one of those kinds of days where you just want to stick your tongue out and give yourself a raspberry? That's how my day went today.

This mask, by the way, is one of a series of second grade art at my school. This particular mask just seemed to fit today. I think I would call this my "Lazy Day Mask." I've had a cough since last Wednesday and it has grown pretty severe now--and no docs in until Tuesday. I don't feel sick, just de-energized. It was a lovely, sunny day ultimately and it seemed stupid to hang out in bed, but I did spend about four hours there mid-day. I skipped church because I know this cough would scare the hell out of everyone--for fear they would be exposed to the creeping crud. Usually when I take to my bed I'm either really sick--or I'm depressed. I was neither today. I journaled and I finished "The Mermaid's Chair" by Sue Monk Kidd. It was a compelling read and she is a wonderful author, but I felt annoyed by the shallowness of her love affair with the monk. And yet, I could identify so strongly with letting a marriage get stale, the pull to redefine yourself after the kids leave, and the easiness of letting erotic love mask what was really going on. I highly recommend this book. Now I'm launched into "The Passion of Artemisia," an entirely different read.

Somehow I managed to grocery shop, walk the dog, cook a good dinner, but mostly I just want to put on my jammies and be a bed potato now. And who says I can't? I feel so darned guilty when I am not a human doing--but---

This Period of My Life Began on May 6

In Ira Progoff's journal keeping method, the National Internsive Journal, there is an exercise in what he calls the Period Log. When you haven't written using his tools for a while, or always at a workshop, you write an entry that simply says, "This period of my life began-----" Dr. Progoff said we know when the current period began and it can be elastic--today, or months or years ago. You just have to sit quietly and then begin writing and all kinds of ah-hahs begin to happen.

This period of my life began on Friday, May 6, when my granddaughter moved back with her mother. I have been so relieved not having her here as I simply wasn't good with setting boundaries with her and she pushed the envelope so far that I had grown numb. I felt so responsible for her and I simply couldn't break through in attempting to influence her. Instead I began self-medicating with food in particular. After a family crisis, when she opted to leave, I felt many paradoxical emotions. Anger, fear, relief, and a huge sense of failure. On May 7 she had a bad automobile accident but all four kids were OK, thank God. Two teens in Orange County in a car of five on the way to a dance, were killed last night and I literally began keening when I read the article in this morning's LA Times. There but for the grace of God. The driver of the car and the other two survivors undoubtedly will say that this period of their lives began last night--as will all the parents, friends and loved ones.

Today I decided to reclaim my granddaughter's bedroom as my art studio; I was going to wait three weeks until she graduated high school, but I'm tying up a lot of loose ends in my life right now and I feel like I want to let go of a lot of things and possessions. I want to have a sense of starting over so I can thoroughly enjoy my summer off work--first summer off in 25 years. She isn't here at all anymore, doesn't even drop by, nor does she call, so it's unlikely she'll return. She took about half her stuff when she left and today I thoughtfully packed several boxes and bags of her things and have them stacked in the closet for her to go through when she does visit again. And then I began to unpack my art supplies from my bedroom and bedroom closet and my room began to feel so different--more open, more like a room for sleeping and not a multi-purpose room. There will come a time as I age, I suppose, where I probably will be living primarily in one room--but it isn't now.

Not only are my supplies in there now, but I have my art books and special spiritual books there. I have a chair set up next to the window as her room has an ocean view--and I've put my meditation fountain, candles, and spiritual goodies there. Eventually the computer and office will go back in there, but right now I want to just ease into it. I'll do a Native American saging ceremony in there tomorrow to prepare to use the room again myself.

So, if you had to say, when did this period of your life begin? If you feel so inclined, just start to write and see where it goes.

Matthew Fox Nails His Own 95 Theses at Wittenburg Heralding "The New Reformation"

Rev. Dr. Matthew Fox, a former Dominican priest who was silenced by then Cardinal Ratzinger, now Pope Benedict XVI, in the late 1980s, is one of my spiritual heroes. Imagine my surprise when an Episcopal priest friend of mine gave me a link this week to Fox's new blog where he writes about his recent trip to Wittenberg, Germany to post his 95 Theses announcing "A New Reformation." That is where Martin Luther posted his own 95 Theses on the church wall which began the Protestant Reformation in the 1500s. Silencing Matthew Fox, of course, is like attempting to halt a speeding train with a feather. Instead of keeping quiet, his Center for Creative Spirituality at Mundelein College, was disbanded. Fox ultimately left the Dominicans after 38 years and created Wisdom University in Oakland, the headquarters for what has come to be known as the Friends of Creation Spirituality. I have heard that he practices religion as an Episcopal priest now, but have not been able to confirm this.

The Christian right is not going to like Fox's 95 Theses, this I guarantee, but every one single one had me shouting out loud, "Yes!" as I read them. You will find all 95 in his blog and in Chapter 5 of his new book. I read them all and for the first time in a long time, I feel hopeand some fear because I know there will be fall-out from those who are not tolerant to this kind of thinking and logic. Some Christian rightists call Matthew Fox (and about 50 other liberal thinking Catholics, Protestants, Buddhist and Hindus) the anti-Christ which I personally find laughable. Over time, I will write my own take on the 95 Theses at Sacred Ordinary as every one of them calls me out to be the best human being I can possibly be for my time on earth. So here are a few to whet your appetite:

1. God is both Mother and Father.

2. At this time in history, God is more Mother than Father because the feminine is most missing and it is important to bring gender balance back.

4. God the Punitive Father is not a God worth honoring but a false god and an idol that serves empire-builders. The notion of a punitive, all-male God, is contrary to the full nature of the Godhead who is as much female and motherly as it is masculine and fatherly.

5. "All the names we give to God come from an understanding of ourselves." (Eckhart) Thus people who worship a punitive father are themselves punitive.

11. Religion is not necessary but spirituality is.

26. Empire-building is incompatible with Jesus' life and teaching and with Paul's life and teaching and with the teaching of holy religions.

54. The Holy Spirit works through all cultures and all spiritual traditions and blows 'where it wills' and is not the exclusive domain of any one tradition and never has been.

72. Since homosexuality is found among 464 species and in 8 percent of any given human population, it is altogether natural for those who are born that way and is a gift from God and nature to the greater community.

83. The Dark Night of the Soul descends on us all and the proper response is not addiction such as shopping, alcohol, drugs, TV, sex or religion but rather to be with the darkness and learn from it.

85. Not only is there a Dark Night of the Soul but also a Dark Night of Society and a Dark Night of our Species.

So, I strongly encourage you to read Fox's 95 Theses and I applaud his courage. I call myself a "heretic," but do consider myself a spiritual person and I would venture to say that he could be described that way, too. I wish I had his scholasticism, compassion, and courage. I'm such a wuss I quake in my boots as I post this.

World Within Worlds ad infinitum

When I thought about world within worlds, my mind flashed back to artist Paul Heussenstamm's mandalas. Most of his work speaks to my soul, put this mandala, "Step Into the Mystery," particularly spoke to me. If you enjoy seeing or making mandalas, Paul's work is renown.

World Within Worlds. Vaguely I recall a term I have heard often in various spiritual reading I’ve done and groups I’ve attended. I like David Pratt's introduction from a paper he once wrote about Theosophy:

“Universal nature is a unity in diversity: there is one infinite divine essence – boundless consciousness-life-substance – manifesting in an endless variety of forms, on an endless variety of scales, and in infinitely varying degrees of materiality and ethereality, forming an unending series of interblending, interacting worlds within worlds.”

I awoke this morning from a "hurry up, you're doing something wrong as usual" dream where I was on a huge college campus picking someone up but I was caring for two baby boys and my dog. I parked the car and began running across the grass to the admissions office; the boys were naked. As I ran with one under each arm trying to find the person I was supposed to pick up, I realized their nakedness was offensive to some people. I began the day in my dream world.

I awoke in my bedroom which is my sleeping, reading, computer and art world. I was very aware of being in a different world than my dream world. Outside I could hear the construction workers putting on the final exterior touches of the townhouses they are building across the street and their construction world had overlapped into my bedroom world. I checked my e-mail—my cyberworld. Then I dressed, did my make-up and took Cookie out for a quick walk—my neighborhood world. I went to start my car and to my horror it wouldn’t start; I haven’t run out of gas for at least 35 years, but the orange gas light was on and I had pushed my little Honda too far. OK, now what? I was due at work to finish a project. I called Triple A, made my breakfast and read the morning paper. My home world. The Auto Club guy came and his vehicle world lapped over my home world.

I drove to my own campus and went into my office in the library—my work world at school, but specifically within the library world where books and students overlapped my world. The phone rang several times—most calls work-related and one personal. I checked voice mail and returned calls. The telecommunications world.

I did a four page layout for a program to be passed out at Grandparents' Day tomorrow which was a combo of what I call my computer and graphics world. I walked across campus several times during my four hours here and then the ah hah of being in a world within worlds flashed into my mind. I watched the cement mixers and earth movers finishing up our new amphitheater—more construction world—but it was overlapping my work world and the students in their school world. The students dotted the main lawn basking, studying, playing Frisbee, eating. I got a strong sense of our mystical connection to everyone, everything, people, places, things. For me to operate in Fran's world there are literally thousands if not millions of overlaps. Internally I bowed to Thomas Merton who wrote of his epiphany of interconnectedness at Fourth and Walnut in Louisville, March 18, 1958, in Conjectures of a Guilty Bystander. So now I enter the blogging world to ask you to contemplate for a while on your own world within worlds.

What Is Your Worldview?

A few days ago, Blaugustine aka Natalie Arbeloff posted a quiz on her blog to fill in space while she had medical tests and didn't want to think. I think all of us bloggers need to post an innane quiz now and then to lighten things up--and to use as filler when you don't feel like thinking too deeply. I took this test a few days ago and came out a Cultural Creative. Tonight I came out as an Idealist--and because I had a good day today, I guess that's why the shift.

You scored as Idealist. Idealism centers around the belief that we are moving towards something greater. An odd mix of evolutionist and spiritualist, you see the divine within ourselves, waiting to emerge over time. Many religious traditions express how the divine spirit lost its identity, thus creating our world of turmoil, but in time it will find itself and all things will again become one.

Cultural Creative		100%
Idealist		100%
Postmodernist		75%
Romanticist		50%
Fundamentalist		38%
Existentialist		25%
Modernist		25%
Materialist		0%

What is Your World View? (updated)
created with QuizFarm.com

So, what is your worldview?

A Pink Angel and a Homeless Man

Every time I drive by this pink angel sculpture in Redondo Beach’s Riviera Village, I have meant to stop and take a picture. Yesterday I did just that and I noted that she sports a yellow ribbon supporting our troops. She sits between the Riviera Arts Gallery and Will and Wag. I vaguely recall that Los Angeles had an exhibit of angel sculptures several years ago (kind of like the cows in Chicago) and I know these angels were later sold and I assumed all these years that this pink angel came from that exhibit. Now I’m not sure. There is a plaque beneath this remarkable angel that says:

A Community of Angels
Giving Kids a Chance to Soar

Artist: Jake Hooper
Donated: Joseph Alflen
Agent: Riviera Arts Gallery

Across the street in front of Riviera Liquor there is a full-sized zebra sculpture which I’ll snap a picture of another time. What a unique place I live!

While looking at the angel and snapping photos of her/him, a homeless man pushing a cart pulled up next to me and began to hum.

"Hello," he said. "Beautiful day, isn't it?" I was a hair taken aback as I have tried to "interview" homeless persons before when I was working in Santa Monica and they were pretty skittish—in fact, most I've personally observed appear to be mentally disheveled. A homeless man from Iowa once ate lunch with me in Palisades Park and admitted that when times got bad, he decided if he had to be homeless, he'd do it in California. The weather was better. One of our late governors, later to be President, closed the majority of the State’s mental institutions in the 1980s and that’s when our mentally ill homeless no longer had a place to go. Or so the urban legend goes.

"Hello there," I replied with a big smile. His grocery cart was neatly organized with only sleeping essentials, a pizza box, a big sack of oranges, and a water bottle. He wasn't pushing around his worldly possessions. He offered me a slice of orange. I declined and internally said, "Ewww," and felt deeply ashamed.

"I just love this angel, don't you," I asked? The floodgates opened.

An extremely long and rambling story followed about an art class he had taken years ago at Narbonne High School and this style of art reminded him of his truly beloved teacher—named Matthew. He told me about his class, his teacher, and what a difference he had made in his life. He thrust out his hand, "I'm Robert James of Torrance," he said.

"Hello, Robert," I said. "I'm Fran. You know, I can tell you loved your teacher very much. Maybe you should contact him sometime and tell him how much his teaching meant to you. Teachers love to hear how much people enjoyed learning from them."

"Are you kidding?" Robert snorted. "Do you think I want him to see me like this?" Robert was a good looking man, clean and with clean jeans, tennis and a teeshirt. "No way, man. I never meant for this to happen to me."

He then rambled on about how he is on permanent disability, but that his checks only get him about half-way through the month and that’s when he takes to the streets.

"I'm sick, you know," he said. "I’m pretty much sick all the time. When I was a teenager a cop took me down with a choke hold and my wind-pipe is damaged. I get ear infections all the time. I'm all beat-up. My family keeps trying to use my food stamps and take my stuff. I have to hide my prescriptions," he confided and he pulled a prescription out of his pocket and began telling me about his doctor. Then he complained about the pharmacist because he had a $40 co-pay and he gave him generic and that's why he never got better. "Do you think that's right?" he asked.

"Well, Robert, all of us use generics when we can. I'm sure your drug is the right one for you." Then Robert gestured to another homeless woman with a gigantic loaded grocery cart sitting only half a block away. "We help each other when we can, you know," he said.

Robert was extremely lucid but he did ramble and I began to feel restless—and tremendously guilty. One of my character defects is trying to fix people and I resisted. "I try to eat healthy, but it's pretty hard when you live on the street. That's why I'm eating these oranges," he said. "This Domino's Pizza was given to me by the people in the store. The business people here make sure we have food." I know I have seen one of the homeless women who walks the Esplanade day in and day out get her morning free coffee and a pastry at Starbucks.

Robert started free associating about everything under the sun.

"Well, Robert, I’m late for an appointment," I said, which was only half true. Actually I had to get to work. "It was good to meet you. Maybe I’ll see you around the neighborhood again sometime."

"Sure, sure, I understand," he said. "I’m glad you liked the angel," and then he kind of shuffled off and I got in my car wishing I had asked him 10,000 other questions. There but for the grace of God go I. How did you get here? Do you have kids? Where do you sleep at night? But I had no right to ask these questions unless I was willing to actually befriend him—or I was going to write a story. I was doing neither, but I was "listening" to what he was saying and what he wasn't saying.

This I do know. I have put Robert’s name in my prayer bowl and if I do see him again, I’ll say hi and I’ll bet he remembers my name. If any retired art teacher from Narbonne High School reads this, Robert remembers that you really showed him what beauty was long ago and he recalls you with fondness.

There's More Than One Group Called Grandma's Boys

If you are into barbershop quartets, you may have heard of one famous one called "Grandma's Boys." Well, these are my own beloved "Grandma's Boys," who I spend a few hours playing with every Monday afternoon. I have four grandkids, but these are the little ones--two and nine months. This is the first time a picture has been taken of me with both of them. No matter how bummed out I sometimes get with life, a few hours with these little guys lifts my spirits sky high--and I was feeling good when I got there. What's higher than the sky? They definitely hit the top of my written bedtime gratitude list tonight.

An Art Show and Spouting Breasts

A few other times I have posted photos of my friend Orma displaying her art at local art shows and here is another one from a visit today to the monthly spring/summer Malaga Cove Lawn Show. Malaga Cove Plaza is probably my favorite place in all of Southern California--and it's only two miles from my house. Orma is just getting better and better and is selling more all the time. Not everyone gets the opportunity to spend the last quarter of her life doing and being love, but Orma is. Not only did she meet her soul mate because I introduced them, but she always wanted to paint--and she paints everywhere she goes. She is finding Palos Verdes to be just as beautiful as Italy and France, but Monet has been her inspiration. She has painted many times at Giverny and this painting is of Monet's garden.

The sun was intense today, bouncing off the bright ocean, and Orma and I sat in lawn chairs and chatted for a half hour or so. Then I went to grocery shop, but not before taking my new little camera to a favorite photo op--Malaga Cove Plaza's Fountain of Neptune which was right behind the art show.

It is a replica of La Fontana del Nettuno in Bologna. When it was placed there in the main square in the 1920s, it was considered to be pretty "racy," and this is why.

Neptune himself has a fig leaf on (I wonder if Bologna does), and though I wish the little boy cherubs were peeing like I've seen in some fountains, they pour water out of little jars. If you are ever in the area, visiting Malaga Cove is a must. Every time I post about it, a few people will comment that this is where they grew up. I love living at the beach in Redondo, but if I could have afforded it 15 years ago, I would have gotten a townhouse in Malaga Cove. Since it is only two miles away, I admittedly often visit.