Growing in the sunshine....

I learn a lot from the things growing around me. (Mostly that would be my kids and the things in my yard.) This afternoon I'm in the yard -- trying to keep my back to the sun as my face is sunburned from a really nice bike ride along the Bay in Emeryville and through Berkeley -- watering in the afternoon breeze.

One thing I learn (although in truth, I already knew this but conveniently let myself forget, over and over) is that when I water the lavender, the spikes are actually green rather than dry-stick-brown and purple flowers grow on the ends. Oh...water something and it will grow....While I'm watering, I spray off the overgrown frissee. Recalling that I meant to see about "pruning" it earlier in the week -- except I couldn't find any advice about how to "prune" lettuce and so I left it.

I'm using the hose on a few nesting spit bugs or aphids, (realizing that although I loathe death and destruction, I do not hesitate long before picking off the impossibly bright green bugs and squishing them onto the pavement), and I notice something purple. The lettuce, on its way to going to seed I suppose, is about the let lovely purple flowers open along its top. Good thing I didn't cut those stalks down earlier in the week.

If I'd snipped the frissee, I never would have been witness to the purple flowers....What's my lesson? Water things and they grow? Give a little attention and life happens? Let something go, take another direction than the one I'd intended, and I might be surprised with something lovely?....

It's all good....

Daydreams of Maui....

I migrate out to my yard...escaping the drudgery of some volunteer work I am slogging through...and sit comfortably in "my chair" -- a small pillow behind my back, my feet up on another chair. A reasonable stand-in for a chaise lounge....

The sun is warm and gorgeous on my face and I close my eyes. My sneakers and pink socks are the first to go, freeing my toes to the reach of the sun and gentle breeze. Oh, that feels good....Next is my sweater, tossed onto an adjacent chair. Oh...even better. My body and mind begin to relax and meld and float on the tinkling music from my windchimes. The jeans are next. And then I'm gone..Body here...head in Maui....

(I don't think anything else needs to be said....)

Guns

Last night I watched the movie "Milk." (Quite a well done film: good acting, nicely written script, well edited...and of course, the story....) Obviously the end of the movie gun violence was no surprise; like most of us, I recalled the main points of the story. But what did surprise me was its reminder to me of an incredulity I have held since I was a teenager.

After the movie I said to BZ, "I have a stupid question....Why is it that we still allow guns to be so available in this country?" His answer did not make me feel stupid but it didn't elucidate the issue either. He responded with things I've heard before....'American tradition...the Second Amendment'....Stuff like that....

I still don't understand....I never have. I have vague recollections of debating this issue, both formally and informally, in high school and college and law school. It always seemed to me that it was like religion: people believed what they wanted to believe, what their faith led them to believe, and were not about to be swayed by someone else's facts.

I get this. But I still have the same questions: How can it make sense for guns to be so readily available? How is it that a seemingly small minority of "gun owners" can make policy for the rest of us? Especially when that policy is killing us in what seems to be shockingly large numbers....And in the random, senseless killing of people who had no relation at all to the violence other than being in the wrong place at the wrong time....And even if they were "related" (think of domestic violence or gang deaths, etc.), there is something jarring -- and dare I say, "unfair" -- about the thought of it....A burning piece of metal piercing your flesh and then death....

Actually, I discover this morning, it is not a simple matter to find out how large the numbers are. Like most people over the age of nine, when I want to know a fact, I hop on Google. What my searches reveal is not too helpful. One of my first hits is the CDC (Centers for Disease Control) mortality charts. First of all, apparently the most recent data is from 2005 (that's already four years old!) and after plugging in the variables (which were required fields), I'm not exactly sure what number it was spitting out. As far as I can tell, the CDC data shows 12,352 gun deaths in the United States in 2005.

I return to Google. I find a promising looking link to Harvard. An article from 2000 mentioned a pilot study to track gun deaths. But the trail peters out early in the decade and the Harvard site itself doesn't contain links to articles past 2003....Where is this information? I can't help but wonder....Is its paucity related to the whole reason we don't have any meaningful gun control to being with? (Are there some hidden agendas?....)

Anyway, it is perhaps something to think about next time there is a gun death....Four cops in Oakland, someone on television, God forbid...someone we know....Maybe after we're done thinking about health care and the economy and relationships between people and the health and well being of our loved ones, we can think about guns in this nation....Or maybe we should think about it at the same time...because actually it's all related....

(If you're interested, check out: http://www.marinij.com/ci_12126366?source=most_viewed OR http://www.hsph.harvard.edu/hicrc/nviss/index.htm OR try your own Google search....)

Passover....

In anticipation of Passover, brought up by the cards and wishes I am receiving, I begin to examine what this holiday means to me. I say "begin" because it is only in between the dog and kids and work that my thoughts swirl and eddy and begin to pool....

And that represents one of the very basic things that Passover means to me. Freedom to think. Even sandwiched between competing interests, I am fortunate in that I do possess the great freedom of thinking. I use that gift to think about other freedoms. Some of them given to me by our Constitution; some by my children and loved ones. Basically, (limited only by my children and the Homeland Security Act), I have the freedom to say whatever crosses my mind....

And one thing that always crosses my mind, is economic freedom. I think of the way it has been so easy for people to maybe heretofore take for granted their own economic power. Or maybe didn't take it for granted, but didn't exactly appreciate it either. And now, maybe those things are changing. Maybe freedom also means the power to think in new ways....

I have to acknowledge, that even in my interesting economic state, I have more than many. I am not on the street....And that, of course, makes me think of the homeless man I often see a mile from my home. Last week I saw him, (near his usual spot), sitting on an overturned bucket, reading the New York Times. I had only the change from a dollar in my pocket and when I gave it to him, I apologized that it couldn't be more. "No worries," he told me, his face a warm smile of sincerity. "The important thing," he continued, "is that you opened your heart." And then we got into a long discussion about how the world is a better place when people open their hearts. He -- this man, whose name I don't know, this man I know only as the 'sweet guy asking for change' -- reminded me to keep my heart open. Even when times are tough. Indeed, when times are toughest. That's when it really counts.

And that too is a freedom. One I don't want to take for granted....

Oh, and I don't want to take for granted the freedom, which we still have in our country, to practice our religion...because this is not a Christian nation or a Muslim nation or a Jewish nation...but a nation for all...including (as our President mentioned in his Inauguration speech) the 'non-believers'....So, no matter what your religion, go out an enjoy your freedoms this week....

The Whole Day Through....

What about those days we don't want to write anything? Or say anything? Maybe one day it would be nice just to set a spell, in my little concrete yard. Especially lately, with the freesias overflowing their pots, their scent enveloping the atmosphere. Sweet but not too sweet. The sun warming my cheeks and the breeze carrying a hint of cool. Wouldn't it be nice to just sit? No responsibilities. No mouths to feed, no dog poop to pick up, no one calling on the phones....

This morning as soon as I opened my bedroom shade, the City glowed yellow in the rising morning sun. I took it in-- the tall buildings yellow and black and emerging -- and maybe that was my moment today of quiet....Or maybe I'll steal another one later, when the sun is on its way down and the clouds that I don't even know are there -- those gauze-like bits of connected moisture -- begin to show themselves, to light up, their own special pink-yellow color that is reserved for clouds at sunset....Yeah, maybe that's it...I'll look forward to sitting quiet in my backyard chair in about twelve hours...and until then, lots of other moments in the spaces....

empathy, judgment, morning...dogs....

Early this morning I took BZ to BART when the sun had not even begun to think of rising and the dark night air lingered cold and still. As we turned into the parking lot, (a turn I have made countless times, dropping boys off, picking boys up), a black and brown dog made its unsure way in front of us. A cross between a basset hound and a German Shepard, low to the ground like a basset but with a triangular face, colored like a shepard.

"It's been hit," I blurted out. It wavered across the parking lot, dragging its back end. "Oh shit!" and it hit me harder than it might have had I been more awake. It hit me hard because although I'd already been up for thirty minutes, it was the sight of this dog, in need of help, that was actually the first stimulus to cross my brain. "Do you want to help it?" BZ asked me, (though I think we both knew the answer). "Yes," I more moaned than spoke. (Really I wanted to go back to my warm bed....) He got his suitcase and walked toward the station.

I parked my car and followed. I went up to the BART kiosk where the station agent was reading her morning paper; I explained about the dog. "Well, there's nothing I can do," she said and BZ disappeared without another word into the station. I returned to the parking lot. There came the dog, lumbering along, dragging its back legs. I spoke to a woman arriving for her train; I complained that the station agent didn't care. I approached the dog. I turned around and the BART agent was there -- I knew I had been wrong about her, too quick to judge....Then we were a team. "Look, it has a collar but no tags."

The dog had a friendly and sad face, like a hound. I thought for a moment of reaching in to make sure there were no id tags. But then I had to remember that last year a neighbor's dog bit me. And it was only after being on kibbutz in December, with all those marvelous, wandering, friendly dogs, that I finally lost my fear of being bitten again. The agent and I mulled over what to do. We agreed tacitly that if she called animal control, the dog might not make it out. Anywhere. She thought she recalled seeing the dog, walking with its owner, from north of the station, where it seemed to be headed now. I asked the agent if it would be stupid for me to help the dog cross the street. The night still surrounded us darkly. A few cars were rushing past, starting their morning commute.

I took some dog biscuits from my car (left over from some outing with my own dog) and walked to catch up with the dog, to become a doggy crossing guard. We got half way across the street. A car approached, then stopped. For a moment I thought that I might be stupid, kidnapped and stuffed into some bad man's car. It turned out he was kind. Rolled down his window to hear the story. Stopped to tell me to be careful.

The dog wandered down the middle of the street, next to the median. And then it stopped. In the middle. I tried to coax it across. It looked at me and its eyes said, "No way. I can't lift my butt over that median." And it just stopped, on the dark pavement. I thought of picking it up and carrying it across but I knew my back couldn't do it. And besides, it might actually bite me.

So I gave him some biscuits and left him there. Almost contemplating tears. Hoping for the best.

I walked back across the dark and empty parking lot. The station agent came out, animated. "I found the owner. It's some drunk who is using the bathroom." She was angry and disdain dripped from her voice. Just then, the man stumbled out, "Hey, where's my dog?" We told him, we directed him, we implored him to hurry. But he was either unaware or didn't care and he made his way slowly, meandering in the right direction.

I had to give it up at that point. A man and a dog in need overwhelmed my resources and all I could do was hope for the best....

The station agent and I thanked each other and went on our way in the dark morning....

All is so good in my world....

Well...I just had my run. Two weeks to the day since the last knee-crushing run. Did it today. To hell with those expensive pool fees....Today it was just me and my running shoes and the warm, early spring air caressing my wrists and shoulders and neck. And spring trees and flowers scenting the air, ready to welcome spring in two days.

I ran past the large, old fashioned side yard that I often admire. Vegetables and daffodils and trees, always looking like they've come directly out of the 1950s. And never a person to show me who tends this garden. But this morning, this fine spring morning, a woman entered the side of the yard as I sprinted by. She stood tentatively with a large, bright green bucket. To water the crops, no doubt. A woman with gray hair, veined legs visible from the knees down under her bright pink robe. She started a smile and I waved without reservation. She waved back, smiling and happy.
I'm still smiling from my run -- the scented spring air, my neighbors, the endorphins coursing merrily through my body...but now I'd better go stretch my legs to preserve my ability to run again soon....