Not So Grounded

Oops, not that kind of truth ...

Realized I possibly left the wrong impression yesterday in saying I don't much like Truth ... so here's a clarifiation.  I have no tolerance for the unquestioning belief and promotion (good natured or otherwise) of seemingTruth that is actually unprovable.  That's called coercion and ultimately a power play.  Religions can fit in this category.  So can political ideology.  Establishing public policy based on a theory that humans are viscious & brutish.  Or economic policies based on theories about individual self-interest and abstract market principles.  None of these are Truths.  They're just one version of educated guesses, even if the guessing's been going on for millenia.   No problem if folks decide to use these guesses to help shape their own spirituality or build the NY stock exchange, but let's not pretend these are some permanent universal laws that we're so damned fortunate to have finally discovered and thus all will be well the rest of human existence.  That's the kind of truth I'm not much into.  Plus, when pondering the unanswerable I will always go with a possibility that engenders peace, collaboration, tolerance, sustainability, human rights, and/or joy.

Factual truth is a whole different story.  Lying, not paying attention to actualities or research or real results, skewing facts, ignoring what is ... no patience for that.  There was no documented or suspected link between Iraq and al-Qaeda prior to our 2003 invasion.  Torturous abuse in Abu Ghraib prison was thoroughly investigated, documented, and available early on to then Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfeld despite his lies to Congress (read Seymour Hersh's "The General's Report").  The Jena 6, black high school students in Louisiana, currently face up to 100 years in prison without parole for a fight that occurred after white students hung three nooses from a tree in the school yard.  Global temperatures are rising at unprecedented speeds (Visit the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change).  Increases in education correlate strongly with decreases in some social, economic, and environmental ills.  Harm reduction strategies around drug addiction & enforcement are less costly and more effective than our current punitive strategies.

These are all just plain ol' facts.  We can pay them attention or ignore them, but facts are facts and I'm all for this kind of truth. 

See You Later, Harry

Just finished Harry Potter and thought I'd just join multitudes.  My experience with these books is similar to countless others:  we've been into them since Darling Daughter was 7; at 11 her best friend was crushed when an owl didn't arrive with her Hogwarts acceptance; at 15 they both had a Hallow-reading slumber party the day it was released; on my business trip last week, HP readers were scattered throughout the airports & hotel; intead of gossiping & painting toenails like we usually do after work in our shared hotel room, my business partner & I just read ...   

And I cried through the last 100 pages of Deathly Hallows.  Mostly immersed in the story, of course.  But also 'cause I will miss these people terribly. 

I often tread on the line between what's apparently real and unreal, at one time precariously, now with casual lightheartedness.  I've decided that since it is ultimately impossible to know some things For Certain -- things like God and Magic and what happens when we die, why the moon appears larger near the horizon, why ice cream tastes so good -- I choose answers that are most fun and entertaining.  Instead of Truth, I prefer the possibility that makes everyone feel best.  In fact, I don't much care about or for Truth, since I find it makes people fight often as not.

That's why I feel so sad.  I recognize the clear difference between people I see & touch & talk to & care about in the real world and the characters I witness & follow & care about across the pages of spell-binding books.  But the thing about these seven Harry Potter books?  From early on the real people and the book people just started mingling together, started attending the same parties of experience, dancing on the same floor of milestones.  There's the obvious stuff:  I remember that my nephew and Harry turned 11 the same week; I can measure my daughter's development by the moment she could read Harry Potter on her own or no longer needed Jim Dale's soothing voice at bedtime, just like I once marked her increasing height on a door jam.  But there's other stuff, too:  some people make me feel exactly as Harry does around dementors.  Sometimes I can almost see the Mirror of Erised and the Room of Requirement, especially when I need or request them.  And I can sometimes experience the presence of a wise, brilliant, utterly human Dumbledore, both as a sort of Platonic form of an ideal leader and as a real presence on some other plane offering hope.   

So I cried as I finished the series.  I'll miss the fresh read of the books and their characters because they've surprisingly framed some of my own life experiences and given a kind of life to things I previously only wished for or intuited.   Good thing I can read 'em again ...

Pissing People Off

Darling daughter just returned from 8 days touring civil rights landmarks across the South, coordinated by the Episcopal Diocese of Western North Carolina.  They started at the Woolworth’s counter in Greensboro (International Civil Rights Center & Museum) where 4 brave black student sat down in 1960  to order food and got billy clubbed instead.  Then to Americus, GA to the Habitat for Humanity Global Village (she wants to live in the India house) & Sunday school with Jimmy Carter.  The kids walked across Selma’s Edmund Pettus Bridge.  They shared breakfast with Martin Luther King’s colleague Reverend Reece and listened with rapt attention as he described organizing & marching & protesting & encountering threats & violence yet emerging both righteous & victorious.  Later at Memphis’ National Civil Rights Museum (walk from the parking lot, through the plaza, around the corner and suddenly you’re in the exact spot from which someone took that famous photograph of Martin Luther King, Jr. slain on the balcony of the Lorraine Motel, with Jesse Jackson & others pointing toward the direction of the shooter.  It’s eerie as hell.  Literally.)  At the museum the kids saw photographs of all the places they actually visited, people they actually met.  Darling Daughter said it was the best trip she’s ever had.

They also spent an afternoon protesting at the School of the Americas where the U.S. military routinely trains death squads & torturers from around the globe.  (Yup, our tax dollars at work.)  Darling Daughter had no personal dilemmas – intellectual or otherwise – with protesting & pissing people off.  She was yelled at, flipped off, and got really scared when passing traffic sped by a little too close for comfort.  And thought it was the coolest thing ever.  She didn’t know anything about the School of the Americas beforehand so she’s doing a slew of her own research.  Each November protesters (22,000 estimated last year) descend, and Darling Daughter insists we join next year (Nov 16-18, 2007).  Bottom line, she’ll teach me all about courage and how to feel comfortable pissing people off when it needs to be done. 

Too Chicken

Fourth of July I walked in the local downtown parade as a member of the Watauga County Cabbage Queens.  We're birthed from the Sweet Potato Queens of Jackson Mississippi, made famous by Jill Connor Browne and her hilarious serious of books (The Sweet Potato Queens 1st Big Ass Novel is her most recent).  Only 2 of us Queens were available for the day, accompanied by head Queen Way Wanda's (we're all knicknamed Wanda) daughter and two other queen's-in-waiting brussel sprouts.

I sort of had a mini-melt down few days before the parade.  We were invited by the mother of a soldier just returning from Iraq, and there was a simple-not-overpowering theme around supporting the troops.  I had no problem with that, of course.  I support all humanity, the troops included.  And I appreciate the miserable position they are in.  But I don't support this war; I didn't support it before it began -- and got yelled at by some family and acquaintences for suggesting the Administration might be lying, for questioning our government's rosy predictions -- and I will never support it.  If and when we retreat, our treasury will be ransacked, our global goodwill trashed, our enemies exponentially increased, and we will have a flood of returning veterans deserving medical, mental health, and addiction treatments that will not be available.  Then the global currency will shift from the dollar to the euro, our fragile propped-up economy will collapse, and we'll be Done. 

But I'm getting ahead of myself ... the Cabbage Queens' intent was to walk the parade with a "support the troops by ending the war" message.  But I paniced, faced squarely with a dilemma that always plagues me -- if my message pisses someone off then I have compromised my own values of only instilling peace.   

I get that it's a total no-win for me.  Not to mention sort of ridiculous.  The added irony:  Darling Daughter just left on an 8-day tour of civil rights landmarks across the South.  I've studied the U.S. Civil Rights movement for years, most of my graduate work was in political revolution & mass protest movements.  Over and over again they have changed the world for the better.  And those protesters pissed some people off, to be sure.  So, why does it make me so uncomfortable?

I don't think it's 'cause I'm chicken, exactly.  But fighting does truly make me physically sick.  Sucks the breath right outta me, leaves me frozen, gasping for air, until I sob huge & heaving like I'm regaining life. 

We ended up not carrying peace symbols or banners, and I am truly regretful if Way Wanda abandoned them on my account (although very touched by her apparent concern for me).  I know I was wrong.  I should've carried a large banner celebrating the peaceful traditions of our nation on it's birthday.  Even if I pissed some people off.  Next time I will.    

 

Another post weeks late

A week ago John & I were in San Francisco, which should have warranted at least several great posts, but, to be honest, we were having way too much fun to bother accessing the internet & writing a blog.  First, San Francisco is one of my all-time favorite cities.  Gorgeous, relaxed, still full of cool local neighborhoods, the best eats in the country, and residents who love where they live & are completely happy to help a couple of visitors enjoy it, too.  I've been more times than I can remember, having lived 330 miles south in Santa Barbara.  This was John's first trip so I couldn't even fathom what to do. 

First, the weather was perfect -- sunny, warm, not a wisp of cloud in the sky or a shimmer of fog on the ground.  So, it was kinda like we were in a totally parallel universe San Francisco ... every single person we met felt compelled to explain to John that San Francisco just isn't usually like this ...

Food:  House of Nanking, on Kearny, right on the edges of China Town, North Beach and the financial district.  A quick google & you'll learn people either love or hate this place.  We went twice, after I'd gone my last trip to the city in '05, which tells ya where I sit on the debate.  Divey, crowded, long lines on a weekend night, noisy, jiggly metal tables, Tsing Tao the only beer, and really great food.  Let the owner order.  Then eat pastries at Stella's Bakery.  John wants to own a place just like the Golden Coffee, (here are some accurate reviews) where we breakfasted almost every day.

We spent the rest of the time shopping, gallery hopping, walking all over the place (all that great weather, afterall).  Kati Koos and Optical Underground our two favorites.  And then played with friends in Oakland & Berkeley.

But mostly ... living in a small college town in the Appalachians --- but having grown up in & around cities --- every so often I just need a real city fix.  Sidewalks full of people, crowded mass transit, long lines outside restaurants, the buzz of different smells, sights, people, architecture, and opportunities both taken & missed ... every so often I love being anonymous among masses, making small talk with strangers, bopping around in a place I don't live as if I belong.    

What was I thinking?

I just purchased off ebay (from Alan at Quantum Leap Unlimited who was more fun to work with than even some of my most favorite people in the world) 40 Asian style, battery operated, white paper lanterns.  These will sit on the rapidly burgeoning number of 6- and 8-top round tables littering the floor of the Jefferson Landing Club during John's & my upcoming wedding reception.  In the last 72 hours I have also purchased 300 origami paper cranes (white, lilac, and pale green), a zillion confetti poppers, 150 small bamboo fronds, and a large bamboo canopy frame which Linda has promised to help me drape.  (None of this stemmed from my creativity, mind you.  This is all Carrington.  In fact every single visual effect throughout my wedding day will reflect Carrington's artistic flair.)

On one hand, what the hell was I thinking?  46 years old -- what the hell am I doing with a wedding large & coordanated & decorated enough to require 40 Asian white battery operated paper lanterns? 

But the bigger truth is I woke up at 4:30 this morning, couldn't get back to sleep, just from excitement.  About getting married.  About throwing this big 'ol party.  About marrying John.  Excited.  And grateful.  A bit embarrased by it all, I must admit.  But damn if I'm not getting bride-giddy afterall ...

And Alan says the lanterns will arrive within the week.