REFLECTIONS
ON LIFE
JUNE/JULY
2016
The
months of June and July are combined in this e-newsletter. Midway between these two months I sent out an
“action item” on affordable housing
proposed
in the additional development in downtown Columbia . Thank you to the many of you who responded.
In
the year and a half since I left public office after more than 30 years, this
was the first time I have spoken out on government policy. This one is such a strong economic justice
issue. On the internet and in the local
printed media, the antagonism and criticism is becoming more intense.
How
can I be a healing factor in our community and yet still speak the truth as I
so deeply know it in my soul?
REFLECTIONS
ON HOME IN COLUMBIA
Life has quieted down in and around the two ponds in our yard –
one to the side and one behind our town home.
Now that the water has warmed considerably, turtles come out less
frequently to sun themselves on the rocks as they did, at times for hours at a
time, during the spring season. Now,
when the sun shines brightly on the ponds, Lloyd and I can detect with our
aging eyes, sometimes even through the windows of our home, the bodies of
little baby turtles swimming along with the larger ones. Hawks reveal themselves to us less frequently
due to having fewer newborn creatures nearby upon which to prey. Until a few
years ago we also occasionally saw snakes, mostly black ones, venture into the
ivy and shrubs around our home. Several
years have passed since our last snake sighting. Nor have we had any such
sightings for several years on our frequent walks through miles of trails in
the Middle Patuxent Valley
which is very near our home - one more glaringly sad and tragic effect of our
refusal as humans to deal with global warming.
June’s tornado and additional heavy wind storms served as
another very vivid reminder that we are not in control of nature. Several large branches – one six inches in diameter
– fell quite close to our home – though none touched it. July’s long spell of
days with temperatures in the high 90’s, one day reaching 100 degrees, weighted
us down increasing our awareness as beings on this earth. The birds appeared to fly more slowly and the
squirrels scamper less. Lloyd marvels at
my uncanny ability to spot four leaf clover.
In spring I found at least one every day around the ponds,
contrasted with only three in the last two months.
We have received fewer “honks” on our daily walks which we
have relocated from Cedar Lane and the loop at the end of
Little Patuxent Parkway (LPP) to the beautiful hilly broad pathways of the
Middle Patuxent Valley (MPV) accessible from out back door and around the
pond. It is a few degrees cooler there
in the shade. Walking amidst the tall
stately poplars and oaks instills a humble awareness of our relative
stature. The two walks – LPP and MPV –
are roughly the same distance, 3.3 miles, though there are more and steeper
inclines in the MPV. We are grateful
that we can still walk them with relative ease, even in 99-degree temperatures.
We don’t tend to talk much during our walks, though when in this valley we
often share our gratitude to Jim Rouse whose company donated 5,000 acres of
this magnificent habitat to the Columbia Association. What a contrast to today’s development. Thank you, Jim.
The downtown Columbia
lakefront in spring and summer – ah, yes. Our beloved Mr. B. in his umpteenth
season for outdoor showings of quality films, including ones for kids who
listen so carefully to his insightful introductory words. We have such loving memories of attending
with our grandkids when they were younger. What a living treasure this man is. Musical performances from classical to rock,
from jazz to folk. The outdoor eating
area of the restaurants with the adjacent lovely walking path around Lake Kittamaquandi .
We often ask ourselves what we would think and say if we came upon such an
attraction on our travels around the world.
It is so easy to take for granted.
The Howard County Festival of the Arts – what a marvelous way to
indulge oneself and simultaneously feed one’s soul. Poetry, dance, music,
drama, film – all right in our own back yard.
Lloyd attended a few events with me, though did not participate in
virtual total immersion as I did. I am
already looking forward to the next festival.
We have also slowed our travel pace, more than content to spend
months at home with the exception to my two week-long retreats and our long
weekend visits to Massachusetts , the Hudson
Valley of New York, and Virginia ’s
Appalachian area. We will spend our
annual first week of August in Corolla, N.C., with kids and grandkids – our 19th
year in the same house on the beach.
Then in September we will fly to LA to visit friends, followed by a
train ride up the Pacific Coast where we will visit other friends in San Francisco , sandwiching in another day-long meditation
retreat for me with Jack Kornfield at Spirit Rock, the center he founded in Marin County . Then another flight up to Oregon where we each have spent only one day
in our lives. We look forward to
experiencing that beautiful coast. There
are other far away places that call to us, though we are both somewhat
surprised to find staying closer to home has held the stronger attraction this
spring. You
may say yes, the risk of flying has increased so greatly. Truth be told, that is not even a factor in
our decision. Not easy to explain,
though no explanation is necessary.
Closest I have come was reading Paul Simon’s words in the Post last week
– he’s one of our all time favorites going all the way back to “The Sound of
Silence” and “Bridge over Troubled Water”.
In speaking of contemplating retirement, this man who has brought such
insight, peace, love, sadness, and joy to my generation in particular said “I
don’t have any fear of it.”
So travel we will, never being happier than upon return to our
beloved Columbia , Maryland .
REFLECTIONS
ON ZACH
In past messages I have written of how Zach loved to talk with
me about Muhammad Ali, particularly during our walks along the North Carolina shore
early in the mornings of the first week of each month of August during our
annual family vacation. These talks
completely transformed my own admittedly negative opinion of Ali, the
professional boxer, when I realized how deeply he had inspired Zach. My
daughter, Chris, Zach’s mom, posted the following on Facebook on June 4, the
day after Muhammad Ali took his last breath on this planet.
“Zach was the biggest fan of Ali that I have ever known. Tim Weber... you're a close second! This is a poem that Zach wrote about
his battle with cancer. He wrote it in Muhammad Ali style during his
chemotherapy treatments at Hopkins .
In the poem he equates his rounds of chemo to rounds in a boxing ring. He read
this to me many times in a Muhammad Ali voice. I can still hear him reading it
today. I have always wanted to share this with friends and today seems like the
appropriate day.”
“Cancer is the challenger, and doesn’t hold a prayer.
He’s beginning to get nervous, as Lederer won’t break the stare.
All the crowd knows, that Lederer’s never been beat in his life.
They’re not even sure, why they decided to come to the strife.
Finally the bell rings, and some of the crowd sighs.
Because they paid big money to see one of the biggest
landslides.
Now the entire crowd begins to roar.
Because with Lederer in the fight, they know the landslide won’t
be a bore.
Lederer comes out of the corner, and begins to dance as if to
taunt him.
Cancer knows that if it loses this fight, it most certainly will
haunt him.
Cancer approaches Lederer, and Lederer goes to work.
With what Lederer’s doing to cancer, Cancer’s beginning to
quirk.
Lederer’s swinging and connecting, he’s looking awfully strong.
With the way this is going, this fight isn’t going to last long.
Lederer’s owning the fight; it’s just a matter of time.
If he keeps this going too long, it may be considered a crime.
Finally the bell rings, and round one is done.
It’s become pretty obvious, that Lederer’s just doing this for
fun.
Lederer comes out, as the bells for round two ring.
He’s looking even more confident, as he’s all ready to swing.
Cancer wasn’t ready for this, because it was pretty startling.
The entire crowd is silent, and can’t help but marveling.
Lederer lands a combination, ending with a powerful jab.
This leaves cancer, looking like a hermit crab.
Lederer lands an uppercut, ooh what a mighty swing.
And cancer goes sailing, straight up out of the ring.
He’s still going up, and he’s getting pretty high.
When he falls from this height, he most certainly will die.
Once again, all the fans begin to yell and leap.
And down falls cancer, in one great big heap.
The ref lifts Lederer’s hand, and the crowd begins to cheer.
They knew he would win; it was pretty clear.
This is the story of the night Lederer killed cancer.
Why cancer challenged him, we’ll never know the answer.”
Zach had recited the first stanza of this poem to me during one
of our glorious lunches together. I was
unaware that there were several more stanzas until Chris posted it after Ali’s
death. Reading it now in print, I am aware of a reverberation inside me of that
Ali cadence which Chris references.
In this e-newsletter’s last section on our universe, I quote
from my favorite Thich Nhat Hanh book, “Being Peace.” Following are two other quotes from that same
volume which summon Zach’s presence:
“A friend asked me ‘how can I force myself to smile when I am
filled with sorrow? It isn’t
natural.’ I told her she must be able
to smile to her sorrow, because we are more than our sorrow.” Zach taught me how to smile to my sorrow.
“…just the simple presence of a master is enough to touch the
seeds of awakening in all those around.”
Zach’s life was, and will forever be, that of a master, and I am blessed
to continuously witness the sowing and germination of so many of those seeds.
Lloyd and I and our kids and grandkids – 19 of us - will drive
to Corolla in the Outer Banks of North Carolina for our 19th year in
the same beach house just behind the dunes.
This will be the third year when Zach is not physically present with
us. As last year, he will show up in the
waves, the sand, the sunrise and sunset, and the stars. For years, he knocked on the door of Lloyd’s
and my bedroom in the beach house at 6am summoning me, with his ear-to-ear
smile, to our long sunrise walk along the beach. Again, as last year, I will continue to rise
at 6, although to an alarm clock, and walk along the beach a couple miles to
the same landmarks to the north or south on alternating days. Among other memories of my walks with him, I
will recall his descriptions and roleplaying of Ali in the ring, including his
so memorable words.
My friend Zee Beams, knowing of my interest in meditation and
Zach’s interest in Ali, recently gave me a book entitled “The Tao of Muhammad
Ali.” I immediately read the first two chapters and then decided to save the
rest for next week at the beach following my early morning walks…with Zach.
REFLECTIONS
ON BALTIMORE ,
MY HOMETOWN
As of yesterday, all of the criminal charges in the Freddie Gray
trial have been dismissed. I find this
very difficult to adjust to, given the extreme conditions of his death. Yet I also have deep compassion and gratitude
for those serving as police officers. I can only imagine the emotions that must
arise within their minds and souls as they learn of more and more attacks both
and on those in their profession. Live coverage has shown that abuse by police
officers definitely occurs, and even one instance is tragic. I don’t believe we have heard the end of
criminal charges regarding Freddie Gray. In the meantime, as reported in
today’s Baltimore
Sun some serious reform is absolutely necessary.
Dan Rodrick’s column below on this
topic is also very insightful, as usual:
A couple of weeks ago I invited occasional Baltimore
Sun columnist, Donte Hickman, to meet me for coffee in Columbia .
Donte serves as pastor to two congregations – one in Baltimore and one
in Howard County .
Having read his writings, my thoughts on the contrasts and similarities
of the communities is of deep interest to me.
We spoke of Howard’s being one of the wealthiest counties among the
3,000+ in our nation. For years I have
been troubled by some of our county’s elected repeatedly touting that we are
the BEST – in schools, parks, libraries, etc.
The question that comes to mind: “Isn’t it enough that we’re the
richest? Is all of this self
congratulation really necessary?”
This month I made two visits to the area of Baltimore where I grew up. Our home was on Side Hill Road , six blocks up Walnut Ave. from
Route 40 very near Edmondson
Village . Lloyd and I spent several hours one morning
driving around the streets where I used to play with a sizeable group of
neighboring kids. Our home was in the
last square block of single-family residences off of Walnut. That block was demolished about 30 years ago
to make room for a school, Rognel Heights Elementary, which I later learned a
Donte had attended. Along with our home,
the free standing garage and all of the many trees and hedge rows are
gone. All that remains is one lone cedar
tree which had grown up against the three foot shingled enclosure around the
large front porch. I had reached around
the trunk of that cedar countless times to retrieve the mail which was
delivered to a small wooden box attached to the outside of the porch enclosure. Focusing on that tree is more than sufficient
to summon up countless images and memories of my first fourteen years – some
happy and some very sad.
That same tree, now about thirty feet tall, is enough to
stimulate a clear and precise image of where each tree and shrub was located in
the large yard where I spent countless hours as a little girl. I so loved that
yard, and the memories and images could not be more clear. I can see the lilacs, forsythia, and Japanese
maple along with the wide wooden front steps -7of them- where we kids would sit
and play games guessing what was hidden in our hands, grubby from digging to
make mud pies decorated with little red berries. I am filled with gratitude toward that
anonymous human being who made the decision to save “the one lone cedar tree.”
After about an hour we drove around the neighboring roads in the
hood where I spent a lot of time playing outdoors. I was skilled at hopscotch but not at double
Dutch jump rope. We drove another block
to the many row houses constructed when I was about ten years old – post World
War II housing. I attended St.
Bernardine’s Catholic elementary school for grades one thru eight – no
kindergarten. We approached the school
from the “back” way to where it was located adjacent to St. Bernardine’s
Catholic Church on Edmondson Ave. Across the street on one side was a bakery
with the best doughnuts I’ve ever eaten and a shoe repair shop where I
convinced the cobbler to give me old rubber shoe heels. They made the best hopscotch discs ever. Across the other street, Edmondson Ave. , was a brick row house, an
iconic Baltimore
symbol, on the front porch on which my mom’s mom died of heart failure sitting
and resting on a chair. When my two
older sisters – one by 9 years and one by 12 – went to school, they would cross
the street at lunch time to a meal she had prepared and shared with them. I had not yet been born when she died on that
porch. With the building of larger
highways, I now rarely drive into Baltimore
via Route 40. Perhaps once every year I
find myself talking that route to see my childhood church, school, and the
mystical location of my grandmother’s death.
The older of my two sisters, Martha, walked me to school the
first day. I was five years old. By the
time I had walked home with some neighboring kids, she had departed to enter
the novitiate of the order of nuns – Immaculate Heart of Mary – who taught at
the school. Not surprisingly I was quite
“spoiled” by the nuns, playing the role of the Virgin Mary in every Christmas play
and flower girl strewing blossoms from the annual May procession, until it
finally “dawned on me” (one of my Mom’s favorite phrases) that all the kids in
school resented me. Then I set about a
very intentional plan to level the playing field by chewing gum in class and
pretending that I had “lost my place in the “reading” text.
It was a very pleasant and very unexpected surprise when Terri
Hill told me a couple of years ago that she is a member of Saint Bernardine’s
parish. I had known Terri for years, but
it wasn’t until I was helping in her campaign to be elected to the Maryland
House of Delegates representing the same are I had that I learned our church
connection. When the pastor, who as a
white man in a then virtually totally black community had been a beacon for
social and economic justice, died I saw Terri at the funeral service. Then a couple of months ago, I told her I
would like to go to church with her some Sunday.
Although I had attended several other funerals there in the past
15 years, my mom and sister’s included, I had not attended a regular Sunday
mass there for almost 50 years. What a
joy it was to hear the magnificent choir and observe the reverence and joy with
which the congregation participated in the mass. In elementary grades one through eight, we
students were required to attend 8am mass before each school day. Although I discontinued my practice of the
Catholic faith long ago, I can say that it was a major positive influence in my
childhood.
I realize I have gone far beyond wherever I thought I was going
when I began to compose a paragraph or two about my childhood in Baltimore .
Enough for now. Though I
am aware I will return to the topic of the city which played such a big part in
forming who I am, and for which I have such a deep and strong desire that peace
and economic justice reign.
Next month I will relate the beautiful experience Lloyd and I
had one recent scorching weekend visiting Patterson Park
and climbing the stairs of the pagoda, one of my mom’s favorite places to go on
a date as a young girl.
REFLECTIONS
ON PUBLIC POLICY IN OUR COUNTY, STATE AND NATION
In our county, the main economic justice issue remains how we
will do additional development in downtown Columbia – with or without economic
justice? The County Council has put off
a vote on this issue until September.
In our nation, gun violence simply inexcusably remains in the
forefront.
…and, of course, the presidential election campaign. I know that we cannot go back in time, AND
Lloyd and I have retreated to re-watching
West Wing. When we return
home to Columbia
after our annual beach week, we will re-engage in real life.
REFLECTIONS
ON OUR PLANET BEYOND THE U.S.
As Pope Francis said upon learning of the recent murder of a
priest in Normandy , France , as he was “saying”
mass: “The entire world is at war.”
Our dear friend, Maria Wagner, at whose home in Munich
we have stayed on several occasions while traveling in Europe ,
wrote us about her terror at the recent violence so near her peaceful home.
The only valid road for me amidst these tragedies appears to be
spreading as much love and tolerance in my own life. We simply cannot focus only, or mainly for
that matter, on the negative.
And yet, we must do what we can to understand the dark depths to
which the human mind can go. The Post
article below describes the apparent increasing popularity of “Mein Kampf.”
REFLECTIONS
ON OUR UNIVERSE
Meditation has become such a central part of my life, and yet,
when I write of it in the “Home in Columbia ”
section of these e-newsletters, it simply doesn’t seem to quite “fit”. Yes, meditation is a major part of my life at
home here in Columbia ,
and it is much more.
Rereading Thich Nhat Hanh’s “Being Peace” this month, I founding
myself going over and over the following words in Jack Kornfield’s Introduction
to this priceless small volume: “In this
wonderful book, Thich Nhat Hanh teaches us the reality of interdependence: ‘Even if I just clap my hands, the effect is
everywhere, in the faraway galaxies.’ So here is the new “home” for the subject
of meditation in my monthly writings – in Reflections on our Universe.
Pools of
sorrow, waves of joy
Are
drifting through my open mind
Possessing
and caressing me
Across the
Universe
- Lennon and McCartney
~Liz Bobo
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