Friday, July 29, 2016

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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