REFLECTIONS ON HOME IN COLUMBIA
For the first two weeks, exactly one half of this month of
February, Lloyd and I were travelling in Mexico, staying in apartments in three
different cities and travelling from one to the next by bus. So, other than communications to us in Mexico
from back home, I have no reflections on life in Columbia until February 15.
My first is quite vivid.
After a late night return home from the airport, I was awakened the
following morning about 6:30 by the loud and clear “honks” of geese outside the
window by my side of our bed. I sat up
and looked down just in time to witness a smooth as silk landing by three
Canada geese. I wonder whether they
planned this early morning wake up call while observing us get off of the plane
the night before. What a beautiful welcome home! I sat and watched for a while as they splashed
around in the pond. They arrived earlier
this year than in the past. I couldn’t help but wonder if that could be due to
the unseasonably warm weather we are experiencing this month. I also wonder what other effects – positive
or negative – may result from this climate change. As I watched them,
apparently completely care free, I recalled joy at the birth of about seven or
eight goslings each of the past several springs, followed by the deep sadness
when those newly hatched creatures succumbed to nature, having their seemingly
all too brief lives ended at the hands of predators – fox, turtles. The full circle of life right here in our own
backyard.
Catching up on correspondence and news that accumulates during a
two-week absence from home is so much easier and less time consuming now. Lloyd and I scanned the electronic Washington
Post each day on our mobile phones in Mexico – not nearly with the same detail
we give it over morning coffee at home, but at least enough to get the major
points, though this post election news was like nothing we have ever
experienced.
We returned home to a community abuzz with preparations for the
celebration of the 50th birthday of Columbia. I look forward to participating in some of
the celebratory programs: story telling
with the Nature Conservancy and interviews about Jim Rouse’s dream and how
Columbia measures up to it today. I
clearly recall memories of our new town’s Women’s Center where I sat quietly
and, believe it or not, shyly, in the back row mesmerized by the discussion of
consciousness-raising by local women whom I admired.
Lloyd and I love living in Columbia and intend to spend the rest
of our lives here. As a member of the
Howard County Planning Board, Lloyd was involved in the development of this community
before I was. His work goes back to the
late 60’s. Although Columbia has an
exemplary record in the arts and opportunities for enjoying the outdoors on our
pathways and other positive features, we are both very concerned about the
economic injustice we see in our community today. Increasingly, housing is available only to
those of at least middle-class standing, and not many units at that. We are becoming an exclusive community, and
that flies in the face of our founder’s dream.
We give huge gifts in the form of “TIF’s” (Tax Increment Financing) of
many millions to the new town’s developer while the number of school kids on
free and reduced meals in our schools – one of the nation’s leading economic
indicators – increases significantly.
I spoke recently to a friend who leads weekly talks on current
events at one of our senior centers.
When I mentioned this growing economic injustice in our new town, he
told me that those who attend his program don’t want to discuss local
issues. Possibly at the state level, but
not even those public policy issues are not very welcome. They want to discuss national and
international issues. Those are
certainly important. We need to remember that local issues affect those at the
state and national and international. If
we don’t address our own local issues of injustice, then who will? No one.
We who are so fortunate to live in Jim Rouse’s “Garden for
Growing People” are the stewards of Columbia, and along with that goes
responsibility to participate in the development of public policy even if we
meet with criticism in so doing.
Last week Lloyd and I took a day trip to Pennsylvania to visit
his sister who still lives in their childhood coal-mining town,
Pottsville. Lloyd drove his sister’s
car, which had been left at our home, and I drove alone behind him in our
Hyundai. We took the route from Route 29
to Route 70 to the Baltimore Beltway to Interstate 83 to Harrisburg,
Pennsylvania. It was my first time driving that route alone in a car. I listened to NPR for more than an hour until
it was out of range. I was frustrated
because I was learning a lot, as I often do from NPR, about the next day’s
election of a new leader for the Democratic National Party. Little did I know that the static would reveal
itself to be a beautiful gift. Driving
in silence, my mind, completely of its own volition, took me on an unintended
journey back in time to two prior automobile trips through the Pennsylvania
Appalachians.
I was seven years old in 1950 when I rode with my mother and
father to Scranton Pennsylvania to celebrate the occasion of my sister, Martha,
having completed the two required years as a novice, being initiated into the
Roman Catholic order of nuns of the Immaculate Heart of Mary. She had walked me to school on my first day
of first grade (we did not have a kindergarten). I had not seen her since, and
I missed her. So this was an exciting
trip for me. As a third grader, I was being taught by that order of nuns at St.
Bernardine’s elementary school in west Baltimore. Going to their novitiate was a really big
deal for me. I recall that my father had
recently learned that he had Parkinson’s disease and was driving with more care
and hesitancy than usual. At that age, I
was very interested in collecting “trading cards” with photos of dramatic
mountains on them. I can still picture
sitting with some of my friends on the concrete stairs in front of one of their
homes in the Edmondson Village neighborhood “trading” our cards. I am wearing summer shorts and a tee shirt
with open strap sandals. A chain of
clover blooms and violets that I had picked in our back yard is dangling around
my neck. I always sought cards with mountain scenes, passing on to my friends some
others featuring dogs, cats, or flowers.
My mom had told me we were going to see great mountains on this
drive. We seldom went on road trips, and
I was very excited, though I did find the Pennsylvania Appalachians quite
disappointing compared to the very dramatic Rockies on my trading cards. Last week, driving along Interstate 83, I
could picture myself so crystal clearly, without any effort, riding in that
Chrysler with my parents. What a deep
connection with peace and serenity.
Ten years later, I was 17 and recently graduated from Seton
Catholic High School for girls on North Charles Street near Johns Hopkins
University in Baltimore. (It was in my
junior year that one of the nuns, this time from the order of the Sisters of
Charity founded by Mother Elizabeth Seton, assigned my class to read Louisa May
Alcott’s “Little Women.” During class
discussion of that novel, she helped me make a huge breakthrough in reading
comprehension, which went on to feed a lifelong love and my majoring in
literature at the University of Maryland.
I later learned in studying for the Maryland bar ten years later that
literature majors have the highest rate of passage in the bar exam, not
political science majors as many assume. I drove that route again, this time in
my very own new VW “bug” with a manual translucent sunroof. My mom never learned to drive and bought me
this vehicle as a graduation present with the agreement that I would drive her
on a regular basis to various places in the community and occasionally out of
town. My father had recently died of complications from Parkinson’s. My mom was in the car again this time with
her sister, my Aunt Doris, with whom I had been close since birth. My own sister, Mary, rode with us. Once again, we were going to visit my sister,
Martha, in a town near Scranton where she was teaching science at a Catholic
high school. As we turned off of the
Baltimore Beltway onto Interstate 83, I recalled the drive with my parents when
I was seven. It seemed infinitely longer
than ten years ago. The Appalachian
Mountains provided beautiful scenery again, this time without the comparison to
the Rockies of my trading cards. I could
barely believe that I was actually doing the driving. I loved that drive.
Last week, following Lloyd in his sister’s car, I turned off of
I81 in Pennsylvania about forty miles sooner that I did on my two prior drives
years ago to the Scranton area, thereby passing through a different portion of
the
Appalachians. I had no recollection earlier in the day of my
prior drives at the age of 7 and 17. The
sight of the Appalachians, though not identical to those of my drives as a
third grader and recent high school graduate, instantly brought me back to
those times with my family members. Now
at 73, I experienced a blissful sense on continuity in time, which expanded
into what I can only describe as a complete melding of time and space, a
glimpse of just how beautiful and precious life truly is.
Thank you, static on my car radio.
Soon Lloyd will venture away from Columbia on one of his
favorite annual forays to the Florida baseball camps to observe his favorite
team. No, not the Baltimore Orioles, the
Phillies. In years past I have taken
this time to go on a meditation retreat somewhere on the east coast. This year I plan to provide my own retreat structure
for a few days in Frederick, Maryland, with its lovely river walk and in
Chesapeake Beach in Calvert County where I will pursue some further research on
my mom’s family, the Monnett’s, who emigrated from France to Maryland in the
late 16th century. Much as I
love “hanging out” with Lloyd, I anticipate this “alone” time with delight.
REFLECTIONS ON ZACH
The annual celebration of Zaching Against Cancer was held last
Saturday night at the Ravens’ football stadium in Baltimore. You may recall my writing in prior
Reflections that Zach himself conceived of the idea for this charitable
foundation to aid low-income families of kids with brain cancer. He himself sat at the head of the table for
the formative meeting of the foundation’s board in his family’s dining
room. My biggest joy at this annual
celebration of Zach’s life and the gift of love and amazing courage that he
imparted to so many, is to see all of the young people Zach’s age - he would be
23 now – sharing their memories of him and how he still shows up in their
lives. Each and every one is still
learning from him and spreading his message.
“Life is beautiful. Treasure it and
spread love wherever you go.”
What would Zach say to me if we could have a conversation about
our nation and planet so rampant with injustice – social, economic, and
environmental? I am going to listen very
intently as I look at the moonless sky these last two nights of February. That
is when I am most likely to intercept messages from Zach. I have learned to listen with “beginners’
ears.” I know that I will get a new and
hopeful insight.
REFLECTIONS ON BALTIMORE, MY HOMETOWN
Congratulations to former head of Baltimore’s Enoch Pratt
Library, Carla Hayden, now Librarian of Congress.
Some good news in the number of residential restoration projects
taking place in the city, though Plank’s Port Covington is certainly not likely
to include many affordable units.
REFLECTIONS ON PUBLIC POLICY IN OUR STATE AND NATION
While we were in Mexico, where we received an even warmer
welcome that in any of our several previous visits, I very intentionally took
time sitting on benches in town squares to think about conditions of democracy
in our own nation. Here’s what came up in
my mind over and over. How did we let
conditions in our nation deteriorate so deeply? How did we not see it
coming? How did even those of us who pay
very close attention miss it? I am
continuing this practice now that we are back home. I recommend it to you.
Frosh awarded expanded power as seen in this Sun article
subtitled “Attorney General is
given suit authority against federal government”. I can
think of no better person to hold this authority- from the perspective of
integrity, diligence, and intelligence
Observing what’s going on in the U.S. from the perspective of
Mexico, we were more than surprised to be greeted with even more warmth and
respect than during our previous visits – more than ten – despite all the press
about our nation building a wall. We can
certainly learn from these gracious people.
REFLECTIONS ON OUR PLANET BEYOND THE UNITED STATES
Mexico
Lloyd and I scanned the electronic Washington Post each day on
our mobile phones – not nearly with the same detail we give it over morning
coffee at home, but at least enough to get the major points, though this post
election news was like nothing we have ever experienced.
Our two-week to three Mexican cities – Guanajuato, San Miguel
d’Allende, and Queretaro – coincided with the celebration of the 100th
anniversary of the nation’s independence – not the original one from the
Spanish which was celebrated 100 years earlier, but the second one from the
Mexican wing that abused its power. There were many celebrations, bands, and
parades throughout our stay, and we made the most of them. We spent lots of time in parks and city
squares walking and sitting on benches and observing. Mexicans know how to have good fun, and they
include all who are around.
Lloyd fits right in with his ponytail in these Mexican cities,
though his is blond and the locals’ are jet black. One day midway through our mile-long walk
from the house on the hill where we rented an apartment in San Miguel, he suddenly
and without notice slipped through an entryway on the narrow street and down
two steps into a shoe repair shop, a one-man operation in a space six feet
square at most. He reached into his well
worn tan leather back pack, which he purchased in Florence on our honeymoon
twenty-three years ago, and whipped out a pair of Flexi loafers which he bought
in this city that we love about 15 years ago.
I didn’t know that he had packed those loafers. I recalled when I saw
them that he had had them repaired in this same shop about five years ago. Two
days later at a time agreed upon with the cobbler, he picked them up, looking
better than new. I know these shoes are
very dear to Lloyd. He purchased them
more than ten years ago on a visit to Concord, New Hampshire, when we were
visiting his childhood friend from Philly, Ray Zekas. Lloyd likes to tell the
story of how Ray’s family home was the only one in their housing project in
Philly that “had books in it.” He used
to borrow books from him and read them.
Ray was the friend who had convinced Lloyd to sign up for the GI bill
rather than continue his work as a mechanic on the Pennsylvania Rail Road. He enlisted on the last possible day, and the
rest is history. His youngest of three
kids is Ray Zekas’ namesake.
Those newly repaired shoes took Lloyd through the second week of
our travels, though not without a little confusion. One night we had set the alarm very early to
catch a taxi to the San Miguel station to take the bus to Queretaro, our third
and last Mexican destination. I noticed
Lloyd was sitting on a chair for more time than was wise if we were to be ready
for the taxi. On looking more closely, I
noticed he had his shoes on and was trying to get his jeans on over them. We both got a good laugh out of that. We were ready when our taxi arrived
REFLECTIONS ON OUR UNIVERSE
In the first Mexican city we visited this month, Guanajuato,
Lloyd and I explored the Diego Rivera birthplace gallery, which housed on its
top floor an exhibit by guest artist, Jod Louire, “The substantiation of the
mummies of Guanajuato.” These mummies play a major role in the spiritual life
of the residents of this cosmopolitan university city.
We found the artist’s accompanying poem riveting:
“As is the atom, so is the universe
as is the microcosmos, so is the macrocosm
as is the human body, so is the cosmic body
as is the human mind, so is the cosmic mind”
Louire continues -
“As an artist who has always been drawn to things that other
people look away from, of course I was quite taken with the mummies of
Guanajuato when I first moved to Mexico.
They seemed trapped between earth and heaven in that they had never been
allowed, disintegrating back into their essential makeup and joining the
natural order of things.”
Recently I have been reading that research in astrobiology has
determined that all the elements on earth, in ourselves, plants, oceans,
everything was cooked up over time by nuclear reactions inside stars…rather
than the first instance of the big bang.
The iron in our blood, the calcium in our bones and the oxygen
that we breathe are the ashes of stars that lived and died long ago.
In this present time on earth we tend to think of the cosmos as
far beyond us and our lives…We forget that only a thin layer of the atmosphere
separates us from the rest of the universe…ancient man felt much closer to the
cosmos because his view of it at night was unobstructed by any artificial
light, pollution, etc.”
******
I read Thich Nhat Hahn’s book “Being Peace” on a week-long trip
I took alone to Vermont in 2007. On
Lloyd’s and my recent trip to Mexico I read the most recent edition. The
following quote caught my attention.
“Modern physicists cannot go very far in subatomic science if an
observer is separate from the observed…so use the word “participant” instead.
In Buddhism, knowledge is regarded as an obstacle to
understanding, like a block of ice that obstructs water from flowing.”
******
“Pools of sorrow, waves of joy
Are
drifting through my open mind
Possessing
and caressing me
Across the
Universe
~Lennon and
McCartney
Be
well and love life.
~
Liz
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