Sabbath

I am intrigued with the idea of sabbath. When I was a kid, I think my dad went through a "sabbath" period, but the concept got so caught in contradiction that it just didn't last long.

Can you watch football on the sabbath? That seems restful. Until you think about all of the people that are working - including the players - to make watching football possible. And when my dad went along with the football he wanted to watch on the sabbath, but not the shopping that I wanted to do on Sunday, it was pretty easy to point out the gaps in his reasoning. Without a set of guidelines or a sense of what the sabbath is meant to be, the whole concept sort of gets lost in a wishy washy film of nothingness.

I recall Bible stories about what work can be done on the sabbath. This is not a new question. But for me, it is a personal question. And suprisingly, I am having a hard time answering it.

The only formal religious services that regualarly reach and inspire me are about an hour drive from my home. And sometimes, sabbath for me is making the drive and immersing myself in the formal worship. Two hours of drive time costs me some eco points, but I always come home with a sense of purpose and connection.

BUT WHAT ELSE IS SABBATH? Maybe for me, it is baking bread. Or reading a book. Or taking a walk with a friend. Or avoiding news. Or catching up with a friend over the phone. Or exercising. Maybe anything that grounds me in a sense of the sacred and a connection to others is sabbath.

What is sabbath to you?

Thinking Differently

I am working at redefining myself.

When my daughter died by suicide in 2009, I couldn't figure out if I was still a mom. She was our only child and the work of the largest part of my soul for 17 years. Initially, her death took that role from me. Today, with some distance from her physical death, I can see that, while "Mom" is no longer something that I do it continues to be, in a very deep way, who I am.

Molly's death has become a mandate for me. A mandate to stretch and take risks. A mandate to learn and to grow and be the best that I can possibly be. A mandate to live. I am beginning to live as boldly as I possibly can because there is no other way to honor Molly's life. She lit up my life for 17 years... and continues to.

In the midst of tragedy, it is important to note that I get how lucky I am. I can afford to take a year off because of a windfall and because my partner of 26 years works for a great company and I can lean on her for health insurance and a financial plan B if our finances go south. We are doing this - like we have done everything for so long - together.

Dad Update

Dad is still in Intensive Care. Mom seems upbeat about his condition and her own stamina, and if I was just listening to her, I would believe that they are going to get on a plane next month and fly to New York just like they planned.

And maybe they will.

But my sister gets different messages from Mom than I do. Dad can’t swallow; he is on a feeding tube; he sleeps on some sort of cooling device to bring down fever. His speech is garbled. All of that is true: my sister emphasizes it. Mom is more likely to emphasize positive facial expressions.

Conceivably, Dad can hear what is going on around him, and responding with appropriate facial expressions probably does mean something. But it is hard not to think of the new mom who watches her baby for the slightest glimmer of a smile and is likely to see a smile whether it is there or not.

As ONE WITHOUT A JOB, I am available to “help”. That’s tricky. Mom has made it clear that we are not to come home, and I get that. We are somewhat overwhelming when we move back into the homestead at the same time. So, until we can figure out what “help” means, I wait.

And I probably should tell my mother about my pending unemployment– haven’t done that yet.

Art

One of my passions is school. I totally screwed up my education when I was a full time student; I stated getting A's, liked it, and chose classes that I was pretty sure would get me an A. As a result, I graduated in the top 5% of my college class and learned very little. Memorize? Yes. Learn? Not really. College is such a blur for me: I wasn't a partier; I wasn't really a scholar; I wonder if I was really there?

So I am making up for it now by getting a Masters in Liberal Studies. Part of my unemployment plan is to take more classes and really dedicate myself to them. (I realize that there is expense involved with this plan - MAJOR expense - another reason to abandon Starbucks).

This time around, I am not doing anything that I don't want to do. I am taking risks with the papers and really expressing my ideas - even if I think my ideas might not be what the professor had in mind. And I am LOVING it. I am taking classes I never would have taken the first time around. Who knew philosophy could be fun?

Anyway, tonight was the first night of a required art class. God help us. My last art class involved a box of 64 Crayola crayons - the kind with the sharpener on the back. I have always considered my drawing ability to be at the stick figure level so this should be VERY interesting.

To get us started, we were asked to draw balloons so that the professor could get a sense of our ability level. I thought my drawings of balloons was done - and heck, I was feeling pretty good about it. And just as I was telling myself that I was not half bad at this and that perhaps this class would not drive a permanent wedge into my GPA, the professor suggested that I had done the entire drawing backward and had a ways to go. He was nice about it.

I will keep you posted.

Some Light

Right now they are saying my dad has Viral Meningitis and will fully recover. I was afraid he had samonella or e-coli because I gave him brownies for his birthday last week and they were just a bit gooey - undercooked even. The hypochondriac in me, a quality I picked up from Dad, was sure the brownies caused all of this when I heard that he was ill. So the news from the hospital is improving.

I went to the cathedral this morning - Dad would have wanted me to. And to be honest, I enjoy spending time there. Just arriving at the cathedral brings me a sense of calm; the grounds are a natural expression of God's boundless creativity, and the building itself seems to echo with the whispered prayers of generations . The sermons are spiritually challenging, the music creates a sense of infinity, and the rituals are performed with care. God is present.

Part of this next chapter of my life has to do with God. I am leaving my job because I was wasting so much time; I was more politician than servant; I was caught up in pettiness and image making that left me cold at the end of the day.

Whatever else I believe, I believe that how we use our time matters. In fact, it may be the only thing that matters. And I can simply no longer sit in a cubicle surfing the internet all day. So, I am practicing new ways to live my life. Ideas, anyone?

Cautions

Saturday morning... and I am making my own latte (which wasn't great but wasn't bad either) and trying to remember how to make Cream of Wheat so it isn't runny. The Cream of Wheat is boiling over, making a sticky mess all over the stove, and I am lost in thoughts of my new life, new opportunities, new challenges.

And the phone rings. It's my sister. "Have you checked your text messages today?" Uh, No.

"Mom just sent a text; Dad is in intensive care." Excuse me?

My father is not a healthy man - I know that. He never completely recovered from his triple bypass surgery and he didn't have that surgery because everything was just hunky dory. If you know what I mean.

And so my day has gone from lofty thoughts about living a disciplined life and stretching budgets and making the most of every day to the idea that life is sacred and profoundly limited. That it can end at any point. That I could lose my Dad.

Starbucks

I have two coffee makers, a cappacino maker, and a daily Starbucks Habit. Today, as I ordered my daily Grande Skinny Cinnamon Dolce Latte for just over $4 I began to understand some of the more nuanced repercussions of my pending unemployment.

I can't do this anymore.

I can no longer afford a daily latte.

I need to start brewing my own.

But it is such a comforting habit... even a bit healthy if we talk about all of the milk that is in those lattes. Perhaps I should cut myself a break?

I really don't want to give up my lattes. And Eric, my barrista, he's going to notice if I stop dropping by. I know he will. In fact, if I stop going to my local Starbucks, I think that the store's sales figures will show a measurable decline. (My waistline may show a measurable decline as well since I won't be picking up those deceptively caloric mini vanilla scones).

But you know, I have to make some changes, and lattes are going to be the first thing to go. It's a savings of between $75 and $100 a month. I sipped today's latte slowly. I knew.

And no, I have not told my mother yet about my unemployment. I have to figure out how to make lattes at home first. Then maybe I will tell her.

Quitting My Job

Today I came in to a little bit of money. And the first thing I did was quit my job.

We are not talking a fortune here. Well under six figures. WELL under six figures.

And it is not like I just walked in to the office, all dramatic, and packed up my stuff in a flurry. No, I gave a month's notice. And then I will be GONE.

There is a piece of me that is crazy for doing this; I know that. I am under no ilusions about the economy - jobs are hard to come by and I am unlikely to ever again make the same amount of money that I was making in this last job. And if I harbored any illusions before I handed in that letter of resignation, NPR spent about 20 minutes of my drive home tonight making sure I understand just how bad the job market really is.

And, to be clear, I am walking away from more than a job - it's more like a 20 year career that I am walking away from.

I haven't told my mother yet. She is definitely not going to be happy.