too much is easily said by saying little

hey, guess what kids?

I'm in love.

ode to a fantastic weekend

Thursday wine night so good I fell down the stairs

new glasses

sleeping in the sun

awkward art museum moments

summer solstice feasting

dancing in the grass

midnight critical mass

(200 bike lights a flutter like the most powerful of fireflies)

kissing on bikes

melon on the porch

afternoon movie-watching

biking springwater

homemade green curry with tofu

awkward argentenian movies

biking home at midnight for the second night in a row

seeing people I know

being a part of a group

long leisurely lunches with Friends

getting the fortune

"soon someone new in your life will become a very good friend"

 while sitting next to said person

gushing with Anna over tea on the patio

going to bed early to make up for staying up late

old time religion

I was talking with a friend on Friday about singing and spirituality. One of the (only) things I don't like about Quaker meeting is that there's no organized singing. Sometimes someone will begin a song and others will join in, which is nice, but there's something deep and essential in me about some of the old hymns I grew up singing in drafty churches, sweaty tabernacles, and around camp fires and in the chapel at Glisson. Mom gave Laura Jean and I each a copy of 'Spiritual Life Songs' for Christmas (the old song book we used at camp meeting in Thompson growing up) when I shared a similar sentiment in late fall. I told her, "I don't know about the rest of it, but the songs still get me." 

I've been singing tonight. A capella. Open window with a glass of wine. 

The more I sang the more I longed for some of my favorites from the Methodist hymnal, which, thanks to the internet, I found. When I sang through the lyrics of the songs below, I felt a beautiful sense of connectedness with with my past and present. It is no mistake that my favorite hymns from childhood have both peace-centered and earth loving themes. 

So here they are. My favorite hymns of all time (and don't be ashamed to sing along out loud).

1) This is My Song

2) Be Thou My Vision

3) God of the Sparrow

4) When Love is Found

5) For the Beauty of the Earth

blue skies

The sun has finally come out in portland! I've been pretty cranky for the past couple of months. I mean, 58 and cloudy in April was hard, but 55 and cloudy in June? (every time I'd complain, I'd check the weather in Georgia and remember what it feels like to sweat walking to the mailbox and I'd feel better about my decision to move here.) Today it's a lovely 74 and sunny and I'm feeling a bit manic. 

Just read a NYT article that I enjoyed. I've always said that I want a partner, it's refreshing to see that others are striving toward the same goal. 

Considering buying a piece of land in a couple of years, which feels insane to be 23, have a part-time job and be saying, but if I work it right, I think I can make it happen. I love Portland, but I've always wanted a little farm. Why wait? 

Basically, I'm super-happy. Trying to figure things out, and totally digging the sunshine.

restless

I've been feeling impatient lately. Now, patience has never exactly been a virtue of mine, but the issue I've been dealing with lately is not being present because of my lack of patience. I have so many amazing things happening this summer, and I want them all to happen rightnow. Moving. Laura Jean and Dave's wedding. Starting the puppet job. The sun actually shining for more than 10 minutes. What is humorous about this, is that the past six months have FLOWN by, so what's waiting one more month to move? Another six weeks to start the puppet gig? Absolutely nothing. I've got an itch that summer 2008 is going to be great, I've just got to make sure I'm present for it.

gentrification, or feeling bad about stealing but doing it anyway

So, this morning before Quaker meeting, I was doing my daily blog-roll, which if you haven't noticed includes the delightfully satirical stuffwhitepeoplelike.com. The most recent entry refers to an New York Times article describing the conflict and conversation happening in the NE neighborhood surrounding the Alberta district. I found this article terribly interesting in light of my recent migration. Moving to Portland, I was looking to escape racism, but instead have found only a hyper-politically correct version of it. What follows is a collection of three different experiences/conversations/interactions that have brought this concern to the forefront of my heart and mind. 

About three weeks ago, I met someone in a semi-professional environment. We were just having a casual conversation and it came up that I'm from the south. Upon hearing this, she echoed a sentiment that I'd heard for the first time last summer, both in Portland and Vermont, that she is acutally "scared" of the south. This reverse-bigotry astounded me then and continues to baffle me. Obviously, I know how screwed-up the south is. I lived there for the first 22 years of my life. It is a complicated place, and the racial divide there is one of many factors that make it thus. Last summer, I found this comment made me defensive and actually proud (for the first time in my life) of being from the south. I now always say that I am glad I am from the south; I think it makes me more complicated. Growing up in the south, you learn about irony at a young age. There are contradictions everywhere and at every level of society. Many different kinds of people live in close proximity. Different neighborhoods, yes, but de-facto segregation is nothing new. The divide at this point seems more cultural than practical, which of course is a gross underestimation of the may factors that contribute to it, but alas, I digress. What I'm trying to say is, regardless of all the problems, people still interact, and if there's racism, it's known. It's not hidden. It's not a secret. That doesn't make it right, but there's an awareness that precludes denial. With a 7% African-American population in Portland, it is easy to espouse the best ways to deal with racial tension without actually doing anything about it, because basically, you don't have to.

But back to my friend.

I pushed her further as to why she is afraid of the south ad she described some of the normal bad things about the south (racism, fundamentalism, misogyny, etc.), but went on to say (with a chuckle and shake of her head) that she just wished she could sit down with people there and fix these problems.

I found this a) condescending and b) a vast under-estimation of the complexity of these problems. I attempted to make a polite rebuttal but it was neither the time nor place for a full on argument. The conversation ended with a mutual shrug.

Did I mention she was born and raised in Portland?

Then at meeting this morning, the first message was given by a beautifully spirited elder in the meeting. This woman's concern, warmth, and openness point to a life of kindness. I want so much to be like her at her age. Anyway, she spoke to her concern of the condition of Burma (Myanmar). She expressed her own internal conflict of recognizing the need for aid there, but the corrupt government preventing it. She shared her confusion of being unsure of how to respond. She proposed three options:

1) Doing nothing

2) Waiting until asked for aid to give it

3) Forcing our way in despite the political conditions.

She said she didn't know the right response because she didn't think there was one. What she was struggling with, she shared, was that she hoped to find a best if not right course of action.

Then at lunch today (a group of 9! Young Adult Friends gathered after meeting for lunch today. Super Fantastic!!), we started discussing a YAF conference that a couple of people had attended last weekend in Indiana. Somehow a conversation about community and diversity came up in a reference to both the queer and non-white communities both present and absent from their conference and our local gathering. One Friend went on to propose (quoting the sole black attendee of the conference) that if we want to see more people of different backgrounds in our meeting then we need to "reach out to them, welcome them to the table, and invite them to help us decide how the table is set." He is always quick with a beautiful metaphor, so I pushed him to discuss practically what that meant. Deftly skirting over any overt reference to a specific group, he proposed that if we wanted to see more people who owned canaries in meeting that we should call the canary owners in the community, invite those of the canary-owning persuasion to join us, welcome them into our group and listen to their canary-owning perspective, and invite them to join in the decision making process of our meeting.

While I see the truth and Quaker essence in this proposition, I find it somehow flawed as well. There is something inherently condescending in both my friends' propositions for improvement. They are both people I respect and value their opinions greatly, but their comments, to me, denoted a blindness to privilege that both prevents us from solving our own complaints (lack of diversity), an perpetuates a kind of bigotry in itself. 

I understand the need to actively reach out and listen to the voices that have been systematically oppressed in our culture and society, but I am tired of people of privilege and power making beautiful theoretical statements about the best way to fix other people's lives.

To me, it seems that people who crave "diversity" live farthest away from it. It also seems that these same people have a haphazard craving/need to surround themselves with people who are different from them. Similarly, it seems that all this inclusiveness is a guilt-laden reactionary response to make privileged people feel better about being privileged.

Attempting to atone for the sins of previous generations by reaching out to people of a specific race or class simply because they are different seems a perversion of intent. Conversely, it is also important to note that it is a gross misinterpretation of reality to deny that there is indeed a vast disconnect in our society between people of different races, socio-economic statuses, and sexual orientations.

I feel that in reaching out to people, we should reach out to all people. Yes, that includes people of different races, sexual-orientations, and socio-economic statuses paying special attention to any prejudices that may reside within ourselves. As a member of the majority, I feel it is my responsibility to be sensitive to the needs of others without assuming I know the best answers for them. The goal is to be inclusive while simultaneously respectful of differences. Is that possible? Like I said, this has been at the forefront of my heart and mind and I welcome any criticism or discussion this may spur. I am wrestling with this issue and am no where close to having a conclusion for this post.