Death Drops By

Thursday October 1st  2015
Death dropped by this day.
In the early morning hours my mother died. After a long life, (94+ years) death dropped in, a welcome visitor after years of diminished ability to speak, think or remember. In the days before, my siblings and I took turns at her side; speaking gently, playing music she loved, reading poems and scripture, and, depending on the child at her side, crying and pleading with death.
The passing of a mother is never easy. There lies the body that brought you forth. There the mouth that said both "I love you" and "Shame on you." There the arms that held you close and the hands that gently stroked or gave a deserved swat on the rear. (She came from a different generation.)
Memories flood and at times break the heart- the if onlys and what ifs can choke you.
But there are also the many memories that bring sunshine and those that help us to understand the past with more kindness and resolve to not only remember but do better or at least as well.
My mother has passed from this life to the next and lives on I believe in the many people she touched through her care and and concern, most especially the children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren too, whose very selves came directly from her, as she came from those who came before in a never ending eternal life that has no beginning and no end, except of course in the matter of the stars from which we all descend.

It was a hard day in Oregon as students and teacher died at the hands of a gun toting mad man who took the lives of people he barely knew, if he knew them at all. I read this news a little at a time as it filtered in over my tiny pocket computer that is called a phone. My heart was already open wide with maternal grief at the loss of my mother and the need to hold my children close and then on the news there was this mother searching for her daughter only later to learn she had died before her mother was shown to everyone tragically seeking she who was no more. The unbearable grief of lives too soon ended, of death dropping by unscheduled to take those whose bodies could no longer contain promise and hope as it spilled out where bullets punctured and forced an exit. And still the sheriff of that small town kept his small town view that guns were good and shouldn't be kept out of the hands of just anyone who wanted a gun that could destroy so much even calling death unscheduled in a place where death would have happily passed by. There is something deeply wrong here.

At last in the afternoon I was able to lay down my head. My mother was gone. There was trauma in the news. My heart was racing as hearts do when grief is rolling like waves through the soul unrestrained because of the emptiness where previously there was a border that held it in. I am old enough to know that time will shape the loss of my mother into the understandable, the acknowledged order of things that we expect. 94 years was a very good span of time for a life but still my body reminded me that grief is never easy.

At night fall I went out to lock the chicken coop. April, our Plymouth Hen lay quiet just inside the coop. I stooped down to touch her and realized by her rigidity and the faint warmth that death had just recently made another stop that night. I picked her up and placed her body where it could be safely kept until morning when we could bury her. I had no more energy to offer sorrow, but with the discipline of time knew that her body would attract other creatures where none were wanted. 

Death again: integrally part of life, yet rarely welcomed when dropping by.

                             My mom as a young woman. G. Patricia Orazio, 2-12-1921  to 10-1-2015

Anticipation

  Much of the community that I participate in is anticipating the visit of Pope Francis with great hope.
This year's record heat during June, July and August along with the drought and the accompanying wildfires have brought home to people like never before the dangers inherent in a shifting climate. The inability of Congress to work together to address the issue in concert with other nations creates a cloud of despondency that has been steadily drifting toward national despair. Then along came Pope Francis with his down to earth way of speaking truth and his willingness to wade right into the world of power and money politics. His courage is inspiring people to consider hope again. The impact of his actions and speech is seen inside and outside the Catholic Community. People of faith from widely different religious traditions seem to be claiming Pope Francis as a prophet of hope in a time when doom is frequently peddled from every media outlet. He challenges people on both sides of the political debate as he encourages people to consider that there may yet be a way out of the mess we are in. Some critics believe Pope Francis has not gone far enough. (I am thinking of Ilia Delio for example). But I think that this Pope is creating a bridge between old ways of thinking and the new. He still speaks 'traditional Catholic' but he does so while acting in ways that show people how to integrate current thinking into the tradition. 
"We are connected!" he says over and over again. "Everything is interrelated." Pope Francis is calling to people to look at the world from a different perspective. Away with reductionist thought and its mechanical way of looking at the world as if humanity and all of nature were made up of distinct and replaceable parts. The new paradigm is holistic -- a view that alternative medicine, systems thinking, and field theory have been demonstrating for some time now. We are in fact connected. We need to behave differently now that we know this.
Pope Francis is willing to speak to the United States Congress and the General Assembly of the United Nations because he knows that unless men and women everywhere begin to work as one people, related and connected to each other in everything that they do, the crises we face in our world today can only get worse. He is intent on getting nations to make real and reasonable commitments when they gather in Paris later this year; commitments that will address climate change and alleviate the suffering of people who are already being hurt, displace or dying as climate disasters increase.

What we do matters not only for our own lives but for all the lives that are interconnected across space and down through time. Love, gratitude, simplicity, charity. If we live our lives with these principles life will be much better for ourselves and others as well.
I will keep my fingers crossed, hoping and praying that this Pope can inspire the leaders of our nation to action for the common good.      

Orange Day

We don't always live to see the fruit of our work in community, but today, was a stupendous day.
The Orange Line of Trimet's light rail system opened after many years of effort on behalf of the community by volunteers, and with extensive public and private collaboration.
Today was a day to celebrate; to remember the elected officials who used their political capital to move forward a project with enormous benefits for the future while wading through a tide of negativity from those who could not grasp the vision of a community with viable transportation alternatives.
The first in the nation, the Tillikum Bridge will be open to mass transit, bikes, and pedestrians --- but NO CARS!
All day yesterday communities and neighborhoods along the light rail path decorated, preparing for the many orange parties that are taking place even as I write. Musicians, food vendors, strolling clowns and buskers mixed in with the crowds wandering through displays, games and gathering places where people rejoiced that the line is now open.
I can hardly contain my joy. It is a very happy day.

 

Where are the welcome signs?

Like most people around the world who saw the picture of Aylan Kurdi, the three year old whose body washed up on the beach in Turkey, I was very disturbed, haunted by how small and helpless he was. Aylan died along with his 5 year old brother and his mother, and scores of other refugees who remain nameless to us, while trying to get from war torn Syria to prosperous Europe. In his immediate family, only Aylan’s father survived, and he has gone back to Syria vowing, to stay beside the graves of his family until he dies. He believes there is no longer any future for him.

The picture of Aylan’s body went viral on the web, moving people of compassion to reach out to assist the migrants as nothing else has been able to do. Some people felt the publication of the picture was wrong as if it was taken only to capitalize on the death of a child. But until the photograph was widely seen, most of the very vocal people in Europe seemed to be those who were anti-immigrant.

According to a recent online news story, hostility toward refugees from local people is grounded in fear. People are afraid that the migrants will endanger the cultural and social ethos of Europe because the migrants are not Christian Europeans. Yet in Christian churches today congregations listened to readings that highlight Jesus' call for an inclusive community, a community where all are welcome, where healing and hope are for everyone regardless of ethnicity, creed, economic status or other characteristics that marginalize or mark people as outcast. Of the recent refugees, a large number are coming from Syria, a land where Jesus traveled, healing and teaching people, while working to form an inclusive community. 

During the period right after WWII when cities in Europe needed rebuilding, there was a labor shortage so immigrants were welcomed with open arms. Of course, at that time the immigrants were mostly European. This time people are afraid because the refugees are Congolese, Syrian, Iraqi, Libyan and Malian. People are afraid that their governments and their way of life will change because of the influence of the newcomers on local politics.

The people who are migrating however, are not arriving intent on changing Europe. They are attracted to Europe because they see stability and a chance for a better life for themselves and their families. They are coming at huge cost and taking enormous risks. They pay exorbitant amounts of money to ride in overloaded boats from Turkey to Greece. Once they land they have to come up with more money to pay smugglers to guide them through the back country through Macedonia and Serbia before reaching Hungary with the goal of gaining entrance to Germany through Austria.

It is a long arduous journey on foot that can take weeks traveling in all sorts of weather with little food, water and rest to sustain them along the way. But, for the migrants, the journey to Germany and other prosperous western nations is a voyage of hope.

What compels these people to take such risks with their lives and the lives of their children? In Syria there is a brutal civil war that has been raging since 2011. But behind that war is another disaster – which should be no surprise since Pope Francis and others tell us repeatedly that everything is connected.

In an online article by Michael Casey, CBS News March 2, 2015, 3:02 PM I learned that from 2006-2010 a record drought caused by a changing climate exacerbated by human activity, ravaged Syria. It destroyed agriculture in the breadbasket region of northern Syria causing the cost of livestock feed to increase by 75% while killing nearly all the herds. Without the ability to earn a living, farmers fled with their families to cities, where poverty, government mismanagement and other factors created unrest that exploded in the spring 2011. 

 

Since this is Labor Day weekend, I want to emphasis that having basic needs met, including the need for good work, the kind that allows a family to survive, is a human right. Without water the crops of even subsistence farmers failed. The only reasonable, responsible thing for a farmer to do, especially with a family to care for, was to seek work elsewhere. In the cities the only available work for many men was to join the army… something that happens in poor areas of our country as well.

Writing in Laudato Si” #25 Pope Francis has this to say: "Many of the poor live in areas particularly affected by phenomena related to warming, and their means of subsistence are largely dependent on natural reserves and ecosystemic services such as agriculture, fishing and forestry. They have no other financial activities or resources which can enable them to adapt to climate change or to face natural disasters, and their access to social services and protection is very limited. For example, changes in climate, to which animals and plants cannot adapt, lead them to migrate; this in turn affects the livelihood of the poor, who are then forced to leave their homes, with great uncertainty for their future and that of their children. There has been a tragic rise in the number of migrants seeking to flee from the growing poverty caused by environmental degradation. They are not recognized by international conventions as refugees; they bear the loss of the lives they have left behind, without enjoying any legal protection whatsoever. Sadly, there is widespread indifference to such suffering, which is even now taking place throughout our world. Our lack of response to these tragedies involving our brothers and sisters points to the loss of that sense of responsibility for our fellow men and women upon which all civil society is founded."

We are not in Europe but we do have migrants coming from the south and they come for similar reasons. I am sure that there are Europeans who have looked askance at some of this nation's immigration policies – the ones that send unaccompanied children trying to reconnect with family or relatives in a safe environment back to wherever they came from, policies that separate families for years, policies that are protectionist in the extreme or make all migrants out as criminals. And now some might want to look askance at the policies in Europe. But none of us have any place judging the other. 

Hungary is working to build a 100 mile wall along its border to stop the entrance of refugees from Serbia but there are some in this country who would like to build a 2000+ mile wall all across the southern border. In Germany, the neo-Nazi’s are on the rise. In our country the language against immigrants can be equally as tough. We don’t have a single picture to ignite our compassion, but there are many stories of relatives from families in our midst who lost their lives seeking a better life in the states.  

The United States of America is a nation of immigrants. My ancestors came here seeking a better life. When the land will no longer support a people, then they must be allowed to go where they can survive. In the affluent part of the world it is important to remember that the wealth we have has come from many different parts of the world and our way of life has at times contributed to the shifting of weather patterns and the subsequent unrest and need for migration. The least we can do is to welcome those who come to us, desperately seeking their fair share of the world's resources. 

End of the Season

The weather has changed significantly. It is a little early for fall but we had a very early hot summer so the cooler weather comes with some relief. I walked through my garden this morning and picked the almost ripe tomatoes that will surely ripen while sitting in a basket on the kitchen table. There were beans of course and a few green peppers and ground cherries ready to pick, along with many green tomatoes that can ripen slowly until the cold weather sets in. I like green tomatoes sauteed and added to scrambles and sauces so it is never a problem to use them up. The corn stalks could come down except that the beans are wound around them and still producing. The sunflowers are ready to drop seeds so I will bring them in later today and spread them on a screen to dry.

There is comfort in the rhythm of the seasons as they come and go, something to rely on when the world of humans becomes unsteady or chaotic. The fall as the ending time of my garden has been a time for me to think of the coming and going of human life; of my parents, my mother who is quite elderly and all who have gone before me. I think of my own life and ponder the effect of time and seasons. There is something orderly to grandchildren growing, budding into the people they are meant to be, of the young adults blossoming, and the older generations gently greying until it is time to fade away. It is the order that is meant to be.

A week ago the younger brother of my son-in-law was killed by a falling tree. He was too young to die; a father of two little girls, a husband, a man well liked, he had much to live for. His death sent ripples through the whole family, sorrow first but also anxiety because his death reminds everyone that life can change in a flash. There is no rhythm to bring comfort to his parents or siblings, spouse or children. Such an ending is out of order and leaves too many questions about the mystery or meaning of life. Only time can wrap a cushion around their pain - never taking it completely away - just providing a buffer so that life can continue. 

And so we gather together and speak kindly. We remember that we love each other and that life is precious, a gift that we are given for a time, a season. We hug a little more, respond a little sooner, take more time to be with the people we love, knowing that we don't ever know how long we have.   

Perfect Tomatoes

Gardening has been a new experience this year. For one thing, there have been no aphids to speak of!
Very early, in May I think, I saw a few aphids on the broccoli plants and worried that it would be a very bad year for aphids if I saw them already in May. I looked up some organic remedies and made a concoction with garlic, hot pepper and a little dish soap. I sprayed once. The bugs went away. Not only the aphids, but also the worms that enjoy making the leaves of the chard look spidery, thin and not very attractive to eat. I thought the bugs went away due to the awesome spray I had made until I had breakfast with a friend who has been organic gardening for twenty or more years. He remarked that there were no aphids this year. Maybe it was too hot too fast for the aphids and other common pests to adapt. I will try to find out, but for now I will rejoice that I have had broccoli without aphids and chard that actually looks like something I want to eat for the last two months.

I have also had perfect tomatoes: no spots or blemishes of any kind, no irregular shapes, just perfectly red round tomatoes. Last year I read that it is best to eat tomatoes that have been preserved in glass jars since there is evidence that the coating on the inside of the cans may leech into the tomatoes - even those that are labeled as organic. In the past I used to buy a case or two of organic canned tomatoes in the fall that I would use over the winter months before tomatoes were in season again. I never bothered to can my own tomatoes since my garden produced just enough to eat fresh throughout the season. But this year, with all the sun and no bugs or tomato blight as I have had in the past, I have plenty of lovely tomatoes to can for winter use.

I always feel happy when I look at the jars of canned food cooling in the kitchen. It satisfies some primitive need to stock up for the winter but the tomatoes were so lovely to look at it was hard to cut them up and cook them down! Nonetheless, I have a four newly preserved quarts of tomatoes and a picture of my perfect tomatoes to remember them by.

The long unusually hot summer is beginning to wind down and my husband and I are starting to think about what we want to plant for the fall but the weather really has been so unusual this year that we are not sure how to plan for the next. It is important to continue working at producing our own local food and so we will. My husband continues to dry herbs for tinctures and is getting a new drying rack ready to try his hand at sun drying tomatoes. This year at least we will have an abundance since there was still enough water for the plants.

In the next day or two the forecast is calling for the first heavy rain since March, and that is very very odd for the Pacific Northwest. I am not unhappy as I am okay with rain and besides my vacation days are coming to an end and the grandchildren have started back to school as well. Maybe next year will be a little more normal or maybe this is the new normal. However it turns out I will remember  this summer as a time of drought, smoke, fire -- and my first perfect tomatoes.  
 

Becoming Native

Last evening my husband and I attended the Sharing Our Responsibilities Totem Pole Blessing.
 Xwe’chi’eXen is what the Lummi People call their sacred landscape, but it is also the area for the proposed Gateway Pacific Terminal which, if built, would become North America's largest coal export site. According to their website, the Kwel hoy’ Totem Pole journey,  September 15-29, 2013, started in the Powder River Basin and will follow the coal train route through Indian Country, up to Xwe’chi’eXen. Please read all about this journey on the totempolejourney.com website.

Listening to the Lummi and other Tribal speakers caused me to stop and reflect on what it is that makes one person a native of the land and another an intruder. My ancestors came from many different places. Unlike someone who can claim connection to some one country or clan or tribe, I am a little bit of many things. My father claimed to be full blooded Italian but his parents, my paternal grandparents, did not claim to be of the same descent! My grandmother came from northern Italy around Genoa and she was a blue eyed blond. My grandfather, who died before I was born, came from Palermo and he was dark skinned with black hair and brown eyes. They did not speak the same language or practice the same religion. And that is just one side of the family.

My maternal grandparents were even more mixed. There is one line traceable from early American settlements back to England, while other lines go back to Germany or Ireland, and still others are simply unknown. My father's family came here to find a better life. Some were persecuted for religious reasons and others for economic ones. Part of my mother's family moved to the northwest from the south after the civil war. Others arrived with waves of immigrants.

I was born and raised in Oregon. I consider myself to be a native Oregonian. But when I listen to the Lummi or other American First Nation People, I recognize that my roots are very shallow- but still, there is no other place that I can refer to as my homeland.

A number of people I know have taken journeys to visit the lands of their ancestors, going to Sweden or Germany or Italy. I have never had any longing to visit Europe. I don't know why, but I do know that the place where I live feels more like my homeland than any other place I can think of. When I listen to people talk about the Columbia River Bio-Region or about Cascadia, I feel a connection that is deeper than any connection that my ancestors might have had to a place somewhere far across the ocean.  The mountains, the fir trees, the ocean, the rivers and even the rains speak to me. I like the weather cool with a soft mist in the morning or evening. 

Last night as I listened to Jewell James, the master carver who spoke at the Totem Pole Blessing Ceremony, I felt with him a connection to this place that Tribal People consider their sacred homeland. I felt the urgent need to protect this place from the greed of corporate desires. I was relieved to hear that in the treaties that were written with the US government, Tribal people wrote in the need to protect the water and the land. I am hoping along with all who gathered that the treaties can be a force to protect our land and water from more abuse.

The story is told among the Tribal People regarding the gifts of first foods from the Creator. These gifts were water, salmon, huckleberries and roots. As a way to show thanks and to assure their survival, the people were told by the Creator to care for these gifts. When they were forced to enter into treaties, the leaders of the people refused to sign without the protections they needed written in for these gifts that meant life to them. In our day the treaties are threatened yet again and with them the gifts that represent life for all people and creatures of this part of the world.

I think that just maybe, the best chance of protecting Cascadia from coal trains, and export terminals and other environmental disasters will be to join the Tribal People of the region, allowing them to lead, and listening to their voices.

I believe that maybe, if a person lives in one place long enough and allows the spirit of the land to touch them by being open to the native stories, people, creatures, plants, and water ways, then that person can become native enough to say "this is my homeland too."

Along with other Natives I choose to protect this place, Cascadia, my homeland.  Thank you Lummi Nation for taking the lead.

                             Picture from totempolejourney.com.
                             (I found myself and my husband in this picture.)