Someone asked me recently how she could find build a network of like-minded people. I related a story told by the writer, Anne Lamott:
"Thirty years ago my older brother, who was ten years old at the time, was trying to get a report on birds written that he'd had three months to write. It was due the next day. We were out at our family cabin in Bolinas, and he was at the kitchen table close to tears, surrounded by binder paper and pencils and unopened books on birds, immobilized by the hugeness of the task ahead. Then my father sat down beside him, put his arm around my brother's shoulder, and said, 'Bird by bird, buddy. Just take it bird by bird.' "
Building a network of friends is a similar huge task. But it begins with one other person. You meet the person. You call him for coffee. You call again. You meet face to face periodically. You share what is going on in your life. You build intimacy.
Then you meet another and repeat the process. And another. And another. It takes years to do this. It takes great time and energy. It takes perseverance. It takes dealing with failure and loss when someone disappears on you. But it is all worth it.
You do it bird by bird, person by person.
Building Shalom Seacoast is the same process. It is taking many different steps, one by one, but ultimately it is building a web of relationships. This is done not by any group of leaders. This is done by each individual member building a web of intimacy.
A Gathering is a place to start. I used to hate large groups of people. For me, any group over five is big. I would be in a group of twenty and feel like I needed to connect with all twenty. I would be overwhelmed and so I would connect with no one. Somewhere I shifted my effort to connect with one out of the twenty. To connect with one was a successful evening.
So come to the June Gathering and connect with one other person. Help us create a community bird by bird.
May 21, 2002
April 20, 2002
Penquins 1
Spring arrived at the Seacoast while I was gone. I went to Gorham, New Hampshire, for two days and when I returned the world was newly green. I think that it was just waiting for me to leave. I am not sure how, but somehow, it all revolves around me. Of that I am sure.
In the Spring a young man’s fancy turns to … SEX. It probably is something else, but whatever the poet said was just another lie. And what is a “fancy” anyway? And it is not just young men. Include in there old men, medium men, well done men – all of them.
And it is not just men. I have been following closely a pair of swans in my neighborhood. They flew into the pond before the ice broke up completely. I was amazed at how they would move around the pond in complete unison. Then the old mama swan got stuck in the weeds. At least she looked stuck. But I remembered the story about the birds, the bees and the swans. Yes, mama must be sitting on her eggs. I am sure that soon we will see little swanlings, just like last summer.
In the meantime, dad swan is having a wonderful time. He likes to hang out at the far end of the pond, putting as much distance between him and mama as he can. And when she starts honking at him, he does what any reasonable male would do. He sticks his head underwater so that he cannot hear. It is a cross-species skill.
But not all male species are so reasonable. I am really concerned about the male emperor penguins. One of the cable stations did an expose (my word) on how the females treat the males down there on Antartica. In the Fall, they do the usual mating thing and the female lays the egg. Then she does the hand off – she passes it to the male and takes off for the winter. She goes to Miami Beach or somewhere. He and all his buddies are left standing there, huddled together, for the entire winter, with no food, no tv, in incredible cold, in the dark, just taking care of this egg. He can’t even go swimming to get a snack.
Why does he do this? Male bonding just is not that good. He does all of this just to get some peace and quiet away from those females. Well, maybe it has something to do with his “fancy” too.
This appears to be a severe form of evolution. The male swan is more highly evolved and just sticks his head in the water. Men go ice fishing, hunting and riding around in trucks – until Spring, when a young man’s fancy … well, you know.
In the Spring a young man’s fancy turns to … SEX. It probably is something else, but whatever the poet said was just another lie. And what is a “fancy” anyway? And it is not just young men. Include in there old men, medium men, well done men – all of them.
And it is not just men. I have been following closely a pair of swans in my neighborhood. They flew into the pond before the ice broke up completely. I was amazed at how they would move around the pond in complete unison. Then the old mama swan got stuck in the weeds. At least she looked stuck. But I remembered the story about the birds, the bees and the swans. Yes, mama must be sitting on her eggs. I am sure that soon we will see little swanlings, just like last summer.
In the meantime, dad swan is having a wonderful time. He likes to hang out at the far end of the pond, putting as much distance between him and mama as he can. And when she starts honking at him, he does what any reasonable male would do. He sticks his head underwater so that he cannot hear. It is a cross-species skill.
But not all male species are so reasonable. I am really concerned about the male emperor penguins. One of the cable stations did an expose (my word) on how the females treat the males down there on Antartica. In the Fall, they do the usual mating thing and the female lays the egg. Then she does the hand off – she passes it to the male and takes off for the winter. She goes to Miami Beach or somewhere. He and all his buddies are left standing there, huddled together, for the entire winter, with no food, no tv, in incredible cold, in the dark, just taking care of this egg. He can’t even go swimming to get a snack.
Why does he do this? Male bonding just is not that good. He does all of this just to get some peace and quiet away from those females. Well, maybe it has something to do with his “fancy” too.
This appears to be a severe form of evolution. The male swan is more highly evolved and just sticks his head in the water. Men go ice fishing, hunting and riding around in trucks – until Spring, when a young man’s fancy … well, you know.
February 21, 2002
February
April is the cruellest month, breeding
Lilacs out of dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.
Those are the words of T.S. Eliot, another Big Fat Liar. I know that he is a liar because you cannot get any crueler than February. And anyway, he cannot even spell “cruelest” correctly.
February is sooo cold! Yes, it is fifty degrees today. But I am sure that it will be freezing cold tomorrow. February is the month when the thermometer, unless it is digital, dips down to below zero! A digital cannot dip. No, it has not done that this year, but it used to do it all the time. I remember clearly from my childhood that it was always below zero for the entire month of February.
By the way, I now have a wireless digital thermometer which can track these things. It keeps a record of the prior low temperature, so you cannot sneak these things by me any more. It sends secret radio waves from just outside my front door to the warmth of my kitchen. It has the capability of receiving these mysterious waves from two more places on my vast estate. But I do not think that I live in a variable temperature zone, so I have not yet sprung for the additional monitors. But it does not take anything digital to know how bad February is.
If February is the cruelest month, then March is the crueler month – sort of like “second worst.” In March, you think it will be spring-like, but it never is. It is just rainy and muddy.
I solve the March problem by heading to Florida to watch my beloved Red Sox. That is not “my beloved” like we talk about at Shalom Mountain. No, it is much bigger than that.
I do have a problem though. I also have a new digital answering machine, which sits right beside my digital thermometer. Theoretically, I can call the answering machine from Florida and check on my messages. In the past, I have never figured out how to do this. But if it works, maybe I could also find out the temperature when I call in. I am not sure what the link should be. Is it Ethernet, USB cable or some other connection? I do not know anything about any of those.
Since I will be in Florida for part of March, you will not receive a March newsletter. This issue automatically becomes a double issue – perhaps twice as good, if not twice as long. So I will tell you all you need to know about April. April is the “pretend Spring” month. Try to convince yourself that it is Spring because New England does not have a Spring. If you want Spring, head south.
All of this “month” nonsense can be avoided by attending the Gatherings in March and April. We do much more than talk about the weather. Come prove to the Big Fat Liar T. S. Eliot that we do not live in a wasteland. Come and join in.
Lilacs out of dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.
Those are the words of T.S. Eliot, another Big Fat Liar. I know that he is a liar because you cannot get any crueler than February. And anyway, he cannot even spell “cruelest” correctly.
February is sooo cold! Yes, it is fifty degrees today. But I am sure that it will be freezing cold tomorrow. February is the month when the thermometer, unless it is digital, dips down to below zero! A digital cannot dip. No, it has not done that this year, but it used to do it all the time. I remember clearly from my childhood that it was always below zero for the entire month of February.
By the way, I now have a wireless digital thermometer which can track these things. It keeps a record of the prior low temperature, so you cannot sneak these things by me any more. It sends secret radio waves from just outside my front door to the warmth of my kitchen. It has the capability of receiving these mysterious waves from two more places on my vast estate. But I do not think that I live in a variable temperature zone, so I have not yet sprung for the additional monitors. But it does not take anything digital to know how bad February is.
If February is the cruelest month, then March is the crueler month – sort of like “second worst.” In March, you think it will be spring-like, but it never is. It is just rainy and muddy.
I solve the March problem by heading to Florida to watch my beloved Red Sox. That is not “my beloved” like we talk about at Shalom Mountain. No, it is much bigger than that.
I do have a problem though. I also have a new digital answering machine, which sits right beside my digital thermometer. Theoretically, I can call the answering machine from Florida and check on my messages. In the past, I have never figured out how to do this. But if it works, maybe I could also find out the temperature when I call in. I am not sure what the link should be. Is it Ethernet, USB cable or some other connection? I do not know anything about any of those.
Since I will be in Florida for part of March, you will not receive a March newsletter. This issue automatically becomes a double issue – perhaps twice as good, if not twice as long. So I will tell you all you need to know about April. April is the “pretend Spring” month. Try to convince yourself that it is Spring because New England does not have a Spring. If you want Spring, head south.
All of this “month” nonsense can be avoided by attending the Gatherings in March and April. We do much more than talk about the weather. Come prove to the Big Fat Liar T. S. Eliot that we do not live in a wasteland. Come and join in.
January 21, 2002
Just Desserts
The Saturday night Gathering in January was just full of great energy. Was it the food? Was it the process? Was it the people? Was it the music and dancing? Was it the warm fire? Was it a combination or all of these? Who knows. I only know that it was a great night.
Personally, it was the food that did it for me. Sometimes our culinary spread is sparse, but not that night. The desserts (again, my personal favorites) were wonderful, including two cakes! Only the dessert buffet at a Las Vegas hotel could have been better. Or maybe the midnight dessert buffet on a cruise ship sailing by a lava flow dumping into the sea in Hawaii. That was fun too. I am sorry, but I do not have the space to tell all of my dessert stories.
For other people, the highlight of the Gathering was connecting with new and old Shalom friends. Personally, I do not like people much. Desserts are so much more dependable. I have never met a jelly donut that I did not like. Glazed crullers do not fail to return your phone calls. Coffee cake muffins do not break your heart. Molten chocolate cake with crème anglaise asks nothing of you but ecstasy.
Only 13 folks showed up for the December Gathering and your editor was discouraged. We had a wonderful night creating a special altar and so many missed it. Why don’t they come? How can we lure them in? Are we doing the wrong things? We know that you cannot get this intimacy anywhere else. Why wouldn’t they want to be there?
These were the questions that swirled in the small mind of your editor. Ergo, the sensitive headline was planned -WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU? - a real attention grabber that surely would turn the tide (and set off your Net Nanny.)
But you anticipated and responded in advance of such a gutter like, scandalous, cheap, journalistic device. You came to the January Gathering in all of your glory and spared your editor from embarrassing himself. Of course, it is hard to embarrass him. After the fifth Krispy Kreme he does not feel a thing.
Personally, it was the food that did it for me. Sometimes our culinary spread is sparse, but not that night. The desserts (again, my personal favorites) were wonderful, including two cakes! Only the dessert buffet at a Las Vegas hotel could have been better. Or maybe the midnight dessert buffet on a cruise ship sailing by a lava flow dumping into the sea in Hawaii. That was fun too. I am sorry, but I do not have the space to tell all of my dessert stories.
For other people, the highlight of the Gathering was connecting with new and old Shalom friends. Personally, I do not like people much. Desserts are so much more dependable. I have never met a jelly donut that I did not like. Glazed crullers do not fail to return your phone calls. Coffee cake muffins do not break your heart. Molten chocolate cake with crème anglaise asks nothing of you but ecstasy.
Only 13 folks showed up for the December Gathering and your editor was discouraged. We had a wonderful night creating a special altar and so many missed it. Why don’t they come? How can we lure them in? Are we doing the wrong things? We know that you cannot get this intimacy anywhere else. Why wouldn’t they want to be there?
These were the questions that swirled in the small mind of your editor. Ergo, the sensitive headline was planned -WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU? - a real attention grabber that surely would turn the tide (and set off your Net Nanny.)
But you anticipated and responded in advance of such a gutter like, scandalous, cheap, journalistic device. You came to the January Gathering in all of your glory and spared your editor from embarrassing himself. Of course, it is hard to embarrass him. After the fifth Krispy Kreme he does not feel a thing.
November 21, 2001
Winter
Winter is arriving at this very moment. A cold front is working its way across New England to the Seacoast. The early morning forecast said the high would be forty two degrees today. But it was fifty eight degrees when I checked. Even weatherbug.com could not get it right. But now, two hours later, the temperature has dropped to forty four degrees. And the forecast holds the possibility of snow.
We have been blessed with spectacular weather here in New England for the last three months. It made me wonder what the big deal was about winter. It has not even felt Fall-like. Maybe winter would be similarly postponed or even skipped all together. Maybe I could leave the heavy jackets in the back of the closet. Maybe the sun will continue to shine every day.
No. Today started dark and got darker. The sky resembles the stirred froth of the nearby sea. The trees that have held tight to last leaves of color are surrendering to the wind and the rain. The empty trunks and limbs stand and sway with no excitement. Spring is a long way off.
New Englanders pretend to like winter, but for most that is a big lie. We depend on the holidays in November and December to get us through the first part. And then we look for some piece of hope to help us endure January and February. Maybe it is skiing. Maybe it is Florida. Maybe it is the mall. If only we can make it to March. But of course March turns out to be the worst month of all. Spring does not arrive and the world turns to mud.
So a long winter begins this morning. I am working hard not to be governed by that thought. I want to ignore it, to rise above it. I want to say that I am strong enough to get through it with a perky attitude. This year will feel different. I will not feel house bound when it gets cold and the streets are filled with slush. I will not feel put upon by lousy weather. It may be storming outside, but inside I will be happy and cheery. I am bigger than the weather. It should not affect my life. I will be strong.
But I know better. I know that there will be some additional struggles for me. People ask me if I have Seasonal Affective Disorder caused by a lack of light. I reply no, I can be miserable in all seasons. I am an equal opportunity employer when it comes to suffering.
In truth, my problem today is not the weather. My problem is that I am tired, and tired is not a good place for me to be. But I have decided that today’s malaise should be blamed on the weather. In fact, it is the fault of the weather reporting service. I am mad at them for getting the forecast wrong. I cannot find anyone else to get angry at, so they will do. And by the way, I am not angry, only tired. And if the power had not gone out in the middle of my writing this, I would be done by now. Perhaps not as tired. No I am not angry.
And I am not sad. I do not know why the Chopin piece that my wife is now playing on the piano makes me want to cry. I should be happy. I have no reason to be sad. No I am not sad or angry. I am only unhappy. Unhappy does not have anything to do with feeling. It is just a place of lack of joy. That’s all. I know that those feelings are overrated. To live with a lack is better than living in those distasteful, negative feelings.
I guess that I really have it all figured out now. I will just skate (a cold, winter metaphor) through the next few months. I will be fine, just fine.
We have been blessed with spectacular weather here in New England for the last three months. It made me wonder what the big deal was about winter. It has not even felt Fall-like. Maybe winter would be similarly postponed or even skipped all together. Maybe I could leave the heavy jackets in the back of the closet. Maybe the sun will continue to shine every day.
No. Today started dark and got darker. The sky resembles the stirred froth of the nearby sea. The trees that have held tight to last leaves of color are surrendering to the wind and the rain. The empty trunks and limbs stand and sway with no excitement. Spring is a long way off.
New Englanders pretend to like winter, but for most that is a big lie. We depend on the holidays in November and December to get us through the first part. And then we look for some piece of hope to help us endure January and February. Maybe it is skiing. Maybe it is Florida. Maybe it is the mall. If only we can make it to March. But of course March turns out to be the worst month of all. Spring does not arrive and the world turns to mud.
So a long winter begins this morning. I am working hard not to be governed by that thought. I want to ignore it, to rise above it. I want to say that I am strong enough to get through it with a perky attitude. This year will feel different. I will not feel house bound when it gets cold and the streets are filled with slush. I will not feel put upon by lousy weather. It may be storming outside, but inside I will be happy and cheery. I am bigger than the weather. It should not affect my life. I will be strong.
But I know better. I know that there will be some additional struggles for me. People ask me if I have Seasonal Affective Disorder caused by a lack of light. I reply no, I can be miserable in all seasons. I am an equal opportunity employer when it comes to suffering.
In truth, my problem today is not the weather. My problem is that I am tired, and tired is not a good place for me to be. But I have decided that today’s malaise should be blamed on the weather. In fact, it is the fault of the weather reporting service. I am mad at them for getting the forecast wrong. I cannot find anyone else to get angry at, so they will do. And by the way, I am not angry, only tired. And if the power had not gone out in the middle of my writing this, I would be done by now. Perhaps not as tired. No I am not angry.
And I am not sad. I do not know why the Chopin piece that my wife is now playing on the piano makes me want to cry. I should be happy. I have no reason to be sad. No I am not sad or angry. I am only unhappy. Unhappy does not have anything to do with feeling. It is just a place of lack of joy. That’s all. I know that those feelings are overrated. To live with a lack is better than living in those distasteful, negative feelings.
I guess that I really have it all figured out now. I will just skate (a cold, winter metaphor) through the next few months. I will be fine, just fine.
August 20, 2001
August
August, the eighth month of the year in the Gregorian calendar. Did you know that it was originally the sixth month in the Roman year, which began with March, and was originally named Sextilis (from Latin sextus, “sixth”)? So if things had not been shuffled, then August probably now would be called the month of Sex. That certainly would have changed things!
It was given its present name in honor of the emperor Augustus. To make it equal to the fifth month, the name of which had been changed from Quintilis to Julius in honor of Julius Caesar, a day was taken from the month of February and added to August. So that means that before the name change leap year would have had February 30. It would have been great to be born on February 30.
Do you think that Roman school kids had to start worrying about going back to school in the month of Augustus? Did they worry about how they would do at roman numerals? Did they hate Latin as much as later generations did? Did they take aqueducts for granted? What kind of really old stuff did they study for history? These are important questions.
What kind of songs did they sing when they were getting ready to return to school? In the classic movie “Billy Madison,” the great modern day philosopher/songwriter Adam Sandler gave us this anthem: “ Back to school, back to school, to prove to Dad that I’m no fool. I’ve got my lunch box packed, my shoes tied tight. I hope I don’t get in a fight.”
Which brings us to September (the same in English or Latin) – the month that follows August and the time of our next Gathering. You will not have to pack a lunch to be there, but bring a little food if you can. And you will not have anything to prove to Dad or anyone else. Just come as you are. And hopefully there will be no fights. See you there.
It was given its present name in honor of the emperor Augustus. To make it equal to the fifth month, the name of which had been changed from Quintilis to Julius in honor of Julius Caesar, a day was taken from the month of February and added to August. So that means that before the name change leap year would have had February 30. It would have been great to be born on February 30.
Do you think that Roman school kids had to start worrying about going back to school in the month of Augustus? Did they worry about how they would do at roman numerals? Did they hate Latin as much as later generations did? Did they take aqueducts for granted? What kind of really old stuff did they study for history? These are important questions.
What kind of songs did they sing when they were getting ready to return to school? In the classic movie “Billy Madison,” the great modern day philosopher/songwriter Adam Sandler gave us this anthem: “ Back to school, back to school, to prove to Dad that I’m no fool. I’ve got my lunch box packed, my shoes tied tight. I hope I don’t get in a fight.”
Which brings us to September (the same in English or Latin) – the month that follows August and the time of our next Gathering. You will not have to pack a lunch to be there, but bring a little food if you can. And you will not have anything to prove to Dad or anyone else. Just come as you are. And hopefully there will be no fights. See you there.
May 20, 2001
June
June – yes it is June already. Well, it is not exactly June yet, but it is about to be June. It seems like only yesterday that we were in the throes of the colds of February.
So what does June have to say for itself. Summer begins in June. There is also one of those equinox days. It has to do with the tilt of various things or maybe one thing, the earth. Does the sun tilt? I am not sure which equinox it is, but I know that day and night are finally equal. And one of them will now get longer. I do not know which one. It does not seem to matter that much to me. No matter what, the daylight is too short for me.
My diary says that June 4 is a holiday in Ireland. I have no idea what the holiday is, but I am sure that the Irish will celebrate. June 14 is Flag Day. I am not sure that anything happens on Flag Day. I think that this year I will watch out for it. To our north, in Quebec June 24 is St. Jean Baptiste Day. I am sure that he must be someone important, but I champion my parochialism by refusing to find out who he is or was.
Bunker Hill Day is in June and is a holiday in Suffolk County only. It is just another reason for a day off for state government employees.
Let’s not forget Father’s Day on June 17. That is the day when all of the children who made a big deal about their mother on Mother’s Day in May guiltily plan something for their dad, even though the one shortcoming of each dad is that he is not a mom. Oh yes, children love their dads, but they looove their moms. I used to always give my father a hat for Father’s Day. My children have never given me a hat. Are they ungrateful? Of course, I have never told them that I would like a hat. No, if they really loved me they would figure it out.
June – a simple word given to us by the Romans. June bugs. June Jones (football coach.) And my favorite, June Cleaver. After all, I was the Beaver. He and I were the same age and looked alike. I would have traded for June Cleaver anytime.
So what does June have to say for itself. Summer begins in June. There is also one of those equinox days. It has to do with the tilt of various things or maybe one thing, the earth. Does the sun tilt? I am not sure which equinox it is, but I know that day and night are finally equal. And one of them will now get longer. I do not know which one. It does not seem to matter that much to me. No matter what, the daylight is too short for me.
My diary says that June 4 is a holiday in Ireland. I have no idea what the holiday is, but I am sure that the Irish will celebrate. June 14 is Flag Day. I am not sure that anything happens on Flag Day. I think that this year I will watch out for it. To our north, in Quebec June 24 is St. Jean Baptiste Day. I am sure that he must be someone important, but I champion my parochialism by refusing to find out who he is or was.
Bunker Hill Day is in June and is a holiday in Suffolk County only. It is just another reason for a day off for state government employees.
Let’s not forget Father’s Day on June 17. That is the day when all of the children who made a big deal about their mother on Mother’s Day in May guiltily plan something for their dad, even though the one shortcoming of each dad is that he is not a mom. Oh yes, children love their dads, but they looove their moms. I used to always give my father a hat for Father’s Day. My children have never given me a hat. Are they ungrateful? Of course, I have never told them that I would like a hat. No, if they really loved me they would figure it out.
June – a simple word given to us by the Romans. June bugs. June Jones (football coach.) And my favorite, June Cleaver. After all, I was the Beaver. He and I were the same age and looked alike. I would have traded for June Cleaver anytime.
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