Moving On

Spent the night at Eatonville after another late-night conversation with Charles, drove back this afternoon, and I've decided to get out of this Tacoma house however I can do it and move to Eatonville, saving ultimately a couple of thousand dollars + a month on mortgages and utilities. It will cost me some of that back in gas to commute, and possibly an occasional motel room in really bad weather. [This is the worst winter in the Pacific Northwest in years, no doubt due to climate changes.] I would love to put some money every month into some type of money-market account so I can get a life someday.

I feel so much lighter, more buoyant, from making a decision, instead of sitting and watching things go bad, like Hamlet, and feeling caught in indecision.

At Fred Meyer I bought some groceries, mostly canned beans, and at the checkstand I bought balloons. I inflated one of Pearl's favorite color of blue, put it in the kitchen and wrote "Hello." Later I may email her and maybe even phone her, or possibly even go upstairs to talk to her. ; >

Sometimes I'm still undecided about abandoning Pearl or continuing to help her. I can't share why Charles is leaving Pearl, but it has to do with some unfortunate choices on her part, according to him, that she is unwilling to abandon. Having an actual conversation will probably help.

And, yes, I will probably help her, especially by getting her back into professional driving practice lessons until she's ready to drive independently. Notice I didn't say, "until she gets her license." A license doesn't mean necessarily you are comfortable driving routinely, it just means you passed the test.

Onward.

The Camel

My situation is that, back when everyone else was doing it, I took out two interest-only mortgages on a house we all loved that I could barely afford, with the purpose of acting like extended family to Pearl and Charles, who had lots of love and wanted to get married, and were enrolled in college so potentially had a great future together.

A roomy house with a yard, good for grandkids. The plan was they would both graduate with somewhat lucrative careers, able to afford the house between two salaries; I'd eventually refinance, quit claim out, and move on. I haven't gotten around to refinancing, my house has lost value, and there is very little equity. This is a situation. Not to mention the cats. Not to mention my husband living somewhere else. This would make weird fiction. It is too goofy to make up.

I've always claimed that I kept digs in Tacoma, not moving to Eatonville fully, because of the house here and my "kids." [Charles will always be my son, in my heart.] Interestingly, this is possibly the first time in my life everything's fallen apart and it wasn't me losing a job. Except for my divorce, and that was a good thing.

Eatonville is a problem. Enayat's housekeeping and hoarding are a shambles. I can't see how I could have the time and energy to clean it up and keep it clean without his participation. I have one stunning jewel of a room I took over and redecorated for my own sanity: my sewing room. Enayat may enter, with permission, but not take any objects into my sewing room.

So my first thought was, "I need to find an apartment in Tacoma."

I think this is why one of my new totems is a camel: I have to carry the whole load myself, both with my family and with my husband.

Four Cheese Lasagna and Other Matters

A large part of my world as I perceived it fell apart in the last 24 hours. Yesterday I was still tired even after two days off; I slept in late at Eatonville, puttered around, and arrived at my house in Tacoma [shared with my daughter and son-in-law] at the last minute to go to work, with laundry and things to unload, needing the bathroom. I step in and my son-in-law approaches and says I need to have a talk with him or my daughter, Pearl.

My first thought was that I was being summoned to the principal's office, and asked Charles, half joking, what I have done wrong this time? He said, "Oh, no, you've been great." Everything in the past tense. So I had to keep prodding to find out in ten minutes that he's planning to move out in a week and filing for divorce. So I arrived at work ten minutes late and an emotional train wreck.

Came back from work 11:30 to talk, as they tend to stay up late. I come upstairs, saying, "Who wants to talk?" I see Pearl sitting at her computer, "I don't want to talk." Great news. So Charles comes out to talk about options what to do with the house and so forth, Pearl eventually sitting in between us eating lasagna, as I shared my experience of keeping all my emotions inside about her suicide attempt until I was in the Shrine of 'Abdu'l-Baha. She wiped her eyes a couple of times. And added in helpful items such as that this was four-cheese lasagna so I could eat it. Then Charles and I came downstairs and talked some more. I told him not to be a stranger.

I think I need financial and emotional counseling. Drat.

Bring Out Your Dead

"A moose once bit my sister."

If you recognize this line from a series of credits, you are probably a fan or one-time fan of "Monty Python and the Holy Grail," which I watched with Enayat last night as a retribution for a myriad evenings of Persian movies.

Enayat always maintains that all I need to do to learn Farsi is to listen to the language, watch a few movies, and voila. I finally told him I'm no longer interested in learning Farsi. Not because it's the truth, but because, as I mentioned, I'm tired of the pressure. If I wanted to learn calculus, I'd learn because A] I studied it or B] someone was continually saying, "If you just learned calculus you'd be amazed! You'd say, 'Wow!'" Now when he proposes to watch a movie sans subtitles for the purpose of learning Farsi, I propose watching a movie in Chinese without subtitles so he can learn Chinese.

My first viewing of "Holy Grail" was in the auditorium at WSU with Allan when we were dating. The sound quality was awful, the foriegn language [rapid-fire British] was incomprehensible, and every line was shouted out loud along with the movie by the audience. [They didn't throw toast. That's another movie.] And there was spurting blood everywhere and whaling on wailing cats. I hated it. It took a few more viewings to appreciate it.

I wonder what that initial audience is doing now. They're probably a bunch of accountants feverishly planning for their retirements.

Enayat did smile at some of the scenes. Such as the Holy Hand Grenade.

"She turned me into a newt! . . . I got better."

The Compass

I just found my compass again.

It's difficult coming off a series of work days during which my mind becomes so engrossed in problem-solving that I become tired and sleep-deprived. Even though there are certain tasks I can focus on during a day or two off, I feel foggy and unfocused. I've been obsessed with seeing a movie, because I work in the evenings; for example,"The Class" at the Grand Cinema, Tacoma's art house. So I went to the Grand Cinema website and saw that an even more intriguing movie starts tomorrow; "Waltzing With [Somebody]", an animation made in Israel about a veteran trying to regain his memory about events during the 1980's war in Lebanon.

Meanwhile, I have to go to work to make a late progress note in a chart, and deliver a coupon from my tax person at H&R Block to my friend Becky while she's there, and had thought of coupling that with the trip to the Grand Cinema. I was feeling unsettled about whether I really want to take time to see a movie , and which movie to see . . .

Then I peeked in on the Tacoma Baha'i website, and saw a feature with photos of people volunteering at the World Center back in 1984; all the countries of origin and their interesting faces and occupations. I also read some quotes about service interspersed with the photos. Suddenly I could feel the fog lifting somewhat. I had been thinking of how to entertain myself, rather than in how I could be of service. Nothing is intrinsically wrong with entertainment, but I feel more focused now. I think this time I'll do my Tacoma errands at "Homeland", stop by the library to find a movie or two, and come back to Eatonville to do the laundry, start work on the Holy Land album, and watch movies. I'll feel as if some value is added to my day.

P.S, this is an example of foggy writing.

Arlene's Weird Foods: Soyruzo

A few years ago I discovered a tasty and interesting pork-based substance to add to things such as chili, called Choruzo. This lasted until Husband # 1 read the exceptionally detailed ingredient label and refused to eat my chili any more. Then, a few years later, when I was willing to explore truly weird, meatless foods such as soy milk and fake meat, I discovered Soyruzo, similar mushy texture and spicy flavor as Choruzo, but without the meat or, especially, the nasty bits.

Soyruzo has become difficult to find, but I ran across it in Safeway the other day.

Arlene's Weird Food formula for experimentation: take something with protein, a vegetable &/or whole grain, add interesting flavors if necessary, and create a concept for mixing it all together for maximum nourishment, flavor and interest. Today's experiment involved chard, tofu, and soyruzo. I steamed the chard leaves in the microwave, mixed tofu [favorite brand, Mori Nu], soyruzo, and added some basil and oregano leaves [dry, flaked.] I stuffed the softened chard leaves with the tofu/soyruzo mixture and rolled them up like grape leaves, with the veins on the outside. This actually took less time than it takes to tell it. I also drink the liquid resulting from boiling or steaming vegetables, called "pot liquor" by the old-fashioned, to recapture more nutrients.

At work, the break room is a place everyone can evaluate my dinner as they pass by on their way out to smoke. We are not allowed to discuss politics, religion, or each other, but food is apparently fair game. I sometimes receive edifying and courteous comments such as "Ew. Green food?" But more often, "That smells good!"

On to work.

Hinky Pinky

Okay. Here are two phrases which are rhyming spoonerisms of each other. One is "the meat of an undecided porcine animal" and the other "an implement for retrieving vinegary cucumbers."

Think about it awhile.

In the meantime, just working my three days on again. Yesterday there were two admissions in the day shift and two more on the evening shift [my shift.] Today a meeting for the nurses that didn't feel hostile and unpleasant. There was actually participation and laughter. It actually felt fun. Odd.

Nurses were always taught a "pain scale" from one to ten: one being barely any pain and ten being the most excruciating pain you've ever had. Now our facility is changing to a scale of one to three. I tried to use this scale talking to the Multicare Consulting Nurses today and they didn't understand what I was talking about. Homeland's rationale was that the MDS ["minimum data set"] uses the one to three scale so that's what the facility should use. They should just change the MDS scale. It's nonsense.

So I wrote a note to the DNS stating my feelings about the 1-3 pain scale. Then I tore it up and wrote a one-liner.

The answer to the above puzzle: one is a "fickle pork" and the other is a "pickle fork." But you probably got that right away. This is a variation on the game "Hink Pink" or "Hinky Pinky" in which the entries rhyme, but don't have to be spoonerisms of each other. For example, an overweight feline is a "fat cat." Maybe we can play again.

Yes, Hal.

The Sharing of Arts and Beauty

Naw-Ruz [March 21] was a good day. We washed dishes upstairs and down [in Enayat's house, i.e. former barn, there is now a kitchen upstairs, largely unheated and largely abandoned, once we established an apartment on the second floor and Enayat built a trailer-sized kitchen in that.] There were still dishes to be done from probably over a year ago. ! So I washed dishes on the third floor and Enayat washed dishes on the second floor, I baked some polenta and we came on to the Naw-Ruz breakfast, just about on time.

Finally Enayat met our friend Mink Fire, whose passion in life seems to be trees. Trees, the quality of lumber in the past, the lack of quality in lumber in the present, where and when to plant trees. We needed to connect with Mink. The area outside Eatonville where we live by Lake Ohop is basically a wetland. Also, in the areas south of Tacoma, there is considerable deforestation being done, in a most ugly manner, as people sell the trees off their property, and also in areas where Monopoly houses with no windows are put about ten feet from each other in housing developments. So we would like to enterprise in some "forestation" to offset this trend in a very small way. Mink will be the ideal consultant for which trees to plant where, that can thrive on all this wetness.

Our final destination was the lovely home of Fredric and Karen out past Purdy overlooking Puget Sound and Mount Rainier. This was a "Spiritual-i-tea", a "high tea" where people had been invited to bring their art forms, whether painting or poetry, stories, or fabric or culinary arts, and share them. [We also encountered some absolutely lovely mushroom-almond pate.]

What a rich sharing of paintings by Nuri, who shared her stories of making clothing and decorating them in the Caribbean for sale to tourists, until she could no longer paint another parrot, paradise flower or garish fish, and changed to painting people; paintings by Walter which always tell a story and have such a lively folk art feeling to them. Bonita shared some exquisite colored drawings accompanied by stories; she had been losing her eyesight due to cataracts at the time, and added sparkly colors and textures to her work. Someone else has been making custom-made greeting cards since long before there was Photoshop or cut-and-paste.

I showed my tatting, sewing, and the Mountain of the Lord tapestry I made in 2001 when the Terraces were completed on Mount Carmel and I had become saturated with bible prophecies concerning Mount Carmel, starting with one from Isaiah: Come ye, and let us go up to the Mountain of the Lord . . . And then I was induced to share my song about it. Argh. Ed read a nearly incomprehensible story, rich with historical allusions and connections, about Robin Hood. Karen read her poetry. Russ played his music and George played his IPod, which is his musical instrument.

As each person shared their arts, they also opened their hearts, and I could see so many people working alone over the years; in living rooms, on shag carpeting, on kitchen tables, developing their talents. The spirit in the room was shining, joyous. There was no sense of jealousy or competition. Just awe.

Happy Naw-Ruz!

Happy Naw-Ruz! [New Year!]

Tomorrow we meet at Deb and Tim's for the annual Naw-Ruz breakfast. Enayat decided he does want to come along, so off I go in a few minutes to Eatonville so we can go together in the morning. What song did I have stuck in my head this morning? "Zippetty do dah, zippetty ay . . ." what our friend George traditionally sings every year, a song of exuberance and joy. In the afternoon we plan to go to our friends Karen and Fredric in Gig Harbor for a High Tea and celebration of the arts. I plan to bring my Mountain of the Lord tapestry depicting an artist's conceptual scene with historic and prophetic elements of Mount Carmel. [Although referring to myself as an artist is probably stretching it a little bit.]

Just watched the President give a Naw-Ruz statement and greeting to mainly Iranian leaders. Rather nice.

Last night I finally finished reading "Three Cups of Tea." My first inspiration was to want to make a tapestry depicting the general concept. Visiting Greg Mortenson's website, however, I think what they want is cold, hard cash. If I make a tapestry it will be either to satisfy myself or to find a way to auction it off as a personal fundraiser for the project.

I guess we'll just have to see what happens next.

Welcome

Time is short again today. My one day off between a weekend I work and a weekend I will have off, I spent dozing. Worked till 0130, up till 0300 [I can't remember what for: that's why it 's the middle of the night] and up again at 0830 to attend a St. Patrick's Day breakfast cooked by the management for the staff. I so wanted Breakfast Food, as when I go to work in the evenings, my first meal is really lunch. I can no longer handle such food, as a practicing Pseudo Vegetarian. I slept in all day afterwards, letting my innards sort things out. Oops, sorry, over sharing! I'm about to leave for Eatonville, my home away from home, and bring one of my husband's favorite foods for him as he breaks the fast: a honeydew melon. I need it, too.

Actually I have an intense dislike of St. Patrick's Day. As a child in school it was a license to get legally pinched. Wear green or you get pinched. So I did. But the atmosphere was not friendly. A child should get to wear any color they choose [unless the school has a uniform] and not be subject to sanctioned physical abuse.

And, lastly, with the risk of sounding like some sort of robe-wearing guru, I'd like to say, "Welcome to my followers!"

Sanctifying Our Wealth

I need to leave for work but can't help taking time to mention my current book, "Three Cups of Tea" about Greg Mortenson building schools in the remote hills in Pakistan. So far in my reading, he gets lost descending from K-2, is taken in to recuperate in the village of Korphe, and discovers that they have no school building and the children kneel in rows on the cold ground to study, with occasional visits from a shared teacher. He returns to the US fueled with the mission to build the village a school. To economize while he raises money for this, he sleeps in his car.

To Baha'is, this should start to sound familiar. Anyone? Anyone?

"And how I long to travel the world, in utmost poverty, and cry out, 'Ya Baha'ul'Abha."

Concurrently with this I've been thinking about the Right of God, the Baha'i voluntary tax with a formula based on conscience. One figures out how much of one's monetary worth is a luxury, i.e., not necessary for all bills, housing, etc etc. 19% of that luxury is due to this tax. However, the individual herself decides what is necessary and what is a luxury, and pays this only after all other bills and obligations are paid.

My original understanding was that one has to have amassed that amount of savings to pay this tax. Never in this world, I expect, will I actually save much money. My current understanding is this: to spend it, I had to have had it, even if I didn't save the money. So I have begun writing down my expenses so I can keep track and analyze how much of what I spend is actually necessary, with the plan to subsequently pay the Right of God on 19% of the rest. [Wherever I am wrong in my understanding, readers can always comment to put in their understanding.]

The business of keeping track of accounts is supremely ironic, since this was a household rule imposed by my former husband to control me, and which I ultimately renounced. Now I'm adopting the practice for my own reasons.

I'm starting to think differently about the huge amount of money I am spending for interest-only loans on my house, and how I could use that cash differently with some rearranging of my life.

Ugliness and Horror

My husband's house, which is really a giant former 1] barn, 2] factory for publishing a Seventh Day Adventist journal [now published elsewhere] is a land of dust and mysteries. Flies collect on the windowsills by the hundreds, source unknown. Either there are bodies hidden somewhere, or flies come inside seeking warmth [by no means is this building weather-sealed] and lay down their lives on the window sills in a vain endeavor to escape.

With the abundance of flies, one would think I would welcome the occasional spider. I was talking with my humanitarian [or creature-itarian] friend Karen one time about my horror of spiders. She goes, "What about Charlotte?" "Karen, that was fiction." I always wanted to ask her, if she had a bacterial infection, would she refuse to take antibiotics?

As a child I slept in bunk beds. Two feet from the ceiling, you open your eyes to see a spider lowering down towards your face. Do you sit up? No, that puts you dangerously close to the spider. Do you roll away? No, then you roll out of a top bunk onto the floor. You lie there, paralyzed . . .

Why do spiders love bathtubs?

So, I'm clear about my conviction that spiders are fair game on my turf, i.e. indoors, yet I feel a horror on killing them. I'm sure that part of my feeling about spiders is shaped by associating them with killing. Especially when I try to smack them near the ceiling with a broom and they fall somewhere behind the furniture, free to scurry away and attack me later. I once came up with the strategy of applying duct tape facing outwards on the broom so the spider would stick to it. Doesn't work. Spiders are coated with silicon or teflon or grease.

It's me or the spiders. But that little doubt: is this wrong? To snuff out callously a life that I can't put back . . . That doubt fuels the sense of horror I feel. Anyway, if I could put back the life of the spider, I wouldn't make a spider. Maybe a pony.

That's probably why God is God and I'm not.

Beauty and Peace

I've started commuting to Eatonville from Tacoma at night again, usually the last evening after work before my day or two off. I was talking about this drive with someone at work that used to do it. "Have you ever been driving at night and look over and see Mount Rainier all ghosty in the moonlight?" Gasp. "Yes!" It's so cool [and beautiful] to see something you're not supposed to be able to see. As when I was a child and realized that sometimes I could see the rest of the crescent moon, but I wasn't supposed to be able to see it.

The other night I emerged from a particularly hairy evening at work and looked up to see a perfect full moon. Shoot, no wonder. In spite of Baha'i warnings against superstition, I have picked up the one about full moons.

This morning Lake Ohop is like a mirror. The Canada geese [what my husband calls "Canadian geese," as if they could have a nationality] are out foraging in the hayfield, all in a row. Step, pick, step, pick. It's been many months since we've seen elk out there, though.

Miscellanea Under the Full Moon

Last most interesting books: "A Thousand Splendid Suns," by the author of "Kite Runner"; "A Mermaid's Tale," by Ann Medlock; and "The Truth," by Al Franken. The first I read on the return trip from Israel, a harrowing story of abuse and survival during the Taliban years. The second, another harrowing tale of abuse, this time emotional. And the last, the abuse of the public by the lies told by the last administration as it blundered into another unwinnable war [sorry soldiers and veterans. It's not your fault!!] Winning, to me, being the reunification and reorganization of Iraq into a viable, peaceful, self-directed country. If the USA stays, it's war. If the USA leaves, it's war. Sorry.

I don't feel so brilliant this afternoon. Three tough days at work. Have a patient that had a blood transfusion the day before, then chills, fever and vomiting over 24 hours later. Up to me and the doctor on call to decide: should he stay or should he go [to hospital.] It was a long time after the transfusion to be a reaction, and looked like a violent case of the GI flu. But one can't be sure. With one nurse hovering, saying, "Ooh, he needs to go bye-bye." And the doctor and my inner voice saying, "Wait and let's see." But it's a hard inner voice to follow! Gradually the nausea and fever subsided. But I wouldn't be surprised if the night nurse sent him out.

Arrived at Eatonville [my home away from home] at 0300, so not very perky today. I phoned my tax lady at H & R Block, with whom I've had an excellent rapport for the last two years, only to find she wasn't there, is now doing administrative work. So I have an appointment with "just somebody" in the same office tomorrow. I hope it works out as well as it has in the past. I'm sure Lisa is wonderful in her new position and deserves what sounds like a promotion, but I hope the other folks in the office have as good customer skills.

I haven't blogged recently because of flu, of leading a busy but boring life with every minute needed to catch up on sleep. But the boring life makes it difficult to blog. On the other hand I now [gasp] have two followers, so I feel the need to stay in the game. Not every entry can be as interesting as the ones previous! Aargh.

Be a Friend to Your Heart

My soul is singing.

First, on the finis to our Pilgrimage in February we were gifted with Inge Haghighi's "Eternal Sun"*, her sweet pear nectar voice singing odes of love to Baha'u'llah. Then our friend George's "Happy Ayyam-i-Ha" mix # 9 sprinkled with tantalizing scents wafting from the delicious musical pilaf [which I had to obtain ASAP] the lovely new release from Russ Salton, "Smile."** Russ, this one is seasoned just right.

I think I've found the musical cure for depression, stress, madness and sadness.

"See the world as one human race/ Love is all around . . . "; "Let the Spring refresh one and all/ Every soul can answer the call/ Give a little love friend or foe/ Love is all around."

Russ' melodies are sweet and snappy, and his themes are deep. "The Greatest Leaf," with words by Todd Kutches and music by Russ Salton, is haunting, celebrating the life of the daughter of Baha'u'llah who gave her entire life to the Cause of God, even renouncing marriage to be as available as possible in love and service to her Father and family as they were exiled farther and farther from their homeland in Iran, to the Most Great Prison in Akka, Israel . . . "Great Leaf in the desert blowing/ to the winds of the Will of God . . . "

The songs in "Smile" will have you smiling, foot tapping, finger-snapping, all words of encouragement. "And even if you have to stumble and start/ And everybody's trying to pick you apart/ Don't take it in just be a friend to your heart/ Be good to yourself." Thank you, Russ. For now, I'm trying to retrain my face, even if it takes another 52 years. 'Cause, "Anytime's a better time and everytime will always be the right time to smile . . . best of all, it's free." And freeing.

What a gift.

*www.ingehaghighi.com
** www.RussSalton.com

How to Goof Up the Hood of Your Car

One: jump up to go out to the parking lot to help a friend jumpstart her car.
Two: park next to her car, drag out the cables, open the hood and prop it up.
Three: discover that the cables don't quite reach. Decide to move the car closer to hers.
Four: release the prop for the hood, lower the hood but don't latch it, and move the car.
Five: discover that some unseen interaction between the hood, the prop, and the hood latch is keeping the hood stuck so it can neither open nor close properly.
Six: move car so someone else can give it a shot. Resolve to visit Honda dealer in the morning to fix it.

No good deed goes unpunished. ; >

Now you know.

The Satanic Self

In exploring the difference between external appearances and internal reality, this is really the key to understanding the Bible and the sacred scriptures of old. The ancient human mind was, like that of a child, very literal, so literal allusions were typically made. Therefore we have the notion of an external, physical creature who wears red and sports horns and a tail, bedeviling the poor beleaguered human soul and trying to seduce the human spirit away from worshiping the One True God. If the Devil wins we go to a physical hell, presumably in the center of the earth, with coals and flames and regrets and no ticket home. If God wins, we float around in a physical heaven in the physical sky [but invisible, I guess] and get to be saved.

In the Baha'i Faith there is no external, physical entity, The Devil. No magically controlling powers. There is only one true source of power in the universe: God. Baha'is have something a lot scarier: The Satanic Self. This is the source of impulses not in our best interests. The trick is in recognizing and discerning the difference between healthy and spontaneous thoughts, and the other kind. Especially when the thought, "That fudge looks really good," seems to take on the appearance of some sort of mythical, benevolent Aunt Betty in our minds who would be hurt if we offended her. Which is actually our own impulsive desire for the fudge.

So, in actual fact, I have hijacked my own self.

I don't think God really cares if I'm fat or thin. I think He just wants us to be healthy and to form a good relationship with Him. So then the desire to be lean, and the whatever-it-takes to become that way, is on me.

I do believe in the power of prayer.

Unwelcome Thoughts

My mind keeps going back to the moment in the room of the Blessed Beauty, Baha'u'llah in the Mansion of Bahji, when I responded to an internal suggestion that I did not belong there, and left.

When I was six we had an actual set of plates, Fiesta Ware as I know it now. I loved the assortment of bright colors. One day I was given the task of carrying the stack of plates from the dining room to the kitchen. There were seven in the family so it was probably seven plates. Heavy, but far from impossible. I remember having the thought of how terrible it would be if I dropped the plates, and then, before I knew it, I had dropped them, and it was terrible and I cried. Not because there was anger and violence--I guess my parents knew this was an accident--but because I loved those plates and they were no more. Children not having much in the way of impulse control.

Now, sometimes at night when I am driving and weary, I have this thought of how terrible it would be to drive off the road and crash, and with my inventive imagination, I can picture the havoc pretty clearly. This thought has become persistent in recurring [is this what dogs do when they reproduce? Recurring?]

So, not all thoughts and impulses are good ones.

The other day I treated myself to a pedicure for the first time, mostly because the extra fat around my middle has made it extremely difficult to trim my toenails properly. It was a wonderful experience, in spite of wondering what was going to happen next, all except for a moment when I looked down at my ankles with pitting edema and felt as if my body has been hijacked by a malevolent force.

It has.

The Mountain of the Lord

Our dear friend Tony, who is very skilled and diligent in construction arts and does a lot of work for my husband on his properties, stopped by last evening. Enayat pulled out our photos from Pilgrimage to show him. Tony is a Seventh Day Adventist. Last year, when we mentioned that the World Center of the Baha'i Faith is on Mount Carmel [in my view, the Mountain of the Lord], Tony threw back his head with a hearty laugh, speaking about how Mount Carmel had been the site of idol worship and how Jehovah had had a contest with the god Baal in fire-starting, on Mount Carmel. The other day I thought about this and wanted to say, "Yeah, but Jehovah won."

Anyway, Tony was very impressed with the photos, thought the Shrine of the Bab and the terraces and Bahji were very beautiful. He was also interested, naturally, in Nazareth and Jerusalem. I was grateful I had taken some time to pull out my share of the photo copies before they were handed around and shuffled. I plan to put together an album illustrating the sites we visited in a historical and scriptural context. I hope, not too ambitious. Something to pray about.

Come on up, let us go up, come on up to the Mountain of the Lord . . .

Fasting and Detachment

I lost the ability, physically, to fast after my daughter was born and I weaned her. I tried to go back to fasting after two years and apparently I was having insulin resistance and hypoglycemia; I would get horrible headaches and be unable to think. This has been a huge test for me. Many years I kept trying, thinking I just wasn't trying hard enough. So I guess I'm just spiritually defective. Now I'm reading about the Baha'is in Even Prison in Iran, saving half their dinners to eat before dawn in the morning, and asking the friends to say the prayers for fasting on their behalf. Now I feel even worse.

My cold has gotten worse today, my second of two days off work. Temperature 103 F. I called off work. I'm just grateful to my dear husband, cooking rice and lentils with raw onions on top, sauteed onions and mushrooms, with tomatoes both cooked and raw.

I imagine this is an opportunity to exercise humility. It was really too much the other day in a social setting, talking about our Pilgrimage; eventually I get acutely uncomfortable talking about me, me, me. Also, thinking about how my sense of my worth has decreased abruptly with our Pilgrimage: I think this is an opportunity to exercise more detachment. For those in the know, read the final paragraphs from "Stories From the Delight of Hearts," by Haji Mirza Haydar Ali, where this dear soul, this spiritual giant, mentions his lack of spiritual qualities.

Thou dear handmaid

I have turned into a sneak thief. Our friend Deb downloads beautiful quotes from Baha'i scripture, prints short selections and attaches them to construction paper. This was the quote that attracted me yesterday:

O thou dear handmaid of God! If only thou couldst know what a high station is destined for those souls who are severed from the world, are powerfully attracted to the Faith, and are teaching, under the sheltering shadow of Baha'u'llah! How thou wouldst rejoice, how thou wouldst, in exultation and rapture, spread thy wings and soar heavenward--for being a follower of such a way, and a traveler toward such a Kingdom.

~'Abdu'l-Baha

I happened to drop this, and on picking it up, couldn't resist placing it for safekeeping into my prayer book. Deb, I owe you something good! This is strange to me, as it doesn't fit my image of myself as honest and upstanding.

This type of quotation used to produce a jealous response in me, which over time has faded to a thought of, "good for them!" I don't imagine that I fit, or could ever fit, the descriptions of these exalted beings. The words are intended to inspire the reader to aspire to these qualities.

A Yamaha--and fast!

This morning we had a very nice Devotional Meeting followed with waffles, fruit, eggs, yogurt and so on. The focus of the prayers, music and readings was on joy and rejoicing, as this is the last day of the Baha'i celebration of 'Ayyam-i-Ha. The Baha'i year is composed of 19 months of 19 days, and 'Ayyam-i-Ha, "The Days of Ha", or Intercalary Days, are the 4 or 5 days falling in between the last month and the first. It is also a joyous celebration, a time for charity and gift-giving, and the precursor to the Baha'i Fast which starts on March 2 and extends for 19 days, ending on the evening of March 20.

Baha'is 15 and over, and under 70, who are healthy and not pregnant or nursing, fast from food or drink from sunrise to sunset. Primarily the purpose of the Fast is spiritual, not physical. It is a time for prayer and reflection, practicing detachment from this world and renewing our relationship with our Creator and the Founder of the Faith, Baha'u'llah. The Fast will be followed March 21, on or about the Equinox and the first day of spring, which is Naw-Ruz, Baha'i [and Iranian] New Year.

Many people focus on the physical, rather than the spiritual, importance of the Fast. The challenge is then to focus on God and spiritual qualities.

The joke often heard is: "A Yamaha--and fast!"