Wednesday night’s heavy rain continued into mid morning. When I opened the door and stepped outside, the smell of summer rain catapulted me back to my childhood. Yes, opening the door is essential to the memory of rainy summer days, all mine to fill at whim. I recall riding my bike through paths in the woods my dad had made, and setting up a fort behind a tree or rock. I always called it a fort, but my play had nothing to do with battles. The only thing I protected was my solitude and privacy.
      loved the rain and was always disappointed when it stopped. I recall a similar feeling on a school snow day when the snow stopped and the sun came out. The inclement weather gave me a sense of never ending freedom—I won’t have to grow up. No wonder I loved Peter Pan.
     I weep for the children who don’t have play in their lives and who don’t have childhood memories of dreams and imaginative play to help them cultivate who they are as adults. Maybe I loved my years at the cottage by the sea, because I could step out the door and be free, regardless of the weather. I’ll be going to Florence in September, where for two weeks I live in never-never-land where I don’t have to grow up.

    At the moment I’m reading five books. The nature of certain books sometimes calls for that.
    The Real Life of the Parthenon (Patricia Vigderman) is about the Elgin Marbles and the pros and cons of where they now reside. Do we keep works of art on sight or in museums in some far off land? A subject so complicated that I can only read a few pages at a time.
Then there is Waking Up White: Finding Myself in the Story of Race (Debby Irving) which gives me much to absorb. It’s not easy to admit that growing up white I have been, and continue to be, complicit in my country’s and the world’s racism. For this one it’s a chapter at a time.
To Time to Spare offers a compilation of Ursula Le Guin’s blog posts of when she was in her eighties. A post at a time works well.
I’m skimming Something Old, Something New: Classic Recipes Revised (Tamar Adler).
Finally there is a novel, a good read although depressing. Every Note Played (Lisa Genova) is about a man who has ALS and his ex-wife who takes him back into their home to care for him.I can keep turning the pages, and for sure, no need to read every word.

Check out "Compassionate Reading for my mini reviews.

     I was away three nights visiting long time friends. My sister Alice I’ve known since the day I was born because she is two and half years older than me. That makes her the longest-time person I know. Debby and I started playing together when we were two, so that makes us very long-time friends. Jeanne and I met in college, which feels like a long time. Memories of Alice circle the family, of Debby it’s riding tricycles, of Jeanne it’s chatting in our college dorm.
     Here’s something about my visit that has nothing to do with long-time memories. I was without wifi accesses for my computer--only email on my phone. An excellent spiritual practice, I decided; the world got along just fine without me, maybe not fine, but it got along.

      On Saturday I heard Debby Irving, author of Waking Up White and Finding Myself in the Story of Race speak at First Parish in my home town of Sudbury, Massachusetts. Her presentation was sponsored by the town’s Clergy Association to help those of us living in this white, suburban community to understand the part we play in racism. The goal is to eradicate racism.
      Well now, that sounds like a mighty lofty goal, but a goal worth reaching for is always above our grasp, always a life-long challenge. I’m reminded that Jesus tells us to love our neighbor as ourselves. Need I say more?
     Intellectually and morally I want racism to be eliminated, BUT, do I want to let go of some of my racial power that supports my racially privileged life? What would that look like? Where to start?
Debby Irving suggests I start by looking at the messages of racism I received as a young child. Advertisements with while, smiling families, schooling, pictures of white presidents, white heroes in history books, family messages of social behavior (smile, be polite, don’t argue). Yours will vary, but if you’re white, you’ll find plenty of similarities.
     On her website http://www.debbyirving.com/21-day-challenge/ we are challenged to get educated about our whiteness. There are readings and podcasts: ways to watch and listen out in our world: ways to reach out and be active. There’s even a planning tool in the form of a chart to get you going and keep you on track.
    I’ve started!

     Here are this morning’s gratitudes:
•  I’m grateful I had the freedom to nurse my two children.
•  I’m grateful that I am sooooo angry that nursing children are being taken (grabbed) from their mother’s     breast at our Mexican border.
       I can’t believe that my gratitude has to do with anger. As I’ve written before, every morning my husband and I start the day saying what we’re grateful for. Those ought to be positive, right? And they usually are because isn’t that the nature of gratitude? Isn’t that how we want to live?
     But this is a totally new concept for me (and I’m sure I’m not alone), this separating nursing mothers and children. Separating is bad enough, but taking a baby from the breast? Child abuse is hardly a strong enough term. Is there any argument that says it’s not child abuse? I’m not saying abusive in some general, vague term. I’m using the full term: CHILD ABUSE.
     Who are these people who physically carry out this child abuse? Border guards, men and women. I assume that more of them are men, because that’s the kind of job men have. A few may be women, but I can’t imagine any woman would grab a child from a mother’s breast. More likely the women border guards are probably in the detention centers comforting children and mothers.
     I assume that these border guards are citizens of this democracy called the United States of America. How can these men and women stand by and be complicit in this child abuse? They need the job to support their families and they are powerless—the two go together; I get that. I also get that that is what German citizens said as they unwittingly participated in Hitler’s cult, which let to the Nazi state. And now, our the United States government, via the president, is requiring its citizens to participate in immoral and unethical acts against fellow human beings.
      I’m angry but refuse to admit I’m powerless. I have to believe that I am a citizen of a democracy. I can speak out against this child abuse, but is there something more to do?

     Can we say that cooking to eat healthy is simple? As with many questions, the answer is ‘yes’ and ‘no’. Lately I’ve been eliminating carbs (pasta, potatoes and rice) from our evening meal and cooking up vegetables to serve in their place. Now, let me tell you that until recently I would admit that I didn’t like vegetables. Not very PC, but at least truthful. I grew up with Birds-eye frozen green beans, lima beans and peas, always over-cooked.
     Nowadays I’m into roasting vegetables. Here’s my simple recipe: cut them up, add olive oil and salt, and put the Pyrex pan into a 350 degree oven for thirty. That’s the simple version.
     Check out Comfort Food under the “Cottage Companions” section of this blog for details for Cauliflower and Carrots.

     I’m trying to make sense of what it looks like to be silent in a politically noisy world. There is, of course, physical silence which we all love from time to time, and then there is the chatter in our heads that is not silent. But today I’m thinking about the silence of truth telling. Hmm, maybe I made that up, maybe I stretching too far, but when I think of silence as something peaceful, lies seem to generate noise. Words of truth, on the other hand, offer a peaceful silence even when said out loud.

     There’s a line I draw when writing this blog, a line between spiritual and religious. I believe that we’re all spiritual, and that certainly applies to anyone wanting silence solitude and simplicity and who sometimes likes to be alone.
     Then there are those who are religious, a term that implies attachment to an organized church, ritual, and beliefs. Although those are part of my life, what is essential to me is faith,. Faith embraces belief in something beyond human imagination or understanding; it gives me peace and hope; and it brings out the good in me. Faith is a indescribable, a mystery; it stands alone.
     What I just wrote is the prelude to an invitation to pour yourself a cup of coffee tomorrow morning at 9 and enjoy Soul Talk with Kirk Jones, my professor at Andover Newton, and who continues to be a friend twenty years later. Join us on Face Book Live.I don’t know how to put the link on here but just go to Face Book and write in Kirk Byron Jones and find Saturday Morning Soul Talk.
    Maybe I'll see you there.

     You know me, I search for solitude, but I don’t want it all the time. Good thing because I couldn’t have it, no matter what. Even those self-proclaimed hermits who try to live silently in the woods can’t attain the goal. In fact, their entire existence is about getting away from civilization, which undoubtedly encourages them to think disapprovingly of society--everyone gets in their way.
     I don’t dwell on solitude very much. Maybe that’s because I have enough or know how to get it when I need it. Different life stages offer different kinds and amounts of solitude. When I was ages 3-12 (they used to call it ‘latency’) I spent hours in alone outside in the woods. I have so many memories of making little forts, packing my ‘stuff’ and heading out to play by myself. When my children were young and I was working, I longed for and worked hard to attain times alone.
     So what do I think of the huge trailer parked on the street in my daughter’s neighborhood? Lots of work before getting on the road; it can’t be simple to drive the thing; expensive to purchase, maintain, and fill with gas. Not my idea of solitude, but I understand the sentiment.
     For me, solitude is connected to simplicity--simple to slip into, like my Angel Room. I walk through the door and sit down.