Saturday Was Earth Day

Here's a peace bumper sticker. Saturday was Earth Day. It was also "Clean and Green Day" in London. It rained during the night and the morning was overcast - perfect for working outdoors.

I met up with people from the River Forks neighborhood association, got bags and gloves and spent the first two hours of the morning picking up litter on our street between our house and the pedestrian bridge.

After two hours my back was hurting from bending over and picking up garbage. I could not believe I am so out of shape. I went home, took two extra strength aspirin and went out again. So much for paying attention to the body.

I picked up more cigarette butts than anything. The result however is that piles of unsightly garbage - the wet overflow from dumped garbage cans - is gone. The street just looked beautiful in the afternoon. It was warm and glorious with the flowers all starting to bloom, the grass fresh and green after the night of rain and the trees in various stages of budding.

During the last hour I went down to the Thames itself, on the other side of the pedestrian bridge and down in the park to the dock where we feed the ducks bread.

To my delight, the great mound of trash had been cleaned out from a hollowed part of the retaining wall by the dock. But there was all sorts of old garbage still in the water, washed up in the shallows.

I went beneath the dock, since the water was low, and dredged up all sorts of awful muck. Amazing the number of old rotting garments I pulled out of the mud, including the stray sock. It was heavy, smelly, muddy stuff. Also pulled out a bunch of old plastic bags half buried in the rocks, yards of goopy tangled fishing line, a fish hook and lots of broken glass from bottles. There was the occasional smashed aluminum can, weird things like "plastic burlap" bags that had filled with mud and - the thing that was heaviest and most atrocious - an old rusted out chair that had been sticking out by the dock for the last year.

I had to wade in and get my sneakers completely wet and smelly to get that little piece of hideousness, but I did it.

By then I was tired and it was really hard carrying all this heavy sodden crap - that I had put in various plastic bags except for the chair - up the stairs. My last energy was spent hauling the bags to the closest of the 55 gallon garbage cans in the park. It was not close, but I did not feel right about just dumping those dripping bags - and the chair - on the sidewalk and assuming they would eventually be picked up.

I fairly limped back up and over the bridge and down to Sylvia & Kevin's place for our pizza lunch break. One piece of onion and feta pizza and a glass of water and a sit and then it was time to head down to the park for tree and shrub planting as part of "Reforest London."

I had to go home and change into shorts. The sun had come out - it was a spectacularly beautiful afternoon like early summer - and I was miserable in long jeans and my sweatshirt.

Came back and worked with a whole group of people planting until 3:30, then I just had to go home. I was so achey and tired. I kept thinking it was hard to believe that, at one time, I worked a 12-hour day doing physical labor. I couldn't make 6 hours of it on Saturday and during half of that I was less than energetic. I have really allowed my physical strength and stamina to deteriorate. It's staggering how old and out of shape I've become without realizing it. What this tells me is I need to change. I need to get a bicycle, start bicycling and also start working in the yard. If I don't get some of my strength back now, I will be a creaking shell in another fifteen years when I'm seventy.

Now that thought gives me pause. Only fifteen years until I'm seventy.
Let's move to another topic.

I took out three books of Alice Munro's short stories. I have one more to finish reading in Runaway. I want to find out why her stories are so loved.

Started a short story of my own this afternoon. Began writing around twelve-thirty and didn't stop until six-thirty. Five words short - so far - of 2700 and the story isn't finished. It's taken on a life of its own and what I thought the characters were going to do, they haven't done. I may well have to start another, different story to tell what I originally meant to write.

I realized again today that I have so many stories I have meant to write. Most of them have something or other to do with my parents. It hit me that, because I was their only child and because I had no children to pass their stories to orally, if I don't write them down in some fashion their lives will be lost.

So today I decided that I will not die without committing my parents and their lives - or at least what I have always found striking about their lives - to paper.

It's no longer going to be writing about me or my perspective about them. It's going to be about them.

Tomorrow is drawing class and I haven't drawn anything today, but I want to. I want to put a couple of photos up here before I log off. First is Hobbes asleep.

Hobbes, by the way, is throwing up. I think he ate the dead bumble bee that I saw on the floor in the basement because it's gone. I know he ate some of my flowers because there were telltale petals on the table and chewed up fern on the floor.

As a result he can't keep any food down. He's been throwing up all day. I'm hoping he'll get over it. If he doesn't, he'll get dehydrated, weak and die. If he's still throwing up tomorrow, I will have to get him in to be seen by the vet and ask Nicole if she can take us since Angus is in Florida and left the car parked at Ray's en route. I've lost too many animals, including poor little Marlowe who never was going to live. I cannot lose Hobbes also.


Beautiful, round and roly-poly Hobbes asleep in a chair.

Warmer And Rainy Today

It's rainy and warm in Southern Ontario.

Had my hair done today. Here's a photo of Najee, my hairdresser. He's a great guy. We talk about everything - including religion and politics - when I'm there.



Put on my long olive colored raincoat - the one I wore when a woman in Paris stopped me and asked me where I got it - it looks bohemian I think. Took the umbrella I love - it's covered with the scenes from a famous picture in which people on a rainy Paris street walk under umbrellas, but I really didn't need it. The downpour didn't start until I was in the shop!

A light rain was falling when I came out after my appointment. Bought 12 grain bread at the Wortley bakery, kitty chow from Dr. Doo's and decided to stop at the new coffee shop, Synergy. Once inside, the rain began again in earnest.

Nursed a cappucino while reading most of Arthur Millers The Crucible as it poured outside. I was quite absorbed for well over an hour - with no desire to leave - and, without trying, tuned out the conversations that came and went. I was nearly finished when a trio of women - and I am sure none of them have ever tried to run a business - came in and immediately started criticizing the Little Red Roaster. They really were unbelievable. I found I could not listen to them - they were so negative, ignorant and petty. They made me want to write a wicked parody about them.

But no matter - by that time the rain had stopped. I didn't need to put up my umbrella once on the way home.

Miller wrote that play during the ungodly witch hunt in the U.S. that ruined so many people in the 50's. He was very smart to allow his audience to see the similarities between the abominable Salem witchcraft trials and the search for "communists" in his day without ever mentioning it. People, I'm sure, could see the parallels quite clearly without having them pointed out.

Back home, while cooking dinner, I looked through my kitchen window and saw that the heavens had opened. Ah, how fortunate I was. Believe me, I thanked God that I had not found myself trying to manage walking with a ten pound bag of cat food, a bulky loaf of homemade bread and an umbrella in driving rain.

Fixed a macaroni and cheese dish. Such a cozy smell; so nice to have the oven on. The fresh bread was heavenly with butter. Angus and I played cribbage after dinner, over cups of steaming tea.

I meant to draw - to practice. I was so good last week about drawing every day - but I felt too tired to concentrate. (I'm taking a drawing class so I will be better able to help Jo-ann in creating our peace project.)

I wound up doing a crossword puzzle (I told myself it was good for my brain, although it really was a waste of time) then lay down in bed under a blanket and just rested. Now I've gone through e-mail, read all the news, uploaded an image for CafePress and realized what I was doing wrong in trying to get a transparent background to look right against a black shirt sample.

Here are two of the designs I've been working on:




Tomorrow I must tackle my taxes. I've procrastinated enough. When they're done, then my mind will be freed to begin serious work on the project.

Let's see what Rilke has for us tonight from his Book of Hours: Love Poems To God:

Extinguish my eyes, I'll go on seeing you.
Seal my ears, I'll go on hearing you.
And without feet I can make my way to you,
without a mouth I can swear your name.

Break off my arms, I'll take hold of you
with my heart as with a hand.
Stop my heart, and my brain will start to beat.
And if you consume my brain with fire,
I'll feel you burn in every drop of my blood.

Chosen at random, that is one of my favorites.

Rilke, I'm convinced, must have felt God's presence very strongly. He was so in love, so reverent and on such intimate terms with the One.

Another thought: I felt so ungracious toward those women today. I could not believe how I wanted to chastise them and ask them: have you ever tried to run a business? How dare you want people to slave for you for nothing?

For they begrudged paying three bucks to the Red Roaster for a sandwich. They had no concept that the Roaster has to pay for rent, wages, insurance, power, etc. and that all that must be included as a percentage of that sandwich. After ten minutes of their petty bitching, I could stand it no longer. I had to leave or call them on it.

But if I had said anything about this, I would, no doubt, have begun a rant next on all the Chinese workers who slave away making things for us in the Western world for peanuts. Workers don't even get a day off. They work 13 hours a day, 7 days a week. That's 91 hours per week. There are no sick days, no over time, no workers' compensation. They get maybe 40 cents an hour - and some get much less - and can never get ahead. When they get too tired or sick to keep up their speed of production, they're fired.

I think the ignorance and selfishness of most consumers in the West is obscene. We can't go on using other people and trying to get something for nothing forever. It must catch up with us sooner or later. Everyone deserves a living wage. No one should work for starvation wages or have to put up with an ungrateful public that forever wants to pay less and less, with cost as its only concern.

What ever happened to caring about others, of wanting to see them do well, of being willing to pay a fair price for a fair day's work, of being grateful to those who provide us with the wonderful and amazing and beautiful things that fill our lives? For instance, a tasty sandwich and a good cup of coffee can lift the spirit and allow one to do things with energy and good humor. Have it in a cozy coffee shop and it's such a treat.

Well, someone made that bread and what's in the sandwich. Someone grew the food and the coffee. Someone made the table and the chair you sit at. People made it all and yet we take all that work - all that life's energy expended for our pleasure - for granted.

I suppose I should pity those women more than anything. They know the cost of everything, yet the value of nothing. My impression was that they have nothing in their lives to talk about except their outrage over the fact that they had to ask in order to get a pickle with their sandwich.

They are, evidently, unaware that most people don't eat their pickles and, for a restaurant, putting pickles on every plate is a waste. So they were offended that they had to ask! I suppose I should be laughing, it's so absurd. God forbid they should live in Dafur and have someone chase them with a machete. Imagine how offended they would be then!

I wonder if they have even heard of Dafur? They struck me as such empty-headed and bored and - dare I say it? - useless people. This, in turn, has made them unhappy and discontent people. They aren't grateful for their experiences because they don't enjoy them. Perhaps they are all just very lonely and cannot enjoy anything.

Of course the irony of my wasting so much time and energy on them is not lost on me. Perhaps the lesson for me is to face down the fact that I really don't have much compassion for the well-fed, but only for those who suffer deprivation. Yet I read what felt like a reminder from God afterwards to "be kinder to others than you have to" because "everyone is standing in some fire."

So I'm glad I did not lose my temper and speak sharply to those women. Obviously some real fear that I live a petty, worthless life was activated - for we always project upon others the dislikes and fears we have in regard to ourselves. And that is the real issue.

Free Lewis?

[Image found at: Free Lewis]

The story of Lewis, the kitty "imprisoned" in his home as a menace, has made national news and "Free Lewis" sentiment appears to be in the air.

Yet I can't help wonder why the public doesn't react to real injustice as fast. There are people unjustly imprisoned, tortured and dying as I write this, but so few people seem to care. Is it because people don't know? Or because they really don't like themselves, don't like their own species and would rather save a cat than a human being?

Yet, as Mark Konrad, the founder of Global Importune states, "If you're silent about injustice, you're giving consent to it."

Other than donating to Amnesty International, I haven't known what to do about the terrible injustices around the world. Now I've found that I can make a little start. Global Importune has been a painless way to get involved that requires, at most, about five minutes of my time each month.

Each month Mark selects a political prisoner from a list assembled by Amnesty International. Then he writes a letter on behalf of that prisoner. Mark then mails copies to more than 400 Global Importune members scattered throughout the U.S. and Canada. Each member is asked to sign and date his or her letter and return it in the postage paid envelope. When he receives them back, Mark forwards the letters en mass to the government leader or ambassador of the offending nation.

When writers and peace workers, members of opposition parties, bloggers and whistleblowers are thrown in jail, governments count on no one caring. But when a national leader receives a bag full of mail from strangers who say: we know you have this person and we are watching what you are doing with him, it not only gives that leader pause but often leads to release.

No leader - no matter how dreadful - wants to be embarrassed or wants attention called to his wrongdoings.

As a result of Mark's work - and those who sign these important letters - more than 200 political prisoners have been released around the world.

Mark also sends out letters in support of legislation that remedies injustice. Here's an example from this month that I signed and returned to him:

His Excellency Asiwaju Bola Ahmed Tinubu
State Governor
The Round House secretariat
Alausa, Ikeja
Lagos, Nigeria

Dear Governor,

I welcome the current discussion of a "Domestic Violence and Other Related Matters Bill" by the Lagos House of Assembly.

In Nigeria, women suffer from violence in the family: they get 'punished' for supposed transgressions and are beaten, raped or murdered.

If the Bill is passed, it will help to protect those women who face violence in the family.

The government of Lagos State, along with the federal government of Nigeria, has an obligation under international human rights law to prevent violence against women and to assist women in escaping violence. Perpetrators must be prosecuted, and victims of violence given full support.

As the Governor of Lagos State, you have the power to make a difference for these women.

I urgently ask you to voice your support for the "Domestic Violence and Other Related Matters Bill" and undertake a thorough public education campaign on this issue. I urge you to publicly condemn violence against women: say it is never normal, legal or acceptable and that it is a human rights abuse.

I thank you for your attention to this important matter and anxiously await your reply.

Sincerely,

As Martin Luther King stated: "Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere."

I urge you to contact Mark today and get on his mailing list. Your signature can mean freedom from rape as punishment for third world women. Your signature can mean release for a person languishing in jail for no good reason except that he or she is for peace, told the truth or was working for justice.

Mark can be contacted at: globalimportune@sympatico.ca and his website is www.globalimportune.org.
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He hath sent me to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives, and the opening of the prison to them that are bound. Isaiah 61:1