Home Again, Home Again, Jiggity-Jig!

After 20 days and 5651.9 miles, Rubi and I arrived home on October 12. During that time, we traveled through 16 states, and I preached the Sunday service from three different, auspicious locations. 

In my blog explaining what I was doing and why I said I would be curious about how I experienced my sense of place. Would preaching on the go feeling disorienting or centering? Would it really make a difference speaking from different locations? Would the All Souls community feel empowered by this exercise or would it be more of a bleh experience?

From my own perspective, the sense of place and how it related to the service theme was an immensely powerful experience. It is one thing to talk about how we are people of the covenant, but quite another to stand in front of the church where are religious forbears first pledged that covenant over 350 years ago.

It’s not unusual for me to speak about Black Lives Matter, racial inequity, and the need for us, as Unitarian Universalists, to make our voices heard and actions felt in the world; it’s quite a unique experience to speak to that in front of a giant shrine to Breonna Taylor, in Jefferson Square, Louisville, KY. That would have been powerful enough but was made even more so when Breonna’s mom, Tamika Palmer joined our Zoom worship to thank us for continuing to “say her name” and speak up for justice.

Speaking about the genocide and forced displacement of the indigenous nations took on more gravitas, when speaking from Tonkawa, OK, a town named after that tribe, forcibly removed from their native lands near Austin, TX via the Trail of Tears.

I heard from many of you that by my being in those different places, the service touched you in deeper and more meaningful ways than it might have, if I had just been sitting in my dining room, wearing my comfy slippers.

The other sense of place I was acutely aware of, was my living space. My 2017 Jeep Cherokee was a reliable companion, but it was short on space. When I first read the blog of the solo woman SUV RVer who inspired me to embark on this journey, I did not realize how much difference having a dog along would affect the perceived roominess of the vehicle. Still, Rubi and I soldiered on and survived.
I also learned by trial and error and would pack differently if we were heading out in the Jeep again. Now, however, I am the proud owner of a 2000 Toyota Sienna minivan donated by Mark Arnest. It is so much roomier.  I cannot wait to set out on the open road with Rubi and Wham! along for the ride.

I plan to hit the road again on Wednesday, October 28^th. This time I will be out for twice as long, crisscrossing the country for 7-8 Sundays before returning home for a holiday vacation. I’m not sure what else awaits us on this ministry Camino, but I do believe there is power is amplifying the voice and impact of All Souls so that we feel we are one with all people and all people are one with us.

And, I will feel your presence with me as I travel; your blessings and prayers, your well wishes, and generosity. Thank you for being on this journey with me.

 

Side Trips

 After finishing with the protest outside Mitch McConnell’s office in Lexington, KY, I had some down time, as I could easily reach my next preaching location in just a couple days' drive.

I was struck with an idea: Ever since obtaining Rubi from a friend, I had been a part of a Facebook messaging group called “Parents of the Pups of Sanctuary.” Rubi and her six siblings were born to a golden retriever who belonged to friends of mine. They live on a retreat center outside of Austin, TX called Sanctuary in the Woods. The Sanctuary is run by two ministers and their spouses. I have been friends with them for many years. It’s not surprising that of the six pups who went to different homes, four of them are now preacher’s pups and I know these ministers, too, all from my former denomination, MCC.

I wondered if any of them lived within my “flight pattern” so I posted that question in our fb messaging group. To my delight, one couple, Jane and Gay, were so close I would have virtually tripped over them on the way to my next preaching destination. They graciously invited me to spend a night with them (in their 5^th wheel parked outside.)

We were all excited to see how Rubi Yellow and Aspen Orange would get along. Would they remember one another? Aspen and Shiloh, the grand canine dame of the house, met us at the door. There was much wagging of tails and what my niece’s husband calls, a “firm handshake” (aka butt-sniffing) but no obvious recognition on the part of the two golden doodles. Nonetheless, it was wonderful to see them together, to compare notes and to watch them play.

Equally wonderful was spending time with Jane and Gay. Jane had been an MCC minister and I had been a part of her formation process not too long before I left the denomination as I continued the UU turn that I had begun years earlier. We laughed and cried as we shared our lives with one another—the unexpected sorrows as well as the abundance of joy. They fed me steak for dinner, eggs and sausage for breakfast and, just before I hit the road, Jane made me a brown bag lunch to take with me.

I felt so cared for by these two women; I was glad I had put out the call to the parents of the pups of Sanctuary.

As I left their house, I realized I had three days to get to my next destination which was only 16 hours away. I had not planned any stops, so I just punched my final destination into my Jeep’s NAV system and asked the Universe to drop me where I needed to land for the night.

About 2.5 hours later, I decided to find a dog park for Rubi to stretch her legs in and for me to enjoy my homemade lunch. It was just after 11, but I had eaten breakfast at 7 and decided an early lunch would set me up for a nice, long stretch of driving. Tapping the button on my steering wheel that summoned Siri I asked her if there were any dog parks nearby.  She answered that the closest one was about seventeen miles away, ten more miles down the freeway, then about seven miles off route. I didn’t mind the delay; as I said, I had nowhere I needed to be that night, so I took the exit and made the turn to find this dog park.

As I was driving, I realized I was right on the front porch of Dollywood! DOLLYWOOD!!!!!! The Dolly Parton theme park. I texted a friend this exciting news and said I am definitely going! At the dog park, which was a lovely lot of green grass with some shade trees, I struck up a conversation with a woman who was also visiting. She said she and her wife were season ticket holders of Dollywood and had come down from Pittsburgh to visit. She added that on that day the park was closed, for deep cleaning, but that it would be open the following the day.

I made some quick calculations in my head: I still had a 14-hour drive and two days to complete it. I could get to the park right when it opened at 10 AM the following day, spend an hour or so there, and then hit the road. I wasn’t interested in riding the rides, or even sitting in outdoor venues listening to bands; I really just wanted to stroll around and soak up the ambience.

Some quick checking on my compendium app showed a campsite by the Douglas Dam Waterhead that was run by the Tennessee Valley Authority. There was a nominal fee. I nabbed one of the last spots and headed over.

It was a gorgeous camp site; I was close to the water, the site itself had a shady spot for me to set up my screen tent and a picnic table, along with a fire pit. Rubi and I walked along the water’s edge; there

were kayakers and paddle boarders on the water, and, dotted along the shore, people fishing. I was sad I couldn’t stay longer. I would have rented a kayak and taken to the water, myself if I could.

That night, I sat in my cozy (aka) cramped car quarters and participated in the Self Expression and Leadership class I have been doing since mid-July; Rubi laid next to me. The back windows were rolled down but the mesh screen coverings I had over the windows both protected us from bugs and gave us privacy. After the meeting, Rubi and I both slept soundly.

In the morning, I awoke, decided to wait for coffee and got to work tearing down camp, after taking Rubi for a quick constitutional on the neatly mowed grass lawn about 100 yards from our campsite. Soon, we were all packed up and headed for Dollywood.

The seasoned Dollywooder I had spoken to at the dog park the day before had advised me to get my tickets online; since they were running at half capacity due to Covid-19 precautions, the tickets were selling out fast. I had tried to do just that the previous afternoon but there was a notice on the sales site saying that the online tickers were sold out. There were, however, a moderate amount of tickets available for sale at the gate.

I had determined to get there before the park opened to assure that I got one of the coveted tickets, but, alas, after creeping through the multi-lanes of traffic to get to the parking lot I was informed that, even at that early hour, all the tickets were sold; evidently others had gotten there even earlier than me. I asked if there was a place where I could buy souvenirs and was directed to the massive white hotel that also bore Dolly’s name. I stopped off there and picked up a few items and snapped a few photos, then headed to the car. There was one more AMAZING place that I had noticed on the way in where I was sure I could get service: a Krispy Kreme doughnut store. KRISPY KREME!!!!!

I was so excited!!! I went through the drive thru, got two of their classic glazed doughnuts and a cup of joe, and was soon on my way.

I wasn’t disappointed I had not made it into Dollywood, instead I reflected on how, just a couple of years ago I wouldn’t have gone on either of these side trips.

I would have told myself that none of the other pup parents would be interested in seeing me and I wouldn’t want to be a bother. If I had gone, I would have turned down the offer of the homemade lunch, again, not wanting to be an imposition. I definitely would not have stayed over in Sevierville, TN on the off chance I MIGHT get into Dollywood. I would have played it safe and drove on; and a small part of me would have regretted that.

These days, I am recognizing more and more that the journey more important than the destination, that side trips are where some of the most profound insights occur. “I care less about arriving,” as Mary Chapin Carpenter sings in her song, Something Tamed and Something Wild, “and just being in the path of some light carved out of nothing, and the way it feels when the Universe has smiled.”

Our lives, after all, are not meant to be a single line between the point A of birth and the point B of death; they’re meant to resemble that old Family Circus cartoon that shows little Billy zig-zagging all over the house as he sets off to accomplish a small, single task. That final destination awaits us all; why not make the most of it until we arrive? Love Every Moment.

 

Baby, You Can Drive My Van

 Tonight, Rubi and I are camping in Cherokee, NC. This is the gateway (on the North Carolina side, anyway; there’s also a gateway in Gatlinburg, TN) to the Great Smoky Mountains National Park. I wanted to make a side trip here because this is the prime week when the Monarch butterflies rest here for several days before continuing their journey which will ultimately end in Pacifica, CA where they will winter.

I have been to their wintering grounds in CA (and wrote about that here) but was thrilled to know that I could see them earlier in their annual journey as well.

For the past several nights, Rubi and I have been spoiled, staying first in an apartment in Manhattan, NY next to Columbia University and then in cheap motels where dogs and internet access are free!

However, aside from tomorrow night, when we will travel to Hendersonville, NC to stay with one of Rubi’s sisters, Aspen (and her moms, Jane and Gay) we will be car camping for the rest of this inaugural trip, until we arrive back in Colorado Springs on Monday, the 12^th.

Still, the last time we camped, it was outside of Provincetown, MA. You may recall, my ten faithful readers, that I had a dilemma regarding a very damp, leaf-covered screen tent that I needed to pack away. I was finally able to solve the problem but had to throw the tent into the back of my Jeep Cherokee, not packed in its bag so it could dry.

So, yesterday, before I left Louisville to go to Lexington for a protest at Mitch McConnell’s office, I found an out of the way area where I could finally get things back in order. I spent an hour and a half, emptying everything out of my vehicle, getting rid of trash, re-organizing everything and finally putting the tent back inside of its bag and on to the roof of my Jeep.

This made the trip so much better for Rubi, who had been contending with the loose tent flopping into her traveling area. Still, as you can see we are pretty cramped when it comes time for sleeping!!!
A few days ago, in an earlier blog post, I had talked about the cramped quarters and asked folx to keep an eye out for a mini-van or something that would be more conducive to travel, especially when factoring in my cat, Wham!, joining us on the next part of my car camino.

Incredibly, the very next day, after not having read word one of my blog, our fabulous music director, Mark Arnest, emailed me saying that the one item left to be resolved from his mother’s estate was her 2000 Toyota Sienna mini-van. Could I think of someone who could use that?

Could I?????

Soon, the deal was sealed and when I return home next week, I will be taking possession of this

fabulous gem, with only 97,000 miles on it!!! How cool is that??
Now I need someone with carpentry skills to help me convert this into a true SUV-VAN RV. I’ve already found one blog where someone converted this particular mini-van and there are DIY blueprints of how to do it. I will be home for a couple of weeks before I hit the road again!

So, if you have any experience in this area or would like to donate to this next iteration of my car camino, ping me.

I love how the Universe provides when we ask.  Thanks, Mark!!!!

Onward and upward!

Whose Streets?

 I stayed two extra nights in Kentucky so that I could attend a #moralmonday protest outside the office of Mitch McConnell in Lexington. This was organized by the Poor People’s Campaign, led by Rev. Dr. William Barber. Dr. Barber, of course, took his cue from the original Poor People’s Campaign that Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King led in the 60s.

This was a powerful witness but vastly different than the other PPC events that I’ve done. For this one, we met, masked, and decorated our cars with signs; for the others, we met in person. I remember the feeling the energy of hundreds of people packed into a crowded church in Washington, DC, and El Paso, TX, listening to powerful speakers decry the injustice of the day and calling for our elected officials to do better, to end the racist policies that had children (still there) in cages and young, black men murdered needlessly by the police.

In the Washington, DC protest, after hearing all the speakers, we lined up, five people in a row, to march in total silence to the White House, where many of us were ready to risk arrest to make our case. The effect of the silence was deafening and profoundly moving. Several times, I had to blink away tears as I watched the passersby look at us wonderingly, reading the signs we held. I was on the end of my row and I would turn and show my sign wordlessly to whoever was there, attempting to make eye contact, signaling with all the force of my body the urgency of our cause.

In El Paso, in June, we started off the same but then we caravanned over to a detention facility, demanding, as faith leaders, to be able to minister to the needs of those incarcerated inside. It was over 100 degrees, but many had on the robes of their tradition. I wore a bright yellow stole that said Siding with Love, and my clerical collar to denote my status as a minister. We stood there, outside of the lock gates, close together; sweat was trickling down by brow and the back of my neck but I did not budge as we shouted out for justice.

Last July, when I came to Louisville for the #1000milesforBreonnaTaylor protest, we were a raucous, righteous crowd defiantly marching in the middle of the roads, chanting, “Whose streets? OUR STREETS!! Laying claim to the right for black and brown people to be able to walk or drive these streets without fear of being arrested or killed.

There is such power when bodies can come together, combing their energy and voices in protest. Standing with hundreds of others, I felt encouraged in the cause for justice. It was heartening to see people from so many different faith traditions, with very different beliefs, of all ages and genders, joining together for a common cause.

Yesterday, we met, masked and six feet apart to put signs on our vehicles with blue painter’s tape. We did have some conversation, but it was different, not being able to see the full faces of my fellow accomplices. Once the cars were decorated, we lined up and drove slowly around the office complex, our hazard lights blinking, each of us in the silence of our cars. I had been listening to Mary Chapin Carpenter, but that felt somehow off for the protest, so I paused her CD, Between the Dirt and the Stars, and just drove in silence, concentrating on sending out justice and mercy vibes to those in McConnell’s office and to those on the streets who saw our motorcade solemnly passing by.

After it was over, we just pulled over, pulled off the signs and drove away. There had been about 20 cars in our protest; I know similar people were doing the same at the senators’ offices in other states.

I was struck by how different I felt participating in that silent, powerful protest than I did on Friday. I pulled onto I-70 from Wheeling, NV, heading into Ohio on my way to Louisville, and almost

immediately was confronted by hundreds of vehicles going the opposite way, with huge Trump Flags and signs, many also with the American flag featured. These vehicles were snarling the eastbound traffic, going much slower than the posted speed limit of 65, taking over the middle lane. As I drove past them, grateful I was going the opposite direction, I was also disgusted by their behavior. A couple of the Trumpsters were in the break down lane, the hood of their trucks up, as they peered inside. I passed one major fender bender between two Trump supports; that caused the traffic that had been crawling along to come to a complete standstill for several miles. After a time, I did come across some going the same direction as I was, though not nearly as many.

I wanted to show my ire for both their politics and their motorcade but my only noticeable action---flipping them off—felt juvenile. So, I just rolled my eyes to myself as I pass them by.

Yet, they were just doing what I was doing yesterday: showing their allegiances with a motorcade.

I couldn’t help but wonder, allegiance to what? What is it in their psyches that makes them align so closely with Trump? What neglected, gaping maw in their souls has been so filled with the rhetoric of exclusion, hate, divisiveness and arrogant disregard for science? These were not cheap vehicles; they were mainly large, expensive trucks with older white people in them.

Their tactics may have been similar to the protest I participate in yesterday, but the reasons could not be more different. I participated in a protest that demanded the end of inequality and injustice. The Poor People’s Campaign speaks out for the marginalized, the forgotten, the oppressed.

I’m actually not sure why the Trumpers were parading. The only thing they had been deprived of under the previous administration was the notion that they were special.

 Still, it's their right to gather, just as it is mine. Today, as I leave for points unknown, I feel even more determined to gather for justice, to reclaim the streets for all.

 

Holy Ground

 

 Yesterday was such a moving and powerful day. I arrived in Louisville, KY on Saturday in preparation for the Sunday service. I unwittingly gave away my location by checking in at a restaurant on Saturday to show off how adorable Rubi is! But that was okay because I knew the exact location would remain a surprise.

I spoke from Jefferson Square, a small park across the street from a row of courthouses that has been Ground Zero for the Breonna Taylor protests. I wanted All Souls to see the power of this place; it is hallowed ground, made sacred by the tears and sorrow, anger and determination, pride and relentless love of those who now occupy this land.

There is always some activity happening at the Square. When I arrived at a little before noon, a man others referred to as Papa was setting up the shade awning and putting out snacks and masks on a table in the center. There were also several ice chests with cold water for anyone that asked. On the corner of the block, three folx staffed tables that had a wide variety of t-shirts, hoodies, masks, and bumper stickers for sale, all proclaiming a message of justice.

Behind the table were tents, populated by folx experiencing homelessness who took it upon themselves to watch over the shrine of remembrance dedicated to Breonna Taylor, making sure to keep it safe from the elements or from anyone wishing to vandalize it.

The shrine has grown since I was here in late July; people have come from around the country to pay homage to the untimely death, the senseless murder of Breonna Taylor. There are signs, candles, flowers, living plants. Volunteers keep it tidy, honoring the sacredness of these offerings. When it looks like rain or high winds are headed in, it is covered with a large tarp to protect it. While I was there, someone was watering all the living plants while another volunteer canvassed the park picking up litter and debris.

I started my sermon by saying: Today I am standing in a place of witness,  a place of protest, a place of

power, a place of memory, a place of action, a place of sorrow, a place of love. I went on to speak of how not only do the supports of justice for Breonna Taylor focus on getting justice for her murder, but they also open their hearts and resources to the folx populating the park who are unhoused. They have formed a community of black and white, housed and unhoused, young and old. People from a variety of faith traditions gather there to pray, offer communion, join in rallies and marches.

Even the barricading of the streets by the city of Louisville hasn’t stopped people from making their way to this hallowed ground. When I was there on Saturday for the Zoom worship rehearsal, I met a woman who had travelled from Ohio to take part in a rally. She noted it was difficult to get to, due to the huge concrete barriers, but she was determined to make it there.

Of course, the most sacred moment happened during the Sunday service, when I realized that Breonna Taylor’s mom, Tamika Palmer was there. She was just sitting on a ledge a few feet away from me. People would come up to express their condolences and to say Breonna’s name.

During the offertory song, while I was muted on Zoom, I went over to share my sorrow at her loss and asked if she would be willing to say a few words to All Souls on Zoom. She graciously agreed; it was such a powerful, moving moment. In that instant, it brought home to me how what we do as individuals and as a community of faith really matters. We touch lives thousands of miles away with our words, our actions, our determination to be the change we seek.

I couldn’t have known I would have the opportunity to meet Tamika Palmer, I just knew I had to speak from the hallowed ground of Jefferson Square and share that window of justice with you. We never know what sacred space we will find when we walk out of our door. I am reminded of the story of Moses, in the Hebrew scriptures, out for a walk, when he sees a bush that burned but was not consumed and went over to examine it only to discover he had crossed over to another plane of existence, one of unending grace and power and divinity. “Take off your shoes, Moses,” the voice of the Holy said, “You’re standing on holy ground.”

There in Jefferson Square, listening to Tamika Palmer address All Souls, with the shrine of remembrance to her daughter in the background, I felt crossed over; I was in a place of unending grace and power and divinity. I was on holy ground.

 

Tomorrow is Another Day

 I am currently in Wheeling, WV, after spending three lovely days and nights in New York City. NYC is one of my favorite places in the world; I come alive in a different way there. Driving there, I knew the trip would be different and I was curious as to how it would be. 

For starters, I stayed in a neighborhood next to Columbia University rather than a hotel near the theatre district. There was no 24/7 hustle and bustle, no glittering lights of Times Square, and while I am sure there were subway stations nearby, I had zero interest in riding them during this pandemic.

Every other time I’ve been to NYC, I have gone to at least two Broadway shows and that was something else that wasn’t even a possibility, sadly. I felt is as such a sense of loss for both –not merely

for me, but for the theatre industry; the people whose livelihoods touch our lives so profoundly. I wondered how they were faring and felt hopeful that at least the writers were still able to vent their creativity—after all, Shakespeare produced a couple of his most memorable plays during the Black Plague!

Instead of riding the subway, going to the main branch of the New York Public Library and eating Nathan hotdogs, I stayed in the neighborhood. There was a dog run right across the street from us in Morningside Park and so that’s where Rubi and I began and ended each day. After her morning meet

and greet with the other dogs there, we would walk the neighborhood, setting out in a different direction each morning. Because New York is on eastern time, we could have a long and leisurely stroll before the day’s meetings began! Of course, that also meant the evenings could stretch out longer with meetings that normally ended at 9 PM, ending at 11! But I adapted.

Driving to Louisville, was like being in a series of Monet autumn paintings; I had heard that the fall foliage on the east coast was stunning but I was not prepared for the beauty of it. Massachusetts, Connecticut, Ohio were all lovely, but it was Pennsylvania who won the crown for Miss Autumn 2020. The reds and oranges and golds all crowded forward as if wanting to make sure I took in all their glory—not vainly, but generously, as if understanding how much I needed the magnificent tonic their presence offered.

To help out, the sun sent diffuse spotlights through the clouds, highlighting the more outstanding examples before mirroring them back herself, as set in a blaze of colors beyond the horizon.

It was a feast for the senses; I was grateful.

Once I landed in Wheeling, the goal was to stay in a parking lot of a casino, back to the car-camping extravaganza. I pulled in, late, around 830 PM and opened up the back of the Cherokee only to be met by the flailed, now dry wings of the screen tent that I had popped in to dry so long ago, on Tuesday. I had no desire to try to create a comfy sleep space for Rubi and me, and it wasn’t going to happen on its own, so I stayed in a cheap, pet-friendly motel.

The day had gone so smoothly, and for some reason, it was a bit of an odyssey, just making this one small change of plans happen! Still, I am now happily ensconced in a real bed, again; a reprieve from the car-camping once more! Tomorrow will also be a hotel night, as I decided to stay in a Motel 6 or its local, pet-friendly equivalent on Saturday nights to make sure my tech is all charged up and ready for Sunday service. But next week holds plenty of car-camping for me. I’m eager to experiment to see if I continue to reduce the clutter and make it comfier for Rubi and me. Onward and upward!!