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!!

Let's Start At the Very Beginning

A week ago today, I set off on my Grand Adventure/Experiment Car Camino! After driving over 2000 miles I kicked off the inaugural All Souls on the road with a service in front of First Parish Church in Plymouth, MA. This congregation has actually been around since 1606  when it met secretly at William Brewster’s manor house in Scrooby, England (which led to the song, Scrooby Dooby Doo, where are you? But I digress.)

It was a great success! It was not only fun, but meaningful to speak about the power of covenant while standing in front of the church who made the first covenantal agreement on how to be church and how to be with each other. It was truly amazing to think of the power of a promise. The current minister of First Parish Church, told me that a couple of years ago the congregation gave its historic Meeetinghouse to the General Society of Mayflower Descendants. The building was plagued with decades of deferred maintenance and GSMD had the ability to do a national fundraising campaign to restore the building and open it as a visitor's center. The sanctuary will still be available as a Sunday worship space for First Parish in perpetuity. Of course, they’re currently doing Zoom like we are, but it’s nice to know that for all times, the promise will be kept in this location.

For more information about this church, you can check out the history on the church’s website here or on the Mayflower Society’s website. 

Following the service, and ensuing Board of Trustees meeting, I made my way to a campground outside of Provincetown, MA where Rubi and I stayed for two nights so that we could explore P-

Town, an old favorite haunt of mine. During this time, I re-sorted my supplies and managed to get rid of two collapsible bins I had been using to store non-perishable foods and cooking supplies. The reality is that my Jeep Cherokee is not the largest SUV on the block and I’m trying to make the sleeping arrangement as comfortable as can be for Rubi and me. If it were just me, I’d be fine, but the two of us together makes it a little cramped for my long-legged dog. I’m already worrying about how Wham! is going to fit in! What I really need is a camper-van or at least a big Econoline-type van. Let me know if you hear of anything! 

Beyond the unknown elements of simply driving so far, I have been learning things along the way. During the second night at the campsite it rained pretty much continuously. That made for a peaceful sleep, but I was concerned about my screen tent; the directions said quite clearly that it were the least bit damp, not to pack it in its bag. Sure enough, when I awoke the next morning, there were heavy diamonds of dew decorating the roof, sides, and poles like a bedazzler fanatic had gone wild in the night. To make matters worse, leaves were plastered onto the six paneled roof. 

I kept an eye on the tent while sort and packing up everything else. A quick look at the sky showed me that there were be no burst of sunshine to brighten the day and dry off the tent; it was foggy and misty and with every gust of wind, more leaves joined the party on the roof. 

Finally, it was the only thing left to pack. I was flummoxed. I tried shaking the sides of the tent but the leaves remained glued to the top. I tried wiping down the poles and side and ended up with a soggy towel, but a still soggier tent. What was a non-camping grrl to do? I stood there running through my options: stay until the sun came out which, according to my weather app wouldn’t be until Friday; sneak away and leave the tent—absolutely not! ……crickets….. 

Then an inspiration struck me! I remembered a friend had given me a high-powered windshield scraper just before I left; it was hefty. Not only did it have a rotatable brush on the end opposite the scraper, it also could extend to 50 inches! I grabbed that, extended it as far as it would go, and then used the brush to sweep off most of the leaves. The more recalcitrant ones faced the inexorable pull of the scraper blade. In spite of the wind trying to resist my efforts with more partiers parachuting onto the roof of the tent while I was cleaning it, I soon had a leaf-free tent. It was still damp so I put the tent bag in the back of Jeep and laid the loosely folded tent on that. Soon enough, I was driving merrily on my way. 

My first stop was in a small town to fuel up and grab some coffee and another gallon of water. The clerk told me that town had voted to take out all coffee and soda machines at gas stations and convenience stores. Then she decisively took my to go cup and said, “But I’m gonna cheat. Stay right here.” Soon she came back with my cup filled with steaming black coffee from the pot she kept in the back for herself. 

As I drove away, sipping on the fresh nectar of the gods, I mused about my inaugural experience. I was learning things about myself, I was adapting to the elements, I was creating solutions seemingly out of thin air. I sang along with Mary Chapin Carpenter, Something Tamed and Something Wild; who knows what other lessons I’ll learn along the way? So far I am the most inordinately proud of my leaf-clearing solution; this shows you what a sheltered life I’ve lived. 

 Now, a week after my nerveless beginning, I am in New York City, relaxing in an apartment a friend

generously invited me to use. She’s been working remotely from Chicago and so the Manhattan apartment was just sitting empty. It’s a beautiful two bedroom with gorgeous hardwood floors and beautiful artwork on the walls; I get to take a bath! 

And on Friday, Rubi and I will head out to points unknown on our way to Sunday’s destination—which is known. From leaf-sweeper to city dweller to figuring out where to stay en route to Sunday, this adventure has gotten off to an auspicious start. I have already been reminded that I have everything I need, that people are generally kind without agenda and that life’s journey is filled with diverse and beautiful way stations along the path. 

 Onward and upward.

Why Not?

 After my blog post yesterday, a couple of people from All Souls reminded me that I had said my phrase for 2020 was going to be, “Why not?” Not just for me, but for anyone who might approach me and say, “I’ve got this crazy idea to…” I warned them my response would be, “why not? How can I help you make that happen?”

One friend commented she was glad the pandemic hadn’t gotten in the way of that phrase.

Ironically, I had forgotten about that theme for 2020 I so cheerily sent out into the universe in the way, way back, long, long ago, January 2020 service where I voiced that phrase for the first time publicly.

And yet, that is exactly what I have been living into as I began this car camping (SUV RVing sounds so much more glamorous, doesn’t it? But it is such a long phrase; maybe I can shorten it to SUVRV. Well, not much difference.)

I was pondering how often we set intentions out into the universe and then forget about them and one day find out they have been busy becoming reality. Sometimes these are good things—like my “why not?” intention, but often times they’re debilitating like, “I’ll never get the raise, the girl, the time and money freedom; I’ll never be good enough, skilled enough, happy enough.”

We set those intentions out sometimes and then begin to unconsciously live into them. We forget the power of our words to form reality. Our words are more than phonemes; when we become hooked on phonics, it really can be an addiction—conscious or not—to perceiving our world through our words.

Why not? I said in the bright, sunny, pandemic-free days of the New Year, 2020. And those words winged their way into the future, not worrying about a coronavirus or social distancing or masks, or even death. And here I am, nine months later, seeing those two simple words boomeranging back into my world.

They are not a magical incantation, creating spaciousness and ease; they are merely harbingers of a future I am still living my way into.

What were the words you spoke into the new year? If you participated in All Souls Fire Communion that we do on the first Sunday of the new year, what words did you write to leave behind in 2019? What words, what intentions did you release into 2020?

What my friends reminded me of in their comments about my “why not?” mantra, is that we really do get to determine how we live our lives. We may not be able to determine what happens to us, to our nation, to our world; we may not get to demand a fool proof vaccine so that we can all cavort about mask free in sweaty, intimate closeness of a concert, or bar, or the more genteel surroundings of a theatre or theater, but we do get to speak our word into this reality and make it so.

Rubi and Nori's Excellent Adventure

 Just now I am sitting in the Slowter Room at the First UU Church of Columbus, OH. The Slowter Room sits off of the Worship Hall and is a comfortable room for people who, for whatever reason, can’t be in attendance in the Worship Hall. I am guessing nursing mothers or parents with small children. Of course, no one is in the Worship Hall on Sunday mornings now; First UU of Columbus, like All Souls, is zooming their worship services. They were, however, kind enough to let me camp out in their parking lot and use the facilities while I am here.

I have travelled almost 1300 miles in two days and have one more long stretch to go before I reach my Sunday destination. It has been an easy start, though; last night I stayed with my sister in Lawrence, KS and Rubi stayed with my niece and her dogs. Tonight, we are in a safe neighborhood in Columbus and tomorrow we will have another long day of driving, leaving only a little bit to go on Saturday.

I confess it feels a little surreal that I am actually doing this. As one friend remarked to me a couple of days ago, “You know when you sent me that blog post about SUV RVing and said you could totally do this, I didn’t think you actually would!”

Another friend texted, “Hey, I want you to know that I truly ADMIRE what you are doing with this little adventure of yours. It did not make sense to me at first, but then I realized it makes PERFECT sense. It’s YOU following your heart. I’ve not always been very good at that. I usually manage to talk myself out of my own adventures, big and small. Since facing my own mortality I aspire to live more authentically, more from my heart, and less from my (sometimes screwed up) head! You’ve inspired me to do this even more! So hey, keep me posted. Bon Voyage!”

Both of those comments made me realize that I have once again, taken on something big without bothering to think about the difficulties I might face. The other time I realized this was shortly before walking the Camino de Santiago in Northern Spain. After several people told me in admiring voices how brave I was, I began to think maybe I had bit off more than I could chew. But wasn’t it just walking??? Five hundred miles?

These types of exploits are certainly nothing I would have attempted in my younger years. Like my friend, I would have talked myself out of them, let fear make decisions for me rather than love; let my list of limitations hold me back, rather than leading with my dreams. Certainly, a benefit of growing older is that I am more confident in my own skin and in my own dreams. I do not fear failure—or worse, looking foolish--as much as I did when I was younger.

Still, as I logged the miles over the past two days, I sometimes wondered aloud at what I was doing and why.  It is not like I was ever the camping, hiking, peeing in the woods kind of lesbian, even when I was younger. And now here I am, age 58, embarking on this great unknown journey. And I confess, more than once, I have asked myself, why??

The answer to that question, I have come to realize, is why not? Why should we let a pandemic limit our horizon? Why should we let social distancing keep us from the wonders of this world? Why should I let the fact that there is no place to blow dry my hair into its proper volume and height keep me from expanding my vista?

Of course, I will be very careful, wearing masks, using hand sanitizer and washing my hands frequently. But more importantly, I will be choosing to live life out loud, presenting a wider vista for All Souls on Sundays, and connecting my words with the landscape of our nation.

I have no idea how this will turn out—it’s a Grand Experiment!—but already I know that when I risk my comfort and sense of safety to meet the world head on, I will learn some new things about myself, my world, and my sense of place.

How does where I am impact who I am, my sense of self, my sense of safety? Each of us has a comfort zone or bubble or context in which we live and move and have our being. We orient ourselves to our place like a pin marking where our car is parked on a handy smart phone app. We navigate our lives by these familiar mile markers. What happens when that familiarity is gone and in its place are unfamiliar   markers with no known context?

And how does Place impact what I speak about on Sunday? My goal is to preach from places that are connected with the Sunday service theme. What will that look and feel like for me? For those who tune in to All Souls Sunday service?

These are things we will discover over the course of the next several weeks. I look forward to being on this journey with each of you, this Grand Experiment that will have ramifications for each of us who choose to join in.