All Saints' Day Prayer

This Saturday evening is All Hallows Eve, and Sunday is All Saints' Day. For me, it marks a time of reflection when I remember all the "saints" who have crossed my paths in life, all the people who have made an impact (transformative if not positive) sometime during the 30 years I've been on this earth.

For a beautiful prayer for All Saints's Day/All Hallows Eve, visit the GBOD website.

As part of the prayer, we are invited to call out the names of the saints from our families and communities.

On this Day of the Saints,* let us give honor to those who built our families, who sacrificed for our well-being, who built up our church, who founded institutions of learning, who braved the storm, who fought the good fight and who may still be fighting on. We stand on their shoulders!

Are there saints who have transformed your life in the service of God? Are there saints who are warriors of peace, justice, liberation? Are there saints whom you should name and lift up for having transformed your faith?

"Face First in the Tackle Box": A Night with Garrison Keillor

Garrison Keillor in real life is just as funny, deadpan, and "appropriate" as on radio. This past evening, I went to see Keillor's 90-min spiel about nothing and everything at Z-Hall. Fantastic evening.

Shooting the Breeze with the audience:
+ Experiencing a stroke around Labor Day
+ There was mention of heirloom tomatoes
+ Majoring in English Literature
+ Being in choir and singing like Pavarotti to Margaret, the tall beauty who read Albert Camus
+ Reciting "O Captain, My Captain" in a high school class
+ Having the stroke in a coop market, and driving to the emergency room, very carefully at 42.5 miles an hour
+ We imagined together what his 11 y.o. daughter would be like in her adolescence, after having broken free from the restraint of mid-western life: hidden away in her room with music blaring, and eyes, lips and nose pierced/punctured by glittering steel and metal like she had fallen "face first into the tackle box"
+ Wanting to write for the New Yorker about mid-west life
+ Being lucky that the stroke went into the "silent part of the brain" so that his stories, jokes, songs, and language are still intact
+ Being described by the attending at the emergency room as "awake, alert, appropriate, flat affect"

A few observations:
+ He talked non-stop; when he didn't talk, he sang; when he wasn't talking or singing, he was sipping water
+ He stood the entire time
+ The stage was set very starkly but artistically with one high-backed wooden chair, one mic on a mic stand, one small square table with a lilac-ish tablecloth topped by 1 single bottle of water and 1 small clear glass tumbler

HAT's self-conscious observations:
+ I was probably 1 out of 25 people under 35 sitting in the audience
+ I was the only person within 20 rows who attended alone
+ I laughed probably the loudest in my row
+ There was a bit of jealousy -- he can write, talk, sing, and capture an audience
+ I LOVED it. Why do I have to like it so much?!

Reverse Trick-or-Treating

I'm a glutton for chocolate, and I want to do something good to offset my gluttony for the choco-liciousness of cho-co-latte!

Did you know that for Halloween, you can buy Fair Trade Certified chocolate?! It's not just about finding that exotic chocolate combination (dark chocolate & chili, semi-sweet and bacon!). When I buy chocolate, I want to know that:

+ the company prohibits the use of abusive child labor in cocoa industry
+ the company adopts safer, chemical-free farming methods
+ the company uses renewable energy sources
+ the Fair Trade price I paid for chocolate raises farmers' incomes
+ the Fair Trade price I paid supports a more environmentally sustainable small-scale farming model

All this is something I learned while reading about Reverse Trick-or-Treating. Check it out!

Go ahead. Snap that chocolate bar in half to hear that crisp break. Indulge in your wildest chocolate fantasies, but do it Fair Trade!

Regina Carter: Reverse Thread

If you have not heard Regina Carter perform, you are missing out on a heart-stirring experience. A few Saturdays ago, Regina Carter performed her last show at Yoshi's in Jack London Square. The experience? Absolutely breathtaking.

Violins, bass, ancora (spelling?), accordian, drums. African folk melodies in contemporary re-interpretations. We heard songs from the African diaspora, including songs from Uganda and West Africa. First, the field recordings of the folk songs would be played, then Carter's group would play for us the new, contemporary re-interps of the melodies and rhythms. Delicious rhythms and beat. Melodies that seemed to drift in and out of some strange land that is here, physically present, and now, but also distant and of the past and of the future.

All the songs performed were from her upcoming album, Reverse Thread (release date January 2010: "a collection of infectious African folk melodies in a beautiful, contemporary interpretation").

You must, must, must get the CD when it comes out. I will.

Lost in the Corn "Maize"

We are Falling in love with Fall! This past Sunday, a small group of us took some of the youth from church to the G&M Farms Cornfield Maze in Livermore.

For those of you who don't know, the maze is basically a huge labyrinth built of corn that grows at least a foot over our heads. This year's maze is constructed in honor of and dedicated to Norman Marciel (a big, big agriculture guru who loved the pumpkin patch). The maze is the shape of his head and shoulders, wearing a baseball cap, with his name above and his dates (1940-2008) below. It was an amazingly fun experience walking through. When I got to the 2nd half of the maze, I actually followed the map and could tell exactly when we were walking the "M" or the "E" in his name. At one point, I heard myself say "We're walking on his ear". Strange.

Besides the maze, there is also a pumpkin patch ($7 each pumpkin, regardless of size), a cow train, a hay bale maze (for little children!), farm animals (I didn't look carefully but saw 4 sheeps, several cows, a few lambs, I think, but no goats), and pedal karts. Oh, and there was a GIGANTIC corn box. Picture a massive sandbox but instead of sand, fill it with corn kernels. The kids had a MAHVELOUS time. And adults, too. Needless to say, we all had to stick our feet inside -- stockinged feet or no. Very ticklish to stomp our way through the corn kernels. There were quite a few little bebes around, and I gagged a little when I saw some of the babies put the corn kernels in their mouths... Thankfully enough adults were around to prevent serious consumption of said kernels. Yuck.

Admission is $8 for adults on weekdays, but $10 on weekends. From 6-11 y.o., only $7 on weekdays, and $9 on weekends.

For more information, go here: www.gmfarms.com, or call 925-447-FARM.

Place of Hope

A few days ago, I had the pleasure of meeting Ms. Bea for the very first time. At 20 days old, she was gorgeous. Blue, blue, blue eyes framed by lightly sculpted brows. The cutest upturned nose that delicately said "pert". Long, elegant fingers and limbs that probably means she might become a dancer, or maybe a pianist. Perhaps a guitar player in her later years. Holding her, my maternal instincts kicked in, and I thought of my god-daughter or god-son to-be.

I may not have the luxury or the blessing of holding her/him in my arms 20 days after s/he will be born, but I have already committed to being a good, positive presence in her/his life.

Oh, to have that much hope about, placed in, a human being... it's so scary.

Rambling HAT

So there has been surprisingly little poetry on nothing but HAT's and that's because I've been out of practice. Every day, there is a joke dropped here or there at the office about how I should pen this article or that letter in iambic pentameter. Today, something cute and funny was said about my writing a cinquain for an eNews article. I laugh, and then I cry, silently, inside. Just a little. The truth is, lately, I've been writing very little. Ok, you caught me. I've been writing close to nil.

The most recent bit of writing I've done was today's children's storybook (12 panels) about HAT getting lost. My dear writing buddy remarks, "what a wonderful spiritual journey." Really? Thank you, dear J, because if you hadn't said that, it would have looked woefully like a pitiful little scrap of writing, squeezed onto the page out of desperation.

So, that was the whining part. Here, now, begins the part where I pretend there was some meaning to what I was writing:

The children's story that I wrote is a mix of "Where the Wild Things Are", "Peter Rabbit", and the biblical narrative of the five loaves and two fish. The story elements: a character who is lost, a family unit, a search/journey, signs/symbols, and a happy love-feast. Perhaps you're thinking I intentionally plagiarized parts of these three narratives and spliced them into my own story. You give me too much credit. If I were smarter, I might have thought of that. Truth is, I was only thinking of the simplest story to write and of the kinds of pictures I could draw to fill up the 12 panels of the storybook.

Although I've been mulling over this storyline for several weeks now (for as long as I've been carrying the booklet around in my purse), I only finished it today at our writing session. Mostly b/c I have fiendishly, delightfully, talented writing partners who inspire me to write, write, and write. ("No rough drafts!" said J.)

I also did not think of any significance to the story that I wrote. Until now. For the past week, thanks to our Bible study group, I've been pondering the practice of feeding my deepest hunger. That presumes I know and recognize my deepest hunger in all its manifestations. (No, no, it's not chocolate or ice cream.)

The questions we pondered in last week's session: What are your deepest hungers? Beneath your immediate goals and obligations, what do you really hunger for? What do you seek most ardently?

The story that I penned might very well be a poorly crafted (and badly illustrated) children's story, but the elements within the story are symbolic of the things I am searching for. I think.

Perhaps my subconscious was thinking of all these things and I was not naming them proper until I wrote the story. I look back on these storybook panels and I see what I am missing. It is easier and sounds better if I were to say my deepest hunger is to transform the world with my presence, or, to embody God-spirit in the world. But those are beautiful words and concepts. Very difficult to actualize.

My hungers are more visceral, perhaps? More concrete? My self-centered? My search takes me to the space of grieving -- that place where the rich, young ruler (from Mark 10) is surely familiar with. Sadly, it is a space focused (too much, only) on the self.

Perhaps that is why the whole story begins with a search. I need to start a journey. Having lived 1/3 of my life, I realize I'm still that little girl-character totally lost "on the day the sun and moon stood still."

Do any of your hungers surprise you? Are there any hungers that God may have planted in you to help you awaken and focus your energy in a more life-giving direction? Do you believe that God seeks us as we seek God? Is it possible that God is trying to get your attention? - Jeremy Langford, Seeds of Faith

Remember Who You Are

"So the next time you say the Baptismal Covenant, remember who you are and whose you are, and remember that God who calls you also gives you all you need to respond faithfully." - The Rev. Dr. Ruth Meyers, Hodges Haynes Professor of Liturgics at Church Divinity School of the Pacific in Berkeley, California

See full article "Baptismal Covenant and Commitment"

How Rich ARE You?

I am loaded. Ranking in at 86,086,957, I am in the top 1.43% richest people in the world.

Every year we gaze enviously at the lists of the richest people in world.
Wondering what it would be like to have that sort of cash. But where
would you sit on one of those lists? Here's your chance to find out.

Go see where you rank on the Global Rich List.

For the month of October, our church will be re-visiting the narratives in Mark 10 in hopes of re-discovering or un-covering little gems, seeds of faith so to speak, that might help revitalize our faith journeys as we follow Jesus, the One who came to show us the Way.

In this morning's message, our associate pastor invited us to revisit the story of the rich, young man who was instructed to sell all his possessions and give to the poor. "He went away sad because he had great wealth." Our invitation this morning (this week, this month, this lifetime) was to consider whether we would be like this tortured young man, gone away to grieve over the difficult challenge presented to him, or whether we might consider daily the myriad ways in which we should answer (re-interpret, redefine) the challenge to change the world.

Grieving. Perhaps what we need to grieve is not the loss of our possessions, and not the possessions themselves. What we should mourn is the magnitude of need that is in this world; I must grieve that I often forget our common humanity and too often allow the rest of the world to suffer while I live in relative wealth.

On the surface, the Global Rich List is a fun little website that tells me I'm ranked in the top 1.43% richest people in the world. Underneath it all, it is about our skewed definitions of basic necessities. What I consider basic is not what others consider necessity. Now, I and other members of our church will not necessarily host a giant yard sale to sell our possessions. We will not immediately put our houses on the market. Neither will we donate our cars. That level of charity neither transforms our lives in a lasting way nor does it transform the world for the better except temporarily. Any action merely focused on the distribution and redistribution of material possessions -- just stuff -- could not possibly transform the world.

This October, let us mindfully ponder the question of what we must do to gain eternal life...

Just an Imaginary Rabbit

Today, I had the pleasure of seeing "Harvey" at the Contra Costa Civic Theatre in El Cerrito. Written by Mary Chase and directed by Kathleen Ray, it is a magical foray into the mind of a Mr. Dowd who has an invisible rabbit (white 6' 1.5" pooka) as a friend.

Harvey: An invisible rabbit and his whimsical pal, a frustrated social-climbing mother and daughter, a nutty psychiatrist, and love in bloom are all you need for a side-splitting comedy that is just as popular today as it was when it won the Pulitzer Prize in 1945, and when it helped to launch CCCT in 1960.

The comedy saddened me. Surprise, surprise. Questions about life perspective arose in a strange billowy cloud, and I had no answers. Am I the naive, frustrated daughter whose sole ambition at this juncture in her young life is to find love, make money, impress strangers? Am I the social climbing mother/sister whose only concern is the neighbor and society column's judgment of her social status? Am I young, inexperienced Dr. Sanderson who can't tell the difference between a reasonable person and a person with reason? Am I the crazy, impatient orderly whose only desire is a sandwich to feed his hungry belly and who manhandles patients with mental illness?

None of those characters portray me in all my complex HAT-ness, but there are certainly character flaws that, when highlighted, I readily recognized in myself and in each person on stage. ITragic, and peculiar. In the end, even Dr. Chumley himself wanted to achieve whatever it was that Harvey offered to Dowd. And in the end, I too wanted some of that... peace, acceptance, awareness, generosity, graciousness, a positive outlook on life.

I enjoyed this show, and look forward to the next show at the CCCT, which will be "Lucky Stiff", directed by Amy Nielson

Lucky Stiff
Books and lyrics by Lynn Ahrens
Music by Stephen Flaherty
Based on "The Man Who Broke the Bank at Monte Carlo" by Michael Butterworth
Directed by Amy Nielson

What do you get when you combine one dead guy, a nerdy English shoe salesman, six million bucks in diamonds, and a lot of dogs? The hysterically funny musical Lucky Stiff! Lynn Ahrens and Stephen Flaherty, the authors of Ragtime, and the animated film Anastasia exploded on the musical theatre scene with this madcap murder mystery farce that takes us on a whirlwind adventure through London, Atlantic City, and Monte Carlo, as the cast tries to figure out who did what to whom!

If you are interested, check out the '09-'10 season.

Green Idiots, the American Way

Sex, drugs, and Rock & Roll. This past Saturday, I went with She-Who-Is-Named-TMMITU to see American Idiot at the Berkeley Repertory Theatre.

It was breathtaking, no, it was heart-thumping, head-swinging, wild, crazy ... The opening number had me leaning forward in my seat (partially b/c I could barely see over the raised bar on the Mezz), feet tapping along, head rocking. What I really wanted to do was jump up and down, but they had warned us to stay in our seats. The play was a non-stop performance of grit, dirt, sex, drugs, rock and roll...

Green Day won two Grammys for its multi-platinum album American Idiot, which sold more than 12 million copies worldwide. Now those searing songs seize the stage with the director behind Spring Awakening, the groundbreaking musical that earned eight Tony Awards and enthralled audiences around the world. American Idiot follows working-class characters from the suburbs to the city to the Middle East, as they seek redemption in a world filled with frustration. This high-octane show features every track from the album, plus several new tunes from Green Day’s newest release, 21st Century Breakdown. With an on-stage band and a cast of 19, American Idiot will take you on an exhilarating journey borne along by Green Day’s electrifying songs.

The three characters, Johnny (John Gallagher, Jr.), Will (Michael Esper), and Tunny (Matt Caplan) were amazingly portrayed on the stage. Watching the scenes unfold, I could not help but ponder how it is that such young people could harbor so much talent, angst, passion, devotion, hurt -- all wrapped up, stapled together, bursting forth, spewing over, in a trundle of laissez-faire attitude.

music by green day
lyrics by billie joe armstrong
book by billie joe armstrong and
michael mayer
choreographed by steven hoggett
directed by michael mayer

The setting was incredibly well-done: T.V. sets embedded into the walls on the stage from top to bottom; Musical instruments used as furniture and props; Windows appearing and disappearing behind the mask of virtual graffiti blanketing the stage walls.

At one point, I realized that the cellist was hidden under the stairs, a stage detail that I didn't notice until the 19-member cast wheeled the stairs around the stage and proceeded to climb all over the contraption.

What I am amazed by:

+ The artistry of weaving Green Day's music into a story, a narrative that begins in, departs from, and returns to Jingletown, America
+ The fusion of incredible beat and rhythm, melding rock and roll with sex and drugs with politics and war
+ The subtle questions of relationships, commitment, sacrifice that undergird the loud, broiling, boisterious definitions of self, identity, nation
+ The not-so-subtle defiance (re-writing) of identity narratives, communal history/histories, justice, apathy, authenticity

What I wonder about:

+ How did Michael Mayer write that story out of a bunch of songs on a Green Day album?
+ How can I use my own talents, my own writings to inspire such passion and devotion?
+ Why did I never join a rock band? Would anyone take me?

It was a wonderful adventure into a completely different world. As I watched the play, along the journey, I felt like an idiot, totally green, totally naive to what things might have been. What is my version of Jingletown, I wonder?



Song List from the Play
American Idiot
Jesus of Suburbia
City of the Damned
I Don't Care
Dearly Beloved
Tales of Another Broken Home
Holiday
Boulevard of Broken Dreams
Favorite Son
Are We the Waiting
St. Jimmy
Give Me Novacaine
She's a Rebel
Last Night on Earth
Too Much Too Soon
Before the Lobotomy
Extraordinary Girl
When It's Time
Know Your Enemy
21 Guns
Letterbomb
Wake Me Up When September Ends
Death of St. Jimmy
East 12th Street
Nobody Likes You
Rock and Roll Girlfriend
We're Coming Home
Whatsername