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Articles in "Spiritual Smart Aleck "

On November 10, 1989, we were driving south on I-5. “We” were Libbie Anthony, Velvet Neifert, and me. We sang together as Women, Women and Song, and we were on our way to Corvallis, Oregon, to do a concert that night.
 

Looky here: I grew up on a farm. There was a gun rack on the wall in the hallway outside my bedroom door. It held a .22 rifle, a .30-.30 rifle, and a single-barrel shotgun. The gun rack was always locked.
 

Couple of Sundays ago, midafternoon, I realized the Superbowl was on.
It was the Philadelphia Eagles vs. the New England Patriots, for those of you who live on the moon or don’t give a rat’s patootie. Many people were Eagles fans for the day. The Patriots may be loved by their own fans but are not loved much outside that demographic.

Here is a partial list of invisible illnesses: allergies, food intolerances, rheumatoid arthritis, cancer, chronic fatigue syndrome, fibromyalgia, chronic myofascial pain, depression, mental illness, diabetes and other blood sugar issues, digestive disorders such as IBS, colitis, and celiac disease.

Part one: Back in the 1970s I lived for a time in a house with some friends, one of whom was an engineer. He introduced me to the concept of natural slope by saying the house had achieved natural slope, i.e., it needed cleaning. Not that he was going to clean it. Cleaning was not men’s work.

A lot of people who had to sell their homes at a loss in the last ten years might disagree with that sentiment, but it has worked for Charlotte. She stood her ground, er, dirt, through the recession, and now her dirt is worth more than ever.

Well, friends, comes now the end of another year, and with it come Christmas, Kwanzaa, and the Solstice which will mean longer days and more light for us up here in the Northern Hemisphere. Hanukkah has passed. The sixth of January will bring Epiphany for western Christianity,

Men are hound dogs, and suddenly it is news.
Not all men, I hasten to add. Most men are good, decent people, despite the hand life deals them, and that is admirable.

When I moved in with Rick in 1977, this building was the most run-down place I’d ever lived. The walls had holes in them. The roof leaked. Rats had free run of the place.

According to all the calendars I have, winter begins with the solstice, on the twenty-first of December or thereabouts. I say that’s broccoli, and I say the hell with it.

My husband Rick has been gone for almost four years now, so you can imagine my surprise when I saw him walk out of the men’s room on the sixth floor of the James Tower one afternoon a few weeks ago. That’s the cardiology floor at the Cherry Hill campus of Swedish Hospital.

This has been a rough week in America. It started last Sunday night with a man using semi-automatic weapons to mow down over five hundred people at a country music festival in Las Vegas. Fifty-eight people died. Fifty-nine, counting the shooter, who took himself out before he could be caught.

I’ve been watching Ken Burns and Lynn Novick’s 10-part film about Vietnam on PBS. It is unsatisfying, and not only because the experience as we lived it fifty years ago was a nightmare.

A couple of weeks ago, Dona Bradley, Michael Shapiro, and I went over to Gig Harbor on a Tuesday night to play at an open mike that is run by Thea Wescott at a place called the Markee.

It is a pleasant sunny day in San Francisco in 1964 or ’65. My mother and I are walking westward on Market Street. Walking in front of us is a young family – mom, dad, boy of about eleven or twelve, slightly younger girl.

It is blackberry season. I walk thirty yards from my front door carrying an old plastic yogurt container and start picking.
There is no need to bend over, no need to reach through or wrestle with canes to get to fruit that is hidden.

A worker in a refugee camp in Syria writes: “When we got back to our base camp a couple of hours ago this little fellow, A---, was waiting for us. He said he needed to talk to us.

Went and got a haircut last week.
When I went in I figured, who knows when I’ll be able to afford a haircut again? And, it’s summer. And, I’m tired of messing with my long bushy hair.

June 29th was the feast day of Saints Peter and Paul in the western Christian church calendar. Some of you are slapping your foreheads and saying, “Oh no, I forgot.” If you are part of the Eastern Orthodox Church, in which case you are on the Julian calendar, you will observe this feast day next week, so you’re good.

As you drive, or bike, or walk, on the roads of the island, you will come across furniture, flower pots, appliances, remodeling leftovers, and other miscellany left at the side of the road, usually with a sign that says, “Free.”

The new property tax assessments for 2018 arrived in the mail. You could hear the howls of pain and rage all over the island. Some of those howls were mine.

About twenty years ago our good friends, the Blakemores, moved to Australia, where they settled in a little beach town.
One year, there was a fire in the forest uphill from their neighborhood. Naturally they were worried.

Consider our indigenous people.
We believe that they came across a land bridge from Siberia and from there spread south through the Americas. There is some evidence that aboriginal people from Australia sailed in and settled in South America and Baja California, as well.

Nothing like a couple of days of food poisoning to purge your body and clear your mind. Not that I recommend or condone it. The first and worst day I went through wondering if I was going to die, old and weak as I am, with so many regrets, so many things undone.