Oh, the beauty of waking up to writing a brief commentary on the Scripture reading of the day! How simple and uncontroversial that was. It was hard work in a way; it required the discipline of getting up every day and posting my thoughts on the day's reading, but I'd taken notes on Scripture for years before I started putting them on my blog, and they were simple paraphrasings of the story line and thoughts I'd had for years. Now I have pretty much concluded that routine. When I wake up now and read and ponder spiritual and worldly matters, I still do have thoughts on the many issues of the times we are living through, but the commitment to putting my own thoughts out there for all to see and respond to, that fills me with a dread I have seldom felt. Why?? I'm scared that no one will understand why I think so differently from everyone else. I don't seem to fall into any political or intellectual "box" that would give me the comfort of seeing that I had some agreement and support from some group somewhere. I feel unconnected completely from an intellectual or spiritual community that shares my views. Still, after years of avoiding the matter and pushing it out of my day, I feel a sense of "calling" regarding the perspective I fall into, and the need to get it out of my head.
I am in my 70s now and know that I do not have all that much time left. So I will try to articulate what I am seeing and thinking about the events and ideas that we are living amongst in this 21st century. But before I start, I think it's important to say a few things about where the ideas I travel with are rooted - what the past is socially, politically and familialy (new word!) - for me. What are the roots of the tree that I am in the world that cause the fruits in my mind to be so different?
I come from a broken but interesting family. I never actually lived with either of my parents but had a pretty close relationship with them and other offspring over the years. I either visited them or they visited me while I was living with my maternal grandparents.
My mother had mental health issues that would lead eventually - when I was eight (1953) and she was 38 - to her being hospitalized for schizophrenia for basically the rest of her life. She was in a huge psychiatric facility in upstate NY - Wingdale Psychiatric Hospital - until she was in her 60s, when she was moved to a group care home.
My father was a psychiatric social worker with a practice in NYC where he lived with his second family. He and perhaps his second wife as well (I don't really know about her) were both card carrying members of the Communist Party - maybe my mother was too back in the 30s and 40s but that never came to the fore when I knew her. Everyone was drawn to my dad's way of looking at things; he was very intellectually gifted and a great conversationalist. We talked about the world and about ideas every time we were together. That probably why I'm typing these words right now.
My grandfather, the one who was my chief care-taker and parent, was a very archetypal American man in the 20th century. Born in NYC into a family with little money, he never went to college, and had a "Horatio Alger" type of success story - starting out working for a company that imported cocoa - then starting his own company and achieving great success, permitting him to buy amazing property on Long Island and to live among the rich and famous until he lost everything in 1929. He was an ardent supporter of FDR and a proud American. He amazingly combined the wonderful attributes of both father and mother for me; he was the main cook and housekeeper in our family, the main care-taker for me, and glue that held everything together for me.
My grandmother was quiet and reserved. I knew she loved me, but I have literally no memories of doing anything with her except brushing my hair, and she died when I was eight. She did go to church, and taught me to say prayers before I went to bed, but I was not baptized as a child - Communist parents!! and did not go regularly to church. I found my own way to God and to both the Catholic Church and to Quakerism - my dad was the one who introduced me to Quakerism when he bought John Woolman's Journal for me in high school. But that is not going to be the main focus of these pieces I hope to write.
So where does all that context lead - I have been all over the spectrum politically from patriotic Democrat in love with JFK to aspiring revolutionary from 1965 to when I had children in the 70s when I reverted into being a very traditional mom but still hoping to be an attorney helping the working class in some way. Then religion took hold and I wanted nothing more than to let everyone know what happiness - you might call it salvation - I found there. Family became very central to me when my faith and my second marriage came together and resulted in a move from NC to NY in the 80s and the adoption of a child in the mid-80s would also bring important issues and experiences into my life. So that's it for today. Tomorrow I will try to get out the complicated and perhaps controversial thoughts I have concerning the #MeToo Movement that has taken the country by storm.
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