I saw my hero today for the first time.
At a local supermarket, there is a manager who does a very noble thing. This person goes the extra mile to liberally distribute the “Manager’s Special” orange tags on some choice items as they approach (and sometimes pass . . . shhh!) their expiration dates. As a result, the store is often glistening in little orange labels, like the glitter of new fallen snow, and they call out to me.
It seems like they could just round up these items and throw them out. I consider it an act of service to the poor to take the time to re-tag all this stuff, and it is a task much appreciated. Other store do not have nearly as many tags.
I have been partaking of this catch quite a bit, lately. I try not to touch anything unless it is at least 50% off. Often, the discount is even closer to 80%.
I saw this manager today for the first time. I wanted to go up to him and shake his hand. Instead, I just sort of stalked him as he meandered about the store with his little cart and sale gun.
I’m still one very important step removed from dumpster diving.
Saturday, January 21, 2012
Monday, January 16, 2012
The Gymnasium as a Capitalist Conspiracy
I got my membership to a local gymnasium yesterday.
It’s time to work off some Christmas turkey (from 2 years ago) and get serious about my health.
I often think about my grandma’s comments about people who workout. For the life of her, she could not understand them. She would get so outraged when bikers and joggers would pass by in front of her house. She’d go out into the street to call them back in—if they have that much energy to waste, she would be glad to put them to work on the farm! There’s work to do! That made perfect sense to her.
I was afraid to tell her I bought a workout bench in high school with my money from mowing her lawn. She didn’t say much, but we knew she didn’t like it.
I have to admit, looking at the gymnasium through those eyes changes things a bit. There are roomfuls of people expending boundless energy . . . on absolutely nothing. They go round and round on their exercycles, sweat themselves silly, as if somehow those activities are even remotely interesting. Nowadays, of course, they plug you into various TV and radio channels to entertain you during your workout. Why can’t they at the very least route their energy into some sort of power generator for the building? I’m sure those cyclists can at least keep the lights on. Maybe that would even be a good incentive for them, too!
Sure, there are health and fitness goals! Many of us do not use our bodies in well-rounded enough ways in our days jobs and we have to fulfill that elsewhere. I get that. But it still baffles me when there are so many good things that need doing in this world—and then to walk into this gigantic room where people are exerting ridiculous amounts of effort just going around in circles like some hamsters in a cage, I have to scratch my head. You see powerful men, lifting thousands of pounds, and they are rendered totally ineffective in society because all this activity and strength is contained in this little gymnasium—it never gets out there where it can be a force for positive movement in our society. All they do is lift the weights . . . and then proceed to put them right back down where they found them.
I’m all for a little bit of sport and recreation, but most of the men in our society have been totally pacified and rendered useless by it.
Our arms are made for lifting. What about lifting babies in an orphanage, lifting food for the poor, or planting flowers to beautify our world? You can get a workout and do something with yourselves, too! I’m not trying to steer people into some sort of obsession with productivity, either. Society has gone through those phases and we have had to re-learn how to have fun. But where is the balance? Our bodies are part and parcel of our vocation in life. They are meant to be used on behalf of our life’s mission. What are we put on this world to do?
You may go to the gym and see family connections, friendships developing, and people focusing on health and well-being. I go and see various science fiction scenarios playing out, not to mention a whole host of political conspiracies: Keep them busy so they don’t get into the business of world affairs.
It is any accident that the gymnasium was a favorite place in Ancient Greece and Rome—our two favorite models of Imperial Overlords? Something to think about while I'm on the exercycle!
It’s time to work off some Christmas turkey (from 2 years ago) and get serious about my health.
I often think about my grandma’s comments about people who workout. For the life of her, she could not understand them. She would get so outraged when bikers and joggers would pass by in front of her house. She’d go out into the street to call them back in—if they have that much energy to waste, she would be glad to put them to work on the farm! There’s work to do! That made perfect sense to her.
I was afraid to tell her I bought a workout bench in high school with my money from mowing her lawn. She didn’t say much, but we knew she didn’t like it.
I have to admit, looking at the gymnasium through those eyes changes things a bit. There are roomfuls of people expending boundless energy . . . on absolutely nothing. They go round and round on their exercycles, sweat themselves silly, as if somehow those activities are even remotely interesting. Nowadays, of course, they plug you into various TV and radio channels to entertain you during your workout. Why can’t they at the very least route their energy into some sort of power generator for the building? I’m sure those cyclists can at least keep the lights on. Maybe that would even be a good incentive for them, too!
Sure, there are health and fitness goals! Many of us do not use our bodies in well-rounded enough ways in our days jobs and we have to fulfill that elsewhere. I get that. But it still baffles me when there are so many good things that need doing in this world—and then to walk into this gigantic room where people are exerting ridiculous amounts of effort just going around in circles like some hamsters in a cage, I have to scratch my head. You see powerful men, lifting thousands of pounds, and they are rendered totally ineffective in society because all this activity and strength is contained in this little gymnasium—it never gets out there where it can be a force for positive movement in our society. All they do is lift the weights . . . and then proceed to put them right back down where they found them.
I’m all for a little bit of sport and recreation, but most of the men in our society have been totally pacified and rendered useless by it.
Our arms are made for lifting. What about lifting babies in an orphanage, lifting food for the poor, or planting flowers to beautify our world? You can get a workout and do something with yourselves, too! I’m not trying to steer people into some sort of obsession with productivity, either. Society has gone through those phases and we have had to re-learn how to have fun. But where is the balance? Our bodies are part and parcel of our vocation in life. They are meant to be used on behalf of our life’s mission. What are we put on this world to do?
You may go to the gym and see family connections, friendships developing, and people focusing on health and well-being. I go and see various science fiction scenarios playing out, not to mention a whole host of political conspiracies: Keep them busy so they don’t get into the business of world affairs.
It is any accident that the gymnasium was a favorite place in Ancient Greece and Rome—our two favorite models of Imperial Overlords? Something to think about while I'm on the exercycle!
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
Which Way Does It Trickle, George?
If George W. Bush was a such a true believer in supply-side, trickle down economics, why is it that any time the economy was in trouble he got on TV and urged people to keep spending?
His actions seemed to show a confidence in demand-side, trickle up economics, no?
His actions seemed to show a confidence in demand-side, trickle up economics, no?
Thursday, June 16, 2011
Band-Aids
I cut myself today in the kitchen. Not bad, just a little slice.
I didn’t feel like holding the wound closed all day, but I didn’t have any band-aids. So I thought to myself, why don’t I wrap it closed with some tape?
Then I continued to think, hey, maybe I can put some tissue directly on top of the wound and then secure that with tape all around. That might be more cozy and sanitary.
. . . wait a minute . . .
. . . that IS a band-aid!
It’s a piece of gauze with tape. Band-aids are just a glorified piece of tape.
So often we are surprised to find that natural cures and home remedies are simple and effective. We’ve become so accustomed to the store-bought remedy that we have forgotten what the remedy actually consists of. We don’t stop to think whether it is really necessary or not.
The same phenomenon happens with natural deodorant, something I’ll post about shortly. The home remedies are easy, effective and accessible. They are so easy, we become suspicious--it can't be that easy, can it? We have all been trained to think we need to purchase that stuff from the stores, spending money and exposing ourselves and the environment to questionable chemicals.
Wednesday, June 8, 2011
Pantry Check: Not Bare
I was hungry tonight and wanted a snack. All I could find were some tortilla chips to munch on. I don't do corn chips plain, so I was about to skip out for something else.
Sometimes you have to take a second look through your pantry before you declare it to be bare.
I found some green onions, a hot banana pepper, some sour cream and cheddar cheese. I chopped up the veggies, shredded and cheese and lobbed in some sour cream. I mixed it all together and spooned it up with the chips.
What a great little snack, and nutritious too! I used up some items that were in danger of going bad before they were eaten. Not bad.
Had my fridge contained other items, it's very possible that they, too, would have ended up in this bowl. When you have things like cheese and sour cream at your disposal, there is very little you can't do.
Sometimes you have to take a second look through your pantry before you declare it to be bare.
I found some green onions, a hot banana pepper, some sour cream and cheddar cheese. I chopped up the veggies, shredded and cheese and lobbed in some sour cream. I mixed it all together and spooned it up with the chips.
What a great little snack, and nutritious too! I used up some items that were in danger of going bad before they were eaten. Not bad.
Had my fridge contained other items, it's very possible that they, too, would have ended up in this bowl. When you have things like cheese and sour cream at your disposal, there is very little you can't do.
Sunday, May 29, 2011
Now or Never
Even though I have been writing church music for the last several years, I have not shared much with my current choir. In the hustle and bustling of getting ready week after week and settling in as the director, it was the last thing on the agenda. Original songs would take several weeks of practice to work out the kinks. On some level, I wanted the choir and congregation to accept me in a more substantive way before pushing a lot of strange new music on them—I wanted them to buy into my vision and be willing to go for a ride with me.
I admit that part of the hesitation was my own inhibition about sharing this part of myself. All the other closet artists out there can no doubt relate.
However, we have sung at least 15 original Responsorial Psalms in the last year. At least a good 6-7 were mine. Most of them were originally composed by my cantor Mary. I enjoyed that as it took the spotlight off of me and gave me the chance to focus on the vocal arrangements and chord structures. She is nearly blind, so I have jurisdiction over everything written. That gives me an autonomy while still being a creative partner. She would sing a melody a cappella and the rest was up to me, with her feedback along the way. While it is appropriate to credit her as the songwriter on those, I definitely felt like a co-writer and could really stretch out creatively. It has been a great opportunity to practice arranging for voices, something I had not had a lot of experience with. Responsorial refrains are very short, which was a good opportunity to focus on the details and get them right.
Fast-forward to today.
Most Catholics are aware of what is happening in Advent, 2011: The implementation of the new translation of the English Mass, which includes changes to many of the sung parts.
The “Holy, Holy” is changing by the difference of a single phrase, but other pieces like the “Gloria” are radically different from the current translation. While it is possible to engineer existing music to fit the new words, this is often a questionable exercise. Some pieces just do not work with the different words. Even the “Holy, Holy” has significant troubles. “Lord God of power and might” will be rendered as “Lord God of hosts.” The difference of 3 syllables in a short piece, not to mention ending with an abrupt physical sound like “hosts,” is enough to threaten the very existence of an existing musical setting. Many versions are not going to survive.
Songwriters are like architects. There is a mathematics to it. You want to be creative, but yet all the pieces have to fit into the context, too: Heating vents cannot be covered by rugs or couches. Plants need to have the right amount of light. A house should be an expression of an artist’s creativity, but it still has to accommodate all the practical demands of withstanding the elements and being a functional space.
Songwriting is the same. You have to put the pieces together in a way that meets practical and artistic demands. The left and right sides of the brain are not only both used but they must work together in concert. Every note and phrase must make sense locally and within the whole. The right words need to be accented. Not only does the physical sound have an architecture, but there are the additional concerns regarding the appropriateness for liturgy and fitting with the available instruments, choir members and congregation. All that has to fit while still being an artistic expression.
All of this is to say: Do not be fooled at how “small” some of the changes are, because they will have a dramatic impact on the playability of these songs. This means that the next several months is now or never time. If the numerous Mass settings that I have composed are ever going to see the light of day, the time is now.
This gave me an incentive to pitch this music to the choir. They will sing whatever I ask, but it is important to me that they are with me in spirit. The choir is receptive to giving these compositions a chance. I want to be sensitive, as songwriters have a notorious reputation for holding their congregations hostage to being a dumping ground for their original music. The music has to resonate with the life of the congregation. But we must always remember that the Catholic faith has always inspired people to create art and music. Our faith would be dead if we did not make room for the different gifts people have to offer. I am a writer, and I need to tinker.
I have often had this vision that one day I would just open up my back catalogue of tunes and just start rolling them out as-is. What has happened is probably what is generally more likely: I pick a tune from the past I like, make a couple more to match, add a new piece and rearrange something else dramatically. There are factors which make some songs better options than others, and require still others to be adapted, such as the members of the choir and their respective ranges, the temperament and charism of the parish, and the singability and ease of learning of a piece. What we are rolling out is actually 2 older pieces and 3 brand spanking new ones. The creative process is always in the present tense.
I originally began writing a “Gloria” as I was recovering from cancer surgery back in 2005. Over the next few years I kept adding to it until the piece was complete. I recently added vocal harmonies that I am proud of. The other piece is a “Memorial Acclamation” from around the same time. I liked it so much I decided to use it to fashion a “Holy, Holy” and an “Amen,” since those pieces are a musical trinity. Mary added some significant advice, and we have worked out a finished set. They are simple, singable, and I overall feel good about them. I tried to work out a “Lamb of God,” but as I was tinkering on it one day, Erin started singing a completely new melody to the chord progression, and it turned out to be quite lovely. Her “Lamb of God” is the one we are going with.
Today we unveiled this set, with the exception of the “Gloria” which will still take a couple of weeks of practice. It is hard to debut original music. I always feel that it is never good enough, and I continually find places to make changes. I have come to a place where I do not need people to like it for my emotional well-being. Some will, some will not, and some just need more time and a good performance before they are convinced. But there is no question that this is me revealing myself, and it is so hard to face rejection on thooe terms. When people do reject it, or even reject the whole idea of me sharing my music at all, I know cognitively that they are usually doing it to mask their own insecurities or ignorance, but it still can hurt quite a bit. But I also have grown tremendously by taking the chance to share anyway.
I was happy with how it went today. The choir did a good job and did right by me. We will see how it goes as this music is sung over the next few weeks. A lot of people are just exceedingly happy that we are finally transitioning away from the Latin Mass parts (which we began in Lent). Right now, I am just happy to be sharing this music. I have been working on this music for many years. Aside from some very informal Masses at the Catholic Worker, this has not been played in a Church setting before, so this is a big step for me.
I admit that part of the hesitation was my own inhibition about sharing this part of myself. All the other closet artists out there can no doubt relate.
However, we have sung at least 15 original Responsorial Psalms in the last year. At least a good 6-7 were mine. Most of them were originally composed by my cantor Mary. I enjoyed that as it took the spotlight off of me and gave me the chance to focus on the vocal arrangements and chord structures. She is nearly blind, so I have jurisdiction over everything written. That gives me an autonomy while still being a creative partner. She would sing a melody a cappella and the rest was up to me, with her feedback along the way. While it is appropriate to credit her as the songwriter on those, I definitely felt like a co-writer and could really stretch out creatively. It has been a great opportunity to practice arranging for voices, something I had not had a lot of experience with. Responsorial refrains are very short, which was a good opportunity to focus on the details and get them right.
Fast-forward to today.
Most Catholics are aware of what is happening in Advent, 2011: The implementation of the new translation of the English Mass, which includes changes to many of the sung parts.
The “Holy, Holy” is changing by the difference of a single phrase, but other pieces like the “Gloria” are radically different from the current translation. While it is possible to engineer existing music to fit the new words, this is often a questionable exercise. Some pieces just do not work with the different words. Even the “Holy, Holy” has significant troubles. “Lord God of power and might” will be rendered as “Lord God of hosts.” The difference of 3 syllables in a short piece, not to mention ending with an abrupt physical sound like “hosts,” is enough to threaten the very existence of an existing musical setting. Many versions are not going to survive.
Songwriters are like architects. There is a mathematics to it. You want to be creative, but yet all the pieces have to fit into the context, too: Heating vents cannot be covered by rugs or couches. Plants need to have the right amount of light. A house should be an expression of an artist’s creativity, but it still has to accommodate all the practical demands of withstanding the elements and being a functional space.
Songwriting is the same. You have to put the pieces together in a way that meets practical and artistic demands. The left and right sides of the brain are not only both used but they must work together in concert. Every note and phrase must make sense locally and within the whole. The right words need to be accented. Not only does the physical sound have an architecture, but there are the additional concerns regarding the appropriateness for liturgy and fitting with the available instruments, choir members and congregation. All that has to fit while still being an artistic expression.
All of this is to say: Do not be fooled at how “small” some of the changes are, because they will have a dramatic impact on the playability of these songs. This means that the next several months is now or never time. If the numerous Mass settings that I have composed are ever going to see the light of day, the time is now.
This gave me an incentive to pitch this music to the choir. They will sing whatever I ask, but it is important to me that they are with me in spirit. The choir is receptive to giving these compositions a chance. I want to be sensitive, as songwriters have a notorious reputation for holding their congregations hostage to being a dumping ground for their original music. The music has to resonate with the life of the congregation. But we must always remember that the Catholic faith has always inspired people to create art and music. Our faith would be dead if we did not make room for the different gifts people have to offer. I am a writer, and I need to tinker.
I have often had this vision that one day I would just open up my back catalogue of tunes and just start rolling them out as-is. What has happened is probably what is generally more likely: I pick a tune from the past I like, make a couple more to match, add a new piece and rearrange something else dramatically. There are factors which make some songs better options than others, and require still others to be adapted, such as the members of the choir and their respective ranges, the temperament and charism of the parish, and the singability and ease of learning of a piece. What we are rolling out is actually 2 older pieces and 3 brand spanking new ones. The creative process is always in the present tense.
I originally began writing a “Gloria” as I was recovering from cancer surgery back in 2005. Over the next few years I kept adding to it until the piece was complete. I recently added vocal harmonies that I am proud of. The other piece is a “Memorial Acclamation” from around the same time. I liked it so much I decided to use it to fashion a “Holy, Holy” and an “Amen,” since those pieces are a musical trinity. Mary added some significant advice, and we have worked out a finished set. They are simple, singable, and I overall feel good about them. I tried to work out a “Lamb of God,” but as I was tinkering on it one day, Erin started singing a completely new melody to the chord progression, and it turned out to be quite lovely. Her “Lamb of God” is the one we are going with.
Today we unveiled this set, with the exception of the “Gloria” which will still take a couple of weeks of practice. It is hard to debut original music. I always feel that it is never good enough, and I continually find places to make changes. I have come to a place where I do not need people to like it for my emotional well-being. Some will, some will not, and some just need more time and a good performance before they are convinced. But there is no question that this is me revealing myself, and it is so hard to face rejection on thooe terms. When people do reject it, or even reject the whole idea of me sharing my music at all, I know cognitively that they are usually doing it to mask their own insecurities or ignorance, but it still can hurt quite a bit. But I also have grown tremendously by taking the chance to share anyway.
I was happy with how it went today. The choir did a good job and did right by me. We will see how it goes as this music is sung over the next few weeks. A lot of people are just exceedingly happy that we are finally transitioning away from the Latin Mass parts (which we began in Lent). Right now, I am just happy to be sharing this music. I have been working on this music for many years. Aside from some very informal Masses at the Catholic Worker, this has not been played in a Church setting before, so this is a big step for me.
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
Going Native
I saw an IMAX movie once about the Lewis & Clark expedition. The film showed the daring travels of this small group of explorers over rivers, fields and mountains in all weather. It also showed in dramatic detail the lengths these people went to carry with them massive amounts of crates, boxes and all sorts of supplies. They took a small city with them. While they were exploring completely uncharted territory, they seemed to put an astonishing amount of energy inward on managing their stuff. I wonder how often they took the opportunity to just look around.
Every so often, the movie would pan out and show a couple of native Americans sitting on a hilltop observing all this commotion. They would sit in the shade, with perhaps a day's worth of food with them. They traveled light, and because of this, they could just experience the present moment a little bit better. They could no doubt get what they needed from the land around them rather than by lugging around tons of supplies.
The last several months has involved a lot of of moving. With the Catholic Worker dismantling and people coming and going, goods donated far and wide, many things put into storage, and me moving twice, it was a seemingly constant effort moving things around from one place to another. I have boxes of unsorted personal papers and memorabilia that I have trudged from placed to place. Much of it is just random papers that I may or may not want to keep, but I have not taken the time to sort through it all.
I have felt like I was on the Lewis & Clark expedition, with all my energy inward on my stuff and barely looking around, keeping anything and everything because "I might need it someday." It was an empty, unsatisfying experience.
I have boxes and boxes of keepsakes and mementos. Some have unfinished emotional business, in some I am hanging on to the memory of loved ones, some who have passed, and in others I have stuff I would like to keep for a rainy day--I may want to re-read those old letters or show them to my kids someday.
It has gotten to the point where hauling this stuff around is affecting the quality of life in the present tense. I have had to make decisions about where I live because of it. I can not count the times I have said I would have few regrets if an "accidental" fire took this burden off of me.
I have a box of old National Geographic maps from my grandpa. We used to look through those maps in wonderful detail together, pondering places and comparing facts and figures. These were his maps. I will probably not look at those maps again that way, if I look at them at all. Even though I have sacramentalized the box of maps itself, is it not more accurate to say that it was sharing those moments together that I treasure more than the objects themselves? The box of maps itself does not bring with it what made those moments special. Why keep them?
When looking at these boxes of stuff, the glaring metaphor of emotional baggage cannot possibly go unnoticed. The real danger here is that I could think that by keeping this box of maps, I could somehow keep my grandpa, too. However, if I did have my grandpa around, I would not stuff him into a closet or a storage shed, so why would I do the same with stuff that I am clinging to as a way of clinging to him?
Some archivist might come along with a quite lovely idea--I could make a collage of these maps and put it on the wall! That would honor the memory in the best possible way while still clearing out the unnecessary clutter. It is the memory, after all, that I want to preserve, and all I need is a trigger for that. I am not trying to totally discount the object itself, because there is something about the historical artifact itself that makes me feel like I can touch those moments of the past so directly, but maybe all I need to keep is a piece of it. However, when I consider the time/effort it would take to put something together like that, I just shove the box back into the closet and figure I will deal with it another day.
I could easily devote the next several months to managing my past. I could make collages of items. I could take photos. I could sort and label photos. I have an old 1980s computer with old files I would love to have, if I could ever take the time to set it up and relearn how to use the machine again. Let's not even talk about scrapbooking.
As any hoarder will tell you: I could lose 2/3 of this stuff and never miss it. Easy.
If it were just one box of maps, I could just keep them and bring them out now and then to remember. But it is not just one little box. It is old furniture. It is broken stuff. It is boxes and boxes of unsorted piles of clutter. Plane tickets, business cards, little notes, cards and envelopes--envelopes, for crying out loud! The real downside is that keeping anything for several years turns it into an artifact. It could be a 20 year old page of ads from the newspaper, but by golly it is 20 years old and now it is precious!
This stuff legitimately does bring back memories. However, it is not like I kick back on a Saturday evening, put a pot of tea on the stove, light the fireplace and bring out one of these boxes to savor old times. No, the only time I interact with this stuff at all is when I am moving. And moving, admittedly, can either be the best or worst of times to wrap up loose ends. I often throw stuff out, but just as often I am to busy and end up just transferring it from one location to another, unchanged.
Lately, I have barely had the time or energy to do all this moving, and when I realize I am just shuffling junk from one place to another, I have finally been "moved" enough to say: Enough is enough. It is time to purge.
I had a great time driving around Columbus recently, dropping off items at various thrift stores, churches and outreach organizations. It felt so much better doing this than the drudgery of hauling boxes from one storage environment to another. The Catholic Worker movement has a history of living in the present. There is a tendency not to hold onto excess items or even money. They take what they need and give out the rest, in full faith that when they are in need later, what goes around will come back around. It was great that so many people donated to the Catholic Worker, but it is hard to justify keeping all those donations in a storage shed when they could be put to good use outside. We only stored it because it was possible we would be up and running again in a short while. When that did not happen, it became time to liquidate. So I have been liquidating both my personal stuff and the Catholic Worker belongings, too.
For so many years, I kept this stuff because it felt like a piece of me. How could I get rid of something that was a part of me? The ironic thing is that the more I have given away recently, the more I have felt like myself. That baggage was keeping me trapped in a bygone moment and preventing me from fully living into the present moment. Even when it was just sitting in a closet somewhere, its presence still weighed me down on some level of my being. I am lighter and more me than before.
I would like to think I gave away half my possessions over the past few weeks. That is an overstatement, but perhaps the good news is that it felt like half. I delivered many truckloads to Goodwill and divided appliances, furniture and other items to various people and organizations. I took many trips to the recycling bin.
The greatest horror in this is that it is darn near impossible to find a good home for used books. I have a wonderful collection of classics, spiritual works, just all sorts of great stuff. The used books stores have enough of what I have, and often they will shred the rest if they take it at all. It is certainly a sign of the decline of civilization that no one wants good used books, even when given for free. St. Stephen's Episcopal Church right in the OSU campus area operates a used book store, and they donate the proceeds to NSI, an agency that runs a free food pantry and other services for the poor. They took a lot of my stuff, and I was glad to leave it there.
It is time to go native. It is time to travel light and spend time in the present moment. It is interesting that "going native" has connotations of nakedness. It is about being more exposed, perhaps more vulnerable but also perhaps more flexible, which is a form of strength.
As for the box of maps, I think this is actually my own collection and not my grandpa's after all! So much for memory!
Every so often, the movie would pan out and show a couple of native Americans sitting on a hilltop observing all this commotion. They would sit in the shade, with perhaps a day's worth of food with them. They traveled light, and because of this, they could just experience the present moment a little bit better. They could no doubt get what they needed from the land around them rather than by lugging around tons of supplies.
The last several months has involved a lot of of moving. With the Catholic Worker dismantling and people coming and going, goods donated far and wide, many things put into storage, and me moving twice, it was a seemingly constant effort moving things around from one place to another. I have boxes of unsorted personal papers and memorabilia that I have trudged from placed to place. Much of it is just random papers that I may or may not want to keep, but I have not taken the time to sort through it all.
I have felt like I was on the Lewis & Clark expedition, with all my energy inward on my stuff and barely looking around, keeping anything and everything because "I might need it someday." It was an empty, unsatisfying experience.
I have boxes and boxes of keepsakes and mementos. Some have unfinished emotional business, in some I am hanging on to the memory of loved ones, some who have passed, and in others I have stuff I would like to keep for a rainy day--I may want to re-read those old letters or show them to my kids someday.
It has gotten to the point where hauling this stuff around is affecting the quality of life in the present tense. I have had to make decisions about where I live because of it. I can not count the times I have said I would have few regrets if an "accidental" fire took this burden off of me.
I have a box of old National Geographic maps from my grandpa. We used to look through those maps in wonderful detail together, pondering places and comparing facts and figures. These were his maps. I will probably not look at those maps again that way, if I look at them at all. Even though I have sacramentalized the box of maps itself, is it not more accurate to say that it was sharing those moments together that I treasure more than the objects themselves? The box of maps itself does not bring with it what made those moments special. Why keep them?
When looking at these boxes of stuff, the glaring metaphor of emotional baggage cannot possibly go unnoticed. The real danger here is that I could think that by keeping this box of maps, I could somehow keep my grandpa, too. However, if I did have my grandpa around, I would not stuff him into a closet or a storage shed, so why would I do the same with stuff that I am clinging to as a way of clinging to him?
Some archivist might come along with a quite lovely idea--I could make a collage of these maps and put it on the wall! That would honor the memory in the best possible way while still clearing out the unnecessary clutter. It is the memory, after all, that I want to preserve, and all I need is a trigger for that. I am not trying to totally discount the object itself, because there is something about the historical artifact itself that makes me feel like I can touch those moments of the past so directly, but maybe all I need to keep is a piece of it. However, when I consider the time/effort it would take to put something together like that, I just shove the box back into the closet and figure I will deal with it another day.
I could easily devote the next several months to managing my past. I could make collages of items. I could take photos. I could sort and label photos. I have an old 1980s computer with old files I would love to have, if I could ever take the time to set it up and relearn how to use the machine again. Let's not even talk about scrapbooking.
As any hoarder will tell you: I could lose 2/3 of this stuff and never miss it. Easy.
If it were just one box of maps, I could just keep them and bring them out now and then to remember. But it is not just one little box. It is old furniture. It is broken stuff. It is boxes and boxes of unsorted piles of clutter. Plane tickets, business cards, little notes, cards and envelopes--envelopes, for crying out loud! The real downside is that keeping anything for several years turns it into an artifact. It could be a 20 year old page of ads from the newspaper, but by golly it is 20 years old and now it is precious!
This stuff legitimately does bring back memories. However, it is not like I kick back on a Saturday evening, put a pot of tea on the stove, light the fireplace and bring out one of these boxes to savor old times. No, the only time I interact with this stuff at all is when I am moving. And moving, admittedly, can either be the best or worst of times to wrap up loose ends. I often throw stuff out, but just as often I am to busy and end up just transferring it from one location to another, unchanged.
Lately, I have barely had the time or energy to do all this moving, and when I realize I am just shuffling junk from one place to another, I have finally been "moved" enough to say: Enough is enough. It is time to purge.
I had a great time driving around Columbus recently, dropping off items at various thrift stores, churches and outreach organizations. It felt so much better doing this than the drudgery of hauling boxes from one storage environment to another. The Catholic Worker movement has a history of living in the present. There is a tendency not to hold onto excess items or even money. They take what they need and give out the rest, in full faith that when they are in need later, what goes around will come back around. It was great that so many people donated to the Catholic Worker, but it is hard to justify keeping all those donations in a storage shed when they could be put to good use outside. We only stored it because it was possible we would be up and running again in a short while. When that did not happen, it became time to liquidate. So I have been liquidating both my personal stuff and the Catholic Worker belongings, too.
For so many years, I kept this stuff because it felt like a piece of me. How could I get rid of something that was a part of me? The ironic thing is that the more I have given away recently, the more I have felt like myself. That baggage was keeping me trapped in a bygone moment and preventing me from fully living into the present moment. Even when it was just sitting in a closet somewhere, its presence still weighed me down on some level of my being. I am lighter and more me than before.
I would like to think I gave away half my possessions over the past few weeks. That is an overstatement, but perhaps the good news is that it felt like half. I delivered many truckloads to Goodwill and divided appliances, furniture and other items to various people and organizations. I took many trips to the recycling bin.
The greatest horror in this is that it is darn near impossible to find a good home for used books. I have a wonderful collection of classics, spiritual works, just all sorts of great stuff. The used books stores have enough of what I have, and often they will shred the rest if they take it at all. It is certainly a sign of the decline of civilization that no one wants good used books, even when given for free. St. Stephen's Episcopal Church right in the OSU campus area operates a used book store, and they donate the proceeds to NSI, an agency that runs a free food pantry and other services for the poor. They took a lot of my stuff, and I was glad to leave it there.
It is time to go native. It is time to travel light and spend time in the present moment. It is interesting that "going native" has connotations of nakedness. It is about being more exposed, perhaps more vulnerable but also perhaps more flexible, which is a form of strength.
As for the box of maps, I think this is actually my own collection and not my grandpa's after all! So much for memory!
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