Category Archive

A photo essay

The only thing a professional hair stylist has ever done to my hair is cut it . . . until today.

Many thanks to Wren at Native Hair SF! She’s an artist and just such a lovely person.

I hope you’ll check out my new column,

Ask Isabel: Advice for the Spiritually Perplexed or Vexed

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subscribe for free!

Catching up on taiko ~ Treehouse retreat ~ Advice for the Spiritually Perplexed and Vexed

Even on sabbatical, I have a schedule of things that happen every week. I Zoom with my mom on Mondays. I cook dinner on Tuesdays and Saturdays. I have a grad school class on Monday afternoon. I usually do art and piano every day. But it all goes out the window when the unscheduled event of The Crud comes along. For the past four days, I’ve been sick, and for most of that time, it meant I’ve been good for very little else. Walking up the stairs and eating a little dinner is so exhausting that a nap is required afterwards. Hey, that’s how human bodies deal with minor illnesses, and I’m just glad that there is little I have to do that can’t be put off in favor of a nap. Sunday was the day I felt the worst, so I was acutely grateful not to have to lead a service; I had a Texas congregation’s YouTube feed all cued up so I could attend the service, but between 7:50, when I logged on, and 8:00, when the service began, I ran out of energy.

So I haven’t logged on here to report on recent doings. Catchup time.

The taiko class ended with a day for families to come and see what we’ve learned. That was fun–Munchkin said the role reversal was cool, though honestly, she already sees me and Joy do things that are new to us all the time–and also brought some vindication. Drumming is such a workout for the shoulders and arms, including some forearm muscles that I was not fully aware of possessing before now, that I cut “arm day” out of my gym schedule for the duration. As it was, each week my arms would be almost, but not quite, back to normal by the time class rolled around again. She couldn’t quite believe that it could take a week to recover from exertion, but then, she is 16 and works out, runs, and/or goes rock climbing daily. After we played for the audience, they were invited to come try it out, something that Munchkin of course leapt up to do. I showed her the proper form and she did it quite well, and after several minutes of drumming, observed, “I see what you mean about the arms.” Ha!

My retreat at the treehouse was lovely. I drew, painted, collaged and wrote by day, and read mysteries and constructed crossword puzzles in bed during the early night. When you don’t have much electric light, bedtime is 8 pm. There’s a little pond there, and I tried mightily, and pretty unsuccessfully, to paint the subtle yellows and greens of the duckweed that covered the surface. Although I couldn’t see any fish or frogs, I could hear animal life under the water: little gurgles and swishes. Occasionally the surface was broken by something that rose for a moment and left dark, clear water where it had been for a few moments. Deer browsed in the field on the first evening, and I watched them for a long time, and drew them too. I was glad I did, because they didn’t come back at subsequent dawns or dusks, as I’d hoped they would. I heard an owl calling during the night. Our house is near two freeways and the background of traffic is never entirely gone, so the silence from which animal sounds could emerge was special.

As I noted last week, I launched Ask Isabel, the spirituality and religion advice column that I’d been mulling since the spring. During our travels this summer, I did research, made the website, and started writing. The second column posted today: Can a Christian and a Muslim make a life together? I hope you’ll check it out, and subscribe if you’d like to receive it via e-mail every Tuesday. And of course, please share the link with anyone you think would enjoy it.

As I said in my introductory letter, a lot of people have big problems and questions connected to spirituality and religion, and liberal-religious voices aren’t heard nearly enough in the responses, even though we could be of great help. Not surprisingly, many seekers conclude that the choices are some kind of fundamentalism, or nothing. That’s sad. If “Ask Isabel” can offer something to people who might never cross the threshold of a congregation but still have these pressing questions, I will be very happy.

I’d love to post some recent art, but I’ve used up my allotted energy again. Nap time.

It is exactly 50 years since September 11, 1973, when the United States government helped topple and kill the democratically elected president of Chile, Salvador Allende, in order to install a dictator more to its liking.

In his 17-year rule, Augusto Pinochet had over 3,000 of his countryfolk murdered and tens of thousands more tortured, and the specter of Chile was felt wherever the CIA and US flexed their muscles, as they often did, during those decades. I wonder what Chile, South America, Latin America, and the United States’s relationship with these countries would be like today if not for that coup.

Some years–those ending in a 1, especially–I think a lot about September 11, 2001. And some years, that earlier 9/11 dominates my thoughts.

Yes, I definitely enjoy this medium more than the acrylics I used for the first version. I’m not sure whether that’s because I prefer a stick of pigment to a brush, or oils to acrylics, or both, I’d have to try brush painting with oils to find out. I have oil paints, but it’s been a long time since I used them (since high school? Can it be that long?), and I balk at the thought of all that mess. Turpentine, feh.

My dad has painted with water-mixable oils–I had never heard of them until he mentioned them, and still find the concept a little wild–and if I really do decide to do some oil painting, I might get a tube or two and try those. But for now, I am loving oil pastels.

With some trepidation, I share this piece in a rough state, only half-dressed, as it were. It’s all part of my self-therapy to heal from perfectionism.

Having opened my mail to a headline that made me literally cry out, “Oh, god, no!,” I just sent this to my Congresswoman.

Dear Ms. Pelosi,

I am extremely distressed that you are running for re-election. We have effectively been deprived of one of our senators for several years; Kentucky is now in the same boat. With all due respect, Ms. Pelosi: it is unwise, and deeply unfair to us your constituents, to seek to remain in office until your 86th year. If for no other reason than leaving while your abilities and dignity are intact, instead of after aides have to vote for you, speak for you, and gently usher you from the room when you are trying to do your job, please retire now, on your own terms.

It is tempting to think of oneself as indispensable. But none of us is. Another fine leader will represent San Francisco, just as others did before you entered politics. Please make room for them now.

Everyone up and down not only California, but the country, is saying of Senator Feinstein, “Isn’t it sad that she served so faithfully for so long, and that instead of her accomplishments, what we will remember is how she hung on when she was deep in dementia?” Is that how you want your career in public service to end?

Sincerely,

Rev. Amy Zucker Morgenstern

I have lived 20 years in the Bay Area and 13 in San Francisco, all of them as a leftist, without seeing a performance of the San Francisco Mime Troupe. Until today! We went to Dolores Park to see their Labor Day performance, and enjoyed a packed lunch, the always-gorgeous weather of these three square blocks, and the view of the city, along with the play. A couple of hummingbirds were hovering and perching in the tree closest to us, and a dragonfly kept circling in the area, looking about the same size as the hummingbirds. Our blanket even got a visit from a beautiful butterfly.

The play was sardonic and funny, taking on–among other things–the upside-down idea, promoted by numerous “news” sources like Fox, that San Francisco’s problems stem from overly progressive leadership.

In addition to finally experiencing this institution of rabble-rousing art, being there was a great opportunity for reading (before the show) and drawing.

A few months ago, one of my audiobook apps suggested the book Nobody Wants Your Sh*t: The American Art of Decluttering Before You Die. The author, who calls her(?)self Messie Condo, is very funny, straight-shooting, and potty-mouthed. I really enjoyed it, and she has already had a significant effect on my approach to, well, my sh*t.

Even without having read The Gentle Art of Swedish Death Cleaning, I realized that Nobody Wants was the cut-to-the-chase, cut-the-crap presentation of the same concept. That concept, put simply, is that one day, after each of us dies, someone will have to go through all of our stuff and decide what to do with it. That someone will probably be a person we dearly love, such as our spouse, child, or best friend. So as we make choices about what to acquire, keep, or discard, and how to organize it, we would do well to consider our stuff in this light.

I’ve read enough accounts of people who mutter curses as they go through their recently-departed loved ones’ things to know this is spot on. (Blogs by children of people with hoarding disorder are a whole subgenre.) It is already emotionally laden, difficult work. It doesn’t have to be a monstrous chore as well. I hope it will be many years before anyone has to go through my closet saying things like “Why the heck did she have five pairs of shoes too worn out to wear?,” but when the day comes, I’d like such moments to be kept to a minimum.

While “Messie Condo” has plenty of sardonic comments to make about improving the posthumous chapter of our relationships, what really inspired me was her encouragement for us to have a better relationship, now, with our own possessions. As her name indicates, she is less than reverent towards Marie Kondo approaches such as folding one’s underwear. But she does put a rather Kondo-ish frame around what we keep and what we don’t. She (Condo) advises us to go through our clothes, accessories and jewelry noticing which ones we actually love and wear all the time, and which ones we pass over for one reason or another, yet never give away to someone who would actually love them. She called BS on the reasons I keep these things: I spent a lot of money on that sweater. I like that skirt–okay, not as much as 90% of my other skirts, but it’s nice enough. Those earrings aren’t really my style, but they’re pretty, so surely I’ll wear them one of these days. That dress would be perfect for a truly formal, black-tie occasion–never mind that I never go to any such events. Et cetera. I have a lot of things like that. I loved her reframing: when you purge your drawers (closets, jewelry boxes) of those things you keep skipping over, everything that is left is something you love to wear. And that, she promised, is a really great feeling.

The first category of stuff I applied it to was jewelry. I showed my daughter everything that didn’t pass my “love it!” test, and she took a few things. As for the rest, now I have a bag of jewelry to give away. That’s nice in itself–to know that whoever has it next will really love it and wear it. As for what’s left, every pair of earrings, every pendant, every bracelet, is something I actually love to wear. Opening my jewelry box is like going into a shop where every single item is crafted to fit my taste–except that instead of having to buy any of it, I already own it! It is a great feeling.

She’s not doctrinaire about those things we keep for rare occasions. Go ahead and keep the black skirt suit you’ll never wear except to a funeral, she says. If the occasion comes for it, the last thing you’re going to want to do is go shopping, so you’ll be glad you have it in the back of your closet. That particular example doesn’t fit my situation, since I love black and wear it a lot (and also, sadly, participate in a lot of funerals), but you get the idea. It’s okay to keep things we’ll hardly ever use, but that’s no excuse for keeping things we’re honestly never going to use.

I also found Ms. Condo humane and helpful in regard to those sentimental items that can burden the next generation if you’re not careful, but that you can’t, just can’t, toss, yourself. In that category for me are three stuffed animals I’ve had since I was a small child–one, I believe, was my then-three-year-old sister’s gift to me upon my birth, though I might have my family lore mixed up–and with this book’s wisdom backing me up, I popped into my daughter’s room.

“I want you to know that you can throw away Paddington, Mouse, and Dachy when I die,” I announced.

“Oh…kay,” she said.

“I am never going to be able to do it,” I said. “They would look at me reproachfully. But they’re connected to me, not you. Once I’m gone, they can go too.”

“Got it. Good to know,” she said.

“I don’t want you to be stuck with my stuff,” I explained.

“Thank you,” she said.

It should be said that my child has a brisker, more balanced, far more sane attitude towards things than I do. She’d probably be okay without this explicit permission. But I needed to give myself the permission to give her the permission, and this book helped.

There’s lots in the book about dealing with your papers, computer files, and such too, but I’m focused on my possessions.

We packed up most of our clothes before traveling this summer, since our renters needed room in the drawers and closets for their stuff. Now that I’m back, pulling my things out of boxes has been a great opportunity to look at every single piece of clothing I own and consider whether I am ever going to wear it, or whether I should just give it away because while it’s a cute t-shirt, it is my least favorite and I’m always going to pass it over for one I like better. I could no doubt have been more ruthless, but I put a lot of things in that category into the give-away box. Again, after Munchkin has had a look to see if she wants any of them (doubtful), I’ll bring them to the thrift store.

And it’s time to take photos of all that jewelry in the give-away bag and post it on Buy Nothing.

Foam near the bank downstream from the waterfall

Scratchboard, 9″ x 6″

Even on sabbatical, my pile of books to read grows faster than I can actually read them. So many heavy hitters await, like Pauli Murray, Walter Benjamin, and the memoir Lost and Found, by Karen Schulz.

I’m reading for fun, too: I reread Curtain (Agatha Christie)–what a finale–and have just finished The Sword of Summer, the first in Rick Riordan’s Magnus Chase series. The munchkin likes the Percy Jackson ones the most, and I do want to catch up there, but I particularly love Norse mythology, which is the setting for this series, so she recommended them. I got the second, The Hammer of Thor, from the library today.

In the more serious category, I have recently read:

Lila, Marilynne Robinson–as with Gilead, this was a reread and I decided to listen to the audiobook. Marvelous.

How to Be an Artist, Jerry Saltz

Big Magic: Creative Living Beyond Fear, Elizabeth Gilbert

The Creative Habit: Learn it and Use it for Life, Twyla Tharp

And I am currently reading The Creative Act: A Way of Being, Rick Rubin. All four of those are for my upcoming grad school course, The Arts As Leadership. I am finding Rubin less simpatico than the others. That may mean I have more to learn from him, or it may not.

Yesterday, a book I pre-ordered arrived. It’s of interest not just because it’s by the new president of the Unitarian Universalist Association and a colleague I admire greatly, but because: ecowomanism! So I have dived in.

What have you read lately that you’d recommend to others?