the Abbey

20 years ago, we were in Westminster Abbey.

It's a Sunday morning.  In London.  As we turn the first corner, we see a long long line up to the door of the church.

We walk to the front and say "We're here to take Communion".  

Without the slightest hesitation, the security rope is opened and in seconds we find ourselves in the lobby of the Abbey!

Before we can get our breath, the usher is there.  A discussion about seating.  

"It's a summer Sunday, and all we have here is the boys' choir, so there's lots of seats up there.  Would you like to sit in the Choir stalls?"

We try to look ho-hum about all this as we settle in our seats and timidly look to our left and stare at the crowd below filling the church.  Everything has happened so fast,  there's a "should I pinch myself to see if this is real" feeling about it all!

Is the word "Communion" the key to Westminster Abbey?  

Each seat has deep sides.  We have to lean forward to peak at each other.  It is comforting, because we feel exposed.  We hope that we look touristy enough that the rest of the crowd does not suppose we are members of the choir. 

Such an historic place. That morning, the past seems to be sitting next to us.

It still seems like a dream.  

We tell anyone who will listen about this adventure in our favorite city.

So here's to Kate and William.  We hope they have a perfect wedding day!

CHINA

China has taken centre stage lately.  I've always wondered what buttons they have been pushing.
Here's a short "take" on what makes China tick.  I found it in the New York Times.  I was impressed at the simplicity of the writing.  I grasped the characterization of the country instantly, and the concept has stayed with me solidly.  In fact, I heard myself describing it to a friend the other day.  I was a bit taken aback at the fragility of the arrangement there, and the idea that somehow the people in charge had seemingly lucked into the formula for keeping things on an even keel.  But you have to be impressed.  Very impressed.


"China largely operates on Confucian/Buddhist/Daoist values.  "Harmony" and "harmonization" are not euphemisms in China.  They are essential and basic tenets of the need to maintain balance between coexistent opposing and conflicting forces.  The alternative, perfectly understood by most Chinese and anyone aware of China's culture and history, is turmoil and chaos.  
Pew Global opinion polls show that the present Chinese Government enjoys higher public support than most so-called democracies.  The reasons for this are that the present Chinese government, probably more than any other government in China's entire history, is viewed by its public as competently delivering social and economic progress, and harmony.  Today is a very different China from that of the Empress Dowager, of Sun Yat-sen and the warlords, of many years of civil was and foreign incursions, or of Mao Zedong.  It is a reformist authoritarian state with many democratic characteristics.
It is intensely interested in, and is responsive to domestic and global opinion.  But China understands itself: it cannot stay on its path of steady progress without an authoritarian element in maintaining harmony.
To get some idea how different China's concept of harmony is from western values, consider this:
Confucianism is secular - a hierarchical system of sublimation of the individual to the higher needs of society and family.
Chinese Buddhism is intensely spiritual and individualistic.
Daoism is mystical and shamanistic.
While there is a good dash of Islam and Christianity in the Chinese values cocktail as well, there is no acceptance for the traditional claims of universality of any of the great belief systems.  
The result is a paradox: an extraordinarily harmonious, tolerant and peaceable society which is inherently unstable if allowed to slip out of balance.

Bob Dylan

Maureen Dowd is an opinion writer for the New York Times - political stuff.
But lately she's been talking about Bob Dylan.
He did a concert in China.
Perhaps because the Chinese are nervous about all the civilian uprisings lately, he was required to tell them what he was going to sing.

Maureen Dowd was incensed.  She implied that Dylan was "selling out",  that he's a protest singer and should have sung protest songs in China.
Lots of writers came to his defense.

What interested me in all the background material about him was that he himself never thought he was political.  "I had very little in common with and knew even less about a generation that I was supposed to be the voice of."
Some folks are even saying that he put one over on the Chinese, and sang lots of stuff that should have made them angry.
I heard that he was on the top of his game at the concert and that his harmonica was sizzling - so that would have made the crowd extremely happy.
Leave him alone, Maureen.  He's an icon and we want our icons unsullied.
Her column garnered 300 letters, most of which supported him.  I read every one of them.

computer obsession

Her computer plays soft jazz

The window blinds pulled high to catch the morning light 

computer shopping for designer fashion  

Eileen Fisher emailed the invite

Canadians welcome! they say on her site

Oh sure, but at what cost pray tell!

Zip over to the Picasso exhibit at MoMA   

Newspaper headlines from NewYork and Toronto

Facebook status check of the grandchildren 

clever and boistrous by turns, this new schoolyard communication

A long article "How David Beats Goliath" - when underdogs break the rules"

Compelling writing, New Yorker standard fare.

A glass of wine with lunch and earphones for Diana Krall,  Elvis Costello, Blue Heron. YouTube the new radio.

Jigsaw puzzle background favorite podcasts - science, books, religion.
Never enough time for the big world out there.

playing "store"

To three little girls

it was like a big department store

with dresses and shirts and hats hung all over

And our Dad would walk in

And look everything over very seriously 

and ask about a sweater or a scarf or a belt

"I'll take one of those and three of those - "

we would giggle and carefully mark down his choices

on old order forms from his office

We would feel grown up 

Not like we were standing around the dining room table

with all our paper cut-outs spread out in little rows

But like we were right at the Bay on Betts Avenue

and the murmer and laughter of the ladies shopping

was all around us.

the blossoms

Awkward like party dresses shy blossoms 

unaccustomed to adoration 

this annual wedding of the blushing bridesmaids 

we reach up and break off the blossoms

looking guilty for some reason 

as if a bank robbery

the evidence later found in a little jar

on the kitchen counter

or the small window in the bathroom

or just inside the front door on the cedar chest

no matter how many years how many colors how many trees

Ice cream for a hungry land longing for summer.

To My Last Period

Caroline Kennedy was on the radio today.

She's collected some poems and put them together.

"She Walks in Beauty" - mostly for women

falling in love, breaking up, work, children, growing old and growing older are some of the topics.

So the guy on the radio introduces her, talks about the book,

says he wants to read one of the poems.

He says "It's called "To My Last Period"

Well, girl, goodbye.

After 38 years, 38 years

And you've never arrived splendid in your red dress

Without trouble for me somewhere, somehow

Now it's done.

And I feel just like the grandmother who, 

after the hussy has gone sits holding her photograph and sighing

Wasn't she beautiful - wasn't she beautiful.

(By Lucille Clifton, who died last year)

He says to Caroline "and why did you choose that poem?"
There's a bit of a silence - 

"I can't believe you read that poem!"

It was a delightful piece of radio. 

Dad

It's hard to remember a long life.

It's hard to think back to years and years of stuff

My sister says "I can't remember that day!  

How can you remember something that happened

So long ago!"

And my brother says "Dad used to tell the weirdest jokes.

I never could tell whether they were funny

or just crude and tasteless"

This would get us all talking over top of each other

about our Dad

Nothing would get us going more than talking about our Dad

Lots of feelings there - sadness, guilt, hilarity, love, anger - 

I can still see him at the door 

Watching my Mom hugging us all - the laughter and smiles - 

And us watching him watching us with that comforting smile

His hands in his pockets.