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I had a very different plan for today’s post, until Monday, when the national holiday (Veteran’s Day) focused on remembrance caused me think and think about my departed friend, Ryan. I met Ryan in 1988 when we both worked for the Guthrie Theater’s development office. Often she would join Tim and me for a Saints baseball game or for dinner (several times Thanksgiving dinner), and she and I would discuss books, go for walks, and work on free-lance projects together.
She moved away to Washington D.C., then contracted early onset Alzheimer’s disease in her early fifties, and died two years ago. This year, I wanted to share a little of her spirit and zest for life with you.
(All the photos of objects are things that Ryan brought into our lives.)
Ryan contained a wonderful mix of seemingly contradictory qualities. On the one hand, she might be the most introverted person I’ve met, and yet she expressed a theatrical flair few can claim. Ryan knew sadness and self-doubt, but she exuded joie de vivre and bonhomie. She was quiet but also quite a riveting story-teller. She loved high tea– and baseball. (Her cat, adopted as a wee kitten while she was a student at Bryn Mawr College, was named Thurman after famed Yankees catcher Thurman Munson). Animals sensed her gentleness and gravitated to her, but Ryan had a sharp and witty tongue. She had a fierce intellect, an encyclopedic knowledge of Shakespeare’s plays (indeed, of theater in general, of many categories of genre fiction, of baseball and other arcane areas of knowledge!) but she could be dreamy often. Ryan had a strong work ethic and great efficiency and professionalism, but she never–I mean, never–forgot what it was to be a kid.
When I think of Ryan, I think of places and things she loved: her apartment with walls lined floor to ceiling with books; the Eloise Butler Wildflower Garden, the Malt Shop Restaurant (both in Minneapolis) and Madeline Island in the Apostle Island archipelago near Bayfield, WI; the green leather gloves she splurged on–gauntlets, really, suitable for a stylish lady falconer a thousand years ago; Häagen-Dazs ice cream and Dove Bars; a glass box of ticket stubs from plays and other events; stacks and stacks of books; her beautiful calligraphy and collection of writing implements; her precision with grammar and punctuation, and her innate sense of style. Of all the days to exit this world, it is suitable that Ryan would do so on 11.11.11.
Because of Ryan, I have:
walked around Lake of the Isles swinging antique wooden Indian clubs that belonged to her grand-aunt; call William Shakespeare “Will” to his face (that would be the cloth face of the puppet magnet on the door of our refrigerator, a gift from Ryan); learned to identify the distinctive peaty flavor of Knockando single malt Scotch whiskey and the clear pleasure of Toad Hollow champagne; read every word of one of her boxed sets of hardcover The Lord of the Rings series (which she then gave me); discovered the pleasures of the mix-tape, back when audio tape was a real thing rather than a metaphor; become a fan of regency romances after reading hers, and of peerless work by Margaret Mahy (The Great Piratical Rumbustification and many others), Caroline Stevermer (A College of Magics and many others); learned to celebrate our annual national holiday, “Talk Like a Pirate Day”; laughed myself silly the first time I read her perfect Shakespearian sonnet titled “To My Bed” on the pleasures of sleeping rather than socializing; attended a Fourth Street Fantasy Convention to hear a panel discussion on establishing the laws of magic; and practiced turning out such tiny delicacies as Hapenny Treats.
Below is the recipe I still follow (in gluten-free form) in Ryan’s hand.
Ryan was a cherished correspondent. She also understood, as few have, my fascination with the sculptures of white lions. (She understood they held for me a triple resonance: that of my all white, half-Siamese cat, Alpine; the echo of Shirley Jackson’s novel, The Haunting of Hill House; and the sheer delight in the names of the New York Library Lions: Patience and Fortitude.)
Below are a small sample of the cards she sent over the years.
After Julia arrived in our world, Ryan picked up on her wavelength right away. Ryan couldn’t visit frequently, but her visits were occasions. Julia remembers sitting on the porch with Ryan, coloring with the rainbow of Sharpie markers Ryan had brought, then playing with the finger puppets, also her gift. Ryan told Julia how, when she was a little girl, a neighbor had given her a nickname she liked: Ryan the Lion. After that, of course, all letters to her were addressed that way.
One day, she joined us in a painting project is still part of our daily life. I had happened on a church rummage sale and bought two things of which Ryan approved: an almost complete set of Trixie Beldon books and a box of unfinished wooden blocks. Since I had lots of brushes and acrylic paints–and it was a fine summer day–a group of us sat down to embellish them. Ryan was a natural and brought great gusto to our project. The transformation of plain wood to mini, moveable stage flats was magical.
And anyone who knows Julia well knows that she has been inseparable from Pig, who came from Ryan. Never has a Pig been so loved. (The photograph below was taken fully ten years ago, in November of 2003.)
Pig is now a constant, well-travelled companion. Well-styled always (currently sporting a new “body suit” of terrycloth to protect his delicate innards), Pig was the star of a special “Pig Style” issue of Julia’s publication The Winona Times, designed to amuse Ryan from afar. In 2012, Ryan’s sister wrote to Julia, telling her that Ryan had two smaller versions of Pig that she kept on her desk. George and Annette now keep Pig company (no doubt regaling him with stories of Ryan. Maybe, in exchange, Pig shows George and Annette his recent stitches, Lyndon Johnson-style?)
It is hard to say goodbye to this irreplaceable friend…and, by now, you’ve cottoned on to how impossible it is. Ryan had many, many friends, and we were very lucky to be part of her circle. As friends do, Ryan wove her vitality into the very fabric of our lives. She is indelible in us.
To close, in this “elegy season” (in the immortal words of poet Richard Wilbur), I wanted to do something small for my great-souled friend. I have never written a drinking song before, but somehow that seemed the right form to express Ryan’s joy in the sheer fun of living. So, as I sip my cup of raspberry leaf tea, wishing I could strum a Celtic harp, I offer this.
Drinking Song (for E. Ryan Edmonds)
So here’s to our Ryan!
Under cloud-tumbled skies,
let’s lift our full glasses
to her Irish eyes.
Let’s think of her stories,
her piratical flair,
those green leather gauntlets
in her book-lined lair,
her box full of tickets,
and the love in her heart
for a well-burnished sentence:
the essence of art.
Sing Ryan the Lion
a song of good cheer!
We miss her each day but
we still hold her near.
11.12.13 (Ryan would have enjoyed this date, too!)
A straight ally, Lutheran Pastor James Siefkes, a “rather rotund church executive” in the home offices of the American Lutheran Church (ALC), a predecessor to the ELCA, was the principal inspiration for the founding of “Lutherans Concerned for Gay People” in 1974. That’s the short version; here are the details. Well, even what follows is a condensed version; read Queer Clergy: A History of Gay and Lesbian Ministry in American Protestantism for the full story, woven into an overarching narrative.
After a couple of stops as a parish pastor, Iowan James Siefkes landed in the western regional office of the ALC in Palo Alto, California. Rev. Siefkes was a third-generation Lutheran pastor after his father and grandfather. Serving in the San Francisco area during the tumultuous 1960s, Siefkes developed a program designed to introduce clergy and spouses to hot-button issues such as the Vietnam war, campus riots, runaway youth, drugs, and more. His Matrix program offered the streets of San Francisco as Petri dish for clergy to examine life on the edge.
I would set up a program, take maybe thirty, forty people and move them into the YMCA in the Tenderloin in San Francisco and, then, would try to introduce them to what was going on in the Bay Area at that time.
Matrix came to the attention of the ALC home office in Minneapolis, and Pastor Siefkes was offered a position to develop something similar; he was to establish and lead a new ALC department to be called, “Congregational Social Concerns.” So far, so good, but when he invited approximately sixty persons from the Twin Cities (Lutheran and Catholic Social Services, ALC executives, an ALC bishop, the YMCA, the University of Minnesota Medical School, and more) to a seminar to evaluate the potential for ministry in the area of human sexuality, “the milieu heated up,” according to Siefkes. In particular, the scandalized director of Catholic Social Services published an unfriendly report in Commonweal magazine entitled, “Sex, Sex, Sex!”
Undeterred, Siefkes successfully sought a small ALC appropriation of a few thousand dollars:
To enable at least one national meeting of up to twenty ALC homosexual persons plus 5 resource persons to discuss their sexual orientation and their relationship because of it, to society and their church; to the end that they may address the church and the church might respond to them and become less a source of oppression to ALC and other persons with homosexual orientation.
Earlier, Siefkes had been interviewed by a reporter from the Minneapolis Star Tribune, Howard Erickson, who was a closeted gay man who also published in the gay periodical, The Advocate, under the pseudonym, Bjorn Bjornson. Erickson’s Advocate article introduced Siefkes to the gay community as an ally, and Siefkes used contacts he attained following that article to invite around twenty gay and lesbian persons to an inaugural meeting in Minneapolis in June 1974. Five persons actually attended the weekend event, including reporter Erickson. Siefkes himself stepped back and let the five persons plus three facilitators conduct the meeting themselves.
On Sunday evening, June 16, 1974, Siefkes and his wife, Sally, joined the others for a social event and report at a professor’s home near the University of Minnesota campus. When he arrived, he learned that Lutherans Concerned had been born, the LGBT advocacy group that would grown in size and strength and become the lobbying force that encouraged the ELCA to revise its attitude and policies toward gays and lesbians. Five LGBT Lutherans and three facilitators would have “an impact way out of proportion to their numbers.” Sort of like five fishes and two loaves.
The conservative Lutheran press picked up on the story and lambasted the “Dollars for Disobedience” appropriation. By printing copies of the organizational newsletter, including the subscription form, the conservative publication unwittingly helped to spread the word. Four years later at the first national gathering of Lutherans Concerned, reporter Erickson would reminisce, “We five had our differences, all right, but it started to look like this nestling we’d hatched just might be around for awhile.”
In 1992, Lutherans Concerned established the Jim Siefkes Justice-Maker Award, to recognize superior and tireless efforts of straight allies on behalf of LGBT Lutherans. Siefkes himself was honored with the 2010 Peace and Justice Award from the Hawkinson Foundation. The award honors individuals or couples who have made significant and sustained contributions to peace and justice. Now retired, Siefkes remains in Minneapolis and helped me with background information to the founding of Lutherans Concerned (now ReconcilingWorks).
This is the fifth installment in the series Cast of characters countdown. I will continue to post biographical notes about the iconic pilgrims and prophets on the road to full inclusion who are featured prominently in Queer Clergy. Here’s the list of prior posts:
1968 Troy Perry (founder of the MCC)
1970 Robert Mary Clement (gay priest who marched in the first Gay Pride parade)
1970-72 William Johnson (first out gay man to be ordained by a traditional denomination)
1972-77 Ellen Marie Barrett (first out lesbian ordained to the Episcopal priesthood)
In 1970, the Episcopal General Convention authorized diaconal ordination for women, a non-sacerdotal role. Two years later, Bishop Paul Moore, Jr., of the Episcopal Diocese of New York, interviewed Ellen Marie Barrett, an early female candidate for ordination to the diaconate.
I asked her to sit down on the sofa across from the wing chair where I usually sit when someone comes to see me. Ellen is tall, with dark brown hair conservatively styled. She, like many tall people, stoops a little as she walks. Her most arresting feature is her eyes, which appear honest, deep, and welcoming … In conversation, she seems rather soft, until the discussion finds its way into an area of faith or conviction. Then you strike rock.
Though the progressive bishop was impressed with Barrett, he did not recommend her for ordination to the diaconate because she was an out lesbian. Barrett attended seminary. When she finished in 1975, she again asked Bishop Moore to approve her for ordination to the diaconate. He relented, and she was ordained a deacon in December, 1975 before a few church ladies, a few students, and her proud Southern mother. The ordination barely disturbed the church mice even though Barrett had been elected co-president of Integrity, an Episcopal LGBT advocacy group, at its inaugural national meeting earlier that year.
The following summer, the Episcopal General Convention went further; church canons were revised to allow women to be ordained to the priesthood, and many lined up for ordination when the policy would become effective in January, 1977. Deacon Barrett was among the hopeful women, but she and Bishop Moore weren’t prepared for the firestorm that awaited them. TV networks were there for her January ordination, which was a Time Magazine feature story.
The bishop and the lesbian priest were hounded mercilessly with calls, letters, and rejection. The last years of the decade of the seventies degenerated into the “height of homophobia” within the Episcopal Church. Barrett didn’t have a comfortable career and faced crushing depression. Eventually, she joined the Order of St. Benedict as Sister Bernadette.
In researching her story, I located her in the Diocese of Newark, and I asked her to comment. Months passed, and I heard nothing. Then, a long email arrived. With Sister Bernadette’s permission, the entire email appears as a poignant coda to the Episcopal section of my book.
Here’s a snippet:
Would I do it again? Knowing what I know now? That’s not a question that can possibly have an answer. Today is a very different time. I have no idea whether God would have moulded my combination of weakness, pig-headedness, and some talent into what another time would need. I was what I was, and I did what I did, in the context of a particular time and socio-political climate.
Am I still convinced it was the right thing to do? Yes. Done the right way by the right person? Who knows? It is what it is. And priesthood is as much a part of me as green eyes and once black hair turning white.
I am a priest forever. That’s all.
This is the fourth installment in the series Cast of characters countdown. I will continue to post biographical notes about the iconic pilgrims and prophets on the road to full inclusion who are featured prominently in Queer Clergy. Here’s the list of prior posts:
1968 Troy Perry (founder of the MCC)
1970 Robert Mary Clement (gay priest who marched in the first Gay Pride parade)
1970-72 William Johnson (first out gay man to be ordained by a traditional denomination)
Today was a pleasant, quiet day, marked by a short outing with the girls to watch the end of the inaugural Minnesota State Gravel Championships and an amazing sunset.
My trip to a conference at Wesleyan University in Connecticut went well overall. First and foremost, the conference was great. Second, my air travel went smoothly, with no major delays or other trouble. Third, I had a good time hanging out with new and old friends at the conference.
But I also made a pretty bad choice as to the hotel where I would stay. I picked the cheaper option, when I should have done more research to figure out which of the two had the better location.
So – three tips to find a better hotel next time:
First, heck the distance from the hotel to the conference site, and choose the hotel with the shorter distance! The cheaper hotel this time was miles from the conference site, and though the hotel furnished a shuttle, walking the half-mile to campus each morning and evening would have been great.
Second, use Google Maps to figure out where nearby stores and such are located, but also use StreetView to see if I can walk to any of them.
Before this trip, I could see that my chosen hotel was less than half a mile from a mall with a grocery store and several restaurants, but I didn’t see that that half mile could not be covered on foot, thanks to a ridiculously narrow overpass.
Third, ask at the front desk about the view from my room. This time, I got this, which isn’t much of a view at all:
The Christopher Street Liberation Day parade from Greenwich Village to Central Park on June 28, 1970 was peaceful. Though police turned their backs on the marchers, they honored their parade permit.
Across the nation in San Francisco, police were less respectful at a much smaller event that same day, consisting of a couple of hundred queers at a ”Gay In” at Golden Gate park; police arrested several of the participants. San Francisco was years away from its later reputation as an LGBT friendly city.
Five years earlier, on New Year’s eve 1965, San Francisco police had broken promises made to the clergy organizers of a ball sponsored by the Council on Religion and Homosexuality. When police attempted to crash the ball, the word went out to the clergy organizers: “Get down here and wear your collar.” Lutheran pastor Chuck Lewis kept flash bulbs popping, and his assistant, Jo Chadwick, stuffed his film negatives in her bra to prevent the police from confiscating the photos. At a later press conference, clergy offered the “cloak of the cloth” moral authority, and the eyes of the nation witnessed the reality of police harassment of the gay community.
Five months after the arrests at the “Gay In” at Golden Gate Park, another historic event would quietly unfold across the Bay. Sitting atop “Holy Hill,” the neo-Gothic structures of the Pacific School of Religion (PSR) stand in stately vigil over San Francisco Bay across from the Golden Gate bridge. The stone and timber halls of PSR had long witnessed Christian activism. Founded by Yankee congregationalists from the east in 1866, the seminary prided itself on a “courage born of rashness.”
Four hundred students and others attended a homosexuality symposium in the seminary dining hall on November 11, 1970. When someone made an incendiary comment about gays, a young seminarian found himself rising to speak. His spontaneous comment changed his life and the course of church history.
I am not a faggot, I am not a queer, I am not a fairy–but I am a practicing homosexual. And I can say that with joy–it is an affirmation which I make with pride.
Despite his impromptu “coming out” and over the objections of the seminary president, William R. Johnson continued in seminary and the Golden Gate Association of the United Church of Christ (UCC) ordained him to the ministry in June 1972 around the third anniversary of Stonewall. The UCC had accomplished another historic “first”—the first ordination of an out gay man by any traditional Christian denomination.
Thus began a distinguished career as the pastor to countless gay Christians, including many closeted clergy, and as the pan-denominational prophetic leader of the movement toward full inclusion. Rev. Johnson served as inspiration and strategist for the fledgling LGBT advocacy organizations that appeared in Protestant denominations during the 1970s, including as founder and first leader of what came to be known as the UCC Coalition. Later, he served for many years in the UCC home office.
Pastor Johnson has only recently retired. Elmhurst College, his alma mater, has honored him with an annual lecture series in his name. Pastor Johnson has also been a fact-checking source and supporter during my compilation of Queer Clergy: A History of Gay and Lesbian Ministry in American Protestantism.
He offers this endorsement of the book:
“I have always known that this historical overview of the religious LGBT movement was needed not only to tell our movement stories to the masses but to make same-gender loving people aware of a significant but often overlooked part of their own history. This is a significant work by justice ally Obie Holmen — a singular contribution toward the full inclusion of LGBT people within Christian community and society. Many will be surprised by the breadth and depth of the movement in the Church.”
On a June summer’s evening in 1969, a gay Catholic priest and his partner heard a disturbance a few blocks away from their Greenwich Village home. It seems a routine police raid on the Stonewall Inn, a gay bar, had gone awry, and the queers didn’t go quietly. Riots continued for the next couple of days, and the gay liberation movement was born.
A year later, the priest and his partner prepared to participate in a parade to celebrate the one-year anniversary of the Stonewall riots. A light beamed from the Oscar Wilde bookstore, and as if drawn by a beacon, a few faceless strangers shuffled out of the shadows to gather in awkward silence. By the time the sun first peeked over Brooklyn across the East River, a crowd of hundreds milled about the bookstore that had become the de facto headquarters for the audacious planners of Christopher Street Liberation Day to celebrate the first anniversary of Stonewall. At the time, they didn’t realize they would make history in the first Gay Pride march.
Father Robert Mary Clement, a priest associated with Old Catholicism, a non-Roman spinoff, donned his priestly garb, like he did every Sunday, while his partner prepared a placard and orange flyers that they would distribute at the parade. Father Clement’s presence in the parade garnered much attention, especially by the press and the picture-takers, second only to the drag queens; after all, he marched as an openly-gay priest, in collar and cassock, carrying the banner, “Gay People This Is Your Church.” Meanwhile, his partner distributed their colored fliers inviting queers to attend The Church of the Beloved Disciple.
A few weeks later, the tiny congregation of the Church of the Beloved Disciple paid more than they could afford to rent the spacious sanctuary of Holy Apostles Episcopal church in lower Manhattan, but as the time drew near for the Sunday afternoon service, it appeared that their invitation to the Christopher Street marchers would go unheeded. Father Clement peeked out from the sacristy fifteen minutes before the start and there was no one there, but then:
Two o’clock, we opened the side sacristy door for our procession. We couldn’t believe it. It wasn’t just that every seat in the church was filled, the aisles were packed. That church, which would hold maybe six hundred plus in a squeeze, had over eight hundred people in it, and we don’t know how many people were turned away that day who couldn’t get in.
Because we had all the Protestants, the Orthodox, the Catholics. And on top of it all, you had, the most incredible thing, we had Jewish people, a lot of them. Because they wanted a home. Even though it was Christian, people were seeking God, they were seeking a relationship to the divine, and they would come to us because everyone else had rejected or turned them away. They had nowhere to go. [emphasis added]
In the early years of the decade of the ‘70s, the Church of the Beloved Disciple would be a safe haven for gays and lesbians of lower Manhattan. Father Clement and his partner would later relocate to California where Father Clement became an archbishop for an independent Catholic group, and he has remained active in the interfaith LGBT movement on the west coast.
This brief biographical sketch is merely a snippet, and Father Clement’s story receives greater treatment in Queer Clergy: A History of Gay and Lesbian Ministry in American Protestantism.
Queer Clergy recounts the journey toward full LGBT inclusion in the church, and readers will encounter many pilgrims along the way. As we countdown to the release of the book (now looking like the end of November), I will provide brief biographical sketches of some of the wayfarers who criss-cross the pages of the book.
Troy Perry was born to a family of bootleggers in the Florida panhandle, and he exhibited a youthful bent toward preaching. Perry became a Baptist preacher at age 15, married a preacher’s daughter at age 19 with whom he fathered two children, and was assigned as pastor to a Pentecostal Church in Santa Ana, California at age 22. Six years later he attempted suicide after he had been defrocked and divorced, and then life got interesting.
In October 1968, 8 months before the Stonewall riots of Greenwich Village marked the birth of the gay liberation movement, Perry held a worship service in his Los Angeles home for members of his gay community. Twelve persons dared to show up. They sang. They read Scripture. They prayed. Perry preached. They shed tears as they shared bread and wine.
That was the first worship service of what became the Metropolitan Community Church (MCC) movement with hundreds of predominantly gay congregations popping up around the country and around the world in what would become the first welcoming church for gays and lesbians at a time that the rest of Christendom, including the mainline, Protestant denominations, remained hostile.
In the early years, the MCC survived several arsonist fires, including a horrendous tragedy in New Orleans that claimed the lives of 32 persons. By the time of Perry’s retirement in 2005, the MCC had grown to over 250 congregations in 26 countries with 43,000 members.
Of course, the book goes into greater detail.
“Placemaking” is everyplace these days. My Twitter feed (admittedly heavy on urbanism, land use, and transportation) positively bristles with #placemaking. The Project for Public Spaces, the epicenter of placemaking theory and practice, says it’s “More than a fashionable phrase, it’s a … Continue reading →
We’ve had such a late fall this year that even though it is almost Halloween, we seem to have finally hit peak color where I live, just south of Minneapolis and St. Paul. While walking downtown today, I couldn’t help but notice the vibrant colors of the plantings at our beautiful Northfield Public Library. Bright red burning bush provided a colorful background for seedheads from coneflowers, fading roses and other plants. Near the steps, I spotted bright blue berries on on yellowing branches of Solomon’s seal.
The same kind of beauty can be seen around the ponds near our house. With slight fog and dimmed light, the grasses around the pond seem to be all texture, shades of gold, green and brown. Milkweed pods have burst open and are pushing their seed out into the world. In my home landscape, the ‘Matrona’ sedum are a deep russet color and their sturdy form contrasts with the nodding prairie dropseed, its shoots burdened with the weight of dozens of water droplets.
Yes, the weather is damp and chilly. But bundle up and take a walk. This may be the prettiest week of the fall.
Last week, I read my Queer Clergy manuscript for the umpteenth time. As I tell my wife, sometimes I really like it and other times I think it is fluff. This latest re-reading of the manuscript marked up by Pilgrim Press copy editor, Kris Firth, was positive. Perhaps it was her editorial feedback:
I applaud you on your scholarship, writing, and the scope of the material, but also on the excellent condition of the manuscript. It’s obvious that you have had editorial review prior to submission.
Actually, the MS hadn’t been edited previously, except by me, but I confess to nit-picking scrupulosity. In any case, her suggested edits are now in place, and the “page proofs” will be available for final review soon. Galley copies are in the hands of potential reviewers, and I wait, mindful of my days as a trial attorney, sucking in a long, deep breath as the jury shuffled out of the courtroom to begin deliberations.
How To Make an Important Decision
First, realize that there is Always more than one important thing to consider. There are at least two sides to Every story and each side is as important as the other. A third side could be the one.
It is very good at this point to make a list of pros and cons for the issue. Many times we find there are an equal number on both sides. This is the nature of living. Good things and bad things can come of our decisions and actions. At some point we realize that all is life and life is complicated. Try to keep it simple and you’ll be less inclined to err.
Secondly, make sure you have heard the other viewpoints to the issue. Ask an elder, a professor, and a good friend who has gained your respect and who knows about the issue from experience.
Thirdly, don’t make any decisions in haste or out of pure emotions. Heart, head, and spirit must all go together. If one is missing, something is wrong.
Fourthly, ask yourself, is this the right way to choose before making your final decision.
Fifthly, know that you can always withdraw and change your mind when new information becomes available. Don’t stick to your guns just because you made a decision and refuse to change.
Sixthly, if you have made the right decision, and feel good about it, then by all means stay with that until you have been proven wrong.
And, finally, sometimes if we wait long enough, an issue will resolve itself. No action need be taken by us. The resolution might take place almost immediately, or it might take years. It is up to you, armed with information and several viewpoints to decide when to take action and when to let it ride on the wings of fate. Good luck to you in all your endeavors.
The research is pretty conclusive that spending time outdoors is good for people. The fresh air, the sunlight, the chance to connect with our natural surroundings are all good for physical and mental health. But time outdoors is good for plants, too, as my mother demonstrated this summer.
For a couple of years, she’s had a succulent dish that we put together. She was inspired by one of the articles in Northern Gardener. The dish has struggled a bit, partly because the plants in it had different watering needs. This summer, she decided to move the dish out to her back patio. The patio faces south, is somewhat protected from wind by the house and a privacy fence, and, of course, is open to natural rain.
Here’s what the succulent dish looked like a couple of weeks ago just before she moved it back into the house.
Here’s the before shot: (You can see she lost a few plants, but the survivors are huge now.)
I had a similar experience a few years ago when I put a hoya plant outdoors for the summer. The plant, which had never bloomed before, suddenly was spouting cool, waxy blooms. Interestingly, once it started blooming, it now blooms every year, near the end of the summer. I still put the plant outdoors and it is very happy.
In a recent article on herbs, Nancy Leasman calls these plants “commuters” because they travel in and out of the house. Do you have any commuter plants?
Been gone gathering for awhile, but today I am back with a hot tip for cash strapped college students and for people who like a deal while they get to check out some new music at the same time. Doesn’t hurt that there is a Rolling Stone site attached. Have fun!
http://www.rollingstone.com/music/daily-downloadPowered by GreetingCardUniverse.com
I’ve been told many times that a guy who has my same name but completely opposite political views is a serial commenter at MinnPost. In fact, I once received an e-mail message from a prominent MinnPost columnist, asking me why I hadn’t made any of my right-wing rants in a while. So I can’t think [...]
Just about a year from now, we will cast votes for the President, a U.S. Senator, numerous county and city offices, and a new Minnesota legislature. I am announcing my plans to, once again, run for a seat in the Minnesota Senate. This election is not about getting my “old seat back.” This election is about reclaiming a voice for Senate District 25 and all Minnesotans. The current party in power in the Minnesota legislature fails to listen. This past summer’s government shutdown proved they are more concerned about their party platform than the constituents who elected them. I worry about the tone of today’s politics and our basic priorities.
We talk about recession…yet ignore the needy
We talk about test scores…while ignoring educational funding.
We talk about wanting quality health care, yet over 400,000 Minnesotans go without.
We talk about local control, yet we starve our cities and counties.
We talk about Republicans and Democrats yet we forget about Minnesotans
I believe the basics include a job, a quality education, affordable college, a clean and healthy environment, equality for all, and a right to grow old with dignity.
We are facing a critical time in Minnesota. We can no longer allow extreme political agendas to divide us — the success of our state and our communities depends on our ability to find common ground on many critical issues.
We can do this together. When we stop working together… government ceases to work. Again, let’s make Minnesota proud!
I recently finished reading Siddhartha Mukherjee’s The Emperor of All Maladies: A Biography of Cancer. I recommend it highly to those who want to know more about cancer.
It’s a long and challenging read, but it’s worth it. The main thing I learned: cancer is a many-headed hydra. Each type of cancer is a different disease that requires a different type of treatment.
The rich, the well-connected, the privileged, and the powerful have given themselves the society that they deserve. The rest of us deserve better.
On November 22nd, all of the members of Norcoh met for their second programming meeting. These cards with simple but effective drawings helped express their hopes, dreams, and goals for the neighborhood.
The cohousing design discussion on November 5, 2009, was well-attended and lively conversation sprouted afterward. Attendees included ages from very young to retirement-age, which is a perfect match for our goals for our community.
In February, we will be offering a Community Ed course in four sessions for those who would like more information. Also, stay tuned to this blog for more opportunities to engage!