Just back from Yoga with my nephew/godson, Chad.  It was the gentle yoga class, so it wasn't too challenging for him...but I did hear a pop or two of his joints and a tremendous crack of his back during "Dead Bug" or "Happy Baby" pose (depending on your preference for descriptives).

It's been a lovely two days of getting energy back, celebrating my Mom's 75th birthday with a dinner and overnight here...and then welcoming Chad for a short visit tonight and a longer visit, including tickets to see Grease on Saturday, this weekend.

I've been doing some interesting reading in the short hiatus from blogging.  Newsweek really rocks, lately.  It's not just Fareed Zakaria, although I admit to a secret intellectual crush on him.  They are getting quality reporting on issues, providing balanced opinions and generally making me question my positions rather than merely supporting preconcieved notions.  Fine work, Newsweek.

For example, (and it's a small example), they have a quick little blurt on gaffes each week.  In covering the Miss California anti-gay-marriage response, they found that her expression of her own opinion and beliefs was more palatable than one celebrity's response.  (She cited her religious beliefs...would love to have an afternoon with her to educate her on just how little the bible has to say about homosexuality but that's another topic...the celebrity merely called her a b*tch.  Which is the more considered opinion?)

An unrelated article in the same issue (March 14th) talked about an art critic, David Hickey, during the 70's who came to the audacious conclusion that the principle transaction of art takes place between the viewer and the finished work...that museums, art dealers, setters of taste, they all get in the way of the pure response.  "I like that."  Or "I don't like that."

Of particular note on Hickey was his stand on Mapplethorpe (loved his art, especially the controversial stuff) and his stand on Jesse Helms who, in response to Mapplethorpe, gutted funding for the arts.  Hickey also supported Helms' right to his opinion...and to exercise whatever power he had to further that opinion, because freedom of opinion was the very thing his book, The Invisible Dragon, was about.  Imagine...integrity of opinions about the freedoms of folks with whom you disagree to disagree with you.

Now if only disgruntled righties would learn that lesson.  It was a hard, painful 8 year lesson for those of us on the left in the Bush years.  Yet for the most part, I feel I managed to attack the issues rather than the person, the ideas rather than the ideals of Bush.  From what I can see of the frothing right these days (libertarians included), it's all a bunch of noise.  Sort of like a piece of art with which you don't connect.

Thanks to my youngest godson, Chad, I've joined the wacky world of Facebook.  This means I've spent the better part of two days figuring out how to add applications, how to update my profile, what "wall to wall" means, and why so many people are engrossed by this social networking site.  My two-second take on the phenomenon is that it's the next generation of email...just as email took over from snail mail, social networking will take over from email.

The old obsession I've been toying with is reading.  For the first few days after my diagnosis, I couldn't read anything at all.  The words bounced off my brain and lay there on the page, dead.  Now, that the initial shock is over though, I'm beginning to read again.  Not that I've suddenly started reading the classics...no, I'm back to reading thrillers, cop stories and a new sci-fi tale given to me by Erik.  But it had been nice to be interested again, to lose myself for a few moments in another world.

Last, but not least, is poetry.  I've written poetry for as long as I can remember.  And one of the things I quickly decided the past week is that I want to write a poem a day for a while.  So that's what I've been doing.  Not editing, not rewriting (although those things will have to come) but writing a new poem every morning.  So far, I like two of the three very much.  And it's wonderful to be flexing those neurons again...the ones that make yellow leaps and fuse together words that clearly belong together but don't usually occupy the same space.

Other than these three obsessions, Dan and I enjoyed an invigorating walk today.  I watered the plants.  Took back my kitchen (by putting things where they belong <grin>).  And we hung out for three hours with my brother, Dennis, and his son Brian, daughter-in-law June, and our great nephew Avery and his sister Ainsley.  The kids played in the yard, happily dismantling the putting green, tossing the balls in the jacuzzi and throwing in some tub toys I'd bought a while back for Avery.  The adults watched the little ones while talking and snacking...truly a memorable day.

The Chinese symbol above is "weiji."  It signifies the "incipient moment," the crucial juncture where "something begins or changes."  There's some debate over the common concept that the symbol means both crisis and opportunity.  Regardless of the nuances in Chinese, I do believe there's hopeful kernel in at the center of the thicket of brush strokes.

In a similar vein, there's a Chinese curse that says, "May you live in interesting times."

Well, it looks like we're there folks.  With the DOW continuning its quick slide, global conflicts, climate change--it's clearly not life as usual.

I'm not so sure that it's entirely a curse to live in interesting times, though.  Times of great change and challenge offer commensurately greater opportunities.  Opportunities for growth, for taking risks, for seeing things in a completely different light.

I'm not saying that this particular interesting time will be free of pain.  I expect there will be difficult adjustments for most Americans, indeed for most humans, as the economy contracts.  Belts will be tightened.  Things we've thought were "must haves" will become luxuries.

The flip side is that things we took for granted--friends, family, faith--the things that get us through dark times, can take on new depth and meaning.  We can learn lessons from times of hardship that aren't available to us in times of plenty.

Lessons like deferring gratification.  Lessons like saving for purchases rather than buying on credit.  Like living simply (and gently) upon the earth.

I ran across this quote a while back and wanted to get feedback from blog readers on the thoughts it contains:

"In a time when the notion of goodness has been thoroughly watered down, as politeness is mistaken for kindness, certainty passes for faith, ethics for spirituality and middle-class mores for saintliness, it's good to be reminded that those whom many consider saints are complex human beings who more often than not defy convention."

--Gregory Rodriguez

I can't remember the context of the quote (it might have been around the time that Mother Teresa's private writings came out and revealed her to be a woman with doubts).  Nevertheless, this quote raises a number of questions for me, chief among them--What is my notion of goodness?

My answer to that question will take more than a blog to sort through, but here are my initial thoughts:

Goodness is evidenced by an individual's behavior--it is not merely an ideal (to which we hold others accountable).  A good act is one that considers all parties to the act; self, those directly affected, those tangentially affected (so-called collateral damage)--and contributes most to the common good. 

As such, good acts need to be thoughtful.  They can only happen within the context of critical thinking.  Otherwise, there's a danger of substituting adherence to a code for actual consideration of the situation.

My addendum on goodness is that it's not a static attribute.  One is not "always good."  One is rarely always "bad."  As Dr. Hamlin once urged me, "you may want to consider a dynamic notion of goodness."

I've come to understand that goodness does not happen by "keeping all the rules."  If it did, according to the Judeo-Christian tradition--there would have been no need of Christ for all could be accomplished through adherence to the Law.  But codified laws are tricky things.

They are written in generalities, but we live life in specifics.  They are written in a particular historical context with certain desired results.  Interpreted across the centuries, in different cultures, they lose their impact and their level of "justice" is compromised.

So that's my first stab at understanding "goodness."  I know there are brilliant minds out there who check in on this blog from time to time--feel free to argue, amend, debate, clarify.

Sometimes the real is surreal. 

Ever since returning from the Baltic, I've been somewhat challenged in adjusting to the California time zone.  The prior two days, I was in bed before 10 and up at 6.  So last night's record of staying up until 11:00 p.m. boded well. 

Not so much.  I awoke at 5:00 a.m.  Completely.  Awake.

So I stumbled to the loft to read my book (the excellent Careless in Red by Elizabeth George).  After a few moments of literary distraction, I became aware of the growing heat.  I shuffled over to open the window to the fog-strewn morning and was greeted by...

Toilet Paper.

Now, I do remember a time when being on the receiving end of a few well-flung rolls of toilet paper was a badge of honor.  My 16th birthday was commemorated by friends with a particular sense of style--using rolls of the pink and green toilet paper that was available in the late 70's.  (Remember matching your toilet paper to your bathroom?)

However.  I am now, as we've established, a woman of a certain age.  And while Dan and I are entirely capable of childlike wonder (and even a childish moment or two), we are definitely past the age where our friends come over in the middle of the night to display their affection with tissue confections.

This had to be a case of mistaken identity.

But mistake or not, the toilet paper was in our trees, on our flowers, strewn about our driveway.  And so it was that I was out, cleaning up toilet paper, feminine hygeine products, and strawberry bath foam from my front yard at the crack of dawn.

Somewhere in our town today, there's group of giggly girls who are going to be disappointed and confused when the young man (or so I assume) who was the target of their mischief seems more obtuse than usual.  I can see them slowly figuring out that maybe, just maybe, they hit the wrong house.

Will they wander by to see whom their real victims were?  If so, should I be ready with a super-soaker or let bygones be bygones?

After all, the strawberry bath foam gave me an excuse to hose down my driveway (something verboten in drought-prone California).  And although I spent the early morning in a state of amused annoyance, it wasn't entirely real since I wasn't entirely awake.  Who can begrudge whimsy when it whisks one back to youth, to a time when what was important was that one's house was festooned with pink and green streamers and, because of that toilet paper, all was right with the world?

Not sure why my blog has been fading in and out of being lately, but I'll check with the good folks at Weebly.  Maybe it's just imitating me, as I flicker in and out of life with this bothersome sinus infection.

I was counting on today being the day that I was back in the world of the living but it looks like it might be tomorrow.  I was so ansty yesterday I shudder to think about today!  I may send Dan to buy me a movie while he's out.

I did finish Confessor yesterday.  *Spoiler Alert*

I was more pleased with this final novel in the series than I've been with the last three or four.  The issue I've taken with the past four novels is that the author, Terry Goodkind, pretty much gave up all pretense of illustrating his philosophy through his characters.  Instead, he gave them long speeches in which we were treated to Goodkind's convictions on the nature of life and religion without the messy trappings of plot or character.

This novel was still quite preachy but I was prepared for that.  He wrapped up all of the series' plot lines in a reasonable, workman-like fashion.  Nothing startling.  Not even J.K. Rowlings-level startling.  The good guys win.  The guy gets the girl.  Various cute semi-dangerous animals are heard from and go off to live their magical lives.

I was struck by two things in the novel that made the sort of predictable wrap-up worth reading the 603 pages worthwhile, if only for ruminative value.

The first comes from the heroine of the series, Kahlan.  A man who has attempted to have his way with her (among other bad deeds in other novels) asks her for mercy.  She denies him mercy and says, "Mercy is a contingency plan devised by the guilty in the eventuality that they are caught.  Justice is the domain of the just.  This is about justice."

Words like that could only ever be spoken by a person who has lived a perfect life.  I came to a different conclusion than Kahlan's years ago when wishing for justice to come to someone else.  The words of the Lord's prayer flashed in my mind--"Forgive us our sins as we forgive those who have sinned against us."  And it occured to me that we all want justice for the other guy.  For ourselves?  We prefer mercy.

The second tidbit of the novel that got me thinking was the way the hero of the novel dispatches the bad guys in the end.  He sends them off to a world of their own where they will live without magic and in a corrupt system without access to their prior world.  He seals up his own world as well, retaining magic and proclaiming free will to be the highest good.

(It's ironic that by giving the bad guys their own world, Richard showed mercy, eh?)

Goodkind holds that free will and faith are opposites.  On the "good" side of free will we have action, self-determination, responsibility and reason.  On the "bad" side of faith we have unreasoning belief, self-sacrifice and futile hope for an afterlife and mercy.

I've thought that what Goodkind never sold me on was the idea that free will is the ultimate good.  But I realized in writing this that what doesn't hold is his assumption about oppositional truths.

I know people who value reason and still have deep faith.  I know others who value reason and free will, yet use them both as a bludgeon for self-interest.  As I have come to see time and time again, the Truth is not an "either/or" proposition but a paradox.

Free will.  Faith.  Sacrifice.  Reason.  Responsibility.  Hope.  We need all of these qualities.  Even, and perhaps especially, Mercy.

Okay, it was clear after I woke up with a HUGE headache on Tuesday (down to a dull roar on Wednesday and gone today) that I needed/wanted a little me time before hopping back into the saddle.

So, that's what I've been doing.  Yesterday, Dan and I ran around doing chores together (one of my favorite things to do in the world).  Today, I played golf at the 9-hole course I play and shot my record round (a six over 35).  Two pars on the par 4 holes.  Woohoo!

Then I came home and gardened for two hours.  Started the laundry.  Ate lunch.  Now I'm going to finish the laundry, cross stitch and be "lazy."

So...now ruminitave blogs today.  No political hay to be made (by me).  Just downtime.  Feels good, don't it?

We spend most of yesterday at the hospital with Kevin.  He continues to heal while being in a great deal of pain.  The hospital he's in is a training hospital, so there are more than the usual number of folks poking heads into his room.  There are people doing medical studies, others who are med students, interns doing rounds.  And then there are the doctors and nurses.

Having spent quite a bit of time with relatives in hospitals over the past several years, I've been thinking a lot about the qualities it takes to be an excellent nurse.  First and foremost is a desire to help people get better, I suppose.  But nursing is about so much more than desire.

There are the practicalities of juggling patients.  Juggling paperwork.  Juggling priorities.  Advocating for patients with their doctors.  Advocating for doctors with patients.  Being nice to family members.  Being nice to anyone after eight hours on your feet confronting people in pain, people who are scared, people who would rather be anywhere, with anyone than in the hospital with you.

So I think selflessness is a good ingredient for a nurse.  The ability to prioritize.  The ability to be compassionate in action and in attitude.  Stamina.  The ability to shrug off the drek (real and psychic) that comes with the job.  The aplomb not to take things personally while being personable.

There are excellent nurses in every hospital on every floor.  I'd just like to take a moment this morning to salute them.  To say thanks for an impossible job, done impossibly well.