I'm Still Here

Woke this morning thinking again on the youth pastor of my own youth - Erik Latoni - who at that time was a young seminarian at Drew University here in NJ. How the memory of his "way of being in the world" stuck with me, even though he was only my pastor for about a year. I was 17 when I lost touch with him, only to find him here again on facebook about 30 years later.

How fun it was - after 30 years - to be able to trade funny common stories again about that year in our youth. The stories he knew - which I did not at the time - about my Pop's comically sinister ways of being protective of me when I was out of earshot. How he would stealthily pull my dates aside and put the fear of God into them. The crazy remarks he would make under his breath - the kind that would cause people's eyes to pop. The dopey things I did - and the teenage angst I had, as all teenagers do - in my wonder years - that Erik was present to help me navigate.

In recent days I find that Erik has lost his mother, who was one of his beloved mentors, his touchstones in his life. I did not get the chance to meet her. But I suspect I knew her very well.

I never know how to comfort others at times of profound loss, since we each have such unique needs at those moments in life. But I know how losing my father felt for me, and I know a little about how it felt for my mother and brothers.

I am nothing, if not a lifelong STEM nerd struggling to figure out how to reconcile my sense of spirituality/faith with my innate desire for evidentiary support.

Physics seems to be a place where I can make sense, oddly enough. Nobody is pointing at me and saying, "You cannot have both, you must choose!". I prefer outside the box thinking at times of such inner soul quandaries. All that "you have to choose" just seems so ridiculous and "zero sum game" to me. I myself - I am a nerd of the Nash Equilibrium variety.  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HUgwM1Ky228 

I hope this physics spin on faith somehow brings Erik and his family some comfort. If not, maybe it will somehow comfort someone else who is trying to find their way through loss, through being asked to choose, and who could use an open door someplace in life.   http://thankgodforevolution.com/node/1960 

Thank you, Erik's Mom - through your son Erik - for leaving some helpful footprints in my soul while you were here. While your energy was organized into the form of a human. I guess I'll be seeing your energy pop up someplace else soon? Keep me posted about this, OK? I am curious.

Nine Years Later

I have very similar memories to others whose posts I have seen this morning. Everyone observing and remembering where they were and what they were doing nine years ago this morning.

Like others, I recall weather very like today's. Calm, sunny, crisp, gorgeous NJ Fall day.

Had heard a quick report on the car radio, after dropping our daughter off to school, about the first plane accident at WTC. Turned on the home TV in the 8:00 hour to find reports about it. Watched Charlie Gibson live – and saw the images in real time - as the second tower got hit.

Went numb for a few moments, followed by massive adrenaline rush. A sense of fear and shock unlike anything ever experienced before.

The questions began to form. Was this the start of something bigger and even scarier? Is this how Pearl Harbor felt? Is this how it feels to the Brits when a bomb goes off in London? The husband of a work colleague works in the WTC. Is he there today? What must his family be feeling? Did we know anyone else who works in that neighborhood, or who might have been flying today? Should I go get my family and gather at home? Should we be leaving the area?

Is there any family in the Northeast who wasn’t thinking exactly the same kinds of things in that hour?

Years earlier I had sat to dinner with a middle-aged Brit at her home in the English countryside about an hour south of London. The memory of that evening rushed in. Innocently, I’d mentioned that my ancestors had probably been Northern Irish and how proud we were of our Irish heritage in the States. Her expression turned serious, her eyes dropped, and storm clouds gathered. After a brief pause, she spit venom - her hatred of the Irish because of IRA bombings. Oops, hadn’t meant to step in it like that. She had expressed hope that the Americans would someday see what it was like on their own soil. Wish granted. Wondered if she would be feeling satisfied or saddened today?

Got my husband on the phone at work and made him check the Internet. He saw a little video, before all the phone and computer lines jammed up.

Called my brother in Arizona to tell him what was happening. Soon news of collapsing buildings and Shanksville began to emerge. Military craft began flying in and out of our neighborhood airport. Could not stop ourselves from spending the rest of the day glued to the TV and radio.

Slept fitfully that night, continuing to hear military aircraft movement a few blocks away, and argued with myself to stay calm and rational. In reality, the attacks of September 11th, 2001 had not hit us personally, and probably wouldn't aside from the obvious economic ramifications. But it was hard not to feel overwhelmed anyway on behalf of all those directly impacted and feel afraid of what might come next.

In the weeks that would follow, we would learn that our work colleague and her children had lost their loved one in one of the Towers. He rests now - under a black gravestone - in Princeton, NJ.

Today I find myself wondering how they are coping as time marches on, especially the two sons, and how they will choose to spend this day. I hope they have joy and peace today, even in the face of such an enormous loss and all the media coverage reminders. These folks have more reason to hate than anyone. September 11th took away from them something precious that could never ever be replaced. Still, I hope they are able to move beyond hate and into a better place.

I like the following article...The Healers of 9-11. http://www.nytimes.com/2010/09/09/opinion/09kristof.html?_r=1

© 2009 Patricia Fletcher.

Fair-Weather Love

…an adaptation of original poetry by Kaitlyn and Bentli


No words spoken
eyes sprayed in wings of dust
distance between stars growing wider.

The floor littered with signs
ONE WAY
Your way…or no way.
Just a confirmation that you've already left.

No more than a painting
created from destructive strokes.
My body radiates crimson…the blood you drew greedily.
And blue…the memory of clear skies we once touched together.

Why don't you see?
These laughs and smiles are fake.
And when uncovered,
The shattered pieces of my soul spill to the red tainted floor below.

Why don’t you bother to notice?
These tears are more than just random sadness,
…or some childish temper tantrum.
They are a death rattle
of part of a soul,
in the throws of profound loss.

I only wanted to be valued
as a precious piece of artwork.
Not discounted and invisible,
like the cup and spoon
that you throw away
after enjoying the ice cream.

If we can't at least talk about it,
and both of us listen,
then we don't have trust.

Without trust,
We have
Nothing.

Empty Figures on an Empty Stage

Spirits with invisible walls between.
They cannot connect.
Thinly-veiled hatrid is the standard.
Craving intimacy from that which is despised.

Seething just below the surface.
Contempt spills forth like lava.
While smiling.
Sniping.
Pretending.
Grieving.

Destroyers of souls.
Grim reapers.
Black holes.

Portuguese Men of War.
Reaching out long stinging tentacles to capture others.
Consuming what they catch.
To keep satiated and afloat.
In the shallows of the ocean of life.

Holding on with one ancient, weathered, frayed, fragile rope.
Stinging tentacles fray the rope daily.
Until one day nothing remains but a weak, yellowing thread.

Lives get 'super-sized'.
Building bigger and bigger houses.
More room to be mad in.
More stuff more stuff more stuff, please.
To drown out the sounds of fear.
To fill the void.
Chinese food cliche...too soon hungry for more.

Esslin's "Theater of the Absurd" in the flesh.
Observing, Beckett and Ionesco would scribble notes furiously.
Exit the King.
A tragedy of Shakespearean proportions in the making.
Merchants of Venice.


© 2009 Patricia Fletcher.

A Clown on the Towpath

Driving along the towpath.
Mumbling to myself in my head.
Will it take me less time if I shop Oxford Valley or Quakerbridge?

Wait. What’s that?
A clown?
A clown running down the towpath?
Not near any buildings. In the middle of nowhere.
Big red feet. Big red fro. Funny clothes. Big bow tie. The whole smash.
What the…?

Mind runs wild.
Am I going insane?
Is there a party gone awry?
Is there a kid who needs help?
Has he been drinking?
Is this a frat thing?

Clowns are pretty scary.
Remember that Mad Magazine cover in the 70's?
Remember that clown on Married with Children?

Wait. He’s running towards my neighborhood.
Should I be worried?

Hmmm.

© 2009 Patricia Fletcher.

No.

You. Blue.
You want me to be blue too.
If I can be blue
like you -
you love.

You. Angry.
You want me to be angry too.
If I can be angry
like you -
you love.

You. Hateful.
You want me to be hateful too.
If I can be hateful
like you -
you love.

You. Cruel.
You need me to be cruel to
(so you can feel good about you).
If I can let you be cruel -
you love.

No.


© 2009 Patricia Fletcher.

Can I Get a "Do-Over"?

I saw A Christmas Carol in a local theater last year, and it got me thinking along a familiar theme, in the same way that writing our holiday family update letter always does. Never mind your mistakes, Mr. Scrooge...where in MY life is a “do-over” needed?

My husband and I are at the tail end of a big do-over, and that makes it time again to take stock. Over the past seven years we’ve both pulled off dramatic career transitions, including that fun-never-ends “paying your dues in a new profession” phase. The uphill climb is over now, and we are finally into the stage of reaping the benefits. High five.

We were corporate for-profit science people for the first chunk of our careers, and watched in horrified disbelief as corporate leaderships’ values and organizational cultures split farther and farther away from what we were about as human beings. The money and fringes were awesome. The chronic acid reflux of being out of sync with our own values was toxic. We were being pressed to change our values to better fit into our corporate cultures so we could remain employed. People kept trying to define success for us in their terms, and make us follow their path to whatever their particular definition of happiness. We said no. We were downsized. We decided enough was enough, surveyed the vast career prairie outside of our zones of comfort, and chose new careers where we could have more control, more opportunities and a lot more fun.

Remember “The Road Not Taken” - that Robert Frost poem you had to read in college? That was in the back of my mind the whole time, and very much guided my decision process. It has become a personal mantra. Here’s the last verse:

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

Our first experience with being downsized gave us a wonderful gift. It gave us a long chunk of unstructured time off. No one ever tells you that you should budget this kind of time off into your career plan. Now I believe it’s critical to have extended time like this away from the rat race once-in-a-while, especially as adults with tons of responsibilities and constantly overly-packed schedules. Your typical 1-2 week vacation is nice, but just doesn’t deliver. It has to be in terms of months…preferably in the 3-6 range. Long enough to hit the life re-set button a few times, yet not long enough to become creatively bored or stagnant.

It’s critical because those long periods of quiet time allow for genuinely honest reflection. Who am I? Is this who I want to be? Where have I been? Where am I now? How did I get here? What needs to change? How can I go about changing it?

It’s kind of like detox for the soul…a spiritual colon cleansing, if you will. Get rid of all the built up garbage that has been clouding your view. An oil change. Get a fresh start...minus any baggage that might have attached itself to your spiritual pipes along the way.

I started teaching science in the grades 6-12 arena four years ago, and I am really having fun doing it. Maybe this is where I will remain, or maybe something else that fits even better will reveal itself as I walk along this path. One thing is sure...I should have made this career change about five years before I did, because I feel like a Dilbert comic strip office drone brought back to life.

For the first half of this school year, I have been taking time off from my teaching to reflect, recharge, take care of a pile of family business and grow some creative projects. I'm ready to go back into my own classroom now, and because of my time off I feel I have so much more to offer my students.

It seems like everyone has a secret do-over wish of one kind or another. We all do the best we can in the moment, and then want to kick ourselves in the backside later.

Perhaps it’s about passive career choices made along the way that wound up shaping one into someone unrecognizable, and a need to reclaim the spirit. It could be about the loss of someone beloved or parenting choices that ended up causing more harm than good. Perhaps it was a choice to exclude someone as an easy way out, rather than do the relationship work and invite personal growth. Whatever it is, it's probably in the way.

Hey, Mr. Scrooge...thanks for helping with the oil change.


© 2009 Patricia Fletcher.