I need me some flow!

I need the creative juices to F-L-O-W. But they aren't at the moment.

When it is 6 p.m. and you are waiting for a 6:30 appointment and eat a second big handful of cheddar sunchips and part of a chocolate bar and follow this up with a facebook brain-drain (you look through an entire facebook photo album of a concert you know nothing about, full of people you do not actually know) you might think to yourself, "This is when it is time to cut out for the day." More diligent people would take this extra half hour to go on a good walk around the city, do a little yoga, or even lean back and shut their eyes for a few minutes. But instead I chose lazy-shmazy vegging. And lazy-shmazy vegging does not promote creativity in the world of me.

You know what I have been thinking about lately? Human interactions as transactions. Go with me on this. People are so used to buying/selling and consuming products, I believe they are beginning to treat people like commodities almost exclusively. If I need something or want something from you, I am motivated to make some kind of connection with you. But if you aren't something I want or need for a particular reason, I will ignore you. In gym class for example. On Monday night, most women walked into the class, set up their mat and were hard-pressed to make eye contact with others, let alone say hello. Most people, upon exiting the class did not say thank you to the teacher. Why say thank you? We pay this lady!

This depresses me. I think we should practice noticing one another. Extending a kind smile or gesture toward a stranger just because. Just because every person deserves gestures of warmth and dignity.

I am going to be the next Pollyanna. The cursing, drinking, sinning kind of Pollyanna. I like this image of Pollyanna, by the way. Walt Disney is probably rolling over in his grave. Sorry, Walt.

Atlantic City

Did you know that the properties in the game of Monopoly are named after places in and around Atlantic City?

Well, bring on the gaming, baby. I spent the weekend "down the shore" and played a little soccer in the sand, swam in the ocean (although I am a serious baby and HATE spiky creatures touching the bottom of my feet, so my swims are more like dips), and enjoyed a night out on the town in Atlantic City. We met a bouncer named Reverend Rob who warned us of the evils of the city (and there are plenty, my friends). I sheepishly ignored his question when he wanted to know if I planned to gamble, since I had not ruled out the possibility.

My friend Clark and I decided to play with $50, just for adventure sake. I learned how to play the game of Craps and was thoroughly entertained traipsing from table to table meeting interesting people and learning the rules of Black Jack and Roulette. I find it amusing that I spent an evening in Caesar's Palace (irony not lost on me) alongside bazillions of dollars, scantily-clad women, and indulgences of every kind. I intentionally disallowed myself from thinking too deeply about the addiction and pain masquerading in sequins and expensive cuff links. Atlantic City is truly bizarre. Bizarre and a little sad. Bizarre and extremely entertaining.

It was well over 100 degrees when we returned from the shore. Made me want to turn right around and return to the beach. When I lived in New Jersey I occasionally wore a tee-shirt that said, "New Jersey: Only the Strong Survive." I think I need to get out a magic marker and draw a line through New Jersey and write "Philadelphia."

Aaaah, Philadelphia. Gotta love this place.

Wishing you a cool July evening!

Brides! Blah!

There are some pretty wonderful things about being a pastor. I love officiating at weddings and it is a profound privilege to be invited to speak words of hope in the midst of grief and sadness at funerals. But there are a bazillion weird and awful things about being a pastor as well (like most of our jobs, I suppose?). I am currently in the throws of an email exchange about money. Brides and grooms who plan to drop $15,000 on a reception will beg for a discount (so they don't have to pay the poor organist $300). Sheesh.

I think I need to stop being so churchy and pastory. This is practically all I talk about in this blog. Is that true? Maybe not. But maybe I should commit to writing some posts that are wildly juicy or at the very least, banal.

So, how about this: I love figs. Figs and gargonzola and crisp, Spanish white wines (names I cannot remember). My friend Steph and I enjoyed these things last night. The glasses sweat here like crazy in the summer. It is so humid that the glasses drip, even when you are inside. I like this. I like the stormy down-pours in the middle of the day and I love the lighting bugs and the sound of the secadas when I get out to the country.

But don't worry. I'm not in love with Philadelphia. I still make fun of the dirty river and the appalling lack of green space. It is troubled and corrupt, but it's growing on me. Slightly. So there's that.

Latest life goal:

I was in Montclair with two of my cute high school girls (I was their youth leader for two years) and we were playing a photography game. Having a camera in hand always makes me more attentive to details. I found this sign on a shop and I found myself saying, "Yes, indeed. Me too."

Hope you're feeling open-hearted these days.

Melting Smelting!!

It is hotter than a mouth full of Haitian peppers. And it is raining. The weather in Swelter-delphia does not make sense to a mild-climate soul like myself. Black clouds are choking the tip-tops of the skyscrapers out my window and I'm crossing my fingers that we won't lose power for another three days. Seriously. We lost power for the entire weekend.

Last night I went to a going-away party for two fabbity fab people here in Philly and I stayed out late dancing and I cannot figure out why I wasn't entirely flattered by the guy who was hitting on me and has now called me twice. I must be getting old and crotchety. Or the weather is cramping my style. Of course there could be a million other reasons.

But I digress.

This morning I was running errands for church and I passed two different guys selling bottles of water on the side of the road. This seems to be a common summer business venture. Shirtless, often toothless fellows, drag big coolers to busy cross streets and sell bottles for a dollar. The way they fearlessly maneuver through traffic reminds me of the women at truck stops in Zambia who hold up baskets of produce for passers-buy to pluck up for a few hundred kwacha. It's a tough job and I cannot imagine they make much profit. I drove passed one ambitious salesman, brown and leathery, and I had the sudden urge to pull over and buy the whole darn cooler full of water. Across the street the parking lot of a strip club was jam-packed with cars at 11 in the morning and it gave me pause. The things we do for money are always...fraught. Yes, that's the word. Fraught.

I got a package in the mail today that made me cry. Some people are just so darn thoughtful! Thank you, Cheri!

Philadelphia Charm

I have no good excuse for the lack of blog postings lately. Lots of lovely things have happened since I last wrote. I went home to visit the fam, got to see wonderful friends in Seattle; I have read three trashy novels, watched a half dozen World Cup games, and have had some fabulous meals and coffee dates with friends here in the City of Brotherly Love. The world is chalk-full of fine folk and I seem to be crossing their paths left and right.

But I still feel some writer's block. I'm so uninspired that I stole this photo from a stranger's blog! For shame!

It is a cool picture, though, eh? Of all the things I like about living in the Northeast, this still ranks in the top three: lightning bugs. They are magical. Last night I had a wonderful dinner with three women in the suburbs and we lingered on a back porch savoring good food and drink and sorbet and best of all, the charming fairies with glowing green bellies. I love a good, sultry summer night and hats off to Philly. It does 'sultry' very well.

Sweet Carolina

I'll be honest. For most of my life "the South" has been a mythical place known only through country songs and movies about slavery and plantations and redneck ferocity distilled by female gentility and bourbon. There are lots of us non-Southerners that are truly afraid of the South. We don't get the whole confederate flag thing, nor seersucker suits and bow ties. Your accents and debutant balls, grits and greens are perplexing and I feel like a deer in headlights when I am called a Yankee or a Northerner. I was born and bred west of the Rockies and have no sense of where the Mason-Dixon line begins and ends. But I decided to expand my horizons this weekend and spend a few days visiting friends and camping in the mountains of North Carolina.

What a beautiful place.



The pictures do not capture it, but I was immediately smitten with the rolling hills, the red-clay soil, and the magnolia trees that perfume the air. Stereotypes were fulfilled left and right as I was warmly welcomed with a slow, sweet drawl everywhere I went. Do you know that in many circles the CIVIL WAR is referred to as "The War of Northern Aggression" (by the way, the word "war" is two syllables here)?! Years of unpleasantness in which the government infringed upon States rights. Yikes.

I was in the heart of the Bible belt and was amused (and incredulous) at the number of conversations amongst strangers that involved "the Lord." Spent a couple of days camping in the mountains Northwest of Raleigh and visited Winston-Salem (yes, the cigarettes) and Chapel Hill (UNC). My friend Clark and I hiked and played in mountain streams and swimming holes, studied trout and toads and snakes, and hung out in hammocks under a perfect Carolina blue sky. I especially loved that our food included brie, pepper jelly and homemade bread. This is my kind of camping.

I am feeling relaxed and refreshed and wonder why I don't do things like this more often? Lovely.

Thank you for your hospitality, friends!