Going Native, Part 3

It happened so quickly, I didn't realize the significance of it until an hour later.

I was heading to the gym last night and a thunderstorm was brewing. (Little did I know that a tornado was touching down in Brooklyn at that very moment, but that's someone else's story.  It was just a regular old thunderstorm to me.)  One of the street vendors was folding up his purse stand at the corner of Lex and 85th-- I had walked by a couple of days earlier and noticed a purse that I wanted but didn't have the whatever to actually stop and buy it-- hutzpah?  time?  cash? Who remembers. Anyway, I squeezed under his makeshift plastic awning, grabbed the purse, and quickly start bartering and talked him down by 5  bucks.  Great.

Only later did I realize I had finally purchased the New York City Girl Bag-- that purse that can fit all the regular purse stuff, plus your lunch, three books, a change of shoes, and a potential change of clothes because who is ever home anyway and you can't leave it in  your car--all in a deceptively small looking fashionable bag. 

I'm surprised I lasted this long. I used it last night when I went downtown to hear Over The Rhine (awesome show at a very cool winery) and was able to tote my stilletoes to the show and then throw my hefty clogs in there no problem.  Today I went to my coaching and was able to fit three scores in it!  I'm in love.  I'm off to my church's retreat this weekend and was actually contemplating trying to see if the purse could fit all my toiletries and two changes of clothes, and realized I had gone a bit too far.  Still, a whole new and wonderful world is open to me...it's a new day.

In the Boat

I read Mark 4 about Jesus going out into the boat with his disciples and calming the storm as a Lectio Divina spiritual exercise yesterday.  It was eye opening what came out for me.  I know enough of you who read my blog will appreciate this, so thought I'd post it--

I took the place of a disciple working along side Jesus.  What I noticed is that she worked all day too, and then Jesus, at the end of the day, has her continue working by going over to the other side of the Lake.  He goes and takes a nap, she continues working by sailing the boat.  The storm comes up.  I’m sure she worked really hard trying to keep the boat afloat—she only wakes Jesus up once the boat is about to sink with this panicked expression—Don’t you care if we drown?  Jesus calms the storm, looks at her and says, Why are you afraid?  Have you no faith? 

As I focused on that rebuke I got really angry.  Finally, I took up my side and argued with Jesus—that’s unfair.  What do you mean I don’t have faith?  I have faith enough to work all day with you, get into this boat with you.  That’s just mean.  The storm comes up.  I have faith and I work hard, trusting that you will ride me through the storm.  What was I supposed to do?

What should the disciple have done?  How was she to exercise her faith? 

I am certain that a biblical scholar would find fault with my conclusion, but the point here is not to be biblically accurate, it's to insert yourself into the story and see what Jesus is saying to you.   I finally came to the conclusion that she should have woken Jesus up a lot earlier.  And said to him, LORD, there’s a storm brewing.  I need to be honest with you—I'm scared.  Please help me.

Jesus is saying to me, Joanna, wake me up, sit at my feet, and tell me what's the matter.   I have an open invitation from Jesus to not keep the things that are weighing me down to myself, but take them to him with the expectation (which is the key here) that He is listening and can and will help me in a meaningful way.  I need to wake Jesus up, be honest about my need, and say, can we take a look at all of this?  So I started. 

Spiritual Direction

I went out to the hinterlands today, also called New Jersey, to meet up with C., a member at my rockin' church, an IV staffer, and a spiritual director.  I had heard her name around church, I'd met her on a couple of occasions, and a few weeks ago I ended up praying with her after church in a really nice, normal sort of way, about a picture I had gotten in prayer.  One thing lead to another and then there I was on the train to meet with her for direction.  It was one of those experiences where I thought this was going to happen months ago, but knew I didn't need to do anything-- it would come to me when the time is right.  Wow, I sound very Yoda-ish there, but its the truth.

It was great to meet with her.  It was relieving to meet with her.  It was great to be in a place with time carved out and to unload on a spiritually discerning person the truth about me right now and know she wasn't going to freak out, worry about me, or give me paint by number instructions about what to do next.  I cried my eyes out, I was articulate, she asked good questions, we kept digging, I got some clarity, I felt relieved and lighter and less a mystery to myself.  A lot of things that I was perceiving as failure was actually growth, albeit painful growth.  Where I am makes sense and how I'm feeling makes sense.   She then gave me some suggestions about how to go about praying in the coming months out of the Ignatian spiritual practices.  I'm looking forward to seeing what comes of it.

Which just leads me to thankfulness.  God is so kind.  What a good gift.  

9/11

I awoke a bit later than usual this morning, having attended NYC's Fashion Nite Out-- basically, every retailer in New York opens its doors from 6-11 p.m. and plays cocktail party host to thousands of people out to looky-loo through the stores.  My friend M and I hit Manolo Blahnik, Talbots, Tiffany's, Sephora, Bloomingdales, and Louis Vuitton.  The winners for best food and drink were Talbots (lots of white wine and huge bowls of candy) and Sephora (champagne splits for everyone!!).  So, yeah, I woke up a little late.

I decided to stroll down to Cafe Amrita, a very groovy eurocafe replete with coffee bar and a TV always tuned to soccer, for some coffee and pastry and to read the paper.  It was delightful to sit, overhear conversations and people watch.  The weather is glorious here, and it was just lovely to watch the world go by.  I recalled a statement made by my voice teacher after he underwent open heart surgery-- 'No matter what happens in your life, Joanna', he said, 'existence is pretty incredible'.  Sitting in that cafe this morning, I'd have to agree.  The privilege of being alive, is a beautiful and fragile gift.

So that was my profound moment of the day.   Next, I decided, since its the kind of thing I never do, to go down to the World Trade Center site and just see what was going on.

I confess, I was fascinated.

Once I got topside from the subway ride, the first thing I noticed were the cops.  They said the police presence was going to be overwhelming, and it was, but not in an oppressive way.  Camera crews were everywhere, and I mean everywhere.  Here was a vertically challenged lady trying to file her story:

Next I ran into a group of fundamentalist Christians from North Carolina handing out tracts in one of the many impromptu holding pens the cops had set up for people who wanted to assemble.  I think you just got in your pen and did your thing.  Passerby's could watch you and talk to you but it did make a clear point of dilineation between protester and pedestrian.  It was kind of like the zoo. Anyway,  I'm not sure if they were here to protest the mosque or what, but here were there t-shirts:

I heard them singing praise songs to Jesus when I was finally leaving the area.

Right beside these guys was the group that thinks that 9/11 was an inside job.  They were well organized and did the T-shirt thing too.  I have their tract and honestly, I have no idea what they are talking about, but I'm going to do some google searches later on tonight.

I finally got down to Ground Zero, and the official 9/11 televised memorial service was still going.  It must have been over two blocks away from where the barricades were set up for tourists-- we couldn't see anything from where we were.  We could listen, though, and hear the names of the victims being read, and taps being played.  It was very moving.    Everyone was respectful and extremely quiet. There were few to no signs.  Instead, a lot of American flags, and this piece of artwork:

The mosque protesters were around the corner at the Park51 site, and at about 45 minutes before their start time, they didn't have a lot of people there, but they did have this guy:

He's really got to believe in what he's doing to wear that on a day like today.

The people protesting the people protesting the mosque had a much better turnout, from what I could tell.  They were an interesting group-- ex-Hippies, people with communist leanings, some Buddhist monks were there, college students, a handful of obviously Muslim people.  All peaceable, very energized:

I did have a very interesting conversation with a woman in line for the bathroom at Starbucks with me (God bless Starbucks for being the public restroom provider of NYC!).   She was two blocks away on 9/11 and now writes for an online newspaper warning people of the dangers of Sharia law and Islam.  We had a cordial conversation in the bathroom line, and to my surprise practically everyone in the line weighed in, too. 

I gotta say, I left feeling proud of a country where all these people-- half of whom I'd put in the crazy crackpot category-- can exercise their right to assemble, their right to speech.  I wondered what all the cops thought about this.  And then I went to Trader Joe's.

Carmen!!

The Met replayed their HD broadcast of their production of Carmen from last season out on their plaza on Monday night.  Kerry and Mackenzie Morrison, Mackenzie's roommate Chloe, and my neighbor Todd (as well as 4,000 other people) all turned out to enjoy an amazing show.  I definitely want to see this production live next year!

Flushing Love

My brother took me to the U.S. Open Tennis Tournament last night.  I have been looking forward to this for weeks.  My family grew up playing tennis, and although we still hit the ball around on family vacations, none of us really played competitively.  My grandfather Carl, my mom's dad, played tennis until he was in his 80's and my mom swears she has a cousin who played in the U.S. Open way back when.  We'd watch Wimbledon and the U.S. Open, and the Wimbledon Final was the only Sunday that we were allowed to skip church.

So, JR and I trekked out to Flushing, Queens, to this beautiful sports complex to watch John Isner, the American famous for playing the LONGEST match ever a couple of months ago at Wimbledon, take on a Russian named Mikhail Izhney.   Isner lost, but it was fun to see him so soon after watching that crazy match against Mahut. 

Going Native, Part 2

I kissed a total stranger last night.

I was at the Yankee game with my friend M, and we sat behind two hard core fans.  We knew they were hard core fans because when they took off their A-Rod jerseys, they were wearing A-Rod t-shirts underneath.

These guys did what I consider the duty of any hard core fan:  pay ridiculously close attention to the game, berate other people for not standing up and cheering, and discussing the finer points of Yankee trivia with other fans around them.  Having a brother that is a true fan, I know these things.  I ended up chatting one of them up half way through the game, and so I felt free to give him a lot of grief when he and his friend, at the top of the 9th inning, with the Yankees ahead by one run and Mariano Rivera coming in to pitch, get up to LEAVE THE STADIUM.

Really?  According to brother Jon, true fans don't leave until the end of the game.  I told him that.  He made some lame excuse about needing to catch a train, and how he lives over an hour and a half from the stadium. Please.  The guy was in agony, but I knew I had him.  No true fan can take that kind of honor challenge.

He finally says, 'OK, I'll stay, but if they win, I get to kiss you.'  I say, 'Deal.'

They won.

Going Native

I was walking to the 116th and Lenox subway stop in Harlem, chatting on the phone with my mom.  I step in to the intersection and realize, belatedly, that the light had changed and I was jaywalking.  The driver waiting her turn laid on her horn.  And I mean laid.  I look over, still walking, still in the intersection, and mouth 'sorry' to her, and keep walking, phone to my ear.

First mistake.

The woman rolls her window down, sticks her head out the window, and unloads a string of expletives at me with fury and gusto that I would reserve for someone who maliciously hit a child.  Now, would you call a person who jaywalked in front of you a fucking bitch?  Would you repeatedly call her that while you pull out into the intersection and continue to yell at her while you made a left hand turn?   It felt way over the top to me and mostly uncalled for.  So, with the phone still to my ear, with my mom still on the line, and with premeditation, I raised my left hand and gave her the bird.

Second mistake.

The woman practically parks her car in the middle of the road and increases her roar.  I thought she might actually leave her car on the road and come after me.  I seriously had to think about whether or not I was going to have to defend myself, or whether or not I should just run.  Given the size of the woman, I was sure I could outrun her.  I just wasn't sure if I wanted to.  She, either having exhausted her list of expletives, or perhaps because of mounting pressure of cars behind her, finally took off.

However, an older gentleman, who was walking behind me, decided to get involved with the only party that was left, me.  He informed me in no uncertain terms that there was absolutely no cause for my flipping her off, shaking his head and telling me I should be ashamed of myself.   This is when I finally said to my mom, 'Mom, can I call you back?'.  When I tried to address the gentleman he couldn't be bothered to stop.  When I asked him if I could talk to him for a minute, three times, he kept walking, and kept telling me how wrong I was.

When I sat down at the train station, I was half mortified at my behavior, half angry at how I was treated.  And then I started to laugh.

Ah, Harlem.