Life Artist

Trump.

Clinton.

Your Vote CountsIf you are like some people I know, one of those names throws you into paroxysms of loathing, disgust, or rage. If that’s true for you, everything you read and hear confirms that you are right. If (that name) prevails in November, life will be unbearable. Everything that happens for years after that will demonstrate to you that you were right all along.

“You have a confirmation bias!”

“No I don’t! You do!”

“See? I told you so!”

I have friends and brothers who stand on one side of that divide, and friends and brothers who stand on the other. I do not think their thoughts.

“Out of the cacophony of suffering and chaos that can mark human life, the life artist sees or creates a symphony of meaning and order. A life of wholeness does not depend on what we experience. Wholeness depends on how we experience our lives.”
     ― Desmond Tutu

Life artist. A life artist. What does it take to be an artist? My sister is an artist, a real one in the usual sense of the word. She paints and draws with passion and intelligence. She teaches art too, has for years. Our dad used to ask her when she’d get a real job, not just making pictures. She knew all along, though, that what she was doing was important and rewarding. She would open new worlds for young people, one after another after another. She would save some kids’ lives. With art. Her art.

In recent months she has faced some big challenges — you know, that C-thing — meeting them head-on with passion and intelligence. That was when I started to notice her mastery as a life artist. She decided what to do (what picture to paint) and started by assembling the tools to do it. Some art projects need charcoals, paint, canvas and brushes; others need medicine, instruments and machinery, a healthy diet, rock-solid belief and gritty determination. Both need vision, seeing beyond what is to what can be. I see a pattern here. Attitude.

“We cannot change our past…we cannot change the fact that people will act in a certain way. We cannot change the inevitable. The only thing we can do is play on the one string we have, and that is our attitude…I am convinced that life is 10% what happens to me and 90% how I react to it. And so it is with you… we are in charge of our attitudes.”
     ― Charles R. Swindoll

I admire my sister the artist. She takes the 10% and smothers it with the 90%. Kills it.

We're All Screwed 2016We’re all screwed! Ha, funny little thing to say, or is it your belief? I don’t want this to be the attitude I choose. No matter what happens in November, I will still live my life. Do you really think we’re all gonna die, or that you’ll have to defend your home against marauding (that name again) supporters? C’mon. We’re friends. We love the same country.

I remember not-so-many words from all the countless sermons I have heard in oh-so-many church services over oh-so-many years. Some of those long-remembered words (I was about ten, but sixty-some years later I can still hear Fr. Herbert’s voice) are these:

Two men looked out from prison bars.
One saw mud; the other, stars.

I want to be a life artist. It’s a real job, and it’s about attitude, choosing my own attitude. I choose how I experience my life.

And, oh yes, I vote.

Nothing More Than Nothing

It’s March, and in Colorado it’s snowing today! We had a sunny 73-degree day yesterday (23°C) and now there’s over a foot of fresh new snow on the ground. It’s still piling up as the daylight starts to fade. I’ve been warm inside, enjoying the luxury of seeing the beauty of it without having to be somewhere else. It makes me appreciate how much I like to be where I am.

I love the snow! The kid in me remembers the excitement, the delight of running in it, slipping and falling and sliding in it, eating it, throwing it, and the steamy wool smell of warming up after playing in it. As a grownup in my working years I lived in warm, sunny places — Texas, Thailand, Taiwan, and Southern California — until Stormy and I retired from regular work and went to Bulgaria as Peace Corps volunteers. We were so glad to get reacquainted with seasons! The sheer delight of seasonal changes included extremes of weather and temperature that we had not felt in years. It awakened those childhood memories for both of us. When we moved to Colorado a few years later we came into the realization that it’s something that we love. Change.

We’ve seen a lot of change in our lives. (I know, you don’t want me to start with the “When I was a kid” stories.) I went to a panel discussion about climate change last night, and a friend of mine has written a book on the matter. Harlow Hyde, served with us in Bulgaria. His book is titled Climate Change, of all things.1 Harlow is a numbers guy, and he has a serious background as a student of weather trends. He backs up his thesis with solid facts, and an engaging sense of humor. He rigorously lists all the big factors of climate, including the anthropogenic one (that’s us!) He lists and evaluates various links between human activity and rising global temperatures. After all, every single one of us little heat engines spend our lives turning food into energy, throwing off heat all the time! Then there’s the way we burn stuff, move stuff around, and make stuff out of other stuff. Just a little bit of heat from each activity, each individual one of us making hardly enough to matter. (He repents, actually, for his part in this travesty.) Well, I don’t want to give away the plot and you should really read it yourself. It’s an excellent and well-researched piece of work.

And politics — talk about change! What, are there changes in the country? Um, yes. What happened to Hope and Change? We’re seeing Panic and Change! Frenzy and Change! Fear and Change! But change, as always, is the constant. We live in it, react to it, and make it happen — or, depending on the subject, try to keep it from happening. Ha! Might as well try to keep the sea from rising.

Take closing the borders, sending people back to where they came from, for example. Can anyone have a civil conversation on that subject? I wonder. I know people who are working with refugee resettlement agencies, helping war refugees — refugees from bombing and fires and knives and threats and killings, who have lived in refugee camps for years and years, in tents or temporary shelters with freezing winter huddle-around-a-fire misery or desert scorching hot blazing-sun misery, relieved to be out of mortal danger but living in uncertainty and frustrated with slow-molasses bureaucracy and hopeful, ever hopeful of a life where they can work and raise their children in peace. And I know other people who call that kind of work, helping those people settle in America, dangerous, foolhardy, even treasonous. We can’t know they won’t bring their wars here, they say, and turn on us. They’ll bring their laws with them. They’ll take our jobs from us. Our economy can’t bear the burden. We can’t bear the burden.

snow treeToday’s snowfall is a burden on the trees. It’s heavy and wet, as is normal for snows this late in the season, so I put on my big-boy boots and went out with a long stick to knock the big fat clumps off some of the branches that were sagging heavily under the weight. We’ve had branches, big ones, break off with that kind of load. I couldn’t reach all of them that needed it, but it was the lower ones anyway that were reaching out farther, straining and nearly defeated under the heaviest loads. Needless to say, they were greatly relieved.

I thought of a little story about snowflakes. I read it as part of a 50th Anniversary memorial ceremony a few years ago, for Peace Corps volunteers who had died in service. It was called Nothing More Than Nothing.

“Tell me the weight of a snowflake,” a coalmouse asked a wild dove.

“Nothing more than nothing,” was the answer.

“In that case, I must tell you a marvelous story,” the coalmouse said. “I sat on the branch of a fir, close to its trunk, when it began to snow – not heavily, not in a raging blizzard – no, just like in a dream, without a sound and without any violence. Since I did not have anything better to do, I counted the snowflakes settling on the twigs and needles of my branch. Their number was exactly 3,741,952. When the 3,741,953rd dropped onto the branch, nothing more than nothing, as you say – the branch broke off.”

Having said that, the coalmouse flew away.

The dove, since Noah’s time an authority on the matter, thought about the story for awhile, and finally said to herself, “Perhaps there is only one person’s voice lacking for peace to come to the world.”

  — from New Fables, by Kurt Kauter (1913-2002)2

One more. Perhaps.

Surprising Bulgaria


Best of Bulgaria! A travel advertisement. Now, that sounds interesting. Friendly and generous people, scenic mountains and seashore, vibrant cities, bucolic villages, rakiya, Shopska salad… mmm, tomatoes! Peppers! Sausages! Best yogurt in the world! Oh, sorry. Where was I?

Oh yes. I saw an ad recently for a tour organized by Rick Steves, the famous PBS travel maven. It was billed as the “Best of Bulgaria in 12 Days” tour.  Hm. Of course I want to go back to Bulgaria “someday” to visit. I want to see old friends and see how the country has changed since Stormy and I worked there as Peace Corps volunteers. How many years, let’s see… 2002 when we started… but… but… <counting, runs out of fingers> No, it couldn’t have been so long ago! What’s happened to all those years?

dancer smileI looked around on this newfangled Interwebs thing and found a video of a travelogue that Steves had done on Bulgaria. About time! That beautiful country is long overdue for the kind of good press that Rick Steves serves up! I started watching and was surprised at how little the place had changed since I was there. The opening scenes showed a picturesque old city tram, just like the ones we used to ride. The street scenes, the way people were dressed. It all looked the same. Curious, I cross-referenced a bit and saw the program was produced in 2000. Whoa! That was just before we were there! I never saw that show and no one we knew ever mentioned it. Wow, I thought, what a great slice of information and color we missed! It would have been great to have seen it in preparation for going. We surely would have recommended it to friends and family to share the experience. (But oh, hey, instead I wrote that book…) We didn’t have much Internets back then, and YouTube had not yet absorbed the whole of human experience, so we didn’t know what we were missing.

So anyway, here’s a link to the Rick Steves video so you can see what Bulgaria looked like to an American visitor, way back in the early 2000s… (The video hangs up at 2 minutes but jumps back in after a 20-second gap. Amerikanska rabota.) Surprising Bulgaria.

rilaI knew right off that this was a quality piece of work: he pronounced “Sofia” correctly, with the emphasis on SO. He also covered the obligatory head-nod and head-shake code, where n = y and y = n. Easy, right? Modern city life, shops and cafés contrasted with horse carts and rural workers hand-tilling fields. Check. Shopska salad with rakiya, check. Smiles, Balkan music, colorful costumes and folk dancing, check.

I really enjoyed his itinerary, covering some of my favorite places and giving some good, concise historical background as well. He introduced a young man, a Peace Corps volunteer, who seemed to serve as his tour guide. The volunteer was shown hosting a radio program, in Bulgarian and English. He was so affable and knowledgeable, I thought, wow, this guy was sharp! Brent Hurd. I looked him up and saw he came to Bulgaria as a volunteer in 1996, a few years ahead of us. He apparently stayed over several years after his two-year stint, as many did when they fell in love with the place and the people (or a person, such as the attractive fiancée who appeared in the show). He was an excellent co-host and guide for Rick Steves’ Bulgaria story.

makgohalgcThe travelogue, under the easy and informative tutelage of Steves and his Peace Corps guide, featured cheerful little encounters with all kinds of people. It was a time of hope for the younger generation, he said, showing sunny pedestrian malls with full café tables and smiling young people browsing the shops. The older generation felt left out of whatever was going on, as he soberly noted a little harsh reality, with the old patterns changing too fast to keep up with the whirlwind of societal change. woman on cart

Steves noted that Modern Bulgaria is a multiethnic yet peaceful state, which is a standout accomplishment in the Balkans. He was as impressed as we had been with the Bulgarian people he met during his tour.

“How do you make a modern Bulgarian? Mix Bulgars, Slavs, Thracians, Armenians, Greeks, Romans, and Turks. Cover and let simmer for about 45 years of Soviet rule. Break open and let run free.”
    Rick Steves

I think that’s a pretty fair summary to squeeze into a half-hour TV tour. Even though things have changed, it reminded me how much I want to go back and visit again. I looked up more on Brent Hurd, the Peace Corps volunteer who squired Steves around. He became a documentary filmmaker and journalism professor, worked for Voice of America, and was a Fulbright Scholar. He died in 2008, on the anniversary of John Kennedy’s assassination, in an accident in India.

We all know it’s important to tell people you love them, because you never know when it will be the last time. Seems like a good rule for places too. I still want to go back and visit Bulgaria again. Someday. Maybe this year.