Stan Taylor

Eliot Gelwan, one of my favorite bloggers, offers a nice contemplation of the Jewish new year. The equivalent time on the Christian calendar is usually Lent.

Since sundown last night, it has been year 5765 of the Jewish calendar. In Jewish tradition, that means 5765 years since the creation of the universe. Maybe this is inaccurate, but it emphasizes what order of magnitude we should place on each of our years anyway. It has always made sense to me to celebrate two new year’s days each year, one when the cyclical dimming of the days turns to the promise of renewal of the natural world at the winter solstice; and the other more aligned with the cycle of human activity, when the fallow time of late summer transitions into the renewed activity of the autumn, whether we are talking about the annual cycle of agricultural activity, of the school year or the world of commerce and the fiscal year.

The two types of new year’s celebrations also have a somewhat different emphasis. It has always seemed to me that the ritual of the Pagan New Year we celebrate in the winter, attuning oneself to the natural order of things, stands to invoke good fortune for the year to come. The Jewish New Year is more about setting oneself straight with manmade standards of right living, opening as it does the ten days of awe culminating in the Day of Atonement.

It is said that the life unexamined is the life unlived. This is a time to use in reflection on the year just past, in order to live the next fully. How much time was wasted? Were your days filled with life or dull routine? Was love expressed or left unsaid? Was there real companionship with those around you or a growing apart and a taking for granted? Were the kind deeds done or postponed? the gibes unleashed or the tongue held? Have you worked for peace and social justice as much as you could have? Did you acquire only things, or insights and knowledge as well? Have you freely asked for and granted forgiveness ? Did you deceive others? yourself?

Finding oneself wanting, as I do, in some or all of these regards helps in considering the uses to which one will put the year to come. What I do with my next year is important, because I will pay for it with a year of my life, and I hope I do not regret the price.

So, to all my readers Jewish and otherwise, a happy new year. I pray for assistance being kind to my fellow creatures and working for peace. I ask your forgiveness if I have wronged any of you reading this, and I absolve anyone of you who has wronged or offended me.

This is, at once, both cool and revolting:

Maggots aren’t high on most people’s favorite-animals list. But maggots–specifically, the larvae of the green blowfly, Phaenicia sericata–can be helpful for the very reason they horrify. By eating dead tissue at a patient’s wound site, maggots may help decrease the risk of post-operative infections, according to an article in the October 1 issue of Clinical Infectious Diseases, now available online.

Last Friday, Terry Gross (I think Terry Gross is a horrible interviewer, but she does get good guests) interviewed Gregory Boyle, a Jesuit priest who has worked for nearly 20 years to help gang members in Los Angeles find jobs and integrate into society. The man is a saint many times over, but what stopped me in my tracks was when he talked about his recent struggles with leukemia.

When Terry asked him about his diagnosis and chemo treatments, Father Boyle said as they heard about his diagnosis, the men he had helped over the years came to him one by one to offer him assistance and to console him. But almost invariably, Father Boyle recounted, the men would break down and cry their eyes out–out of concern and love for him. He took that as an opportunity to minister to them–to allow them to express feelings that they normally have a hard time with, to console them.

He was suffering from a life-threatening disease, had a large community of supporters willing to help him in any way possible, and what is he concerned about? The others, not himself. That is truly an example of “WWJD?”

Later in the interview, Terry asked Father Boyle how it felt to be faced with his own mortality. He said something to the effect, “Death just isn’t high on my list of concerns.” Interestingly, he didn’t mention feeling consoled by the promise of eternal life, as one might expect of a Jesuit priest. He is simply so engrossed in helping others in the here and now that he can’t be bothered by such worries. Again, a shining example of selflessness.

In fact, now that I think about it, I don’t recall Father Boyle directly referencing Christian theology at all in his interview. He just explained his work–how he walks the walk. He’s an incredibly inspiring model of the Christian life.

In a recent blog post, Lance Arthur shares some insights about therapy, but I think they’re good advice for life in general:

Your therapist knows what your problems are pretty early, but they have to allow you to discover them for yourself or you won’t believe them, and/or you’ll be so quick to believe them that the discover itself has no meaning to you and you think you’re cured simply because you now understand what’s wrong, but that’s only the first step in a long, laborious process.

Knowing what’s wrong isn’t really helpful. It’s a step along the way, and it has a certain satisfaction, but it isn’t the resolution. It’s like cooking. You set out the ingredients and there they all are, sitting there, the sugar and butter and flour and salt and baking soda and semi-sweet chocolate chips and brown sugar… but that’s not cookies, is it? It’s what makes up the cookies, but you have a lot to do before it’s cookie time.

Saying things out loud changes them. You’re constantly telling yourself things internally, things about how you feel, or “woe is me” things, or ideas about how you’re feeling and why. It’s only when you say it out loud that, suddenly, and for whatever reason, it turns real. It hasn’t changed… but it has.

However you feel about yourself, you’re right. There is no wrong. You can be wrong about the reasons, and you can be wrong about the person you are (characteristics and behaviors and so on, the things that physically manifest based on the way you think you out to be) but you’re never wrong about how you feel. Feelings are just that, and trying to control them is an exercise in futility.

You can’t force anyone to do anything they aren’t ready to do, including yourself. You can’t force yourself to be happy. You can’t logic your way out of it or into it. There are always reasons, but you may not be able to see them or verbalize them or understand them.

Words can fail you, but they’re only words. Don’t think that because you can’t describe the way you feel or why that it isn’t real. Words may come later, so don’t let that frustrate you.

It’s sometimes more important to understand something than to believe it.

Someone commented as follows to a post on one of my favorite blogs:

As a Brit, what I find puzzling about this whole [U.S.] election campaign is why does Bush want to be President again? Look at the mess his country is in – the quagmire that is Iraq, the crumbling economy, the looming oil crisis etc. Why would any sane person want to continue to carry the responsibility for all that? Doesn’t Bush want to simply toss the White House keys at Kerry, tell him “It’s all yours now, buddy – may you have the joy of it!” and head off to settle down on his Texas spread to ride horses, shoot his guns and quietly drink himself into oblivion?

Very good question.

The St. Louis Business Journal has an otherwise long, boring article about Carl Z. Levin, a local business consultant who claims psychic abilities, and about how his clients have responded to the news of Levin’s claims.

But the article contains this great line from one client who terminated their business relationship with Levin:

Levin was disappointed by the termination, notification of which, Fleming said, was made by phone. “But if he is a psychic, he obviously didn’t see this scenario happening the way it did.”

Last week, Gordon Atkinson wrote about his youngest daughter mispronouncing ‘ponytail band’ in her childish way.
This past weekend, Mawmaw came to visit us, and she had goodies for the kids from her recent bus trip across the western U.S., including a book about ‘parry dogs’ for Samuel. I agree with Gordon: I should cherish childhood while it lasts.

We’ve lived in Pflugerville for over seven years now, but until recently, it’s just been the place where our house is located. We led significant parts of our lives in other parts of the Austin area: work, church, kids’ school, etc.
Eighteen months ago, we bought a different home within Pflugerville, and things started to change. First off, we (and especially the kids) have made quite a few friends in the neighborhood. I attribute a lot of that to the lack of privacy fences and the greenbelt behind our house where the neighborhood kids play.
We decided a few months ago to try to take root in Pflugerville: first step, we joined Pflugerville First United Methodist Church. We’ve also taken the kids out of private school. Hannah just started fourth grade at the public school two blocks from home, and Samuel is attending the preschool at our church. Turns out, Samuel’s preschool teacher lives a couple of blocks from us, and we run into her every day at the elementary school.
All in all, our plan to take root here is going pretty well. It sure feels good not to have to drive the kids all over creation to school. Unfortunately, Katie and I both still work far away and do a lot of commuting, but that’s a much bigger challenge, given our professions.
I think I’m particularly sensitive to the sense of rootlessness in modern American urban and suburban lifestyles, since I grew up in the country. In any case, it feels very good to become more a part of our community.

I snapped this photo on my drive home today (while driving at 65 MPH!). Notice that the dog is wearing his Doggles™

I love this quote from a New York Post article about how poorly the delegates to the Republican National Convention in NYC are tipping:

Abraham Bolzman [concierge at the New York Hilton] was also perplexed by the prudence of his guests. “It’s just no tips at all,” he said.
“It’s strange. It’s not that they’re not friendly. They’re always saying ‘God bless you.’ I guess I’m used to something more tangible.” (emphasis added)