Friday Five: Year-End Edition

For the final Friday Five of the year, the revgals suggest listing 5 blessings of 2010 and 5 hopes/dreams for the new year.  This seemed like a good spiritual practice, since "blessings" is not the first thing that springs to mind when I think of this year.  This year was rough, and as I read through others' year-end blog posts and status updates, it seems "rough" describes many folks' 2010 journey.  May 2011 be a gentler road for us all.

Blessings:

1 -- Bearing witness to my cielo's continued growth as the most amazing human I have ever known.  Assuming all continues smoothly, she will be ordained in 2011, something I am already looking forward to.

2 -- Rediscovering an old love: opera.  Thanks to this broadcast, which blew my world open and reminded me that there is beauty in the world:



And in rediscovering opera, I discovered the global White Shirt contingent, which has provided much delight.  For an example, here.

3 -- Good friends and mentors who help me feel less lonely during the lonely stretches.

4 -- Goats and hermitages and a flying St. Francis.

5 -- Colleagues in the multi-stranded movement for justice, which only grows stronger.

Hopes/Dreams...and things I'm looking forward to:

1 -- Opera-related, there's the Capriccio HD broadcast in April, the Die Walkure HD broadcast in May, and the HOPE that the Met will release the above-mentioned Rosenkavalier on DVD, as they have done with other HD broadcasts.  Cuz then I'd feel like this:

2 -- I started the "One With the Collar" series (last one here, which has links to all of them) without realizing that it would be a series.  These poems have been helpful ways of thinking about my own experience as a minister, of wrestling with issues of privilege, authority, pain, injustice.  So I want to be more intentional about these reflections moving forward.

3 -- Continued deepening growth of the faith community I pastor.

4 -- Finally being delivered.  All right, maybe not "finally" as in that's the end of that, but finally in the sense of being brought out of whatever-the-hell-I'm-in right now and onto what is next, whatever that is.  Ironically, it's exhausting, even thought there is nothing I can do but be still and let God do Her work.

5 -- Time with my cielo, my friends, "my" hermitage, the goats...

Happy 2011, everyone!

The One With The Collar, Part 4

(If you're new around here, parts 1, 2, and 3)

(wrote this Monday, December 6th, with some edits/additions today)

this happened today:
met someone at stella's at four
for pastoral care.
we meet up on the sidewalk
and as we're going to the entrance,
i realize
there are two men sitting
at the picnic table there.
wearing army-green uniforms.
army? i think. then,
i see the patch on the shirt
of the guy facing me.
SWAT.
oh shit, i think. and their HQ
is not far away.
and i look up,
and meet eyes with him,
and he is one of the ones,
one of the ones
who beat up JT,
i saw him,
i heard him,
i heard her scream,
and i saw him in court,
more than once,
and i can't breathe,
and i start to shake.
we went in, and i couldn't speak,
so i went to sit down.
person i met brought me water,
then
while person got their coffee,
i texted my cielo and JT,
tried to remember how to breathe,
tried to ease my body back
into stillness.
thankfully person i met
totally understood. i only shared
a small bit of the story. and i was able
to get back to the present and be
pastoral and present and appropriate.

they don't cover this in seminary.

fuck.
3 years,
and i still react like this.
not just the seeing him,
but also the seeing him living
like, something appearing to be
a normal life,
having a coffee with his buddy
at the hip coffee shop.
of all the nerve.

from there,
flew home, put on the collar,
went to the vigil
at the detention center.
my body,
always hyper-aware anyway,
even moreso now, to see
as we pull up,
the cop in the intersection

lights flashing, then moves on
and parks a block away.
as if we can't see him.
the prayer we read claims
that hope overcomes despair,
and my head nods
but my body, still hurting
in those same places,
cries bullshit.
what the body knows.
as always, the GEO guards
circle in their big, white, truck
then park in the shadows
with the yellow lights on,
as if we can't see him.

and i shout, and i shout,
and i wonder why
when i am here
my voice feels like
it is rooted somewhere deeper
than my body,
like it could carry me over
an edge of unknown.

and all i can think is,
all i can pray is,
resistance.
resistance.
resistance.

Friday Five: Pie Edition

I haven't done one of these from the revgals in ages, but when I saw the theme -- PIE -- I couldn't resist!

This one's for you, my dear BlueEyes, pie-maker extraordinaire (her apple-pear-cranberry pie we had on Tuesday was scrumptious!).

Please answer these five questions about pie:

1) Are pies an important part of a holiday meal?

I am of the opinion that pie is an important part of ANY meal.  Including picnics and birthday celebrations in the Rocky Mountain National Park (it helps that there is a FANTASTIC pie shop on the way).

2) Men prefer pie; women prefer cake. Discuss.

Really?  All the women in my life prefer pie in general.  Although we all do appreciate a really good chocolate cake.

3) Cherries--do they belong in a pie?

Yes.  Best pie I have ever had was the cherry pie at from the Estes Park Pie Shop (see link above), the tartness was amazing.  The fact that there were deer roaming around just made it better (yes, it was desert for a picnic in the RMNP).

4) Meringue--if you have to choose, is it best on lemon or chocolate?

I think meringue is best when it's by itself in those little meringue cookies, dusted in chocolate.

5) In a chicken pie, what are the most compatible vegetables? Anything you don't like to find in a chicken pie?

Hmm, I have not given this much thought.  I guess I would say carrots, peas, potatoes, onions, maybe celery?  I rarely eat this kind of pie, so am not an expert. 

The One With The Collar, Part 3

(parts One and Two)

Scenes From A Day, Downtown

Collar on for a protest.

I don't hate putting it on,

it feels like a privilege,

something to look forward to now.

I park downtown, walk several blocks.

Some people try not to look 

like they're looking.

Some people look.

A woman 

in a collar,

walking down the street,

it's still a new thing.

At the protest,

I'm the only collar.

Which means I get my picture taken,

a lot,

which is not why I wear it, exactly,

although,

at the same time,

it is.

A white Christian is here,

taking a stand.

At lunch, later.

The table full of men 

in matching blue shirts

stares at me as I walk in.

As I fill up my soda,

a young man asks me,

"Are you really a priest?"

"I'm a minister, yes."

His friend, a young woman, asks,

"So if you are priest, 

does that make you a priestess?"

I smile.  "No, not in my tradition."

We talk about the UCC,

laugh,

I invite them to church

(when did I become that person?).

My lunch partner, Crafty, says

that me just walking around

in my collar

blows people's preconceptions.

After lunch,

I walk down the 16th street mall,

heading to meet my cielo.

On the corner, 

a homeless man selling the street paper,

one folded like a pirate's hat on his head,

says something to me I don't quite hear:

"...somethingsomething donation."

I turn and pat my pockets, "Sorry, man,

I don't have any cash."

"No no,"  he says, "a donation for you."

And he hands me a folded dollar bill.

"For your church," he says,

"God bless you."

I'm blown away.

It's been a hard week.

Much struggling and questioning

of my vocation.

And here is Jesus, 

giving me a dollar for my church.

"Thank you," I say, smiling at him,

"Thank you, and God bless you."

And on I walk down the mall.

Some people make eye contact,

smile and nod,

others look away.

No one, though,

does what a lady did a few months ago:

in the grocery store,

I turned into the aisle

where the woman was talking to

her toddler in the shopping cart,

discussing cheese.

She spots me/collar.

She says to her son,

"We're done here,"

and turns, and flees.

Anyway.

Back to yesterday,

walking up the block on Broadway

collar still on,

very drunk gentleman

holding a very tall beer can

says,

"Oh man, I didn't go to church,

and now you're chasing me down."

I say, "No man, I don't chase anybody."

He says, "Aw, too bad, too bad."

I chuckle to myself, and to my cielo,

the things people think they have to say

to the person in the collar.

Keep walking.

It's JT's birthday, after all,

and her present is to walk this collar

into places it might not usually go,

liberating ourselves from 

patriarchal Christian oppression

of our bodies,

and cheering for Texas

in the pizza pub.

This morning,

at ministry council,

a fellow pastor smiles at me

and tells me that sometime,

he wants to have a conversation

about my "theology of the collar."

(He was the first to "like" 

my facebook status update

about the homeless donation-giver

last night).

What would I say?

Maybe I would show him this post...

The Met Opens Tonight

(Renée Fleming in Capriccio at 2008 Met Opening Gala, 

photo courtesy Met's Archive, found here)

So, I thought I'd give a little season preview of the Met HD and radio broadcasts and what I'm looking forward to.  Other opera lovers, chime in if you think I should see/hear something in particular!

HD Broadcasts

(see the full listings, including times and encore dates, here)

Oct 9 -- Das Rheingold, Wagner

 The Met's new production -- rotating planks, rapelling singers, everything run by computer -- has me intrigued.  As a production, it has the potential to be amazing or a disaster, I think.  My dad says if it doesn't have the singers, all the tech-y wizardry won't matter.  Master Levine will be conducting, with Bryn Terfel as Wotan, so we shall see.  The NYTimes has an interesting article about it here, including a photo slide show of the set and the video "trailer."  The Met has rehearsal photos here.  I'm very interested to see what it's like!  It's actually opening tonight, and I'll be keeping an eye out for reviews tomorrow.

Oct 23 -- Boris Godunuv, Mussorgsky

This is not an opera I know at all.  The story sounds complicated (not unusual for opera, of course), but interesting.  I might try this one on the radio first.

Nov 13 -- Don Pasquale, Donizetti

A bel canto comedy.  Worth seeing to catch Anna Netrebko in action.

Dec 11 -- Don Carlo, Verdi

Another I don't know very well.  A highlight is Simon Keenlyside as Rodrigo, and I hope it will be one of the radio broadcasts (we'll see below!).

Jan 8 -- La Fanciulla del West, Puccini

Hard to believe there's a Puccini opera I haven't seen, but this is one.  Debra Voigt will be the Fanciulla on the 100th anniversary of the opera.  This is one I'll want to see.

Feb 12 -- Nixon in China, Adams

Um, I'm not really sure I need to see an opera about Nixon.   Even though I hear good things about it, seems like it would sort of defeat the purpose of immersion therapy for me.

Feb 26 -- Iphigénie en Tauride, Gluck

Ok, I had never heard of this opera until it showed up in the ads during the HD broadcasts we saw last season.  But I fell in love with Susan Graham when I saw her in Der Rosenkavalier (and much more searching around on YouTube) so I am interested.  The story is a Greek tragedy based on a play by Euripides.  Possible white shirt interest in that the Greek goddess Diana saves Iphigénie from death and brings her to live with her and be her, um, priestess.  Oh, also starring Plácido Domingo, who doesn't do a whole lot for me, frankly (which must be some sort of heresy, but oh well), but then, I'm not going because of him, am I?

March 19 -- Lucia di Lammermoor, Donizetti

Quite possibly the most famous mad scene in opera.  I have heard it (thanks, Met radio!) but not seen it.  Natalie Dessay in the title role seems promising, and this is one I will try to see.

April 9 -- Le Comte Ory, Rossini

Another opera I had not heard of until the HD ads.  I will go see this for the three stars:  Juan Diego Florez, Diana Damrau, and (white shirt alert!) Joyce DiDonato, who I think might get the girl... 

April 23 -- Capriccio, Strauss

Let's see:  My massive opera crush the Divine Renée Fleming, singing Strauss non-stop?  Uh, yeah, happy, happy birthday to ME.  Interesting story, too.  Also starring white shirt fave Sarah Connolly.

April 30 -- Il Trovatore, Verdi

Maybe.  Marcelo Alvarez strikes me funny, in the youtube clips I've seen.  Nice enough voice, but the acting...just doesn't do it for me.  Trovatore is a classic, but I might skip this one (or just listen on radio).

May 14 -- Die Walkure, Wagner

The second opera in the new production, I will definitely want to see this.  Debra Voigt is Brunnhilde, and Jonas Kauffman is Siegmund.

Radio Broadcasts

(remember, you can listen online via my local radio station, and probably others as well)

Note:  I often will listen just for the fun of it if I'm home, even if it's something I don't know or is not a particular favorite.)

Dec 18 -- Don Carlo, Verdi

See above.

Dec 25 -- a historic broadcast for Christmas Day.  I wonder what it will be?

Jan 1 -- Pelléas et Mélisande, Debussy

Sounds very sad.

Jan 8 -- La Fanciulla del West, Puccini

See above.  If I'm free to listen, surely I am free to go see it in HD?

Jan 15 -- La Traviata, Verdi

A classic.

Jan 22 -- Rigoletto, Verdi

Another classic.

Jan 29 -- Tosca, Puccini

My favorite, with the tenor Marcelo Alvarez, who I mentioned above I don't care for watching.  However, it's my favorite opera, so of course I will listen if I can.  Sondra Radvanosky is Tosca.

Feb 5 -- Simon Boccanegra, Verdi

Apparently we alternating Verdi and Puccini during the winter?  So, I tried listening to this on the radio last year, and watching it on the Great Performances re-broadcast of that same production, and it just didn't do a whole lot for me.

Feb 12 -- Nixon in China, Adams

See above.

Feb. 19 -- Don Pasquale, Donizetti

See above.  Netrebko is still cast, so it will be fun to listen again.

Feb 26 -- Iphigénie en Tauride

See above.  Same day as the HD broadcast so I will hope to be there.

March 5 -- Armida, Rossini

The Divine Ms. Fleming reprises her new role, which I had the pleasure of seeing in May.  I look forward to how she sounds now that she will have settled into the role a little bit.  The also quite amazing Lawrence Brownlee is back as the stupid tenor who gives her up in the end.  Stupid, stupid, tenor.

March 12 -- Boris Godunuv, Mussorgsky

See above.  

March 19 -- Lucia di Lammermoor, Donizetti

Again, being broadcast in HD on the same day, where I hope I'll be. 

March 26 -- The Queen of Spades, Tchaikovsky

Unfamiliar to me, I'll try to listen.

April 2 -- Das Rheingold, Wagner

See above. 

April 9 -- Le Comte Ory, Rossini

See above.  I shall be at the theater if at all possible!

April 16 -- Wozzeck, Berg

An utterly depressing story.  What is with Berg?

April 23 -- Capriccio, Strauss

See above.  You know where I'll be!

April 30 -- Il Trovatore, Verdi

See above.  Showing the same day in HD, maybe I will just listen instead.

May 7 -- Ariadne Auf Naxos, Strauss

This is one I would like to see, and am sorry they aren't broadcasting it in HD.  White shirt notice:  Joyce DiDonato will play the composer.  I remember seeing a bit of the first act AGES ago on TV, and wondered, "Why is Tatiana Troyanos dressed like a guy?"  Completely forgetting, I guess, that I had seen her as Prince Orlofsky in the 1986 New Year's Eve Die Fledermaus extravaganza.

May 14 -- Die Walkure, Wagner

The radio season ends in fiery fury.  Hopefully I'll be at the theater watching, not just listening (see above).

Well, there you have it!  I am looking forward to operas old and new, and hours spent immersed in beauty, tragedy, love...Be sure to check out the Met's very interactive online guide, with photos as well as sound and video clips.  Don't be frightened by Wotan on the cover...

Te Quiero

16 Años contigo, mi cielo.  Te quiero mas cada día.  Que bello que hoy, el día de nuestro aniversario, estamos codo a codo, enseñando a otr@s como comprometerse mas a la jornada de la justicia.

Te adoro.

Tus manos son mi caricia,
mis acordes cotidianos;
te quiero porque tus manos
trabajan por la justicia.

Si te quiero es porque sos
mi amor, mi cómplice, y todo.
Y en la calle codo a codo
somos mucho más que dos.

Tus ojos son mi conjuro
contra la mala jornada;
te quiero por tu mirada
que mira y siembra futuro.

Tu boca que es tuya y mía,
Tu boca no se equivoca;
te quiero por que tu boca
sabe gritar rebeldía.

Si te quiero es porque sos
mi amor mi cómplice y todo.
Y en la calle codo a codo
somos mucho más que dos.

Y por tu rostro sincero.
Y tu paso vagabundo.
Y tu llanto por el mundo.
Porque sos pueblo te quiero.

Y porque amor no es aurora,
ni cándida moraleja,
y porque somos pareja
que sabe que no está sola.

Te quiero en mi paraíso;
es decir, que en mi país
la gente vive feliz
aunque no tenga permiso.

Si te quiero es por que sos
mi amor, mi cómplice y todo.
Y en la calle codo a codo
somos mucho más que dos.

-- Mario Benedetti

Discovered

This statue is outside the basilica of St. Francis in Santa Fe (where we've been on vacation).  The statue is called "St. Francis Dancing on Water."  I fell in love with it.  The artist is Monika Kaden.  I took a ton of photos of it, these are just three.  I think if you click on them you get the bigger version.

 

 

And then I found this Rumi poem, thanks to the artist:

DANCE, WHEN YOU'RE BROKEN OPEN.

DANCE, IF YOU'VE TORN THE BANDAGE OFF.

DANCE IN THE MIDDLE OF THE FIGHTING.

DANCE IN YOUR BLOOD.

DANCE, WHEN YOU'RE PERFECTLY FREE.

Rumi

Amen.

Memory and Protest

First I should say that I was not one of the people in this beautiful line of activists putting their bodies on the line to demand immigration reform that protects the rights and dignity of immigrants -- not this time, anyway. But some of them are my friends, and I am so proud them.

This protest took place on Tuesday, here in Denver (WashPost article w/a few pics here, best local story here). We marched from the capitol through downtown to the Federal building where the immigrant court is. A couple hundred of us marched a looped picket line on the sidewalk while 14 walked into the street which the police had blocked off on each end of the block. Most were SEIU staff, with a few local activists as well.


There they knelt and chanted and sang, and declined to leave when approached by the police.


They were then arrested one by one, placed on a police bus, and taken to the jail for processing.


In case we got too rowdy (or whatever, who the hell knows) the guy below was standing by:

That's a tear gas rifle. There were children not ten yards from him. Would he really have used that? Or was he just there to terrorize us? This was a planned arrest, the organizers met with the police beforehand. I guess at a minimum he was there to remind us who is in charge in the Empire.

Someone asked me if the protest was peaceful, and I responded, well, the police didn't beat up anybody this time, so I guess so. One of the local news stations reported that the protest was not peaceful because people got arrested. So non-violently putting your body on the line for justice is not peaceful? Hmm.

Anyway. The whole event was beautiful, powerful. As we marched the chanting was loud and energetic and just built up as we looped around the sidewalk. So much outpouring of Spirit for these brave folk. After the arrests many of us waited outside the jail for everyone to be released, which they were, all as a group, near 11pm. The group keeping vigil was a wonderful blend of youth and, er, not quite youth activists. We prayed and sang together and cheered everyone when they were released.

The 14 were charged with obstructing the street (see above about the police having already blocked the street...) and failure to obey a lawful order. Now comes the rest of the process.

The immigrant rights movement is stepping up its presence all over the country. As we say, we've marched, we've visited the capitol, we've met with Obama, we've met with our legislators, we've written letters, we've signed petitions, we've made phone calls, we've done EVERYTHING ELSE, and NOTHING is happening to create dignified and just immigration reform.

Sorry, that's not true. Things are happening. Deportations (with no guarantee of due process) are increasing. Detentions are increasing. Hate crimes against Latinos are increasing. Border enforcement (an expensive, completely ineffective policy) is increasing (even though crime in border states has declined drastically in recent years). Border deaths of migrants crossing the desert are up 30% over this time last year (even though border crossings are down). More useless walls are being built on the southern border (pushing people into ever-more-remote areas of the desert). Hate speech is increasing. Families are ripped apart and live in desperate fear now more than ever. Police departments utilizing 287(g) agreements (which permit local police to function as immigration enforcement) are increasing. Immigrant worker exploitation is increasing.

Oh, and SB1070 et. al. happened in Arizona. This weekend in Colorado there's a rally by right-wingers to support that law.

Meanwhile, the President and Congress think maybe they'll get to this issue next year, in spite of the fact that Obama promised the movement he would pass reform his first year in office. Oh, and he promised he would be better on immigration than his predecessor, but the opposite is actually true.

So the movement is stepping things up. Civil disobedience in various forms is happening all across the country -- arrests, marches, fasting. What is going to take? Many more bodies on the line -- citizen-privileged bodies, undocumented bodies, white bodies, brown bodies, men's bodies, women's bodies, youth's bodies, all kinds of bodies.

As St. Paul says, "²I appeal to you therefore, brothers and sisters, by the mercies of God, to present your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable to God, which is your spiritual worship. Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your minds, so that you may discern what is the will of God—what is good and acceptable and perfect." (Rom 12:1-2) ³

So that's the protest part. Here's the memory part.


The photo above is at the intersection of 15th and Stout, downtown. We were coming up 15th and I turned to my friend S. and said, "Uh...do you know the march route?"

"Yeah, I think we're going up 15th and turning at Stout."

"15th and Stout? Seriously?"

"Yeah, why?"

I just gave her a look, and then it dawned on her. 15th and Stout was the intersection of the 2007 columbus day arrests. She smiled wryly and said, "A little PTSD, maybe?" We laughed.

We stood at that intersection waiting for the light to change. I remembered...I always remember when I go by there, but this was the first time to actually *march* through there, the police carefully keeping us on the sidewalk with their special keeping-us-in-our-place vehicle.

This was the first protest I've been to since then where civil disobedience was planned. (Uh, I was too scared to go downtown during the DNC in '08, so I missed all the police violence then). And it was downtown, so it would be the same police squads as dealt with us.

I had lots of feelings about all that (primarily anxiety and fear), and marched right into them anyway. Who would I see? How would I respond? What would they do? How would I keep focused?

There was more police presence along the march route and at the Federal Building than all the police I saw when I marched in Phoenix a couple of weeks ago protesting SB1070 -- a march of at least 200,000 people. On Tuesday we were 200-300.

I marched anyway. Look, my body still hurts. I still hurt. I still get nervous around police and trust them not at all, even when the protest is "planned" and they were met with beforehand. S. was not kidding when she mentioned PTSD (she was pulled out of our circle by her neck, and I saw the bruises there 6 hours later).

But I marched anyway. There is no other place for my body to be, than stepping out of the place its white, well-educated, citizen-privileged being has been assigned, and to put it in the street marching with, as my amiga Robyn says, "the browns." So I acknowledge the pain and the fear and the anxiousness and the fact that I keep forgetting to breathe, and I keep marching.

Sure enough, there were cops I recognized, especially the one on the left, below:


That's the commander. She testified at my trial, and she lied (demonstrably w/video and photos), and it didn't matter.

I don't know how to explain how I felt but as we kept marching by her suddenly I thought, "They wanted to keep me out of the street. They tried to stop me. BUT I AM STILL HERE."

So there.

I could feel myself trying to come out of my body as the police approached the bold line of justice kneeling in the street. Part of me terrified and crying out "no no no" but I gulped breaths and kept marching, kept chanting. And then I started just hollering at the top of my lungs. I don't know where that sound came from, but it was somewhere deep inside and beyond me. I can only say it was Spirit. I hollered, and shouted "Gente! Fuerza!" and hollered more and sang "We shall not be moved" and kept marching and praying and hollering. All that hollering -- really, it was more like a scream, but it was not a scream of fear, it was a cry of strength and Spirit and power and it kept me present and rooted in my body.

It's not like I thought, "Hmm, maybe I shall holler and that will help." No, it just started flying out of my throat (which is still sore) and I can't really explain it.

Afterwards I hung out at the jail. My church donated water and food for the folks keeping vigil and for the arrestees upon release. I remember how good it felt to be welcomed by loving folks and good food (compared to jail food, a bagel with peanut butter was damn-near gourmet) and wanted to provide that for others. I hung with my friend the fabulous street medic Z who told me crazy jokes and kept me laughing. Kept me healing.

Here's what I know: Stepping out of place is hard, it can be risky and painful -- the Empire will punish you -- and the healing can be a long time coming (if you haven't figured out by now if you've been hanging out at the Window very long at all).

But look at that top photo again.

Stepping out of place is beautiful, and powerful, and Spirit-filled. And I'm going to keep doing it. I have good people around me, and we are fighting for the love of our lives.

is there no mastermind
of modern day
who can blueprint a plan
to make love stay
sturdy and weatherproof
ushering in a new revolution

at the drawing board the hopeful ones still try
how can we help it
when we're fighting for the love of our lives

I'll Never Forget It, You Know...

My best friend in college was Mickey. He came in as a freshman my sophmore year and we were both in the Mustang Band. We bonded first of all because we were both from tiny towns in Arkansas, only about a half hour or so apart. And then, we became good friends.

Mickey was outrageous, hilarious, loud -- all the things I was not. I felt a little braver and funnier when I was around him. We both did work/study with the band and so we spent many afternoons in the band hall neither working nor studying, but making each other laugh and playing "rocks" (a game with dominoes) with whoever we could round up. I loved it when he would start doing Bette Midler impersonations -- and impersonating Bette impersonating Sophie Tucker. Man, he had every mannerism, every inflection, every gesture down perfectly.

We would go eat at the favorite campus places, go for walks around campus, watch Designing Women in his dorm room. I think the only class we ever had together was geology (of all things) and so we broke actual rocks together, too. And we loved being in the band. He loved his friends pretty passionately. The only time I remember fighting was when we had seen Thelma & Louise and he tried to tell me that based on the Bible women were supposed to be submissive and I told him not to argue about things about which he was ignorant (he didn't go to church, didn't have much use for it). He thought I was calling him ignorant. But we made up.

I don't remember if it was his first year or second that he came out to me as being a gay man. I think I was not surprised, although he was the first gay person I knew that I knew (you know what I mean? I'm looking at you, high school class of 1988). I think he was worried how I would react. And what I said was something like, let's go to my dorm room, I want to get my Bible.

Bless his heart, he did not go screaming in the other direction. So we went to get my Bible and then we walked over to a spot in front of Meadows, a little hidden spot behind the shrubs where I liked to go and read and write and think. I don't know what he thought I was going to read, but I read Psalm 103 and told him God loved him no matter what. I think he thanked me.

Sometimes I would go with him to the gay bars in Oaklawn and watch him dance with the boys. Then we'd go eat a late/early breakfast somewhere and he would grin when women would hit on me, an occurrence which mostly, at that point in my own personal history, left me baffled and slightly shy.

I also went and sat with him in the student senate hearings when the GLBTQ folks on campus tried to get a support group officially recognized. I was appalled by what some students said, some of whom went to my church and waved their Bibles around like so much weaponry.

Knowing Mickey gave me a lot to think about, especially since the Presbyterian church at that time was in one of their periodic upheavals about what to do with the "gay problem." The church I attended in Dallas was discussing leaving the denomination if a report stating that GLBTQ folk should be treated equally was approved by the General Assembly (it wasn't, but some of the members left anyway). So I sat in these Sunday classes and other gatherings for the college kids hearing these discussions, and thinking of him. How could anyone not love him? I loved him.

He helped me be much less lonely during what was sometimes for me a lonely time. And I think he helped me to see what was possible.

The summer after I graduated, that was when I came out. When I look back I can see a very repressed struggle during my high school and college years but at the time I did not really understand that. Not until I kissed a girl by the Guadalupe River in the hill country of Texas. And then I was like, OH, well now everything makes sense.

Mickey was the first person I told who wasn't with me that summer. The first person from my "past" (although he wasn't past, really, you know). I remember so clearly, sitting on the edge of my bed in my little apartment in Hobbs, NM, where I had gone to teach school. By the end of the summer I had accepted the truth about myself, and I wanted him to know.

So I called him up. When I told him, he screamed with delight. He was so happy for me, so happy that I had figured out what he had long suspected anyway. He told me that he had guessed but then knew for sure when we came out of the movie theater the previous winter after seeing Fried Green Tomatoes, and how crazy I became about that movie, how I wanted to be Idgie Threadgoode and made him take me to the store right then so I could buy a denim shirt.

He cheered for me. I will never forget that.

When I came back to Dallas for homecoming, he set me up on my first lesbian date (it didn't take, but that's ok). And he took me to the LGBTQ bookstore in Oaklawn where I bought my first rainbow paraphernalia and lesbian reading material. I'll never forget that, either.

As the years went by we drifted apart, as happens after college. We exchanged Christmas cards here and there, and I would hear news of him through my brother and his wife, who also knew him in the band at SMU, and I would send my greetings. I was so happy to reconnect with him on Facebook last year sometime, and get caught up with his life and he with mine. He continued to be the outrageous, funny guy I had known so long ago. He had found a church he loved, an ONA UCC church, which surprised me because he had no use for God/church in college, but I was glad. He sang in the choir and would post status updates by phone from the choir loft on Sunday mornings. He still made me laugh.

You must know where this is going by now.

Mickey died yesterday. He was found in his apartment. Apparently it was a suicide. At this point that is all I know.

I am so sad, and so angry. And heartbroken.

Oh Mickey. I wish I had told you how much you have meant to me. I'll never forget you, you know.

This one's for you.

Enjoying Armida

(I want to thank the Met for their fabulous archive which allows me to enjoy such photos as above...)

Ah, Renée. Your tenor made the wrong choice, don't you think? I certainly wouldn't choose honor and duty if you looked at me like that...

We went to see the encore HD broadcast of the Met's Armida production last Wednesday. The story seemed a tad silly to me at first (you'll want to read the synopsis for any of the rest of this post to make sense), and we really went just so that I can continue to indulge my crush on Renée, but after seeing the whole thing, I think there is more depth to it than I thought.

The first act began with Cupid being lowered to the stage on a silk...what do you call those? Is it a trapeze? I'm drawing a blank. It was pretty stunning on the screen and I would guess even more so live. They built a tall curved wall that served as part of the set for all three acts -- when I listened on the radio, the announcer said the idea was to shrink the stage in order to push the sound out.

After Cupid, it seemed the soldiers sang for an eternity (and a not very interesting eternity at that) about how they were not going to fight that day, but have "pity" instead and mourn their dead leader (perhaps it's the fault of the subtitles, but they sang that line over, and over, and over, solo and in chorus). The action was static and stiff, and I began to wonder both if I was going to like this, and if Renée were ever going to appear.

She did. She brought things to life with both her singing and acting (god, what she can do with those eyes...) although I have to also admit I spent most of the rest of the 1st act distracted by the buttons on her dress, and whether she might need any, er, help with them.

The fun begins in the second act, with Armida's demons/spirits/furies swirling around the stage, at times on all fours. The leader is the only one who seemed remotely scary to me; mostly, they seemed mischievous. And funny. Including when they dressed up in tutus for the ballet scene. Are the demons of hell supposed to be funny? More on that in a moment.

The 2nd act has the famous soprano aria, "D'Amore al Dolce Impero." So look. Renée says herself she's not a bel canto singer, and she takes on roles like this as a challenge to keep herself in good shape, and because they're fun. So I don't know why people criticize her when she herself says she's not an expert at bel canto -- singing like that is freaking hard and I certainly can't do it. Anyway, I thought she sounded fabulous; you can listen here, and I wish you could see her expressions, which to me totally sold the whole thing. Whatever she did with her voice and her expression when she sang the word "fecunde" in the second verse made me gasp and gulp and forget to breathe. Which is why I love Renée.

In the 3rd act everything literally goes to hell, when Rinaldo, the silly tenor (is there any other kind?) chooses honor and duty rather than love, and is literally, at least in this production, carried back to war by two soldiers.

So here's what I think about this story. The stage direction and the director's comments talk about this opera as being about the choice between love and revenge. They chose to personify love and revenge to draw this point out (revenge is the bare-chested jubilant dude in the middle). Armida's last aria is in fact about her struggle after Rinaldo leaves her, whether to choose love or revenge. She chooses the latter, and destruction ensues.

I don't think it's that simple though, and the rest of the staging seemed to bring that out. My cielo and I talked about this in the car on the way home.

The struggle before the love/revenge struggle is Rinaldo's decision to choose either love or honor/duty. Love -- in the opera as well as the staging -- is equated with sorcery, evil, trickery, women, desire, passion, the body, pleasure, beauty. When Armida shows up in the first act, the static and staid soldiers come alive, acting out their beating hearts with hands pounding on their chests. Wherever Armida's reign is, there is movement and laughter and silliness. Without her, the soldiers were boring, dull, lifeless.

Honor/duty -- to the crusade, to the war, to other soldiers -- is stiff (! -- but look at those uniforms!), dispassionate. Honor and duty are held to be pure, nothing like the magic, trickery, sorcery of Armida's realm. And since they are crusaders, all of these qualities are held to be Christian. To choose honor/duty is to choose to be Christian.

So to me, the conflict is not only love vs. honor, but also the sort of traditional patriarchal Christian completely messed up "body/passion/desire = evil" ideology vs. well, love. And I think Rinaldo makes the wrong choice (not just because I think he's an idiot for giving up this). And I think *the opera* thinks he makes the wrong choice. Why?

• The crusaders are shown to be hypocrites. First, in the 1st act, Rinaldo defends his honor and ends up killing a man -- and is in danger of being punished for it until Armida calls up a storm and spirits him away. So honor is only defensible in certain (controlled?) contexts? Second, in the 3rd act, the two soldier buddies sent to rescue Rinaldo are highly condemning of all the magic of Armida's realm, which would include her small wand. Yet how do they find their way there? With some "prayed over" paper instructions and a REALLY. BIG. STICK. (Paging Dr. Freud).

• Armida brings things to life, as mentioned before. The crusaders are de facto instruments of death.

• Now about those silly demons: These creatures are a threat to NOTHING in the entire opera until love is spurned. They are present, certainly, but do no harm, until Rinaldo rejects Armida, and she sets the creatures to destroy everything (including her own realm).

To me that last point is really key. I think the opera may be trying to make the point that it is love that gives us life, love that holds evil in check, and when we do not choose love, destruction (of the pleasure palace, or of war) is the inevitable result. Rinaldo makes the wrong choice.

I love opera.

By the way, Lawrence Brownlee was amazing. He's the real deal for sure. Parts 1, 2, 3, 4 of the Act 3 tenor trio show him off finely.

I'm looking forward to the 2010-2011 season (view the online brochure here)!

Small Signs

The spot
at the base of my thumbs
just above the wrists
the size of about a quarter
the spot
where the sharp edges
of the plastic
zip-tie handcuffs
cut into my skin
into my radial nerves

leaving welts for days
leaving numbness for months
leaving pain for going on now
over two and a half years
since the day

it
still
hurts.

I still hurt.

I carry that pain with me
every day
a basket of bread
a constant reminder
and I wonder if I will ever
be done with it.
The needles find relief
and also
seemingly endless depths
of soreness,
tenderness,
stuckness,
pain. The needles wonder
if I will ever
be done with them.

I don't know.
I wonder if being done
is the wrong question.

I know this, though.
I am mindful to anniversaries.
I know what happened
in the less than merry month of May
two years ago. It has been
in my consciousness.
I even thought about it
this morning, driving
to see the immigrant workers,
remembering my people
sitting with me on the bench,
how I wouldn't let them leave,
how they wouldn't leave,
how they cradled me,
how they blessed me
every time I sneezed.
(I was so so sick.)
A chorus of blessings
behind me around me.
It is May,
and I remember.

But not until this morning
sitting with BlueEyes
and sweet cups of Tension Tamer
having a conversation with her
about "one year ago today..."
what she was doing to get ready to graduate,
which prompted me to think
of two years ago,
what I was doing to get ready to graduate,
And only then did I realize, remember
that today is actually the day
today is the day I testified,
and the day I was found guilty
of stepping out of place.
Today is that day.

And I had forgotten.
Or,
not forgotten, exactly,
I didn't forget.
I just didn't think
to count the days.
Last year I did.
This year...something else.
And realizing this
made us smile.

That I didn't need to remember
didn't even realize to remember
down to the minute, the day
must mean
I hope it means
something is healing.

I am mindful,
but perhaps not as captive.
Even though my body still hurts,
my arms and shoulders and heart
still remember,
but not everything is the same.

Thanks be to God.

A Little White Shirt Goodness

OK, more like white dress, black dress, BRIGHT green scarf. And interestingly placed hands...
Larger version can be seen here.

If you can't read the small type under the photo, this is from the Met's recent production of Lulu, an opera new to me, with a rather disturbing story and a main character who's a real live lesbian (Countess Geschwitz, of the BRIGHT green scarf, above) and pretty much the only decent human being in the story. Well, perhaps Lulu would have been a decent human being if her humanity hadn't been violated so violently by all the men in her life. I listened on the radio. I can't tell if the story is meant to portray critically what misogyny does to women, or is just misogynist, but it did make me think.

Anyway.

Another black dress/green scarf shot of the Countess here, and the Countess in a slightly shabby suit-like get-up here (Anne Sofie still looks great, though). This is the closest to a white shirt as she gets. (Whole set of production stills here).

I'm really just posting this for Anik, who adores Anne Sofie von Otter, and who's been having a rough go.

(And if you're wondering about the White Shirt...read here!)

At Last!

Clips of the Met's Der Rosenkavalier broadcast from January, starring Renée Fleming, Susan Graham, and Christine Schafer, are finally reaching the youtubes, thanks to rosen10kavalier.

Giddy overture and opening scene of Act 1:



Oh my god, I could watch that forever. (I know, don't you just want to yell at Placido to get the heck out of their bedroom? Clearly he's interrupting!)

Also posted are:
The Marschallin's Monologue;
The Presentation of the Rose;
The Final Trio (which makes me forget to breathe);
And the Finale.

Bonus bits are the entr'acte interviews with Renée, Susan (she is 12 feet taller than Placido, wow!), and the Trio. Note in Renée's interview she tries to convince us that it's "believable" that Susan is playing a young man. Uh-huh. Maybe from the 4th balcony, honey, but I'll just keep enjoying the sight of two women enjoying one another in bed, thank you very much!

Edited to add: oh yeah, there are a couple of men in the story. If you ask me, Baron Ochs is, as Hitchcock would say, a MacGuffin. I'll grant Sigmundsson is hilarious in the role, but you don't really see him in these clips...because his character is a MacGuffin!

Enjoy! And thanks again to rosen10kavalier!

Scenes From A Retreat

When despair for the world grows in me … I come into the peace of wild things who do not tax their lives with forethought of grief. I come into the presence of still water. And I feel above me the day-blind stars waiting with their light. For a time I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.

Wendell Berry,
from his poem "The Peace of Wild Things"

(photos not in chronological order, which bugs me, but blogger is being stupid)

All hail the camera timer, so one can take photos of oneself in utter solitude. Me, and my hermitage. This is the same one I stayed in last year.



We had some storminess roll through on Monday, although we only got a spot of rain, just enough to wake up the desert and scrub out my lungs with that amazing scent. I climbed up the little hill to take this photo of my hermitage and the sunset. In the larger version I think you can see the candlelight inside the windows.



The chapel and bridge leading to the cloister. Amazing late afternoon light breaking through the stormy clouds, an hour or so before I took the photo just above.

I saw LOTS of bluebirds, every day. Or, I suppose, the same bluebird, a gazillion times a day. Anyway, this little fella was enjoying riding that branch headed facefirst into the wind. I was welcomed on my arrival by a trinity of deer munching shrubbery on the side of the road.

A little revolutionary declaration on the wall inside.

I once heard Bernice Johnson Reagon say, "Wade in the water. If you don't get in trouble, you'll never know who you are." So there you go. I would just like to add that the water in that creek was VERY cold...first snowmelt from the Sangre de Cristos.

Stepping Westward

What is green in me
darkens, muscadine.
If woman is inconstant,
good, I am faithful to
ebb and flow, I fall
in season and now
is a time of ripening.
If her part
is to be true,
a north star,
good, I hold steady
in the black sky
and vanish by day,
yet burn there
in blue or above
quilts of cloud.
There is no savor
more sweet, more salt
than to be glad to be
what, woman,
and who, myself,
I am, a shadow
that grows longer as the sun
moves, drawn out
on a thread of wonder.
If I bear burdens
they begin to be remembered
as gifts, goods, a basket
of bread that hurts
my shoulders but closes me
in fragrance. I can
eat as I go.

--Denise Levertov