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The deaths from covid19 in Italy have surpassed the ones in China where many more people were infected. That makes it the single deadliest day for any nation in the entire pandemic. Although the medical system in Italy is sophisticated, the people and public health system were too slow. And the average age is higher than average? Iran is also devastated, while the USA screws down tighter with sanctions.

South Korea, Singapore, and finally, China. There are no positive tests in Lake County because there are no tests. There are a few people reporting the symptoms of sore throat, fever, shortness of breath, and fatigue. Valerie is 72, and is hale and hearty most of the time, but has this little flaw: an autoimmune disorder that kicks her butt, or rather the myelin sheath of her nerves, following any immune battle.

I might be, too, given my general lack of aerobic fitness and, um, insulin dependent diabetes. Also, sleep apnea and hypertension. I am to play Cora, a busy body and gossip in a small New England town, foil to the proper but also gossiping member of the welcome committee, Reba. And we both apparently dislike Willa Mae, played by Valerie. The play will happen at some point. But I refuse to memorize my lines until I know when we start up rehearsals again.

He became fluent in Japanese, and posted daily on Instagram. I have had moments in the past two weeks where I had trouble feeling at all safe or grounded. Join the club, Miss Lincoln. We were meeting in the Lakeview Senior Center, and the director got rather defensive when someone asked if she had shut down the lunch program.

I was cranky and agitated in that meeting, and the younger women, new to the Collaborative, probably though I was a menopausal bitch. I wonder if they look back now, a week later, and think me prescient. Maybe a prescient menopausal bitch.

At one point I said something to the effect of, we can choose to be South Korea or Italy. Like this guy:. Someone pointed out that, when this is all over, it will not be the CEOs and billionaires who saved us, but the nurses and janitors and grocery store clerks. Still, I overhear bullshit at work.

If they answer no to all and have no fever, they may be allowed to proceed to the emergency room, clinic, or to an appointment with the staff, like the head of corrections who came by on my greeter shift. Many non profit or governmental entities are based in Klamath and have a partial oversight in Lake County, the red-headed step child of Klamath County.

Then, the virus. There are some volunteer activities spontaneously springing up in Lakeview; one facebook group is called Helping Hands of Lakeview. There are helpful things going on in Paisley through informal networks. I have one primary volunteer job: to pick up books at the Lakeview Library that sit in canvas bags labeled Paisley.

And drop them off to Jan, who I think is the informal town mayor. She knows everyone, and everything, and reared her kids here. Most of the volunteer stuff seems to happen via Facebook, a group called Lakeview Announcements. Missing dogs. An illness born of childhood trauma. But I digress. No more church, either. We watched the marvelous Presiding Bishop Curry preach on our computers last Sunday, and listened to gorgeous church music and sonorous prayers, online from the Washington National Cathedral, one of my favorite Episcopal places.

The knitting group is contemplating making face masks. So is Valerie. And corvid 19 seems to go straight for the throat. All we have is each other. Your safety is my safety. Protecting myself means protecting you, too. We are one race. Human race. Written during Lent to share with our parish, St. Eudora Welty. My paternal great grandmother, Margaret Turner, converted to Christian Science in the late s when the denomination was just starting.

Mary Baker Eddy was a single mother, and lived in New England, apparently influenced by the Transcendentalists, and the spare liturgy of the Congregationalists and the Society of Friends. My grandmother, Ruth Turner Lincoln, kept the faith for her 90 plus years, and reared my dad and aunt in Christian Science as well.

The 5 direct descendants of Ruth Turner Lincoln are none of us Christian Scientists now, but we were all molded by it. Mary Baker Eddy could not foresee any real purpose to the male-dominated medical science of the time, which had only morphine to show for its efforts. My mother died at age 55 of preventable medical problems, and her mother, who converted to help my mother, died at 65 after receiving zero treatment or rehabilitation following a stroke. It had been my turn to sleep in the next room to turn Nana in the night, and I was the one who found her dead, cold, in her bed.

I was Is it any wonder that I am a medical social worker, bringing people to health care and health care to people? One profound gift of the otherwise short-sighted Mary Baker Eddy is her affirmation of the feminine aspects of God. Other mystics, including 14 th Century writer Julian of Norwich, discerned the female and feminine aspects of God, too:. Give us this day our daily bread; Give us grace for to-day; feed the famished affections;.

And forgive us our debts, as we forgive our debtors. So, too, was a sense of loving prescence which expands beyond any denomination or religion and was a healthy part of my family culture. If I had to choose only one motto, it would be this one by Thomas Merton: We are living in a world that is absolutely transparent, and God is shining through it all the time.

I recall being very small and stuck in an elevator in one of the many apartment buildings we lived in, wondering when someone would find me. I was rescued, of course, and the voice of a loving God, reassured a 4 year old in a sweet two line poem. My mother was crazy, alas, Christian Science failed to heal either body or mind but she could also be very loving.

In high school I began hanging out at a community center attached to an Episcopal church on the grounds of the Washington National Cathedral, where presidents have funerals and a stained glass window has an actual moon rock embedded in the center. There I met a black man 9 years my senior, a seminarian, who introduced me to the parish I would call a second family for 40 years, until I moved to the Oregon Outback. I joined St. I worked as parish secretary before graduate school, was Senior Warden and then chair of the search committee twice over the decades.

I met and married my one and only husband, and breastfed my children in its pews. My current partner, Valerie, started attending when she began to winter in DC. God shone through those windows and in the candles we lit every Sunday. Even when I was so depressed that I could only weep and walk around the edge of the sanctuary during worship, I knew I was home and I could share God there.

The Episcopal Church showed me that I love liturgy, with the words and song sweeping us to Holy Eucharist. I love the Book of Common Prayer, especially this one prayer from Compline:. Keep watch, dear Lord, with those who work, or watch, or weep this night, and give your angels charge over those who sleep. One of them suggested that I find a therapist. I was apparently the first self-referred teenager the clinic could remember not court mandated or dragged in by a parent. At age 16, I started seeing a woman who transformed my life, not the least reason of which was that she was wealthy and decided to put me through social work school ten years after I started to see her.

God shone through each of them. Now after 34 years as a social worker, I am growing into a halfway decent psychotherapist here in Lake County. And most days, I also feel profoundly inadequate to the task at hand.

Early in my social work life, I worked on an oncology floor where many of the patients I came to know, died. God shone through the nurses there, who were tough and funny, highly skilled and hardworking. God shone through the oncologists, and the residents and interns, the respiratory therapists and the phlebotomists, and an amazing aide named Adams. If you were dying, you wanted to be bathed by Adams. Sometimes it was harder to see God shining through the terrified patients and stunned family members.

In my late 20s, I grappled with the problem of evil in the dying of people who did not want to die. I cannot believe that the inscrutable universe turns on an axis of suffering; surely the strange beauty of the world must somewhere rest on pure joy. Louise Bogan. God has shone through to me in the writings of Anne Lamott. She is one hilarious Christian:. Unfortunately, change is not my strong suit. Neither is forgiveness, or letting go.

But the willingness to let go comes from the pain: and pain makes us willing to change, and effort to change changes you, and jiggles the spirit, gets to it somehow, to our deepest, hardest, most beautiful, ruined parts. And then Spirit expands, because that is its nature, and it drags along the body, and finally, the mind. When I was younger and before I became a mother, I discovered that famous letter the poet Rainer Marie Rilke wrote to a young man: I beg you…to have patience with everything unresolved in your heart and try to love the questions themselves as if they were locked rooms or books written in a very foreign language.

And the point is, to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps then, someday far in the future, you will gradually without even noticing it, live your way into the answer. Now that I am 60, I am living my way into the answers. And the mysteries continue. How is it that both my offspring are fascinating, profoundly moral, gifted and mostly happy creatures doing good in the world?

How is it that a woman came up to me in Safeway on Friday and told me that months ago I made a recommendation to her and she thanked me for the profound improvements in her life since she chose to follow it? From S trength to Love, The snow is so beautiful and stays white. In DC, by day 3 the snow is grey and black.

We started burning wood in the stove right after the equinox. So, we gather the wood from the driveway AND the shed at the moment. All in good time. We were on a waiting list, but I got anxious since wood is our only source of heat. A client knows somebody who knows somebody who desperately needs the work, and next thing we know, we have a pile of wood. We gave him another chance and he gave us than two and a half more cords. That were not cut quite right.

So we have a stack that needs more chopping, and a lot of misshapen bits with tree branches sticking out that make them very hard to stack. We are making do. He was deeply grateful. And we have heat. When I got up this morning, it was 23 outside and 62 inside. It may get warmer than freezing today, and with my beloved pyromaniac, Valerie, at the stove, it might get as warm as I go from wool socks, warm jammies and a sweatshirt to a tank top and shorts in the course of a day.

I called her daughter, Hope, an RN at the one hospital in this county, and she met us in the emergency department. The minute ride down to Lakeview with poor Val puking in a bucket was not fun. And it was the neurologist who said, you know you really should see a hand surgeon about those lumps in your left hand.

Which hurt when she bonks them. So she did. The presenting problem of dizziness turned out to be a temporary issue of rogue ear crystals, but what came out of all the hullabaloo was a hand that no longer hurts. Recently, Valerie spent hours with 3 neighbors killing chickens, then defeathering them, and finally putting them in baggies to freeze. For her labors, she got two whole chickens minus their heads, and innards , and two livers. Valerie does love liver and onions. The big animal vet she sometimes works for says eating liver is like sucking on an oil filter.

Valerie invited me to help. Ha, ha ha HA! That would be a no. I did take over our new-to-us poodle named Griffey. The whole business was a revelation. The Elks Lodge is the largest venue for big gatherings in the county.

There are senior citizens living below the poverty line. The program serves less than a third of that, and although the meals are offered for free, they are not entirely subsidized by tax revenue, therefore, fundraiser. I gestured wildly and they joined our table. I got to know her when I worked in Christmas Valley, those 18 months when I drove north each workday instead of south.

She referred clients to our tiny mental health outpost up there. I admire her very much. Her name is Kathleen. The Lakeview Senior Center program started and we heard about services to folks 65 and older in the county, which include home delivered meals, transportation to far-flung doctor appointments in Bend and Medford, and daily meals with socializing.

Right before dinner was served, there was a loud clatter and thud at the edge of the tables. A man had collapsed. A small group surrounded him. Kathleen asked, is something wrong? She went over to the man, and stayed there until the EMTs took him out on a gurney to the emergency department. We finally chewed on our tamales, beans and rice, followed by sheet cake.

Manley, and Valerie, talk old haying equipment, and tell stories. She puts the hooks where they go and up goes the log onto the truck. Has he had a heart attack? She swings herself around to see the other crew member to find out if he notices the slumped guy, and guy 2 is slapping the side of the truck in paroxysms of humor.

Uh oh. She looks down and her bra straps had snapped and her bra was now visible as a belt around her waist. The caterpillar driver managed to catch his breath and graciously swings her up and over a bush and she drops down. A great story. Which is a governmental entity.

Just ask Valerie. How most things that we complain about are due to the influx of corporate control over government, and how reluctant the government is to tax corporations. Plus we got to visit with two folks I like. One of whom knew just how to care for a man who collapsed. The other day, Kathleen walked into my over-decorated office and said, Jane I really need your help.

Could I cast on? Why of course. In other news, we are adjusting to life with a dog. She was vocal about wanting some sort of poodle mix, because they are smart. Lake County is full of cow dogs, pit bulls, and lots of chihuahuas for some reason. When her daughter Hope saw a message on Facebook about a family needing to rehome a poodle mix, she signaled Valerie, and next thing we know, we have a dog named Griffey, named after a baseball player.

That family rehomed him with a young couple who had a baby and worked long hours away from home. Griffey pooped in their bed. So Griffey came to us. This pooch is very well behaved. We take him with us to town for church, and he sits in the truck, waiting for our return. Moe gets the house to herself for a few hours. I swear there are 2 rush hours in Lakeview every weekday: one at lunch to let the dogs out to pee, and one at dinner for the same purpose, even if folks are going out to dinner later.

Dogs and guns. Everyone has them. But we do have Griffey. Currently, Griff and Moe are negotiating how to sleep on their humans without hissing and growling at each other. I miss knitting in a group, chatting, sharing stories about anything.

Occasional complaints about the wait service at the first venue we tried, which had but one worker and one cook for the entire restaurant. We moved to the bowling alley, a large building that has a cavernous party room with a wall protecting us from the racket of big ball bowling.

The food has been better and the waitresses take good care of us. The very first gathering, there were 11 of us, and a couple women came to learn. Here are a couple that I finished this fall. That historical event in New York City in marked the beginning of the end of police brutality against non-straight people and is commemorated in the annual Gay Pride festivals that happen around the world. I invited the 20 or so gay people I know personally to attend, and asked a young college student who know people below age 30 to help me: that way, a younger group would feel welcome amongst the graying fairies, femmes and dykes.

My church, the one I have chosen to embrace and which has embraced me, is St. On Sunday, June 28 th , a couple dozen queers and allies gathered for a potluck and had a great time. One of the older members of the community marveled at how many of us there were.

Straight members of St. We decided to aim for a Halloween get together, and make it open to the public, straight or not straight. Those missing people grew up here, figured out they are not-straight, which is no easy task in this heteronormative world, and then decamped to more rainbow-colored pastures. Hundreds of them. I pasted this image into Lakeview Announcements on Facebook, the single best way to get the word out about any event in Lakeview.

Not everyone uses that social media platform, but everyone knows someone who does. At first, the comments on Lakeview Announcements came in with a mixture of surprise and delight. My flyer said explicitly that the gathering was to be kid-friendly and alcohol free. There was also some backlash. One man did not understand that it was an all-inclusive event, and did not like that it was being hosted in a church.

Yet another poster equated being gay as just another sin such as having an affair, cussing, judging or gossiping. A presumably straight gal added her theology of welcome and inclusion, placing the LGBTQ among the outcasts:. But still, some love in her response. Ultimately, there were comments in response to my invitation, posted October 8 th.

The overwhelming tone was tolerance, if not joyful celebration. A friend from the Paisley Book Club, who lives in Summer Lake, volunteered to act as security, and he showed up, dutifully watched everyone going in the church, and nearly froze in the degree weather. I confess that I was anxious about a protest outside the church, or some misguided cowboy aiming to rescue the children from the pedophiles.

The worse-case scenario: Westboro Baptist Church would fly in to protest. Despite my fears, the party was a success. Over 40 people came. The small children enjoyed drawing, making things with glue and paper, and pinning the stem on the pumpkin. Teenagers came, ate pizza, and played with their phones. Allies came in costume, and queer folks relaxed. Members of St. Valerie wore a onesie monkey suit. I am deeply relieved that there was no protest or disruption.

During the last hour of the party, a young, slender, androgynous looking person came in the door of the church and looked tentatively around. I welcomed her and asked about her costume, which was subtle. Julia Braudy noticed her and came up to welcome her. I kinda overdid it on the rainbows. None of the comments went so far as to say what I believe, that is, that gay folks would like to live our lives in peace, and straight people need us just as much as we need them.

That the celebration of a broad continuum of gender expressions will spur on a complete renegotiation of gender roles to the point of transformation. And all like that-a-way. We are everywhere. Thursday, July 25 th , was the first day that we were all together, everyone present. My sister, Elizabeth Lincoln, drove my kids, Jonah and Clara, and two of her kids, Yuuki and Makoto, and her husband Jim, up from Reno, arriving just after noon.

Karen left on Friday, having to prepare a sermon for Sunday, so by Saturday morning, this was the assembled crew:. I look like a zombie, well fed after the apocalypse, Valerie is simply laughing. Mary Lee, age 86, is clearly game for anything. Yuuki is doing a pose. Maggie is blowing bubbles. Everyone was a good sport. Months ago, realizing I was headed to the end of my 60 th year on earth, I decided to invite the descendants of Ruth and Henry Lincoln to the Oregon Outback, Great Basin, High Desert land of Paisley to celebrate the fact of my existence.

Not all could come, but a surprising number did. And the two relations of Valerie who were easily able to join us, got to meet more of my peeps. I picked two categories of individual questions: Looking back on the year, what was good, crazy, interesting… and, looking forward to next year, what do you plan, hope for, find challenging? The answers can be hilarious, revelatory, and touching. Clara hopes that the immigration hearing goes well for her husband, Jose.

The answers spanned quite a range, and helped us to know each other a little bit better. Why do we gather relatives only for funerals and weddings? Why not age 60? I did feel selfish about the whole thing, off and on. My family had to spend money on the flights, the rental cars, and then the cabins at Summer Lake Hot Springs. There was a lovely symmetry to the housing.

The inside of the cabins has a southwest, rustic feel:. There are the fabulous hot springs pools, too: here is the pool house at dusk, run through a filter:. The water is cool but not freezing, and clear, so that I could sit in a shallow spot and pick out flat rocks for Clara to skip. Even my aunt went, situated in a camp chair, safe from the water, and an elderly chihuahua named Uddha came, too. He stayed well away from the watery fracas. That place is magical.

Aunt Mary Lee sat comfortably in the shade on the picnic bench while the rest of us went one way or another, deep into the crevasses. We breathed in the moist, cool air and reveled in curious rock formations. The Crack and lava field were recently dated at about 14, years old.

The fissure is about 2 miles long and 70 feet deep, and disappears into lake sediments at its southern end. Therefore, this supports an interpretation that Lake Fort Rock rose no higher than this level in the last 14, years. Although impressing my family with the gorgeousness of high desert Eastern Oregon was deeply satisfying, the best part of the visit was the conversations.

The empty expanses, and the star lit night sky, will surely stay with our visitors. He took the youngest generation to check it out on at least two nights. I was too tired. But from the photos, it looks like yet another spooky, otherworldly piece of the Oregon Outback. Yuuki is the most photogenic creature that ever was, and was beautifully lit at Loco Lake by Jonah.

For the oldest traveler, Mary Lee, I think the best part of the trip was just seeing everyone. She knows world history and writes plays about strong women, including Eleanor Roosevelt. She survived being widowed in her early 40s, and again in her 70s.

She loves Italy, travel in general, gems, and her children and grandchildren. She loves me enough to deal with flight delays and dusty heat. She is amazing. My father had just turned 30 two weeks before my arrival, and my mother was just My mother passed away when she was 55, and my father after 7 years in a nursing home following a devastating stroke at age Neither lived long enough to know my life as a divorced lesbian, and would have wondered at my choice to live in Paisley.

In any case, their daughters, myself and Elizabeth, are doing fine, and so are our five children. Mary Lee has 5 grandchildren, too. The 10 great grands of Ruth and Henry. Ruth Turner, the descendant of slave owners. Henry Lincoln, cousin to the Great Emancipator. In that tension lies most of American History. One thing that I reflect on as I think about the descendants of Ruth and Henry, is that we are committed to the social good, and to the arts.

My sister is learning Healing Touch for working with animals and humans. Cousin Julie is an expert on pollinators, working against all hope for the healing of the environment with the U. Fish and Wildlife Service. Her sister, Targ, is a middle school guidance counselor. Yuuki is an artist, exploring gender and the biracial life as a Japanese-American hyphenated human, with courage and sass.

My daughter Clara is in charge of a tutoring site in Prince Georges County for at risk Latinx youth, using her bilingual skills to bring children and grandchildren of immigrants more opportunity through education. My son Jonah makes music videos in Brooklyn, living in what Beverly Tatum Daniel calls the borderlands where cultures complement, challenge, connect and stimulate each other. I asked him recently why he only dates women of color, particularly women of the African Diaspora.

He says, they can relate to being of two cultures. Since he grew up white in a non-white world, he feels like a code switcher, too. The other part of the birthday extravaganza was letting people give to me.

I started reading it, and found this prayer, which I inhaled into my heart for the awkwardness of receiving all the love of my family for my birthday. Here I go, headlong into my 61 st year, giving with complete ease and abundance, wildly open to receiving. I pretty much said, you bet, when do I start?

The prospect of going back into a busy clinic at a bustling, though tiny, hospital, excited me. And so it was that I said goodbye to my clients, and to my work buddies Hayley, Jama, and Geri, and started driving south instead of north from Paisley, in late September.

And my card. See you soon, I say. Behavioral Health Integration is new to much of the country, and yet it makes so much sense. Mind and body are connected. The trauma someone experienced as a child contributes to both his anxiety now and his high blood pressure.

Teamwork, people. There are two other populations I get referrals to see. The second group are the frequent flyers: folks who use the emergency department a great deal. Are they anxious? Anxiety causes a lot of emergency department visits. So does a life that is very disorganized. Who can keep track of the day of the week, let alone an appointment in a clinic?

I meet people who are so much pain that they rock back and forth while they talk to me. I hear about a family where every single member has a serious disability but only one member will come in to talk to me. It took 3 months but it worked. A child came and sat at my table, proceeding to play with my wooden robots, then the magnet marble sculpture thing, and then color a mandala. All the while, a biological parent tells the story of their predicament, and the child corrects and fills in, holding the memory of all that has happened to this family.

Another child is having panic attacks. Perhaps the addicted parent and the chaos at home are factors? You decide. There is a funny thing that happens as I work in the arena of mental health while in a small town, and it will keep on happening. I assess one member of a social network, which may or may not be related to one or four of my other clients. The jigsaw puzzle of the situation becomes clearer and more recognizable while I listen to the stories.

I simply make note. Later that same day, the client has become the guy or gal behind a counter: well hello! Sounded like I passed muster. I met with a rather desperate patient, in chronic pain, and super pissed off about everything. That patient died unexpectedly and sadly a few days later. On the same day I learned of this death, two of my other clients came in, separately, and cried about the sudden loss of this person.

Used up all of my tissues. We are part of a tightly woven web. Which is fine. Thank goodness I can take notes. My brain gets very full. I no longer have the Roarks, Hayley the amazing therapist and her husband Tom the amazing police deputy, who could give me the back story and the full list of felonies for most of North County. I exaggerate only slightly. And everyone knows everyone else, and what they did last summer.

I will never have that deep knowledge of this community that natives of Lake County do. There is a chaplain who seems to have the same deep, back stories of everyone in Lakeview. The primary care providers know a great deal, too. They have a chance, a clean slate, instead of me having assumptions based on last name, what side of town they live on, etc. And I try so hard not to judge. I sit and listen, always humbled and amazed at the stories that are shared.

There are an awful lot of step families and second and third marriages and many times, live-in sweeties who act like step parents, all of which is very confusing to children. There are a couple of rules that I thought everyone knew, but apparently not. Such as:. Please, please. You are hurting your child. See, self-fulfilling prophecy.

See, shitty legacy. Children are not go-betweens. Period, end of sentence. If your kid has left your home to live with grandma, or step-father, or aunt, whomever, guess what? You are now co-parenting with your mother or step-father or sibling. You are coordinating school meetings with teachers, immunizations, and team schedules.

Circle the wagons and parent the kid, whatever the old painful history. How about grief. People feel grief about all kinds of things, and especially the loss of other people. One grief hooks up with all the other losses, and sometimes, the heart just breaks and the mind stops and the tears flow. My all-time favorite quote about grief is this one:. People, usually, the conscientious ones, have very high expectations of themselves.

They will plod on, and keep it all up, until the tears overflow, and they are horrified when they cry at work. That it comes in waves. You are not a slacker, or a malingerer. You are giving your mind and aching heart a break, and that is a healthy thing to do.

Who knows, maybe they are listening. Whatever the metaphysics of the matter, they exist in your experience. Or maybe write a song, or draw a picture, in their memory, in their honor. What would they have told you to do, if they knew they were about to leave this mortal coil? Go forth and find another lover? Get back to playing that guitar and never mind how bad it sounds at first? Go dancing. Go bowling. Have a beer, or stay sober, in my name.

It is an alteration of self that we would not choose, and it is excruciating. We are altered without anesthetic. I have been so altered. Most of the clients I see are deeply disconnected from people, especially the men. Maybe there is a wife who connects him to the rest of the family, or a mother.

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The 5 direct descendants of Ruth Turner Lincoln are none of us Christian Scientists now, but we were all molded by it. Mary Baker Eddy could not foresee any real purpose to the male-dominated medical science of the time, which had only morphine to show for its efforts. My mother died at age 55 of preventable medical problems, and her mother, who converted to help my mother, died at 65 after receiving zero treatment or rehabilitation following a stroke.

It had been my turn to sleep in the next room to turn Nana in the night, and I was the one who found her dead, cold, in her bed. I was Is it any wonder that I am a medical social worker, bringing people to health care and health care to people? One profound gift of the otherwise short-sighted Mary Baker Eddy is her affirmation of the feminine aspects of God.

Other mystics, including 14 th Century writer Julian of Norwich, discerned the female and feminine aspects of God, too:. Give us this day our daily bread; Give us grace for to-day; feed the famished affections;. And forgive us our debts, as we forgive our debtors. So, too, was a sense of loving prescence which expands beyond any denomination or religion and was a healthy part of my family culture.

If I had to choose only one motto, it would be this one by Thomas Merton: We are living in a world that is absolutely transparent, and God is shining through it all the time. I recall being very small and stuck in an elevator in one of the many apartment buildings we lived in, wondering when someone would find me.

I was rescued, of course, and the voice of a loving God, reassured a 4 year old in a sweet two line poem. My mother was crazy, alas, Christian Science failed to heal either body or mind but she could also be very loving. In high school I began hanging out at a community center attached to an Episcopal church on the grounds of the Washington National Cathedral, where presidents have funerals and a stained glass window has an actual moon rock embedded in the center.

There I met a black man 9 years my senior, a seminarian, who introduced me to the parish I would call a second family for 40 years, until I moved to the Oregon Outback. I joined St. I worked as parish secretary before graduate school, was Senior Warden and then chair of the search committee twice over the decades.

I met and married my one and only husband, and breastfed my children in its pews. My current partner, Valerie, started attending when she began to winter in DC. God shone through those windows and in the candles we lit every Sunday. Even when I was so depressed that I could only weep and walk around the edge of the sanctuary during worship, I knew I was home and I could share God there. The Episcopal Church showed me that I love liturgy, with the words and song sweeping us to Holy Eucharist.

I love the Book of Common Prayer, especially this one prayer from Compline:. Keep watch, dear Lord, with those who work, or watch, or weep this night, and give your angels charge over those who sleep. One of them suggested that I find a therapist. I was apparently the first self-referred teenager the clinic could remember not court mandated or dragged in by a parent. At age 16, I started seeing a woman who transformed my life, not the least reason of which was that she was wealthy and decided to put me through social work school ten years after I started to see her.

God shone through each of them. Now after 34 years as a social worker, I am growing into a halfway decent psychotherapist here in Lake County. And most days, I also feel profoundly inadequate to the task at hand. Early in my social work life, I worked on an oncology floor where many of the patients I came to know, died. God shone through the nurses there, who were tough and funny, highly skilled and hardworking.

God shone through the oncologists, and the residents and interns, the respiratory therapists and the phlebotomists, and an amazing aide named Adams. If you were dying, you wanted to be bathed by Adams. Sometimes it was harder to see God shining through the terrified patients and stunned family members. In my late 20s, I grappled with the problem of evil in the dying of people who did not want to die. I cannot believe that the inscrutable universe turns on an axis of suffering; surely the strange beauty of the world must somewhere rest on pure joy.

Louise Bogan. God has shone through to me in the writings of Anne Lamott. She is one hilarious Christian:. Unfortunately, change is not my strong suit. Neither is forgiveness, or letting go. But the willingness to let go comes from the pain: and pain makes us willing to change, and effort to change changes you, and jiggles the spirit, gets to it somehow, to our deepest, hardest, most beautiful, ruined parts.

And then Spirit expands, because that is its nature, and it drags along the body, and finally, the mind. When I was younger and before I became a mother, I discovered that famous letter the poet Rainer Marie Rilke wrote to a young man: I beg you…to have patience with everything unresolved in your heart and try to love the questions themselves as if they were locked rooms or books written in a very foreign language.

And the point is, to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps then, someday far in the future, you will gradually without even noticing it, live your way into the answer. Now that I am 60, I am living my way into the answers. And the mysteries continue. How is it that both my offspring are fascinating, profoundly moral, gifted and mostly happy creatures doing good in the world?

How is it that a woman came up to me in Safeway on Friday and told me that months ago I made a recommendation to her and she thanked me for the profound improvements in her life since she chose to follow it? From S trength to Love, The snow is so beautiful and stays white. In DC, by day 3 the snow is grey and black. We started burning wood in the stove right after the equinox. So, we gather the wood from the driveway AND the shed at the moment.

All in good time. We were on a waiting list, but I got anxious since wood is our only source of heat. A client knows somebody who knows somebody who desperately needs the work, and next thing we know, we have a pile of wood. We gave him another chance and he gave us than two and a half more cords. That were not cut quite right. So we have a stack that needs more chopping, and a lot of misshapen bits with tree branches sticking out that make them very hard to stack.

We are making do. He was deeply grateful. And we have heat. When I got up this morning, it was 23 outside and 62 inside. It may get warmer than freezing today, and with my beloved pyromaniac, Valerie, at the stove, it might get as warm as I go from wool socks, warm jammies and a sweatshirt to a tank top and shorts in the course of a day. I called her daughter, Hope, an RN at the one hospital in this county, and she met us in the emergency department.

The minute ride down to Lakeview with poor Val puking in a bucket was not fun. And it was the neurologist who said, you know you really should see a hand surgeon about those lumps in your left hand. Which hurt when she bonks them. So she did. The presenting problem of dizziness turned out to be a temporary issue of rogue ear crystals, but what came out of all the hullabaloo was a hand that no longer hurts.

Recently, Valerie spent hours with 3 neighbors killing chickens, then defeathering them, and finally putting them in baggies to freeze. For her labors, she got two whole chickens minus their heads, and innards , and two livers. Valerie does love liver and onions. The big animal vet she sometimes works for says eating liver is like sucking on an oil filter. Valerie invited me to help. Ha, ha ha HA! That would be a no. I did take over our new-to-us poodle named Griffey. The whole business was a revelation.

The Elks Lodge is the largest venue for big gatherings in the county. There are senior citizens living below the poverty line. The program serves less than a third of that, and although the meals are offered for free, they are not entirely subsidized by tax revenue, therefore, fundraiser. I gestured wildly and they joined our table. I got to know her when I worked in Christmas Valley, those 18 months when I drove north each workday instead of south.

She referred clients to our tiny mental health outpost up there. I admire her very much. Her name is Kathleen. The Lakeview Senior Center program started and we heard about services to folks 65 and older in the county, which include home delivered meals, transportation to far-flung doctor appointments in Bend and Medford, and daily meals with socializing.

Right before dinner was served, there was a loud clatter and thud at the edge of the tables. A man had collapsed. A small group surrounded him. Kathleen asked, is something wrong? She went over to the man, and stayed there until the EMTs took him out on a gurney to the emergency department. We finally chewed on our tamales, beans and rice, followed by sheet cake.

Manley, and Valerie, talk old haying equipment, and tell stories. She puts the hooks where they go and up goes the log onto the truck. Has he had a heart attack? She swings herself around to see the other crew member to find out if he notices the slumped guy, and guy 2 is slapping the side of the truck in paroxysms of humor. Uh oh. She looks down and her bra straps had snapped and her bra was now visible as a belt around her waist. The caterpillar driver managed to catch his breath and graciously swings her up and over a bush and she drops down.

A great story. Which is a governmental entity. Just ask Valerie. How most things that we complain about are due to the influx of corporate control over government, and how reluctant the government is to tax corporations. Plus we got to visit with two folks I like.

One of whom knew just how to care for a man who collapsed. The other day, Kathleen walked into my over-decorated office and said, Jane I really need your help. Could I cast on? Why of course. In other news, we are adjusting to life with a dog. She was vocal about wanting some sort of poodle mix, because they are smart.

Lake County is full of cow dogs, pit bulls, and lots of chihuahuas for some reason. When her daughter Hope saw a message on Facebook about a family needing to rehome a poodle mix, she signaled Valerie, and next thing we know, we have a dog named Griffey, named after a baseball player.

That family rehomed him with a young couple who had a baby and worked long hours away from home. Griffey pooped in their bed. So Griffey came to us. This pooch is very well behaved. We take him with us to town for church, and he sits in the truck, waiting for our return.

Moe gets the house to herself for a few hours. I swear there are 2 rush hours in Lakeview every weekday: one at lunch to let the dogs out to pee, and one at dinner for the same purpose, even if folks are going out to dinner later. Dogs and guns. Everyone has them. But we do have Griffey. Currently, Griff and Moe are negotiating how to sleep on their humans without hissing and growling at each other. I miss knitting in a group, chatting, sharing stories about anything.

Occasional complaints about the wait service at the first venue we tried, which had but one worker and one cook for the entire restaurant. We moved to the bowling alley, a large building that has a cavernous party room with a wall protecting us from the racket of big ball bowling. The food has been better and the waitresses take good care of us. The very first gathering, there were 11 of us, and a couple women came to learn.

Here are a couple that I finished this fall. That historical event in New York City in marked the beginning of the end of police brutality against non-straight people and is commemorated in the annual Gay Pride festivals that happen around the world.

I invited the 20 or so gay people I know personally to attend, and asked a young college student who know people below age 30 to help me: that way, a younger group would feel welcome amongst the graying fairies, femmes and dykes.

My church, the one I have chosen to embrace and which has embraced me, is St. On Sunday, June 28 th , a couple dozen queers and allies gathered for a potluck and had a great time. One of the older members of the community marveled at how many of us there were. Straight members of St. We decided to aim for a Halloween get together, and make it open to the public, straight or not straight. Those missing people grew up here, figured out they are not-straight, which is no easy task in this heteronormative world, and then decamped to more rainbow-colored pastures.

Hundreds of them. I pasted this image into Lakeview Announcements on Facebook, the single best way to get the word out about any event in Lakeview. Not everyone uses that social media platform, but everyone knows someone who does. At first, the comments on Lakeview Announcements came in with a mixture of surprise and delight. My flyer said explicitly that the gathering was to be kid-friendly and alcohol free. There was also some backlash.

One man did not understand that it was an all-inclusive event, and did not like that it was being hosted in a church. Yet another poster equated being gay as just another sin such as having an affair, cussing, judging or gossiping. A presumably straight gal added her theology of welcome and inclusion, placing the LGBTQ among the outcasts:.

But still, some love in her response. Ultimately, there were comments in response to my invitation, posted October 8 th. The overwhelming tone was tolerance, if not joyful celebration. A friend from the Paisley Book Club, who lives in Summer Lake, volunteered to act as security, and he showed up, dutifully watched everyone going in the church, and nearly froze in the degree weather.

I confess that I was anxious about a protest outside the church, or some misguided cowboy aiming to rescue the children from the pedophiles. The worse-case scenario: Westboro Baptist Church would fly in to protest. Despite my fears, the party was a success.

Over 40 people came. The small children enjoyed drawing, making things with glue and paper, and pinning the stem on the pumpkin. Teenagers came, ate pizza, and played with their phones. Allies came in costume, and queer folks relaxed. Members of St. Valerie wore a onesie monkey suit. I am deeply relieved that there was no protest or disruption. During the last hour of the party, a young, slender, androgynous looking person came in the door of the church and looked tentatively around.

I welcomed her and asked about her costume, which was subtle. Julia Braudy noticed her and came up to welcome her. I kinda overdid it on the rainbows. None of the comments went so far as to say what I believe, that is, that gay folks would like to live our lives in peace, and straight people need us just as much as we need them. That the celebration of a broad continuum of gender expressions will spur on a complete renegotiation of gender roles to the point of transformation.

And all like that-a-way. We are everywhere. Thursday, July 25 th , was the first day that we were all together, everyone present. My sister, Elizabeth Lincoln, drove my kids, Jonah and Clara, and two of her kids, Yuuki and Makoto, and her husband Jim, up from Reno, arriving just after noon.

Karen left on Friday, having to prepare a sermon for Sunday, so by Saturday morning, this was the assembled crew:. I look like a zombie, well fed after the apocalypse, Valerie is simply laughing. Mary Lee, age 86, is clearly game for anything. Yuuki is doing a pose. Maggie is blowing bubbles. Everyone was a good sport. Months ago, realizing I was headed to the end of my 60 th year on earth, I decided to invite the descendants of Ruth and Henry Lincoln to the Oregon Outback, Great Basin, High Desert land of Paisley to celebrate the fact of my existence.

Not all could come, but a surprising number did. And the two relations of Valerie who were easily able to join us, got to meet more of my peeps. I picked two categories of individual questions: Looking back on the year, what was good, crazy, interesting… and, looking forward to next year, what do you plan, hope for, find challenging? The answers can be hilarious, revelatory, and touching.

Clara hopes that the immigration hearing goes well for her husband, Jose. The answers spanned quite a range, and helped us to know each other a little bit better. Why do we gather relatives only for funerals and weddings? Why not age 60? I did feel selfish about the whole thing, off and on. My family had to spend money on the flights, the rental cars, and then the cabins at Summer Lake Hot Springs. There was a lovely symmetry to the housing.

The inside of the cabins has a southwest, rustic feel:. There are the fabulous hot springs pools, too: here is the pool house at dusk, run through a filter:. The water is cool but not freezing, and clear, so that I could sit in a shallow spot and pick out flat rocks for Clara to skip. Even my aunt went, situated in a camp chair, safe from the water, and an elderly chihuahua named Uddha came, too.

He stayed well away from the watery fracas. That place is magical. Aunt Mary Lee sat comfortably in the shade on the picnic bench while the rest of us went one way or another, deep into the crevasses. We breathed in the moist, cool air and reveled in curious rock formations.

The Crack and lava field were recently dated at about 14, years old. The fissure is about 2 miles long and 70 feet deep, and disappears into lake sediments at its southern end. Therefore, this supports an interpretation that Lake Fort Rock rose no higher than this level in the last 14, years. Although impressing my family with the gorgeousness of high desert Eastern Oregon was deeply satisfying, the best part of the visit was the conversations. The empty expanses, and the star lit night sky, will surely stay with our visitors.

He took the youngest generation to check it out on at least two nights. I was too tired. But from the photos, it looks like yet another spooky, otherworldly piece of the Oregon Outback. Yuuki is the most photogenic creature that ever was, and was beautifully lit at Loco Lake by Jonah. For the oldest traveler, Mary Lee, I think the best part of the trip was just seeing everyone.

She knows world history and writes plays about strong women, including Eleanor Roosevelt. She survived being widowed in her early 40s, and again in her 70s. She loves Italy, travel in general, gems, and her children and grandchildren. She loves me enough to deal with flight delays and dusty heat. She is amazing. My father had just turned 30 two weeks before my arrival, and my mother was just My mother passed away when she was 55, and my father after 7 years in a nursing home following a devastating stroke at age Neither lived long enough to know my life as a divorced lesbian, and would have wondered at my choice to live in Paisley.

In any case, their daughters, myself and Elizabeth, are doing fine, and so are our five children. Mary Lee has 5 grandchildren, too. The 10 great grands of Ruth and Henry. Ruth Turner, the descendant of slave owners. Henry Lincoln, cousin to the Great Emancipator. In that tension lies most of American History. One thing that I reflect on as I think about the descendants of Ruth and Henry, is that we are committed to the social good, and to the arts.

My sister is learning Healing Touch for working with animals and humans. Cousin Julie is an expert on pollinators, working against all hope for the healing of the environment with the U. Fish and Wildlife Service. Her sister, Targ, is a middle school guidance counselor. Yuuki is an artist, exploring gender and the biracial life as a Japanese-American hyphenated human, with courage and sass.

My daughter Clara is in charge of a tutoring site in Prince Georges County for at risk Latinx youth, using her bilingual skills to bring children and grandchildren of immigrants more opportunity through education. My son Jonah makes music videos in Brooklyn, living in what Beverly Tatum Daniel calls the borderlands where cultures complement, challenge, connect and stimulate each other. I asked him recently why he only dates women of color, particularly women of the African Diaspora. He says, they can relate to being of two cultures.

Since he grew up white in a non-white world, he feels like a code switcher, too. The other part of the birthday extravaganza was letting people give to me. I started reading it, and found this prayer, which I inhaled into my heart for the awkwardness of receiving all the love of my family for my birthday. Here I go, headlong into my 61 st year, giving with complete ease and abundance, wildly open to receiving.

I pretty much said, you bet, when do I start? The prospect of going back into a busy clinic at a bustling, though tiny, hospital, excited me. And so it was that I said goodbye to my clients, and to my work buddies Hayley, Jama, and Geri, and started driving south instead of north from Paisley, in late September. And my card. See you soon, I say. Behavioral Health Integration is new to much of the country, and yet it makes so much sense.

Mind and body are connected. The trauma someone experienced as a child contributes to both his anxiety now and his high blood pressure. Teamwork, people. There are two other populations I get referrals to see. The second group are the frequent flyers: folks who use the emergency department a great deal.

Are they anxious? Anxiety causes a lot of emergency department visits. So does a life that is very disorganized. Who can keep track of the day of the week, let alone an appointment in a clinic? I meet people who are so much pain that they rock back and forth while they talk to me.

I hear about a family where every single member has a serious disability but only one member will come in to talk to me. It took 3 months but it worked. A child came and sat at my table, proceeding to play with my wooden robots, then the magnet marble sculpture thing, and then color a mandala. All the while, a biological parent tells the story of their predicament, and the child corrects and fills in, holding the memory of all that has happened to this family.

Another child is having panic attacks. Perhaps the addicted parent and the chaos at home are factors? You decide. There is a funny thing that happens as I work in the arena of mental health while in a small town, and it will keep on happening. I assess one member of a social network, which may or may not be related to one or four of my other clients. The jigsaw puzzle of the situation becomes clearer and more recognizable while I listen to the stories. I simply make note. Later that same day, the client has become the guy or gal behind a counter: well hello!

Sounded like I passed muster. I met with a rather desperate patient, in chronic pain, and super pissed off about everything. That patient died unexpectedly and sadly a few days later. On the same day I learned of this death, two of my other clients came in, separately, and cried about the sudden loss of this person. Used up all of my tissues. We are part of a tightly woven web. Which is fine. Thank goodness I can take notes. My brain gets very full. I no longer have the Roarks, Hayley the amazing therapist and her husband Tom the amazing police deputy, who could give me the back story and the full list of felonies for most of North County.

I exaggerate only slightly. And everyone knows everyone else, and what they did last summer. I will never have that deep knowledge of this community that natives of Lake County do. There is a chaplain who seems to have the same deep, back stories of everyone in Lakeview.

The primary care providers know a great deal, too. They have a chance, a clean slate, instead of me having assumptions based on last name, what side of town they live on, etc. And I try so hard not to judge. I sit and listen, always humbled and amazed at the stories that are shared. There are an awful lot of step families and second and third marriages and many times, live-in sweeties who act like step parents, all of which is very confusing to children. There are a couple of rules that I thought everyone knew, but apparently not.

Such as:. Please, please. You are hurting your child. See, self-fulfilling prophecy. See, shitty legacy. Children are not go-betweens. Period, end of sentence. If your kid has left your home to live with grandma, or step-father, or aunt, whomever, guess what? You are now co-parenting with your mother or step-father or sibling. You are coordinating school meetings with teachers, immunizations, and team schedules. Circle the wagons and parent the kid, whatever the old painful history.

How about grief. People feel grief about all kinds of things, and especially the loss of other people. One grief hooks up with all the other losses, and sometimes, the heart just breaks and the mind stops and the tears flow. My all-time favorite quote about grief is this one:. People, usually, the conscientious ones, have very high expectations of themselves.

They will plod on, and keep it all up, until the tears overflow, and they are horrified when they cry at work. That it comes in waves. You are not a slacker, or a malingerer. You are giving your mind and aching heart a break, and that is a healthy thing to do. Who knows, maybe they are listening. Whatever the metaphysics of the matter, they exist in your experience.

Or maybe write a song, or draw a picture, in their memory, in their honor. What would they have told you to do, if they knew they were about to leave this mortal coil? Go forth and find another lover? Get back to playing that guitar and never mind how bad it sounds at first? Go dancing. Go bowling.

Have a beer, or stay sober, in my name. It is an alteration of self that we would not choose, and it is excruciating. We are altered without anesthetic. I have been so altered. Most of the clients I see are deeply disconnected from people, especially the men. Maybe there is a wife who connects him to the rest of the family, or a mother. But no one else. No cousins, lost track of them. Old pain, betrayals, lots of good reasons to stay mad.

Except for the loneliness. Why not? I know it feels awkward. I called up my first cousin, out of the blue, after texting her to make sure I still had the right number, and in my text, I said, could you chat? She called me right away thinking something was wrong. We were candid. Life is imperfect. I also hand-wrote several letters to old friends.

I got lovely texts or emails back saying a letter will come in reply but give them time. And even if nothing comes back, I sent forth a bit of love, and story, to distract them from their mind-gerbils. There was a woman at St.

Edith Eder, you were a gift to the world. Ultimately, for the anxious and depressed, I hope I can convey some information, some strategies and tricks, a wee tincture of wisdom that they can hold onto, when they hit a bad patch. I have my own therapist, in Bend, 3 hours away, whom I see once a month.

I take my anti-depressant dutifully and gratefully. I approach my very own bad patches and slip and fall, like I did over thanksgiving. And kerplunk, we are in the ditch and need a tow. I see entering into psychotherapy this way: it is a risk, because the familiar misery feels safer, at first, than the bright new possibilities of change, which are scary, but then, occasionally, breathtakingly glorious.

And in any case, patience is required. With ourselves. Again, Anais Nin, who is an incest survivor by the way:. Posts Likes Following Ask me anything Archive. Belonging and Bridging? Or Othering and Breaking? Lots of quotes are being shared, and then I saw this illustration: He was one of the original Freedom Riders who made it possible for Black people to vote safely in the South; a bridge to voting rights. Ivan saw Abel as his athlete-brother. His mother taught him how.

This guy. He climbed from the car and wept. Thirteen years ago, the following happened reported on by the Associated Press : Would-be robber demands cash, stays for wine and hugs at Washington, D. Everyone froze, they said, but then one guest spoke up. Then the story got even more bizarre. Police said Friday that the case was strange but true. Investigators have not located a suspect. I think I have to earn the right to wear it.

Not there yet. I wonder if Lake County could ever post something like this in the doorways of our businesses: Probably not. I believe our greatness is in the future. Reply to all to discuss? Kevin Winter, our reporter from the Lake County Examiner, the weekly local paper, showed up and took this picture of us: Off we went down the sidewalk, sort of social distancing, and the first part singing We Shall Overcome. We made it through 2 verses, and faded out.

I was still recovering from the adrenaline. What a weird era we are in Sadly, I think Sarah Silverman is on to something. On May 27th, the death toll from covid hit , Americans: Planet Earth has 6 million cases as of May 30 th. We are a long way from this: Since George Floyd was suffocated to death, there have been protests all over the world. And this happened one morning in March. Just a cattle drive past our front door. Even in isolation, Val and I do socialize, on zoom.

The one pictured below is church. Yes, shield the joyous. Because joy is fleeting. All for one and one for all, the fuzzy stuff is twisted and bound into a single string of strength… My clients are stressed out. Mary Oliver for Corona Times after Wild Geese by Adrie Kusserow You do not have to become totally zen, You do not have to use this isolation to make your marriage better, your body slimmer, your children more creative.

And wash your hands. Covid 19 would take out Al in a New York minute. Explore Health Plan. A national nonprofit established in , the Edith Sanford Breast Center is leading genomic research, immunotherapy treatment and patient care for breast cancer patients.

With 49 locations and providers, the Center has been a launch point for groundbreaking cures, including the first Cancer Breakthroughs trial in the U. Skip to content Improving the human condition Being dedicated to health and healing means caring for patients today and well into tomorrow by improving health care worldwide.

Leader in integrated health care delivery Growth. Leading Health Care. Sanford World Clinic. Fostering health and healing worldwide. Andy Wentzy Sanford Imagenetics. Personalized care with genetic medicine. Sanford Research. Transformative, world-class research. Profile By Sanford. Wellness through weight loss. Sanford Health Plan. Beyond health care coverage.

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