Nor any drop to drink.

Recently, in the greater Boston area, we had what some would call a water "crisis".  Other more reasonable people, or anyone born in a country with a name that is not the United States of America, might refer differently to the events.  They might, just by way of example, mention "that inconvenience" we experienced around Boston, with a dismissive waive of their hand. 

Somewhere, around one of the W towns (A is for apple, B is for Bunny, and if you live around Boston, W is for Wicked Rich), a water main broke.  Although I pored over those Richard Scarry books as a kid, with all those busy people who were actually busy bunnies, and pigs, in busy town, showing you the town's inner workings, I really can't tell you much about plumbing, or pipes.  I know they bring us clean water, and they take dirty water away.  I have vague notions about "from where" and "to where".  Reservoirs, I suppose, and sewage treatment plants, respectively.  (As a complete aside, why "sewage treatment plants"?  Why not sewage disposal plants, or sewage management facilities?  What are we treating the sewage for?   Depression?  "Doc, I'm feeling like crap..." ).  Bottom (no pun intended) line, something broke somewhere, and lo, the clean water would not come.  Some 20 Boston area towns had running water that we could not drink, unless we boiled it first, to kill off any bacteria that might swimming through the dirty water they were sending into our homes.  Kill or be killed.  It was Lord of the Flies time in New England. 

The first sign that we had lost our collective minds came through online email forums and social networking sites.  Everyone had questions.  How long to boil the water?  Could we run our dishwashers?  Our washing machines?  How could it be true that it was OK to shower, but handwashing must be chased with hand sanitizer?  What if we opened our eyes in the shower?  Or water got in our ears?  Could we water our lawns?  I don't suggest that the questions were silly.  Of course they weren't.  They were perfectly natural, and some were even welcomed by the rest of us who hadn't thought to ask them. 

You know that feeling, though, that you get on the first gorgeous day of spring, after a long, cold winter?  You head out for a walk, to soak in the sweet sunshine and to inhale the warm air.  Then, someone says, "wow!  listen to the birds!" ... and suddenly, listening to the birds is all it seems that you can do.  You hear their songs, and their trills, and you rejoice with them, that spring is here!  But you begin to notice that there are so very many of them.  And all of them are singing, at once, trying to drown one another out with their own happy songs.  Must they sing so loudly?  Where in the hell did so many birds suddenly come from?  And then you start running down the street, hands over ears, screaming "would someone SHUT THEM UP already?!"  Or maybe that's just me.

Anyway, that's how I felt as I continued to read the local news stories and the yahoo group and facebook posts.  Oh!  I thought to myself.  Thank goodness I am paying attention.  These questions make sense!  And I need to listen to them!  Steadily, however, the volume climbed.  More thirsty town folk added their chirps to the rising cacophony.  As neighbors competed to lay claim to the catastrophe, and to make their own suffering heard, they grew louder, and more insistent.  The tenor of the questions changed, and the charges began to fly.  Why weren't we notified sooner?  Why weren't we notified BETTER?  How long would this last?  Were they telling us the truth?  Why weren't we better prepared? 

The madness reached a crescendo. There were people in the water aisles of every grocery store, liquor store, and gas station convenience mart, emptying the shelves of all sizes of Aquafina and Poland Springs.  A woman climbed onto her shopping cart to reach the top shelves, and began tossing water over the heads of the thirsty crowd, to her own family members, who waited on the perimeter to receive the goods, like hyenas circling the lions.   I watched the news stories, and tried to bury my head beneath my blankets to avoid the screaming birds of prey, as Tim quietly and humanely boiled a pot of tap water on our Kitchen Aid gas stove. 

The schools let us know, by reverse 9-1-1 calls to our homes, that our children could bring 16 oz water bottles to school.  Thus began more flapping and squawking.  Who was the school to tell us how much water our child could or could not bring to school?  The listserves and the facebook pages went berserk.   "If I want my child to drink purified water, I'll send as much water as I damned well please, Mr. Superintendent.  I didn't trample Mrs. O'Malley in Aisle 9 just to be told I couldn't anoint my offspring with the spoils!  Oh, and you will have hand sanitizer available for the kids to use after washing their hands, won't you?"  I contemplated the frustration, and the bravado, as I tried to chip the plaster of dried toothpaste from my toothbrush.  As it turns out , pouring a stream of boiled water over your toothbrush doesn't get it quite as clean as, say, running it under the tap.  On the other hand, you don't end up with e coli in your mouth, so seen in that light, brushing or sanding your teeth with a miniature brick is really a very small price to pay. 

A few days later, the "all clear" sounded.  Pipes were flushed, ice trays emptied and refilled, and all was once again well in the slowly thawing upper east coast.  The birds settled into their nests, lovingly attended to their chicks, and whispered to one another, "well, that really wasn't so bad".  The next few days were spent applauding ourselves, and each other, for the strength and calm that allowed us to weather the storm.  We crowed about how we checked in on elderly neighbors, and clucked about how quickly and efficiently the problem was resolved.  As we ripped apart the packaging on our new toothbrushes, the news anchors turned their attention to the oil leak that is currently poisoning the already suffering gulf coast.  Now there's a water problem. 

Just Keep On Pushing On

Hi five readers!  Remember me?
I haven't given up on giving!  Or blogging!  But I have been traveling, and working.  A lot of both of those things.  And, so, my owl watching and blogging and parenting and other such hobbies have taken a bit of back seat.  Having experienced two kids' talent shows recently, I'll just say, "It ain't about how fast I get there, it ain't about what's waitin' on the other siii - iiii --iiide.  It's the cliiii - iiiii --iiiiimb". 
And, while you wait, if you'd like to know where you, too, can pass time singing karaoke Miley Cyrus, it's HERE.  No need to thank me. 

A marathon, not a sprint.

We all have "off days".  Yesterday was one of those, and I'll confess to thinking that maybe the world was already asking enough of me.  I was tired and feeling bounced around a lot by the numerous and competing forces in my life.  Finding another way to give yesterday felt like it was just going to take too much.  The best and most that I could muster was a smile for a stranger who looked down on his luck, and like he could use a smile, at the very least. 

We often hear the phrase "give what you can", and yesterday I felt like I did give what I could.  It still felt good to allow my mind to float toward giving on a day that was very "off", and it probably helped to keep me from sinking too far beneath the surface. 

Today is better.  I decided to get the giving off to an early start, and look for little ways throughout the day to build momentum again.  I'll write about those efforts in another post.  Today, this morning, I am writing merely to acknowledge that it doesn't need to be perfect, or even big.  It only needs to be genuine.

All the single Mommies.

Can I get a shout out for the single parents?   

There are a few single moms in my inner circle.  Not all of them knew that they'd be a member of that club.  A couple of them found themselves hurtled unexpectedly through the clubhouse doors, while others joined by choice, with their eyes wide open.  Regardless of how they got there, they all seem to be remarkably quick studies on the secret handshake. 

They are all super heros in my book, but even super heros lose the ability to fly sometimes.  The kryptonite for one particular single mom friend this week has been a herniated disk.  I'll bet one starts to see life dramatically differently from the vantage point of the floor.  Today I was a minor player in a symphony of women friends who rallied around this super single Mom and her ultra cool kid.  There's a lot of power and comfort in seeing how women will rush to and lift up a friend in need.  A stumbling block placed in front of one of us seems to generate enough energy to get us all up and over or around the hurdle together, while the momentum of support carries us fast and far.   

Now put your hands up.

Cleaning House

Hello internet!  I know.  You thought I was dead, given how yesterday I blogged about being dead, and all.  Surprise!  Even I thought I had died.  It turns out, though, that I'm not so dead. And now, I am wrestling with whether it is in poor taste to draw some analogy to yesterday having been Easter.  Never mind.  I already know that it is in poor taste.  What I'm really wondering just how tasteless it is.  I'm sure someone will let me know, one way or another.     

Moving right along, I think I'm starting to over-analyze this whole "gift" thing, and how one should define "gift". 

There are times that I want to do something for somebody, but start wondering whether I am cheating, somehow.  If you spend a little time doing someone a favor, is that a "gift"?  And, do the gifts need to be things you wouldn't have "given" but for the 29 Gifts project?  What if you give someone a birthday gift?  Does that count?  What if you give that someone a birthday gift every year?  Why should you get "29 Gifts" sort of credit for this year's birthday gift, that you would have given anyway?  What if you just keep choosing people in your family or immediate circle of friends as recipients?   Are the gifts supposed to be more like "random acts of kindness"?  If you get all pissed off at someone for something, and you can't let go of feeling pissed off about it, does that somehow negate the good that you are trying to create with the gift thing?  Does it make a difference if you decide not to make an issue of it?  What if you do make an issue of it?  Aren't you so glad you don't have to live with me?

I have been assessing, and reassessing, my goals, and asking myself what I hope to take from this exercise.  In my most self-critical moments, I wonder if I am looking for too much positive reinforcement, and making this too much about me (and how fabulous I am for being so thoughful and giving, what with the daily giving of gifts and telling the world about it... or at least the 5 people reading my blog).  And, when I read the 29 Gifts book, the author talks quite a bit about what she receives... the abundance that comes back to her, because she is giving.  I ask myself whether this turns "giving" into a more selfish act.  And, does it matter, if you are generating good feelings for others and injecting positive energy into the karmic universe at the same time?  Aren't you allowed to get something from the experience?  The purpose of giving in my mind is, at least in part, to learn to be conscious about your own state of gratitude, to be in that state more often, and to be outwardly focused (if you are using your energy to focus on others, there is less room left for dwelling on yourself).  But, when you do those things, isn't it also the goal to become a more spiritually fulfilled (and, by extension, happier) person?  Or is it really supposed to be completely altruistic?  Darn it.  I'm confusing myself. 

Today, I am working very hard on letting go of the perfection that I am trying to weave into the fabric of my giving project.  I am permitting myself to skim the instructions.  I want to focus less and worry less about whether I am doing it right, and spend more time thinking about giving genuinely, and generously.  Without any expectation of payback, karmic or otherwise. 

Today, I chose to give a gift that the recipients may never know that they received.  We have neighbors... The Invisibles (who are also friends ... and who we would have chosen as friends even if we had met them somewhere other than in the neighborhood).  The Invisibles took an opportunity to spend a few years abroad.  They do come home from time to time, but their house here in town remains vacant much of the year (and the alarm is on, and neighbors are watching, potential burgler).  I pass their home at least twice a day, and over the past few weeks I have been noticing the accumulation of bits of trash that has blown around and landed in their bushes.  Today, Rachel and I took a garbage bag to our neighbor's home, and we picked all the bits of candy bar wrappers, random papers, plastic bags, cigarette butts and other detritus of a semi-urban community.  We also took the time to pull some of the weeds from their garden.  

 In caring for their home just a bit, without regard to whether they will ever know, we practiced giving just for the sake of giving, and not for the credit that we accumulate or the "thanks" that we might receive.  I'm pretty sure that The Invisibles aren't reading this blog (I don't see them here, anyway).

Gift 9. The End.

Today, a woman and her husband were riding their bikes on a busy Cambridge street.  She took a very hard fall, right by my car.  I heard the crash.  I heard her scream, and cry.  She was bruised, and bloody.  I put her bike in my trunk and drove her home.  (her husband rode his bike to their house, and met us there). 

Then I rode my own bike 24 miles, to fulfill a winter time promise made to Rachel.

Then I came home and died.  Slowly.  The end.

Acting on impulse.

One of the "teachings" in the 29 Gifts project is that you are not supposed to plan out your gifts in advance.  The idea is that you learn to recognize and remain open to the opportunities for giving that present themselves to you.  So, I try hard not to lie in bed at night and start brainstorming about tomorrow's gift.  It is totally against my instincts to be so unprepared.  What if the whole day goes by, and I don't find that chance to give?  Will I have to start over?  Will I have failed?  Slowly, I am learning to let go of the need for control.  I am beginning to understand that it is acting in the moment, when you are ready to see what you could or should do, that is most rewarding. 

Learning to give, with an open heart, and without the expectation of anything in return, isn't always as easy as it seems it should be.  In theory, I think we all believe that we can give in this way, and that we do.  We write checks to charity, we help an older woman with her grocery bags, we step on the breaks to let someone else into traffic.  I do not dismiss these simple gifts -- they are very important, and these are the steps that we all take that affect the world around us in a very immediate way. 

But, there are some gifts that take more work.  Maybe we all encounter circumstances that make us want to avert our eyes, close our hearts, and walk away.  Getting involved sometimes means getting burned.  Getting involved sometimes means confronting our own ugly opinions, judgements, and assumptions about others.  When we look away from that Mom slapping her child in the grocery store, or avert our eyes from the dissheveled homeless man asking for some spare change, isn't there inevitably an internal struggle?  What is the right thing to do?  What will happen if I do it?  What will happen if I don't?  Am I a bad person for walking away?  For refusing to get involved?  I believe these are thoughts that we all process.  Or maybe I am projecting, but I will confess that I struggle with these thoughts.  And most often, I allow fear to drive my inaction.  It is so much easier to disengage.

Yesterday morning, Saturday, I received an email, asking something of me.  The email was from someone I met under very difficult circumstances,  in the context of my job.  This person continues to face some tremendous life struggles, not of his own making.  It is very difficult for me to confess, in such a public way, that my reaction was fear.  I was afraid that if I continue to engage with this person, I will be responsible for staying involved.  I was afraid that if I give of myself in this circumstance, I will put a lot of things on the line that I could lose -- my time, my trust, and in this case, depending on where things lead, maybe even my job.  And, I became resentful that this person was asking this of me, whether he recognized it or not.  I read the email, read it again more carefully, and decided to join my family outside on the first gorgeous Saturday of the season.  I tried to put the email out of my mind, because it wasn't fair for this person to encroach on my weekend time this way. 

My family was in the driveway, painting floor boards for the dinghy that will eventually stay on the sailboat.  There were enough cooks in that kitchen, so I unfolded my soccer mom chair in a sunny spot, and read a couple chapters in 29 Gifts.  It so happens that these chapters delved into the spiritual, and healing.  Stuff about re-channeling the energy flow in your body, and relinquishing attachments to "stuff".  The author wrote about her own instinct to avoid a man passed out on the sidewalk.  Blocks after passing him, in the rain, she realized she was supposed to help him.  And in doing so, she would help herself.  And so, she did. 

Somehow, even while absorbed in my own 29 Gifts experiment, I failed to connect the dots.  I was trying to learn about giving, and here was a request -- very directly asking me to give of myself.  In formulating the reply in my head where I explained why I wouldn't be able to help, why this request was just too much, why when I said I would be there, I didn't mean like that, I was erecting barriers in front of myself.  Was it entirely serendipitous that, within the next hour, I read about the need to open our hearts, and our hands, and to release our fears?  

Later in the day, I replied to the email.  I said yes, I wanted to help.  And  by the time I wrote it, I meant it.  Not because I thought it was the right thing to do, but because I wanted to do it.  Sometimes we doubt ourselves too much.  Sometimes, you can learn so much just by listening to that inner voice, telling you what you already know is right. 

Yesterday's gift was to slow down and say "yes" when my knee jerk reaction was to look away and keep walking.  I am less certain that this was a gift to the recipient than it was a gift to myself.  But it was exactly what I was supposed to do.