Life in a Small Town?

In the interest of honesty, I will admit that I started out liking Jason Aldean’s song Life in a Small Town. I liked it because at first glance, I thought that the values of taking care of each other, respecting authority, loving our country, and so on are true. Then I started thinking about “true for whom?”  Again, because I value honesty, I have to admit that I was helped along in thinking about that by a few friends. So, I started reading a little about the backlash. Finally, I asked one of my friends who happens to be a very intelligent young man of color to give me his thoughts once he had processed them. George happens to be a former student who calls me “Mama Sol”; I am lucky to be one of his surrogate mamas. George got back to me the next day. His intellectual honesty was almost shocking.

George said that as a black man from a small town, he recalls hearing that very sentiment, from blacks as well as from whites. And he loves how people do often come together to help one another. Then he reminded me that the song would have had a terrifying meaning 60 years ago or more when lynchings were happening, noting that Jason Aldean’s point of view is rightly that of a white man surrounded by like-minded people. He admitted that it is hard for people to understand the point of view of the “other,” whether the other is the oppressor or the oppressed.

“Black and white culture in the South… has and always will be intertwined. We have been molded by the same landscape, and raised by the same mothers,” he observed.  But he keenly feels the vastly different experiences in that shared culture.

As a white person, I don’t understand fully what black people deal with. As a woman, I do know what it is like to be minimized, marginalized, condescended to, set aside, and abused. And as a human, I have empathy, and I can look at the abuse, torture, injustice, and death, and I feel some of the horror, shock, and outrage my brothers and sisters of color feel. I am appalled that I didn’t see it myself, I, who pride myself (in itself, the first mistake) on seeing the symbolism in music and literature. The song is an anthem for patriotism, love of family, and community. It is also a rallying cry for violence against those who don’t agree with those values.

One of the things I admire about George is he always so practical; he comes back to the basic truth of life. Let’s not stop with the protest for or against the song, but rather let it show us ourselves and our shortcomings. What we need are compassion and empathy. George reminds us that “what wins in the end is compassion, the willingness to understand, and love. Love always wins.”

Intermittent Fasting Update

My last post was near the beginning of my IF journey. I had lost five pounds in two weeks without much deprivation. It was encouraging! By the time school started again I was down three more pounds and was only four little pounds from my goal of 155 pounds or about 70 kilos.

School started about five weeks ago and I’m holding steady at that same weight: 159 pounds. But that means that it has been five weeks and the goal weight is still the same four pounds away. I’m not discouraged, though because this has been a heckuva start to the school year, the most stressful one I’ve ever experienced. Thank you, COVID and a rather — ahem! — INTERESTING administration! So the fact that I haven’t put the weight back on is a win.

At 159 pounds on my 60th birthday!

It’s also a win because it is much harder on the schedule we have at work to make the 8 hour window work. I have to really pay attention to timing, much more so than when I wasn’t working because there is very little flexibility with lunchtime at work. I also have to make sure that one day’s eating window doesn’t interfere with the next day’s, as sometimes I have lunch duty and it can get the timing off because I will have to either eat earlier or skip lunch altogether.

The other difficulty I am having is getting back to my workouts, which since before the end of summer… well, let’s just say that my motivation to work out in 85 – 95 degree weather (29 – 35 degrees Celsius) went down in heatwave-induced flames. Belgium is not known for hot weather so there is no air conditioning in my little house nor in most gyms. I know, I know; I’m a wuss, but it’s not my fault! As an adult I became accustomed to air conditioned American gyms!

Finally, I had some bloodwork done recently, mainly to see where my cholesterol is since going almost 100% vegan. (In the interest of transparency, you must know that I am unfortunately NOT vegan in all my choices; I still eat cheese on pizza, and eggs from friends’ happy, dirt-scratching hens once in a while. I’d like to say those choices are very rare but… I really love pizza. I mean, REALLY. Especially parmagiana: roasted eggplant and parmesan cheese on a delicious thin crust… mmmm… oh, sorry ’bout that.)

Aforementioned definitely-not-vegan pizza

Anyway, I never indulge in that dirty little addiction more than once a week and usually no more than once every two to three weeks, so please don’t judge me too harshly.

In the past, I have tended toward slightly high cholesterol — 200 – 220. So I got my blood work back and guess what! I’m still right at the same place!!! 210!!! What the actual HECK??? Not happy with that, although the doctor isn’t alarmed. She says it’s most likely family tendency but she also mentioned pasta as a potential culprit. Wait…wha…what???

PASTA??? PASTA can cause high cholesterol??? NOOOOOOOOOO….!!!!

Turns out you have to choose whole grain pasta, which I sometimes do, but admittedly, not always. And here where I live, some of the tasty American choices are harder to get, and the choices I have aren’t always great. Also Thai food, which I love, uses coconut milk of course, and guess what? Coconut milk is very bad for you if cholesterol tends to be a problem.

Well, fudge. *sigh*

Looks like reading labels religiously is called for, and maybe sacrificing some of my favorite things in favor of keeping my cholesterol down. Maybe that, coupled with getting back to working out, will get rid of those last few pounds.

Goal for the coming week: three workouts.

Got advice for me? Please put it in the comments! I’d love to hear!

Thanks for reading!

Some of one of my friends’ very happy hens.

The Saga of a Snacker

I love food. I love to eat. I’ve got a friend who sometimes forgets to eat. I remember Erma Bombeck once saying, “it takes a special kinda stupid to forget to eat.” I couldn’t agree more! I’ve never forgotten to eat in my whole life. Pizza, pasta, potatoes almost any way you want to make them, fresh-from-the-garden tomatoes and cucumbers, pinto beans and cornbread, creamed spinach, French toast, fresh green salads, vegan hot dogs, vegan sausages, vegan burgers (I’m vegetarian, most of the time vegan, but that’s another subject), cornbread and plant milk, frozen blueberries in oatmeal, Poke Bowls, burritos, tacos, chiles rellenos, southern-style biscuits, garlic and oil sauce, buffalo sauce, green chile sauce, balsamic fig oil…(sorry, is that my stomach growling?) Honestly, there is only a handful of foods I don’t like. I like almost everything.

You’d think I’d weigh a lot more than I do, the way I love to eat. And I do eat kind of a lot. Always have. Must be the southern upbringing with MaMaw always in the background, “You hain’t got nothin’ on yor plate, git you somethin’ else, now.” Meanwhile, the plate groans under the weight of the food piled on it.

Luckily, I’m blessed with a high enough metabolism and a 5’8” frame to offset some of that. But not all of it. In early high school in Germany, I got up to nearly 140 and that was pretty chunky for a high school kid. But did you know that in the ‘70s, you could get actual amphetamines from the German pharmacy without a prescription? Well, guess what? In the summer of ’75, my mom’s house was spotless and I lost 20 pounds! I didn’t get a lot of sleep, however…

I stayed at about 120 – 125 pounds (around 55 kilos) well into my twenties, when my weight inched up to about 145, and I lost a few pounds with Weight Watchers. I managed to stay under 150 (about 68 kilos) until I quit teaching for a while to sell real estate and discovered appletinis and cosmopolitans; ethanol is delicious when you put enough sugar in it! That was when I hit my highest at 181 (82 kilos!) but of course, who notices when you’re half sloshed? I lost most of those extra pounds when the real estate firm I worked for did a “biggest loser” contest and my real estate partner and I took the grand prizes for most weight lost and most fat lost, respectively; nothing like 500 dollars in prize money to get me motivated!  Got pretty fat again when I moved to Belgium and “HELLOOOO, Belgian beer and chocolate!” Not to mention FRITES! Nearly hit my record high again but managed to get down to 160 (72 kilos) and kept it off for a while. I felt like I couldn’t go any lower, and I probably can’t go much below that at my age NOW – I turn 60 next week. But 160 on my frame isn’t bad, really, and a few extra ounces in my face is actually a plus! (You ladies of a certain age will surely understand what I mean.)

Me after a year of Belgian beer and frites.

But my weight still tends to inch up, because, FOOD. YUM. (See introductory paragraph for details.) And presto! COVID-19 happened and I was back up near 170 again. I know I can lose weight if I cut out all carbs except for one meal a day, but in the words of one of my oldest friends, life is not worth living without bread. Especially in Europe, where bread is DELICIOUS: baguettes, schwartzbrot, croissants, fitness bread, panini, ciabatta, Swedish crisp bread… sorry, I digress.

Me at 160 pounds in Summer of 2019. Horizontal stripes, no less!

So I started reading about Intermittent Fasting. This is simply giving yourself a window to eat and fasting on water and unsweetened coffee or tea during the other hours. There are a lot of eating patterns that involve fasting intermittently, but the most common ones are fasting for 16 hours and eating two to three meals during the other eight or fasting for 18 hours and eating two meals during the other six. Apparently the body the body undergoes some interesting changes when you fast for 15 to 24 hours:

  1. Insulin sensitivity changes makes your stored body fat more easily accessible as energy.
  2. Human Growth Hormone levels go up, making fat loss and muscle gain more likely.
  3. Cells begin repair processes.
  4. Blood pressure tends to improve.
  5. Thinking and memory tend to improve.

I was more interested in numbers one and two, but hey, I’ll take the other three for sure.

One of my friends mentioned to me that I tend to snack a lot. Now, bear in mind this is the same friend who sometimes forgets to eat, but in spite of that, she is actually pretty smart. At first, I went, “no, I don’t, not any more than anyone else.” But she insisted. I still resisted but it ate at me a bit, so I took a look at myself and it seems that yes, I do snack a little more than some people. Okay, maybe more than a little more. Okay, OKAY, a LOT more than MOST people. Geez, I can’t get away with anything! Anyway, one of the things I learned in doing my research on IF (Intermittent Fasting) is that when you eat three meals a day and snack from time to time, your body is always using your recent calories as energy and the stored fat inside your body is never converted to energy. Never. Converted. to Energy.

WELL THAT EXPLAINS A LOT!!!!

Phooey!

So I decided to give it a try. Two weeks ago I was at 167 pounds after having put on the quarantine seven. I jumped right in to IF with the 18:6. Most days it isn’t too hard to do an 18:6 fast; finish dinner by 7 p.m., no snacking before bed, then rise and shine, black coffee, water, and no food until 1 p.m. Sort of like just skipping breakfast. It got a little tougher when I couldn’t have dinner until later, but I just do a 16:8 fast on those days, and once I did a 15:9, which interestingly is said to be optimum for some women. I eat pretty normally although I’m trying to choose healthy foods, with lots of vegetables and whole grains, aiming for 55% carbs, 30% protein and 15% fats. My calorie count tends to stay below 1500 most days; I track it using the free app My Fitness Pal. On the weekends it is higher because I usually eat out at least once and I don’t deprive myself for that meal except for skipping dessert. This past weekend it was a pizza and a plate of pasta split with a friend, so you can see, that is not deprivation at all. I even have a glass of wine a few times a week. The good news is I’m nearly never hungry except near the end of my fasting period, the last hour or so, maybe, and if I stay busy, it isn’t a big deal at all.

Does THIS look like deprivation to you?

I weigh myself nearly every day so that I can see trends, and my weight is consistently inching down. Today I am down to just under 162 pounds (73.5 kilos). Might not seem like much but bear in mind I am post-menopausal and it is notoriously hard for women like me to lose weight. So five pounds in just under two weeks is GREAT. I’m going to keep it up and see if I can get to 155 and keep myself there for a while. I’ll let you know!

References:

https://www.healthline.com/nutrition/intermittent-fasting-guide#effects

https://www.hopkinsmedicine.org/health/wellness-and-prevention/intermittent-fasting-what-is-it-and-how-does-it-work

https://www.healthline.com/nutrition/6-ways-to-do-intermittent-fasting#section2

George

I have a self-proclaimed son named George. Born of love, not of blood, he is a friendly, funny, and intelligent fellow, handsome to look at and easy to know, and someone who most consider “an old soul.” He came into my life in his tenth grade Spanish I class, which I was teaching. He discovered in my class that he is “good at” languages (fluent in Spanish by mid-year in level 2), and he got bitten by the travel bug on a trip with me to Spain. He’s now a flight attendant for United and we see each other from time to time, either here in Belgium where I live, or in NC where he’s from, or in an airport somewhere as we cross paths. He really is like a son to me. I love him with whole heart.

George is black. I’m white, if you don’t know. Or sort of peach colored, anyway.

Today another George was killed. By a white police officer while many others looked on. George Floyd was being arrested for a white-collar crime, and by all accounts, and by what video I have seen, he was neither violent nor did he resist arrest. Even if he had resisted, he died making his distress known, pleading for air, the officer’s knee on his neck, until after his body went completely limp, for a total of more than seven minutes.

I can’t help but picture that as MY George. If it had been him in that situation, would he have been treated that way? I suspect he would have. And that scares me.

One thing I do know is if it had been me, a white woman, I would not have been treated that way. And it is a safe bet that my much younger white brother, tall, braw and blond, would have been handcuffed and gently placed into the squad car, his head protected. Even if my brother had resisted arrest, he would have been placed into the car and would likely not have been seriously hurt. He almost certainly would not have been handcuffed and put face down on the ground with an officer’s knee cutting off his airway for so long that he would lose consciousness and die.

What is it going to take for this to stop? Are we to make the black community pay for our sin of slavery and racism for the entire history of the great United States of America? And by the way, who the devil are the people who are raising people so lacking in empathy that they think it is reasonable to hold a calm and unresistant, handcuffed man down by the neck until he loses consciousness? That it is acceptable for a man’s pleas for air and mercy go unheeded? That an unarmed black man can be shot in his car (Philando Castile), in the back execution-style (Oscar Grant), or by vigilantes for jogging (Ahmaud Arbery)? These are only a handful of outrageous events that demonstrate the increasingly dangerous place that the US is for a black man, or even a black woman. Being black (or latino or native American) means your risk of being killed by a police officer is well over twice that if you are white.

Here in Europe, people think we must be the most racist country on the planet. After living here and having friends from lots of countries, I don’t think we are, but it is far more dangerous to be black in the US than it is here, maybe because most people here don’t have guns, and surely because most police officers know when NOT to use deadly force.

I pray for my George. As a law-abiding, taxes-paying black man in America, he is in danger every day. Every time he leaves his house, even when he is IN his house or his car, or at his job, he risks his life. His birth mama taught him to be polite, especially with officers of the law, and I remind him sometimes of how to reach for his wallet to show his identification to an officer who asks for it. I love my brother, too, but I have never reminded him of that; I suspect no one has ever even mentioned it to him. But George knows. He knows he has to ask the officer if he can get his identification out. He knows to move slowly and keep one hand in the view of the officer at all times. He knows the officer is likely to kill him.

I know, too.

Consistency

I saw a Facebook post today that began with “Here’s a little truth bomb on abortion by George Carlin.” Now I’m all about George Carlin. He was hysterical. Such a mind full of thoughts about humanity screaming to get out and sometimes they were spot on. This time not so much; rather his arguments were made in favor of laughs rather than truth. But this is pretty typical of the entertainment industry; they follow the crowd because their careers demand they remain popular. I can appreciate that. And at this point in our history it is very unpopular to be pro-life. One thing Carlin does get right is his call for “consistency.” But where he demands it from the pro-life crowd, I would very much like to see consistency from both sides of this debate. If there is one thing neither “side” exhibits, it is a consistent life ethic.

The right demands an end to all abortions. The left wants abortion “free and legal” at any point in a woman’s pregnancy. I think all but the most rabid of the far left and far right will agree that both of these positions are ridiculous, but the greater problem is that the stance of the left, as well as that of the right, is wildly inconsistent with the rest of their beliefs. The right is typically anti-compassion/life in every one of the rest of their views while the left, on the other hand, is pro-compassion/life on every one of the rest of theirs. Consider it: the left and the right are polar opposites on hunting, gun rights, capital punishment, weapons of mass destruction, health care, aid to the poor, animal rights, education, the size of government, and either pro-Israel (for the right) or pro-Palestine (for the left). Abortion, however, is where the left and the right switch sides!

Now this thought originated in the much more able brain than mine of Nat Hentoff, the former editor of the notoriously leftist paper, The Village Voice. I read Hentoff’s essay called, “How Can the Left be Against Life” in the late 80’s, when our lead teacher had me and the rest of his Instructional Associates use it in the teaching of Remedial Writing at De Anza College in Cupertino, CA. In spite of his decidedly liberal take on nearly everything else, Hentoff was pro-life. As you might imagine, this made him often a subject of at worst, anger, and at best, discontent from the pro-life groups as well as the liberal crowds to whom he was often called upon to speak. But this same stance made him much more consistent in his life ethic than almost everyone else, whether liberal or conservative. When I first read the essay, I was a cradle conservative, and I held traditionally conservative opinions on most issues except the environment. Hentoff forced me to face up to some of the “fundamental contradictions”[1]in my views. In the essay, Hentoff points out that “…to be consistently pro-life, it is necessary to extend the definition to include more than abortion.” He quotes Cardinal Bernardin:

“Nuclear war threatens life on a previously unimaginable scale; abortion takes life daily on a horrendous scale; public executions are fast becoming weekly events in the most advanced technological society in history; and euthanasia is now openly discussed and even advocated. Each of these assaults on life has its own meaning and morality; they cannot be collapsed into one problem, but they must be confronted as pieces of a larger pattern.”

Hentoff argued conservatives also need to think about these issues, too. He noted, for example, that the diminishment of Women-Infant-Children (WIC, commonly known as welfare) was largely responsible for low birth weight and thus high infant mortality. This was a direct result of of trickle-down economics, the philosophy of the president that I and many other pro-life people had voted for. As you can imagine, this kind of light shining on my inherited beliefs and their inconsistencies rocked my fresh-out-of-college idealistic world view.

If one is going to choose to oppose abortion, I realized, one must also choose to oppose capital punishment. How about the slow death caused by lack of proper health care? And what about people across the world in Israel and Palestine? And if you’re going to value life, shouldn’t you value all life, like that of animals in laboratories or on farms? The more I read about these and a lot of other issues, the less “conservative” I turned out to be. It was then that I went vegetarian.

And it was then that my life ethic began to slowly but surely become far more consistent and has continued to evolve over the years.

So then the other side of that coin is for the liberal mind. If you’re going to favor abortion, surely you are thinking in terms of the rights of the woman, and aren’t they being trampled when her right to an abortion is taken away? Hentoff addresses that by introducing us to Juli Loesch, founder of a pro-life and anti-nuclear arms group. I’ll let you read from Hentoff’s essay:

A feminist, Loesch has been working on a feminist critique of what she calls “the abortion mentality.” For instance, she notes that in many cases, “abortion becomes part of the female-body-as-recreational-object syndrome. The idea is that a man can use a woman, vacuum her out, and she’s ready to be used again. It’s like she’s a rent-a-car or something.”

That excerpt affected me profoundly. It seems so obvious, like why didn’t I see that before?

Hentoff also introduces us to Elizabeth Moore, then organizer of Feminists for Life. Hentoff quotes Moore, “I knew first-hand the effects of legal nonprotection under the Constitution, and from my point of view, the basic value upon which just law must rest is not ‘choice’ but equality. I cannot tolerate the destruction of life in a society where I find myself among the expendable.” (Moore, in another article[2], maintains that abortion legislation is actually aimed primarily at the poor because paying for a poor woman to have an abortion is cheaper than paying her to raise the child. Let’s consider THAT for a moment.) Hentoff goes on to say that

…the pro-choice argument based on a woman’s right to control her own body is a right-wing concept that puts property rights over the right to live. Jo McGowan, a pacifist/feminist, adds – in a Commonweal interview with Mary Meehan (January 18, 1980) – “I can no more control my body by destroying my child than I can insure my safety by building Trident submarines.” McGowan’s prison record includes sentences for demonstrating at a Trident plant, at Seabrook against nuclear power, and at an abortion clinic.

Women’s rights are being trampled on every day by both ends of the political spectrum. Taking away the fetus’ rights to be born doesn’t help us. Especially when so many couples are waiting to adopt a newborn. In fact, there is a waiting list of approved, adoptive parents. A long one. In the UK it can take up to nine years of waiting — and that’s AFTER you’ve jumped through all the required hoops — to get a newborn.[3] In the US, the wait is between two to seven years.[4] So not being able to provide for babies isn’t the issue; there are approved couples waiting to provide for the babies. If the mother needs a solution, adoption is a kind, humane solution that saves a child’s life and a woman’s peace of mind. The problem is that women and our health are viewed as “less than”, and expendable, just like the baby growing inside us.

And lest we deny the humanity of the aborted fetus, an opinion based on the Supreme Court’s decision in 1973, Hentoff reminds us that the 1857 Supreme Court also denied the humanity of the many then-enslaved peoples of African descent. Isn’t it time, now that we can see into the womb, that we stop denying the humanity of the growing person inside? Isn’t it time we see the fetus as what it is, an unborn HUMAN?

Hentoff predicted what has become true, that the pro-life movement would never develop to become a viable, powerful voting bloc unless it broadened its beliefs on life to include ALL LIFE, not just the unborn. And my own “cause celebre” also leaps to mind. All life must also include animal life. Factory farms are hellish places of blood, sorrow and terror. Sentient beings as laboratory subjects is an affront to their Creator. How can we destroy those lives so horrendously with no thought to their right to live in peace and safety? And yet for most conservatives, champions of the pro-life movement, the lives of animals is an issue that is not even on their radar.

One problem is that a consistent life ethic is not an easy thing to develop. So much of 21st Century life is bound up in issues that relate to human and animal life. I think about the leather in shoes and belts, whether the shirt I want to buy was made using child labor, what companies my mutual fund is involved in. In the complicated world we live in, perfect consistency isn’t really possible, I don’t think. But today I can be more consistent than I was yesterday. I can make those choices thoughtfully, and I can choose on the side of life when I know enough.

I’m calling on my evangelical Christian friends, my Catholic friends, and my conservative and liberal friends from all religious and non-religious perspectives to think about this. Isn’t it time we value life just because it is life? Because all life is valuable? Shouldn’t we choose kindness rather than cruelty whenever there is a choice? Don’t we still believe that we should treat others as we would want to be treated? Shouldn’t that extend to all “others,” not just human “others”, but to all life? Whether human or animal, born or unborn, life isn’t ours to give or take. That kind of choice is not ours to make.

Consider your life ethic.


[1] Hentoff, Nat; How Can the Left Be Against Life,” Writing Day by Day, 1987, Harper and Row. First appeared in The Village Voice in 1985.

[2]  http://inthesetimes.com/article/21371/anti-abortion-Catholic-Left-women-welfare-socialist-feminism

[3] https://www.spectator.co.uk/2018/05/the-adoption-waiting-game/

[4] http://www.adopt.org/faqs

Thoughts on Club Membership

Imagine you belong to a club, quite a big club internationally, but locally relatively small, maybe between 50 and 200 people. You meet every week, and your meetings are open to everyone, members or not, but most of the attendees are members and you all know each other. Someone visiting your meeting sticks out like a sore thumb.

Now imagine you are someone who DOESN’T belong to the club but thinks you might want to. You know that the only way to meet anyone in the club is to attend a meeting, but it seems to be a pretty exclusive club, and the thought of going alone makes you nervous. Nevertheless decide to try out a meeting. You find out when the club meets and you screw up your courage, and you go to the meeting all alone. You arrive and someone greets you at the door, very friendly and welcoming. “This is cool,” you think. You find a seat and sit through the meeting, participating as fully as you can. At the end of the meeting, you stand, along with everyone else, gather your things, and look around for someone to say hello to. You’re hoping someone will take the initiative. Everyone is talking, laughing, seemingly fully engaged with others. You walk around. You notice there is free coffee and tea. You realize this will give you something to do, making you less conspicuous, and so you take a cup, sipping it. You look around for people to talk to. After a few minutes, you give up and start very slowly toward the door, tossing the cup in the trash along the way. You make eye-contact with as many people as you can. Some smile. Some look away. No one approaches you. No one speaks to you. Eventually you reach the door. A nice man opens it for you and smiles, maybe even says, “Come again!”

But you won’t come again. Or if you do, it’s because you are very determined to get to know this club and you are far braver than most. Because the few minutes before and after the meeting were some of the loneliest and most uncomfortable you can remember.

This is the typical experience of single people, especially single women, visiting an American or European Christian church. Maybe you figured out early on that this was where this post was heading. Maybe it fits your experience. Or maybe you can’t imagine that this is true.

I can assure you that I have not overstated the experience. Over many years of moving, within the USA and in Europe, I’ve been victim to it countless times. Now I am watching a precious new believer deal with it. Go back to that description of the experience and imagine you are a new believer and you know very little about how this is supposed to work. Go on, do it.

Now imagine you are the same new believer who has ALREADY, after only like a year as a Christian, been hurt in one of the few non-Roman Catholic Christian churches within 30 miles (that’s a different post; I’ll write it eventually), and the church where you have been visiting is the least friendly one your long-term believer friend has ever seen. Literally NOT ONE PERSON spoke to us the last time we were there. The first time, at least the greeter did.

Christians, this is hard for her. It is hard for me and I know going in that it is the common experience. Being so conspicuous is terribly uncomfortable, and it is much harder for the new person to walk up to a stranger than it is for the one who belongs. For my friend, it is extremely difficult and supremely confusing. Aren’t we supposed to be the most loving people on the planet? Aren’t we supposed to be trying to save the world? Isn’t that what Christ teaches?

Why does this happen? Am I so intimidating? Is she? Do we give off an unapproachable vibe?

Even if we are intimidating or unapproachable, why don’t you who belong screw up your own courage and come and say hello? We’ve made a supreme effort to visit your church ALONE or with another single woman. The periods when I have been a member of a church, I did make an effort to speak to new people, whether there alone or not, but especially the women who were there without a man. I used to act like it was my responsibility to say hello to them, and guess what? It was! And it is yours, Christ-follower.

After nearly forty years of following Christ, I know a lot of real, genuine Christ-followers. Most of the Christians I know would agree with me that this is abhorrent behavior on our parts. Nevertheless, it happens. Christian, pretend you are the face of Christ to that person, that your behavior will affect, either positively or negatively, his or her perception of Christ. Because I assure you, it will.

I don’t know how to wrap this up other than to tell my fellow believers, TALK TO VISITORS to your church. Be genuine. Just be yourself. Ask them if they live in the area. Point out or introduce your spouse or best pal. Invite them to a small group to visit. Tell them you hope they return. They might be seekers ready to judge every Christian based on this experience. They might be new believers desperately in need of discipleship. They might be as rich as Bill Gates and ready to contribute generously to the building program! Or they might just be hurting and broken, like we all are, and need to know that Christ makes a difference somehow. You have a real power to influence that person for the cause of Christ. Exercise it well.

 

 

Old Friends

Once many years ago, a lady and her daughter came into my life. For a time, the mom was one of my two or three best friends; she helped me survive a divorce, the death of my beloved cat, Argenté, and the ups and downs of a difficult career. The daughter was in her teens, and she was fun and talented and she helped me stay young.

Eventually life moved the family across the country. Of course we talked sometimes, kept up with each other on Facebook and by phone, and I even visited them once. Then I moved to Europe, Daughter went to college and eventually became a grownup in her own right, and her mom wrote a new chapter in her life that included grandchildren, a very unpleasant divorce, selling one house and buying another, and surviving cancer. Needless to say, her whole life turned upside down. Through it all, we prayed for each other and cheered each other on.

This summer, these two lovely people came to visit me. My thoughts were mostly on seeing them again, but I was also very preoccupied with introducing them to Bruges, Brussels, Paris and Amsterdam. And naturally, I did.

We walked all over Brussels and watched Belgium win third place in the World Cup (soccer) and thoroughly delighted in the ensuing madness in the center of the city. We saw Bruges from the canal and watched the final of the World Cup in a Bruges café. We admired the impressionists in the Musée d’Orsay, searched for our favorites (and all-too-few wafts of cool air) in the Louvre, looked for books in Shakespeare and Company, photographed Notre Dame and the Eiffel Tower from the Seine, and ate the dinner of our LIVES at a little, non-descript Paris café. We dodged bicycles in Amsterdam, fell in love anew with Van Gogh, oohed and ahhhed over Dutch architecture and windmills, and “relived our flaming youth” (thanks to another old friend for that glorious combination of words) by wading and soaking our feet in a fountain in the Museumplein. And a bonus, we stopped by to remember history at the Corrie Ten Boom House in Haarlem. On top of all that, they fell in love with Belgium and my wonderful new friends here.

At some point in the process, they both let me know that they loved seeing all this great stuff, but it wasn’t why they were here.

In fact, the reason they were here was to see me.

Pause for a moment to let that sink in. From the USA to Europe in coach class, one of them driving something like ten hours so they could fly together, and spending way more money than they should have, all to spend two days in Paris, two in the Netherlands, the rest in quirky little Belgium, and all with me.

We actually hung out at my house three or four of the precious few days they were here, forgoing visits to famous places, once in a lifetime visits for most Americans who make it even once to Europe. Why? Because they were tired, yes. But also because they were just happy to see me again. We cooked together, walked around my neighborhood, watched a movie on Netflix, and slept in the next day. We talked about life, about eternity, and about ourselves. We learned who we are now, after so many years (eight!) since the last time we saw each other. We reminded ourselves why we were friends.

God often reminds me of how blessed I am to have friends like these. Some live just up the road and spend lots of time with me or make me food or invite me to events. Others  must travel thousands of miles to come see me, one of them knowing she will have to take antihistamine every day because of her acute allergy to cats. They receive from me, too, of course. I am beyond grateful for them all, each having proven their love for me over the years.

In girl scouts there is a saying that becomes more relevant and important as I grow older:

Make new friends, and keep the old. One is silver, the other gold.

 

More Waiting

This evening I tried again to trap one of the several black cats on the base. I was successful, although not the way I’d hoped.

First I trapped the same cat that I trapped a couple of weeks ago. I had her spayed the first time, of course, and didn’t need to trap her again. And despite her terror the first time she found herself with no way out, she went right in that trap again. “Not the sharpest knife in the drawer, are you?” I asked her. She didn’t respond. Too ashamed of her inability to resist tuna, I suppose.

Next the elusive cat that I was trying to trap the last time I posted sauntered coolly into the trap, gobbled up the tuna, and exited without setting it off. Again. Which is all for the best, I suppose, as I am pretty sure she is no longer pregnant. Her nursing babies are going to need her for the next few weeks. I did finally get a good look at her and she is magnificent. Long charcoal fur with a full mane.

Finally the third and fourth cats appeared. One is clearly a Tom, with the telltale fat cheeks containing all those pheromones. The other is a fairly small, smooth coated, and of course, black cat. She couldn’t resist the tuna either, but she is not so wily as the other. As soon as the trap closed, I rushed her to the vet, and he helped me confirm what I suspected: she is nursing. I took her right back and released her.

It looks like in five or six weeks I will have at least two adult females, an adult male m, and who knows how many kittens to TNR or socialize. Until then, I leave them in peace. I, on the other hand, will be diligently seeking an elusive peace, knowing that all those little souls are struggling to stay alive in a hard world. Say a prayer.

Waiting: an update

If you read yesterday’s post,  you know that I was trying to trap what I’ve been told is a pregnant cat. I did not manage to trap her yesterday but I did see her. After 45 minutes of waiting, I decided probably if I didn’t have her I wasn’t going to get her that time, so I returned to the trap.  I got there just in time to see her tail and the lower half of the body as she quickly exited the trap and slunk back under the building.  I didn’t get a very good look at her. I returned to my waiting spot and gave her a little more time, another 30 minutes or so, and after not hearing the trap, I surrendered, returning to find she had devoured the tuna I had baited the trap with and left it UN-sprung.

This is good news and bad news. The good news is I know she will go in the trap. If she will go in the trap I can trap her. The bad news is she did not look very round  to me.  If she is not round she is probably not pregnant.  If she is not pregnant and she was pregnant as her caregiver reported, then she has had the babies  somewhere.  Which means I can’t trap her now because I can’t risk leaving her kittens without their mama.

Today I went by the area, walked all around, and looked for and listened for any sign of kittens. I spoke to one of the workers. No sign of kittens anywhere. Also no sign of mama cat.  The question remainS: has she had kittens or is she still pregnant?

So I am trying to figure out if I should continue to try to trap her or if I should give her some time, and give her potential kittens some time, and try again a little later.

I would love to hear from experienced rescuers. If you are a rescuer what would you do?

Waiting

I’m sitting about 100 meters from a humane trap in which I’m hoping to catch what I’ve been told is a pregnant cat. I’m listening for that distinctive clap which tells me that the trap has sprung and the desired prey is safely inside. This is the fourth time I have set the trap for this particular cat. She’s quite wild, and she’s very clever. Perhaps she’s been listening to her pal tell her about when I trapped her and had her spayed a couple of weeks ago, a successful, although stressful TNR.

(TNR means Trap-Neuter-Release, the only option to successfully control a community cat population.)

Within the confines of the NATO base where I teach are a number of cats who don’t have family to go home to. Over the course of the last six years, on the campus of the school on base, and on the American base a few miles from here, some friends and I have trapped or otherwise assumed responsibility for upwards of 50 cats and kittens. The ones on the NATO base are primarily the cats abandoned by military members when they PCS, or are the offspring of those cats. Many of them, like the last five, have been kittens, which I and my compassionate cohorts have socialized and either found homes for or found no kill associations which found homes for them.

The adult cats have been much more difficult. Often they have become very distrustful of humans, and a few have been downright feral. The solution for those is very complicated. Some of them have been released in areas unfamiliar to them. I deeply resist that option because sometimes it turns out very badly. One such cat was kept in the ladies garage for several weeks, where the lady fed her, spoke softly to her, and even petted her some. In spite of this, when the cat was finally released, she ran off and was never seen again, breaking the hearts of her caregivers; I still worry about this cat sometimes. Obviously we don’t want that outcome. Ideally a cat who is truly wild, or who is so fearful of humans that they can’t let themselves be socialized, needs to be released where he was trapped. Luckily in this case there is a lady who has been feeding this small colony of cats and because of her, I was alerted and we are now trying to get this population of community cats TNR’d.

In spite of my repeated requests on social media for people to let me know when they’re getting ready to leave so that I can come by and get their cat or find a suitable home for it, folks continue to abandon their animals when they leave. Dogs get dumped at shelters, and cats simply get left behind. I always thought it was “those other countries ” who were doing such things, but I’ve come to learn that we Americans are just as guilty as everybody else.

Even after all these years associated with animal rescue, I still can’t understand how you can do that. How can you welcome an animal into your home without coming to love it? And how can you love anyone or anything and decide that they’re not worth taking with you when you go? Did you know that there are even people who abandon their animals when they go on vacation? They simply turn it out if it’s a cat, or if it’s a dog they tie it to a lamp post by the side of the road.

Before I became an animal rescuer I didn’t realize such things happened. I wouldn’t say that I was living in a state of complete ignorance; in fact I had spent many years weeping over articles that I read, statistics, and photographs. I belonged to the ASPCA, the Humane Society of the United States, and subscribed to vegetarian magazines. For a time I was a member of PETA until I realized that they too are simply an animal killing machine. But until I became an actual rescuer myself, I didn’t realize that our next-door neighbors and sometimes even our friends are not really animal lovers or even animal likers. Because if they were, these “good people” wouldn’t abandon their animals leaving, in the best possible situation, other people to pick up pieces.

So I’m sitting here waiting for that trap, praying that tonight will be the night that this female cat goes into it. Cross your fingers. Say a prayer.