tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-77784412024-03-07T14:23:35.365-05:00Answer GirlIf I don't know, I'll look it up. Ellen Clair Lambhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14944288413332520719noreply@blogger.comBlogger2018125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7778441.post-56886705199387981842023-09-11T08:58:00.007-04:002023-09-11T13:21:52.305-04:00Meet me at Mary's Place<p><span style="font-family: arial;">I spent this weekend on retreat with other members of <a href="https://www.novacatholic.org/">my church</a>, talking about how to strengthen communities under the guidance of the extraordinary <a href="https://networklobby.org/about/srsimonebio/">Sister Simone Campbell</a>.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">The second requirement
for prophetic communities, Sister Simone told us, might be the hardest of all: the need
to “touch the pain of the world as real.” That is, experience it without trying
to fix it; letting it break your heart. “Having a broken heart makes room for
everyone.”</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">This
morning I’m sitting two blocks from the Pentagon, remembering that day 22 years
ago, letting it break my heart again. Nothing we have done in the last two decades
has made an attack like that any less likely. It might be minimally more
difficult to execute a plan like the 9/11 attack than it was in 2001, but no
one who was truly determined could be deterred. All deterrence measures assume
that the attackers want to survive. That wasn’t true in 2001, and it’s not true
now.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">So how do
we live broken-hearted? What are we supposed to do, if not try to fix things?
We are supposed to build community. We are supposed to <u>broaden</u> that
community. We are supposed to love our enemies, even when they lie and persecute
us. The instructions are <a href="https://www.biblehub.com/niv/matthew/5.htm">right there in the New Testament</a>. Jesus gave them to
us, and he was not equivocal. “<a href="https://biblehub.com/matthew/5-44.htm">Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you</a>.”</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">How do we
form that community? We come together with radical acceptance. We listen. We
celebrate. Coming together makes hope possible, because — as Sister Simone
reminded us — hope is a communal virtue.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Bruce
Springsteen’s album <i>The Rising</i>, which I always listen to on this day,
gets it. It starts with a lonesome day; it moves on to Mary’s Place. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;">Tell me,
how do you live brokenhearted?</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;">Meet me at Mary’s
place. We’re gonna have a party.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;">Turn it up. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"> </p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/z8PwFyouBDc" width="320" youtube-src-id="z8PwFyouBDc"></iframe></div><br /> <p></p>
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{page:WordSection1;}</style></p>Ellen Clair Lambhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14944288413332520719noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7778441.post-27095216602772478792022-03-28T18:09:00.008-04:002022-03-28T18:19:17.910-04:00A Homily on the Prodigal Son <p><span style="font-family: arial;">I missed going to church during the pandemic lockdown in 2020. I'm a haphazard and occasionally defiant Catholic, but that's kind of the point. In college, a Jesuit suggested that sin and redemption might be a dialectic process that brings us toward God. I wouldn't want to go too far down that road, but it comforted me at the time. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Anyway I found a faith community that suited me, a non-diocesan parish in Northern Virginia that was holding Mass online. They've been a lovely, welcoming, safe group, one of my pandemic treasures. Liturgy planning is a cooperative effort with a regular rota of order priests, the "padre cadre." A few Sundays a year, we don't have a priest, and instead of Mass we have a community-led liturgy. We had one yesterday, for the fourth Sunday of Lent, and I got to be part of the planning team. Not only that, but I got to give the sermon. <br /></span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfh8KXdvFXtG2a6PdqYYDO-BcvfL3qRgD71McjNeYYK-ejGDZl5u1QCE9fC2knUcp532WrrXBUtIQkeDRo4mvlHSKAVVceCoO1A6hP4wiwdSteS9UEtlnoGuxJvrBI-kSlOCjzYEFZAa0DCcpR3k5LpwWCf3Hc2bOaz7ABM4TMR1gXfG3PFA/s4096/the_return_of_the_prodigal_son_1948.12.1.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3712" data-original-width="4096" height="290" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfh8KXdvFXtG2a6PdqYYDO-BcvfL3qRgD71McjNeYYK-ejGDZl5u1QCE9fC2knUcp532WrrXBUtIQkeDRo4mvlHSKAVVceCoO1A6hP4wiwdSteS9UEtlnoGuxJvrBI-kSlOCjzYEFZAa0DCcpR3k5LpwWCf3Hc2bOaz7ABM4TMR1gXfG3PFA/s320/the_return_of_the_prodigal_son_1948.12.1.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: arial;">Yesterday's Gospel was Luke's telling of the story of the Prodigal Son — but instead of beginning with the words of Jesus, as we usually hear that story (Luke 15:11), the reading included Luke's own reporting about Jesus's audience and purpose. That piece of the story feels meaningful to me, so that's what I talked about. And since I'm unlikely to do this again, I share the homily here for anyone who might need it. </span><p></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;">* * * * * <br /></span></p><p>
</p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;">I am a writer and an editor, working in a broad range of
environments—I work on everything from legislative hearings to social media
posts about sports. It’s all storytelling, and my first question on every
project is, “Who is this <u>for</u>?” Who’s the audience, and what is the
audience supposed to do with this communication? </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;">I was so glad that we got <a href="https://bible.usccb.org/bible/luke/15?1">this version of the Prodigal Son story</a> today, because the chapter opens with Luke telling us who the audience
for this story was: not the tax collectors and sinners, who were already
hanging out with Jesus and listening to what he had to say, but the Pharisees
and scribes, who were complaining about Jesus spending his time and wisdom on
people they found unworthy.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;">When we hear a parable or a fable, we identify with a
character based on the lesson we think we’re supposed to learn. The most
obvious message of the story of the Prodigal Son is that God will always
forgive us and welcome us home. That is a powerful message, and that is a
message we all need to hear, that God offers this absolute and radical
forgiveness. But the way that Luke frames this story makes it clear that this
was not the only message Jesus was trying to deliver, and was maybe not even
the most important message for the audience he was addressing.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;">The people Jesus was speaking to were the people in the
position of the faithful son. And what does the father say to the faithful son?
He says, “You are with me always, and all I have is yours.” <i> </i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;"><i> </i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;"><i>You are with me
always, and all I have is yours</i>. Not half. Not “your share.” <i><u>All</u>
I have is yours</i>.</span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;"></span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;">This is what Jesus was telling the Pharisees and scribes:
all God has is yours. The forgiveness of the prodigal takes nothing away from
you.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;">I grew up in a family of six children. We fought <u>constantly</u>
over “fair shares.” My father threatened to get a food scale to make sure that
nobody got even a little bit more ice cream than anybody else. God does not
need to do that, because God is <u>infinite</u>. God’s love is <u>infinite</u>.
God’s forgiveness is absolute. God’s forgiveness of and love for other people
takes nothing away from us. And God invites us, like the Prodigal Son’s father,
to join in celebrating that love, celebrating that forgiveness, welcoming
everyone home again.</span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;"></span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;">In this story, we see ourselves as the prodigal son, being
forgiven, because we know we need that forgiveness so badly. But we must also
recognize that we are the brother, who needs to get a grip, and realize that
forgiveness and love are not ice cream. Nothing God gives anyone else subtracts
from the infinite love and forgiveness we get every moment of every day. We are
invited to celebrate that radical forgiveness, and if we aspire to be more like
Jesus, we must find that radical forgiveness in ourselves as well. And so we
are called to be the prodigal son—and the prodigal’s brother—and
the prodigal’s father. We are all three people in that story. </span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;">So let us all celebrate and rejoice—because we, <u>and</u>
our brothers, <u>and</u> our sisters, have all been dead and restored to life.
We have all been lost, and now are found. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;">Alleluia.</span></p><span style="font-family: arial;">
</span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span></p><span style="font-family: arial;">
</span><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><style>@font-face
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{page:WordSection1;}</style></span> <span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p>Ellen Clair Lambhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14944288413332520719noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7778441.post-84047662310470369412020-06-14T10:46:00.002-04:002020-06-14T10:46:36.436-04:00Regaining Momentum<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Thursday broke me. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It was a small thing on top of a lot of big things. My laptop stopped charging, and when the battery died, I could not revive it. </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My day job is full-time when
Congress is in session, and I have a year-round, full-time
editing/consulting business of my own. I work all day, and sometimes I
work all night. My sense of self is <u>way</u> too wrapped up in my work, and my work is no longer really possible without a computer. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I've tripped over the charging cord more than once, so I figured — I <u>hoped</u> — replacing the cord would fix the problem. But I work on a MacBook, and all the Apple stores are closed, and Apple couldn't deliver a new cord before Wednesday. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I ordered one from Amazon that advertised same-day delivery, but once the order was placed, the delivery date changed to Friday — and later, to between Saturday and Monday. Best Buy couldn't deliver the cord until Wednesday, but I had an adapter I thought I might be able to rig up as a workaround with the right USB cable, so I went to my neighborhood Best Buy to buy one of those. As it turns out, Best Buy is not <u>really</u> open yet — you can order online and pick up your purchase at the store if they have it in stock — but the lady behind the acrylic shield at the entrance was very nice, and I got my cable. Which did not work. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Since this is 2020 and I am a creature of privilege, I do also have a smart phone and an iPad, so I could answer email and could call in to a Webex meeting. But I haven't learned how to write anything longer than an email on my phone or my tablet, and I don't know how to mark changes on a document in anything but Microsoft Word. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"You need a vacation," said one of my colleagues on the Webex call, and my eye started to leak. What does that even <u>mean</u>, in this environment? How is anybody taking a vacation? The country's falling apart, I'm alone in this apartment, I have no means of transportation other than the half-open Metro, and I have <u>all this work that isn't getting done</u> . . . </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And then, at 7:30 Thursday night, I tuned into the <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jv05dPfmx40">tribute to John Prine</a> streaming on YouTube and Facebook, and Jason Isbell and Amanda Shires opened the show with "Hello in There." And I lost it, for the first time since this lockdown began.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It was an ugly cry, and I can't even list all the things I was crying about. The loss of John Prine, absolutely. The tens of thousands of people who have died from this virus, and my friends who still aren't completely well. The loss of our old life. The loneliness of lockdown. The hatefulness, selfishness and willful obliviousness of my fellow Americans who put that mindless, malicious man in the White House. The murders of George Floyd, Breonna Taylor, and every other black person killed by figures in authority over the past 400 years. The fact that my daughter's going back to Asia next week and I never even got to hug her while she was home. I could go on. I did go on. I went on to the point of thinking, "Okay, I need to stop crying now," but I could not. Eventually it ran down. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My day-job boss brought me a PC laptop from the office, so I managed to write Friday's weekly newsletter. I got the MacBook power cord yesterday evening, and it <u>did</u> fix the laptop, and today I need to catch up with two and a half days' worth of missed work. </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But three days later, I still feel shaky. </span> I'm afraid that having stopped I won't be able to get started again, because momentum is the first law of motion. I remind myself that this — all of this, life, work, the fight for justice, everything — is a marathon, not a sprint, and it's not all supposed to get done today. In the words of the Mishnah sage Rabbi Tarfon, "<a href="https://www.sefaria.org/Pirkei_Avot.2.16?lang=bi&with=all&lang2=en">It is not your duty to finish the work, but neither are you at liberty to neglect it.</a>" </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So my laptop is recharged. I'm about to open my email folder, with a sense of dread. Dread about what? Nothing I work on is a matter of life or death, but I do feel entrusted with my clients' hopes and aspirations, and I take that seriously. Plus, the work makes it possible for me to make contributions to organizations like <a href="https://nami.org/Home">NAMI</a>, one of the beneficiaries of the John Prine tribute, and more essential now than it's ever been. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Back to it. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span>Ellen Clair Lambhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14944288413332520719noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7778441.post-90894353817605657552020-06-10T19:43:00.014-04:002022-03-29T10:26:53.604-04:00Who Lives, Who Dies, Who Tells Your Story<span face=""arial", "helvetica", sans-serif">I have five brothers and sisters, and five of us were born within four years (two sets of twins, one singleton born on the second twins' first birthday). Until I was almost 21, I lived surrounded by people, with a roommate of some kind or in a dormitory. So I learned early about points of view. </span><br />
<br />
<span face=""arial", "helvetica", sans-serif">My five siblings and I grew up in the same house and share memories of certain major events. If you ask about them, though, each one of us will tell you a different story — <u>and they will all be true</u>. </span><br />
<span face=""arial", "helvetica", sans-serif"><br /></span>
<span face=""arial", "helvetica", sans-serif">Stories are all about whose story you're telling, and where you place the camera. Recent years have seen something of a craze for first person, present tense narratives, which some authors find easier to write but I often find excruciating to read — because seriously, who's that interesting? When I read fiction for pleasure, more often than not I want that panoramic view. Third person omniscient, that's my jam. </span><br />
<span face=""arial", "helvetica", sans-serif"><br /></span>
<span face=""arial", "helvetica", sans-serif">This is the conversation we're having right now about statues, and about renaming things. George Orwell said that "History is written by the winners," but if that's true, why are my nephews going to <a href="https://www.change.org/p/hanover-county-school-board-change-the-name-and-mascot-of-lee-davis-high-school-fbbeb1e0-87b6-4bdb-b1e9-6b5e0a0ee808">Lee-Davis High School</a>? Why does my niece go to Stonewall Jackson Middle School? Why does Richmond still have a giant statue of Robert E. Lee in the fanciest part of town? </span><br />
<span face=""arial", "helvetica", sans-serif"><br /></span>
<div><span face=""arial", "helvetica", sans-serif">These are not new questions, but people seem to be realizing it's stupid to still be asking them in 2020. The <a href="https://www.nbcnews.com/news/us-news/boston-christopher-columbus-statue-beheaded-richmond-statue-thrown-lake-n1229201">statues are getting dumped into rivers</a>. The rec center in Henrico County that used to be called Confederate Hills became <a href="https://www.facebook.com/tyrone.nelson.376/posts/10157185732431475">The Springs</a> today, with no fanfare. And of course, the intersection of 16th & H Streets NW is now <a href="https://finance.yahoo.com/news/google-maps-adds-marker-black-174004756.html">Black Lives Matter Plaza</a>. <br /></span></div><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-family: "arial";">To the people wringing their hands about these changes and wailing that we're destroying history, I ask: whose history? We're not changing any history. We're making more, and we're moving the camera. <br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: "arial";">Everybody stars in their own life story. Too many people have lived and died unseen and unremembered. If we restore the balance, that's <u>improving</u> history, not wrecking it. Be honest: how much did you know about Alexander Hamilton before the musical? <br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/CzOTqnMCyec" width="320" youtube-src-id="CzOTqnMCyec"></iframe></div><span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span></div><div><span face=""arial", "helvetica", sans-serif"></span></div>Ellen Clair Lambhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14944288413332520719noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7778441.post-25814573587000101152020-06-09T18:20:00.001-04:002020-06-09T18:20:41.239-04:00Why We Can't Think Straight <span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">At the <a href="http://www.arlingtonnaacp.com/2020-wearedonedying-rally.html">Arlington NAACP rally</a> the other day I ran into someone I know, but I did not recognize her. She was wearing sunglasses and a mask, so I don't feel too bad about that, but even after she teased me about not recognizing her, I could not remember her name. I still can't remember her name. I know <u>how</u> I know her. I know her Twitter handle. But I cannot remember her actual name. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I wish this was a rare occurrence, but it's happening more and more often. Another friend told me that it's happening to her too, and in exactly the same way: she can't keep a series of numbers in her head, she can't remember who's spoken in a meeting she's running. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">On this sample size of two, I infer that this is a widespread problem. It helps me a little, though, to think that I've figured out why. It's physics, it's metaphysics, and it's quantum physics. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We start with Newton's basic laws of motion:</span><br />
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<li><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">An object in motion tends to remain in motion, and an object at rest tends to remain at rest, unless acted upon by an outside force.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Force = an object's mass multiplied by its acceleration.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Every action produces an equal and opposite reaction.</span></li>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">From the work of Swiss polymath Leonhard Euler on how to measure force, we get the metaphysical idea of "impenetrability," which says that two objects cannot occupy the same place at the same time. Quantum physics pioneer Wolfgang Pauli confirmed this by determining that two identical fermions cannot occupy the same quantum state simultaneously. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So here's my brain, with far too many thoughts trying to occupy the same space, constantly bombarded with new information to shock and horrify and grieve me. My thoughts cannot come to rest. I have too many of them, moving too fast, and it's impossible to retrieve old information stored in happier times. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It's not my fault, dammit. It's<i> </i>science. <i>SCIENCE!</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The worst of it is that I cope with stress by filling all my idle time, and taking on more and more projects. That is inevitably self-defeating: the more I work, the less I sleep, the less productive I become, the more stressed I am, the more work I take on, until I finally wind up roaring at someone who has absolutely no idea where that dragon came from. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The corona dreams don't help. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span>Ellen Clair Lambhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14944288413332520719noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7778441.post-87230907985363788742020-06-08T11:30:00.000-04:002020-06-08T11:30:15.930-04:00How Diversity Saves Us<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I don't know everything. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This doesn't surprise you, I'm sure, but it surprises <u>me</u>. It surprises me daily. I didn't win "Jeopardy!", but I <u>did</u> win "Ben Stein's Money," so I have a certificate that confirms my identity as an Officially Smart Person. So imagine my frustration when I discover that in fact, I do <u>not</u> know everything . . . </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">. . . and that some of what I think I know is wrong. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Scary, right? Embarrassing. Downright infuriating, sometimes. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The easiest way to defend myself from those uncomfortable feelings is simply not to listen to anyone else, and to decline any new information that reveals or confirms my ignorance. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">See how crazy that sounds? But I do it every day, even when I know I'm doing it. We all do it. Nobody wants to be afraid or embarrassed or thwarted. But here's something I didn't figure out until <u>much</u> too late in life: People like to be asked. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">No, people <u>love</u> to be asked. There really aren't any stupid questions, because when you ask a question, people get to show you what they know that you don't. As it turns out, that's a lot. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When someone makes a nasty comment about "diversity hiring," what they're saying is that they already know everything they need to know, and people with experiences and backgrounds different from theirs have no knowledge they could benefit from. Do you want to work with people like that? I don't. I don't want to <u>be</u> a person like that. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Too many people in professional settings see colleagues as rivals, and the more differences they have from their colleagues, the worse the rivalry is — because if those differences are recognized and rewarded, they feel their own knowledge and skills are undervalued. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As a Facebook meme I saw this weekend pointed out, it doesn't work that way. It's not pie. (Mmm, pie.) <u>Value added is value added for everyone</u>. Everybody benefits from broadening the range of skills, knowledge, experience, and points of view. Young people know things that middle-aged people don't. (I still haven't figured out how to make my smart TV play Amazon Prime.) People of different races, genders, sexual identities, educational backgrounds, etc. all approach challenges from different angles, and that helps everyone. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">If you're reading this, these are all things you probably already know, but I do have a point, and it's to thank Mitt Romney for showing up on Black Lives Matter Plaza yesterday. Mitt Romney is a white, 73-year-old multimillionaire who's been married to the same woman almost as long as I've been alive, and whose political views diverge from mine on almost everything. But he too recognizes the reality of systemic racism and the urgent need to reform our policing structures. He'll have ideas for solutions that might not occur to a lot of his traditional political opponents, and he loves this country just as much as we do. We can have healthy disagreements that generate better answers for everyone, as long as we listen. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Mitt Romney showed up to listen yesterday, and I applaud that. He seems to understand that there are things he doesn't know, and he has resources most of us don't. Progress happens when we can recognize each other as allies. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>Ellen Clair Lambhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14944288413332520719noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7778441.post-83594092077502619332020-06-07T10:52:00.000-04:002020-06-07T10:52:30.190-04:00The Trauma of Change<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Change is always loss.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A therapist told me that back in the 1990s, and I argued with her. These were changes I <u>wanted</u> to make, changes I was <u>trying</u> to make, changes that would improve my own life and the lives of those around me. If I could make those changes, I said, everyone would be better off, including myself. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Yes, she said. She wasn't talking about net benefits. She wasn't denying the real anticipated gains. What makes change hard, she said, is that in the moment, <u>change is always loss</u>. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It has become one of the most valuable insights anyone's ever given me. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It's so hard to say, "I was wrong." It's hard to form a new habit, and it's even harder to break an old one. Every Sunday I open my beloved Panda Planner to the pages for the week ahead, where I set my goals and priorities, and I say I will walk at least half an hour a day and I will practice my guitar every day. Every Sunday, those pages ask me to evaluate the week that's just ended, and I have to admit that I didn't walk every day — sometimes I didn't walk <u>any</u> day — and I didn't do my guitar lesson every day, either. Because setting aside the half hour for walking or the half hour of guitar would mean that much less time fooling around on social media, or playing the New York Times Spelling Bee, or solving one of my four daily crossword puzzles (NYT, Washington Post, The Atlantic, and now The Daily Beast has one too). I'd have to give some of those things up. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And those are <u>small</u> things, those are <u>dumb</u> things. So how much harder is it to change big things? </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Years ago, a friend lost a significant amount of weight without surgery. He told me that one of the hardest things about it was the effect it had on his social life. He said he thought his bad eating and drinking habits had made his friends feel better about their own choices, to the extent of feeling that his presence gave them permission to indulge. Once he changed his eating habits, he felt less welcome, and it made him wonder why he'd ever been welcome at all. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This is <u>not</u> an excuse for not making the changes we need to make. It's a plea for kindness as we make those changes, and as the people around us make changes. Don't be skeptical about people's sincere desire to change, please. Don't mock us, please. You can ask how we plan to make amends, because the amends are what make these changes meaningful — but please, don't assume that past transgressions mean those changes aren't valuable and real. Like the <a href="https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=luke+15:11-32&version=NIV">prodigal son's father</a>, let's celebrate the changes, the return to what should be our common home. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It's only tangentially relevant, but this is the song that's in my head this morning. I never even was that much of a Wilson Phillips fan. </span><br />
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<br />Ellen Clair Lambhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14944288413332520719noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7778441.post-55713844743454947332020-06-05T13:53:00.001-04:002020-06-05T13:53:48.559-04:00The Importance of Showing Up<span style="font-family: "arial", "helvetica", sans-serif;">What a week it's been. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial", "helvetica", sans-serif;">Words are my business, but my words are inadequate for what's happening, and I'm asking myself what right I have to speak — except to say that none of this rot at the heart of our country is acceptable to me AT ALL. I want to be part of creating a new nation, conceived in liberty and dedicated to the proposition that ALL people are created equal, and endowed by their Creator with certain inalienable rights, and that among those are life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial", "helvetica", sans-serif;">Wouldn't that be nice? Here's Langston Hughes: </span><br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-family: "arial", "helvetica", sans-serif;">I am so tired of waiting,<br />Aren't you,<br />For the world to become good<br />And beautiful and kind?<br />Let us take a knife<br />And cut the world in two -<br />And see what worms are eating<br />At the rind. </span></blockquote>
<span style="font-family: "arial", "helvetica", sans-serif;">1930, he wrote that. He was 28 years old. And what's changed since then? </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial", "helvetica", sans-serif;">Well, some things. Some things. The Confederate Appomattox statue that used to be at Prince and Washington Streets in Alexandria is gone, spirited away in the night by the people who put it up in the first place. Governor Northam announced yesterday that the statue of Robert E. Lee on Monument Avenue in Richmond is coming down. Those are both good changes, things that reduce the message that Only Some People are welcome here. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial", "helvetica", sans-serif;">It's not enough. It won't be enough until everyone feels welcome and everyone feels safe. So tomorrow and Sunday I'll be at some marches, carrying a sign and putting my white-lady privilege to work for people who need it. I hope that's the effect, anyway. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial", "helvetica", sans-serif;">Most of the good things in my life have come to me just because I've shown up and said yes. That's the principle that drives my social activism, and I don't want it to be shallow or performative or virtue-signaling. I want to be counted. I want to bear witness. I want to make it easier for other people to show up, to be counted, to bear witness. Because silence becomes complicity. Silence is the enemy.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial", "helvetica", sans-serif;">Even if it's just a bunch of us who agree with each other showing up to congratulate ourselves on our virtue, it's important that the people who <u>don't</u> agree see how many of us there are. By showing up we strengthen and support each other, and we speak for the people who cannot speak for themselves anymore. People like Breonna Taylor, who should be celebrating her 27th birthday today. People like George Floyd. Ahmaud Arbery. Freddie Gray. Eric Garner. Trayvon Martin. Michael Brown. Sandra Bland. Amadou Diallo. So many more names. So many lost lives. Say their names. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial", "helvetica", sans-serif;"> </span> Ellen Clair Lambhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14944288413332520719noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7778441.post-68354072204237532922020-05-31T09:33:00.000-04:002020-05-31T11:30:33.036-04:00Renewing the Face of the Earth<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Today is Pentecost Sunday, commemorating the day on which the Holy Spirit descended upon the confused and mourning followers of Jesus. It might be my favorite feast day, even more than Christmas or Easter. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The story is in the <a href="https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Acts+2&version=NRSVCE">second chapter of Acts</a>: they were all together in one place, when a sound like violent wind swept through the building. Tongues of fire appeared among them and above them, and <u>suddenly they could understand each other</u>. They were all speaking their own languages, but because they were <u>listening</u> to each other — listening to each other with the power and in the presence of the Holy Spirit — <u>they understood each other.</u> </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The prayer to the Holy Spirit asks it to create us, so that through us the Holy Spirit can renew the face of the earth. We call the Holy Spirit "Paraclete," because that's <a href="https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=John+14&version=NRSVCE">how Jesus described it at the Last Supper</a>. He said he would ask the Father to send us a </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">παράκλητος, which depending on the translation might be an advocate, or a helper, or a comforter. The word literally means "called to one's side." </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Faith, <a href="https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=hebrews+11%3A1&version=NRSVCE">Paul told the Hebrews</a>, is the assurance of what we hope for and the evidence of what we don't see. The Holy Spirit boosts our faith, pulls us along when all we see is devastation. <i>You are better than this</i>, the Holy Spirit says. <i>You are not an accident. You have been created. You can make things better</i>. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Catholic tradition tells us that the Holy Spirit offers seven gifts: wisdom, understanding, counsel, fortitude, knowledge, piety, and fear of the Lord. If ever we needed those things, it's today—but that is true every day. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>Ellen Clair Lambhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14944288413332520719noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7778441.post-17731753947016801802020-05-30T12:38:00.000-04:002020-05-30T12:38:16.212-04:00Welcome home <span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The protestors in the
streets around the country are angry about a lot of things, with good reason. But first and foremost, they are homesick. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">If you know me at all, you've probably heard me say that homesickness is the universal human condition. Our lives begin with a violent separation from a place that is warm, dim but lit by a soft pink glow, quiet but filled with a soft and constant rhythm, where most of us get to float without hunger or thirst or anxiety for nine months. The world we're born into is loud and bright and cold. People are poking us and expecting things from the moment we emerge, and we have to ask to be fed. The outside world has its compensations, but we never quite forget that sense of home, of a place where we are always welcome and always cared for. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The worst thing one human being can say to another is "You don't belong here." But it's the first thing any group of people does, once we form. We do it for reasons that feel valid and justified. It conserves scarce resources, it reinforces bonds among the group, it makes it easier to protect ourselves. You might even say it's an evolutionary imperative. It's why we're walking the planet: because our ancestors belonged, or figured out a way to belong by forming new groups or insinuating themselves into existing ones. We're alive because <u>we</u> have either inherited that belonging, or learned how to join groups that protect us, or created those groups for ourselves. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Police within a society are responsible for protecting that society from people who cause harm. It can be a dangerous job, and the people who do it share a bond that creates its own group, with its own sense of who belongs and who doesn't. That's a necessary and understandable coping mechanism, but it becomes destructive when the police decide they get to say who belongs and who doesn't.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In the United States of America in 2020, a lot of us were prospering before the virus hit. How many of us were focused on protecting our groups, instead of on making sure that other people felt they too had a place to belong? </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Videos are circulating of Atlanta Chief of Police Erika Shields and Dallas Chief of Police Renée Hall walking through crowds of protestors last night—talking to them, treating them like citizens, like people who were where they were supposed to be in their own hometowns. That is the <u>only</u> way we'll get back to any kind of peaceful coexistence: by seeing each other, by talking to each other, by recognizing that these cities and this country and this planet are home to all of us, and each of us belongs just as much as everybody else. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This morning the man in the White House said tonight would be "MAGA NIGHT AT THE WHITE HOUSE." He has spent the last four years telling a lot of this country that they don't belong and they aren't welcome. What does his country look like, then? Is he the President only of those people? Where are the rest of us supposed to go, if we're not welcome in his country? </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Those questions have no acceptable answers. We have to find a way to welcome each other home again. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span>Ellen Clair Lambhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14944288413332520719noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7778441.post-65561017577498038682020-05-29T09:48:00.001-04:002020-05-29T09:51:54.364-04:00Love Now, Peace Later<div>
<span style="font-family: arial;">Spotify threw me some Doobie Brothers this morning. It's in my playlists because I was a kid in the 1970s and I still love this song, but I also wonder whether they tweaked the algorithms today.</span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: arial;">You, telling me the things</span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: arial;">You're gonna do for me</span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: arial;">I ain't blind and I don't like</span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: arial;">What I think I see</span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: arial;">I cannot stand to watch the video from Minneapolis, but I am not allowing myself to look away. If you're here to wring your hands about how sad it is for people to be burning down their own neighborhoods, you can click away right now. Because all that's happening in Minneapolis is that the physical world is manifesting what's been going on institutionally, economically, psychologically, and spiritually for too damn long, and now we're finally <u>seeing</u> it in a way we can no longer ignore. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: arial;">How much work do we — do <i>I</i> — put in to ignoring the pain and injustice that surround us every day? How many of the people around us — around <i>me</i> — are invisible because they don't look like us or sound like us? </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: arial;">The stories I write almost all turn out to be about the power of invisible women in a world that disregards them. But I don't have any idea what it <i>really</i> means to be invisible, because if I ever wanted to, I — like most middle-aged white women — could transform myself into Karen, the Woman Who Wants to Talk to the Manager. (And I say that with all apologies to at least three—no, four— dear friends named Karen. Sorry!) </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: arial;">The Karen superpower exists for reasons that I could defend on another day, but it's always used to punch down, which is never, ever, ever okay. It's rooted in a fundamental misunderstanding of this society's power dynamics, and that misunderstanding is no longer excusable. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: arial;">The people on the streets of Minneapolis are demanding, <i>What will it take for you to see us? Do we have to set things on fire? </i>Apparently they do. Apparently, that <u>is</u> what it took. God help us all if we don't figure out a way to see each other. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: arial;">You can donate to the <a href="https://minnesotafreedomfund.org/">Minnesota Freedom Fund</a>, which is bailing protestors out of jail, <a href="https://minnesotafreedomfund.org/donate">here</a>. Support for that organization has been so strong that they suggest you donate to these other local organizations: </span></div>
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<li><a href="https://secure.everyaction.com/4omQDAR0oUiUagTu0EG-Ig2"><span style="font-family: "arial";">Black Visions Collective</span></a></li>
<li><a href="https://secure.everyaction.com/zae4prEeKESHBy0MKXTIcQ2"><span style="font-family: "arial";">Reclaim the Block</span></a></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "arial";"><a href="https://www.northstarhealthcollective.org/donate">Northstar Health Collective (medics)</a></span></li>
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<span style="font-family: arial;">You can buy a book from <a href="https://moonpalacebooks.com/">Moon Palace Books</a>, which is right in the middle of the conflict zone, <a href="https://moonpalacebooks.com/">here</a>.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: arial;">The front page of the Minnesota Freedom Fund says, "Love Now, Peace Later." That's a prayer I can get behind. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: arial;">Love now. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: arial;">Peace later.</span></div>
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Ellen Clair Lambhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14944288413332520719noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7778441.post-13015150304592887862020-05-28T08:10:00.000-04:002020-05-28T08:12:37.663-04:00Short Attention Span Theater<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I joined <a href="https://twitter.com/ECLamb">Twitter</a> because a PR client wanted me to.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">This was spring 2007, Twitter was barely a year old, and I did not see the point of it. It felt self-referential to the point of narcissism. It reaches only the people who have chosen to join, I said, and not that many people had chosen to join, so why spend the time?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Everyone in publishing is on Twitter, they said.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">That turned out to be true. It's still true—which is the official reason I don't quit it—but over the past 13 years it's become essential to my work and social life in ways I could not have imagined, and am not always sure are healthy. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">For people who work from home, as I mostly did even before the lockdown, Twitter is an online break room. Since the lockdown, it's become even more important. </span>Although I subscribe to at least half a dozen newspapers and magazines online, Twitter is my primary news feed. It's my main outlet for social interaction. It's my major source of new friends since I moved back to DC. I don't <u>think</u> I've gotten any new clients through Twitter, but I might have. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The PR client who originally wanted me to join is no longer on Twitter personally at all, although someone runs an account for their brand. Too time-consuming, they said, and too much of a distraction. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I can't argue with that. It's a <u>massive</u> distraction, and worse than ever now because the pandemic has destroyed my attention span. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">That's an almost universal experience, right? We've all lost our attention spans, haven't we? (Please reassure me by saying yes.) A Twitter pal—yes, I get the irony—starts every day online with a box-breath meditation, and sometimes I try to follow his example, but I can't seem to allow myself to stop that long. If I stop long enough to <u>breathe</u> and <u>focus</u>, I am paralyzed by fear, I dissolve in tears, or both.<u> </u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><u>And I am the luckiest person I know in this situation</u>. I have much less reason to be fearful or sad than the vast majority of other people living through this. And I could be doing more to help those people. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I need to be back around people because I'm afraid I don't know <u>how</u> to be around people anymore. I need to be away from screens from some sustained period of time, and I need to just listen to somebody else talk for a while without interruption or distraction. These aren't things that come naturally, I suspect. They're learned skills, and I'm forgetting how to do those things. </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The District of
Columbia and northern Virginia are reopening tomorrow. I am not even
sure what that means, except that next week I'll go back to my office,
even if I have to walk.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Anyway, the original point of this post was that the President is probably not the only person who needs to step away from Twitter—but I seem to have made my point about short attention spans and the challenge of holding a sustained thought these days. Show, don't tell, the writing books say . . .</span></span></div>
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Ellen Clair Lambhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14944288413332520719noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7778441.post-68789701725280700772020-05-27T08:51:00.003-04:002020-05-27T08:54:56.111-04:00Dreams in the Time of Corona<i><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I had this dream that I relished</span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The fray</span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">And the screaming filled my head all day</span></i><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">("Nautical Disaster," The Tragically Hip) </span><i><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> </span></i><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">We're all having crazy dreams, right? I don't usually remember mine, but I've started sleeping in four-hour stretches. If I rouse myself when I wake up at the end of those four hours—if I turn on a light, or check my phone, or try to read—I regret it, because I can rarely get back to sleep after that. But if I keep the lights off and my eyes closed, and count backwards or say prayers or recite song lyrics in my head, I usually <u>do</u> fall back asleep, and that's when the dreams come. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The dreams these days fall into three categories: </span><br />
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<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Dreams in which I am lost, even in familiar settings, where hallways do not lead to expected destinations or roads peter out</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Dreams in which I am unprepared, such as realizing that my high school senior speech is the next day and I haven't even chosen a topic</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Dreams in which I cannot fix whatever's broken, whether it's a car that won't start or a window that shatters or a washing machine that overflows</span></li>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Nothing here requires much insight. Who could have prepared for this? Even the doomsday preppers seem unequipped. We have no realistic models to project outcomes. We lack the information we need to make good decisions.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">This morning I decided to have an English muffin and an orange for breakfast. I am already second-guessing the lack of protein. I should have put peanut butter on the English muffin. Maybe I'll have eggs for lunch. That's the level of planning I feel capable of right now. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Yesterday I covered a "virtual roundtable" in the House of Representatives—their rules don't allow hearings that don't take place in person—during which a panelist (not witness, because this wasn't a hearing) said that the stock market is a leading indicator of the economy, showing how investors expect the economy to perform about six months from now. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">My eyes rolled so hard I might have injured my optic nerve. If this were <u>ever</u> true—and I'm not at all sure it was—this is nothing but wishful thinking right now. Right now our stock market is nothing more than a virtual game of <a href="https://boardgamegeek.com/boardgame/140/pit">Pit</a>. It's about the transactions, and I find it increasingly hard to believe it's tied to any underlying intrinsic value. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Of course, this might be why I'm not rich. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/e8Fi46BFAF0" width="560"></iframe></span><br />Ellen Clair Lambhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14944288413332520719noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7778441.post-35546360811519033102020-05-26T08:36:00.002-04:002020-05-26T08:36:39.990-04:00Pandemic Time<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When I pulled the milk jug out of the refrigerator this morning, the date caught my eye: </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">SELL BY</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">MAY 21</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">What day is it? I had to check my phone. It's May 26, which you may or may not already have known. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Reader, I put that milk in my coffee anyway. And it's fine, or at least it doesn't taste terrible, and I'm not dead yet. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But it's one more symptom of the bizarre time dilation of the Great Lockdown. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">March, everyone agreed, lasted <u>forever</u>. We didn't know what was happening, day to day, and everything hung in a strange suspension that made things scheduled a week away feel as if they might as well be the next year. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But since everything shut down, I don't know where the time has gone. I would be hard-pressed to tell you one specific thing that happened in April, although my daughter's birthday was the 10th and Easter happened somewhere in there. I <u>think</u> April was when my dad got off the <i>Zaandam</i>—and yes, I just checked, he got home on April 3. I know I baked a cake for my mom's birthday (May 1) even though she hasn't been around to celebrate for a long time. Yesterday was Memorial Day, the earliest possible day that Memorial Day can be. And next week is June already.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A friend of mine has been knocking a year off her age for as long as I've known her. She took care of her father as he died of cancer, and she considers that a lost year that shouldn't count against her age. That feels reasonable, especially now. Will we all be allowed to cut three months, six months, a year off our age for the Year of COVID-19? </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Age is not something I think much about. I started out younger than everybody, and it surprises me to find I'm often the oldest in the (virtual) room these days. But if it's just a number, I feel entitled to stay 54 for another six months, at least. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">At the recommendation of the great and gifted <a href="https://www.laurabenedict.com/">Laura Benedict</a>, I started using a <a href="https://pandaplanner.com/">Panda Planner</a> to organize my life last year (last year? 2018? I have no idea). It's been transformational, but these days it feels performative instead of constructive. Every day it asks me to list three things I'm grateful for, which vary day to day (today: sunshine, grilled cheese, Spotify podcasts) and three things I'm looking forward to, which gets increasingly baffling. Saying I look forward to the things I <u>do</u> look forward to—cookouts with my family, afternoon hangouts in bars with my friends, <a href="https://www.mlb.com/nationals">NATIONALS BASEBALL</a>—without knowing when any of those things might happen again just makes me sad. Which is contrary to the point of the Panda Planner. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It's hang time, I tell myself. Just hang time. Which makes me think of the beautiful song about this by Fountains of Wayne and the late Adam Schlesinger, another victim of this stupid virus. So I'll leave you with that today, and try to feel the wealth of having all kinds of time. </span><br />
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<br />Ellen Clair Lambhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14944288413332520719noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7778441.post-49190855871987265832020-05-25T10:39:00.000-04:002020-05-25T11:03:52.545-04:00Meditations in an Emergency<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Well into the third month of the COVID-19 lockdown feels like a good time to revive this blog. I'd change the name, but I'm going to leave it as both accusation and reminder: I don't have all the answers, and the answers I have aren't especially useful. I bought a <a href="https://flyingedna.com/collections/brians-latest-prints/products/curious-mind-print">wall hanging from the brilliant Brian Andreas</a> to reinforce the point: </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I won't buy a frame for it until the lockdown ends, but it's propped up on my nightstand so I can see it every day. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">A strange momentum carried me and many others through the first few weeks of lockdown, and I know this was especially true for my relatives and friends who have kids at home. So many logistical details to deal with, so many things to cancel and rearrange and shore up. Lists to make, priorities to identify. Ten weeks in, I'm floating in a windless ocean with no map and no means of propulsion. I could be out here indefinitely. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Paradoxically, my work is busier than it's been in years. I'm deeply grateful for that, and I'm sharing as much of that prosperity as I can. Anything I would ordinarily have spent on Metro or Lyft, at baseball games and concerts, on road trips, is going to food banks and women's shelters and clinics and out-of-work performers. It's not enough.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">That's what I'm struggling with this morning: <i>it's not enough</i>. Today is a work day for me, because it has to be. I have at least three emails in my inbox that are asking me for things I don't feel capable of today, and I haven't opened them because I'm afraid of what that feels like. Some of it's justified, some of it's not, some of these requests are unreasonable and not things that should be coming my way. The internal monologue runs: </span><br />
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><i> <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Why am I feeling so afraid? </span></i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> Afraid of
what? </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Afraid
of not being enough.</span></i><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Enough
for whom? </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><i>Afraid
of being judged and found wanting.</i></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span></i><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">By
whom?</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><i>Afraid
of being held in contempt</i>. </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Again,
<u>by whom</u>? </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><i>By
[professional colleague's name redacted]</i>.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Fuck
that guy.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Is "fuck that guy" kind? Is it helpful? Is it necessary? No, no, and yes. </span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">So the day begins. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Are you figuring out how to be enough? What are you doing about it? And how <u>are</u> things with you? <span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></span></div>
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<br />Ellen Clair Lambhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14944288413332520719noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7778441.post-82159663786675254162019-04-06T12:51:00.001-04:002019-04-06T13:36:17.734-04:00On Godwin's Law<i>As an online discussion grows longer, the probability of a comparison involving Nazis or Hitler approaches one.</i><br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
<i>—<a href="https://www.wired.com/1994/10/godwin-if-2/">Mike Godwin</a> </i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Years ago my friend Eileen and I visited the <a href="https://www.kz-gedenkstaette-dachau.de/index-e.html">Dachau memorial</a> in Munich. The first surprise was how we got there: we took the S-Bahn to the Dachau stop, then an ordinary city bus that ran through a<i> </i>pleasant residential suburb — streets of houses that run almost right up to the gate of the camp. I'd imagined Dachau, or any concentration camp, out in some remote area far from human habitation, where atrocities could happen out of people's sight and minds. Dachau's not like that at all. It's situated more like the Naval Academy in Annapolis, a large institution in full view at one edge of town. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br />
<i></i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
It's hard to imagine how a town could go about its business with 30,000 being starved and worked to death in their backyard. But of course it didn't <u>start</u> that way. It started with the announcement of a camp for political prisoners, mostly Germans, numbering 5,000 at most. Adolf Hitler had just taken office, and Heinrich Himmler, who was Munich's Chief of Police as well as <i>Reichsführer </i>of the SS<i>, </i>was a man known for his organizational skills. Dachau was the first concentration camp he set up, and it became, as he intended, a model for all the others. It was orderly. It was discreet. It offered employment to hundreds, even thousands of men who had been too long unemployed in Weimar Germany. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
This week Kris Kobach, the former Kansas Secretary of State who is openly campaigning for the yet-to-be-created position of "immigration czar" in the Trump administration, told Lou Dobbs that the US should "create processing towns that are confined" for refugees at the border — "We process them right there, in that camp," he said. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
The United States is a vast country. The neighborhood I live in — Pentagon City, Arlington County, Virginia — is one of the wealthiest in the country, and about to get a lot wealthier as it becomes the site of one of Amazon's new headquarters. The Texas-Mexico border is approximately 1,500 miles away. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
It's upsetting and unpleasant to watch the images on the news, to read about the families being separated and the children being taken from their parents — practices, I should say, that did not start with this administration, but have certainly gotten worse. It's alarming to hear the President of the United States say on camera, "These aren’t people, these are animals." </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Godwin's Law, cited above, evolved as a tongue-in-cheek observation about how quickly people compare things they don't like to the worst human crimes imaginable. The danger of these comparisons is that when it <u>is</u> time to compare something to the Nazis, the comparison has lost its power. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
But I think about Dachau. I think about how happy people were to have jobs. I think about how it all seemed benign, even worthwhile, in 1933. I think about the 30,000 prisoners liberated in April 1945, and how thousands of them died <u>anyway</u>, after liberation, because it was too late to save them from starvation, typhus, and everything else they'd been put through. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Twelve years passed between Dachau's opening and its liberation. You can get used to a lot over the course of twelve years. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I do not want to get used to any of this, but I don't know what to do. I'm running a voter registration table in my building later this month. I just sent another $50 to <a href="http://www.catholiccharitiesrgv.org/Home.aspx">Catholic Charities of the Rio Grande Valley</a>. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
And I think it's time to start talking about Hitler. To hell with Godwin's Law.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br />
<i></i></div>
Ellen Clair Lambhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14944288413332520719noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7778441.post-40068961561394696142019-03-15T16:27:00.003-04:002019-03-15T16:27:40.760-04:00Enough<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSYbNxbSCBDSbRyTJFD4PdvCfkAu7UyPpNmoqcN-Rn4e21KT88VQUoAn7QovKOmz-tcROHHogcgzuGRwq0cm-ukg1aB3ZhVWFTn_R1vrUZBvow5elk_IgfNuEk55ufRqX4vmRe/s1600/NZ+flag.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="159" data-original-width="318" height="100" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSYbNxbSCBDSbRyTJFD4PdvCfkAu7UyPpNmoqcN-Rn4e21KT88VQUoAn7QovKOmz-tcROHHogcgzuGRwq0cm-ukg1aB3ZhVWFTn_R1vrUZBvow5elk_IgfNuEk55ufRqX4vmRe/s200/NZ+flag.png" width="200" /></a></div>
I saw the reports of the Christchurch massacre just before I went to bed last night. I haven't been able to read the full coverage of it yet. I want to read the names of the people who died, I want to learn more about their stories, but I haven't been able to bring myself to look because I don't want to know a damn thing about their killer.<br />
<br />
Or maybe I do, because the question no one ever asks or answers is, "What would be <u>enough</u> for you?" Asking what they <u>want</u> is missing the point. The answers to that question are always some kind of performance that boils down to MORE. More space (remember <a href="https://encyclopedia.ushmm.org/content/en/article/lebensraum"><i>Lebensraum</i></a>?), more privilege, more respect, more money, more love, more more more more more more more. Presumably they think whoever they're killing is taking that away from them, or keeping them away from it. They never go after the people who actually <u>have</u> more power or money or freedom than they do. (That wouldn't be okay, either, but at least it would be understandable.)<br />
<br />
No, the question is, "What is <u>enough</u>?" If you feel you have enough, you don't have to pay attention to what anyone else is getting. You don't have to try to take anything away from the people around you.<br />
<br />
What would be enough to make these men feel whole? And what would be enough to stop them? <br />
<br />
<br />Ellen Clair Lambhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14944288413332520719noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7778441.post-72259699294890933632019-03-13T08:08:00.002-04:002019-03-13T08:10:51.406-04:00Transatlantic<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ88lII2xyMyJL1LomCaZXrgBsHRxg_XIrNjV8Pt4vhkgD7Mf4UrdPexHjp8f4jH8k3NqVfPqkwvI3VmMiK2QrG-SX5qVTm6tQ5K18wuYNDCWNpkpsOqK75L6NsY5tILUQB5Eu/s1600/Best+seat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ88lII2xyMyJL1LomCaZXrgBsHRxg_XIrNjV8Pt4vhkgD7Mf4UrdPexHjp8f4jH8k3NqVfPqkwvI3VmMiK2QrG-SX5qVTm6tQ5K18wuYNDCWNpkpsOqK75L6NsY5tILUQB5Eu/s200/Best+seat.jpg" width="150" /></a></div>
The plane from Belfast left late — high winds gusting across Great Britain — and my connection in Terminal 5 was very tight, from the A gates to the B gates in less than an hour. I was carrying my giant Bag of Stuff and am not a runner even when I'm empty-handed, but I made it to the plane to Dulles with about 15 minutes to spare. I lugged my bag down the aisle, down the aisle, down the aisle . . . to my seat, 55E, a middle seat in the very last row of the plane.<br />
<br />
"Hurray!" I said to no one. "It's the worst seat on the plane. What do I win?"<br />
<br />
The voice in my head was my mother's: <i>You get to fly across the Atlantic Ocean</i>.<br />
<br />
Talk about coming to grips with privilege. Among my mother's belongings is an old photograph of some distant ancestor — I <u>think</u> of her grandmother Molony's mother, whose married name was Cahill — with nothing on the back but the printed word BELFAST. My aunt Patricia might have known who the woman in the picture was, but she's gone now too.<br />
<br />
I don't know the date of the photograph, but my guess is somewhere around 1880. People had their photographs made before leaving on the great journey, and for most of them it was the first time they'd ever had their picture taken. The exposure time required the subject to be still, so no one smiled. They might not have wanted to, anyway. However much they wanted to leave for America, it was almost certain they'd never be back. That young woman was about to spend six days in steerage on a ship crossing the north Atlantic, all so I could whine about a less-than-luxurious seat on a flying missile returning me home after a weekend of fun.<br />
<br />
And this voice is my mother's too: <i>Who do you think you <u>are</u>? </i>The tactical nuclear weapon of the Irish mammy, however many generations removed from the homeland. On a good day, I can say it and laugh; on a bad day, it still sends me to my knees. But it's damn useful as a meditation, and serves a vast spectrum of purposes.<br />
<br />
It might be useful for a few of the people in this morning's news, from the <a href="https://www.washingtonpost.com/local/education/from-master-coach-to-a-bribery-probe-a-college-consultant-who-went-off-the-rails/2019/03/12/3e3a6bfe-4501-11e9-aaf8-4512a6fe3439_story.html?utm_term=.1b044f4db125">mind-boggling college admissions scandal</a> (who even knew Georgetown had a tennis team?) to <a href="https://www.washingtonpost.com/sports/2019/03/09/now-this-is-story-all-about-how-bryce-harpers-spring-debut-went/?utm_term=.d755bfc8f796">Bryce Harper</a>. But I'm <a href="https://www.biblehub.com/matthew/7-5.htm">working on the plank in my own eye </a>before tending to the motes in others', so I'll keep it to myself.<br />
<i> </i><br />
<i> </i>Ellen Clair Lambhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14944288413332520719noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7778441.post-35359499566876103422019-03-09T04:11:00.002-05:002019-03-09T04:14:51.716-05:00Homelands<br />
<div style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">
I'm in Belfast this weekend for a<a href="https://www.noireland.com/"> crime fiction convention</a>, and it feels a lot like home to me. That's not Irish-American sentimentality, although at least one of my ancestors left from here. It's about being among a group of people I am glad to see, who are glad to see me. It's about taking common delight in something separate from us and sharing the human magic of storytelling.</div>
<br />
<a href="about:invalid#zClosurez" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Image result for europa hotel" border="0" class="irc_mut" data-iml="1552122753423" height="212" 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" style="margin-top: 16px;" width="320" /></a>I never know what to say when people ask me where I'm from. I was born in New Rochelle, New York, a place I never lived; my mother was staying with her parents in Larchmont while my father (our father, since I'm a twin) was in the South China Sea. But she wasn't from Larchmont, and neither were her parents. They were from Charleston, living the peripatetic life of a corporate lawyer. My mother had been born at Georgetown University Hospital, when my grandfather was an attorney with the Reconstruction Finance Corporation.<br />
<br />
Anyway, before my eighth birthday I had lived in Larchmont; in Coronado, California; in Norfolk, Virginia; in the Bronx; in Fairfax, Virginia; and in Virginia Beach, where I stayed until I was sixteen. From that point until my mid-thirties I moved every year or two, simply because that felt normal.<br />
<br />
I say all the time that the universal human condition is homesickness. That's obviously based on my own experience, but I suspect most people just don't realize that's the name for what they feel. Even people who have lived in the same place all their lives feel it, and why is that?<br />
<br />
It's because we were somewhere before we were here. At a minimum, we were in the salt sea of our mothers' wombs. If you believe in a world beside this one, that's where we were before that. Some piece of us remembers that, I think — or <i>almost</i> remembers that, and that <i>almost</i> is the longing for the home we can't name.<br />
<br />
We want to believe that we have come from somewhere, that we are going somewhere, and that mysteries have solutions. This is why we have religions. This is why we have crime fiction. Ellen Clair Lambhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14944288413332520719noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7778441.post-32403790547225661952019-03-06T08:47:00.001-05:002019-03-06T08:47:59.624-05:00Ash Wednesday, 2019<i>Because I do not hope to turn again</i><br />
<i>Because I do not hope</i><br />
<i>Because I do not hope to turn again</i><br />
<i>Desiring this man's gift and that man's scope</i><br />
<br />
T.S. Eliot thought a lot about <a href="https://genius.com/Ts-eliot-ash-wednesday-annotated">Ash Wednesday</a>, obviously. Through the wonders of the internet, we can listen to him reading it himself:<br />
<i> </i><br />
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<i> </i><br />
This was his "conversion poem," the story of his embracing and renouncing. Lent is all about embracing and renouncing, and I'm reviving this blog for the duration as this year's Lenten observance. Exactly what form it will take is still unclear to me: my goal for Lent this year is to come to grips with my privilege and what it requires. Gratitude, first, but obligations too.<br />
<br />
We don't see our privilege — or I should say, <i>I</i> don't see <i>my </i>privilege — because I'm always looking up. Most of us live aspirational lives, always trying to do more, earn more, live better (whatever "better" means). We don't look at the people who are aspiring to <i>our</i> lives. And so I whine about the invisibility of being middle-aged and overweight and female, and forget how that invisibility can be a superpower. I listen to colleagues describe their fancy vacations and wonder when I last took a "real" vacation, forgetting that I have work that lets me go almost anywhere whenever I like. I grumble at the unacknowledged volunteer work and retaliate by failing to acknowledge the work of my fellow volunteers.<br />
<br />
<i>Consequently I rejoice, having to construct something </i><br />
<i>Upon which to rejoice</i><br />
<br />
Life goes only one way. The worst of grief, pain, anger, envy is the illusion that we <i>could</i> go back and fix things or regain what we lost. So for Lent I want to remember to look forward, to cherish my privilege, and to share as much of it as I can.<br />
<i> </i>Ellen Clair Lambhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14944288413332520719noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7778441.post-818540714217648212018-10-31T11:40:00.002-04:002018-11-01T00:23:27.460-04:00On HalloweenI woke up this morning to the news that the daughter of friends had died yesterday, much too young, much too cruelly. Crime fiction is a small and tight-knit community, and we mostly love each other a lot (with the necessary exceptions who just make the bonds among the rest of us feel even stronger). It's not true that pain shared is pain lessened, but we're grieving together today, and cherishing our friends even more. <br />
<br />
It's a dark time of year, literally and spiritually. These three days — Halloween, All Saints' Day, All Souls' Day — originated in the pagan recognition that veils get thin around this time of year. Time starts slipping, and the mortal peril we all constantly live in becomes a little more visible and immediate. Winter is coming. <u> </u><br />
<br />
<u>Something</u> exists at the edges, something we can't quite see, something our brains are too small to understand. Energy is neither created nor destroyed, merely converted from one state to another. We know this in our bones, we feel it in the crawling of our skin and the cold dread that gathers at the solar plexus when we feel ourselves sliding away.<br />
<br />
We can lie down and let it take us, or we can fight it off with masks and jokes and human-built monsters. We can rise up behind our defenders — the saints, Michael the Archangel, the Marvel Comics Universe, whatever works. (It's hardly a coincidence that superheroes have come to dominate our popular culture as organized religion ebbs away.)<br />
<br />
Every living creature fights for life. It's our first job, the most important job—and we pretty much have to pretend it will continue indefinitely, or how would we ever get anything done?<br />
<br />
Once a year, from up on the tightrope, we let ourselves look down. We might have to dress up to do it, and it might require the fortification of candy. Through the veil, we wave at the things we don't understand, at the night that will eventually take us all.<br />
<br />
Happy Halloween.<br />
<br />
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<br />Ellen Clair Lambhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14944288413332520719noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7778441.post-42845752790496724982017-08-17T22:55:00.000-04:002017-08-17T22:55:09.567-04:00On Complicity
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">But the tax collector
stood at a distance. He would not even look up to heaven, but beat his breast
and said, “God have mercy on me, a sinner.” </i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Luke 18:13</i></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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My father had surgery, several years ago, for a congenital
hand malformation — he can correct me on this, but I think the disorder is
called <span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><a href="http://www.mayoclinic.org/diseases-conditions/dupuytrens-contracture/basics/definition/con-20024378">Dupuytren's contracture</a>. It causes the hand to bend in upon
itself, and surgery is the only real remedy for advanced cases. My father
recovered well enough to go back to sea afterward. </span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Dupuytren’s contracture is not terribly
common, but it’s not that rare, either. My father’s doctor told him that it was
called the Viking disease, because it appears almost entirely in people of
Viking descent. </span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Dad and I have both had our DNA
analyzed by <a href="https://www.23andme.com/">23 and Me</a>, and we don’t have that much Scandinavian blood,
according to the ancestry report (although we do share ancestry with <a href="https://www.irishcentral.com/roots/niall-took-no-hostages-43038522-237784201">Niall of the Nine Hostages</a>, so maybe we actually were kings of Ireland once). But
Ireland was a land of shipwrecks and invasions, and the Vikings were all over
the island, so at some point, some Viking took an Irish girl as his willing or
unwilling partner.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I think about that a lot, as I think
about my earliest maternal ancestor, a member of the relatively rare H13
haplogroup. Most living members of that haplogroup still live in a small pocket
of the Caucasus Mountains, or around the Caspian Sea. But
thousands of years ago, a girl child wandered — or was taken, or sold — west,
and her descendants kept going. </span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Somewhere along the way, someone in my
ancestry was forced into something that she did not want to do. And someone
else in my ancestry did the forcing. </span></div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">My mother’s family was from Charleston,
South Carolina. Her parents met and married there in the 1930s, when my grandfather
was a public defender and my grandmother wrote for the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">News & Courier</i>. They were both Catholics of Irish descent, but
my grandmother’s father, Henry Molony, had been a wealthy man, wiped out by the
Depression. </span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpIcxUm06enIaH8hGgS2VV-svJU5M441nwX9s00Ni7V0BJpq7MlJEPXcrKP5vqgNvq7-7UBCq_-ycg8RfrO9IEVQK2ng8wWG7bcd_akjx6kJ7ziAv4sRtREQWMuYW3YtHJrOUm/s1600/Henry+Molony.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="160" data-original-width="120" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpIcxUm06enIaH8hGgS2VV-svJU5M441nwX9s00Ni7V0BJpq7MlJEPXcrKP5vqgNvq7-7UBCq_-ycg8RfrO9IEVQK2ng8wWG7bcd_akjx6kJ7ziAv4sRtREQWMuYW3YtHJrOUm/s1600/Henry+Molony.jpg" /></a></div>
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Henry Molony was born in the U.S. in 1858. His father, John
Molony, had come to Charleston from County Clare in 1845, and had kept a shop
in Charleston until the war. John Molony owned no slaves. When the war came, he
moved his store to Sumter, SC, and raised seven children. From what I can tell,
he was not a Confederate. But one of his daughters married a Confederate veteran,
and at least one of his sons — my great-grandfather, Henry — prospered in
part by allying himself with the Democratic Party, which was not the Democratic
Party as we know it today. </div>
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<br /></div>
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Henry Molony was an official of <a href="http://charlestoncathedral.com/">St. John’s Cathedral</a>, a
donor to many worthy causes, a founder of hospitals and a man of honor
— but he was also, without a doubt, a man who apologized for the causes of
the Confederacy and conspired to keep its memory bright. He left ten children,
who have gone on to have hundreds of children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren of their own
— my mother didn’t know all her cousins. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And every one of us — the hundreds, or even thousands — is a
beneficiary of Henry Molony’s complicity. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Colonization was America’s original sin, but <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">slavery</i> was the foundational sin, and
its repercussions still echo, 150 years after it was outlawed. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We’re not good at atonement, humans. We don’t like to admit
we’ve done wrong. Adam and Eve, confronted with their first wrongdoing, lied
about it. Lying is what distinguishes humans from other animals; it keeps us
separate from God, separate from each other, separate from the real. </div>
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<br /></div>
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So here’s my point, at last: Charlottesville gives us all an
opportunity to tell the truth. White Americans, and southerners in particular,
are all complicit in some way. It doesn’t matter that we never held slaves ourselves.
It doesn’t matter that our parents didn’t. It doesn’t even matter if our
grandparents were public defenders (and I’ll say again, mine was). We had — and have —
opportunities because somewhere along the way, somebody else suffered. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
If we inherited the benefits, we inherited the obligations,
too. It doesn’t matter if we’re not racists now. We can still do more. We can
still make things better. </div>
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<br /></div>
Ellen Clair Lambhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14944288413332520719noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7778441.post-38004981626990113512017-05-28T22:30:00.000-04:002017-05-28T22:30:11.128-04:00On the return of "Twin Peaks"We're four episodes in to the return of "Twin Peaks," and I'm locked in for the duration. I loved the first season of the original show, to the point of hosting a party for the second-season premiere, complete with cherry pie and dozens of doughnuts. I stuck with the second season through the silliness of the Miss Twin Peaks pageant, and Audrey Horne's icky romance with John Justice Wheeler, and Josie's disappearance into the drawer handle. I saw <i>Twin Peaks: Fire Walk With Me</i> in the theater and didn't understand it at all, though it is a movie that improves with repeated viewings, maybe because the brain insists on imposing some kind of order on it.<br />
<br />
The inevitable backlash has already begun, from fans of the original series who expected something different from David Lynch — or to be more accurate, <i>expected</i> anything. Four episodes in, Lynch is already making it clear that all expectations are contrary to his agenda.<br />
<br />
With no expectations, I am experiencing the return of "Twin Peaks" as a gift from a wise friend I haven't seen in a while. Four episodes in, this is what I'm taking from it:<br />
<br />
We get old.<br />
<br />
We get lost.
<br />
<br />
We forget who we meant to be, and if we are very lucky, someone reminds us in a way that gives us time to do something about that.
<br />
<br />
We are grateful, so grateful, for the companions we managed to keep along the journey, who are often not the people we’d have expected to stand with us.
<br />
<br />
The mysteries are more baffling because we (okay, I) have gotten to an age at which we think we’ve seen a lot, and we think we know things.
<br />
<br />
We understand that the universe is neither friendly nor hostile to us. It simply <i>is</i>, around us and within us. And it favors entropy.
<br />
<br />
Once we notice that entropy, we cannot stop noticing it — except we have to stop noticing it, or else we would never be able to get anything done. It’s the paradox of not being able to get halfway out of a chair, then halfway again, then halfway again. Eventually we must pretend some order is possible, and those moments when we remember otherwise are disorienting, even paralyzing.<br />
<br />
It’s an absurd life we’re living, in an absurd world, in an absurd universe. The order we impose upon it is skin deep, and fragile.
<br />
<br />
These are the central truths of “Twin Peaks.” They strike me as the central truths of life on this planet.<br />
<br />
They're working for me so far.<br />
Ellen Clair Lambhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14944288413332520719noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7778441.post-64712125483821128932017-01-20T11:09:00.000-05:002017-01-20T11:09:19.959-05:00On being wrong, and the benefit of the doubt<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
Good morning, Americans. Good morning, world.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
Today the United States follows one of the most important rituals of our government, the peaceful<span style="color: #0000ee;"><u> </u></span>transfer of executive power from one individual to another. If you know me at all, you know that the recipient of this power is not the person I supported. I'm out of town today, and won't watch the ceremony.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF-bGiRRulQ8mknHL5xFvxY8CPFwtmA4XoklLhM8ewvhbjFg_hx6zjkewSP8iEfYWaaAk4EAkrerkCTJx86-v2ze9TZ-_947juVcclihoC_W6boKweqXDvR7xHeYVzL3eIuGme/s1600/flag.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF-bGiRRulQ8mknHL5xFvxY8CPFwtmA4XoklLhM8ewvhbjFg_hx6zjkewSP8iEfYWaaAk4EAkrerkCTJx86-v2ze9TZ-_947juVcclihoC_W6boKweqXDvR7xHeYVzL3eIuGme/s1600/flag.jpg" /></a></div>
But I'm still an American. And I'm still alive. And the distinguishing feature of Americans, if we have one, is optimism. We live in a country whose relatively short history is a narrative of improvements. In the United States, things get better. Oh, we might have temporary setbacks, we might have conflicts and disagreements and even tragedy — but things get better. More people move here. More businesses start. More people work. People live longer, live better, have more stuff. The poorest people in the United States still — mostly — have electricity, running water, refrigerators and televisions. We take all that for granted, and quite a lot of us never have occasion to learn just how rare and new it is, in human experience. <br />
<br />
This expectation of endless improvement is what's brought us here, today, as a man with no political experience, whose financial obligations we do not know, will stand next to his third wife and promise to preserve, protect, and defend the Constitution of the United States. He ran on a campaign that told Americans we were miserable, and that he could fix that. And he won, at least in part, because those of us who <i>aren't</i> miserable didn't believe the ones who said they were.<br />
<br />
He says he'll make America great again. Nobody ever pressed him on the question of why and how America isn't great <i>now</i>. Over the last few months, I have asked people who've told me Barack Obama is the worst president in history: okay, I hear you, but tell me <i>how</i>? Show me. Are you homeless? Did you lose your job, your family, your dreams? Yes, entire industries have disappeared in the past 25 years, and more industries will go the same way in the next ten. Show me, tell me, how President Obama was responsible for that, and how he should have fixed it. What did he do wrong? How did he hurt you?<br />
<br />
Nobody's given me a good answer. The one substantive response I've gotten is the increase in the national debt under the Obama administration. I'll concede that, for people who agree that government spending shouldn't be used to spur the economy. The problem is finding anyone serious who agrees with that statement. If you want to argue with me, go right ahead. I'll check back with you after Congress passes President Trump's infrastructure bill.<br />
<br />
What worries me most about the incoming Administration — and a <i>lot</i> of things worry me — is that this is a group of people who measure success in terms of dollars, and don't understand any other measures of success. "If you're so smart, why aren't you rich?" becomes "I'm rich, so I must be smart." If you believe that the richest people you know are also the smartest, it's not in my power to convince you otherwise. But that is not my own measure of success.<br />
<br />
Let's go back to this idea of improvement, of the United States being a country that improves over time. How does anything or anyone improve? By doing new things, trying new things. Does everyone get new things right the first time? Are all new things equally valuable or productive? Of course not. How do we choose the right improvements, how do we derive the greatest benefits? By making mistakes. By being wrong. By acknowledging the error, and going back to figure out how we make it right.<br />
<br />
We have a new President who seems incapable of admitting error. If he cannot admit mistakes, he cannot correct them. He doesn't apologize because he's never done anything wrong. He can't acknowledge that his actions might harm others as they benefit him. If you can't do these things, you can't learn. You can't improve. The whole effort is self-defeating.<br />
<br />
Some people are saying that we need to give this new President a chance, that he deserves our support for the sake of the office he holds, and that we owe him the benefit of the doubt. I'll agree with that — paradoxically — if he tells us that he knows he's going to mess up. If he expects to make mistakes, and welcomes the opportunity to learn from them. If he's willing to apologize to the people who get hurt along the way. This seems unlikely, since he's a 70-year-old man whose life has not yet taught him how to do that. <br />
<br />
If he can't, and he won't, the American people will have to learn these lessons for themselves. We'll have to recognize our mistake, learn from it, and figure out how to do it right the next time.<br />
<br />
<br />Ellen Clair Lambhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14944288413332520719noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7778441.post-3516999192116522042016-12-30T12:58:00.000-05:002016-12-30T12:59:56.465-05:00The Year that Was<br />
<a href="https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/c/c2/Pieter_Bruegel_de_Oude_-_De_val_van_Icarus.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="Image result for brueghel's icarus" border="0" class="irc_mi iuEyDVaE9Sfk-pQOPx8XEepE" height="204" src="https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/c/c2/Pieter_Bruegel_de_Oude_-_De_val_van_Icarus.jpg" style="margin-top: 0px;" width="320" /></a>I had so many plans for this week between Christmas and New Year's. I have manuscripts due back to clients, and a research project I'm really enjoying, and I would like to bill a few more hours before the year closes — but I am unfocused, adrift, and overwhelmed by a sense of dread that feels more rational than usual.<br />
<br />
2016, everybody says. This terrible year. We'll be glad to see the end of it. And I nod and say, "God, yes," as if I too had a terrible year.<br />
<br />
<br />
And then I stop myself, because I actually didn't.<br />
<br />
The world might be going to hell in a handbasket, but my own truth is that I had a pretty good year. No, that's not right: in many ways, I had a great year.<br />
<br />
My year started in Niagara Falls with the brilliant and hilarious <a href="http://lisalutz.com/">Lisa Lutz</a>. In February, I got back to Maine to see my friends Beth and Cory get married, and catch up with my old trivia team and people I haven't seen since 2013. March was the <a href="http://vabook.org/">Virginia Festival of the Book</a>, where <a href="http://www.sarahweinman.com/">Sarah Weinman</a> let me share her hotel room and my sisters came up to hang out with Sarah and Lisa and me. April ended with the Edgars dinner, which I attended with the lovely Northern Irish author <a href="http://paulcharlesbooks.com/">Paul Charles</a> and still don't believe I get to go to (actually, anybody can: http://theedgars.com/banquet.html), and <a href="http://malicedomestic.org/">Malice Domestic</a>, in my own back yard.<br />
<br />
May 12 was <a href="http://m.mlb.com/news/article/177612626/max-scherzer-ties-mark-with-20-strikeouts/">Max Scherzer's 20-strikeout game</a>, which I wound up attending by myself (and in the process, discovered that I love going to baseball games alone). In June I went to Virginia Beach for one niece's baby shower, the first of two nieces who had babies this year; to Baltimore for a fantastic evening of books and steak with friends; and to New York for more books and more friends and more dinners. July was Juliet & Paul's wedding, one of the all-time greats, and more baseball, in both DC and Baltimore.<br />
<br />
And August was the trip of a lifetime, through the generosity of my friend Megan Hills, who invited me to help celebrate a milestone birthday in Edinburgh. I'd never been to Scotland. Now I've been to Edinburgh and Glasgow, and I can tell the difference between highland and lowland malts (I prefer the lowland). I've been to the <a href="https://www.edintattoo.co.uk/">Edinburgh Tattoo</a>, which everybody ought to do if they can. I went to Dublin, where I'd also never been, for a weekend with Claire and Zach, and made a visit to Belfast in the company of John Connolly and the legendary Joe Long. I got to go to yet another wedding in Dublin, celebrating Bob & Leon's long relationship, and had more dinners with dear friends I hadn't seen in much too long.<br />
<br />
September was Bouchercon in New Orleans, with the mighty Judy Bobalik; Virginia Beach for my father's 75th birthday; and Fall for the Book at George Mason. October was a week at Rehoboth with Claire and Zach and friends and board games, and yet another trip to New York. November was a Thanksgiving with Chris and Claire and Zach and the Beas, all together under one roof for the first time in a couple of years, and December included a trip to Raleigh for yet another wedding celebration, with Jen and Lek.<br />
<br />
My personal tally for 2016 is four weddings, two new babies in the family, and no funerals. The friends who went through cancer treatments this year are all still here, for which I fervently thank them. I saw a lot of good baseball, some great theater and music, and some so-so basketball, most of it in the company of friends, and much of it through their generosity. I read some excellent books and had some very good meals. I had clients who paid me to do fascinating work. I am profoundly grateful for all of these things, and the world's sorrows shouldn't overshadow that. <br />
<br />
2016 was a hard year for a lot of the world, and for many of my friends. 2017 may be harder, and I will not be surprised if it's a lot harder for me. But for now I am trying not to feel guilty about being <a href="http://english.emory.edu/classes/paintings&poems/auden.html">the ploughman in Brueghel's Icarus</a>. It's enough that I'm aware of it, and that I look for ways to pay it forward.<br />
<br />
My resolutions for the new year are to pay more attention to the good things, to hold my friends and family close, and not to let externalities distract me from the things I value most. Oh, and to get my reading totals back up above 100 books. I spent way too much time in front of screens in 2016. We might all be better off getting back to analog next year.<br />
<br />Ellen Clair Lambhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14944288413332520719noreply@blogger.com2