I went to Ireland to help lead a Making a Difference Workshop. I've been helping in that for over 20 years. It is a vital and transforming part of my life.
The group was fascinating. There were five members of a rabbinical school in Israel--4 women and a man (obviously this is reformed Judaism!) And one of the women was a German national with blond hair and pale skin. In addition there was an academic from Austria who is a trained leader of Centering Prayer. A scientist who teaches Centering Prayer--how cool is that?
The Irish were a mixed group: a priest who has been a missionary in Africa, whose name was (get this!) Paddy; a Presbyterian minister; a Church of Ireland lay woman who works for the church; a couple of nuns and a mix of RC lay folks.
By in large they were one of the quietest groups I've ever worked with, which gave me pause since I usually gage how well a group is 'getting it' from their conversation. But in small groups they talked like crazy. My psychological listening was that most of them were introverts--comfortable with two or three others but not in the large group. My two Irish co-leaders told me that Irish folks tend to clam up around foreigners--the Irish listening that people from other places are smarter than they are.
Whatever the reason, I fretted more about this group than any in years. But when the workshop was over I knew how wrong I was about them--they were great, just great and really 'got it'.
One of the mantras we leaders have is this: "the workshop 'works'!"
In spite of my fretting, the workshop 'worked'. What made it ever more remarkable is that the workshop 'plays with language' and we had six folks for whom English was at least a second language. The German rabbi spoke 5! Besides, the Irish are a folk divided by a common language!
There was a time of parsing language when I said (another workshop mantra) "understanding is the booby prize". What that means is that once we think we 'understand' something we stop inquiring about it. 'Understanding' shuts down questioning and the workshop is about 'questions' not 'answers'.
Try explaining 'booby prize' to folks whose first language is Hebrew and German! Give that a try.
But it was all great. The Israelis would break into song from time to time--my first workshop with a soundtrack!
Amen.
Saturday, April 16, 2016
Angie Pisano--requiescat in pace
My wife Bern's older sister died yesterday. He name was Angelina Pisano.
(When Bern and Angie's grandfather and father immigrated to the US, their name was 'Lachedicnola'--but the dumb Anglos who ran the coal company where they both eventually worked couldn't be bothered to figure out how to spell it so they asked Bern and Angie's grandfather what food he liked best. He had little English but did know what 'peas' were. So, the family name became "Peas". When the whole family was in America and people started marrying into it, no woman wanted to change her name to 'Peas', so they made it Italianized...Pisano...Italian for 'friend'.)
I really didn't know Angie. When I started dating Bern in high school Angie, though she still lived at home after several adventures in colleges and jobs, was most often in her room. I shared meals with her but never quite had a meaningful conversation.
After that and always, Angie was a distant island that we had visited but never lived on.
Looking back, it is clear she had several psychological issues. I won't put a label on them, but they hampered her in life. Though she was talented as a painter and musician, she could never live very long independently. She's spent the last dozen or more years in a care home where she was comfortable if not fulfilled.
She was so much older than Bern that they never really connected.
Angie was always 'out there' for the two of us, but never close by. I've tried to remember her visiting our home and really can't though she must have since we lived in Charleston, WV for five years while she was living there.
I've tried to remember encountering her at Bern's father's and mother's funerals--but there is little I can hold on to.
Of course we'll go to her funeral in Princeton, WV, one of the most southern places in the state. Getting there isn't 'half the fun'. It's no fun at all.
Monday night we fly to Pittsburgh and Dan, Bern's brother who is a RC priest, will pick us up and take us to Wellsburg, WV, where his parish is. The next morning the three of us and cousin Tony (Bern's age and lifelong confidant) will drive the 5 hours or so to Princeton. (WV is a very big state!)
We'll spend the night in a motel and the funeral will be Wednesday morning. After that we'll drive back to Wellsburg and Dan will take us to Pittsburgh the next morning and we'll be back in Hartford mid-afternoon Thursday.
Trying to get from Cheshire to Princeton reminds me of the Irish answer to a request for directions: "If I were going there, I wouldn't start from here...."
Even though Angie hasn't be a vital part of our lives for decades and decades, she is 'family', she is blood.
We will travel to say good-bye.
Rest in peace, Angie, though I hardly knew thee....
(When Bern and Angie's grandfather and father immigrated to the US, their name was 'Lachedicnola'--but the dumb Anglos who ran the coal company where they both eventually worked couldn't be bothered to figure out how to spell it so they asked Bern and Angie's grandfather what food he liked best. He had little English but did know what 'peas' were. So, the family name became "Peas". When the whole family was in America and people started marrying into it, no woman wanted to change her name to 'Peas', so they made it Italianized...Pisano...Italian for 'friend'.)
I really didn't know Angie. When I started dating Bern in high school Angie, though she still lived at home after several adventures in colleges and jobs, was most often in her room. I shared meals with her but never quite had a meaningful conversation.
After that and always, Angie was a distant island that we had visited but never lived on.
Looking back, it is clear she had several psychological issues. I won't put a label on them, but they hampered her in life. Though she was talented as a painter and musician, she could never live very long independently. She's spent the last dozen or more years in a care home where she was comfortable if not fulfilled.
She was so much older than Bern that they never really connected.
Angie was always 'out there' for the two of us, but never close by. I've tried to remember her visiting our home and really can't though she must have since we lived in Charleston, WV for five years while she was living there.
I've tried to remember encountering her at Bern's father's and mother's funerals--but there is little I can hold on to.
Of course we'll go to her funeral in Princeton, WV, one of the most southern places in the state. Getting there isn't 'half the fun'. It's no fun at all.
Monday night we fly to Pittsburgh and Dan, Bern's brother who is a RC priest, will pick us up and take us to Wellsburg, WV, where his parish is. The next morning the three of us and cousin Tony (Bern's age and lifelong confidant) will drive the 5 hours or so to Princeton. (WV is a very big state!)
We'll spend the night in a motel and the funeral will be Wednesday morning. After that we'll drive back to Wellsburg and Dan will take us to Pittsburgh the next morning and we'll be back in Hartford mid-afternoon Thursday.
Trying to get from Cheshire to Princeton reminds me of the Irish answer to a request for directions: "If I were going there, I wouldn't start from here...."
Even though Angie hasn't be a vital part of our lives for decades and decades, she is 'family', she is blood.
We will travel to say good-bye.
Rest in peace, Angie, though I hardly knew thee....
Friday, April 15, 2016
The third ring of hell
JFK Airport is the third ring of hell for me.
I went down late Saturday afternoon to catch my 9 pm flight to Dublin. The parking lot for Terminal Five was full and I was sent to the 'blue' lot instead of the 'yellow' lot and had to go into Terminal Four and ride the air train to Terminal Five to make my flight.
(One difference between JFK and Dublin airport--and the differences are legion!--is a baggage cart at JFK is $6 and they are free and available in Dublin.)
So, I paid for a cart and started down to Terminal 4 to catch the train.
(Just so you don't imagine there aren't moments of wonder and grace in the third ring of hell--as I came out of the wrong parking garage, heading to the terminal, who did I meet but Ted Dinsmore...a member of Emmanuel, Killingworth, one of the 3 churches I serve, and his daughter, Grace, picking up friends from India. How great is that? In the midst of turmoil, a moment of sanity and joy! Amazing!)
So, on the way back I had to do the same in reverse--get my luggage, pay for a cart, ride the train, find my car.
Our flight back was almost an hour early (airlines overestimate the time so their 'on time' stats are good) but by the time I got back, by train, to the blue lot, that hour of grace was lost.
I'll write more about Dublin's airport...almost heaven compared to JFK.
Oh, I didn't yet mention the Van Wyck 'Expressway'--which is anything but 'express'. Two rings of hell--the Van Wyck and JFK.
I went down late Saturday afternoon to catch my 9 pm flight to Dublin. The parking lot for Terminal Five was full and I was sent to the 'blue' lot instead of the 'yellow' lot and had to go into Terminal Four and ride the air train to Terminal Five to make my flight.
(One difference between JFK and Dublin airport--and the differences are legion!--is a baggage cart at JFK is $6 and they are free and available in Dublin.)
So, I paid for a cart and started down to Terminal 4 to catch the train.
(Just so you don't imagine there aren't moments of wonder and grace in the third ring of hell--as I came out of the wrong parking garage, heading to the terminal, who did I meet but Ted Dinsmore...a member of Emmanuel, Killingworth, one of the 3 churches I serve, and his daughter, Grace, picking up friends from India. How great is that? In the midst of turmoil, a moment of sanity and joy! Amazing!)
So, on the way back I had to do the same in reverse--get my luggage, pay for a cart, ride the train, find my car.
Our flight back was almost an hour early (airlines overestimate the time so their 'on time' stats are good) but by the time I got back, by train, to the blue lot, that hour of grace was lost.
I'll write more about Dublin's airport...almost heaven compared to JFK.
Oh, I didn't yet mention the Van Wyck 'Expressway'--which is anything but 'express'. Two rings of hell--the Van Wyck and JFK.
Gorse and magpies
Two of the things I marvel at in Ireland are Gorse and Magpies.
Gorse is a yellow flowered shrub, not as tall as wide, that seems omnipresent in Ireland. It is along all the major roadways. I was riding to Dublin on Wednesday with an Irish nun and an academic from Austria. The academic asked what the yellow flowers were and I answered "Gorse!" before Fionnula could.
She laughed. "Jim loves gorse, Georgi," she said.
And I do.
If kudzu looked like gorse people wouldn't complain so much about it.
And then there are magpies.
I went on line to see if they lived in CT and a website called 'Connecticut Critters' listed them. But on the same page their territory was listed as only on the west coast and Texas. I know I've never seen one here. They are huge birds, related to crows and as big as our crows, but with white chests and white on their wings. The rest is black and gray.
They are as common in Ireland, it seems to me, as robins in Connecticut. They always seem to be in pairs or threes. They are very fast for such large birds. I enjoy watching them.
The Irish tell me magpies are very smart, so I looked them up as well and read a couple of articles that suggested they may be the smartest birds.
They are playful and cunning.
If you are of a certain age, you might remember Heckle and Jekyll. Two magpies that were in comic books and cartoons.
Gorse is a yellow flowered shrub, not as tall as wide, that seems omnipresent in Ireland. It is along all the major roadways. I was riding to Dublin on Wednesday with an Irish nun and an academic from Austria. The academic asked what the yellow flowers were and I answered "Gorse!" before Fionnula could.
She laughed. "Jim loves gorse, Georgi," she said.
And I do.
If kudzu looked like gorse people wouldn't complain so much about it.
And then there are magpies.
I went on line to see if they lived in CT and a website called 'Connecticut Critters' listed them. But on the same page their territory was listed as only on the west coast and Texas. I know I've never seen one here. They are huge birds, related to crows and as big as our crows, but with white chests and white on their wings. The rest is black and gray.
They are as common in Ireland, it seems to me, as robins in Connecticut. They always seem to be in pairs or threes. They are very fast for such large birds. I enjoy watching them.
The Irish tell me magpies are very smart, so I looked them up as well and read a couple of articles that suggested they may be the smartest birds.
They are playful and cunning.
If you are of a certain age, you might remember Heckle and Jekyll. Two magpies that were in comic books and cartoons.
Saturday, April 9, 2016
See you later
I'm off to Ireland today and since I have only a desktop computer to reach the internet, I won't be writing here through Thursday. I'll miss it and promise to bring back lots of topics from the emerald isle.
Mean time, there are over 1700 posts here!
Go back a few years and sample them....
See you soon.
Mean time, there are over 1700 posts here!
Go back a few years and sample them....
See you soon.
Thursday, April 7, 2016
math and logic and the value of questions....
There is an internet firestorm about a question on a test for a 12 year old.
Here is the question: "Bob and John had pizzas for dinner. Bob ate 6 pieces and John ate four. John ate more pizza. How is this possible?"
The answer the kid's parents put on line was this: "John had a bigger pizza."
The teacher marked it wrong and commented: "It is impossible!!!"
There are many levels about what is wrong with that.
The first thing wrong is that the 'answer' is more important than the 'question'.
The second thing wrong is asking 'how is this possible?" when the answer was predetermined that it wasn't.
The third thing wrong is the 'answers' eliminate 'possibility'.
Questions are always more vital and alive than answers since questions open up possibilities and answers shut them down. And "possibilities" are what makes life important and shimmering and remarkable. Questions are more important than answers every time.
I came up with a few other possibilities for the question.
"Bob's slices were smaller than John's."
"John took a few of Bob's slices."
"Bob left the crusts and John ate it all."
All of those are possibilities.
The question opened up a lot of logical possibilities. The teacher's answer--"It is impossible!!!"--shut down the creation of a new reality out of nothing.
The question wasn't about math or logic. It was about 'right answers'.
Right Answers are the booby prize of life. Once you have a 'right answer' that's all you have.
But if you live into and lean into and embrace 'the question', you have a whole created universe of possibilities.
I'm as pissed off as most of the people on line about both 'asking a trick question' and 'believing there is a Right Answer.
Avoid, flee from, reject, battle against, beware of "Right Answers".
They shut down the conversation and the possibility.
Rush to, embrace, welcome, dance with, embrace "Questions".
They open up the possibility of creating a future that wouldn't have happened anyway.
Here is the question: "Bob and John had pizzas for dinner. Bob ate 6 pieces and John ate four. John ate more pizza. How is this possible?"
The answer the kid's parents put on line was this: "John had a bigger pizza."
The teacher marked it wrong and commented: "It is impossible!!!"
There are many levels about what is wrong with that.
The first thing wrong is that the 'answer' is more important than the 'question'.
The second thing wrong is asking 'how is this possible?" when the answer was predetermined that it wasn't.
The third thing wrong is the 'answers' eliminate 'possibility'.
Questions are always more vital and alive than answers since questions open up possibilities and answers shut them down. And "possibilities" are what makes life important and shimmering and remarkable. Questions are more important than answers every time.
I came up with a few other possibilities for the question.
"Bob's slices were smaller than John's."
"John took a few of Bob's slices."
"Bob left the crusts and John ate it all."
All of those are possibilities.
The question opened up a lot of logical possibilities. The teacher's answer--"It is impossible!!!"--shut down the creation of a new reality out of nothing.
The question wasn't about math or logic. It was about 'right answers'.
Right Answers are the booby prize of life. Once you have a 'right answer' that's all you have.
But if you live into and lean into and embrace 'the question', you have a whole created universe of possibilities.
I'm as pissed off as most of the people on line about both 'asking a trick question' and 'believing there is a Right Answer.
Avoid, flee from, reject, battle against, beware of "Right Answers".
They shut down the conversation and the possibility.
Rush to, embrace, welcome, dance with, embrace "Questions".
They open up the possibility of creating a future that wouldn't have happened anyway.
Wednesday, April 6, 2016
Ireland
I'm going to Ireland Saturday to help with a Making a Difference workshop.
I'll have a great time and learn so much about myself and love the Irish to bits.
And I don't want to go!!!
I'm old enough to tell the truth. I hate to travel.
I love being there, but getting there isn't 'half the fun' for me. I really don't like it.
I am, now I can admit, an unrepentant 'home-body'.
If someone told me I would never sleep another night that wasn't in Cheshire I would shake their hand and thank them!
Getting to and dealing with JFK airport is a nightmare out of the fifth ring of hell for me.
And though I don't mind flying, it does take up a lot of time and put me in discomfort.
I just don't get the mystery and wonder of travel.
Our vacation each year involves getting to a beach in North Carolina and staying there!
I like 'being put' is what it comes down to. Moving around the country and the world has no mystique for me.
95 Cornwall Avenue--now that's mystery and mystique and wonder to me. Right in our house I love so much.
That's what gives me joy.
I'll have a great time and learn so much about myself and love the Irish to bits.
And I don't want to go!!!
I'm old enough to tell the truth. I hate to travel.
I love being there, but getting there isn't 'half the fun' for me. I really don't like it.
I am, now I can admit, an unrepentant 'home-body'.
If someone told me I would never sleep another night that wasn't in Cheshire I would shake their hand and thank them!
Getting to and dealing with JFK airport is a nightmare out of the fifth ring of hell for me.
And though I don't mind flying, it does take up a lot of time and put me in discomfort.
I just don't get the mystery and wonder of travel.
Our vacation each year involves getting to a beach in North Carolina and staying there!
I like 'being put' is what it comes down to. Moving around the country and the world has no mystique for me.
95 Cornwall Avenue--now that's mystery and mystique and wonder to me. Right in our house I love so much.
That's what gives me joy.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)