More on the Rosary Beads

     Here's a little story. When Robin and I were in high school, at a Quaker boarding school, she came home with me one holiday. Long walks and hikes were popular in our circles then. We went for a long walk down into the village nearby, called Neffs, Ohio, and climbed up on top of some gob piles. Gob piles are the hills left over from coal mining. Neffs was 2 miles from home. On our way back, we stopped into a Catholic church at the bottom of the hill before climbing it. The door was open and the lights were on. I don't remember what inspired us to go in. Maybe it was cold out. There was a dish of wafers, and a bowl of water near the door. We called out to see if anyone was there, and nobody answered. Both Robin and I grew up as Friends (Quakers), so we were not aware of Catholic practices. Her family attended Sandy Spring Friends Meeting in Maryland, and my family attended Stillwater Friends Meeting in Barnesville, Ohio. We each tried a wafer. We knew they were for communion, and we knew the water was probably holy water, but we were unaware of the implications of doing anything with the water or the wafers. It was a spiritual moment between us, naive of the probable heresy or sacrilegious act we were committing. 

I have since realized that I knew people who attended this small parish, Sacred Heart. I was a very evangelical preteen and teen. At another time that year, I convinced Robin that her rock-and-roll albums were evil, and we broke them all together. She left Olney Friends School before our senior year, and we fell out of touch. We did get back in touch in our 40's, and one of the first things I wrote to her via email was that I would like to replace her albums. She told me she already had replaced them, and not to worry about it; that it had been part of our spiritual growth and path. By then, she had become a Catholic, and I had become disillusioned with much of religion. What a change after 25 years! Our spiritual connection remains, however. The exclusivity of Catholicism rubs me the wrong way. Friends do not do rituals and sacraments. But the part of Catholicism that is not judgmental or exclusive has done an awfully lot of good in the world; the part that requires service, social justice, and care for the poor. My sister came from a Catholic orphanage in Korea. I do not think I will ever leave Quakerism, but I appreciate what the Catholics do. 

On the day I mentioned in the first blog entry about the Rosary, my sister-in-law, Nancy, called to tell me what color the Rosary's were to choose from, and to ask whether I wanted my name added to it. I chose blue, and said, "sure." An hour or so later, I realized that I was taking the Rosary for Robin, not for myself. I called Nancy back, and the blue one was already finished with my name. Red and black were still available, so I asked for a red one for Robin, with her name on it.

For the past few days I have been reading about the prayers of the Rosary, and about the Hail Mary. I have also been trying to learn Spanish. Someone said that they would probably be saying the Hail Mary together during the walk, probably in Spanish. I printed out the Hail Mary prayer, and asked several people to read it to me in Spanish, so I'd know how it was pronounced. I had so immersed myself in learning about it, that it was easy to forget what I had originally obtained these for! Today I got into a conversation with the woman sitting next to me on the plane who had grown up in Arizona, and did not feel people attempting to cross the border should be helped in any way. At one point, I showed her the beads. She was very touched by the story, and I feel it was instrumental in tempering her opinions. She told me some profound stories about friendships, and about her recent experiences with life and death. She cried. She told me that I was doing God's work, not my own work, and that I should not let the politics of the situation, or her opinions sway me to one way or the other. She told me not to lose focus. She did not realize that so many people were dying in the desert, or were imprisoned for so long.

A Protestant and A Rosary

Some say that Friends are not protestants. That said, they are not Catholic, and they are not Orthodox. They certainly do not acknowledge the sacraments. To be blunt, I know nothing about the Rosary apart from where it has crossed my path in my nursing career. That amounts to hearing people bringing communion to patients or residents, saying the Hail Mary, and whatever else they say, and seeing Rosary beads pinned on bulletin boards or stashed under pillows. Occasionally I will witness someone handling their beads in some meaningful way and reciting things that rhyme or sound like an ancient chant under their breath. 

My good friend has asked me to take a Rosary with me on the All Souls Day walk in Tucson, and say a Hail Mary for her. 

First I looked up the Rosary. Then I looked up Hail Mary. It looks a lot more complicated than she made it sound. I've read a lot of the Bible. I understand Quakerism and Quaker history pretty thoroughly - enough to converse meaningfully with Quaker scholars. Catholicism has me stumped, but we seem to cross paths with social justice missions.

Today, I thought I'd run down to the local Christian bookstore in Martins Ferry and pick up an inexpensive Rosary. All the other local Christian bookstores have gone out of business. I looked through the entire store, homeschooled child with me, and did not find anything resembling a Rosary. So I asked the lady at the desk. She stated that they did not carry Rosary's. I guess it is a protestant Christian book store, or something that is not protestant, but is also not Catholic. They did have a 99 cent compass, however, that my daughter liked, and I bought.

The homeschool group we belong to has some Catholics in it, and is a Christian group. After returning to my car, I found that I had only put one member's phone number in my phone, and I knew she was not Catholic (or protestant) either. But I tried to call anyway, to see if she might have an idea of where I could by a Rosary. She has read a lot more about other religions than I have, although I think I've read more than most people. Since she homeschools, her answering machine took my call. I have to work 3 nights in a row beginning tonight, then have a day off, then fly to Phoenix the following day. There are probably Rosary's at the airport, but this was important. I wanted to have it taken care of. 

My sister-in-law has been education coordinator of the Upper Ohio Valley Presbytery, and is involved in a lot of nondenominational activities. So she was the second person I called from my car. She happened to be at lunch with some Catholic friends, and after a bit of phone-along-with-people in the background conversation, she told me that St. Mary's chapel had a small shop with Rosary's. I confirmed that it was the St. Mary's in St. Clairsville, and not Martins Ferry, and headed over there. The door was locked. I called her back, to make sure I had indeed gotten the correct place. They were finished eating, and she and one of her Catholic friends were heading there, because her friend had parked there. So my daughter and I waited, and ate our Burger King drive-through meals in the car. We all walked up to the door together. It was still locked. She also pointed to a sign I had not noticed, that indicated the office closed at noon on Fridays. It was Friday, and it was 1:30. If only I had gone there first. Nancy's friend had a key and could get one and take the money for it, but then she remembered, hand in purse, that she did not know how to turn the alarm off. 

Nancy had an idea. Her friend, Amy Brooks, made jewelry, and she knew she had seen Rosary's in her jewelry for sale. Indeed, I have a few of Amy's beautiful creations in my jewelry box, given to me by my mother-in-law and sister-in-law on holidays or birthdays. Nancy called her, and yes, she had four. I could not drive over to her house with my sister-in-law, because I had to work this afternoon. Her house was too far to get there and back, and pack my car in time to leave. But Nancy wanted to go right then, and her friend was willing to go with her. Amy's jewelry is, indeed beautiful, and is also popular locally. I gave Nancy some money, and came home. 

Meanwhile, in looking for, and trying to understand the Rosary, and why it was I would be taking it with me, when I was a Quaker, I had conversations with the clerk of the Christian bookstore, with Nancy and her friend, and with Amy. Also, Amy grew up in San Antonio, and I think she is of Mexican descent. It made perfect sense to the Catholics involved in discussing why a friend would want me to do this. They were touched. I still don't entirely understand it myself though.

While most of this seems trivial, it is not. The preparation for this trip is part of the process. I am not sure what the outcome will be. A lot of Mexicans are dying in the desert, or are being incarcerated, or are being deported and torn apart from their families, and there is nothing right about any of it. I'm not sure what I'm doing to help the situation. I am going to write about the process though. Later it will mean more, I think.

Mango vs Genealogy, with Kimchi

I have spent the last two days doing mostly nothing but genealogy. I've eaten a jar of radish Kimchi that I bought for a friend, numerous cookies, and have cooked two main dishes. My friend took a trip. I'll buy her another one. I have done no cleaning or dishes. This is the calm before the storm. I seem to do this before something big, like a trip. It is like I'm hoarding energy. I'll crash again afterwards too. But there are a lot of new Starbucks and Downings in my database. 

The two trips through the desert are relatively confirmed. My son has sent me links to computer game rules that I have not touched. I should have been studying Spanish rather than doing genealogy with all of that time, but am about to go to the Mango library link now. This time I will bookmark it! 

It is a rainy, cold day. This will be the first year I miss Halloween with my children entirely. I'm not in very good shape to walk 8 miles. We will let you know how that goes. The anxiety and excitement is building.

Quaker knowing

What an intriguing week. I've been in Columbus for nine days, and am back in eastern Ohio. 

After writing all of those nice things about the extended stay hotel, and about people, before that post was even completed, the screaming began. It was a child across the hall, in another room. It was loud, intermittent, and piercing, like a chipmunk cheer. I have raised four children, and they screamed some, but never like this. There was something unusual about this child. The screaming did not stop. It was not crying, but almost like a playful, or surprised scream, every 5-10 minutes, all day. It was unbearable for someone working nights and trying to sleep. It was maddening. It lasted until I left for work, and met me as I returned in the morning after a 12 hour shift. It went on all day, and continued the following day. I was so miserable, finally, that I called the management, and told them I was checking out. The problem with that, it was Sunday, and no management was in. On Monday, after trying to go to sleep, I packed all of my bags. I didn't care if they kept my money. The man from the front office told me he had put me on the quiet floor, and this was the first he'd heard there was a problem, but he'd check into it. He did. First, he was going to move the family. The child finally got quiet, and I collapsed onto the bed, in my clothes, things packed and ready, and slept, all day. 

That was my day off. I did not have to go to work for night shift that evening, and my husband had planned to come to Columbus with our daughter for an overnight. I called the front desk man back, and he offered to move me instead of the family. I decided to try that. He told me that the child was a 4-year-old autistic boy, and that the parents were also exhausted, and were waiting for an apartment to come available on Thursday. I felt guilty for being so upset, but at the same time, I was paying for this room, in order to simply have a place to sleep. The new room was cleaner, and much quieter. 

My husband, 7-year-old and I went out for dinner at Max and Erma's at Easton, and to a 9pm movie, Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs II. We were the only ones in the theater. I felt self-conscious having a 7-year-old child out to a movie that late, but we homeschool. She was sleeping in the next day. She is doing well in school.

Being in a crowded place with so many Somalians present, then being in the same place when it was nearly empty left me feeling strange. This strange feeling extended into the next day, when we went out to lunch for Mexican, then to a park I had frequented years ago. It was also pretty empty. In a city with hundreds of thousands of people, I found this odd. I had brought my older sons to the same place 20-plus years prior, when I was a stay-at-home mom, needing to get out to someplace green. Our 7-year-old played on the playground alone, and watched the ducks in the pond, on a school day. Park rangers drove by us several times. Numerous times, in three different vehicles. We became a little uncomfortable with this, and went back to the hotel. We said goodbye finally, and my husband and daughter drove back home. I went back to work that night. It was wonderful to see them in the midst of this experience. They are a grounding center to everything for me.

The next two days, I took care of people from foreign countries other than Somalia. Two families were from places with rare dialects that our translation language lines did not have a translator for. I wondered what their stories were, to be in Columbus, in the hospital. There are so many people in Columbus. So many foreigners! Who are they all?

My friend, Debora, called the next to last morning of this stretch of work days. I don't even remember what all I said to her. She was trying to make final arrangements for my last clearness committee meeting. I just remember her telling me to get some rest, and that everything would make more sense, and I'd feel better after I got some sleep. I must have sounded delirious. The clearness committee would be Thursday, on my way home. 

Different people keep repeating those words over the past few weeks: "Get some sleep!" It reminded me of the first Easton movie I saw, Captain Phillips, when someone everywhere he went told him, "Everything is going to be okay!" And it never was. People keep telling me, "Get some sleep!" I must seem tired to them all the time. And I can't really ever get enough sleep.

Prior to this trip to Columbus, I had spent a good part of a day looking up the places I'd be going. Larry and Joel, two of the mission workers, just happened to be online that day also, and I asked them questions as I surfed the internet. How long does it take to walk the 8 miles on the All Souls Day walk? How likely is it we will have run-ins with border patrol when we are filling water tanks? Where do we meet, and when? My passport and passport card arrived 10 and 12 days after I applied for them respectively. We made tentative arrangements, and I put together an itinerary. I printed out Google maps for every place I intended to go, and one for how to get from one son's place to another, in Phoenix. I printed out web pages describing the places. I put all the print-outs in a folder, and put it in a file at home. I hoped to go home and pick it up before the clearness committee meeting on Thursday.

I was a little later checking out of the hotel and getting on the road than I had intended, so I called Bruce to ask him to bring these the folder to my clearness committee meeting, in Barnesville, at the meetinghouse. He is wonderful about things like this. 

The clearness committee is a living, breathing thing, all by itself. I have had life-long relationships with some of these people, and hardly know others. They had asked a lot of questions at the first meeting, and I needed to answer them at the second one. The hardest question to answer was proposed by the clerk of the meeting - that before they could write a letter of introduction, or a traveling minute, there needed to be a clear sense of purpose for the trip. What was the purpose? I decided in the end that it was a seeking/finding trip.

I could have brought a lot of baggage from the past into this, but during the time between meetings, I had given it deep thought, and had talked with several friends, both online and in person. The one I needed to speak with the most was a childhood friend who was abused. She did not fully understand the nature of my visit when I went to see her. I had not seen her for years; and in the time between our last time together and this one, much had transpired in both of our lives. But she has been a driving force behind some of what I have done in my nursing career, and is a strong influence on what I want to do. She will probably never understand the extent of this. I talked with her some about this influence on the phone, but when I visited with her, we did not discuss the trip at all. In planning the visit; the phone call; the driving to and from her place in the misty, dark, October night, down back roads far out in the country, where coal miners lived and justified in their minds why immigrants should be shot - during that in-between time, I gave this all the most thought. I did not even bring her up at the clearness committee. But my friendship with her summarizes all that is wrong, and also all that is right, with attitudes; with compassion for fellow humans; for regard for those close to us. It summarizes the dead space between bigotry and love. I don't understand how some people can be so loving, and yet so unloving, and I needed to sit with that, for myself. I needed to sit with her, in her living room, and feel all of it, before doing this; and know that I still loved her as my friend, despite everything. Somehow, this gave me the confidence that I needed to know that this trip was the right thing to do. I took that confidence, and the folder of information, with me to the clearness committee. 

My childhood friend, Debora, was nominated to be on the committee first, at monthly meeting, the First Day (Sunday) that my letter requesting one was read. In a Friends monthly business meeting, the first person nominated is the convener of the committee. She openly protested, but she was expected to answer the responsibility. I can't recall who jumped the gun after my letter was read, but they nominated her too quickly. This scared me, because, well, Debora knows way too much about me. And then someone nominated the clerk, and I'm not even going to go into the fear of God that put into me. Or fear of something else - something like ...scrutiny. These people know my skeletons.

Whatever my fears may have been, a conviction is a conviction. They are excited for me. I presented what I had, and they subtly, and humorously, in their Quaker ways, expressed their reservations, but not nearly as many as I expected. They want me to do this. They are going to write a traveling minute. 

Tonight was the memorial service of a good friend. The service was also at the meetinghouse. David was the ex-husband of Debora's sister. He accepted me into his group of friends after my divorce. He let me carve my name in his end table, something he had most of his visitors do. He designed the cover for the tape I made at a studio. He was my friend.  So I saw them, most of the people on the clearness committee, again, two nights in a row, because they were Davids friends too. My daughter and I made cookies today, and I went to Jebbia's Produce market in Wheeling, and bought vegetables for a relish dish. I also bought a homemade olive mix there. I should have bought more olives, because they went the fastest of anything on the table. I knew there would be too many cookies.

After the memorial service, I sat on the meetinghouse porch, and talked for a long time with a close acquaintance I would never have gotten to know if David had not brought me into the fold. She told me about a humanitarian trip she had taken to Liberia with the military, and how it had changed her. Then I told her about my planned trip to Mexico. She became excited, and happy for me to do this. I keep feeling like with all that has transpired in my career that has gone wrong in the past year, that I'm somehow not qualified to do something like this. Part of me feels like maybe I was supposed to do something like this all along; and maybe that is what has been wrong though. 

These posts are getting longer, but there is one more situation I want to address. That is about consciousness. I have always "known" things that I did not understand why I knew. Some people have called it ESP; others have referred to my experiences as astral projection. Still others have suggested that I can read minds, or have had other lives. Christians call it God speaking to me. I have always felt there was another explanation. In the past few days, at least two people have mentioned the kind of "knowing" that comes with Quaker worship. I don't feel this is entirely from God. I feel it is an entity of consciousness, from being more in touch, and in tune with our subconscious minds, through worship and meditation. We take in too much information to be aware of it all at any given time, but our mind puts together what this information means. We know more than we realize. When we tap into this deeper consciousness regularly, we learn to listen to it. We learn to be more in tune with it. I have noticed that many people who have lived their lifetime within Quakerism will refer to the "Quaker knowing" as if it is a given fact. Outside of Quaker circles, people talk about coincidences, and about God, and about miracles. For me, the knowing is an inherent part of me. I have learned to listen to it; but I don't always. Sometimes it is so profound, that it comes in words; not words I can hear, but in formulated words in my mind. "Take that book off the shelf." "Don't give that medication yet." "Turn around and walk the other way." And for no good reason, and feeling partially crazy, I listen, and do. Something not quite conscious knows something, and I need to listen to it.

One day in the hospital I worked at for 8 years, when I turned and walked the other way, a woman walked up to me and asked where her sister was. I knew her sister had just died. I knew there was no other nurse on the floor at that time who could have handled speaking with this woman because of what had just transpired. I was able to walk this woman to where her sister was. Maybe it WAS God. 

This is one of the times in my life, when I do not entirely understand what is happening, and I am going on faith, when the words, "Turn and walk the other way," have formulated in my brain. Now I will have in writing that my meeting is supporting me in doing so. And it is not crazy. They say they feel the same Quaker knowing about it.

About the Town Going Downhill

About a year ago, I made a trip to Columbus, Ohio, after years of being away. I was taking a Nursing Leadership and Management class towards my BSN degree, and we were required to attend a public meeting within the time frame of the class. I was working full-time, and that complicated matters. So I picked an Ohio State Board of Nursing meeting. The address stated it was in the Huntington Building downtown. 

Well, I knew where that was! My ex-husband had worked in the executive suite on the top floor back when we were married, in 1991-92. His office was in the north part of the highrise that symbolized the "H" in the Columbus skyline. We had watched Red, White, and Boom at eye level from his office on July 4th. The problem was, when I arrived, there was no Ohio Board of Nursing in that building. It was a really good thing I had gone early that day, because the office was in the OTHER Huntington building downtown. The old one. I managed to keep my composure through this disconcerting experience, and talk myself through the fact I was a farmer's wife now. It turned out to be an interesting meeting to write a paper on. A nurse practitioner was requesting a license reinstatement after rehabilitation, following misusing physician prescription pads to write herself scheduled substance scripts. 

A lot of people misuse drugs. Nearly every day I go to work, I have patients who want dilaudid. The nurses have knicknames for it, such as diLALA, or the only medication nobody seems to be allergic to. I have given so much dilaudid, in fact, that it is difficult for me to not be judgmental towards innocent homeless people on the street. I have this overshadowing feeling that they ALL want dilaudid, and sometimes I do a doubletake at what I'm wearing to make sure I'm not in scrubs. 

That day of the meeting, after it was over, I decided to take a drive through some old haunts, such as the J.C. Penny outlet, and Eastland Mall. The Max and Erma's off of Brice Road was all closed up. That part of the east end was like an enormous, concrete, corporate ghost town! 

A turn of life events has put me in travel nursing, only a year later. I have found myself back in Columbus, for the past 6 weeks, and will be here off and on for over another month, minus my trip to the Southwest. It is paying the mortgage. I have been renting from an acquaintance with a house in a subdivision, but decided to take a leap this week, and rent a pay-by-the-week hotel room, to get my feet wet for future trips. I can go back to where I was, but I wanted to try this.

Most people are not as bad as we assume they are. They have bad events in their lives, or runs of a bad time, but most people are mostly good. Someone told me recently that a part of Columbus I wanted to rent a weekly room in was now an "unsafe" part of town. Back in the 1980's, Morse and 161 between I71 and I270 was an area with nice clubs and shopping centers. College kids would drive up to hang out of the day, or for weekend drinks. I drove through, and it was like the east end, but on a different scale. Today, I rented a place anyway. I'm sure there is danger. Just like there are Mexicans who sell drugs, and who kill people. I am definitely the minority, as a tall white woman. 

I noticed something odd today. Once I moved in to this place, in a "bad" part of town, I felt a huge sense of relief. It was only slightly dampened by finding a lone roach in my room. A woman doing laundry pushed my floor's elevator button along with her own the second time I rode the elevator with her. A tall black gentleman paused before entering his room as I walked by, to greet me, and make short conversation. The housekeepers were discussing day-to-day news in the hallway with residents. I stopped into the Asian Market over in the Columbus Square. That shopping center was once a thriving place. Our dissolution lawyer had an office there. Now it houses a giant thrift store. The oriental check-out lady at the Asian Market had her young daughter with her. When I bought Kimchee and noodles, she told me it looked good, and asked the little girl, "Should we have Kimchee and noodles for supper tonight?" The little girl replied, "Yes! Yes!" The people in this part of town are ACCEPTING and FRIENDLY. I feel at home here.

Last night, I went out to a movie by myself. I went to Easton to see "Captain Phillips." It was too expensive. It was about an American cargo and food relief ship being hijacked by Somali pirates. Columbus, Ohio has become a refuge for Somalians. About 1/4 of the people in the theater were Somalians, probably because the film was about people from their country. I have been taking care of a lot of Somalians at work. It felt good to be in a theater with them, instead of a hospital. It felt good to watch a movie, where the main character connected with his captor, and even tried to help, and ultimately save his captors.  He was unsuccessful in saving them, because they were stubborn, due to their life circumstances. 

I want to think on that some more - how life circumstances make people stubborn. Circumstances don't just make criminals stubborn, but also those who oppress.