Parrots? In San Francisco?

I feel like I should be writing something profound about the state of the world as we move into the new year, or at least making a prediction or two.

But I'm dazzled by the fact that the flock of parrots that lives on Telegraph Hill made a ground level appearance today, just as I was walking by. Now how cool is that?!

This shouldn't be

It shouldn't be possible that a highly organized group, faith-based no less, can raise money and help to pass a ballot initiative in another state. And yet it's becoming clear that the passage of California's Prop.8 defining marriage as between a man and a woman, was made largely possible by the organized efforts of the Mormon Church in Salt Lake City.

I was heartened to see that I'm not the only one who feels this way; that members of the Mormon Church also recognize the role their church leaders played in passing a ballot proposition that so blatently denies same sex couples the opportunity to build a family.

This comment was posted in response to Judith Warner's latest blog entry.

I am so sorry that so many people in California (and elsewhere) believed the lies and distortions paid for and distributed by the people and organizations pushing for Prop 8’s passage. I was heartsick to find the names of friends and relatives on the Mormon “big donor” list. The “No on 8″ campaign seemed completely blindsided by the influx of money from outside California. Now there are demonstrations, now there is energy, but too late.

Throughout this entire sorry spectacle, I still have not heard one cogent, logical, sensible argument about how gay marriage would hurt my marriage or anyone else’s marriage.

The courts will have to overturn Prop 8 on the grounds that it violates gays’ fundamental rights. Overturning it will enrage the pro-Prop 8 groups, who will mount yet another costly campaign. For Prop 8 alone, the latest figures only with respect to Mormon participation show that 59,000 families donated some $77 million — the lion’s share. Now Mormons are unhappy that their chapels and temples are protest sites. They expected that the targets of their Salt Lake leaders’ policies would quietly accept having their rights taken away?

As a final thought, directed to my Mormon family and friends: the LDS church’s 13th Article of Faith states, “We believe in being honest, true, … benevolent, and in doing good to all men….” How is printing, disseminating, emailing, and telephoning messages filled with fear-based untruths and distortions being “honest and true”? How is taking away other people’s rights being “benevolent and … doing good to all men”?

Unfortunately, as I know all too well from my own several decades of devoted participation, Mormons place obedience to their leaders over listening to their own hearts and consciences, and over thinking for themselves. And as with civil rights for blacks, and the ERA for women, the Mormon church once again finds itself on the wrong side of history and morality.

— mofembot in France

BART Sightings

Something unusual is happening on BART.

Last week, at the end of a very long day, I joined the crowd on the dusty platform waiting for the train to take me home. Standing near the elevator, which makes a convenient marker mid-platform, I stared down the tunnel to see if any light was shining. As I strained to see into the dark, I became aware of an odd sort of bouncing and twirling movement to my side, with an accompanying tapping sound.

Turning to see more clearly, yet trying not to be conspicuous in my staring, I saw a young woman. Under most circumstances she would be unremarkable. Wavy, dark hair, a non-descript outfit, an aged backpack. Eyes closed and listening to a tune in her head, she was in the midst of performing an Irish jig. Arms rigid by her side, feet moving in the intricate patterns of the jig, she danced to the unheard music.

I was certain she would stop quickly, because it was obvious that the other commuters on the platform, like me, found this impromptu dance a bit unusual. Maybe it was the pack on her back, flopping up and down and looking pretty uncomfortable. Maybe it was just the incongruity of the lively dance on the platform, the absence of music loud against the crowd noise. But she danced on, oblivious to the stares of the passers-by. Then a train came, the doors opened, and she was gone.

I didn't think of it again until this morning. My train pulled into one of the above-ground stations and there, on the platform, dressed in a pale skirt with tailored jacket, was a young woman jumping rope. Without a rope. I watched her jump in a steady rhythm until the train pulled away and I couldn't see her any longer.

I'm not sure what to make of these sightings. I guess it could be boredom, or the pent-up energy that comes from sitting behind a desk all day. I wonder if it's come to this, that the only time to exercise is while waiting for a train?! Or nice to think, maybe it was joy.

While on a plane to NYC

The most beautiful time of day in the garden is late afternoon, when the sun seems to highlight every leaf and flower. I used to think the old bench in the corner was a bit of an eyesore, but as it gets grayer it looks softer and more a part of the surrounding trees.

I love this time of year when there is an hour or two of warm sunlight in the afternoon, inviting quiet and contemplation. The intense heat of the summer hasn't returned yet and there are birds everywhere. I just brought out the feeder and the eaves bell, and J hung up the temple bell. The meditation garden is taking shape in front of us with a promise of tranquility. I walked the path surrounding the redwoods and camelias at the end of the day, and everything slowed down.

California Tempest

It's the season of the California Tempest. What you expect to be a "rainstorm" turns into something mythic and awe-inspiring.

I planned to go to visit JC in Davis yesterday. Not a hard, although a somewhat lengthy drive, mostly freeway. Despite the rain, I thought it would be somewhat silly not to go. The redwood trees in the yard were whipping around, thrashed by the wind. I packed up my backpack, contemplated the first aid kit and decided my computer was more important and headed to the car. I was really glad I didn't have to go outside, but could climb into the car in the relative calm of the garage. I pulled out, windshield wipers on intermittent and started off.

As I headed down the hill to the freeway, windshield wipers set to constant, there were streams racing alongside the road, running across the road, occasionally covering the road. Tree debris was everywhere -- leaves, pine needles, small branches. But, I figured, once on the freeway it will be fine.

I pulled out onto 24E and joined the few cars that were out, windshield wipers set to high. I began to wonder if my 90 minute trip was going to be more like 2 hours. About 2 miles down the road I drove through a small lake, behind an SVU that threw enough water up on to the windshield that it took an eternity -- 15 seconds?-- to clear and I started to think, maybe 3 hours. Another mile down the road and the traffic up ahead was stopped. The road was closed, and gratefully I turned around and went home.