Christmas 2014

Kicked off my winter stay-cation yesterday afternoon with a brisk hike up to the top of Mount Tabor.  A cool, gray Wednesday in the Rose City, just a few days into winter. I pushed at a pretty good pace to get the blood pumping, but it was full dark by the time I got back.

I'm through with work for the rest of the calendar year. I hope to close out 2014 doing the things I love best: reading, writing, going to the movies, playing games, and hanging with my African honey bee. Life is good.

Twenty-fourteen hasn't been a peaceful year. Neither for the world, nor for me, personally. Maty and I changed residence last summer, as told, and the stresses of that endeavor were compounded by stress and anxiety at our various workplaces, by health issues, by wars and rumors of wars. I try not to be troubled. All these things must come to pass, but the end is not yet.
 
Maty is working this Christmas morning: caring for sick and elderly people. She'll be home this afternoon, and we'll have our Christmas dinner and exchange gifts. Just the two of us, Muslim and  agnostic, celebrating Christmas.

Pumpkin pie ready for the oven

But I want to wish all of you --everyone out there whom I've had the honor of befriending, every cherished cousin, every good-hearted stranger who might stumble on this pronouncement --peace.

I wish you peace.

Pie's cooked! Merry Christmas, all! Peace and love!

Post-Thanksgiving brooding

The Dade of today

In the days before Thanksgiving, Mom and I had a conversation. We wondered how it would be to try to explain the world as it is today to departed loved ones. She mentioned Grandma Metzger and I was thinking about Dad.

The Dade that Dad would remember

Dad --Ross Cariaga, Junior --passed away in the spring of the Year of Our Lord, 2001. I remember how the world was in that time. I remember the world Dad knew. Two and a half months after Dad's passing, on September 11th, 2001, that world passed away as well.

Historical events shape our collective human perception of the world. On some fundamental level, Dad would not understand the world today.

That is a sad and strange thing to think about. Dad, whom I always believed to have unclouded perceptions, to be savvy and worldly-wise, would be rendered naive in today's world by an event that occurred just a few weeks after he passed.

The Dade that Grandma would remember

"Well, think of me and my mother," said Mom. "I'd have to start by explaining to her that there was no more Soviet Union!"

Indeed.  Gertrude Metzger passed in 1987. A very different world.

Certainly, Dad and Grandma would have marveled at the wonders of today's world. How strange would it seem to them to have a face-to-face conversation with someone a thousand miles away while sitting in a coffee shop? How difficult would it be for them to believe that the entire catalog of human knowledge was at their fingertips? Accessible from anywhere at any time?

And, while they would likely recognize today's horrors --they are, after all, the same four horsemen that have always beset mankind --they might be startled by the strange, new vestments in which Plague, War, Famine and Death appear. I don't believe Grandma ever heard anything about global warming. And Dad might find the ever-increasing magnitude of hurricanes and typhoons in the days since his passing to be unsettling.

I guess that's just the way of it, though. I don't suppose the world I know will long outlive me. But the human chronicle will continue to unfold.

For a time.

Les Misérables on Christmas Day

Merry Christmas, friends and family.

It's been a peaceful Christmas Day at the Cariaga household.  I hope it is peaceful where you are, too.

Maty had to work this afternoon, so I went to the theater to take in Les Misérables.

Les Misérables

If you liked the Broadway musical (I saw it twice back in the 90s), you'll love the film.  I loved it, in spite of the so-so reviews I'd read beforehand.  Those reviews agreed on two points: 

1) Anne Hathaway's rendition of Fantine's Death was fantastic (warranted);
2) Russell Crowe's singing sucked (unfair).

Hathaway delivered a stark, beautiful performance as Fantine.  But Russell Crowe (in the role of Javert) isn't a bad singer; it's just that he's outgunned by his costars, who are all great singers.  Amanda Seyfried (Cosette) surprised me.  She trills.  She scales all the way up the ladder.

The role of Jean Valjean demands much, but Hugh Jackman bears the burden well.  His facial expressions fill in the spaces between his words.  That's pretty much true for the entire cast, though.  The tears started flowing early in Act I and they kept up for the duration.  I heard a lot of snuffling in the audience.  When Valjean sang "Bring Him Home"  there was audible sobbing.  Not a dry eye in the place.

But that's why we go to Broadway musicals, isn't it?

Christmas Wish

Les Misérables is a very Christian story.  Catholic-style Christian.  It's a story of redemption.  It's a story of charity and forgiveness. 

I'll tell you one thing.  That's no easy freeway:  being a Christian.  To be a Christian, to be a real Christian, you've got to be willing to lay it all down.

I haven't seen it much, frankly.  But we all do what we can.

Try to remember the weak, and the hurting, and the vulnerable, will you?  I'll try, too.

Merry Christmas.

Winter solstice potpourri

Solstice.  Winter solstice.  The dead part of the year. 

The National Rifle Association holds a press conference today, promising “to offer meaningful contributions” to the national debate in the wake of the horror that occurred in Newtown, Connecticut.  Let us hope.

Yesterday evening, the Republican caucus in the US House of Representatives had a very public meltdown.  Speaker Boehner was forced to pull his "Plan B" initiative for the nation's future tax policies.  He formulated the plan as a way to demonstrate Republican solidarity in the face of the Obama steamroller.  Instead, it laid bare the rift within.  The matter-of-fact release from the Speaker's office last night as Congress suddenly and unexpectedly recessed for the Christmas holiday without voting:  "The House did not take up the tax measure today because it did not have sufficient support from our members to pass. Now it is up to the president to work with [Senate Majority Leader] Reid on legislation to avert the fiscal cliff. The Senate must now act."  Who could have known that the Bush tax cuts, passed a full decade ago, would become the undoing of the Republican party?

Sister Mia made me aware of a band called "The Staves."  Beautiful vocal harmonies backed by open-tuned guitar.  Very reminiscent of Joni Mitchell in her heyday.  Check it out:


The Mayan calendar ended yesterday, and as my friend Jaime pointed out, zombies didn't rise up and kill us all.  So we haven't yet reached the nadir that Cormac McCarthy envisions.

If I may offer some advice for the weekend.  Brew yourself up some tea, sit down in a comfy chair, put in your earbuds, and set your Pandora to the Classic Christmas station.  Just for 15 minutes.  You'll thank me when it's over.

Winter solstice.

Darkness take us on down into the dead of the year. 

Embrace it. All of it.

Thanksgiving day, 2012.  Pavement still wet from Tuesday's deluge, but it was warm and no rain fell.  If you live in Portland, you learn to take advantage of these days.

On the way up, Tom Waits mourned the Reeperbahn in the earbuds.  I met a family walking a dog. A couple, about my age, with a teenage daughter.

The daughter held the dog's leash and walked a little ahead.  Her face was bloodless, pale as old candle wax. Dark circles under her eyes suggested an apathy beyond the trials of the world.  An enigmatic resignation, shocking to see on one so young.

Her mother's face was also haggard and weary. Pale lips, downcast eyes.  An aura of weary endurance. 

Those morbid miens contrasted with that of the father-husband.  The vital color in his cheeks, the brightness of his eyes, spoke of a world that yet held promise for him beyond the tragic destiny of wife and daughter.

I was struck by the thought that the masks worn by the woman and her daughter were ghastly premonitions.  Of what, I cared not to guess.

In the end, I was able to shrug it off.  After all, God only knows how I appeared to them.  What might they have seen in my face? 

Up on top, the Old Man stood naked.  His long, long thoughts conjured clouds about his temples.  He'd no interest in my supplications.  So I gave thanks.  For wife, for home, for family and friends.  For sight, for sound.  For joy and agony.  For reassuring knowledge that I am a part of it --of all of it.

Christmas, 2011

So, way back in the 70s, when I was a kid working in the grape fields in the Coachella Valley, in California, my Uncle Don took me and some of my cousins to see a movie in Palm Springs.  I can't remember the name of the flick, but it was a documentary that purported to scientifically examine evidence that Earth had been visited by extra-terrestrial life.  Indeed, the film suggested that early American civilizations (the Incan and Aztec empires in particular) owed much of their development to the knowledge imparted from spaceship-traveling aliens.

It was a boring flick, as I recall.  The only memorable datum that came out of it was a prediction of the date when the aliens would return to Earth, as set by the Aztecs.  (Or was it the Incas?)  That date was December 24, 2011.  Tomorrow.

I've held that date in my memory for three and a half decades.  And tomorrow I will learn, we will all learn, the truth of the film's prediction.

This Christmas, we will either awake to a brand new world full of possibility brought about by renewed contact with a benefactor race or we will awake to our old world (also full of possibility) in which we  continue to struggle with our relentless demons while teetering on the brink of catastrophe.

I'd give odds in favor of the latter, but you never know, eh?  Either way, the world will be irrevocably changed on the morrow.  Just like it is on every morrow.

So, while this world is still as it is on this day, let me extend my best wishes for every good soul who might read these words.  Old or new, our world has been and will be beautiful. 

Let's live as if we were worthy of salvation.  Be kind.  Heal.  Help.  Love.

Holiday best.

Gratitude for these

Were it all to end tonight, I could only say that I've been given more than any man might hope to expect. For so many reasons.

Among them these:

Where I am.

Who I'm with.

What I believe in.

Happy Thanksgiving, all!

Easter wish

Vine maple canopy

If it is possible that phylogeny recapitulates ontogeny, as Ernst Haeckel proposed, might also the eternal cadence of the seasons of the year recapitulate the emotional life of a human being?

We all recognize the tragedy of summer which, like glorious youth, is a pinnacle from which one must inevitably fall.  Autumn resembles the solace of middle age, when we learn that glory diminished is still heart-breaking and worthwhile.  And winter, of course, is the ultimate peace that awaits us all; the Triumph (as the Christians call it) that we will all come to know.  It is resignation and acceptance.

If these are true, then spring is hope and aspiration.  Spring symbolizes not only birth, but rebirth and, perhaps even more, the human penchant to have faith in what is to come.

Saint Philip-Neri, early Mass

Well, after all, comparing human emotional development to the cyclic patterns of the year is rather trite, is it not?  Poets have been making such comparisons for as long as there have been poets.  The Wiccans have always seen things that way, and the Catholics, opportunistic though they may have been, chose springtime to mark the occasion of their Resurrection.

So, begging your pardon, I hope this springtime, this rebirth, might give life to those hopes and aspirations you have for your own future and for our collective future.  And since I did attend early Mass this morning, I'll go ahead and say it the Catholic way:

Happy Easter!

Esperanzas poste-cumpleañoses

Ya este año de dos mil once está un duodécimo pasado.

Hace muchos años desde que yo dejé de hacer resoluciones.  Eses son solamente recetas para desilusión.  Pero, las esperanzas.  Esas yo tengo.

Quisiera crear una vida que le gusta a mi esposa querida. Si sea posible.  Quisiera ser digno de su amor. Otra vez, si sea posible.  

Espero que yo pueda confrontar los ensayos que vienen con gracia y valor.

Espero ser como un ciego a las tentaciones diabólicos que atormentan los ojos.  Espero ser como un sordo a las voces que dicen, "Tú te conoces.  ¿Quién mejor?  ¡Lo ha sido escrito!"

Cuando un hombre ve una bendición en su vida, hace bien que anunciarla.  Y ahora he tenido cuarenta y nueve años de esta vida magnífica.

(Perdóneme por favor para mi español malo.)

EOY 2010: Brooding as the sands slip

Do you see the faces?

Here we are at the end of the Gregorian Calendar Year, 2010.
The internationally-acknowledged calendar was first brought into use by way of a papal bull, dictated from Pope Gregory XII.  It is the result of an effort by the Catholic church to adjust for an 11 minute inaccuracy in the previously-used Julian Calendar, which worked on the assumption that the time between vernal equinoxes was an even 365.25 days.

The actual time it takes for Earth to complete its annual orbit is 11 minutes short of 365.25 days.  Over time, accumulated error moved the calendar year forward in relation to the actual equinox.  When the Gregorian Calendar was established in 1582, the vernal equinox occurred on March 11th according to the Julian calendar.  Pope Gregory's calendar introduced an adjustment^* to the Julian "leap" year, which adds an extra day every four years to account for the lost time. 

^*And what an adjustment it is!  The calculation to determine if a year is a leap year is this:  Every year that is exactly divisible by four is a leap year, except for years that are exactly divisible by 100; the centurial years that are exactly divisible by 400 are still leap years. For example, the year 2100 is not a leap year; the year 2000 is a leap year.

The entire Calendar issue epitomizes our human inability to penetrate the infinitesimal, does it not?  At some point, the minutiae of the Universe extend beyond our capacity to understand and we have to fudge it.  All those illusions we create with our human perceptions --all the grand plans, the beach-side castles, the rocks upon which we build our churches --melt back into the cosmic soup with a flicker of thought from the Unnameable Mind.

Those moments when we are confronted with this truth can be humbling.

So, with a humble heart I bid goodbye to 2010, that abstract period of time loosely derived from the workings of our solar system.  All in all, it's been good.

Peace, love, and kindness, folks!

Peace and love from the top of Mount Tabor

Windy, but not too cold, is how I would describe it.  That's how it is during this solstice epoch in Inner Southeast.  Up on top of Tabor, the wind is high and strong.  The shaggy needled arms of Douglas-firs bend and sigh, heavy as the grief of a mother bereft.  The asphalt circlet on Tabor's crown is wet from the occasional droplets that fall from thin, ghostly clouds, but you couldn't really say it is raining.  Not by Portland standards.  I'd say "sprinkling" is closer to the mark.  And it's dry under the big Dougs.  A Douglas-fir canopy is much umbrella.

In this stage of my spiritual voyage, I've still got a few of those Christian-Pagan traditions by which I was raised hanging around.  And so, I send out sincere best wishes to each and every person who lives in my heart.  And there are a lot of you! 

Things are going just fine for me and my African honey bee in our little corner of this rain-soaked earthly paradise.  We are both gainfully employed and happy.  When that day comes for me to settle my accounts, the year 2010 will certainly be registered on the positive side of the ledger.

And, for any of you who are struggling with doubt or despair, if I might, let me reassure you.  This is a very beautiful world we live in.  Very, very beautiful.

We shall hear the angels, we shall see the whole sky all diamonds, we shall see how all earthly evil, all our sufferings, are drowned in the mercy that will fill the whole world. And our life will grow peaceful, tender, sweet as a caress. . . . In your life you haven’t known what joy was; but wait, Uncle Vanya, wait. . . . We shall rest.  --Anton Chekov

Peace!

Winter solstice and Christmas trees

Winter solstice occurs tonight. Today is the shortest day of the year.  All over the country, people are decorating their Christmas trees and getting ready to celebrate the (nominal) birthday of Christ the Savior.  I wonder if, in these United States, most people with Christmas trees in their houses are aware of the symbol's pre-Christian origins, of its apparent contradiction with Christian faith.

In the early days of Christianity, when the priests set forth from Rome to convert the heathens away from their nature-worshiping ways, they often found that the most effective method for winning converts was to insinuate Christian teachings into the established pagan traditions.  Thus, we have Easter occurring near the spring equinox, and All Saint's Day (Hallowe'en) falling somewhere around the fall equinox.  Why conquer when you can co-opt, eh?

One such tradition was that of the Yule log.  The origin of the tradition is lost in time, but the working theory is that the pagans would adorn their homes with boughs and branches from evergreen trees as a sign of renewal at the winter solstice.  As the solstice approached, the days grew short, causing people to fear that the sun would eventually disappear forever. But, while deciduous trees, bushes, and crops died or hibernated in the winter, the evergreen trees remained green, suggesting that they had magical powers that enabled them to withstand the rigors of winter.

It is not clear when or how the Christians adapted this pagan tradition into their faith.  One story has it that St. Boniface, a German Christian who lived in the 8th century, cut down an oak tree in the presence of some recently-converted Christians.  (Oak trees, of course, were holy to pagans.)  The oak miraculously split into pieces, revealing an evergreen tree growing in the center of the oak stump.  Christians put forth this story as proof that Paganism was overcome by Christianity.  (Those Christians and their symbols!)

Well, anyway, that's the way these things work, isn't it?  Ideas get co-opted and hijacked and transformed to the point that they scarcely relate at all to their original purposes.  It's not the Christian way, or the Pagan way.  It's the human way.

So, with that in mind, here's wishing everyone a Merry Christmas and a Happy Solstice!

Thanksgiving day ramble

And ye shall hear of wars and rumors of wars; see that ye be not troubled: for these things must needs come to pass; but the end is not yet. --Matthew 24:6

So urge the Gospels.

Christianity's allure is solace.  But the price... the price... 

War looms.  Darkness descends. 

To the west, Pacifica may indeed love us, but her hand is not gentle.  Neither wind nor water.  She scolds us with her icy breath.  She worries our coasts with her monstrous sharks.  She rages in cold fury.  She feeds us.  She feeds on us. 

To the east, Old Man Hood skirts himself in liard and whey, indifferent as a star to our flint-spark lives.  His stormy moods strike us dead.  When glimpsed through the nimbus, he is frowning.  His own war, he knows, is lost. 

Very well.  Whatever may come, I stand by these, which are forever apart from the Abyss:

Edenic city, nestled among tree-studded hills at the confluence of two mighty rivers.  Presently she is in Arctic jet stream stasis.  Winter's vanguard defrocked oak and maple, lulled Douglas-firs to early slumber.  Sleep then, my love.  Let us sleep.

Beloved wife who redeems and absolves me.  She fires the kiln of the clay of Creation.  She would not have me sing her praises so openly.  Enough, then.  Just a word and enough.

 My best to all on this Thanksgiving Day.

Eid Mubarak, 2010!

 Portland Muslims, 2006

Today (or tomorrow, depending on how it is calculated) is the last day of the month of Ramadan; Eid al-Addha, a holy time in the Islamic faith; a time of celebration.

Although I'm not Muslim, I'm joining the world's 1.5 billion Muslims today in their celebrations.  Why?

Because, in spite of all the Islamophobia gripping certain segments of our population, the ideal of America is still alive. Check out this report from NBC news last night.

Visit msnbc.com for breaking news, world news, and news about the economy

The Heartsong Church in Memphis demonstrates not only what it means to be American, but what it means to be Christian as well.  The ideal of America (as opposed to the reality) is a land where people are free to practice their faiths without being subject to persecution, a land governed by tolerance and respect.  And, as Pastor Steve Stone says in the video, his church is doing what Christ bade them to do:  loving its neighbors.

As the spouse of a devout Muslim, I am gratified by this act of charity and love.  It is reassuring and deeply moving to know that my country is filled with decent, kind, and loving people. 

Blessings!

Day old Easter hyacinths

Ambling through Fred's, 'cause Maty's workin' tonight
And I miss her presence in the house;
Apple cinnamon low-fat granola,
And something for her, too, just 'cause I miss her;

We had walked up the street for pho the other day;
Tulips, cherry blossoms, and blueberry buds;
"What is that one?" cocoa-colored finger extended;
Hyacinths, pink and pale, though I could not remember;

Flowers at Fred's cost less 'cause Easter's over;
Day-olds, dry and neglected;
One pale pink hyacinth, drooping, unloved toward the inevitable,
Moves my heart to pity... to love and pity!

A swift walk home to the kitchen sink;
Tap water deluge of love:  Drink up!
Drink long, drink deep, for God's and my sake!
'Cause if you won't drink, then no one ever will;

I hope to imagine there's never anything ever,
Never, ever --anything at all
That might be wrong with day-old Easter hyacinths
That I could not bear to forsake;

Clock's a-tickin' 2009

Most of us recognize this day as the end of an arbitrary chapter in the chronicle of humankind.  Planets spin in rote; somewhere the digits of some chronological counter fall.  December 31st is come; a year ended, another to begin.  The date falls in regimen, part of the New Age clockwork that is derived loosely from the old Pagan recognition of the winter solstice.  A token, perhaps, of how far removed we are from the natural rhythms of our world. 

In our modern world, we pay small respect to the magic of the shaman, the wisdom of the druid.  We insist that the world is run by gears and wheels.  "Reason is King!" we proclaim.

We may be stripped of that luxuriant ignorance ere long.  Nonetheless, let's go with it for now.

This year saw no ebb in the cruel tides of war.  Nor has there been any indication of a new consciousness emerging from the riot of humanity.  I've mostly given up looking for such.  I attribute it to my own terrible awakening on November 2nd, 2004.  I lost much of my faith in people on that day.  The wounds I suffered back then are still raw, five years later.  (But, at the least, the monkey is gone... merci mon Dieu... the monkey is gone.)

To me, and to mine, the year 2009 has been gentle.  No dire health problems; no destitution; general harmony amongst the Tribe of Ross.  We've been lucky.  And I know it.  And please believe, I've got a hand out to those less fortunate souls whom I can help.  No friend of mine should imagine that I won't do what I can for him.

So, here we go.  Another spin around the solar whirligig.  I'm standing ready. 

Let's see what the new year brings.

Best to all. 

Torin, Seth, and Gino

Willamette Valley Christmas 2009

Fog-shrouded trees in the southern Willamette Valley

This holiday season has been one of those that serve to remind how blessed and lucky I am.  (But then again, they all are.)  On Christmas Day, Maty and I had our own little holiday celebration (despite the fact that neither of us are Christian).  We exchanged gifts, took a jaunt out to the theater to see Sherlock Holmes, and had supper at home.  Just the two of us. 

Roasted lamb, garlic mashed (sweet) potatoes, gravy, french bread, salad.  Blueberry tart (from France) for dessert.

Next day, we set off for Eugene, Oregon, about 120 miles to the south, to visit sister Mia and brother Eric and their respective families.  We stopped in Tigard along the way to deliver gifts to our dear friends the King family.

The King family sans Kadija (Philip is hiding)

Nephew Gino is growing up fast. He's about average height for his age, but his weight is in the 90th percentile. He's a stocky kid destined, no doubt, for the wrestling mat.  Or perhaps he'll be fighting for position down low in the paint, intimidating would-be rebounders.

Nephew Gino and Mama

Then, yesterday, it was back up to Portland, there to meet sister Paige and family.  The drive along the interstate was a patchwork quilt of fog and sun breaks.

Cold and clear December

Paige, Tim, and Torin arrived in the mid-afternoon. Mi sobrino Torin ha estado estudiando en una escuela de inmersión del español.  Y él habla muy bien.  Eric and Kristi drove up as well, Calee made the cross-town trip and we all went for Thai food at Authentic Thai on Division Street.

Front row:  Torin and Maty
Back row:  Tim, Calee, Paige, moi, Kristi and Eric

Boy, I'll tell ya:  Any man who is not a fool knows enough to say thanks when he hits a stretch of road like this.  And I don't want to think I'm a fool.  So I'll say it:  Thank you, Great Whatever.  Thank you.

See why I'm smiling?

Holiday best to all '09!

Winter is here!

Throwin' out a "Peace!" to everybody this solstice.  Peace is a good thing to be throwin' in anyone's direction.  But "Merry Christmas!" too, if that's your gig. 

The weather is cold and clear and Maty and I are battened down and holding our own here in Portland.  Just did a little last-minute holiday shopping and, believe it or not, I found the endeavor to be entirely tolerable.  In fact, I might even say I had a good time bathing in the frantic eddies of human bustle.

Maty, doing what she does so well

Humankind is heading into some rough waters.  It's not like we haven't seen it coming.  And I doubt we've hit the bottom yet.  Nonetheless, I'm upbeat.  Now that people are realizing how bad things might become, I believe we'll all start pulling together.  I've heard tell of times when people worked together for the Common Good and had it come out alright.  And, if it turns out that we've had our collective epiphany too late?  Well, at the very least, our decline will be more tolerable if we're kind to each other, if we forgive each other.

Present this photo as evidence in any future canonization considerations

Who knows?  We might even learn something from it all.

Every life is a poem.  No matter what happens, each of us has witnessed the miracle of Creation.

Our very best and most sincere wishes to each and all. May you have peace and contentment!

Holiday reflections

 I'm happy for these kids

The other day, at the lunch hour, my friend, James Minor, and I walked from our office building across the company campus to the commons building for a bowl of soup and a slice of pizza.  A group of kids from a local middle school were singing Christmas caroles and dancing for the entertainment of my coworkers.

It was a heart-warming, poignant display, which I enjoyed very much.  The kids were enthusiastic, seemed pleased with themselves, and appeared to enjoy the approving attention directed at them from the spectators. 

And, angst-ridden liberal that I am, I came away from it saddened.  Those singing, dancing, smiling kids will likely never know hunger nor find themselves and their families trapped in a war zone, fearing for their lives.  At least, I pray that they will not.

Well, dear reader, you undoubtedly know where I'm going with this...

Can we do something?

Since I became an adult, I've always found that children's books invoke this same sadness in me.  So often, children's books are written to reassure, to calm fears.  But, while I don't advocate that we frighten children, we all know the truth:  the world is full of perils and horrors.  No matter how much we might desire it, we cannot shield children from that truth.

If only it were not so.

I plan to enjoy the holidays.  But I hope never to forget how flat-out lucky I am to have been born into such a blesséd existence.

That's my prayer for this year:  Lord, help me to remember; help me to find a way to ease the suffering of the less fortunate.

I'm just a bleeding-heart liberal, after all.

Good ol' James

Update:  Coworker James and I will make a trip to the Costco today to buy food for the seven needy families that my company is sponsoring this holiday season.  It's a start!

Eid Mubarak! 2009

 Portland Muslims, Eid al Adha, 2009

Once again, it is Eid al-Adha here in Portland, Oregon.  Eid Mubarak, one and all!

Eid al-Adha is the "festival of sacrifice," commemorating the occasion of  the trial of the patriarch of all Muslims, Christians, and Jews, Ibrahim (or Abraham).  Anyone who has lived in the western world knows the story:  God commanded Ibrahim to sacrifice his only son, Ismael, on the altar.  When Satan came to tempt Ibrahim and his family, Ibrahim's wife, Hajar, and Ismael drove the devil away with stones.  Ibrahim prepared to complete the sacrifice, demonstrating his submission to God in all things.  God, at the last moment, revealed a lamb that was to be slaughtered in place of Ismael.

Heavy stuff.  If I follow my own rule and attempt to interpret the story as metaphor, I'd guess that the wisdom this story offers has to do with acknowledgment of the futility of human endeavor.  All will be as God (or whatever you may call It) wishes.  (A proper analysis of the story deserves its own post at a future date.)

At the Convention Center

Maty and our friend Nadiya (from Togo) went to the Portland Convention Center this morning to join the morning call to prayer.  I dropped them off and admired the Muslims in their finery, making their way to the ceremony.

Normally, Maty throws a party to celebrate Eid.  But since we feasted (and how!) yesterday, two consecutive days of feasting seemed a bit much.  So this year, Maty and I (and maybe Nadiya) will eat a simple meal at home.

Portland Muslims, Eid al Adha, 2009

But, as the husband of a Muslim woman, I'm obliged to buy a Halal slaughtered lamb to present to her as a symbol of my love and dedication.  Which I have done.  Maty and I picked up the lamb (which we had to special order a month or two in advance) just this evening.

So, let me say "Eid Mubarak" to all.  No matter your faith.  I always appreciated when someone wished me a Merry Christmas, even in my militant atheist days.

Eid Mubarak!