Shabbat Shalom!

I'm worried that this may start to sound like a fundamentalist religious blog with all this talk about prayer and stuff recently, but I'm going to go out on a limb and tell you about a new thing I'm starting today: Sabbath.

I know, I know. Even my Judaism professor from seminary would tell me that Gentiles (non-Jews) are not required to observe The Sabbath in a biblical sense. But the more I read and interpret scripture and generally am alive, the more I sense that taking one day off in seven is fairly essential spiritually, personally and theologically. More and more I feel the need to be convinced (through direct experience) that the world going around does not depend on me accomplishing things in it.

Now what I'm not talking about is taking a day away from physically being at work in order to run errands, continue to respond to work emails and calls, and clean the house. I'm talking about a day away from work of most types, especially my professional work but also work from my life and relationships and home.

As you may know if you are also a minister, a pastor's work has the ability (and the tendancy) to ooze out into pretty much every other area of your life. Which leads to the fact that I feel pretty much "on call" 24 hours a day 7 days a week and do at least a little work for my job every single day that I am alive and have been for the last 422 days. But this isn't really going that well, so I'm making a change.

I'm going to try, just for this fall season, to take 24 hours of rest from work per week, usually the same day each week, and see what happens.

Today is my first day (actually I started last night) and I woke up with the most profound and hilarious awareness: what in the sam hell am I going to do today? I've decided I won't be checking email for work or responding to non-emergency phone calls. And I've sort of ruled out watchcing television all day or running errands. Which doesn't leave a lot of things on my list of normal activities.

This morning when Mr.LIOLI asked me the same question, I answered: I'll probably just read the bible or something. (I am SO pious!) But here it is, not even 9:30 a.m., and I've given up on that completely. I already "accidentally" logged into my email twice. (When I sat down at the computer it was the first thing I did, my fingers almost unconsciously typing my log-in, which is a scary testament to the force of habit.). And I've checked my phone several times to make sure it is working, even though I've agreed not to answer most calls. I've walked the dog and boiled some potatoes for the potato salad I'll make tonight when we have some friends over, but other than that, I'm free as a bird. And I have no idea what to do.

My friend LW has a blog about the Sabbath, which I love and I will read some of today for inspirtation. But other than that, who the heck knows?

Perhaps I'll have a mystical experience and go on to become a monastic theologian. Or maybe I'll come up with a soluntion for some complicted problems that have been lurking around, simply by ignoring them for a day. Or maybe I'll just be frustrated, check my email 12 more times, talk on the phone "by accident" and realize that this is a practice that takes practice. Heck, the Jews have been doing it for 4000 years and I bet some of them still sneak onto gmail once in a while on a Saturday.

So wish me luck, my reading friends!

Signing off for now,
LIOLI

Corruption Charges

I've warned my sister and brother-in-law that I will in fact attempt to corrupt my nephew, just a bit at appropriate life intervals because I think it's part of my job as an aunt. You know, to give the kid a little social capital on the playground by sharing with him key concepts and words that will keep him a bit ahead of the pack.

I thought I'd document that my work is beginning in part, and it was EASY. Simply lead by example, play some video games and little man wants to jump right in and become a "gamer." Love it. :)

Truth

I love that this is turning into kind of an online confessional booth. But I just logged on to ask: Why do we say stuff that's not true ALL THE TIME? It's like lying has become okay if it's with good intention. I've recently realized that I am TERRIBLE about this.

A few weeks ago, Mr. L was telling me a story and I needed to go into the bedroom to get something. So instead of "hold on," I said, "I'm still listening." and promptly walked out of the room and into the closet from where it would in fact be impossible for me to keep listening. I laugh about it now, but it is really indicative of something that in principle I believe to be wrong: lying. Why,for instance, didn't I just say "wait a second," instead of something that was blatantly untrue?

I usually do an experiment with my class when I teach about Buddhism where I ask them to note, mentally, every time they tell a lie in the course of one day. I usually do it too, just to play along. It's INCREDIBLE. Here are some choice examples that you may identify with:
"I'm sorry, I don't have any change to spare." (Yes, I DO in fact, I just don't want to give it to you.)
"No, I can't meet then. " (I can, I just would prefer to watch TV instead.)
"Let's hang out sometime." (And I'll just hope you never take me up on it!)
"I'm still working on that." (By which I mean I totally forgot I said I was going to do that until you just mentioned it.)
"Yes, Officer..." (And anything that follows.)
"I thought I emailed you about...." (And by thought I mean, I didn't.)
"I love that look on you..."
"That's so funny." (Especially if this statement is not accompanied by laughing.)
"That's okay, really."
The list goes on.

I liken this to the pre-recorded voice I am forced to listen to when I am on hold that tells me, "We appreciate your call." (Do you really?) and "Thank you for your patience." (You have no idea whether I'm being patient or not.) It's as if something about saying these things is important even if they're not true. As if there are things that need to be said that don't correspond to reality and we've all agreed that this is okay.

Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to go on a truth-blitz in which everyone told the honest-to-God truth for one day. Wouldn't that be so liberating? And terrifying? I'm not saying I'm going to do it soon, but maybe it's something we should put on the to-do list.

But for now, "I'm going to work on it."

Beach Day: Epic Fail

Okay, it seems like I am on a bit of a "Down-with-Boston" streak, but really I do appreciate it as a city and our life here and the history and culture and blah blah blah. But let me tell you one more story before I leave the NE-Critique train behind:

A few weekends ago, our friends and we decided we wanted to go to the beach. It was supposed to be a beautiful weekend and we all had work off, so we were going to take advantage of it. We picked them up around 9:30, thinking we'd get a reasonable start. Now something you must know about Boston is that despite the fact that it is a coastal town, it doesn't really feel like living at the beach. It just feels like living in a huge metropolis that has some water somewhere near it that you hear of but never visit. And you have to drive a ways to get out of the city and to a legitimate beach with sand, etc.

So we headed north with dreams of a day at the ocean. Our friend RT (who should really have a side business as a travel agent given his adeptness at trip planning) had picked the perfect beach for us. Despite a few close calls at traffic circles and one lifted draw bridge, we made our way there easily. When we arrived, there was significant traffic backed up at the entrance, but we weren't worried, because we weren't in a hurry. This was beach day. It was when we got to the front that the trouble started. It turns out people weren't slowing down to get in the entrance and pay (Yes, that's right, you have to pay to go to the beach here, $25 a day per car.) But it wasn't that. The beach was full.

Having grown up in the West where population density was never an issue, I found the prospect of the beach being "full" preposterous. "It CAN'T be full," I moaned. "That's RIDICULOUS. Go back and check. Or just pull in. Maybe they won't notice."

"It's full," came Mr. LIOLI's quick reply in that tone I now associate with the implied question, "Why don't you think any of the rules apply to you?" (Topic for self-reflection: Why don't I?)

"But how can the BEACH be FULL?" Apparently, we learned, it can. Well actually it was that the parking lot was full. Which wouldn't be a problem except for the fact that most MA coastal towns prohibit parking on the street from May to October, so no beach seekers can park, except in the beach parking lot, which is in fact full. For what reason, I have no idea. But apparently this is not an uncommon situation. Because the next one we tried was full too. And the next. And the next. At the fifth beach, we decided to give up. With defeated spirits we decided to stop by the salt marsh on our way out of town, "salt marsh" being a fancy term for "the sludgey mess that is left behind when the tide goes out in the summer." Something that looks approximately like this:


We found there an eclectic mix of folks who also apparently couldn't go to the beach, most of whom would fit squarely in a Jeff Foxworthy sketch. Anyway, we waded and laughed about our failure and Mr.LIOLI got bit by a black fly and we went to a clam shack and dairy queen on the way home. Thank God that these particular friends are the most flexible and adventurous ones we've got, because it certainly was an epic fail of a day.

But I'm still stuck on the fact that the beach can be full.

NE x NW: A Excercise in Comparative Travel

Having traveling to Portland, OR recently, the differences between the northwest and the northeast crystallized in my mind in a way that they haven't before. Let me share some snapshots of my epiphany:

• Air Travel: At Boston Logan airport (a notoriously terrible, dirty, ugly airport which is ALWAYS under construction through it never seems to get any more attractive or accessible) there is LITERALLY a person whose job it is to stand in the security line and SCREAM at the confused, fearful crowd like a belligerent, angry shepherd: LAPTOPS OUT, YOU'VE GOT TO GET YOUR LAPTOPS OUT, PEOPLE. GET THEM OUT. YOU CANNOT HAVE THEM IN YOUR BAG. BAGS ON THE BELT. SHOES OFF. GET THOSE SHOES OFF. C'MON PEOPLE. GET IT TOGETHER. TAKE THOSE LAPTOPS OUT. This mantra is on a continuous loop which mostly only functions to heighten the anxiety of everyone involved and give me a massive headache, as if the probability of stress and headache is not high enough given the travel culture, shoe removal policy and general severity of the TSA these days. BUT at the Portland International Airport, I almost laughed aloud when I observed the man who functionally had the same job there. But HE was calmly circulating through the crowd and speaking in a low, soothing voice: "Does anyone have any questions? Does everyone understand what will happen when you get to the front of the line? Does anyone need an extra ziplock bag?" Once at the front, the ticket checkers were courteous and helpful. Folks were helping to put others bags on the belt and everything was going down in a generally courteous and well-mannered way. I also noticed they actually had a station set up to explain the security procedures which included brochures in multiple languages, extra ziplock baggies, labels for your laptop and luggage tags.
  
• Driving: I've often joked that I'll never be able to move away from Boston because I've become such an obscene driver since being here that I'd never survive elsewhere. In Boston, the name of the game is aggression, rule-breaking and each man for himself (What's the gender neutral way to say that? Each person for him or herself? Awkward.) ANYWAY, it is not uncommon here to see people blatantly ignore common traffic laws and regular courtesies such as not honking 2 nano-seconds after the light turns green. I have seen people honk at pedestrians crossing the street who had the right of way, elderly people taking to long at a crosswalk and, on several occasions, other cars stopped at a red light. (Actually, it seems the ONLY violation that will not be tolerated here in Boston is an illegal left turn. All others are assessed on a sliding scale from okay to slightly annoying.) But Portland is like a fairly land of driver respect. You might pull up to a stop sign at the same time as another car and, instead of playing chicken in a 'No, it's my turn" standoff, you'd see both cars (probably Priuses of different colors) wave each other along as if to say, "No, you go." To which the other responds: "No, you go." And the first, with a wave, "No, really, you go ahead." And you stay there until everyone smiles and laughs a bit and someone goes but with an apologetic wave at having gone first.
• Bikes: They have bikes in Portland. Thousands of them. That people actually use to get places. And they periodically shut down the streets so the bikes can get around. And the buses have bike racks on the front. In Boston, if you are lucky enough to not have your bike stolen in the first five minutes you have it out, you have a 75% chance of getting killed by a Boston driver. (See above.)
  
• Trash: While the ditches of Boston are filled with Styrofoam Dunkin' Donuts cups (Bostonians believe all of America "runs on Dunkin'"), I actually checked out a Portland parking strip on a Saturday morning to find a discarded beer bottle......of organic micro-brew. Enough said.
  
• The pubs are already full in Portland by 4 p.m. on a weekday. This may be because of the 14% unemployment, but it is cool!
• Oregon state law permits CRAZY things like taking your dog to the beach. Or going to the beach at all.
  
• Parking rates in Portland were just raised: $1.25 an hour downtown. I am sad to admit that I have paid $40 a night in Boston for parking. Just in case you're not a math geek, that would be 32 hours of parking. But I was only there for 3.
• It gets cool at night in Oregon, even in the summer. It NEVER gets cool in Boston in the summer. Actually, even when it is cool the humidity is still so high you somehow have the strange experience of being cool and sweating at the same time. Awesome! OR the universe might cool off but the cement building have a unique conductive property that allows them to store heat all day and release it all night to create a cementy-night-heat that cannot be replicated outside of the city.
  

So those are my reflections on comparative travel (which I believe should be a new field of employment....I'm available if anyone's hiring!). I think you know where my heart lies.

Traveling Buzz

The MR. tells me my posts are way too long given that folks these days have a very short attention span. So here is something awesome and short:

I just saw a guy going through security at the airport whose 1 quart ziplock (intended for 3 oz. toiletries) was full of (you guessed it!), tiny bottles of Jack Daniels.

GENIUS.p.s. Conspiracy theory: Is this 3 oz. policy simply a project of the travel size toiletry lobby? I mean, it's genius. Travel size toiletries are 25X as expensive per ounce. Think about it.

Awkward

For those of you who know me in person, you know that I have a strange affiliation with awkwardness. In fact, that may be an understatement. There are times in which I feel that I am the epicenter of awkwardness. Not only are awkward people drawn to me like a moth to flame and awkward happenings always come up when I am around, but I myself am subject to periodic awkward outbursts. (Mr. LIOLI has dozens of such stories...ask him about them sometime!). They are like out-of-body experiences in which my ability to relate normally to others is suspended and I become trapped in a frenzy of awkwardness.

A quick web search of awkward yields the following definitions:

• causing inconvenience; (Me, a lot of the time)
  
• lacking grace or skill in manner or movement or performance; (Remember when I fell down while walking and broke my elbow? I had no idea that was just my awkwardness!)
  
• difficult to handle or manage especially because of shape; (Ah!)
• not elegant or graceful in expression; (Finally! An answer for the lifelong question of why I completely suck at sports!)
  
• hard to deal with; especially causing pain or embarrassment; (Mr. LIOLI: No need for your comments here, despite my previous invitation for feedback.)
  
• socially uncomfortable; unsure and constrained in manner; (Yes, yes, yes!)
  

Sometimes, it's comforting to find your niche. But there's more!

Anyway, I'm writing because for the last four days, I've been at a conference for pastors in which I've realized that my vocation itself might be an expression of my issue. Because so many people here are SO AWKWARD. (Have you ever noticed how awkward the WORD awkward is to say and spell? I think there's a name for this, but I can't remember it.) Now truly, I think most pastors are good people, but a deeper look reveals that many of them, including myself, have an awkward edge that propels them forward in the world like the wonky wheel on a shopping cart. And for some reason, this slight mutation gives people a selective advantage in ministry.

For instance, this morning, when I sat down to breakfast with some other folks, the man to my left offered the man across from him some creamer for his coffee, to which the other man responded: "No thanks. I like my coffee like I like my presidents: strong and black." This was followed by a deafening silence and then a tentative change of subject. But I had an epiphany in that instant that this is exactly the problem. So much awkwardness. In fact, mild racist overtones aside, this is totally something I might say, finding it totally hysterical.

So, I'm putting the call out there for some sort of awkwardness test: like those ink blot butterflies but better to test for awkwardness. This could become a great tool for assessing new ministers and just generally being hilarious. So wake up, social scientists. The church needs you! And I do too!

p.s. An anti-awkward therapeutic technique would also be welcomed.

Comment, Damn it!

Every time I visit friends and family at home, I am reminded that there are ACTUALLY people reading this blog periodically. HALLELUJAH!

Usually, I just go about believing that NO ONE is EVER reading this and I just puke out my thoughts into cyberspace in the relative anonymity of the blog no one reads. But people do read it. I found out. It's just that they never comment, other than a faithful few.

So I wanted to give a shout out to those of you secret behind-the-scenes readers and let you know: Don't be afraid! It's okay! I want to know what you think! Why are you secret readers?!?! Come out of the closet and comment damn it! :)

In fact, I'm going to go into my settings right now and make it easier for you to comment. You now have no excuse!

Confession

We don't have confession booths in the Presbyterian Church, so I'll have to use this blog instead. Because I have something important I need to proclaim to the quasi-anonymous confessional booth that is the world-wide web :

I'm not that Jesus-y.

I know, I know. You'll all say, "Of course you are! You're a minister for Christ's sake." (By the way, this is not swearing, I am a minister, literally, for Christ's sake.)

But I'm really not that Jesus-y.

What I mean by that is (and here is the confession part) that Jesus is not the A Number One Top Thing on my mind all the time. If this is shocking to you, please stop reading now. In fact, if I were really honest, there are not that many moments in which Jesus IS the A Number One Top Thing on my mind. Were I to go through my day and somehow prioritize and record the list of things that were on my mind, there would be times in which one might have to search pretty far down that list to find Jesus, probably somewhere after: the phone ringing, that I forgot to respond to someone's email, how ugly the girl's skirt is in the bank, what time it is, what I'm going to eat for lunch, wondering if we remembered to feed the dog this morning, figuring out what I'm going to do with my life, realizing the light has turned green, reminding myself that I need to stop by the store on the way home, Jesus, I wonder what color we should paint the hallway, etc.

Now, my non-Jesus-y-ness is not something that I notice that often, much the way one might not take note breathing in and out all the time or what their face looks like all day. But sometimes, when all of the sudden I experience my level of Jesus-y-ness in comparison to someone else, I realize how much I fall short.

For instance, I was recently in the middle of a conversation with another minister in which we were discussing some innocuous non-church-related life happenings and I said something along the lines of "I guess sometimes you just need a different perspective." To which she responded, "Well, that's what Jesus did, isn't it? He took the lessons and teachings from the Torah and reinterpreted them so people could see them in a new light." (This is a verbatim conversation, I am not exaggerating.) I have to admit that in that moment I was dumbfounded. Because I hadn't been thinking about Jesus at all. I had been thinking about the ACTUAL thing we were talking about....not that thing as a functional metaphor for the miraculous and transformative power of Jesus in our lives. And I honestly did not know how to respond other than to say, "Yeah," sheepishly, as if I had had some opportunity to express my piety which I had utterly missed....much like those times when I start chowing down in the restaurant as soon as my food comes and then look up to see the other person looking at me curiously and then asking, condescendingly, "Should we pray?" which I usually end up doing with one french fry hanging out of my mouth.

Anyhow, all this got me thinking, am I ever thinking about Jesus that way? And if not, should I be? And who are the people that are thinking that way? How do they do it? Are they ever just talking about the thing we are talking about? Or are they always looking beyond it? How do I get there? I seriously think I could use some major help in this area. Because I'm worried someone's going to find out soon. And then there could be major trouble.

For now 20 hail marys and I'm off to bed.

p.s. Even though I'm a minister, I still find praying in restaurants before eating to be TOTALLY awkward. What is wrong with me? Was it Harvard Divinity School?

Too Long

I've recently become aware of THE most wasteful and ridiculous development of recent history: the length of receipts. Has anyone noticed how freaking HUGE register receipts have gotten lately? Remember when they were just tiny slips about 2 inches wide and just a few inches long? Or when all they recorded was the cost of each item and then the total? Those days seem to be long gone.

I recently dashed into Star Market (the East Coast version of Albertsons for you Westcoasters) to buy exactly two items: a gallon of cheap lemonade and a box of fudgesicles. I went through the self-checkout lane to "save time"* and when I was finished, the receipt that printed for me was the most astounding artifact I have yet found of the super-sizing of all things American. The thing was approximately 5 inches wide, 7 feet long and had enough information on it that it must have included: my purchased items (including SKU, weight, regular price, sale price, price per ounce, price last year on this date, price I would have paid if I actually remembered my frequent shopper card, and a short narrative description of said item), the total (including what my total would have been had I saved with the shopper card), a customer service response survey, a message from the President of the company, my credit history, three coupons for things I didn't buy and the entire text of the New Testament. The ridiculousness only increased when I went home later and attempted to photocopy said receipt for record-keeping and reimbursement purposes. I had to fold the thing in thirds and press copy three different time to get it all!

When did this happen? And why did it become necessary? It's insane! I've concluded that by now there is probably an island of receipts floating somewhere off the coast of Malaysia the size of Manhattan. I know there is one at least the size of a generous size shoe box in my desk drawer.


* Tangent: WHY aren't ALL the self-checkout lanes open all the time? Isn't that the friggin POINT of self check-0ut? Why are half of them always closed so you still have to wait in line to check out your own damn groceries? ARGH.