Meditations. choice, prayer

Choice; I asked a preacher when he said that my being homosexual wasn't the ideal choice for humans, when did you choose to be heterosexual? I didn't get an answer. The questions begs, why? Could it be when faced with the question he couldn't find the answer? Could it be that the answer was a definitive date and time and if then so he'd be faced with his own same sex attractions and actions. I don't know and most likely will never know. These are interesting questions to contemplate.

So, with that in mind I've decided that my attempt to find a mainstream church, well integrated with a variety of people is at least for the time being not going to work here in my little part of North Carolina. So, with that said, I will head to Imani MCC here in Durham today. I need to connect with a faith community with similar beliefs, values and practices with which I can connect in a meaningful and deep way.

One church that I recently attended was too big, too impersonal and the preacher all too eager gifted as he is to smash from the pulpit. One church too disengaged to find a small group where I would fit. One church too liturgical and too stuffy and not Biblical based enough to hold my interest. I find that Imani MCC might fit the bill. I've been there once, the service, the music and communion fantastic. So, we will see where it goes.

Mean doesn't mean dishonest

On Tuesday a guest speaker came to our sales meeting. She read to us out of the revised code of ethics for Realtors. She said that it was a violation to malign a fellow Realtors business practices. I agree with that, that behavior should be a violation of the code of ethics. But then...she said, with respect to writing and publishing, that as Realtors we are prohibited from saying "mean" things about other Realtors.

Ok,...so in writing I say, Jenny gave out my lock box code to her buyer and let them go into a listed property without my permission or my sellers permission.

Well, if this is true and quantifiable, then yes it might be mean, but it also might be true and therefore doesn't malign.

On the other hand, to say, XYZ Realty over chargers for their services. Well that could be construed as mean and unquantifiable and therefore an ethics violation.

So, I guess my point is that mean, untruthful and unethical are really not mutually exclusive. Interesting how it can all be spun. Still I think, the best way to act is to do unto others as you would have them do unto you.

48 years

Yesterday as snow continued to fall on the northeast my dad and mom marked their forty eighth wedding anniversary. The night they were married it also snowed like a blizzard in New Jersey. So they tell me, I wasn't there, but I've seen photos.

I know that no marriage is perfect because no two people are perfect. I also know that marriage takes work, or so I've been told having never been married and being not so good or successful at relationships; but I find it rather heart warming that two people can marry and stay together for a long, long time, like forty eight years or even longer.

They were so young when they got married and they really grew up together. Actually, they also had me and my brother when they were young and all four of us really grew up together. That is kind of cool to think about. Anyway, looking at mom and dad's marriage from the outside, makes me appreciate their effort, they made choices along the way and I imagine some of those choices were difficult but with a partner along side perhaps more manageable.

Tea Party or Not Tea Party That is the question

To say that folks get all twisted about taxes is an understatement. I don't like paying taxes but my mantra is don't get twisted about much, life is way too short. So there is this movement afoot called Tea Party, interesting yet albeit rather old concept. Nothing like everything old is new again right?

Well this demographic of mostly white, mostly middle aged...that is 45 years old and up is in a twist over taxes and spending. Ok, I get that. Anyone who reads my other blog or monthly newsletter knows that I am all for simple, sound and frugal living, but I also hope that people realize that I am a realist and that leaving a huge underclass in any society is recipe for civil war or international strife, vis a vis the middle east but I digress.

Here's how...

Take away tax spending and here's how the Tea Partiers might be affected...

Was wine served at their gathering? Are any of the California vintners who grow grapes subsidized to grow or not grow crops? If yes, take it away.
Did the Tea Partiers fly to Nashville to their convention? If yes tax dollars support this nation's airlines, airport infrastructure and even built the entire system. Take it away.
Did any of the Tea Partiers drive to Nashville to their convention using the United States Interstate Highway system. Take it away, tax dollars again; state roads are subsidized too so take them away too.
Are any of the Tea Partiers farmers, utility company workers, highway construction workers, bankers, health care workers, real estate agents, teachers, police, fireman, military, postal workers, transportation workers and on and on and on. Take it away, tax dollars in some way either directly or indirectly touch each one of those industries.
Did any of them get a college eduction using guaranteed student loans? Gone.
Medicare, Medicaid, Social Security for themselves or aged parents, take it away.

I think my point is made. It is easy to get twisted when you don't delve deeper and really look at the whole picture. These very angry people have benefited in incalculable ways by the very thing that they fight against. Yet as they eat their inexpensive food, in a well lighted, well heated, well accessed hotel in Nashville TN they fail to realize that they live high on the hog with creature comforts that all of us helped pay for.

I for one rather enjoy these comforts so, I won't get twisted over this one.

What do I do?

What do I do?

A dear friend referred a neighbor to me who wants to sell her home. Oh happy day, right? Stop! Not always. In almost seventeen years of selling real estate I've learned to measure my enthusiasm to any given situation. So, we'll call her Sally, wants to sell her home and according to my friend, Sally doesn't really have both oars in the water. Truth be known, Sally doesn't even own her oars anymore, they are both out of the boat and floating down the river and Sally is just, well, kind of floating on her own.

Before I could get to Sally, she showed up at my office, unannounced and crabby, maybe not crabby, abrupt, although Sally admitted to me later, that she's not crabby, she's just been in a bad mood for twenty years. Sally was abrupt with my secretary/receptionist. Mind you now, my receptionist is one of the kindest most gentle people going, she is perfect, PERFECT for the job that she does; handling forty five real estate agents and their various personality limps and the plethora of general public curve balls that fly on a daily basis. So when I received a call that Sally was looking for me and that my receptionist felt that I needed warning, I thought ut oh.

When Sally arrived I was away from the office. I know, go figure and REALTOR who doesn't just sit behind a desk; one that goes out, visits folks, measures homes and shows homes. Sally was told that I wasn't in the office and so she left her telephone number.

I called that evening and the out going voice mail greeting was that of a man. Alrighty then. I left my message, trying to sound just as matter of fact as I could be.

I did not get a call back and so the next day, I left another message for Sally and this time I apologized if I had indeed been telephoning the wrong number.

On day three, Sally called me back. She was indeed interested in selling and would like me to meet with her at her home. We agreed that the next day at three thirty in the afternoon would work well for both of us.

At the appointed hour the next day I arrived at Sally's home. Sally's home is a long traditional North Carolina brick ranch. Typically these homes are three bedrooms, two baths, living room, dining room and family room and Sally's home was just that. The yard, overgrown. The front porch blocked off with yellow caution tape, the driveway covered in pine straw. No worries, all homes in a wet North Carolina January look a little tatty and worn. I parked my car half way up the drive and headed around back with my clip board in hand. Obviously the yellow tape was doing its job in warning me away from the front door. We'd have to deal with that if we're going to sell this place I thought to myself.

The carport of Sally's home is integrated with the house and is a rear entry carport. A very clever design element, the house isn't broken up at the front by a hole for cars. Sally's carport however was filled with stuff, piles of paper, trash, old tables, chairs, lamps and cardboard boxes; all of it just strewn about. The shrubs along the drive to the carport, covered in laundry and at least five, ninety gallon City of Durham trash and yard waste cans laying about. The back door into the house from the carport, propped open with a Dos Equies beer bottle. Immediately I am nervous.

I call out for Sally being proper and using her last name with an obligatory Ms. preceding the name. No answer. I yelp out again and finally get a response.

"Who is it?" comes from somewhere inside.

"Ms. (Last name), it's Michael Sullivan, we're supposed to meet at 3:30, I holler from the carport."

A long pause and I'm going no closer. I'm thinking "Silence of the Lambs," I'm thinking "Kiss the Girls," I'm thinking she might just be packing heat, these days I assume that everyone has a gun and on their own property or not will use it.

"Well what time is it, I thought you were supposed to come at 3:30, you're early." Mind you I still haven't seen the person with whom I'm speaking.

So with patience running a bit thin and nerves a bit jumpy, I answer,
"Ms.(Last name) it is 3:30 and I'm here to talk to you about selling your home."

Finally she appears in the propped open door. Sally is all of five feet tall and is dressed kind of like Pippi Longstocking. On her head is a huge, floppy straw hat with a bright sunflower tacked to the bowl, the sunflower is the size of my head. Sally is wearing about six shirts, I can see a green one, a purple one and a white one the rest is just bulk. On her lower portion, nylon sweats and on her feet, what were once white socks. I'm shocked, I try not to jump, but her appearance startles me.

I'm asked in and Sally informs me that she'll show me the worst part of the house first. The kitchen is a disaster area. It is worse than any crack house that I've ever been in, the cabinets are all wide open and appear as if they have vomited their contents out onto the floor. The wall oven is wide open and the door is being used as a shelf for cleaning supplies. Side note, the cleaning supplies haven't been touched in a long, long time. The floor, what I can see of it is filthy and the same color as the bottom of Sally's socks. The dishwasher is running but the front panel has fallen off and is propped on the counter. Sally is eating what appears to be bird seed out of an old Daisy Sour Cream container. Thankfully she offers me none.

The laundry room is behind me and Sally shows this to me next. This room is so full of stuff piled on the floor that we can't even get into it. There is an old wooden, accordion style drying rack against one wall and draped on it are some two hundred extension cords. The drying rack had the look and feel of the birds nest stadium used for the Beijing Olympics. I marveled that the drying rack really looked like a work of art. I was left wondering why Sally's clothes were drying on a bush in the yard and her extension cords were draped on the rack. I marveled at the amount of time it must have taken her to position all of the cords just so.

The rest of the house was filled with junk mail, garbage, old electronics, old furniture, bags of clothes, food storage containers and assorted stuff. Everything was moldy, everything was worn and there was no place to sit, thankfully. Through out Sally's home was evidence of vermin infestation. Much of the rubbish laying about had been chewed as rats and mice will chew and there were droppings here and there. I imagine that there were squirrels and chipmunks too given the fact that many of the windows were open and the house was ice box cold. I wondered where she slept. None of the beds had been slept in because the three that I saw were piled full of stuff that hadn't been moved in a long, long time.

As I walked through I didn't touch a thing, funny how a one hundred and ninety pound man can manage that feat in a house that's akin to what you'd see on the television show Hoarders. In the bedroom hall the pull down steps for the attic were pulled down and Sally asked if I wanted to go up.

My pat response, "I don't think that I need to see the attic or crawlspace right now."

Sally's bathtubs were both full of water which she used for her day to day water use. Plastic containers lined the edges of the tubs, the vanities and the floors in both bathrooms, Her reasoning was that the water smelled funny coming out of the tap and there were leaks under the house so she routinely had the water turned off and on. There was no heat, the sound of the heat pump bothered her and the air dried out her eyes. So she said.

With our tour done, Sally invited me to sit down, outside on a retaining wall to discuss her plans. I asked where she'd go, no idea. I asked about income, none, what we'd get out of the house would have to last the rest of her life. I guess she's in her late sixties. How did she come to own this home? It had been her parents. She did want to go back to work, she taught synchronized swimming. Truly a growth industry I thought.

Sally told me she wanted a small place in the country, perhaps Alamance County. Just a small simple place in a bamboo grove, where she could wriggle her toes in the dirt and plant some "ta' maters." Again, her words.

I told Sally that we couldn't sell her home until we figured out where she could go. In my mind this is a recipe for homelessness. Sally also told me that she'd had some strangers in to look at the house to purchase it. This scared me more, I asked her not to sign anything and NOT to let STRANGERS into her home. She did promise to follow my advice. Good grief, the terrible could happen.

Essentially here is a woman who has family and that family can't deal with her. Her words and theirs. Social services was contacted by my friend and per their evaluation, nothing needs to be done with Sally. So, what do we do? What do I do?

How does the wealthiest society in the world deal with someone who is on the margins both financially and in terms of mental health? It is unacceptable to me that we forget these people. I've searched the Internet for some sort of co-housing situation but Sally really can't blend with the types of communities that I've found. She doesn't have the tools to emotionally or psychologically fit it. Finally, I so do not agree with Social Services evaluation that Sally is fine and nothing needs to be done with her. Truth be told, they don't know what do do either.

What was the expectation...?

What was the expectation…?

As I was wiping the kitchen counter off this morning I accidentally knocked a full cup of coffee onto the floor and made a complete mess, not a partial mess but a complete mess that required ten minutes of clean up. I used the time to reflect, why not kill two birds with one stone?

I thought back to the events of last year, family, discord, alienation and landed on the day when I received the email from my brother telling us that Julian had moved out of his home. That Julian would be accorded no support; emotional, financial or otherwise and I thought to why; why was that email, worded in that way sent to me and others? Why and what was the desired outcome?

The thought slowly came that I had been painted into a no win situation. If I should buy in and also choose not support, interact, help, listen to or otherwise love Julian, then I loose the opportunity to act in a selfless way and get to know a remarkable young man with a wealth of promise who for reasons of his own had to move on. Right or wrong, Julian had made decisions that were his decisions. We all fall, we all falter but our hope is that someone is there to help us up.

But if I should choose to maintain a relationship with Julian then I loose too. Although invited into the conversation by simply receiving the email, should I not choose the obvious, then I loose all interaction with my brother, his six other children and his wife. If I should choose this path then I will incur silence, alienation, shunning and fury; also an accusation of meddling and crossing a line to where I don’t belong.

Here’s where I could easily allow myself to become angry. I was invited into participation; the email was sent to me. At the time I didn’t realize that the guise wasn’t to simply inform me of certain events, the guise was, I’m telling you this and you have a decision to make; if the you make a decision that I deem incorrect; then you will have to pay for that in a most punitive manner.

Wow, well I’m not angry, I’m not even that hurt anymore; that’s not to say I wasn’t hurt. It’s like this; when a drastic change occurs in life, like the death of a partner or loss of a best friend; in time one learns to deal with the hole that’s left. The hole never leaves, it remains an indelible mark but those left learn how to maneuver around that hole so as not to fall into it or get caught by it, such is this case. Do I hope for healing and reconciliation? Absolutely, but there are caveats and criteria and my assumption is that I have not been granted a conversation because my guidelines are clear and I will not relent. My guidelines require courage, time and strength of character to confront because I will not tolerate the former status quo.

I like the South African model of truth and reconciliation; we can move forward and forge anew but we will not simply ignore the past we will address it and build reconciliation from it. I realize that in our situation not all of us are there and may never get there which explains the silence. With that in mind, I’ll keep praying, thinking and writing on the topic; it helps me manage the hole and gain perspective.

Snow days

Psalm 37:7
Be still in the presence of the Lord, and wait patiently for him to act.

Two days of confinement in the house, more or less, gave me time to think, contemplate, pray, rest and reflect. The last month or so has been so full, so busy, rich, that although prayer has been part of the day to day...I usually start each day in prayer, the last two days have let me seek God in a closer way and rest in that place.

Earlier in January 2010 I felt as if I couldn't find the face of God and the personality of Jesus. The gospel of John helped me deal with that yesterday and the day before. Psalm 37 helped also. Often when I feel troubled or restless I seek answers in the Proverbs, the Psalms and the Gospels. The last three days with not much phone ringing and not much email has allowed me to find that pause. I think therein is the key, the pauses are there, we inhabitants of a highly charged over stimulated world must find the pause button and push it and then stay there from time to time.

With batteries reset, I'm ready to get back out there.