Howlings Of The Lady Wolf ...

I'd like to extend a  giant "Hello" or "Howlo" to All -- and welcome back to Lady Wolf's Notes :) 

Well, these are scary times, for sure. Some people are saying we're in the apocalypse. And if we are, or aren't, we have a lot of work to do to make things right. I feel I'll be sharing a variety of thoughts with you with this writing, though I also feel that all the pieces can and do fit together.

We're now the world's epicenter for Covid 19, with politicians using the pandemic for self-aggrandizement. We are a divided nation, with deep wounds that need cleansing. I'm reminded now of my late husband who suffered a terrible rectal cancer and a gaping surgical, radiated wound ... the wound needed twice-daily cleansing, the process of which was horrifically painful for him to endure. And that is the way it is with wounds of all kinds ... they need to be cleansed, cleaned out and it involves work and pain. We need to clean up our government and its agencies, starting at the topmost federal level and down through the states and cities. Honor the rights of citizens; re-model our police departments, treat our fellow beings humanely, atone as best we can for wrongs committed recently and in our nation's past. The wrongs began when some of our ancestors came to this continent from Europe, forced America's original owners out of their homes and off their land, and began disrespectful destruction of the lands and wildlife that the Native Americans had respected and revered. Those deeds are still blowing in the wind, still are not righted. Then, some of our ancestors sailed to the continent of Africa and rounded up many of the native people there, the Africans, put them in chains, and brought them on slave ships to what is now the United States, where they were "owned", "property", mistreated, and used as slaves. This is painful history and cannot be undone, but it ought to be acknowledged and the damage righted to the extent possible. We in the United States are all Americans.  There is no room here for hatred and racism. The only acceptable path is love.

And we are now facing the wrath of a pandemic.  
Can each of us strive to be accountable, kind, ethical, civil, humane? Let's start with our current crisis ... let's each one of us wear a face covering when we are in public. Protect yourself and protect others. We need to rise above this pandemic and save lives in order to be able to fix all the other things. We need to acknowledge, respect, and address the concerns of peaceful protesters. We need to be peaceful when we protest in order to gain respect for our cause. And in the coming months, please let's hope, pray, and work for a cleansing of our politics and government. 

I'd like to write a little joyful thing here. I always have a little reservoir of joy on hand, just waiting to make an appearance.  So I'm going to reference and re-post here a tiny edited segment of a piece I wrote two or three years ago. It says I'm wondering if there is anything that the general populace can do to help unite people, reach across the divide, and promote the concept of universal love, health, and peace of mind? As a musician and a scientist, I'm suggesting the healing universal vehicle of music to accompany and complement our social and scientific efforts in combating the current illness and fear. Maybe we could resurrect songs like "Love Train", "Blowin' In The Wind", "Imagine". How about adding new healing music (in all musical genres) that also would serve us and others in a healing way? We need to feel a positive connection, compassion, respect for our planet and all of its beings, and, above all -- a sense of gratitude for Life itself ... and all that is beautiful.  Amen.

my September song ...

Dear Readers, 
I've been out of touch for a couple of months and it seems like much longer. I hope that people still read blogs.

I was honored to be doing what I could to assist my beloved closest friend through a surgery and hospital stay. He is recovering well now at home and I'm so proud of him and his courage and wonderful spirit. 

Another person in my realm was distressed recently when told a needed hip replacement couldn't be done because of some other existing health concerns. He is now getting in-home health therapy which is a welcomed step forward.

Shifting gears, I'm wondering if there is anything that the general populace can do to help unite people together and gather the momentum to promote peace? Peace is cool (war isn't).  It would be a comforting contrast to current news items.  I'd love to hear songs like we heard in the '60s .... "Love Train" and "He's Not Heavy He's My Brother", "Blowin' In The Wind", "Imagine", and many other of the wonderful songs of that time.  I think we truly can say that the hippies had it right! These songs are beautiful, humane, inspiring, exciting, and could really do some good now. We would hope for radio stations with the courage to play them. We humans need universal love, compassion for each other and for our fellow beings the animals, respect for our planet, and a sense of gratitude for life itself and all that is beautiful.

I'd like to write a little joyful thing here. I always have a little reservoir of joy on hand, just waiting to make an appearance. Here we are in the initial days of autumn (Autumnal Equinox) ... equal daylight and darkness on the 22nd! And no matter what the circumstances, Nature offers comfort and balance and good energy.Trees are magic in their ability to absorb our concerns and take us in under their comforting boughs. My personal immediate advice includes hugging a tree and petting a dog or cat. My dog, Ruby, is like a psychologist, able to look into my eyes and lift up my thoughts. Also, I find that doing something nice for somebody really does give me joy. So, with gratitude, I thank anyone who is reading this blog. And I thank everyone who promotes kindness today.

Two Anniversaries Approach ...

The first of these anniversaries is Dixie Lee's upcoming 13th birthday -- a celebratory occasion -- which will be on August 1st if she is able to stay the course for the next four weeks.  For a dog her large size (Rhodesian Ridgeback), 13 is very old. She has been at varying degrees of deafness for the past couple of years (sometimes her hearing briefly seems to partially return); she has cataracts that are quite progressed; she has small bumpy growths on various body parts that her vet and I are reluctant to tamper with because giving her anesthesia at this stage of her life would be risky.  I know that sounds perversely comical as she could slip away at any moment during a nap. 

She sleeps a lot; she loves to eat; she has maintained the utmost ladylike hygiene.  Always an "aloof" dog (her breed description very accurately uses the word "aloof"), she has never been aggressive ... until now.  I think she has become fearful.  When people come to the house now, I need to put her in my/her bedroom where she remains quiet and content.

The other anniversary that I will privately observe, is the upcoming 7th anniversary of the church shooting at TVUUC.  At five years, the church (perhaps rightfully) decided that there would be no future observances.  For me, there is so much that permanently affected me -- emotionally of course. And physically -- the residuals are rather constant reminders.  Most importantly, spiritually ... in the months and years that followed the event, a part of me awakened and helps me live my life, has helped open the door for beauty and appreciation and gratitude.

So the day is one that is meaningful for me.  Last year on the sixth anniversary, I walked in my favorite local park where there are lots of trees. Trees, I find, are so able and willing to absorb human sorrows and to reflect human joys ... and to offer strengthening energies.  My walk was one of meditation and gratitude; then I visited with my dear friend and we talked of gentle and beautiful things and had tea.

POW ! And make that a double.

My aging (who isn’t?) dog couldn’t get up off my bedroom floor at about 3 a.m. this morning. Her struggles and repeated thud noises woke me and I sprang out of bed to help her.  This has happened to her before and each time she gets understandably scared.  So do I.  She’s a big girl and I need to position myself just right over her and slide my arms under her pelvic area in order to raise her up and enable her rear section to regain control so she can stand and walk. We had accomplished this and I had crawled back between my satin sheets (the one luxury I give myself is satin).  I had just gotten myself cozy and then ...

POW!  There is more than one reason it is called a “Pow”er outage.  One terrific Pow explosion accompanying the huge brilliant orange visual lit up the fog and drizzle-filled sky at 3:14 a.m. in front of my house today.  It was the friendly transformer on the utility pole outside the front window of my bedroom.  It was too bleary and weary to be happening; yet, there it was, unspectacularly quiet now ... a deceased or deep coma transformer.  I dreaded the next part. I knew I had to call KUB’s emergency and outage phone line.  

Sure enough, the gregarious female robotic voice told me to punch in either my account # (all my paid utility bills are filed in the file cabinet and it is very, very dark to find them in my house at the moment) or the phone # associated with the account (OK, that is do-able so I did that).  She also mentioned that I could go online and view my options. !  Well, sure, I have no electricity so she thinks I should try to turn the computer on and access my Internet connection!   Finally, she gave me a phone option I can use if I have information that might help the repair crew.  So I punched in my phone number again so the repairman  could call me for this valuable information. The only hitch to that is that now my phone is showing it would like to be charged and I’m not sure he will be able to reach me if the phone doesn’t get plugged into some electricity to be charged soon.  When the repairman called, he listened to my description of the transformer’s demise and assured me he will send a crew out.  And he did ... I saw their truck slowly drive by and look up at the transformer and then drive away into the fog.  As the hours drifted by (the hours were drifting ... but I was feebly moving from the bed to the couch to the window, many times), and approached 7 a.m., I put together a plan: At 8 a.m. I would drive myself to my friend Dr. G’s office and ask him if he will let me charge my cell phone there, then I will carry my Tetley tea bag into a fast-food place and ask them to serve it to me in some nice hot water. Once I had that plan in my mind and set to work, I got dressed and walked toward the door.

Well, to my utter delight and relief, and with a sincerely spoken sentiment of gratitude to my Higher Power, I saw – coming down my little street -- a convoy of KUB vehicles.  First was the big POWerful looking one with a myriad of flashing orange lights and other stuff, then the one that has that lifting and contorting ladder that climbs way up, up, up!  The last vehicle was the "traffic control” truck that positions itself between the repair crews and cars that are passing by. Twice, during the repair scenario I walked out there to reassure myself that the crew was really there and to watch with fascination as a brave man went up in the bucket and was doing things to wet wires.  When he came down, another man told me the POWer should be back up in about ten minutes.  A while later, my appliances began their little noises to let me know they were beginning to feed on the electricity ... but all too quickly (maybe ten seconds) I heard another POW!  It was a transformer up the street on the other end of the utility line.  "Oh no!  I’m heading to Dr. G’s right now".

But ... on my way out the door (if this is a movie, add some symphonic music here), I saw the trucks returning to “my” transformer and so naturally I went out to see if mine was the offending one.  A couple of the crew members said that they are going over the work they did on the other end to see what they might have missed.  Sure enough, at around 8 a.m., I heard the welcomed beeps and hums of my heaters, furnace, internet modem, and all those awesome things we take for granted.  I felt ecstatic.  And dear Dr. G. didn’t need to charge my phone and I didn’t have to wave a tea bag at a fast-food place.  So ... it was time for me to eat, walk my dog, and slide back into my satin sheets ... and I did!

Accolades for the KUB crews!  While KUB needs to program its telephone robot with nicer procedural skills to help customers during outages, the wonderful, beautiful guys -- heroes who ride in with KUB's awesome repair vehicles -- cannot be praised enough.  These men even laugh and sing while they ride up into the air and re-wire (or whatever they were doing to) frazzled transformers.  More than that, they speak pleasantly with homeowners who, not at their best between 4 and 7 a.m., emerge from their front doors and meander across lawns in robes and floppy slippers to watch the repair – sort of  like cheerleaders who want their heroes to win the game with the clever and wily wires. 

The Pause That Refreshes ...

We’re having a “leaf storm”; it’s raining down a steady downpour of leaves ... mostly maple. They are swirling and twirling and even floating sideways on their way to the already blanketed ground.  Last night I brought in the last of my flowering plants and salvaged the remaining roses from three of my rose bushes, in anticipation of the impending freeze.  Here in Tennessee, we’re getting a sizable taste of a Canadian “arctic blast”.  I have the first crowd of guests at my bird feeder.

Heading toward the Thanksgiving holiday, there is so much in the natural world to observe and take in, so much more than the mundane activities and plans for how we will “spend” the holiday.  And more to the point, Thanksgiving Day ought to be a day that lives up to its name, even amid the store displays that seek to propel us right past Thanksgiving as if it’s a mere doorway or turnstile to the glitzy season beyond.  

Folks, let’s slow down the momentum.  Today is a fine day for watching leaves dance to the ground, for some “me time” reading or going for a walk, for meditation that gathers thoughts and feelings from all parts of my being and centers and quiets them in such a liberating way, for writing a blog post, for making pancakes with maple syrup, for hugging and petting a dog or cat, for playing piano and lifting up the voice in song, for re-constituting self. How about you? I invite you to take a day for yourself, doing things that give you pause and gentle inspiration and gratitude and joy.  

Attitude Of Gratitude ...

One day a couple of weeks ago, I did something I hadn't done in quite a while (and something I ought to do much more often).  I went to my favorite park and walked and recited aloud the things for which I am thankful.  I spoke the thoughts as they occurred to me -- a walking meditation.  And as I walked and talked, my words were heard only by the elements, the Great Energy, and myself. This particular park is where I've often sought comfort; the trees are willing to absorb my sadness and my concerns and eager to help me celebrate my joys.

I write of this so that it might be helpful and beneficial to others -- maybe to you. Walking among the trees, audibly speaking or whispering thanks, is an empowering and liberating thing to do :)

My Notes & Mind-Talk; July 27 Tragedy --

The following relates my personal experience on the morning of July 27, 2008, with every facet I saw, heard, thought, and felt (written in the days following the shooting):

"Annie Jr., the Summer Musical Theatre Workshop Production! A musical ... good ... that will re-energize me" and I feel a sense of excitement. I’ve been going through some personal reinvention recently and, you know how sometimes when you have a time of introspection, the process can seem to bog down; also I’d just handled a major mishap when my truck got contaminated gas and needed a huge repair. I usually turn to my own music as my comfort and meditation. I’m thinking: "I need a musical infusion. This will be good for me – this will be good! We have a lot of talent in our church family." I haven’t been to church in three weeks and today it is time.

It is July 27th and I am going to church today. I am wearing, for the first time, the new, green baby-doll style top my daughter gave me a week ago and a pair of carefully coordinated capri pants. I enter through the right side of the sanctuary (there are entry doors on both sides) as I have done every time I’ve ever attended TVUUC. I’m sitting on the very end seat of the first pew (as I always do); this seat gives me an easy exit if I feel claustrophobic or drink an extra cup of tea that morning and need to use the restroom; it guarantees me a hasty retreat, if need be. I’m always thinking of "if need be" in terms of almost anything. I’m working on that but I think it goes back to survival issues of my teens. This morning I again choose this seat. I feel fidgety. Moments later, for some inexplicable reason, I move back one row, to the seat directly behind my first choice. I soon hear the woman in back of me coughing, something I notice immediately as I'm wary about catching a cold. Well, all is well – I identify her cough as allergy-related ... so I don’t return to the front seat. I try to relax and settle in.

The sanctuary has filled completely...every seat appears to be occupied. I get out my writing pad, so I can make notes to send to my UUA-sponsored prison ministry prisoner pen-pal with whom I exchange letters, spiritual energy, and frivolous chit-chat. He’s a musician and he loves to talk about songs.

I always arrive at church and get seated a few minutes before most of the people populate the sanctuary. It gives me time to screw my head on, get on a spiritual plane, and glance around at the church that gives me so much. I’ve been missing minister Chris for months now (as he’s been on sabbatical); I’m sure everybody has been missing him, and I sit here and think about how wonderful it will be when he returns to the pulpit on August 10th. I feel good.

Greg is standing there a few feet away from me – an impressive-looking man, very large and with a friendly demeanor. He’s almost always standing there with his "order of service" church programs in hand, doling them out one by one as people enter his side of the sanctuary (there is another person doing the same thing on the opposite entranceway).

I can’t help but notice Greg’s beautiful shirt. Usually, I recall, he wears a plain, short-sleeved shirt. Today he has a handsome, festive dark green shirt (it looks sort of silky and flowing) with pictures of soda cans and food items on it (probably to be in party mode for the reception scheduled to take place right after the children’s performance.)

The congregation has heard the church announcements and Greg hands me the collection basket; I put my check in it and pass the basket to the next person in my row. The church is full but more people are straggling in now, looking for a place to sit. Greg hands each of them an order of service.

The actual play is about to begin and its introduction includes mention of several examples of the types of 1930s depression-days situations we will be seeing portrayed ... abandoned children, all kinds of extreme circumstances that we, in 2008, wouldn’t expect to occur. "OK, I think -- expect to see stuff about serious issues". I see parents with their cameras.

The actors march in through the door which is immediately to my left, walk past me and continue on to the front of the sanctuary. Their costumes and makeup are magnificent, perfect! This is no small potatoes production ... these kids really look and act professional. The characters of "Annie" begin to come to life! It is enthralling. I’m very glad I came to church this morning.

The kids do their first scene and song ... it is great! Now they’re doing their second song. Their stage presence is awesome. I do find myself wishing that the music sound track volume would be turned down a bit, as portions of the actors’ voices and words get drowned out by the music. Of course, in the sanctuary where the acoustics create a lot of reverb, perception of the sound quality depends on where you are sitting. Anyway, I’m concentrating on hearing the kids’ words and am sitting sort of twisted toward the right in order to get the best view of the performance.

Suddenly, a horrific bomb-like blast somewhere near and alongside me on the left blows out my hearing; my head is banging inside and has whistling, ringing sounds in it, then nothing. I lose momentary consciousness. "Ooh, here I am again and I’m staring straight ahead. My God ... Greg is on the floor in front of me. He’s lying too still". I'm scared and immobilized.

The play (or something) still seems to be going on, though I can’t really hear. I look to my right towards the performance area, but don’t see anything. Wait, there is a scuffle in front of the door immediately to my left. This is the door the kids had come through moments earlier. This is the door I always use to come and go. I see a man bending over Greg and touching him, then moving away. My head is ringing. Greg is really there. As a second blast takes place, I see a man with a gun and big streaks, like long orange tongues, shoot out about four or five feet in front of where I'm sitting, sort of semi-slumped in the pew. The noise of the 2nd blast accompanies a hard, concentrated feeling of blunt impact on my mid forehead, an inch or so above my eye (on that rounded part of the forehead bone). My head and ear are now majorly hurting and spinning and ringing. The loudness of the blasts is intensified by mics that are set up for the performance. "Please turn it off". My head and ears ache. This isn’t the play.

"What has become of Bill (my former guitar player who is the church’s sound engineer)? He's usually in what he calls "the cave", the sound room, located on one side of the rear of the sanctuary; that thought momentarily flashes across my mind.

My consciousness weaving, I remain immobilized and deafened, though struggling to focus. Suddenly, a male voice comes through loudly and clearly from somewhere that sounds like it's inside my head, "Get down! Get down!" At that moment, it seems weird to me that I am alive and able to move. There is a strong smell of gun powder. Around the time of the 3rd blast, I crouch behind the pew bench that's in front of me (remember I had moved from the original seat?) and make my way along the length of the sanctuary to that inviting sight – the wide open back door. I expect to feel another shot before I make it to the door. The rest of my pew which was jam-packed moments before, is completely empty ... no one is there. It is so weird and I'm really scared. I fly through the door and take a deep breath of the outdoor air; it is heavy, humid, smoggy, and hot, and I thankfully gulp it in! I climb up the grassy hillside toward the woods. I want to run into the woods and hide, but I see one man standing on the grassy hill and I go to him.

*********************************************************
In retrospect: I spent the next two days in tearful, humble gratitude to those who protected me with their heroism; I’d been in very close proximity to the gunman. It is amazing that I am alive. A number of times, I pinched my arm to reassure myself that I was actually alive. I will be eternally grateful to Greg for giving me and others our initial chance to continue living, to the men of the congregation who subdued the gunman and further enabled me to escape, and to the mysterious male voice that told me to "get down" even when I couldn't hear.

My sincere gratitude, always, to the dear man who held me in his arms after I reached the grassy hill outside of the back door.

The source of my head pain was the middle of my forehead slightly to the left; the doctor said that it looked like pellets, "projectiles" had hit me and penetrated ... I had a red, bruised, diveted bump there and, when I could gingerly wash the area, the odd little markings of blood near my hairline washed off. The hospital staff did not lift the bangs of my hair to look at my forehead and, instead, concentrated on my ear and fragmented emotional state. While waiting in the hospital's treatment room, I overheard an EMT loudly and graphically announce to the nurses at the desk, the details of the victims' injuries that he had seen while transporting the two fatally- wounded people to another hospital. It made me even more upset to hear this and I was eager to get out of that emergency room and go home to heal myself. I did not want to be a victim. I absolutely did not want to be named as a victim. I wanted my wound to go away. Thankfully, my hearing returned within the second week and I was able to play my music. During subsequent months, the pellet fragments migrated to the soft tissue of my right sinus cavity and I had an eye hemorrhage that took a month to clear up. At that point, I had a C-T scan, which documented the reality of what had happened. I took earnest measures to heal myself.

The news of the shootings had been carried around the world and much love and support was shown to the TVUUC and Westside UUC congregations.