Hiroshima Remembered

I wake up in my Vermont bed in a state of comfort and discomfort. I haven't written in my blog to you, my readers known and unknown, about my transition back to life at "home". I keep up with Micca's blog in Sulimania where she continues to have an amazing cultural experience. I was restless and stared my weaknesses in the face and did not stay the three months. I read about what is happening at the Rafah border where my friends continue the effort; the gate is open these few days and the organization and treatment of people is improved since the passage allowed at the end of June. The camp presence and witness can only be having a positive effect on the way the Egyptian "security" apparatus conducts itself with the Palestinians. Felton at Maryhouse reminded me that the corridor of Rafah is where the Holy Family fled previous oppression and danger. 

Now for a few days a week I am an occupational therapist roaming the halls of two nursing homes, helping the elderly to regain their strength and function in more circumscribed lives of agedness. I have managed to find gracious work within the "filthy rotten system" but I am still left with feelings of betrayal on some level. War taxes and a high per diem rate from Medicare dollars may be related to that feeling!

Our gardens grow in beauty and bounty despite the heavy rain and cool summer. We (Steven, Lauren, and I) are eating fresh pesto, ratatouille, sauteed green beans, and fresh milk from the neighbors. We swim in a spring fed, sun warmed pond next door, built by my brother's father-in-law 40 years ago. Ours is an idyllic summer life on the land here on this tiny Vermont farm. I thank my parents David and Tamar for finding it.

This morning I read from Granny's diaries about "materialistic Christians who deny God". I listened to Democracy Now yesterday where Jeremy Scahill talks about Eric Prince of Blackwater converting to Catholicism and going on Crusade in Iraq.  And today is the 64th anniversary of the atomic destruction of the civilian city of Hiroshima. We Christians crossed a line that continues to haunt the world today. In sackcloth and ashes is where we need to sit. A form of that is to pursue the corporal works of mercy; care for the poor. And to live on the fruits of empire (driving my Saab, overeating, and having a well built house) produces such incongruity in my heart. I have to remind myself that our hard work also provides for us as well. I am hoping to share our home with Catholic Workers who need respite from their relentless labor at the various Houses of Hospitality. 

July 29th, the Feast of St. Martha was also the anniversary of my baptism. I have a photo of that event, and the baptismal candles. I can't ignore the message in the fact that these artifacts are still with me. The crumbs from Granny's table lead me on in this precarious journey. I end with a quote I wrote down in a sketch pad in my twenties, I don't know the source. "Trust. That which is born in your dreams, grows in your desire, blossoms in your belief, and lives in your action inevitably, must come to pass."