Fly away, Earle Bird

Of the six cats we've had, Earle was the only one who introduced herself by name.

Sometime before 2006, My Lovely Wife had become telephone friends with a woman in Hillsdale, Michigan, with whom she played online games, but they had never met in person. The woman's name was Earle (pronounced "Early"), apparently because her father had wanted a boy. (Her sisters' names were Winifred and Honora; it's best not to ask too many questions.)

Earle lived alone in a little apartment with her cat, Prissy. Earle was obese, she smoked a lot, and she was in generally poor health. Prissy and the Internet were just about all she had. One day when they were chatting, Earle told MLW that she was planning to have Prissy put to sleep should anything happen to Earle, because she didn't know who in the world would take her in and give her the kind of attention to which she was accustomed.

"That's crazy," MLW told her. "I'll take your cat if anything happens to you."

"You promise?"

"I promise."

Gracism in Georgia

It was a beautiful service Sunday at North Decatur United Methodist Church. A baby girl, backed by a huge entourage of family and friends, was baptized. A beaming Pastor Dalton Rushing tenderly carried her up and down the aisles as the whole congregation sang a sweet lullaby to her:

Caroline, Caroline, God claims you, God helps you, protects you, and loves you too.
We this day do all agree a child of God you'll always be. 
Caroline, Caroline, God claims you, God helps you, protects you, and loves you too.
We your family love you so, we vow to help your faith to grow.
Caroline, Caroline, God claims you, God helps you, protects you, and loves you too.
We are here to say this day that we will help you on your way.
Caroline, Caroline, God claims you, God helps you, protects you, and loves you too.
And if you should tire or cry, then we will sing this lullaby.
Caroline, Caroline, God claims you, God helps you, protects you, and loves you too.

I'm new to the Methodist tradition, so I don't know if this is standard baptism procedure. Regardless, it was beautiful and touching.

After the service ended, I walked through the narthex to say hello to the pastor in the open doorway before heading home. Dalton said he had a book for me and asked me to wait a few minutes while he finished greeting folks, so I stepped out onto the church's large concrete porch in the autumn warmth.

A tall, well-presented young man was standing just behind and to Dalton's left on the porch. The young man immediately greeted me with a firm handshake and a smile and introduced himself as George. He was clean-shaven, had a conservative but attractive haircut under a navy blue ball cap, and flashed a set of perfectly straight, perfectly white teeth. He was impressive. I guessed he was in his early 20s.

We exchanged polite small talk as people continued to file out of the church. Because I am new to this church and still haven't met many people, I asked George if he attended there regularly.

"No sir," he responded earnestly. "Actually, I'm homeless and I was waiting right over there for the bus, but I needed to use the bathroom so I came into the church."

I tried not to look as stunned as I felt as he continued his matter-of-fact description of his day so far:

Dreams do come true

I bought a bottle of wine in Paris 10 years ago, and decided not to open it until the day I went to work for the Carter Center. Today was that day.

The Carter Center last week retained me as a freelance (aka contract) writer-copy editor. Anyone who knows me well knows this is the culmination of a long-held dream. Working with the Carter Center was the hidden agenda of my move to Georgia in 2006.

I am so grateful to God for working this out, and to the many of you who supported me and my dream over the years through your prayers and encouragement.

My first article for the center was published on its blog today. (If you wish to read it in the context of the blog, click on the headline. That would be good for traffic too. Just saying.)

Carter Center Pursues Lasting Peace in the Sudans

By The Carter Center

The geographic lines dividing Sudan and South Sudan “are completely blurry, so we focus on the lines that connect us,” Professor Jok Madut Jok, undersecretary in South Sudan’s Ministry of Culture, said during a “Conversations at The Carter Center” on October 15.

Disputes over borders, an oil pipeline and access to resources persist in Sudan and South Sudan, which separated into distinct republics in 2011 after decades of civil war. But The Carter Center, which helped broker the 2005 peace agreement, has never stopped guiding the parties toward harmonious coexistence.

At the October 15 event, Jok and the Republic of Sudan’s Ambassador Nureldin Satti sat side by side, often calling one another “brother.”

Sudan is “a rainbow nation, a microcosm of Africa,” Satti said. The civil war and subsequent division was “a failure,” he said, but “Sudan is one people in two countries. … We belong to each other.”

Time marches upward

© Heike Jestram

You know what you almost never see anymore?

Wooden ladders.

For thousands of years, wooden ladders were the best technology available for getting from the ground to the top of a wall. There were very few convenient, affordable options, and wooden ladders were easy to make out of readily available materials.

But then someone figured out how to make stuff out of aluminum, and someone later figured out how to do that cheaply, and someone later yet figured out a really good design for a ladder made of aluminum.

Unlike wooden ladders, aluminum ladders don't rot, don't break easily, and are lightweight for carrying and storage.

Consumers recognized the benefits of aluminum over wood and spent their money accordingly. And the next thing you know -- no more wooden ladders.

Sure, we still love the idea and the aesthetic of a wooden ladder -- I mean, come on, look at that picture above -- but the vast majority of consumers would choose aluminum over wood every time (if wood were even a real option). The technology is simply better, and those who insisted on sticking with the old technology fell behind and went out of business or became boutique operations.

You know what else you almost never see anymore?

A poem for our times -- from 1922

Part of this poem was read at the church service we visited today. I like it a lot. It was written by Edith Nesbit (British, 1858-1924), considered the first modern children's author ("The Enchanted Castle," "The Railway Children," "Three Children and It").

Note: "Dives" is a traditional name for the rich man in Jesus' parable of the rich man and Lazarus in Luke 16. It is pronounced "DIE-vez."

www.edithnesbit.co.uk

"The Stolen God -- Lazarus to Dives" by Edith Nesbit

We do not clamour for vengeance,
We do not whine for fear;
We have cried in the outer darkness
Where was no man to hear.
We cried to man and he heard not;
Yet we thought God heard us pray;
But our God, who loved and was sorry -
Our God is taken away.

Ours were the stream and the pasture,
Forest and fen were ours;
Ours were the wild wood-creatures,
The wild sweet berries and flowers.
You have taken our heirlooms from us,
And hardly you let us save
Enough of our woods for a cradle,
Enough of our earth for a grave.

Go team!

It seems almost quaint today, but in its time, the TV sitcom Seinfeld broke new ground in the way it addressed how straight people misunderstand gays and lesbians. In a 1995 episode titled "The Beard," Elaine decides she wants to start dating an attractive man she knows. Only problem: He's gay. Undaunted, Elaine has a plan. She talks it over with Jerry at the coffee shop:*

Jerry: Not conversion. You're thinking conversion?

Elaine: Well, it did occur to me.

Jerry: You think you can get him to just change teams? He's not going to suddenly switch sides. Forget about it.

Elaine: Why? Is it irrevocable?

Jerry: Because when you join that team it's not a whim. He likes his team. He's set with that team.

Elaine: We've got a good team.

Jerry: Yeah, we do. We do have a good team.

Elaine: Why can't he play for us?

Jerry: They're only comfortable with *their* equipment.

Elaine: We just got along *so* great.

Jerry: Of course you did. Everyone gets along great when there's no possibility of sex.

Elaine: No, no, no, I sensed something. I did sense something. I perceived a possibility, Jerry.

Jerry: You realize you're venturing into uncharted waters.

Elaine: I realize that.

Jerry: Are you that desperate?

Elaine: Yes I am.

Here's to you, Mr. Robinson

I haven't written a fan letter in a long time. Sometime in the '80s I wrote one to U.S. Rep. Ron Dellums, more recently the mayor of Oakland, Calif., after a powerful appearance on Phil Donahue's show; that may have been my last one. Until now.

Recently I've been rediscovering some of the ancient baseball books on my bookshelf. "Baseball Stars of 1965" comprises profiles of a number of memorable (Hank Aaron, Al Kaline, Mickey Mantle) and not-so-memorable (Juan Pizarro? Wally Bunker??) players.  

But the one that stood out for me was that of Frank Robinson. Turns out he and I have a lot in common. For one, he is the youngest of 11 children, as am I.

OK, so that's the only thing we have in common.

Still, I was touched by his story of being misunderstood and underrated for the first nine years of his career, despite putting up numbers that would eventually pave his way to Cooperstown. The writer was both empathetic and critical, and the article prompted me to write the following letter to Mr. Robinson: