Tag Archives: San Diego

Serendipitous Synergy

Our city has lately had more bad news than we’d like. A hate crime at an area mosque on Monday took five lives, including those of the perpetrators, two teen gunmen. It could have been much worse. Police arrived on the scene and secured the area quickly. A mosque security guard and two congregation members gave their lives while helping prevent a wider tragedy. Nearly 150 children at the affiliated school were first hidden via a lockdown protocol, then safely evacuated. Still, the tragedy shook a community already somewhat on edge because of active and pending military deployments in our Navy and Marine heavy town. 

The mosque where the attack occurred is near a major freeway, so many of us know the location. An impromptu shrine has been set up to commemorate the victims. An online fundraiser has helped provide material aid for their families. A Tuesday evening vigil brought many in the community together to mourn and to call for a reduction in the hateful rhetoric that has helped provoke such events.  

Contributing to the fundraiser and watching coverage of the Tuesday vigil helped ground me a little, yet as this week has unfolded, I’ve needed something more positive to focus on. A fortuitous combination of circumstances has provided a boost. 

It starts with an area non-profit that works tirelessly to provide nutritious food to those in our area with unmet food needs. Since learning of its programs a couple of years ago, I’ve become a supporter and fan. I like their approach. Their small window sticker adorns our aging car:  “Feed People, Not Landfills.”  Using a whole combination of approaches and funding sources, Feeding San Diego is able to improve area nutrition while reducing area solid waste. They have a small staff and a whole army of regular or intermittent volunteers, including me.  

Feeding San Diego sticker

Next came a near neighbor, whose mature lemon tree outdid itself in fruit this year. Early Monday, I’d noticed a wheelbarrow and a beach umbrella across our alley, with a hand lettered sign that I had to get closer to to read: “Please take some; bags included.” I gathered a few lemons for our family to use, but barely made a dent. When the wheelbarrow was still nearly full on Monday evening, I lugged a couple of 5-gallon buckets across the alley and “harvested” about half the remaining lemons. I thought I might have an outlet for extra lemons, but needed to check before I took even more. 

Our neighbor’s abundance of lemons

I’d signed up to attend a volunteer appreciation breakfast on Tuesday morning at a nearby elementary school where I sometimes assist with semi-monthly food distributions. The school serves mostly military families whose pay is not always enough to cover all their needs. I knew the school’s outreach coordinator slightly and could check with her at the breakfast about whether a set of organically grown lemons would be a useful addition to the school year’s final food distribution on Wednesday. She said yes!  

So, Tuesday evening I went back across the alley and filled multiple bags with nearly all the remaining lemons. This morning I checked with the volunteers who assemble food packets at the school—they’ll incorporate the lemons into this month’s produce, along with plums, pears, and avocados.  A nice variety.  

food pantry volunteers ready to re-package lemons

Our neighbor is thrilled that her lemons will not go to waste; I’m happy that I was able to connect a one-time source with appropriate recipients; the food distribution volunteers were happy to package the additional produce; some families will have extra fruit for the coming holiday weekend.  A win-win-win-win?  

Perhaps the old tag line needs revising:  When life hands you lemons, share!   

A Gentle “Consurrection”

This January 6, I want to remember the date as my sister-in-law’s birthday, or maybe the Christian festival of Epiphany. I’ll do my best to tune out an overdose of analysis and commentary about U.S. events of January 6, 2021. 

This year’s January 6 falls on a Saturday, when many of us will be experiencing a weekend, free from most work obligations and ready for a change of pace. As an inveterate player with words, I want to propose a widening “consurrection.” Taking the prefix “con,” typically meaning “with,” to replace the “in” of “insurrection,” we can create a “rising up with,” rather than the “rising up against” that occurred a few years ago. Just as “conspiring” at its root represents “breathing together,” so might “consurrecting” come to mean something like “working together to create a more humane, welcoming society.” 

I would like more and more of us to spend part of January 6 each year in the sort of voluntary public service that’s become more closely associated with the MLK holiday later in January—let this Saturday be the start. Thanks to a faith community teamed with a local non-profit, I’ll have a chance on Saturday to sort produce for an area food bank’s weekly distribution, “consurrecting” on January 6 with an eclectic range of folks who work to reduce food insecurity in San Diego County. 

May you find a worthwhile and fulfilling path toward “consurrection” as well.

While Waiting for the Fever to Break

(October 24 is celebrated as “United Nations Day,” 
commemorating the entry into force in 1945 of the U.N. Charter, whose text can be
referenced at https://www.un.org/en/about-us/un-charter/full-text)

While waiting for the fever to break,
I apply cold compresses and administer aspirin,
trying to remember not to exceed the recommended dose.
I pray, and pray, and pray some more.
I tell others and myself “I love you,” over and over, fervently.
I hum lullabies and songs of peace.
I crave quiet. I shy away from news and opinion.

While waiting for the fever to break,
I try to damp down feverish attempts to “make the world safe,”
be they my own or others’.
I search to find and support more measured changes toward
whatever the world wants to become.
I meander around the nearby detritus of prior conflicts, wondering at the
residual scars.
I gravitate toward the small patch of cleared ground where a group of us is
learning organic gardening.
Well before dawn, jarred awake by a buzzing phone, I ask the still-dark sky for wisdom.
The stars shine an answer, one I’ve too often forgotten:
“No one is an absolute owner; we are all, rather, temporary stewards.”