Thursday, September 13, 2007 at 1:01am
Make mine humble pie
Column: wavelength
Currently I live with the poor, and I visit the neighborhoods and parks of the comfortable.
Those comfortable places make me comfortable. There is less litter, broken glass and rubbish. There is more physical beauty, be it architecture, charm, lighting, trees and space. There are restaurants, book stores and cinemas. It feels energetically more peaceful and, certainly, more familiar.
More than likely, there would not be the sounds I heard tonight, which exploded like repeated rounds of firecrackers, but was a car being burned. This, I am told, is a frequent hobby for the local young men.
I feel like I am a bottle of soda pop that has been shaken, rattled and rolled on its head. I am one fizzy burble of feelings.
I never realized how comfortable I had it until Spirit plunked me down in a tiny nook of southwest London. As a result of this experience, I have come to realize how much I take for granted and how very, very lucky I am.
I have that flair for the obvious. It always seems to me that when my comfort level gets stretched, these seemingly obvious revelations take on greater significance. In other words, I really get it: I am ridiculously blessed.
It's not a matter of doing your delicates in the upscale hotel bathroom sink for a week or two as you tour the continent. This is day in and day out, sheets, towels, pants, shirts, socks, dresses, everything being washed by hand in the tub. The soggy masses are then wrung out and maneuvered about the living space in search of a catch basin for the drips as well as sunlight and/or heat to dry the items. Needless to say, there is no washer and dryer.
Forget a vacuum cleaner; there is a whisk broom and dust pan that requires hands and knees on the carpet to get it crumb- and dust-bunny-free.
As for a freezer, who needs that? There is not enough money for extra food to be stored away for later use. And ice is a non-event for the British.
Water is tap, not bottled or run through a reverse osmosis system. Food is what is sold at the local shops. There is no real grocery store here with shelves of choices, organic possibilities or bakery. There are staples and seasonal produce, most of which has seen a better day.
And, maddeningly, the prices are higher at these small, tired, chock-a-block shops than at the big chain grocery stores with their weekly specials. The neighborhood patrons, most of them car-less, are locked into the proximate availability.
In this neighborhood, you cannot buy beef; however, you can buy lamb. That said, any kind of meat is a luxury. There are no 16 ounce Big Bubba's Steak House specials here. Meat is purchased in small quantities when there is enough money. Where I am staying, beef was brought to this home as a gift for the evening meal.
There are no personal computers or libraries that offer free access; there is the Internet Café, where connections and transmissions are frequently erratic, and you pay for every page you print.
The post office and bank closed in this town due to lack of commerce. It takes a half-hour bus ride to a neighboring town to get those services. And that neighboring town is filled with charity shops and discount emporiums. Even the British department store chain Marks and Spencer has converted its store to a discount outlet to serve the local populace. There is no getting around it: Money is very tight here.
I am not proud of the fact that I find it a stretch to live among the poor. Yet, I am deeply grateful for this expanding awareness.
Clearly, what I am seeing is not so unusual. The world, including my own backyard, is filled with the poor and struggling. I have just never had the first-hand experience of worrying where the next meal might come from or how I can pay my utility bill. As I said, I am blessed.
This experience is expanding my middle-class sensibilities. Who knew that I could be so upended by the differences? Then again, it's that steep climb of the learning curve where everything is new; you are totally focused and present until you master the new material. I am working hard at learning and honoring this new lifestyle.
I use hot water sparingly. I am careful with foodstuffs, and I replenish the supply regularly. Laundry is done daily. Lamps are a luxury. The oven and one burner are broken. Microwaves are non-existent. Candy is a treat. Bread, rice and potatoes are staples. And so forth.
My hostess, a Peruvian healer, is a total free spirit. She is exceedingly resourceful, and she recycles and reuses everything - even cherry pits! She feeds her soul by tending her garden pots and playing music — with Spanish love songs and '60s American music being her personal favorites.
She has taught me the fine art of Peruvian hand laundry, where the action mimics throwing the laundry on the rocks. There is impromptu dancing to her favorite Spanish crooners, oracle divination at some breakfasts, creating dinner out of bits and bites, and teaching me songs in Spanish.
I am having great fun.
And my heart, a bit like the Peruvian laundry technique, has been pounded against the rocks of my unknowing. I am getting it, slowly but surely, that what really matters is being comfortable with yourself wherever you are. And wherever I am, my heart and soul are sure to follow.
Once again, I have been ridiculously blessed.
— — —
Dr. Adele Ryan McDowell, Ph.D., is a psychologist, empath and shaman who likes looking at life with the big viewfinder. Her email address is {email ARMCDOWELL@aol.com}ARMCDOWELL@aol.com{/email}. © Copyright 2007 by Adele Ryan McDowell.
Those comfortable places make me comfortable. There is less litter, broken glass and rubbish. There is more physical beauty, be it architecture, charm, lighting, trees and space. There are restaurants, book stores and cinemas. It feels energetically more peaceful and, certainly, more familiar.
More than likely, there would not be the sounds I heard tonight, which exploded like repeated rounds of firecrackers, but was a car being burned. This, I am told, is a frequent hobby for the local young men.
I feel like I am a bottle of soda pop that has been shaken, rattled and rolled on its head. I am one fizzy burble of feelings.
I never realized how comfortable I had it until Spirit plunked me down in a tiny nook of southwest London. As a result of this experience, I have come to realize how much I take for granted and how very, very lucky I am.
I have that flair for the obvious. It always seems to me that when my comfort level gets stretched, these seemingly obvious revelations take on greater significance. In other words, I really get it: I am ridiculously blessed.
It's not a matter of doing your delicates in the upscale hotel bathroom sink for a week or two as you tour the continent. This is day in and day out, sheets, towels, pants, shirts, socks, dresses, everything being washed by hand in the tub. The soggy masses are then wrung out and maneuvered about the living space in search of a catch basin for the drips as well as sunlight and/or heat to dry the items. Needless to say, there is no washer and dryer.
Forget a vacuum cleaner; there is a whisk broom and dust pan that requires hands and knees on the carpet to get it crumb- and dust-bunny-free.
As for a freezer, who needs that? There is not enough money for extra food to be stored away for later use. And ice is a non-event for the British.
Water is tap, not bottled or run through a reverse osmosis system. Food is what is sold at the local shops. There is no real grocery store here with shelves of choices, organic possibilities or bakery. There are staples and seasonal produce, most of which has seen a better day.
And, maddeningly, the prices are higher at these small, tired, chock-a-block shops than at the big chain grocery stores with their weekly specials. The neighborhood patrons, most of them car-less, are locked into the proximate availability.
In this neighborhood, you cannot buy beef; however, you can buy lamb. That said, any kind of meat is a luxury. There are no 16 ounce Big Bubba's Steak House specials here. Meat is purchased in small quantities when there is enough money. Where I am staying, beef was brought to this home as a gift for the evening meal.
There are no personal computers or libraries that offer free access; there is the Internet Café, where connections and transmissions are frequently erratic, and you pay for every page you print.
The post office and bank closed in this town due to lack of commerce. It takes a half-hour bus ride to a neighboring town to get those services. And that neighboring town is filled with charity shops and discount emporiums. Even the British department store chain Marks and Spencer has converted its store to a discount outlet to serve the local populace. There is no getting around it: Money is very tight here.
I am not proud of the fact that I find it a stretch to live among the poor. Yet, I am deeply grateful for this expanding awareness.
Clearly, what I am seeing is not so unusual. The world, including my own backyard, is filled with the poor and struggling. I have just never had the first-hand experience of worrying where the next meal might come from or how I can pay my utility bill. As I said, I am blessed.
This experience is expanding my middle-class sensibilities. Who knew that I could be so upended by the differences? Then again, it's that steep climb of the learning curve where everything is new; you are totally focused and present until you master the new material. I am working hard at learning and honoring this new lifestyle.
I use hot water sparingly. I am careful with foodstuffs, and I replenish the supply regularly. Laundry is done daily. Lamps are a luxury. The oven and one burner are broken. Microwaves are non-existent. Candy is a treat. Bread, rice and potatoes are staples. And so forth.
My hostess, a Peruvian healer, is a total free spirit. She is exceedingly resourceful, and she recycles and reuses everything - even cherry pits! She feeds her soul by tending her garden pots and playing music — with Spanish love songs and '60s American music being her personal favorites.
She has taught me the fine art of Peruvian hand laundry, where the action mimics throwing the laundry on the rocks. There is impromptu dancing to her favorite Spanish crooners, oracle divination at some breakfasts, creating dinner out of bits and bites, and teaching me songs in Spanish.
I am having great fun.
And my heart, a bit like the Peruvian laundry technique, has been pounded against the rocks of my unknowing. I am getting it, slowly but surely, that what really matters is being comfortable with yourself wherever you are. And wherever I am, my heart and soul are sure to follow.
Once again, I have been ridiculously blessed.
— — —
Dr. Adele Ryan McDowell, Ph.D., is a psychologist, empath and shaman who likes looking at life with the big viewfinder. Her email address is {email ARMCDOWELL@aol.com}ARMCDOWELL@aol.com{/email}. © Copyright 2007 by Adele Ryan McDowell.