My July 4th Cherry Pie

 

Early on July 4th I was driving home from a friend's house. NPR had a story on about the town of George, Washington and how they celebrate the 4th by baking the world's largest cherry pie. This year's pie was said to measure 8 feet by 8 feet! 

The story caught my attention because I had not been feeling particularly excited about celebrating freedom or democracy in the current climate. Every day there are multiple reports about how the freedoms of average Americans are being eroded. How the freedoms of anybody who does not fit the white christian nationalist stereotype of a US citizen are being snatched away. Literally. People are being kidnapped off the streets by masked weapon-bearing men, and taken to undisclosed locations, often shipped out of the country, sometimes to a holding center in a country with which they have no relationship. These techniques are all about creating fear in the "land of the free and the home of the brave". It is hard to be brave under these conditions, and this is clearly not an ideal time to celebrate independence - national or personal.

The story about George, Washington caught hold of my imagination because this strikes me as a good time to get creative in our responses to the atrocities being waged. Protests are good. I understand that we need at least 3.5% of the population to show up regularly in order to turn the tide of politics, and we are edging close to that. Conversations with people are also good. We need to keep talking about what is happening, trying to put it into some kind of historical context, and wrestle it away from those who purport to be following God's will. (No Way is this what is going on! The complete opposite, actually.)  Showing up is vital also, to ensure that those who are being targeted by ICE and others are not left standing alone.

But sometimes the overwhelming tension of living under these conditions gets the better of me, and I simply cannot find it within myself to do anything. Baking a cherry pie was my small act of protest. I did not go to a parade. I did not attend a fireworks display. I did not host a barbeque for all of my friends and neighbors. (Although, that could have been nice.) What I did was go to the nearest orchard with my husband and spend an hour picking tart cherries. We brought our 18 pound haul back home where I washed, pitted and packaged up 16 pounds of them. Then, with the remaining 2 pounds I made a pie. 

It was delicious. It was just what I needed. That pie reminded me of what is best about this country that I live in, this country that I love. It reminded me of the story about George Washington, (the one for whom that little town in Washington state is named), wherein the father of our country admits that he cannot lie. What a concept! I long for leaders who are honest, for leaders who have enough integrity to admit when they are wrong. I long for leaders who actually lead rather than using and abusing their authority to create chaos and fear, undermining the values that this country was built on.

"Bad Faith" - Acting on Good Faith

 On a friend’s recommendation, I watched the documentary, “Bad Faith” now streaming on Prime. It outlines the history of white christian nationalism, showing how this racist power movement has systematically undermined authentic faith, replacing it with an autocratic organization that stands in opposition to Jesus’s teachings.

When I was a new pastor, someone told a joke about a teenager going out and doing what the pastor had preached about in his sermon. The teen’s parents came in to speak with the pastor, asking him to recant what he had said. “Tell Joey that you were just preaching,” they said. “Tell him you didn’t really mean it.” I thought the joke was funny, but it was funny because the parents did not understand the power of preaching. They did not get the fact that one’s faith is meant to be lived out in very real ways.

Now, the joke does not seem as funny to me. Too many of us, especially those of us who count ourselves as liberal or progressive, do not seem to take our faith seriously enough to act on it. This needs to change. We need to change our ways, and stand up for the values we believe in as people of faith. We need to call out bad faith for what it is, and find our way back to the revolutionary faith of Jesus who called out false leaders for what they were.

Unfortunately, the folks who fell into the white christian nationalist trap did take their faith seriously. They did act, but they didn’t realize they were being duped by a racist agenda and by leaders who turned a blind eye to Jesus’s actual teachings in order to gain political power.

Maybe the religious leaders thought they could return to Jesus once their president and his cronies had control of the White House, but at this point there are no efforts by those in leadership to uphold the values of justice, compassion and mercy that are at the heart of faith for Christians and all authentic religions. If anything, we are seeing the opposite. The vulnerable are being exploited. Honesty and integrity are being run over roughshod. Truth is being submersed in a quagmire of lies.

When encouraged to show mercy, rather than seeing this as an invitation to become a true leader in keeping with Christ’s teachings, the president lashed out, calling the preacher’s comments “nasty in tone” and saying she should not have brought politics into the church. But faith needs to speak up about politics, especially when those in leadership are causing harm.

From the beginning, Jesus spoke truth to power and encouraged his followers to do the same. Good faith depends on our speaking up and taking action. What will you do?

The Bindness of Privilege

I understand the draw of water, the sense of peace it offers. It makes sense to me that people find their way to the ocean for times of respite and relaxation. But for many people, such as Palestinians, peace is too distant for them to imagine.

The contrast that Trump tactlessly drew between the Riviera and war-torn Gaza horrified me. It was a blatant display of the ignorance that a life of privilege, and its concordant disconnection from the realities that most people face, brings. People in Gaza have lost everything - loved ones, homes, communities, their entire way of life! And he has the audacity to suggest that these people be relocated to a country that is not their home, while their homes and communities be bulldozed out of the way to create an upscale resort!

The ignorance of one’s privilege is bad enough, but it is appalling when the president we have elected to lead our country displays such blatant disregard for the lives of others. If we cannot count on our leader(s) to lead us with integrity, wisdom or compassion, then we need to step up and step out.

We need to refuse to be led into the white-supremacist world Trump envisions, and start doing everything we can to create a different, better world. Start where you are. Talk with your family, friends and neighbors about the privilege and racism being promoted by the current administration. Conspire with one another about ways to be the kind and compassionate people that this world needs in every situation.

It is only by standing up and stepping out of the dystopian reality that is attempting to infiltrate our lives, that we can create the reality in which all people are valued, respected, listened to, and believed.

Untangling the Web of White Christian Nationalism

A Defense Intelligence Agency memo, dated Jan. 28, 2025, directs the DIA workforce to suspend observance of the following: Martin Luther King, Jr. Birthday, Black History Month, Women's History Month, Holocaust Day and Days of Remembrance, Asian American Pacific Islander Heritage Month, Pride, Juneteenth, Women's Equality Day, National Hispanic Heritage Month, National Disability Employment Awareness Month and National American Indian Heritage Month.

These days and months commemorate events and people who have been overlooked and outright abused by those in power. By "suspending" the observance of them, our government is trying to return to the days in which they could pretend ignorance of these abuses. But this is like that old children's sermon that uses a tube of toothpaste to show that once the paste has been squeezed out, it is almost impossible to get it back into the tube. 

We have seen the videos and heard the stories, so we can no longer pretend that we do not know about the injustices sustained by our black and brown friends. We cannot wipe from our minds the reality that is the Holocaust, and the continuing discrimination faced by our Jewish sisters and brothers. We cannot make believe that misogyny is in our past when women's sovereignty over their own bodies is denied. 

As a person of faith, I stand in a long line of those who have stood up against racism, sexism, agism, ableist mindsets. For a while there, we thought we had made some progress. Things were looking better. There was still plenty of room for improvement, but we had hope that justice for all was within reach.

But now, the people who want to go back to the "good old days" of white supremacy have elected a president who is using his power to upend all of the good we have accomplished. he has gathered people around him who whisper platitudes in his ear, hoping they will be rewarded with more money, more power, more rolling back of the progressive laws that get in the way of increasing their wealth and power.

One of the frustrating aspects of this power grab, is that white christian nationalism is an insidious part of the mix. But we need to make it clear that this is not Christianity. It is not even close. Christianity stands in absolute opposition to the agenda of white christian nationalism. The trouble is, that savvy leaders in that movement have used christian language in an attempt to draw people into their web of deceit. 

As people of faith, we need to untangle that web. We need to denounce white christian nationalism and its agenda of greed and power. We need to make clear the teachings of Jesus who was himself a brown man, who aligned himself with the poor and the powerless. Christianity is not a prosperity gospel. It does not honor the rich or powerful. In fact, Jesus told a wealthy young man that it was easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a wealthy person to get into heaven. 

I believe Jesus. I also understand that heaven is a long way off for most of us, and that we want this world to be a kinder, more peaceful, and more just place for all of God's children. In order for this to happen, we need to stand up and speak up - scary as that may be.

Picking Up the Pieces

I have been experiencing a dry period with regard to my blog posts. My faith in humanity is shaken and I find myself needing time to recalibrate. It is simply beyond my comprehension that we have elected the current administration. There were so many signs that this was a bad idea, that I thought it was impossible for Trump to succeed in getting elected. How could so many people actually vote for someone who attempted to circumvent the democratic process once and clearly stated he would dismantle it if he got into office? How could people vote for a sexist, racist bully who wields wealth and power as if they give him the right to do whatever he wants? Did the people who voted for him think he was just kidding when he said all of those awful things? That he was using hyperbole? 

However it happened, after the election, I needed to take some time to deal with my disappointment, get over the shock, and regroup. But now, the negative effects are accumulating and I know it is time to pick up the pieces and speak up. I cannot even begin to enumerate all of the ways in which the safety rails many of us counted on are falling apart. Some dictates are coming down from Trump and the billionaires and other pandering folks who have gathered around him seeking their own piece of the power pie. But the effects that cause me the most alarm are the more localized ones. The more personal attacks enacted by everyday people.

Ugly text messages are being sent to children, attacking them on the basis of color, gender identity, or nationality. Hate mail and death threats are being sent to good people who are simply working toward justice in their communities. Confederate flags fly over homes, silently threatening the serenity and security of black and brown neighbors. School children mutter epithets under their breath to kids who are different from themselves, and the adults in their lives either encourage this behavior or throw up their hands in resignation, assuming they have no control over them.

I can't help but wonder if we have not necessarily lost control, but rather that we have chosen to abdicate control. It seems to me that many of us have given up our autonomy. We have abdicated our rights. Instead of discerning for ourselves what to think and how to respond in any given situation, we have given away the power of personal choice to the highest bidder. 

There is a lot of uncertainty right now, and along with uncertainty comes fear. When you don't know what is going to happen next, it can seem sensible to lay low for a while until we see what unfolds. The problem with this, is that our friends and neighbors, and a whole lot of people we may not know, are being affected negatively right now. If we hold back, if we withhold our comments until we are more certain, then it will already be too late to protect the most vulnerable in our midst. 

The time to speak up is now. Pay attention, and "if you see something, say something!" The time to act on behalf of justice for all, is now.

Bluebird on a Blue Day

 

Artwork by Meredith Pratt

The news today was not good for those who believe in truth, justice or mutual respect, and so I knew I needed to tread gently. The details that make up my mornings are designed to keep me on an even keel. Sit quietly with my tea and cats, meditate, read, do some puzzles. The weather was unexpectedly warm for November so I was able to sit in my rocking chair on the porch. The breezes felt so good. The sun steadily climbing in the sky shone warmly, enticing me to venture out on an early walk.

I filled my water bottle and made my way to the small stream in the woods behind my home, stopping there to pay my respects. As I offered prayers of gratitude to each direction and to a stream that was underground for the season, I knew myself to be a part of something larger than myself. The broad expanse of sky reminded me that there are certainly perspectives larger than my own. I felt myself starting to lean into that truth. I can only see the small part of truth and reality that are revealed to my own eyes and understanding.

I offered one last prayer and then stood up to start walking up the familiar dirt road. Just up the road a bit, a flicker of blue flew from one tree to another. There have been quite a few bluejays around lately, so I assumed it was one of them at first. But almost as soon as I came to that conclusion, the bird flew across the road in front of me, and then flitted from one branch to another, until I saw enough to realize this was a bluebird. At that, it landed on a branch well within my sight and turned to look at me, showing me its rusty rose-colored breast in the process, which clinched it's identification.

"Thank you," I said, holding eye contact for a while. "Thank you."

As I continued on my walk, a smile came to me, despite my gloomy thoughts. "I think I have just witnessed a bluebird of happiness trying to get my attention. I think that's a pretty good sign."

Hope Is a Dangerously Good Thing

 

I have been thinking about hope, particularly about the difference it makes when we have it versus when we don't. Several years ago I heard someone say that they thought hope was not a good thing, because it creates a false sense of relief from the pressures we may be facing. Illustrative of this viewpoint, Morgan Freeman's character, Otis "Red" Redding, in the 1994 movie, The Shawshank Redemption, says, "Hope is a dangerous thing, my friend, it can kill a man". Red believes that hope of escape or release can drive a man insane because it's unlikely to come true. Tim Robbins' character Andy Dufresne disagrees, saying, "Hope is a good thing, maybe even the best of things. And good things never die".

Andy has it right, I think, having experienced this for myself in the past few days. 

As has been true for many of us, the divisions that exist in our country, and even in the world at large, have been wearing me down. It seems that every day the news, no matter what outlet you choose, focuses on the most negative stories and perspectives they can find. I didn't realize that all of this negativity had such a profound affect on me until a little bit of hope broke through the rubble of negativity and I felt my spirits lift.

The sliver of hope was represented by President Biden choosing to stand aside rather than continuing to pursue another term as president. Leading up to this moment, I was discouraged by so many lawmakers, journalists and others publicly calling for him to do just this. These conversations should have happened in private, where honest discussion, weighing of ideas and sharing opinions could take place in a respectful way, without the entire world watching. 

Listening in on conversations I would rather not have been privy to, left me feeling exhausted and incredibly stressed. Add to this the violence of an assassination attempt on Trump, followed by white christian nationalists comparing him to Jesus, and claiming God had saved him so that he could in turn save America; I was traumatized and terrified. 

And I knew I had to speak up to defend the faith I hold and the God I served as pastor for more than 30 years.

The God I know, has higher standards than any small-minded human with their self-serving agenda. The God I know does not save one person's life at the cost of another's. The God I know does not place power in the hands of those who want that power for selfish reasons. The God I know has a long-standing preference for the poor. All of the things I know and love about the God I serve stand in stark contrast to the values espoused by white christian nationalists, their terrifying Project 2025, and the corrupt criminal candidate to whom they have sold their souls.

Back to that glimmer of hope I mentioned. By stepping aside for the good of the nation, for the good of democracy, President Biden has shown what it takes to be a true leader. He may have wanted to continue in the presidency for another four years, but he has placed the needs of the whole above his own personal agenda. This humble act of service is incredibly rare in this day and age. Simply stated, it gives me hope that we may actually rise out of the current maelstrom and continue this experiment in democracy. It gives me hope that every person might still be seen and heard, their rights respected and their votes counted.

“Hope” is the thing with feathers -

That perches in the soul -

And sings the tune without the words -

And never stops - at all -

And sweetest - in the Gale - is heard -

And sore must be the storm -

That could abash the little Bird

That kept so many warm -

I’ve heard it in the chillest land -

And on the strangest Sea -

Yet - never - in Extremity,

It asked a crumb - of me.

Emily Dickinson, "'Hope' is the Thing with Feathers" from The Complete Poems of Emily Dickinson, edited by Thomas H. Johnson, ed., Cambridge, Mass.: The Belknap Press of Harvard University press, Copyright © 1951, 1955, 1979, 1983

Not Knowing

 

I have a very hard time dealing with uncertainty. It is difficult for me to relax into a moment when I do not know what is coming next. I like to plan ahead as much as I can, so that I can count on accomplishing the things I set out to do in a given time frame. This morning I even did a meditation that focused on helping me be more present in this particular moment, and not falling back on the habit of always thinking ahead to my next step. 

I should have known that the Universe would set out to solidify this learning experience. 

There is work going on at the condo in which Gary and I are living at the moment. We have been dealing with obnoxious sounds of drills and the toxic fumes of paints and solvents for the past few months. But now the ante has been upped. Today, or tomorrow, the painters will start sealing and then refinishing the walkways outside our door. Once they begin, we will not be able to leave or come back to the apartment between 8:30am and 3:30pm. This will be true for the full three days that it takes to complete the process. 

Did you catch that I said "today or tomorrow"? That's because the process depends on the weather, and it might rain today, so the site supervisor has to decide whether to start today or wait until tomorrow. 

Those of us who live on this floor are having a hard time with the uncertainty of it. One neighbor had a delivery of sheet rock scheduled which they had to cancel, and may have to wait to have delivered after the flooring material has fully set - at least a week from now. Another neighbor has an appointment for her drapes to be cleaned at 11. She is waiting to see if they start the walkway or not before she cancels. I am waiting too. I finally found a new home for an old sofa we have, and the thrift shop folks are coming to get it at 1pm today... or not.

Gary and I plan to leave Florida for our trip back to Vermont on Wednesday, but we may not be able to roll heavy things on the new floor by then if it rains today and the workmen don't start working on the walkways until tomorrow. Oh, and there is also a new futon we are supposed to pick up and bring into the apartment on Tuesday, which may or may not be too heavy to roll over the new and still curing floors.

Suffice it to say that there is a whole lot of uncertainty in the air here. As a result, I have the golden opportunity to really work my meditation practice hard as I attempt to be present with what is rather than worrying about all of the possibilities that might be. I don't feel up to the task, but I actually don't have a choice, so here I am, waiting, and breathing as slowly and steadily as I can manage.

NaNoWriMo

NaNoWriMo is short for National Novel Writing Month, which takes place in November each year. The challenge is to write 50,000 words in the course of one month. This works out to 1,667 words per day for each of November's 30 days. 

At first I didn't really think NaNoWriMo had anything to do with me. I am not a novelist, for starters, but the folks who organize the event are great at making everyone who likes to write in any form feel welcome. They even held a virtual memoir writing camp this summer, which I did not attend, but the idea of it brought home the thought that I could participate this November and write whatever my heart drew me toward. So I did.

I have been wanting to write my memoir for at least 25 years, and I have managed to jot down ideas and even entire essays over the course of that time. However, this all felt disjointed. There was no clear flow to the writing, no underlying theme. I was not sure how to organize my memories and the stories that accompany them into some kind of coherent whole. 

When this year's NaNoWriMo approached, I decided that I would use the month as a springboard for the project. My intention was to focus on a different memory each day, beginning with my earliest ones and going as far as the thirty days would take me. I knew I needed a theme, and after trying and discarding several possible concepts, I settled on "Connections". I figured that this could reflect my connections with Spirit, with the natural world, with family, with friends, with myself, even. It seemed broad enough as well as specific enough to work as a framework on which to build.

November is over, and with it the challenge that I accepted of writing 50,000 words, a day at a time. I am happy to report that I did it! Some days in particular were difficult for me to take time out for writing. Thanksgiving, with its attendant activities of cooking, celebrating with friends and family, travel, etcetera, features in there. And it comes close to the home stretch, so that puts a bit of pressure on, to keep up your word count so you don't have a word mountain to climb during the last few days.

As a way of celebrating the fact that I successfully rose to the challenge, I decided to print out my month's worth of words. They totaled 50,212 words, and filled up 204 pages. Carefully wrapping the pages to protect them from the rain and from being jostled into chaos, I brought them to Staples and had them bound. Mostly I did this to see what it looked like, and how it felt to have something physical to
show for my efforts. Even though I know it is a draft, and a rough one at that, it surprised me how good it feels to hold that book in my hands. 

All of this reminded me of how important it is to just get started on whatever it is that your heart is calling you to do. I am hopeful that this message will continue to draw me forward into the life I imagine.

Resilience Lessons from Ducklings

I am on Monhegan Island in Maine for a couple of weeks. It is a place Gary and I have spent time for the past ten years, finding here a sense of respite and calm that soothes my soul. Mostly what I do here is sit on rocks or cliffs, and watch the ocean and her inhabitants go about their lives.

Yesterday, I was sitting in a place called Gull Cove, on rocks pretty near the shoreline. What looked like a floating log appeared on the water moving toward shore, but as it got closer, I realized that it was actually not a log at all, but rather a mother duck and her long line of progeny following closely behind. As they moved into the cove, the little ones started attempting to tip forward putting their bills under the water, desperately trying to capture a bite of something yummy. The problem was, that they were so buoyant they kept bobbing back up to the surface, often with quite a bit of force and a big splash!

The mother duck led them up to the very top edge of a rock where they started jostling for position. As they each tried to get themselves settled on the rock’s ridge line, they kept bumping into one another, and inevitably one or two of the little balls of fluff tumbled down the side of the rather large rock. The first time this happened, I gasped, worried that the little ones who had lost their place in the line-up would be hurt or worse, but as soon as they stopped rolling, they righted themselves and started climbing right back up to the top of the rock.

Soon, the ducklings were lined up in a row along the edge of the rock, happily nestled next to one another. Calm reigned for a little while.

It was not very long before the mother decided it was time to get up and move again. As soon as she climbed off the rock, her little ones followed, a line of fluff balls waddling and tumbling down into the water. As they paddled around in the cove, they started practicing their bobbing again, dipping their little bills in the water, and amazingly soon, actually diving down under water where they stayed for longer than I thought possible. Somehow, in the course of a very little amount of time, they had figured out how to stay under water long enough to achieve their goal of finding some delectable snack. Maybe it was that period of rest that allowed their little duck minds to open up to the next lesson?

I sat on the edge of the cove for more than an hour, watching the ducks until the mothers began to lead them out into the deeper waters of the ocean. Waves washed over them, scattering the ducklings every which way. I worried that some of them would be lost in the fray, but eventually mother and babies were reunited beyond the roughest waves and they set off to their next destination.

Reflecting on what I had seen, I was struck by the resilience and resolve of those little ducklings. No more than a ball of fluff, each of them had a fierce determination to accomplish every new task. It didn’t matter if they bobbed to the surface when they tried to dive, they just kept at it until they figured out how to manage the mechanics. It didn’t matter if they got knocked off the rock by a restless sibling, they just got their feet under them and climbed up again. 

I know that we humans have far more tasks that we need to accomplish in order to achieve competence and adulthood, but I think we can learn from our fluffy companions that a little resilience and a whole lot of resolve goes a long way. If we think we can, then chances are, we can!

The Wisdom of Bluebirds

                                                                ~Photo by June Schulte

My friend June took this photo of a Bluebird who was doing his best to deal with below-zero temperatures. When you live in Vermont and it is winter time, your options for keeping warm are limited. Recently, when the temperatures dipped well below freezing, this little guy perched on a branch above a heated bird bath for the duration. Puffing his feathers out, he created as much insulation from the cold as he could muster. 

I have been spending a lot of time with Florida's birds, none of whom seem to have any trouble accepting the warm and sometimes hot weather down here. Being so close to water most of the time, they can easily dip in and cool off if that is their desire. The ocean breezes help to keep things comfortable as well, for birds and for us.

This got me to thinking about how we protect ourselves from the extremes that challenge us - extremely hot or cold weather, emotional ups and downs, and more painfully, the tragedies that sometimes touch our lives. How do we insulate ourselves so that we have the protection we need? How do we ensure that we are not thrown too far off balance by the challenges that come our way?

Sometimes I wish I was like this little Bluebird and could puff up my feathers to create a soft cushion around me. Seeing him got me to thinking about what we humans can do for ourselves when the "slings and arrows of outrageous fortune" whiz around our ears. What stands in the place of fluffy feathers for us?

Companionship is possibly the strongest protection we have. Family, friends, companion animals, co-workers, other folks who know something about what we are facing. Each of these offers support to us when we need it, and each offers different kinds of accompaniment, depending on their particular gifts and on our relationship with them. Some are good listeners, others offer deep wisdom, some are active and get us moving when we need that, while others are good cozy company when we need to curl up for awhile. 

For me, companionship also comes in the mysterious form of the Holy. Call this God, Spirit, All-That-Is - whatever strikes a chord with your own inner knowing. Even after years of ministering, and of praying my way through a humbling array of crises, the Holy shows up in my life, my mind and my heart in a wide variety of ways. Even now, a simple name does not manage to wrap this Presence up for me in any kind of authentic way. But I know I am held in this Holy Presence, always.

Quite some time ago when I was going through a rough patch, a dear friend guided me to imagine myself surrounded by rose colored light, she described it as an egg-shaped rose quartz. This was meant to provide protection from any outside elements that challenged me and also to be a source of strength so that I could face those challenges with courage. It helped, so I return to this practice whenever I feel the need for a little extra protection, a little extra courage. 

When I surround myself with this light, I feel the presence of all of my companions in life - the mysterious presence of God, Spirit, All-That-Is and the earthier presence of dear family and friends. In this way, I feel held in Love. As I get ready to take whatever step seems the next right thing to do, I am held in Love. If I need to curl up and sit tight for a while as the sweet Bluebird in this picture is doing, I can do that with a sense of peace. Knowing that no matter what, the love of family, friends and the Holy surrounds me now and always, gently guiding me, never judging, always holding me close.

Man-O-War Anxiety

Portuguese man-o-war got their name because someone imagined that they look like an 18th century Portuguese battleship under full sail. I am not sure of the conditions that bring them to the shore, but they show up pretty often on the beaches here in Southeastern Florida. When that happens, a purple flag of warning hangs from the lifeguard stand on affected beaches. You can still swim, if you choose, but your choice may involve getting stung by the tentacles that stretch out up to 30 feet from the floating creature itself. This makes swimming feel especially fraught to me. 

The chance of seeing a man-o-war while you are in the water is slight enough, with all of the wave action and given the fact that your eyes are close to sea level themselves, but knowing that their sticky tentacles are so far reaching pushes the risk factor up exponentially. Suffice it to say that I don't usually swim when the purple flag flies. I do, however, walk the shoreline, careful to avoid the bloated blueish bodies littering my path. 

One day when the purple flag flew, Gary was walking, presumably without my hyper-attentiveness and he stepped on one. A loud POP! startled him out of his reverie. If it were me, I would have rushed to the water to rinse off my foot and then nervously looked for signs of the stinging venom they are known to possess. When I asked him what happened afterward, he laughed and said, "nothing." 

"What?" I asked, "didn't it sting? Wasn't there some kind of jelly stuck to your foot?"

"Nope. Turns out it was full of air. It just popped. Made me jump a little from the sound, but it didn't hurt in any way. No sting, no nothing." He laughed at himself, recalling again how he had reacted to the loud sound of it popping under his foot.

I laughed with him a little, but honestly found it hard to believe that Gary's encounter was that innocuous, after all of the built up anxiety that surrounded the creatures for me. I started thinking about the unsettling fact that often the things I worry about, just like those man-o-war lying on the shore, are no more than so much hot air. How often does all of the anxiety and worry built up around something I fear turn out to be a bloated, benign balloon of absolutely nothing?

Doing some research, I discovered that the tentacles of beached man-o-war can and do sting, so beach combers are cautioned to avoid stepping on or near them for this reason. So, I can comfort myself, if I feel the need to justify myself, with the thought that my fear of them is appropriate after all. But, like the choice I often make to walk in the shallow waves even when the purple flag flies, I can also choose not to let my fear ramp up into anxiety that takes away the casual joy of walking on a sandy beach in Florida. I can choose to focus on the joy, and maybe even appreciate the beauty of those blueish to pink man-o-war dotted among the shells and seaweed.