The difference between a goal and an obligation

Obligations and goals have an uncomfortable relationship. They have an awful lot in common but they live in tension. Sometimes they get on each other's nerves.

Think of it like this:

A goal is a destination. A destination with a travel plan and a timeline. The travel plan and timeline are what distinguish a goal from a dream.

An obligation, on the other hand, is a weight you carry on your journey. It's baggage.

Persephone Days

Plants and humans have a lot in common. Like humans, plants need water, nutrients, and air to live. 

And light. We all need the light.

Growing up on a family farm in South Carolina, my dad always pointed out the winter solstice or “shortest day.” It marked a turning point in his seasonal mindset. Sure, he had a farmer's seasonal awareness for planning farm activities. But for both my parents, who suffered from seasonal depression, the winter solstice was more about the longest night than the shortest day. The winter solstice marked a point at which things would get better. Gradually, almost imperceptibly, better. With each passing day, the long night would be just a little shorter and the short day just a little longer. Some of us tend to think of growing seasons in terms of temperature only. We don't have lush winter gardens because its too darn cold! But the length of the day is almost as important as the temperature. I had a vague awareness of plant light needs from my childhood on the farm, but I didn't know those short winter days had another name until my garden friend Dana told me a few weeks ago. (Thanks, Dana!)

Enter the Persephone Period

Fallow

You may sow your crops and reap them, but in the seventh year, let it rest and lie untilled. In that year the land will provide food for the poor, and what they don't take will go to the wild animals. Do the same with your vineyards and olive groves. (Exodus 23:10–11, The Inclusive Bible)

The Fallow

by Anna Wickham

Now, Tiller, hold your grain,
Leave her to sun and rain
And the kind air
Then trench her with a well-judged measure
Of feeding pleasure,
And give her peace
To dream of her increase
And your good care.
Well might you reap miraculous yield
From such a happy, nourished field!

We planted and tended through spring, summer, fall, and a month of winter at the Parktown garden. We also spent weeks digging up tenacious landscape fabric and layering cardboard, hub-grown compost, and chipped tree mulch. The areas we didn't plant lay fallow. Our hope was in the theology of the compost, hope that rich compost made from things decaying and discarded would resurrect some unnaturally compacted and lifeless soil that had lived a previous life as a preschool playground.

Fallowing soil, or leaving it unplanted for a period of time, is a recognized land or garden management technique. It's good for the soil. It's regenerative. Depleted soil nutrients and beneficial microorganisms are regenerated in a season of rest. This sounds such a positive thing that I was surprised to pick up a distinctively negative vibe when I looked up the word “fallow” online. Just take a look at some of the synonyms below.

 Fallow (from Google's dictionary, accessed 2/18/2021, http://tinyurl.com/2dnskglv)

adjective

1. (of farmland) plowed and harrowed but left unsown for a period in order to restore its fertility as part of a crop rotation or to avoid surplus production. "incentives for farmers to let the land lie fallow in order to reduce grain surpluses"

Similar: unused, undeveloped, dormant, resting, empty, bare, neglected, untended, unmanaged

Opposite: cultivated

2. inactive. "long fallow periods when nothing seems to happen"

Similar: dormant, quiet, slack, slow, flat, idle, inert, static, stagnant, depressed, unproductive, unfruitful

Opposite: productive.

Bare. Neglected. Unmanaged. Slack. Stagnant. Depressed. Unproductive. All the things we don't want to be. All the things the world tells us we shouldn't be. And not at all what we imagined when we pulled away the impermeable fabric and layered the compost with dreams of what we could plant in future.

Digging a little deeper into concepts of crop rotation and soil health, we stumbled upon Shmita. Shmita is the Jewish sabbatical year in a seven-year agricultural cycle. Although commonly translated as “sabbatical year,” Shmita literally means “release.” Unlike many Jewish practices that call the individual to participate, Shmita requires the participation of the individual AND the community. Shmita is a time to put down some of our personal pursuits in support of communal good.

It is a year of reset, not just for the land but for all of us. A year of reflection. A year of respite to learn more about agricultural practices, but not to actively cultivate and plant. A year in which anything that reseeds or grows as perennial may be eaten by the deer and rabbits or harvested by anyone passing by for their personal consumption. Perhaps a year of community harvest? A year to forgive debts. Perhaps a year to let go of the grievances we so often carry as a burden? A year to listen to each other and the land. A year of release.

Shmita has a biblical basis in Torah. The seventh agricultural sabbatical year echos the seventh day of creation, the day on which God rested. Although the biblical explanation predates modern agricultural practices, there seems to be a modern Shmita renaissance. Shmita is discussed as a part of sustainable agriculture, as an approach to climate change, and as a call to environmental awareness and stewardship. During this 2020-2021 pandemic season, Shmita points some people toward rent forgiveness for people who are struggling to make ends meet during the pandemic.

In fact, so great is the Shmita renaissance that the Jewish nonprofit Hazon has started the Shmita Project. The goal of the Shmita Project is to “... animate conversation and change in the world, based on the values and teachings of Shmita and focus on environmental sustainability, rest and overwork, debt and debt relief, relationship to land, food and time....”

The Shmita Project put out a Shmita PSA, a commercial that is just cheesy enough to draw me in. Never did I imagine I could watch an online commercial for a Jewish spiritual agricultural practice that speaks to my pandemic heart so powerfully in Hebrew with English subtitles. You can watch it here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ah3Z_ZoFLcw&feature=youtu.be.

The next Shmita year officially starts for the Jewish community on Rosh Hashana 2021 (September 6, 2021). From September 2021 to September 2022 thousands of Jews will make commitments to be a stronger community of compassion. At Parktown we're still learning about Shmita, a release and reset to learn about gardening and to build community and the soil the soil. Fallowing together. To leave her to sun and rain and the kind air and give her peace.

Broccoli soup trimmed down

I made my scrumptious cream of broccoli soup a few weeks ago, with a few substitutions borne of necessity.

I didn't have any fresh broccoli, but I had some fresh broccoli slaw that was purchased on sale and needed to be eaten.

We didn't have much cream in the house, and what we did have was earmarked for the morning cup o' joe, so I made a low-fat substitution. Skim milk. Lactose-free skim milk, even.

The end result was a somewhat thinner, somewhat lighter soup, chock full of fiber and goodness. Don't get me wrong - I still added butter and a splash of cream and shredded cheese, so this was not a deprivation soup. (You know those soups. You follow some weight-loss recipe you see as click-bait on Facebook and serve up a watery broth to wash down your self-loathing.)

I'd call the trimmed down version a success, maybe a runner-up or even a slimmer knock-kneed  Miss Congeniality in the soup pageant. But I still recommend you click on the link above and make the original full-fat full-flavor version if you can

Change is psychological loss

Past me leaves messages for present or future me all the time. To tell the truth, past me can be a bit of a pain in the keister. In 2012, I left the comment below on J.D. Roth's personal blog in response to this post.

Hi JD – I read this over at Get Rich Slowly when it was first posted there. It’s a powerful presentation. I haven’t watched the video yet, but that’s next on my list because I want to hear the words in your own voice.

There’s so much good stuff here, but a couple of things really jumped out at me when I first read it at GRS. Sometimes people are so miserable that they look for “change” when what they really want and need is “growth.” The examples of longevity you give don’t have to be negative examples of sameness, do they? I think the best long-term relationships and the most successful businesses are those in which the parties grow and adapt to the changing world around them. Do you think there’s a danger of swinging too far to the change side and becoming less grounded?

Somewhere along the way I heard that “Change is psychological loss.” I think it was on a TV show years ago. (I just got a Google hit on “Cagney & Lacey.” Please say I haven’t held onto a line from Cagney & Lacey all these years.) You’ve gone through so many changes over the past few years, I’d be interested in your take on that “psychological loss” perspective.

Confabulate as well as commiserate

Is this really the mullet of the internet?

Come and See! -- A Guest Post

Since it looks like I may have as many as three - maybe even four - readers, I figured the time was right to kick this high-flying blog up a notch with its very first Guest Post! Please welcome Sharon Schulze to the hallowed pages of Confabulosity. Some of you who know Sharon know that she is making a 2nd career move (after a respected and respectable career in academia) into divinity school and vocational calling to the ministry. She's still discerning that call. Is it to hospital or hospice chaplaincy? Is it to congregational ministry? Is it to non-profit directorship? I've got opinions, but in the end, I know it's up to Sharon and God to work it out.

Sharon delivered her first sermon last night, at a Lenten service at St. Paul’s Lutheran Church in Durham, NC. Though I know it was more powerful to hear the vocal delivery, she agreed to provide the text for me to share. Without further delay, here's "Come and See."
______________________

In preparing to speak tonight I looked over the five lessons for our Lenten services this year and something jumped out at me: the very broken women were the ones who forged ahead, who brought others to “Come and See” Jesus, while the men had a very difficult time hearing what Jesus was saying and sharing the good news.

Overcoming Inertia

Take a gander at Newton's first law (Law of Inertia):

A body at rest will remain at rest. A body in motion will continue in motion unless acted upon by an unbalanced force.

Holy apple-boy! Was Isaac Newton a physicist or a philosopher?

See, it's like this...I'm a body at rest. And I tend to remain at rest. Sometimes it seems my entire life has been ruled by the Law of Inertia. Resistance to change.

Maybe you can empathize. If you're like me, you've probably missed some opportunities because of inertia.

On the other hand, you may have also missed some catastrophes because of inertia.

Maybe he didn't always remember but he never forgot

In some ways the past year seemed to last a lifetime. In other ways 2014 slipped by so quickly and with such a forceful rush that I'm still a little breathless from the exertion of it all.

I just passed the first anniversary of my father's death and realized I've been subconsciously marking most days in 2014 with "A year ago...."

A year ago, Daddy was still alive and we celebrated his birthday. A year ago, Daddy attended his last granddaughter's wedding. A year ago, I cooked dinner in South Carolina and Daddy ate roasted root vegetables and told us old family stories. A year ago, we called the ambulance. A year ago, I held his hand and cried.

Mailman in shining armor

My father could be a great conversationalist, but he was more often a story teller. A commentator. Sometimes a dictator. Oh sure, a benevolent dictator, but a dictator nonetheless. (I think I inherited that from him and I'm not nearly as unhappy about that as I probably should be, but I digress...)

Some of the things Daddy said were arranged so that you might think you were having a conversation. But you were really being directed.

As I mentioned in Part 3, my father's soft heart shone through, even in some of the dictatorial moments.

He found a shaggy, flea-ridden, puppy behind a dumpster on his rural mail route one hot summer day when I was in high school. He put her in his car, gave her melted ice from his Coke, and drove around the rest of the route with a scroungy little passenger. We already had two dogs. When he came home with her that afternoon, Daddy poured himself a glass of iced tea (sweetened, of course), suggested we I make a pot of fresh coffee, got his newspaper, and settled himself in a lawn chair in the shade of the back yard. There transpired a series of directions to me, each issued with a heavy sigh as he took a break from his newspaper.

Fond memories and no hope

Now for the good stuff

Father's Day snuck up on me this year. This first one without Daddy was especially bittersweet. It seemed like a good time to think about the stuff he said.

In Part 2 I explained that my father spoke with a certainty that made it almost impossible to tell if he was sharing factual information or messing with you for the sheer pleasure of messing with you. It occurs to me that it won't be nearly as amusing to see the things in print. You really had to look into his face and hear him say these things to experience the humor. But since I can't re-create the family moments, we'll just have to do the best we can with the written word.

Some of my personal favorites:

It's a well known fact!

After great pain, a formal feeling comes

As I mentioned in Part 1, my father has always had a wicked cool sense of humor and a sharp mind. I grew up surrounded by observational humor and deadpan delivery of sometimes outrageous statements. I took it for granted.

I won't get to hear much of that deadpan delivery again. Not unless I hear it remembered in family stories. Or hear it in my dreams. Or maybe channeled through the children and grandchildren (and even great-grandchildren) he influenced.

Daddy was hospitalized on December 26. He died on January 22. Even as I was writing my last post in December, he was dying.

Lonesome Shaka Zulu Dove?

This is a long overdue Father's Day post. I visited my family in South Carolina for Father's Day in June, and I've been thinking a lot about my dad ever since I got in my car to drive back to Durham. This post is longer than usual (if there even is a "usual" after such a long hiatus) but he's worth every word.

I could just subject you to my original stream of consciousness, but to spare the potential reader from total glassy-eyed exhaustion I've decided to break up what would have been an even more massive post into a miniseries. You can think of this as the Lonesome Dove or Shaka Zulu of amateur Internet blogosphere musings about Southern fathers.

Hello? Hello? Is this thing on?

People are mean

Bear with me here. This is not a rant or a "mean people suck" diatribe.

But people are mean. Even when we're not mean spirited, we're mean.

We unknowingly say things that tear at the raw emotions of people who are struggling, and then walk away oblivious to what we've done.

And we knowingly say cutting things when we feel threatened - as if jabbing at a weak spot in someone bigger, stronger, better will make us bigger, stronger, better, too.

The ghost of diets past

My earliest memories of diets and calorie restrictions revolve around Ayds diet candies and Roman Meal bread.

Ayds (pronounced "aids") was an individually wrapped candy that was either an appetite suppressant or a placebo. It had a very strong presence in my childhood home in the early 70s. I clearly remember the chocolate and caramel flavors nibbled before meals by my mother and older sister, usually with a nice hot cup of coffee. I was a kid - somewhere in the 5 to 7 year old range - and I'd sneak in and chow down on those candies by the handful. They were tasty and, I'm sure, oh so chemical. Probably accounts for the tics and recurrent blackouts today. Ayds candies would surely have fallen out of market favor by now even if the PR disaster of having a product name pronounced the same as a dread disease hadn't driven the product off the shelves.

Resistance is futile, puny earthling.

Originally published March 13, 2013

More stress. Drama at work.

Did you think drama would end when you graduated from middle school? From high school?

Did you think it would end when you tore the pages out of that sad old diary you called a journal and trashed them because the embarrassment of reading your own histrionic words made your cheeks flush and your stomach hurt a little bit?

Ode to a Spotted Dog

In my last blog post, I said I'd post about accountability.

The very next day. Accountability, community, and competition.

It's not the next day, and I haven't held myself accountable.

But I've been human.

My dog died. That simple statement carries more depth of emotion and implication for my life than most people realize.

Unresolved resolutions

While I haven't consciously formulated a list of resolutions for 2013, I think a part of my brain has been preoccupied with plans and lists. This has been going on for the better part of the month, but I think the current trend toward mental lists is probably related to the winter cold snap as much as anything else. It's the same mechanism that makes me want to pore over seed catalogs and make garden plans that are far more ambitious than anything I will actually do.

My PEDFRON report card

This is a report card I'd hide from Mom

The post-every-day-for-the-rest-of-November (I've decided to call it PEDFRON) project wasn't a complete failure, but it also wasn't a rousing success. I'm able to see the glass as half full...and half empty. It's a blessing...and a curse.

Setting the goal did have the desired effect of making me post more often for awhile. There's the half full.