Eloise

I have fallen in love — again — with a little girl with whom I have had the privilege of spending the last four months, Eloise Vella Kaplan.  When I arrived in August she was just two months old, small, fragile and mostly helpless.  Now she is six months old, curious about the world, able to hold her head up, move in circles on her belly, smile in recognition, and kick her legs to indicate “I want to be picked up!”

Eloise was born in June as my first born son, Bart, was.  I spend a lot of day time alone with her as I did with Bart, walking the city streets with a baby in a stroller because I didn’t have access to a car when he was little, either.  Watching Eloise at this age has brought back memories of Bart and what it was like to see a small life develop.  It is a miracle, even for non-believers.

During this time, I have paid more attention to and been involved with small things:  how Eloise looks with fascination at a light, how her small hand clutches one of my fingers, how she kicks her feet when she sees me warming up her bottle, her puzzlement when water flows out of a faucet.  Everything is new and of interest.  Spiritual leaders tells us that paying attention and being present are crucial for a deeper faith life.  Little people do this automatically and can be good models for us.

Eloise teaches me to wonder at falling leaves in the hazy late afternoon light; her smile of recognition brings me joy; she sits in quiet patience as her brothers cry in frustration and adults look grim; she is happy with keys to chew on and a stuffed monkey to hold.

Last Thursday I took about five minutes to settle Eloise down with some toys.  During that time brother Gus managed to scoop coffee beans out of the cannister, leave a trail of them in two rooms as he poured the remaining ones in my coffee cup, so I would “have some more coffee to drink.”  He dumped out two baskets of gloves and hats looking for a nerf gun, jumped from the top of the sofa to a spot behind it, yelling for me to try and find him.  Eloise looked placidly on.  They are both precious, but at this point I appreciate her limited mobility.

After a few minutes of exploration, she has learned to drop an object. I pick it up and hand it to her again.  After the third round of this, Gus tells me, “She doesn’t want it, Gaba.”  Sometimes the obvious eludes me.

At this time of year, we celebrate the birth of another child.  The theme of birth, gifts, new life are intertwined.  Children are a gift.  They give us hope, a belief that a fresh presence will bring something better, that renewal is possible.  Even if it doesn’t always work out in a positive way, isn’t that what we all want?

Eloise, you are a gift– to this family and to the world.

 

This is the end of this blog.  God willing, one week from today I will be back in Monterey,  leaving St. Louis with mixed feelings.  I am grateful for the time I was able to spend here, the people I have come to know, and for Grant and Emily who shared their family so generously.  Happy Advent.  Merry Christmas.

On Living a Simpler Life

For years I have thought and talked about living a simpler life, though I honestly haven’t done much about it.  These four months in St. Louis offered me a chance to “walk my talk.”  Since I am here for a short time, it didn’t make sense to bring a lot with me.  I am renting a sparsely furnished lower floor of a house.  This is what I have discovered so far.

I brought about 1/4 of the clothes I own.  I haven’t missed a thing, though I am easier to recognize by the neighbors.  “It must be Tuesday.  She’s wearing the striped T-shirt again.”  I suppose eventually I will grow tired of this limited wardrobe, but so far I find it liberating not to be thinking much about clothes (or spending money on them).

I still cook most dinners at home with one frying pan, one sauce pan, one square 9″ baking pan, one paring knife, and a set of plastic mixing bowls that double as toys for the boys when they come by.  I have even had people over for dinner (with the help of takeout!).  I don’t have a mixer, dish washer, Cuisinart, toaster oven, etc.  Of course, I am single and like simple food which makes a difference.

My living space is sparsely furnished: no sofa, no TV, no chest of drawers, no decorative pillows, no stereo.  There are hardwood floors with one area rug in the living room.  No curtains on most windows.  It makes cleaning easier which is good since I have no vacuum, broom, or dustpan.  A Swiffer does it all.  There is one set of towels, one set of sheets.

I discovered I can’t live without a radio, so I bought a small one with a clock.  I have my laptop and cell phone.  I also need reading material, but have been able to borrow most of it from the nearby library.

My landlord left artwork on the walls that I like.  That keeps this space from looking sterile.

I do miss my garden a lot.  There are some pots in the front yard that I planted.  The backyard consists of a huge lawn and nothing else.  I probably couldn’t continue to live here without re-landscaping!  I look with envy at some of my neighbors’ gardens.

To entertain my grandsons, I bought two balls (The backyard is great for soccer practice.), a puzzle, some card games, a flashlight, and a magnifying glass.  So far they seem pretty occupied with these as long as I join in with them.  We go to the park a lot, and they love the library that has a large children’s section.  I know they will grow older and want electronic games, but so far it has been easy to keep them happy.

Living without a car is limiting, but all my needs and most of my wants can be managed on foot.  I haven’t used the bus system, but it is available and easy to access.

So what have I concluded?  I am surprised that I am very content and not yearning for any of the material things I left behind.  This kind of simplicity has nothing to do with poverty.  I know I am better off than the majority of people on the planet.  With my version of “less,” there is no shortage of basic necessities.

It makes a difference that no one knew me here before I arrived, and therefore had no expectations about how I should appear or what “things” should be part of my cultural identity.  I have made friends with some people that are financially better off and who have retired from professional positions above mine, but my lifestyle doesn’t seem to make any difference.  Maybe because most of my new friends are older people, and no one is trying to impress anyone else.  Maybe it is because I am in the Midwest where pretensions are downplayed.

I know, too, that scaled back living is a choice I am making, and that I can choose otherwise if I want.  Most people don’t have that option.

What leads me to think about this is a book by Naomi Klein, “Climate vs. Capitalism,” in which she makes a convincing case that the environmental measures we are debating now: a carbon tax fee, electric cars, solar energy are not nearly enough.  The only way our planet is going to survive is to reinvent our economic system.  As long as we have a capitalistic economy that encourages growth and consumption, we are going to run out of resources and have increasing numbers of “have not’s” as well as a ravaged planet.

That idea took my breath away.  It would change everything in first world countries.  Realistically, I doubt it will happen, but I do think it is possible to rethink how we are living and to consider reducing, reusing, and sharing on a much greater level.

As I contemplate my return to California, I think of Thoreau living in a small cabin on Walden Pond for two years.  When he returned to society, did he live differently?  I don’t know, but I imagine I will return to my former lifestyle because it is so easy to slide into it, even though I claim I am concerned about the environment, and my faith calls me to live in a manner that makes it possible for others to live, too.

To resist consuming takes a daily conscious effort.  The pull of all those beautiful things is seductive.  It is so easy to accept the status quo and figure what one person does isn’t that important.

Yet during these four months, every time I listen to the news, I hear another story about the careless destruction of some part of the earth.  I recall Edward Hale, “I am only one, but I am one.  I cannot do everything, but I can do something.  And I will not let what I cannot do interfere with what I can do.”

As an older person, humility has become inevitable.  At this point all I can do is something small and simple.  Maybe that is enough.