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PegTulsa

http://www.freewebs.com/inspirationwind/


Country: United States

Language: English


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PegTulsa  

Spiritual director, author, poet,. And all that after getting an engineering degree! Time spent in contemplation is never wasted.

  • Archived Blog Posts

    Date / Time:

    Extreme . . . Something


    I’m just sitting here musing on doing  good deeds  and remembering Dewey --  a site of "Extreme Makeover: Home Edition."  I drove up to gawk  and ended up volunteering.  I have heard some folks say that they feel the show "uses" folks in housing crisis. After being at "the site," those folks may be right. The family receiving this newly constructed home is the widow of a pastor and her five children. The woman  had to vacate the church-supplied housing after her husband died a year ago. All she could afford was a double-wide trailer –  a used construction site office and some land.

    As the shuttle bus rounded the bend and the house came into view, it looked like they were constructing a church and not a residence. The house is huge -- over 5,000 square feet with six bedrooms.  There is no way the widow and her young children are going to be able to maintain it. Are the IRS taxes on the value of the house going to be paid?  The building costs for a normal house is about $70-$100 per sq. ft. That would value the house alone at approximately  a half million dollars. A local news reporter estimates the whole project at $1.1 million. There is no way a woman on a minister's pension is going to have the money to pay the taxes. or even pay a mortgage taken to pay the income taxes!   True, there are accounts set up for local donations, but this is a county where 12% of the population live below the poverty level and the average family income is $37,700.  How much can such a community realistically expect to donate to the family?   I can’t image the utility bills that would find their way into the family’s mail box, especially after a string of cold winter nights.

    My impression is that Lock and Key Productions, the show’s production company and sells the program to ABC for broadcast on Sunday nights,  does not provide much, if any, of the building  financing or resources.  They seem to screen the applicants’ videos, hire a local contractor, and take the bows. From my “volunteer” vantage point, all the materials and skilled labor is donated.

    The site amenities for those “working”  are a real joke.  I spent 2 hours in "the worker's tent" keeping the coffee going and helping to keep the site runners' trays full of cups with hot coffee.  We were in a 3-sided lean-to on a cold damp fall evening with a half-working propane radiant heater and no lights.  We were located next to the "VIP" tent. It was one of those "wedding tents:"   enclosed, warm and with sugar and creamer and real plastic flatware.  The worker’s tent had bulk creamer and 5 pound. sacks of sugar.  No dispensers.  No spoons.  The workers had to "go black"  with the rationalization that "at least it was hot.”  The VIP's had a lovely dinner, while the workers and volunteers have to make do with whatever a restaurant donates to get on the credits. It was crazy. An hour after the night shift’s dinner break, 100 pizzas were delivered. Of course, nobody was hungry -- they just ate. It was very chilly and the pizzas quickly turned cold.  All that food just wasted. . That TV clip of the show’s host thanking the people working on the project?  It was taped in the VIP tent.  So much for recognizing the just plain folks doing the work.


    As I was going back to the car, I saw a team painting a mural on a building. This was the "well house" for the domestic  water  pumping equipment. There were trompe l' oeil rock walls and a scene of mustangs roaming the plains. The family also has a new horse barn (the house is in the middle of a wooded area.)  The workmanship reminded me of a theater set.  It looked wonderful at a distance.  Up close (or as close as I could get)  there was no hint of craft.  The copper work over the bay windows was just bumpy sheets of copper.  Not the classic curved copper panels.  In an area where severe thunderstorms are common, the roof adornments were  copper (including a steeple with a copper cross.)  I didn't see anything that would have indicated that there was any thought of putting a lightening rod system on the structure.

    Seeing the show’s “behind the scene” operations, the money would be better spent donated to Habitat for Humanity.  In Washington County, !.6 % of housing still used wood as a primary fuel source; 1.% had inadequate kitchens and 0.6% has substandard plumbing. Twelve percent of the county’s population live under the poverty level.   Habitat for Humanity can build a house for approximately $65,000 and are designed to be energy and upkeep efficient.  For what was spent in Dewey on this Hollywood glitz publicity project, Habitat for Humanity volunteers could construct at least 15 homes.  But then the corporate sponsors wouldn’t get their names on a top-rated, award-winning  TV show.  The volunteer labor pool is here.  During my time at the registration area, people were being “put on hold” hoping they would tire of waiting and leave.  Evidently,  no volunteer was to be turned away, just ignored long enough so they got the message.

    There is no way a family "needs" or " deserves" a 5,000 sq. ft. house, with a horse barn in the middle of a woodland when the neighborhood are living in disintegrating cabins and ancient trailers.   But it garners advertizement revenue, ratings and Emmy nominations.

    Oh, I did received a T-shirt diploma for my education on Hollywood's brand of do-gooding for ratings.

    I came too close to TV magic.

  • Date / Time:

    Flint Mines

    Flint Mines

    Interstate 40 caused the New Mexico landscape to escape too quickly.  I made the choice to avoid the low flying,  75 MPH  semi’s and turn onto a older highway, traveling northward to Oklahoma earlier than intended.  The familiar sign announcing a national land area came up on the southbound side of the road as I approached.  A National Monument was here - the Flint Mines.  I made a left hand turn to investigate.

    A sign warned of a closed road, but the gate was open.  No paradox here.  An open gate - an open invitation. The road was well-maintained calling me further into the “monument.”  Road closed, indeed.  I came upon an empty parking lot and a office trailer.  “Tours of Area by Appointment Only.  Allow at least 48 hours for arrangements to be made.”   Pish-posh.  There was no one around to see me reading the sign and the road was still civilized.  And I had 8 hours of daylight left.  I drove on to see this ancient place where the First Peoples mined the stone for their daily needs from the time before history books..

    I am in a land of no sound - only the noise of pen scratching paper and blood pulsing behind the ear.
     
    A hawk sits by a pillow of season-dead sage brush. Then flies off with the blue, white and gray tail feathers in the sun.

    A gentle breeze stirs my hair as it also bears the tumbleweed, skipping across the dryness.

    Nearby are the hillocks of Titian hands, palm down, fingers reaching, pointing to the flatterlands. Some long index fingers.  Others stubby thumbs. Some places a knuckle breaks through the skin of speckled  dark green.  The ancient skeleton is flecked with ashen gray rock and terra cotta  earth.  In other places, earth scars reveal darker, richer ochre blood.

    The horizon is guarded by planed mesas.  Vee’s of ancient water streams texture their slopes.  These guardians  are a mural of dark desert scrub pine, white limestone strata on a rust canvas. Blue-green, winter green and adobe.  Deep rock-infested arroyos - there is water in this dry place.  One must only wait for the life-bringing Now to arrive.

    This is my personal cathedral, given me for a heartbeat by the “one whose name cannot be spoken.” The ancient desert mothers and fathers come to my remembrance.  Standing in such a place, I feel their attraction to the barren places.  They were not compelled to flee to the desert land; they ran towards it with uplifted hands,  to offer back creation to the proper proprietor.  Neither was the departure a necessity to rejoining the brethren.  Too long in such a place of such awe, one could fall into a mystical union, the too sensuous dance with the Beloved and disturb the inner frail, human balance of mind and spirit. Ego could become the hovering flies, needing only to be ignored.  Body without ego is an awakening not tolerate by material star stuff.

    The limestone rocks are breadlike.  There is no need for a miraculous transformation. The embedded quartz are the glowing wealth of kingdoms and nations.  But to step away from the a templed parapet, with the desired joining with Brother Hawk or mounded mother breast is a desire too great to remain in the wilderness and is deserving of the harshest curse..  One needs to come forth and take up again the scatter of the townscape.  Where no hand has crafted - there is tranquility and beauty. Where hand has touched, there is whirling chaos and artifact.

    O Beloved, permit me the miracle of key and ignited engine fire.  I dare not linger longer in this cathedral nave.  

    So traveling the closed road lead to a opened heart.  My tour was arranged by the Beloved.  My spirit danced with the Spirit.  The road back to the highway was much longer and more desolate.  At the sign, I turned north - my attention forced upon the vehicles of fellow travelers and to my gas gauge - with a overflowing cup

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