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Just about since the day my mother moved in with us and I took over her full-time care, I have felt  overwhelmed and exhausted. She has dementia and has already burned through my two younger sisters lives and my older sister moved all the way from Philadelphia to Dallas, just so she wouldn't have to take it on (the fact that her husband's new job was there only played a minor roll in the decision, though I suspect she influenced it for just this reason). Gradually with lots of help, actual hired help and help for me to figure out how to get my needs for adequate rest and solitude met so that I can do the job without killing myself (or my mother!), things seemed to be working out. Ironically, one of the answers to my needs for solitude (which are legion) is to get up earlier, before everyone else, go up on the roof, watch the sun rise and listen to the birds. This of course seems at odds with my need for rest and my sense that that  late afternoon cup of coffee was really not such a good idea. So I have been experimenting with taking a nap in the late afternoon, instead. This works best if my mother is napping as well.  I have been quite impressed with the results when it works out, which it does more often than you might think.

One of the things that I have struggled with all my life is the tendency to take on more than I can handle, coupled with a grandiose view of just how much that is.  Of course this comes naturally to a kid who felt she had to take on a parenting role when she was barely 11 and her dad died leaving her mother a widow with 5 children between the ages of 2 and 13, who never quite recovered. That's a bit of a nonsensical statement, I now realize, for just how does one recover from such a thing? It is a fact, however, that she did lose her faith and never found it again, until now, when she has lost so much of her memory that she seems to reside back before she even met her dear husband, even back to before she became a Quaker as a teenager, when her whole family joined the local Quaker Meeting. (We now sing a lot of Methodist hymns and she says a Methodist grace at dinner time, I presume, since it is one I never knew.) Music is an amazing thing, she also likes to listen to Ella Fitzgerald and other music from the forties (her courting days) and some of the songs bring up such vivid feelings of loss for her that she remembers that her husband, the love of her life, died and left her and she sheds a few tears. She will also get up and dance the Charleston at the drop of a hat, or less!

I have struggled, over my adult lifetime to say "NO" to things which are really not mine to take on, or are too much for me.  I have gotten better at it, but habits ingrained in childhood are hard to kick. Just now, in my life, as, you can imagine, I could reasonably expect that my plate is full. Taking care of my mother is really only the half of it. I have an over-worked family doctor for a husband, a daughter getting ready to go off to college and another house to take care of now that my oldest daughter, who has Down syndrome, has moved into her own home a few blocks away. OK, OK, that's a bit of an exaggeration, she and her housemate are doing just fine, but they do need some supervision especially since they moved in less than a month ago, and truth be told, though I assume less supervision will be required as time goes by, some will always be needed, and at least for now, the buck stops with me.

One of the folks I hired to help with my Mom, on a very part time basis, is a single Mom currently receiving assistance. While we were away on vacation a few weeks ago she staid over at our house as the night time help, and basically has not left since.  Her four year old loves being at our house and we enjoy having him. Since there are often 3 or 4 teenagers staying over, (it is summer and my youngest daughter's friends hang out here), it really didn't seem like a big deal at first. But then I began to notice piles of their stuff, mostly kids videos and bags of clothes here and there and began to get worried. It has emerged that there are some problems in the house they are renting and that it is really not safe (or doesn't feel safe) to be there until they are fixed. Since the mom has another part time job, she needs help with childcare while she straightens things out, but was afraid to be upfront with her needs.  I freaked out (in a mild way, at least outwardly).  Inwardly I thought, oh no, I can't take on one more thing right now, the ship might actually sink.

A housemate of ours (unrelated) listened to me vent about my fears, but they only seemed to grow, until I lost sleep over it.  Then something happened, I had a talk with God/the Universe/Mystery and was able to let it all go, give up trying to figure it out. At the same time, even though it still seemed risky, I was able to take a step towards the situation, not with a clear sense of being able to figure anything out or really make much of a difference, just to step out with a sense of trust that all would be well, in some unfathomable way.  (To be completely honest, it was a feeling, not formed into a thought, almost as if I was propelled forward- not against my will, just against my better judgment.) I volunteered to have the 4 year old for an evening and asked others to step up and help, successfully.  Those ducks just seemed to fall right into a row! And it is all manageable! It appears that the house issues are resolving, it may take another week or so, but the end is in sight, and (not without more bumps along the way, I'm sure) progress is happening- and guess what else? A little community is forming, where there is genuine potential for all of us to be  of assistance to each other when its needed-AND who doesn't need a little extra help now and then?

I woke up this morning wondering how to celebrate my birthday... 58!!! None of the things I could think of cut it, so I prayed, asking for guidance from that which we call God. As soon as I did, it became clear that what I wanted was to manifest the love that is in my heart, the love that I have been given, but so often fail to share with others.  I realized that this meant, just going about my usual day, accepting what came along, I was game.

So, I got up and was making my breakfast when the doorbell rang.  It was Harvey, the neighborhood man who goes door to door asking for gardening work. I felt the beginnings of annoyance that he so often has evoked in me  in the past.  I mean, come on, I hadn't even had my breakfast yet! But I caught myself, before that could cloud my mind/heart too much and remembered my prayer. (Was this a test?) I didn't think I had any work for him today.  But I greeted him cheerfully and we walked around our small yard looking for what might need attention.

About a month ago, upon my return from a trip, I realized that I wanted to treat everyone with the respect and love they are due, to the extent that I am able, asking for help as needed. I determined very quickly, that in relation to Harvey, it meant that I would offer him work if there was any, and food, if there was no work, and that I would always treat him with the kindness and courtesy that I would want for myself.  (Why is it so hard to treat people asking for a handout with kindness and respect?  For me, I am beginning to realize that I feel uncomfortable being asked for things that I cannot give, or do not think it would be wise to give. No one likes being uncomfortable, least of all, me.  So, therefore, I get annoyed, I make the person asking for something 'the problem', just wanting them to go away and stop making me feel this way!) But, it is not always easy to have my intentions bear fruit.

Much to my surprise there were some things that needed attention.  When he was finished and I paid him, I took the time to tell him something I had been meaning to say. I let him know that I could only use his services once a week, but that I would be happy to give him something to eat, if he ever needed.  He smiled and said,  "OK, see you Saturday morning!"  I can only imagined that I looked a bit dismayed when I blurted, "Oh, no not Saturday morning, never come on Saturday mornings!  My husband and I like to stay in bed late- and you know what he is like when he is disturbed!" (Harvey has had a couple of run-ins with my husband, at the wrong time!) Harvey laughed and agreed and we parted with smiles on our faces.

It is a gorgeous sunny day, so I took one of the books I have been reading and studying out to the back yard with my second cup of coffee and sat enjoying the sunshine, bird calls and spring breeze while I read and wrote notes to my hearts content.  But then, Judy, the woman who helps out with the care of my 86 year old mother who has fairly severe dementia, came out with Mom's breakfast tray, my mother  coming along shortly. Without being conscious of it I got annoyed, this time, fully, before I caught myself. Since my mother lives with me full time, now, I find myself in this position at least once a day, I am loathe to admit.  I could have removed myself, but something made me stay. After merely a few sentences passed between us, my mother got up and left, throwing away her bagel and taking her coffee inside where she dumped it into the sink! Ugh! I was definitely NOT manifesting love.  I stopped what I was doing and went inside to apologize.  But here is where dementia is a blessing.  Although she was still a bit cranky, she didn't really know why because she couldn't remember what had happened!  I wasn't sure what to do, my mind was failing me, so I went with my heart and invited Mom to take a walk with me.

We had a lovely walk.  Here's where her dementia is also a blessing.  Everything seems new to her, so she exclaims over every flower and tree, the sunshine and the gentle breezes too! (Now, if it was cold out, she wouldn't even go outside- she hates the cold! But even sitting at the kitchen table, she will exclaim at the sunshine, leaves blowing or birds that come to the feeder that she can see from the warmth of our kitchen! It can get on one's nerves when she does it over and over again- but most of the time I can appreciate the now-ness of it). We walked to the cafe 2 and 1/2 blocks from our door and shared a light lunch, then walked back. It was OK.

Mom has gone upstairs to take a nap.  Its the last day of my youngest daughter's spring break.  She and some of her high school friends are hanging out.  Kate, my oldest daughter, who has Down syndrome, is working with her life coach, baking something or other.  I made reservations at a local restaurant for my birthday dinner tonight.  I wonder what the rest of the day will bring?  Whatever it brings, I hope I can continue to have a grateful heart, forgiving myself, when I falter, enjoying the life that I have and cherishing the opportunities that come.
 

           
From Amnesty International

"Last week, two men were hanged after being accused of inciting the post-June 12 election violence that erupted last summer in Iran. The Iranian government failed to answer one key question - how these men could have been responsible for the violence when they were being held in detention long before it even occurred?

As if this injustice wasn't enough, now the lives of 9 more men hang in the balance on similar charges. We fear some of them may be executed before February 11th - a date holding much significance in Iran and one that could signify an end to these abuses.

February 11th is known as Victory of the Revolution Day - equivalent to the Fourth of July in the United States; it is meant to symbolize liberty, independence and freedom. Authorities in Iran fear that February 11th will spark a wave of massive protests and unite Iranians in their calls for change and accountability.


That is why on February 11th we intend to do all we can to stand in solidarity with the Iranian people on this important date, but we need your help.

In the days following the contested Presidential election, Iranian authorities took aggressive measures to stifle dissent and stem the flow of information. No outside reporters were allowed in. Iranians were not allowed to freely report out.

Virtually the only way the Iranian people could expose the horrific treatment being inflicted on them was to share their stories online, using blogs and websites like Twitter and Facebook.

We expect Iranians will once again rely solely on the Internet to carry their messages during next week's expected demonstrations. That is why we are asking everyone to show their solidarity online on February 11th - whether it's on your blog, website, or social networking profile. Help us raise the voices of those calling for freedom and justice inside Iran.
Bloggers Unite: Join our network of blogger's covering Iran and the events on February 11th.
Twitter Followers: The hashtag #iranelection was one of the most widely-used in the post-election aftermath. Since the violence is still unresolved, we'll continue to tweet using this hashtag. Make sure your related tweets include: #iranelection.
Share Online: Help share the message of February 11th by adding our solidarity image to your blog, website or social networking profile.
We will be keeping a close watch over Victory of the Revolution Day events. Our collective voices can help keep high-level Iranian officials in check. If authorities yet again brutally suppress people's right to peacefully express their opinions, we will harness the power of the Internet to push right back!"

Let us join in however we can, as well as hold the Iranian people in the Light. This matters.  Your prayers matter. so be it.

Amy
<a href="http://www.amnestyusa.org/iran"><img

I got the following chain letter in via email.  I am a breast cancer survivor- not yet 5 years out.  I pass it on with a caveat and commentary:

What a lovely story! My cheeks are still wet.  But oddly enough, though I don't mind if folks want to do something by buying the stamps, I have mixed feelings about breast cancer research.  I have a conviction that the "cure" to cancer will only be found by prevention. Things like cleaning up the environment, restoring the Earth to vibrancy, and eating healthy organic food, and not all that stuff in process precooked food that isn't actually meant to be eaten (all that phood). 

The increasingly expensive and sophisticated protocols once someone has breast cancer )or any cancer, really), such as chemo and radiation therapy, will never be available to all who need them. But that's not really what I am trying to say.   What is it? What touches me about the story is the love and sweetness and caring that the children and teachers had for this principle.  It seems that either she is an extraordinary person or the children and teachers are- or both.  What I want to "fund" or spread around is that love and caring and sweetness.  But how do you do that? How do you provide the opportunities and the encouragement? how do you enable people, children, teachers and administrators who are ordinary to aspire to this kind of action?

I do believe that everyone has that which is extraordinary in them, that of God, the light, a spaciousness that can lead to this kind of behavior. Maybe just passing on the story, itself, will help.


Please read the following story...

   Like most elementary schools, it was typical to have a parade of students in and out of the health clinic throughout the day. We dispensed ice for bumps and bruises, Band-Aids for cuts, and liberal doses of sympathy and hugs.  As principal, my office was right next door to the clinic, so I often dropped in to lend a hand and help out with the hugs. I knew that for some kids, mine might be the only one they got all day.
   One morning I was putting a Band-Aid on a little girl's scraped knee. Her blonde hair was matted, and I noticed that she was shivering in her thin little sleeveless blouse. I found her a warm sweatshirt and helped her pull it on. "Thanks for taking care of me," she whispered as she climbed into my lap and snuggled up against me.
   It wasn't long after that when I ran across an unfamiliar lump under my arm. Cancer, an aggressively spreading kind, had already invaded thirteen of my lymph nodes. I pondered whether or not to tell the students about my diagnosis. The word breast seemed so hard to say out loud to them, and the word cancer seemed so frightening. When it became evident that the children were going to find out one way or another, either the straight scoop from me or possibly a garbled version from someone else, I decided to tell them myself.
   It wasn't easy to get the words out, but the empathy and concern I saw in their faces as I explained it to them told me I had made the right decision. When I gave them a chance to ask questions, they mostly wanted to know how they could help.
   I told them that what I would like best would be their letters, pictures, and prayers.
   I stood by the gym door as the children solemnly filed out. My little blonde friend darted out of line and threw herself into my arms. Then she stepped back to look up into my face. "Don't be afraid, Dr. Perry," she said earnestly, "I know you'll be back because now it's our turn to take care of you."
   No one could have ever done a better job. The kids sent me off to my first chemotherapy session with a hilarious book of nausea remedies that they had written.
   A video of every class in the school singing get-well songs accompanied me to the next chemotherapy appointment. 
   By the third visit, the nurses were waiting at the door to find out what I would bring next. It was a delicate music box that played "I Will Always Love You.."
   Even when I went into isolation at the hospital for a bone marrow transplant, the letters and pictures kept coming until they covered every wall of my room.
   Then the kids traced their hands onto colored paper, cut them out and glued them together to make a freestanding rainbow of helping hands. "I feel like I've stepped into Disneyland every time I walk into this room," my doctor laughed.
  That was even before the six-foot apple blossom tree arrived adorned with messages written on paper apples from the students and teachers. What healing comfort I found in being surrounded by these tokens of their caring..
   At long last I was well enough to return to work. As I headed up the road to the school, I was suddenly overcome by doubts. What if the kids have forgotten all about me? I wondered, What if they don't want a skinny bald principal? What if.
   I caught sight of the school marquee as I rounded the bend. "Welcome Back, Dr. Perry," it read. As I drew closer, everywhere I looked were pink ribbons - ribbons in the windows, tied on the doorknobs, even up in the trees. The children and staff wore pink ribbons, too.
   My blonde buddy was first in line to greet me. "You're back, Dr. Perry, you're back!" she called. "See, I told you we'd take care of you!"
   As I hugged her tight, in the back of my mind I faintly heard my music box playing . . . "I will always love you."

{Breast Cancer Stamp Booklet
 
 It would be wonderful if 2010  were the year a cure for breast cancer was found!!!!
 The notion that we could raise $35 million by buying a book of stamps is powerful! As you may be aware, the US Postal Service has the "Fund the Cure" stamp to help fund breast cancer research. The stamp was designed by Ethel Kessler of Bethesda , Maryland . It is important that we take a stand against this disease that affects so many of our Mothers, Sisters, Friends, Coworkers, and Spouses of Coworkers.
Instead of the normal 44 cents for a stamp, this one costs 55 cents. The additional 11 cents will go to breast cancer research A "normal" book costs $8.80. This one is only $11.00. It takes a few minutes in line at the Post Office and means so much. If all stamps are sold, it will raise an additional $35,000,000 for this vital research. Just as important as the money is our support. What a statement it would make if the stamp outsold the lottery this week. What a statement it would make that we care.

1. Go out and purchase some of these stamps.
2. E-mail your friends to do the same.

Many of us know women and their families whose lives are turned upside-down by breast cancer.
It takes so little to do so much in this drive.

We can all afford the $11.00}


While your at it, spread the love.  Don't forget that someone near you might need your caring and your smile more than you can tell.



 

 

 

How many times do we have to be told that we need to eat more vegetables? Vegans exhort us to treat animals as our siblings rather than food, nutritionists exhort us to eat less meat, more fruits and locavores act as if money grows on trees! Why can't humans be more like trees, anyway?  Why can't we get our energy, our fuel, directly from the sun like plants?!  If wishes were horses, then beggars would ride, as my Gramma would say.

Yesterday outside of Reading Terminal Market, there were 3 guys asking for spare change, but I only noticed two.  I had dropped a few coins in the one man's cup and was headed across the street to put some quarters in the cup of the one playing beautiful drum music, when I nearly bumped into the third.  I hadn't gotten my money out yet, and there was a crush of people since it was lunchtime; I barely had a chance to greet him as I swept by, let alone give him some change.  He looked at me and instead of asking for a handout saw my cocky hat with the polka-dot feather and exclaimed," that's a fine lookin' hat!" Despite myself I grinned and said, "thanks."  Now as I am writing this I wish I had gone back and given the hat to him. I don't even know where it came from- so many things get left at our house- perhaps it was Grampa George's...

 

 This is the time of year when many of us think about giving. Though it may be fiscally illogical to give more than usual when you are having financial trouble yourself, it makes a different kind of sense to be more generous when times are tough for everyone.  Did you know that research has shown that the less you have the more you give, percentage wise? This may not be true for folks who are not used to having less, but is true for those who have never had much. At this time of year it might be good to recognize the Scrouge-like tendencies of those of us accustomed to having more. The more you have the tighter you hold on to it, or so it seems.

 

A while back my mother told me a story about her mother and the depression. My grandmother, Sara, was famous for the buns she made. I remember them well myself, though this story takes place when my mother was little. They were just plain, but delicious, white bread buns, kind of like hamburger buns, but chewier.  She came from a large working class family, the oldest of 12. She had been working for wages since she was 11 or 12 herself.  She was real smart and went to school until she was 15, then got a fulltime job as a lab assistant during WWI. The owner of the lab was so impressed with how quickly and well she learned that he offered to send her back to school and pay for college- but her parents declined because they couldn't do without the income she made.

 

Sara married at 18 and had 5 kids of her own. Her husband though a charmer, I believe would be diagnosed with ADD today, but back then was called irresponsible and had a hard time keeping a job. So Sara became the most consistent breadwinner of the family. She did various things from teaching at a private elementary school to sewing fine tailored cloths in her own small business.  Of course she also did all the cooking, cleaning and childrearing as well.

 

Not only that, but during the depression she never turned anyone away from her door empty-handed. All she gave to the hungry men who came to the back door was a bun or two, but word got out that she never turned anyone away and also that the buns were delicious. My mother claims that the appearance of men at the back door asking for food was a daily occurrence.  All they ever got was a couple of buns- but they were tasty, homemade and often fresh out of the oven!

 

I am not sure what the modern day equivalent  of my grandnmother's generosity would be- but I am trying to follow her example.  Mostly I give $$ to organizations like Project Home, Philabundance and World Vision- but it doesn't seem to quite measure up. Sometimes when I have the time and think of it I make soup and take it over to the local homeless shelter.  In some ways the most effective thing that can be done is to work for more equitable sharing of the worlds resources. We, Quakers, have an organization dedicated to this. Try proclaim:  "God calls us to the right sharing of world resources, from the burdens of materialism and poverty into the abundance of God's love, to work for equity through partnership with our brothers and sister throughout the world."

 

Times are tough, here at home and around the globe. Be more generous than you feel you can. Research has also shown that it lifts the spirits of the giver as well. Generosity is also good for the heart and the soul despite the misuse of the admonition that it is better to give than to receive, which most of us had shoved down our throats inappropriately when we were too small to distinguish when that was true and when it was an excuse.  So give till it hurts, or makes you feel good; let's not forget that venerable karmic truth, what goes around, comes around.  Happy Holidays and here's to your generosity!

 

 

I have tried seriously to be a vegetarian twice in my life.  The first time was when I was in my twenties, in the 1970s. I read Fracis More Lappe's book, Diet for a Small Planet and took it quite to heart. Accordingly, then it was not about taking or not taking life- but about food distribution and poverty.  Feeding all those chickens and cattle all that grain that could and should be used to feed the starving folks in the third world was not OK with me. Just a few short weeks later I found myself in Kenya as a college student learning experientially. 

Growing up, in my family, certain things were given.  Preaching was bad, art was a common, almost insignificant, part of life, and performing was OK, as long as you were good at what you were doing. Let me explain. I grew up in a liberal Quaker household, my father was an artist, though teaching was what he did for a living, and both parents were fabulous dancers, especially my Mom. Our home was filled with paintings by my father and we ate and drank from the pottery he made.  Liberal, unprogrammed Quakers do not have preachers or clergy of any kind based on the experience that all people can have a direct relationship with the divine.

I saw a movie last night, a documentary, called the Horse Boy, that has set me pondering questions, like the title above. Some of the questions make me uncomfortable, for they challenge some of my political correctness and my perceived need to please everyone. But I feel compelled to ask and to pose some possible answers.

 

Why is there an epidemic of autism? What do people with Down syndrome have to teach us? What is the role of transgendered folk, especially those that remain physically one gender but feel an inner compulsion, or a command from a higher power, to dress as the other? And what does any of this have to do with the oldest religion in the world?

 

What I learned last night:

1. Some of the most respected professionals in the field say that it is seeming more and more likely that autism has a genetic component, but that environmental factors, including environmental pollutants, such as heavy metals, may be the triggers for autism to express itself in an individual.

2. In the surviving cultures that still practice shamanism, virtually all of the shamans exhibited austistic-spectrim behaviors  and/or had an early illness that they survived which left them 'different' from their peers.  However, in these aboriginal cultures the differences were/are revered and these children were/are then apprenticed to shamans.

3. People with autism often seem to have a special connection with animals.

 

Some other things I have recently learned:

1. In some Native American cultures transgenderd/cross-dressing folk are revered and are often also shamans.  They were/are, especially, helpful to couples that are having marital troubles since they experience life as both male and female.

2. In her newest book, The Case for God, Karen Armstrong starts off with a chapter entitled Homo Religiosus and a look into the most recent understandings of the religion of our oldest human relations, shamanism. "From the very beginning, it seems, religious life was rooted in acknowlegdment of the tragic fact that life depends on the destruction of other creatures." (1)   " In these traditional societies hunters do not feel that the species are distinct or permanent categories: men can become animals and animals human. Shamans have bird and animal guardians and can converse with the beasts that are revered as messengers of higher powers." (2)

 

One thing I know from my own experience raising a daughter with Down syndrome: Her disability, including the limits that seem to come with it, have taught me much about being human and challenge some of the basic assumptions of our fast-passed, competitive culture that values doing more than being.

 

Perhaps these folk at the margins, whose abilities seem lacking, or tendencies seem suspect can help us recognize what is most needed now as we head into this next era of human culture and endeavor. It is clear to me that we must now learn how to live with our animal and plant brothers and sisters in a way that does not denigrate them to mere objects meant for destruction or extinction, or to be turned into stuff for human consumption. The very Earth, itself, which is withering before our eyes, is calling us to think and act and BE in new ways. 

 

In my view, one thing this does not mean is for those with autism, or Down syndrome, or even those who are transgendered, or called to be transgendered,  should be made to fit in, or be as like 'typical' folk as possible.  There are gifts and talents and ways of seeing as well as ways of being among these folk that need to be appreciated, if not revered, respected and learned from. Some of the lessons could save us from destroying this beautiful planet that is our only home.

 

My daughter has made it clear that she does not want to have children.  We humans are now called to restrain ourselves in this department. Could the attraction toward same gendered folk be a sign and a model for us to lessen our procreation as a species, while upping our creativity in other areas? We need so much creative energy to solve all the problems facing us today- economic, environmental and human relations-wise. (Adoption may be the best option; I'm talking cross species, cross cultural, even parts of the planet like streams or lakes- not to mention our next door neighbors! But this for for another post!)

 

In some ways my daughter functions as a 5 or 6 year old, though she is 26. Her intellect is not her most obvious gift. Her pace of life can drive me nearly crazy- I call it, "leisurely in the extreme", but when I slow down to her speed, life really is more manageable AND more enjoyable. Isn't that one of the things the world needs now?  Sure she is great at loving, and we sure as heck need that- but slowing down may be even harder to do!

 

Maybe I'm trying to draw too many conclusions.  Maybe I am lumping things together that don't belong.  Maybe I am out of my mind... but one thing I am sure of is that all people - no matter who they are- have something of value to offer and it usually has to do with their differences.  This is true, even for us folk who think of ourselves as normal, or typical.  My close association with Kate, my daughter, who happens to have Down syndrome, has helped me see that in some way we all try to pass.  We try to hide our differences and especially our difficulties, but it is just those things that are often our most precious gifts to each other and the world.

 

And, NOW, we need those gifts, perhaps more than ever before.

Ring the bells that still can ring

Forget your perfect offering

There is a crack, a crack in everything

That's how the light gets in.

 

(1) The Case For God, Karen Armstrong, p.6

(2) The Case For God, Karen Armstrong, p.5

 

 

If you have the time.  I have had that sticker on my door, placed so I can see it on my way out.  EVERYWHERE IS WITHIN WALKING DISTANCE, IF YOU HAVE THE TIME. It makes me smile, mostly at myself, for I, often, don't make the time and then see it as I am rushing out the door, too late to even take the trolley, let alone walk.  Still over the 4 or 5 years its been there I have steadily increased the umber of places I walk to, while lessening, or consolidating the ones I drive to.