Friday Tidings

Let’s go back in time—not thousands of years, just a single decade, when Israel vacated Gaza and began the process of forming a two-nation state. They left behind buildings, settlements, and uprooted their own citizens. Israel also left behind 3000 greenhouses, already producing luscious fruits suitable for export and providing a much needed income for the fledgling Palestinian nation. Additionally, the borders were opened to encourage commerce between the neighbors. Israel desired to live in peace, side by side with Gaza. Gaza was provided the freedom and infrastructure to thrive independently, but they chose to tear down those 3000 greenhouses and elect Hamas as their ruling authority. So during the past decade instead of building a prosperous nation, Hamas has constructed a military zone. Perhaps you’ve heard about the rocket launchers placed in Gaza's schools, hospitals and private homes.  The missiles fired into Israel (now at least 2000) are mos

The limousine carefully nosed into the cancer center’s circle drive. Most patients arrive by family car or a shuttle bus. Heads turned to observe the long, white limo with darkened windows.  The driver hustled to the passenger door and offered his gloved hand (seriously, a gloved hand) to the meticulously dressed woman. I was just inside the main doors as her entourage entered. Not dallying, or looking at anyone else, the woman, who appeared to be in her mid-fifties, forged ahead to the row of elevators. There she had to wait with the rest of us. She dictated orders to a woman I assumed was her secretary. When we exited on the same floor, I suspected we’d be sharing the waiting room. The front desk fitted her with the regulation plastic ID bracelet. The medical tag contrasted starkly with her diamond-studded cuff bracelet. She then commandeered a section of the waiting room, and soon her secretary and other staff members were making calls and conducti

The tide deposited a massive stump on the shore. Its weathered appearance indicated a lengthy time drifting along the waters. I ran my fingers across the ridged growth rings. A seasoned forester can look at the rings and know if it was a year of moisture or drought. Lighter rings are formed in the spring, darker ones in the summer. Together they form one growth ring. This stump had at least 250 rings. I sat on it and considered where it had once grown and how many seasons it had seen before it had been cut down. It was probably a sapling when Native American tribes spied the first explorers and fur trappers on the Olympic Peninsula. On the other side of the continent, patriots were preparing for the American Revolution. I counted off the rings and imagined what our nation faced at the time— the Battle of the Alamo, the Mexican-American War and Native Americans on the Trail of Tears. I counted more rings—and thought of my g

Alone, after a lifetime with her mate, Mrs. M shared a small apartment with her beloved cat. At 94 her stooped body belied a much stronger spirit. She’d cultivated strong opinions from years of experience.   If anyone cared to listen, she’d wave a bony finger and innumerate America’s woes. Shuffling to a comfy chair, she sat down after offering tea and a plate of Oreos. Her graciousness spoke of gentler times. I expected an afternoon of complaints—life as it used to be and how America was “going to hell in a handbasket.” But today her finger pointed at herself and what she could have done when she’d had more energy. She lamented not volunteering at the school where she could have helped little kids learn to read—or offering her time at the library when they needed help teaching immigrants English. She’d made excuses back then. Now she counted how many lives she didn’t help, rather than those she did. She shook her head sadly of all the Sunday sermon