Metro North Tells No one and Goes Nowhere.

A friend and I took Metro North to New York on Wednesday. We had lunch reservations and tickets to see The Humans.

My Train Time app informed me of ALERTS in great red letters, but also declared our 10:24AM train to Grand Central to be on time.

They were right. The New York bound train was exactly on time. On the dot.

 But somewhere in Westchester we came to a halt.  Stopped dead. And we sat there: for perhaps an hour. No announcements were made. Passengers cast puzzled looks around the car. Every now and then the train moved forward slightly, raising our hopes, only to dash them as we came to a stop once more.

Finally the conductor spoke quite unintelligibly on the loud speaker, something about our being “in line” for a track.

 It turned out that the fire the night before had imperiled tracks and that both outgoing and incoming New York trains were alternately sharing a single functioning track.

My friend, Alice, gathered the above information not from Metro North, but instead, from texting her son who commutes daily.

Any further information given on board was also inaudibly spoken and boiled down inconclusively to “waiting for an up date.”

We were two and a half hours on that train. People, frantic on their phones, were cancelling lunch meetings and doctor appointments and God knows what else. We cancelled our lunch reservations.

But what about our theater tickets? Could we possibly get to West 44^th street by 2:00?

We decided to bail at 125^th Street-- if we ever got there. And we did, finally.  We, and dozens of others could not get off that train fast enough. A kind man in the mob told us where to find the Lexington subway for downtown and we bolted. Soon we were speeding to Grand Central. We charged to the Shuttle for the West Side, jumped out at 42nd and raced up to 44^th street.

 Having stopped at a tiny shop to grab a banana, we arrived at the theater  at 1:45, panting, exhilarated, and congratulating ourselves.

Two points here. Shame on Metro North! No warning, no explanation. They took the money of all those thousands of passengers—we were by no means the only train delayed, as you can imagine—and never warned us? Trapped in the train, I found myself wishing that I were the CEO of UBS or such like so that I could seriously and effectively rattle the rails of the CEO of Metro North.

Point two: When the conductor was mumbling his useless information, we, strangers, began to catch each other’s eyes. We began to connect. “Could you hear him?” I asked the grey haired man across the aisle from me.

He smiled. “I only got something about an update.”

A line formed in front of the bathroom and we chatted, ”Did you know? ”No one had known, except that there “might be delays.”

The man who instructed us about the Lexington line also assisted two women who were headed for the ballet at Lincoln Center. We poured gratitude all over him for his get- about- the- city know-how. Stuck and powerless, strangers became friendly and helpful. We became comrades.

The man from across the aisle stood beside me waiting to get off at 125^th St. He asked what play we were going to see. We chatted about The Humans, which he had seen the week before. I asked him where he was headed and he told me, pointing back toward Connecticut. "Home.”

“You are getting off here and then . . .?”

“I’ll just wait for a train to come the other way. I’ve missed my lunch meeting anyway.” he confided, as he smiled and shrugged his shoulders.

“Good luck!” I shouted as the train screeched to a halt at 125^th.

 No question about it, on Metro North that Wednesday, thousands of passengers’ plans went topsy-turvy.

Still, when you think about it, considering all that can go wrong on mass transit in today’s world, although it was certainly annoying and inconvenient, the man from across the aisle had it right. It was a shrug- your- shoulders event.
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Thank you those in Spain, Canada, Germany, France, UK, Philippines, Portugal and Ukraine for reading this blog. How I would love to hear from you. Thanks to those in the USA of course!

Behind The Scenes?

Sunday morning was so icy that church was cancelled.  So at 10:00 I was tuned in to Joel Osteen on Channel 9.

I am not a “born again” Christian. I am not even sure how much of a Christian I am. I go to an Episcopal church because I started doing that when I was ten in order to sing in the choir—in the same church that I attend now. I think of myself as an Episcopalian/Buddhist. I’ve had wonderful teachers, both Hindu and Tibetan Buddhist; I have participated in numerous Buddhist-led meditation retreats and I read Buddhist literature copiously.

When I was ten and singing at Trinity Episcopal Church, my grandmother was faithfully in the congregation. But my grandmother was a Quaker—she referred to me as “thee” and “thou,” which I loved. There was no nearby Quaker meeting, so she attended her husband’s church. My memories of my grandfather’s presence at church are scant. I think the golf course was his real church—certainly in summer-- just as for my father, the sailing club was his place of faith and spiritual sustenance.

I was ordained in 1981 as an interfaith minister at the New Seminary for Interfaith Studies. The New Seminary was founded by an Hasidic rabbi, Rabbi Joseph Gelberman, who, in my book, was one of the great souls of all time.

His essential message to us during our two years of studying the great religions of the world, was, “Never instead of, always in addition to.”

Why am I going on about this? At seminary I was taught to be inclusive, so although the concept of “born again” may cause me to raise an eyebrow, my admiration of Joel Osteen’s work in the world increases. And, as you may know, Osteen speaks to the world in numbers possibly exceeded only the by the Pope.

Back to last-- the very icy--Sunday. Pastor Osteen began by drawing our attention to “who is behind the scenes?” He talked about all the people who work to produce his widely attended and watched Sunday show. He named all the tasks necessary to create the televised service, reminding us that we can’t see any of those people, that we see only him. But, he acknowledged, they make him look good. Without them, he would not, could not, be speaking to us.

Then he posed some pithy questions: Are we willing to be behind the scenes? Can we happily play our role, even when it is not a lead role? Can we celebrate the success of others even when we believe we might have done just as good a job? 

He went on to challenge us by asking: Whom are we helping to succeed without taking any credit for it? Are we content to be invisible or are we constantly worried about being outshined?

I had been a civil rights activist in Ohio during the ‘70s long before my brother—the TV executive—made the stunning and successful film series called Roots. I had marched, had rotten eggs and tomatoes thrown at me as I lined up publically against block busting. I had strategized in endless basements of African American churches in what we, in Toledo, Ohio, at that time, shamelessly referred to as the “ghetto.” I regularly attended a large African American Baptist church in that “ghetto” for the better part of three years in order to give myself something of the experience of being “an only”---in this case the only white person in a religious culture very different from my own.

Years on various committees: serving on the Toledo Board of Community Relations and chairing the Police/Community relations committee of that board, attempting, along with others, to mediate between the police and the African American community. (That situation hasn’t changed much.)

I’m not complaining. Not one bit. I loved the work, felt committed and determined about it. I met Martin Luther King! But when Roots came out, my brother, in one week, by fighting the fight to produce Alex Haley’s book on film, did more for human rights and equality than any of us in our small, but dedicated, Ohio group could ever imagine.

I had gone to California to watch the first three days of Roots with my very nervous brother. On the way home I had to change planes in Chicago and found myself walking behind three Black “dudes,” decked out in jeans and jackets and boots—common garb now, but not in 1977. One of the guys suddenly raised his arm to look at his watch and I heard him say to the others, “Hey man, we gotta get goin’. We’re gonna miss Roots!”

I knew then what my brother had done and I felt a jolt of envy. Those of us—and there were so many-- who were “boots on the ground” during those years could not come close to accomplishing what he could achieve through his medium. I phoned him immediately from a phone booth to celebrate with him over what I had just witnessed.

Can we play our role even when it’s not a lead role and be truly happy for the larger success of another?

Joel Osteen tells us: “True greatness is not how bright our light shines but how we help others to shine.”

Something to think about.

***

Our thoughts and prayers are with the Ukrainian people as they struggle for autonomy along their border, particularly in the Donetsk region.

Just Zip It!

Every so often our Spiritual Study group agrees to put itself through something we call No Suggestion Practice. This consists of spending a week without making any suggestions to anyone about anything—unless a suggestion is specifically sought.

 We stick Post Its around the house to remind us to shut up. In addition, we make notes of each time we slip and advise someone how they might do something differently, how they might solve their problem, how they might move to a superior level of activity, the best way to get to Whole Foods, etc. You know what I mean. It’s endless! It doesn’t matter how life enhancing we perceive our suggestion to be, for a whole week our suggestion mouths are zipped.

One year when we did this, two of the women in the group had young children and after much discussion we made an exception for the question: Have you brushed your teeth? Otherwise the rule held fast.

After a week of the suggestion gag rule we gather together to share our failure lists. We laugh and laugh. Most of us can’t make it through a single day. It is easier to do this if you live alone—even better if you lock yourself in a closet for a day or a week, but no one has gone that far to achieve perfection.

 One year the husband of one of our group members inquired about the Post Its on the kitchen wall, the bathroom mirror and stuck over the bureau in the bedroom.

“What are these?” He asked. His wife told him that we were all doing No Suggestion Practice and explained what it was. He smiled and commented,  “I thought things were different around here. I like this!”

Let me tell you: No Suggestion Practice is challenging; it heightens our self- awareness in a not altogether pleasant fashion. But I urge  you to try it for just one day and give yourself the opportunity to become alert as to how much of the time you spend—we all spend— in giving other people unsolicited advice. You’ll be amazed!

                                           ***
To the Ukrainian people: Our thoughts and prayers are with you.

I wasn't going to post, but . .

 I wasn't going to post today. It's Memorial Day-- the day we honor our war dead-- and I am supposed to be making the picnic but two events in particular caught my attention and I am pleased and excited.

The first is the  successful election in Ukraine held yesterday. Congratulations to this brave country! I am with the brilliant Madeleine Albright who said, according to The New York Times today, " Ukraine spoke through its vote." Now begins the hard work of unifying the country, purging corruption and negotiating through the tensions with Russia. Our thoughts and prayers are with you, Ukraine and Mr. Poroshenko.

The second excitement is that this morning a reader from Israel-- a first-- popped up on the blog stats. I am thrilled. And welcome to Finland and Lithuania.  I would very much appreciate hearing from any of you. Thank you for  taking a look at Life Opening Up!

Cecily Stranahan

Going Home--To Fight

Tuesday afternoon on WNYC I caught the tail end of an interview of a 23 year-old Ukrainian young man who told the interviewer that he was abandoning his very good job here in the US in order to go "home to fight."

"I don't want to kill anyone," he told the interviewer, "and I don't know how to fight, but I will for my country's independence."

The interviewer asked him about the Ukrainian soldiers who are fighting for Ukraine to belong to Russia. His response was that they are "afraid" and that they have been "brainwashed." 

"Ukraine must be independent," he told the interviewer.

When asked if he was afraid to die, the twenty-three year-old, said, "Yes".


If you were this young man's mother or father, I ask you, how would you feel right now?

I suggest: a stomach-churning mix of pride and terror.

***

Blog Business:

     If you have subscribed to Life Opening Up, the new delivery time via email will be between 7 and 9 AM on the day I post the blog.

      The subject line will read: Life Opening Up and then the title of the new post.

      You will find a few words from the post—which I hope will capture your interest-- and be asked to click on the post title to read the rest.

I hope this is an improvement for all of you who have been so patient about receiving the blog via email and that the more effective procedure will inspire others to subscribe.

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Letting Go: Not So Easy

At lunch on Friday, a friend and I talked about my latest blog, Captivated by a Classic.

She told me she had enjoyed the story of Lassie and her trials. Her attention, however, was particularly captured by the place in the story where the old people, who had nurtured the wounded dog, fallen in love with her and hoped to keep her, had come to the painful understanding that now that Lassie was on four feet again, they needed to let her go.

“I know you were writing about the hero’s journey, but this was the part that got to me,” my friend said, “because it is where we are in our family right now.”

Her oldest daughter will graduate from college this month and has lined up a job and an apartment with friends in a distant city. Their other two daughters have nearly finished college and have internships away from home this summer.

“Over and over again,” my friend went on, “I have to remind myself that our daughters are up and running, have places to go and personal purposes and dreams, some of which are still unknown. I have to let them go,” she said, solemnly. “And my job now is to find ways to fill the emptiness in my life that I sometimes feel.”

She shook her head, smiling wistfully as she reached for the huge chocolate chip cookie that we were sharing. “So promise me,” she said, laughing and biting into the cookie, “that if I start taking on the form of the Pillsbury dough boy, you will have an intervention!”

Did anyone else have a similar take on that part of the story?

***

Thoughts and Prayers

We pray that the 200 young girls recently abducted in Nigeria will be found soon. We hold their families in our hearts.

We pray for peace in Ukraine.

***

Blog Notes

For those of you who are subscribers to this blog on email and have not been receiving it, I apologize for the glitch. My blog guru took a shot a fixing it last week to the end that on Saturday I believe subscribers suffered from a blog tsunami, receiving three blogs at once. I am hoping that today’s post will fly through cyberspace and successfully land on your email doorstep all by itself.