Love that dirty water

On Thursday night, I'll be attending a fundraiser for a local organization that's fighting for public transportation equity in my area. Afterwards, I'm having some folks over to watch the game.

It's hard not to get swept up in the joy that is Boston in October. We are Red Sox nation, and when things are good, they're really good. It's fun to be a part of it all; checking the scores, sharing them with friends and strangers, singing sweet caroline in the streets or on the subway.

Getting excited about public hearings about public transportation is a whole lot harder. There will be locally-made chocolates at the fundraiser, which should make it easier. The governor has recently said that he's planning to put up the funds to get the greenline extension finished ahead of schedule which seems to have some people hopeful. I'm still thinking a lawsuit is likely to be necessary, given the current timeline, the history of postponement, and the health risks involved. The Big Dig has not been kind to Somerville.

I'm feeling really connected to my community, and it certainly helps that my community includes people I can call friends, but it is sad to me that my involvement with the Quakers in the area is so limited. Is the disconnect because I am a "young adult" who'd rather not hang out with the Young Adults? Is the disconnect because New Englanders are decidedly less friendly that Southerners? Or is it because of the theological differences that separate us? I imagine it's all of the above. The reticent New Englanders expect the young adults to take me in, but I have no interest in their potlucks. I hung out with young adults while I was in college, and even then I didn't always feel that our age was significant enough to bind us together. Once I get the "real grown-ups" to really talk to me, they don't seem to like me very much.

I'm loving my community right now. I just wish I felt as involved, included and welcomed at the Quaker meeting as I do elsewhere.

Love,
Elizabeth Bathurst

God's baby.

My mother retells a story sometimes (often when she's proud of one of her own kids) about an elder in our Yearly Meeting, whose mother-in-law would remind her "now, Liz, this is not your baby, this is God's baby" upon seeing a child for the first time.

One of God's babies had a very difficult time getting out of the womb over the weekend. His shoulders were too broad and he got his umbilical cord wrapped around his neck. Little Elijah stopped breathing, and once they got him out (by breaking his collarbone) it took fourteen minutes to resuscitate him. Needless to say, his condition is rather grave. He is in good hands: his mama who is full up with love, a cutting edge medical team at Duke, and God's.

Via text message this morning, his mother informs me that he is doing "pretty good today" which is encouraging. Your prayers are still appreciated.

Love,
Elizabeth Bathurst