a list. (because i love them.)

Top Ten of the Past Two Weeks. (in no particular order.)

1.) boat trip with guests to stunning staffa. listening to fingals cave and trapezing the cliffs to see puffin birds.
2.) morning tea breaks. every single day. with scones.
3.) making lavender mint tea out of the herb garden.
4.) the smell of the musty library.
5.) cleansing ritual on the top of Dunn I mountain in the legendary fountain of eternal youth.
6.) planning and scheming justice and peace services. re-learning hymns.
7.) taking a run and doing yoga on a knoll overlooking the sea with sheep and cows looking on.
8.) putting lavender flowers in my hair.
9.) impromtu hikes with other staff... to port ban. stripping off our clothes and swimming in the frigid water.
10.) a fancy breakfast on a day off that started with eggs benedict and lasted 2.5 hours.

a nunnery.

last night was christina, a southern, tennessee seminary student with a hard rock story and a 'i want to be a pastor, but i don't know about the whole jesus-is-the-answer thing'' perspective--'s, birthday.

she wanted to drink scottish beer under the stars in the ruins of the nunnery.

so a triad of us had drinks, under the stars, in the cool of the night, on a blanket, with the village cat and a couple of chocolate macaroons.

honestly, it was beautifully, hauntingly, amazing.



we reckon the nuns would have been proud.

justice and peace.

this week i led a full morning service and a service of ''prayers for justice and peace.''

thursday justice and peace:

circle of chairs around a candle in the middle of abbey church.

opening responsive prayer.

opening silence.

reading of first half of hosea 14.

introduction of fist-opening exercise (copyrighted lex cariello).

guided meditation on internal existence of coercion, violence, and manipulation.

invitation for the reading aloud of phrases written on slips of paper around the center candle:

We pray for women and men making decisions affected by a lack of reproductive choice options.

We pray for members of the military and their families who feel bound to military service due to economic constraints.

We pray for change in corporations whose coercive advertising promote the abuse of alcohol and other substances.

We pray for change in corporations whose coercive advertising further consumerism.

We pray for women and men forced or coerced into sex.

We pray for children whose opportunity for access to education is dictated by structures of systemic oppression.

We pray for those who are affected by policies and social stigmas that restrict the liberation of diverse sexuality.

We pray for those who remain in emotionally, physically, or verbally abusive relationships.

reading of second half of hosea 14.

closing silence.

(or something like that.)

"specials."

Here, at iona, we love people with “special diets.” Because the majority of my day revolves around the distribution, cleaning up, and safe storage of food, I think about food and those who consume it constantly. As a guest at iona, if you are low sodium, gluten-free, no-onion, dairy-free, low sugar, light pepper, vegetarian, or pesctarian, we will accommodate you -- graciously. Not stigmatizing, or “othering” people’s dietary needs or choices is an active cornerstone of our hospitality.

What normally happens, as in this evening, is at the beginning of each meal, the menu is announced and the refectory is informed of the following:

“Tonight we will be having pasta bake with mushrooms and red sauce and bowls of salad with an oil and honey mustard sauce – there will be specials for Kath, Kate and Ross, and other specials for Julie, Ian, and James. There is also a special for Amelia. Specials will come out after the main meal.”

At this point, we, the housekeeping staff, bring out the trays of steaming hot food with our oven mitts that are connected like the pair of mittens with a string that your mom made you wear when you were six. After all “non-special” food has been distributed; the folks with special diets descend on the front cart to dish out their distinct, though frequently mono-colored dishes that have been painstakingly created by the kitchen to accommodate our “special” people.

This evening, however, at the front of the refectory, a disagreement emerged between members of the resident staff and guests attempting to lay claim to the special’s “specials.” We have, in fact, had to do a bit of crisis mental health work surrounding the self worth of guests when they arrive every week and confront, perhaps for the first time, perhaps again, from the recesses of their memory, that they are in fact, not special. Or, for those who, with their peanut allergies and lactose intolerance, have endured decades of marginalization and feelings of guilt when having to pick through and pile small mounds of toxic-violent food on their plates to the looks of disdain and annoyance of the kitchen mister-mistress, they have, perhaps, finally “come home” as it were: finally been told they were... “special.”

I walked quickly away from the pacifist outbreak of disagreement over which dietary requirement deserved the better looking dishes. A woman who had two days earlier rubbed me the wrong way by informing me that our method of cleaning via tea towels was unsanitary (I do two loads of sanitary was per day to have starch clean tea towels for each meal, fyi.), was claiming that because she was a vegetarian, she needed a special dish, and was attempting to claim the gluten free option from three other hungry residents. After three attempts to inform her that the non-special option was in fact, already vegetarian, I decided to let the wolves sort it out and flee to the kitchen, acting as if I had something else industrious to be doing, such as fill teapots.

Now don’t get me wrong, I absolutely love vegans, wannabe vegans, veggos, and any variety of the above. In fact, I wish I was special! I want to be special! Why did I not know that I could experiment with being vegan while I was here --

But back to this evening.

I left the kitchen when it appeared that everyone had dispersed and took my seat at the common table. As I forked my first bite of steaming pasta bake and brought it to my mouth, a gangly teenage boy, the same one that I have had to remind on two occasions during the week that he must wear shoes while in the kitchen, tapped me on the shoulder.

“Uhh, excuse me, do you know if the salad dressing have honey in it?”

(I gave him a blank stare of incredulity. This kid is a new vegan, negotiating the world of yeast extracts and international travel. I mentally contemplate the article about vegan-purists to whom honey is considered an animal by-product to be extricated from diet.)

After I double checked that the honey mustard was not in fact vegan friendly, I offered, because I am so hospitable olive oil from Palestine and red wine vinegar. Though this was through clenched teeth and my patience was about ran out, it wasn’t until a few minutes later when he asked if I would get him soy milk to add to his fruit crumble that I responded, “You can get the soy milk yourself! You know where it is….!!!” With the head warden across the table looking at me as if I was crazy…

a series of posts.

so here's a new series of posts.

email has been difficult to enter into, with it being a gigantic, sticky personal computer that approximately 35 people are vying for everyday. so, last night i resigned to writing handwritten letters, a discipline i have been wanting to take up for years, that perhaps might begin to emerge while i am here.

today is my day off.

and i am going to hand this mini laptop back to its owner.

last night, over dishes,
tears for self,
confusion,
and a carry out dinner in spanish
with cornel west
to plan a peace and justice service.

and craft room conversations about
our transgendered leader,
a father, a girlfriend.
over letter writing and cups of hot tea.


midnights on iona carry goodness.

this is where i work.

its called the "refectory" and is where the monks used to eat. though perhaps not apple pie and sweet potatoes, which we had today to celebrate american independence day(?).

i have a team of four: a swede, brit, scot, american, and me. we fold laundry, wash mugs, bath mats, rubber gloves, tea towels, rags, knickers, mop heads, teaspoons, and the floor.

we talk about politics, the world cup, justice, making music, and our understandings of god, organized faith, love, and other things that matter. and sometimes we don't talk at all.

and we talk about you, the people we love and spend our time with and who have shaped us into who we are.

here's to "remembering" as an art form and spiritual discipline.

a day in the life ( + earplugs are god's most brilliant invention.)

day in the life -- because it is so exciting and worthy of record. (note: sarcasm.) i get up from my cubicle. a room share of 5 women aged 24 to 65ish.

and then i look out my window to see if it is raining.
or windy.
or sunny.
or misty.

(and i hear sheep.)

and i boil a cup of tea and have a piece of toast over a book. then i walk the little path past big fat cows and bleeting sheep to the abbey where i work.

(see below view from herb garden.)

the journey there.

on a train ...

through a wood ...

to a ferry ...

and iona.
(though this was taken from the ferry and isn't iona.)