Clean Up at KUUF April 9, 2022!

Good thing it is spring break because lots of work is getting done at KUUF!

Thanks to Melinda and crew who worked on the RE areas including some of the closets. Mark worked on power washing the plastic play equipment today and it is 80-90% done. We have purchased rubber play bark to place on Saturday. We also have purchased baking soda to use on the asphalt moss. The grounds look amazing!

Pandemic Isolation Day #259

By the time I hit the road at 6:55 am, I have been awake for 75 minutes, meditated, taken a shower, dried and dressed, read my email, and tidied up downstairs.  Part of my routine, when it is not too wet, is to take a lap around the Circle of the 49 houses in my neighborhood, just sneaking in a few steps on my way to the mailbox to get the newspaper.  These days it is just before sunrise and all is quiet except for the traffic noises from Hwy. 3.  Lights can be seen inside a few of the houses, but most are dark.  This week I find more Christmas lights on outside--trees with twinkle lights and stars, eaves with icicles, garages with blinking, colorful projections.  Lights are nice, homey, cheerful, but I am disturbed by the ever-expanding graveyard of deflated Santas and snowmen, elves and reindeer that now litter quite a few lawns.  Except for the holiday decoration overachiever (there’s always one),  few of my neighbors have displayed these blow-up ornaments before this year.   Maybe it’s COVID causing them to seek out fake holiday cheer?  They can’t bring in their own visitors, so they have to populate their properties with plastic people, and party props?  Call me snooty, but I for one, am not buying it.  Not buying anything plastic and pumpable to place on the porch.  Instead, I will call out greetings in the dark as I pass, wishing all a good morning and a happy Christmas.  

Blessings,

Selene Patterson

A Liberal Church in Bremerton

I loved phoning 100-year-old Elisabeth Bondy for a Social Justice Committee vote about whether to hang a great, big “Black Lives Matter” banner on the road next to our church. That year Colin Kapernick was a lonely protest vote and we were the first church in town to stick our mostly White, middle-class necks out with that defiant gesture. Elisabeth had survived Nazi Germany, immigrated to the USA and fully understood that her citizenship here demanded vigorous activism. She was glad to protest war and stand in the road or block the White Trains when nuclear missiles were brought into our county. “And why not?” Elisabeth asked when I polled her about Black Lives Matter, “Yes, hang that sign.” Elisabeth is no longer with us but we all remember her scratchy, elder’s voice of immense authority.

He too has passed on now, but I used to love the way that Tom Brassier stood very erect and tall next to Florrie his wife as she passionately grabbed the Joys & Sorrows microphone and shared the particular, progressive cause that clutched her heart. Tom often wore a dressy blazer to honor Florrie, his Sunday clothes a tribute to her righteous beliefs and a strong support for the young man in prison with whom Florrie described exchanging letters. Now we light a candle of memory for you, Tom Brassier.

There is a particular timbre of outrage in my wife Dr. Gail’s voice when she says things like, “They shot him right there among the families picnicking in downtown Poulsbo. For no reason they shot him, except that he was brown and acting a little strange, and then they went right on with their 4th of July fireworks as if nothing had happened.” So we go to Stonechild Chiefstick memorials and are proud to see our young minister also there with her family. When Gail has that certain tremble of heartfelt emotion in her words, then I am “up and at ‘em” ready to grab my sign and go because Gail has already survived cancer once this year. We better seize the day while we can.

You ask about the weekly demonstrations where our liberal church members now meet with others from 3:30 to 4:30 pm almost every Friday in front of the Port Orchard police station holding Black Lives Matter signs during these perilous, frightening days of virus just before the November, 2020 presidential election. I am proud to have been there a few times showing up for racial justice. Perhaps 30 people of all ages demonstrate, but our church delegation often averages about 70 years of age. No morally blind vigilantes with rifles have appeared yet, but a couple of young kids with MAGA hats showed up for two weeks to check out what the Antifa terrorists breaking windows actually looked like. The MAGA boys were disappointed because to see that we are the elderly heartbeat of wisdom not the raging anger of wild youth.  I am so proud to stand with our two leaders, Robin a retired second grade teacher of a certain age and her partner Peter a retired, high school social studies teacher also of a certain age. I am so honored to have stood with Peter the other week, holding one end of our KUUF Black Lives Matter banner while he held the other. Peter is now on hospice but he is still standing, showing up every week for as long as he can.

I am proud of our liberal church in Bremerton when we stand for social justice.

Phil Davis, KUUF member
. . . and also of a certain age

From our own KUUF Member Nancy Sennett

Hello Everyone - 

Something I have recently discovered that can be done in the name of togetherness  is to gather with friends or family on line. I participate in monthly gatherings with my six sisters, something we have just recently started. One sister has no computer so another sister calls her and keeps her on the phone to participate throughout the meeting. We also get little moving pictures of each of us so we see AND hear each other.  We are widely separated geographically so we would not have much contact and this way we see and hear each other once a month. Waaaay better than nothing. 

Love, Nancy Sennett

Selene Patterson - PID* #120

We live in Silverdale, an unincorporated part of Kitsap County bordering Bremerton, that is known for it’s shopping mall and the Bangor Naval Submarine Base.   Thanks to the Kitsap County Historical Society, the history of this part of the world is well documented in Kitsap County, a History (c 2012).  I love learning about the people who lived on this land before me and wondering if they felt as lucky as I do to have landed here.  The earliest of the European settlers who homesteaded in the area in the latter part of the 19th century was William Littlewood, whose unusual cement tombstone you see before you and in the Silverdale Cemetery.  He was a logger in the Seabeck area, hence this fitting rendering of a tree stump which sports a (now headless) dove, ax and maul.  Mr. Littlewood died in 1896 at the age of 72.    His tombstone says he was born in London, England.  His name first appears in the 1857 census according to the KCHS history book.  I found him today when I decided to take a walk into the cemetery, which abuts the subdivision bordering mine.  I took a path between houses, down to the end of a cul-de-sac, and straight ahead where the cemetery sits behind a chain-link fence.  A few graves date from the end of the 1800s, many from the 1930s, and even a few from the 20-teens. The cemetery is in such disrepair that it made me sad.  I paid my respects at the couple of dozen graves containing the cremains of people in the County who have died without family or friends or the means for their own burials.   A sacred place.  Blessings.

*Pandemic Isolation Day #....for me it is the number of days since March 16, when I started staying home...mostly.

Lisa Johnson

            When Scooby and I set out today to walk the new trail, the first sensation I noticed was the sun on the back of my neck.  It felt wonderful. The temperature was a little over 70, after much cooler weather in the last days.  I thought “The warmth of sunlight” is my delight for today. 

            Then, I walked into the shade of our forest, where one can study a square yard of ground for a long period of time and just go on noticing new details:  the fern, the ground, the drops of dew, the slug trail…  So I knew that “the wonder of shade” would be my topic.  

            We continued our walk.  The new trail is steep at first, with the grounds newly cleared and smoothed, and roots excavated.  It meanders north, but slowly.  At times the salal and ferns obscure the new path, but there are fuchsia flags and recent traffic has begun trampling the path.  But until today, I’ve gotten lost each time I’ve walked this section.  Finally, I let Scooby take the lead (still on leash, because of the bear) and he followed it easily for the rest of the route.   

            I emerged from the park trail into bright sunshine again.  Blue sky, dappled light near the forest, open sky and the Canal beyond.  I got to enjoy both in the space of an hour.

            So, today my delight is dappled light.

Selene Patterson - PID* #119

I am writing this from a corner of my world, in my living room near the four windows that face the porch and the street.  From here I can see the neighborhood children ride their bikes and scooters, watch the couples saunter around the circle, the joggers and dog walkers...and those who are just GETTING OUT OF THE HOUSE.  It is also the best vantage spot for new life that is emerging inside the hanging fuchsia basket on my porch.  She caught my attention about two weeks ago when I saw her flying in and out with little bits of fluff and twigs.  A brown-capped chickadee, so Karen tells me.  I dared to bring the basket down and yes, indeed, there was a nest forming.   A couple of days later, these 3 eggs.  I learned from a bit of research that these birds’ eggs generally hatch in 12 days.  The countdown had begun.  “Mama” chickadee doesn’t like one bit that I insist on watering the plant.  I stand on a stool to make sure I’m not drowning the nest, and she takes off to land in a nearby shrub, talking to me quite unkindly,   I’m sorry Mama, but I just have to see this!  Not a lot else going on in my life right now.  Twelve days after I spied the nest, I noticed a lot of in-and-out-of-the-nest activity on Mama’s part.  Could the eggs have hatched?  I quietly eased my stool under the basket when Mama was away and spied the nest.  Quickly, Mama returned, but not before I glimpsed a tiny claw!  I beat a hasty retreat as Mama circled me squawking and carrying on, landing on the rail, then the nearby shrub, but thankfully not on me!  Today I was determined to get a photo of what’s in that nest but now there are two birds (Papa?) standing guard who imitate the Blue Angels’ diving maneuvers the moment I open the door.  This is scary.  And sacred.  10 more days until fledging…

Selene Patterson

*Pandemic Isolation Day #....for me it is the number of days since March 16, when I started staying home...mostly.

Lisa Johnson

           Today.  A new spiritual practice.  Writing a daily short essayette on a delight I find in the day.  This began after I listened to Livewire yesterday as I drove to Port Orchard to have my computer looked at by the man who the day previous I had paid $457.00 to fix my computer.  Then we got it home and I couldn’t charge it, not even with the $80 charging cord that was part of the $457 bill.

            Not a good start, but the program was wonderful, the first story of which was an interview with Ross Gay, whose The Book of Delights is a collection of short essays, one delight he noticed each day for a year.  He admits he did miss some days.  But he was a charming man, and I loved the idea. He wrote about how ideas and delights came to him simply because he had made a commitment to write about them every day.  So here I go.  I don’t know how long I will keep it up, and knowing me, it probably won’t be all that long, but I’d like to see how long I can keep it going, and what delights I will find.

            Every day when Scooby and I walk out for the paper, I see at least one and sometimes several green/brown spotted slugs.  They’re magnificent, even when when they’re finishing off the guts of their brethren in the driveway, or trying to rid the the world of dog poop we’ve cast into the latrine.  One thing that’s delightful is that, because they have no legs they must spread slime in front of themselves to move forward.  One would think they’d be slow, moving at a snail’s pace, but one can look away briefly and pow!  Suddenly, they’ve traveled halfway across the drive!

            They’re also beautiful in their grossness.  Their silver, shimmery trail.  The relief in their skin (can you call something so gooey-looking skin?) The pine needle bustles they drag behind them.

Banana slugs:  Some are just milk-chocolate brown, but the most beautiful are a subtle mix of brown and green, with spots.  They can be up to 10 inches long.  The fall colors they wear…so much more striking than their smaller, non-native cousins, the little short brown/black ones, whose beauty is that they shimmer.  I’m told they’re NOT the ones who eat my dahlias but I don’t know if there’s any truth in that.  Some suspicious slimy specimens have certainly messed up my potted plants. 

            Speaking of that, I have taken to picking them off my pots with my naked hand and flinging them as far across the yard as I can.  I figure since they’re only made of slime and skin, there’s not much that can hurt them when they land.  I hope I’m not wrong about that.  

<<Pause for a short walk>>

Their slime also leaves a faint tingle on your skin.  Getting the slime residue off your fingers isn’t easy, but the wet grass around you helps.  I would recommend against typing on your computer after picking slugs.  Still, I tell myself it’s good for my skin.  

            When I started writing this, I didn’t know what I was going to say.  I hope that’s not too obvious.  What I found in the course of writing is that part of slug delight that is they are, in defiance of their reputation, beautiful.