Every couple of hours, our entire plan shifts and changes. So I realized there’s not much point in attaching to anything at all. Well, maybe I knew that already, but what I mean is there’s little benefit in having solid plans beyond what I’m doing at the moment and where I might need to be, and how prepared, for the next few hours.
In a way, this makes fasting easier, and I’m just starting out on day two. Yesterday was great, I really enjoyed fasting, especially because things are so uneven right now. I think it helped both River and me feel totally joyous, almost giddy. He had a really good day. Anyway, just taking it little by little, and feeling so grateful to have my family through all of the ups and downs to snuggle with on these cold mornings while the sun rises and we say prayers together. (We do this on every other morning, too, but not at dawn, so it’s a special time.)
What made yesterday so great? We were invited to visit Council’s second-grade classroom to talk about Ayyám’i'Há, our four-day holiday that just ended. As the teacher put it when she called me on Tuesday to invite us, they had one parent come in at Hannukah, and another during Ramadan, to explain their traditions. Any “artifacts” we could bring in, as she put it, would help. What Ayyám’i'Há “artifacts” do I have, I wondered? I explained that we have a book, which I brought in last year to share in Paolo’s classroom. (That year, Council didn’t want to tell her teacher she was a Bahá’í.) I told her I could bring in a small treasure box to explain our family’s tradition (did that last year, too).
An aside on this: last fall, the New York Times published an article about faith and food, which included this bit:
Wanda Schnider, a professional baker and cake decorator who lives outside Troy, Idaho, and is a member of the Bahai faith, said that one of the Bahai teachings is not to have traditions.
It is not quite true that the Bahá’í Faith has no traditions, but we do have prohibitions against certain kinds of rituals. My response to a request for input for this Times article was that the Faith is characterized by an openness to any given culture’s ways of doing things, including styles of meditation, prayer and song; manners of dress and decoration; how we choose to gather, celebrate or study; and so on. Indeed, I think it put the Bahá’ís who responded to the reporter in a bit of a conundrum, because part of what defines the community is its very diversity, and this makes it harder in today’s world, where people think of diversity as necessitating very disparate components that don’t overlap. Bahá’ís strive to uphold aspects of different cultures as they come together, but we also strive not to impose those cultures on each other. It’s a constant dance, and something we are only just beginning to learn how to do. Thus, when we are asked, “What is your tradition?”—for me, it can easily become this long-winded explanation of how culture is handled within the religion.
Thus I found myself yesterday sitting in front of a second-grade classroom and saying things like, “This is what our family does at Ayyám’i'Há, but other Bahá’ís around the world may celebrate differently in their family. Maybe in your family, you would come up with a different tradition.”
One of the children asked, “Why are you a Bahá’í?” Another asked, “What if you eat?” (in relation to preparation for the fast). Their questions were great. Council got to show off her homemade treasure box, which we opened to reveal lots of little hard candies to pass out to the children, along with an “Every Child is a Brilliant Star” sticker for each of them. They were all so excited by these little treats and they listened so well while we read to them, Maggie Celebrates Ayyám’i'Há.
This whole thing was a treat enough, but it was followed by a luncheon meeting with the school’s principal, some teachers and administrators, and a pair of visitors who are making a two-day visit to evaluate whether the school can be I.B.O. accredited for the Primary Years Program (so far, a five-year process the school has been undertaking). Since we were fasting, it was a chance to mention bits and pieces about why, as we declined the generous lunch being served to the small group. But in addition to that, it brought up the fact that Grammy-nominated Red Grammer had just visited the school in mid-February to perform and visit classrooms for the day. Prior to the visit, Council had told her teacher that he was a Bahá’í just like her, and just after his show, some teachers urged Council and Paolo over to him so they could greet him and talk for a minute. This they did, bringing home autographs and a photo of themselves posing with him. As the kids told me later, he had asked them, “Are you excited about Ayyám’i'Há?”
The teachers and principal had a ton of praise for Grammer, telling the I.B.O. visitors how great a performer he is, how his songs match so well what they are teaching in the school (I’ve noted that the school’s teachers use Grammer’s “On the Day You Were Born” song on students’ birthdays, and some other songs besides, some on a daily basis.) They also pointed out that he truly enjoyed his time with the students, telling the principal that of all the places he travels to around the world, this one was his best audience ever, and he wants to return there to spend a week with kids and do some song-writing: because the place is inspirational. This is what really blew me away, because, to be honest, most residents of my city and surrounding suburbs do not see any public school here as having much in the way of assets. The act of buying a house in this city and sending kids to the public school, for some, looks like a really pitiful act of charity of some kind. As though the place has nothing going for it.
Sitting there in the luncheon yesterday, in that small, humble basement library with peeling paint and flickering fluorescent lights, with food in front of me that I couldn’t eat, I felt like the most gifted person in the whole world. Sitting next to me, River, who had just lost his job, and whose schedule was thus freed up so he could actually attend this gathering, was also deeply affected. Later that day, he told me he can’t imagine not being a part of what they’re doing at the school. It was as though fog and wax had covered his eyes and ears, and seeing the kids first-hand and meeting with the teachers showed him an entirely new world of opportunity in terms of how the school is striving to educate the local kids. I can only hope the I.B.O. administrators saw the same thing.
We were also being hit with a small snowstorm, which seemed fitting, somehow.
Later that afternoon, River had a meeting set up with a local guy at a local Starbucks to talk business. The guy is looking for a potential partner in business. It was sort of a big-deal little meeting since it could lead to us being able to stay in the area. I headed off with Vigil to pick up the other kids at school, electing to walk through the snow rather than drive.
But I forgot my keys. By the time I returned home, River was gone for his meeting, and we were locked out. At first I thought I was being punished. Then I remembered—again—that it was the first day of the fast. And these things happen during the fast, most of all, to provoke tears into laughter.
So the kids and I entertained ourselves in the back yard until River was able to return and open the door. We spent the time taking turns standing on a large block of wood, as a stage, and either singing songs, telling jokes, doing dances, or reciting stories. Houses are crowded in all around us and I have a feeling that if any neighbor saw what we were doing yesterday, which is easy enough to do from any of their many windows, they would have definitely written us off as frighteningly weird. But that night, over dinner, each of my kids said that being locked out was their favorite part of the day. Go figure. (It was one of mine, too, but there were so many other good parts to compete.)
For his part, River had interrupted his important meeting in order to come back to us (not at my insistence), and then returned, and then did not come home again until well after sunset. In fact, he told me, he had lost track of time sitting in the Starbucks at which he could not enjoy a latté or a muffin. (And he had another opportunity to tell yet another person about why he was refusing food and drink… it was quite the day for that, considering he was not even at work.) The meeting went well and provoked many more questions than answers, with regard to our next steps, and whether River ought to choose one route or another to earn a living. One thing became clear: instead of starting the Boston-based contracting gig today, he’s going snowboarding with a friend.
Maybe he’ll start Monday, and maybe he won’t. He has time to think about it. Right now, Monday seems about four years away.