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Good morning everyone - I remember singing that song as a kid with my mother. It was the 70s and looking back on it - it was pretty funny because neither of us held much stock in the Lord or in hand-outs for that matter. But we sang it anyway – with all the sarcasm I think Janus intended. My mother grew up in rural Maine– in and out of foster homes and orphanages. As a mother, she wanted better for us – a stable home life, a good education. But with that said – she also wanted things. She wanted that colored tv. She wanted that night on the town.

So it was with great pride and a sense of accomplishment that my mother announced that a Mercedes Benz would be our family car. It did not matter that the Mercedes was not a gift from the Lord but was probably a product of some combination of used car wheeling and dealing and drug money. It didn’t matter that it was a fairly noisy diesel with overpriced parts. Mercedes Benz meant status – at least a perceived status on our shady side of the tracks. It was more than my mother had ever had and it was good enough.

Fast forward 30 years from that first Mercedes Benz to last week. I was in Felton, waiting at a red light in my perfectly fine 10 year old Ford station wagon listening to a National Public Radio interview with the lucky owner of Claus Porto luxury soaps. You see, I don’t own a television set so I had no idea that it was the unveiling day of Oprah Winfrey’s Favorite Things List- apparently a big deal for the Oprah crowd and shoppers in the know. After a year of sending his expensive soaps to her, the soap guy finally landed a coveted spot on The Big O’s Favorite List which meant a skyrocket to fame.

So what do cars and television and radio and soap have to do with today’s sermon? Favorite Things – that’s what. I was asked to speak about my favorite things. And unlike Ms. Oprah Winfrey’s List– most of my top favorite things are not things at all.

I do have a list and I will share it with you at some point but first I want to say a little bit about how I have come to this place where I have a list of Favorite Un-things because it’s been a spiritual path and a bumpy one at that.


I have loved many things in my life. I have had several collections. There was my doll collection as a girl – with dolls from around the world brought back by my sea-faring father. There was the postcards-with-women-on-‘em collection and the political lapel button collection and let’s not forget the glass bottles or the fans or the collections of sea glass and the heart shaped rocks.



The things that made up these various collections were alternately beloved and detested. I might, for example, look at an antique Scottish doll and be reminded with fondness of my heritage but then right next to her were an International gathering of beautiful dolls that reminded me of how little I saw my father as I was growing up. I enjoyed seeing a fan displayed on my wall and remembering a trip to Chinatown but I really did not like dusting the whole display. I thoroughly enjoy the way a row of bottles lines up in descending order across the window sill but I am irked that these functional items have ceased to hold perfume or medicine or spices. Have you ever loved something but felt kind of trapped by it at the same time?

I could see it happening with my grandmother. Growing up, I played with the little squirrels next to her rocking chair. There were wooden squirrels and ceramic ones – pewter and glass – fuzzy and plastic - cute and hideous. At some point – maybe when I was in high school or college – I asked her why she loved squirrels so much. She whipped her head around to look at me like I was insane. With no small hint of disdain, she declared: “I like real squirrels.”

She liked to watch them scurry around the pine trees and try to steal the seed from her milk jug bird feeder. She liked to complain about them and see them balance along the fence. “Someone – at some point – bought me a squirrel and then there was another and then another. Your grandfather built shelves and – well – there they are.” She shrugged - trapped with hundreds of squirrels given to her by people she loved. It was the first time it occurred to me that things can weigh a person down – sometimes for a long time.

My worst collection of all was the collection of things I had stolen. Oh – you know – I didn’t have a line of shoplifted items but I was keenly aware of each thing that had been slipped into a sleeve or cleverly hidden under a coat in a department store. I knew each and every unnecessary item from cheap costume jewelry to a Silver Screen Award medallion. This collection of things weighed me down in ways that I still have not managed to comprehend. But it is this shoplifted collection that brings me to the un-things.

You see, I started stealing when I was eight or nine and I knew that I could have saved the money for art supplies, I could have asked my parents. But it was the thrill of being Bonnie and Clyde on bikes that I really wanted. It was the experience – not the thing at all. It took many years and much soul searching to figure that out though.

I stopped stealing a long time ago but the stuff lingered. When I was very sick a few years ago, everything that I had accumulated – legally and not – gifted and purchased – was packed into boxes labeled kitchen, bedroom, living room and put into a storage unit for safe keeping while I spent time with family on the East Coast.



Upon returning to California, I faced the facts of my stuff:

1. I had no apartment or house where all these things could go.
2. I could not afford the storage unit and was in jeopardy of losing the entire contents and
3. I needed money and E-Bay was going to help me get it.

Still weak but determined, I went day after day to the storage unit down the street on Freedom Boulevard and I put things into piles – keep, goodwill, sell. The keep pile had to be the smallest. I mourned and look pictures of the things that I wanted to remember. I was happy to let go of all the things I had held onto out of obligation. I hoped that my antique treasures would find good homes and buy me organic groceries.

I was physically relieved when the worst of the stolen collection was gone from my life forever. A weight was lifted. Although there is much to be done and I have a long way to be where I want to be when it comes to simplicity, this was when I began to feel free.

Coincidentally – it was also exactly the time that my deteriorating vision brought me to blindness. Just as the storage unit was swept clean, I lost my ability to drive, my ability to read, my ability to look people in the eye, my ability to check Parker’s homework. I could not see the people I dated. I could not see with any accuracy if my lipstick was on correctly or if someone was telling me the truth. I could not get to doctor’s appointments or to church by myself. I could not make a decent cup of coffee.
Suddenly un-things became crystal clear: the sound of laughter and music, the connection of friends, the support of community. I relied on intuition and determination. I railed against failed public policies and used time management to organize an army of angels who drove Parker to and from school. I clung to the familiar: lesbians and Unitarian Universalists. I consciously expressed the genuine gratitude held for every precious day – for every precious new skill that I learned from the Peninsula Center for the Blind.

And when I was granted what for me counts as a miracle - I went from the Boston Foundation for Sight (where my prosthetics were created) to New York (where my new sweetheart was visiting with her mother). The first un-thing we did was to stand on a windy Ferry together to see the Statue of Liberty for the first time. We spent hours that night just gazing at each other and giggling. I didn’t want to sleep. I just wanted to gaze.


And this brings me to my list of Favorite Things:

Sight.
Passion.
Family.
Love.
Gratitude.
Hope.
Determination.
Unitarian Universalist Values.
Sex.
Laughing.
Lattes.

Helping others.
Snuggling as a Family.
Supporting local businesses and the performing arts

Non violent Communication
Writing in my journal.
Creating art that is infused with memory and meaning.

Being present right here – right now.



A couple of days ago, just before our annual trip to the Tenderloin District in San Francisco I found this poem by a homeless woman in John Stott’s book “Human Rights & Human Wrongs” It is based on a biblical passage in Matthew:

"I was hungry,
and you formed a humanities group to discuss my hunger.
I was imprisoned,
and you crept off quietly to your chapel and prayed for my release.
I was naked,
and in your mind you debated the morality of my appearance.
I was sick,
and you knelt and thanked God for your health.
I was homeless,
and you preached to me of the spiritual shelter of the love of God.
I was lonely,
and you left me alone to pray for me.
You seem so holy, so close to God
but I am still very hungry and lonely and cold. "

And so we headed out for our annual Thanksgiving tradition to feed the people who did not make it to the shelters or who did not want to step into a church or who simply, for whatever reason physical or mental, did not make it to a sit-down meal. Yes – we brought things: Home made sandwiches with all the fixings. Cake. Water. But we brought un-things too. We brought time and patience and unconditional care. We found people just like us: with dignity, with gratitude. They had pain and suffering and memories of Thanksgivings past. They had stories and poetry and laughter.

As we head into the darkest time of our solar calendar, may we look past the things. May we look into our hearts for our very favorite un-things. As parents, we have decided to offer experiences instead of toys - going to Cirque de Soleil and visiting with friends. As conscious consumers we plan to buy home-made soaps from women-owned businesses that are not likely to be found on Oprah’s list. We will continue to support local stores for consumables and to ride bikes more and collect things less.

Well – OK – if I see a heart shaped rock on the beach, I don’t know if I could pass it up. But maybe I will – just so I can have the satisfaction that someone else will see it and be reminded of love and our shared connection with all things.



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