Of Starfish and Quilts

The starfish anecdote has been circulating on the internet and before that on office fax machines for at least twenty five years. If you haven't seen it, it goes something like this:

Strolling along the beach after a storm, a woman catches sight of a young man who appears to be dancing at the water's edge. The young man bends down, straightens to his full height and then casts his arm out in an arc. Drawing closer, she sees that the sand is littered with starfish and he is throwing them, one by one, back into the sea.

She says, "There are stranded starfish as far as the eye can see. What difference can saving a few of them possibly make?"

Smiling, he stoops down and tosses another starfish out over the water, saying, "It made a difference to that one."

That's me all over. What I do here, now, in this lifetime, is not unlike the actions of that young man. Bend down, pick up, stand straight, throw, and hope I make a difference.

Earlier this week, author Barbara Ehrenreich spoke at Ohio Wesleyan University, which is our hometown college. Barbara is a social activist who wrote Nickel and Dimed (2001), which details her experiences working in low-wage America. At the end of her talk, she encouraged the students to find an area in which they could become involved to bring about social justice: wages, housing, health care, hunger, peace.

I am a huge Ehrenreich fan and had the chance to talk to her after the lecture for a few fleeting moments while she autographed my copy of Nickel and Dimed. It was a Big Deal for me.

I enjoyed her talk because I enjoy her thinking and agree with her on many issues. All the same, I did not come away feeling motivated and energized to Take Action (uppercase). I came away instead thinking that when I take action (lowercase), it is always locally.

This is not a new thought or a startling revelation. I do think and act locally - beyond my nose, I hope, but not too far beyond my front porch.

Catholic activist Dorothy Day wrote "Why localism? For some of us, anything else is extravagant; it's unreal; it's not a life we want to lead."

That's a philosophy I heartily embrace. It echoes the saying I have adopted from Animal, Vegetable, Miracle: "Think locally, act neighborly."

Some may smirk at that homey saying. Acting "neighborly" doesn't necessarily mean always saying "please" and "thank you," although that doesn't hurt one bit. (Especially in light of our uncivil discourse in more and more public arenas.)

To me, the phrase means keeping my focus and my time and my efforts in those local programs I am most passionate about. By thinking locally and acting neighborly, I do my small part to strengthen the community quilt that covers us all.

Quilting and quilts are metaphors for life for me. I don't quilt, although I came from a long line of quilt-makers, all on my dad's side of the family. (That's a look at one of my grandmother's quilts in the photo.) I never picked up the basic skills, let alone the artistry that they possessed, but I did pick up a bone-deep appreciation for quilting, which is why I use quilt metaphors so often.

When I think about that community quilt - that blanket of actions and organizations that gives warmth and comfort to us all - I try to imagine its pattern.

Freeform? Amish? Log Cabin? Rose of Sharon?

None of the above. The pattern of the community quilt, at least the one I am working on, is obvious. My life's remaining work is already cut out, the blocks neatly stacked, just waiting for me to piece it all together.

It's a starfish quilt.