Dog days...

Happy July! In Southwestern PA we are in our tropical season with our "3 H" summer of heat, haze and humidity. I'm not a fan.

Exactly when do the "dog days" of summer officially begin?
(I looked it up: 3 July through 11 August)

If this isn't the dog days then we are at least in the puppy period of the summer.

So you are "in the know" and can impress folks with this bit of knowledge, the "dog days of summer" are named for the time when the star Sirius, known as the Dog Star, is in conjunction with or lines up with the sun. Sirius is the brightest star visible from earth. Ancients believed that the combination of energy and heat coming from these two great stars would naturally make the weather even hotter. Quaint and in a lot ways I can see why they would've thought that, forget the fact that a star is so far away from earth it could never generate enough heat to warm us. Yet, feel free to toss out this insight at your next picnic or barbecue.

All I know right now is it is stinkin' hot!

July is the heart of summer, the month that is wide-open with school neither ending nor starting, the month of vacations and get-aways.

July is the month when, and I'm blaming it on the heat, we slow down and begin to move as if in molasses. Spiritual guides warned of being wary of the "devil of the noonday sun." Their point is when one's spiritual life becomes more grinding then grace-aware and when your inner light is bushed and busheled instead of bright and a beacon to recognize it and remedy it.

Ask what it is that moves you, speaks to you, sparks your spirit. Be intentional in finding the WOW moments --- catch a sunset, notice a flower, listen to bird song. Do what is just. Instead of bemoaning how horrible is everything, do something: call your elected official, write a letter-to-the-editor, join a group committed to the cause.

My mother always referred to late spring and early summer "as the greening of America." We joked about it, yet, she was right and I can't help but notice how lush and full and green is the landscape. In the heat of summer, the challenge and the call is, in the words of Mary Lou Kownacki, OSB, "to be ever green, a strong shoot of justice, a steadfast tree of peace."

Blow the dandelion

In my time, I’ve made a lot of wishes. I’ve wished on pennies and nickels before tossing them into a fountain or placing the coins on the super-fast, spinny thing one finds at Malls --- you know the thing that goes down into a funnel and the closer the coins come to the bottom, the faster they spin. I’ve wished on a shooting star, birthday candles, my Terrible Towel, my Pirates hat turned inside out rally cap and the Roberto Clemente statue in front of PNC Park.

Like any good wisher, I tell no one my wishes.

That’s why I was so shocked recently by the what and the how of the wishes made by some kids by the shore of the Allegheny River. Two boys and a girl, accompanied by their mother, came waking up, set down their bags and the girl and one of the boys each removed from their bag a baseball. These were the real deal, leather-made, 108 stitches baseballs.

The boy pronounced he was going to make his wish, grabbed the baseball, threw it into the river and exclaimed, “I wish I would die before my sister!”

To be honest, I don’t know what winded me more, the wish from this five or six year old boy, or the fact that he willingly threw a perfectly good baseball into the river. After a minute or two his mother asked, “Why did you wish that?” I was waiting for the follow-up question of why would you throw your baseball into the river? The first question went unanswered and the second was never asked.

At this point, the sister, baseball in hand, threw hers into the river exclaiming, “I want to become rich!”

No profession of care for her brother, she wanted money.

As I watched the baseballs floating up the Allegheny River (they were headed toward PNC Park so maybe there was some good juju there), the boy exclaimed, “I’m going to wish on my shorts because I’m going to throw them into the river!” That was quickly followed by, “I’m going to wish on my underwear because I’m going to throw them into the river!”

NOTE: All parties remained clothed and no further active wishing ensued.

A couple of observations, clearly there was no treasuring of the baseballs that were so quickly and without a second thought tossed into the river. When wishing at a fountain, one throws in pennies, maybe a nickel or dime, the occasional quarter --- one does not toss an Indian-Head nickel into the wish fountain. Were the children just wanting to toss something into the river? Why not a rock or skipping stone? A stick? Did someone tell them that wishing on a baseball granted the wish?

We tend to believe in the power of wishes. There’s a significant amount of coinage in the wish fountains; statues of our heroes and heroines have evidence of folks rubbing said statue’s nose or hand or bat or sword or gun (why are our statues so laden with phallic imagery?) as the case may be; who knows the pleas or hopes shared.

Wishes are serious business. There are certain rules established and followed with precision: toss the coin over your left shoulder, blow out all the candles, tell no one what you wished for.

One of the most supported and positive charitable programs is the “Make A Wish” foundation. It’s a tangible way to do something for someone in need, to bring a little light, some happiness when the illness or the tragedy leave us unmoored in their randomness.

No matter our age, we are a people who make wishes. A wish is a spoken hope beginning to be acted upon. Keep wishing. All I ask is to use coins and candles and save the baseballs.

sj;