Articles by Mary DeMocker

My Dysfunctional Form of Prayer

I don’t have a genre. I have an agenda—climate recovery–so I write stories of what’s possible, using whatever medium serves my message and reaches people.

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Scared of jail. Terrified of the alternative.

Last Wednesday at the Eugene Federal Building, I delivered, along with two dozen other climate activists, a letter to Those In Charge. What did I write to denizens of the shiny behemoth that seems better suited to the Death Star than to our liberal hamlet?

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“Frankenstorm”: Freak weather or angry gods?

Usually I try to ignore the football games, talking heads, and any image of Romney. But today, the cloud whorls on those cartoon-ish meteorological maps churn over the northeast, where 90% of my huge family and countless friends from my first 26 years hunker down from North Carolina to Maine. Everyone predicts chaos.

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Teachers and Mountaintops

It’s seven a.m. on a school day and I write from atop Mt. Pisgah. The sun burns through the early morning haze enough for a glimpse of real mountains—snow-capped Cascades—that heft themselves over these hills.

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Gratitude for Lunch

As we perform the morning routine, I cheerfully inquire, multiple times, “Want eggs?” I can’t hear the either mumbled or non-existent answer and finally declare, “I’m cooking eggs unless you shout ‘cereal’ in the next two seconds.”

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