Today it's my day off and it's raining. We were supposed to have a 4th of July party with the other furriers, but we decided that a barbecue in the rain probably wouldn't be much fun, so we all said F it. Besides, I'm a little hung over. Scott and I had a male bonding session last night and once again I was invited to come out with him and 'get laid'. He's got these two go-to girls, and he's constantly trying to hook me up with one of them. The 'rebound girl' thing used to work for me back when I was somebody else, but agreeing to this now would almost certainly be a bad idea... but then again, what if this, as unlikely as it seems to me, is God's will? What if this girl is somebody I should meet? What if she's the girl I'm going to marry, and I'll never know because I never actually take Scott up on his offer?
Scott says that I need to just go out and meet some girls. There is a really cute girl who works at the gas station across the street. Her name is Carly, which is stitched onto her work shirt. They actually get shirts with their names stitched onto them over there. Anyway, she always smiles real big and talks to me when I go in to buy smokes. Maybe she likes me, or thinks I'm cute, or is attracted to me. Hell I dunno, but she might be receptive if I asked her out.
Then again, I probably won't ever ask anybody out. I'm too shy, and I don't want just 'get laid' or to have a temporary girlfriend while I'm in Alaska. I want to get married and have kids. But then again, maybe I'll meet someone here and wind up staying. I guess I'll never know unless I try. I don't expect God to do everything if it's His will that I should have a wife and kids... I guess I'll probably have to do some of the leg work.
Wow, I'm really confused today. I think it's just because I'm hung over, and because Scott is constantly tempting me to go out and meet this girl. Anyway, I'm not drinking anymore of the hard liquor while I'm here. I'm sticking with beer from now on.
Saturday, July 3, 2010
Sunday, June 27, 2010
Vigil at Catholic Church
As 7:00 grew nearer, I grew more and more nervous. Holy Name Catholic Church is only about a quarter of a mile from my apartment, but I left at 6:30 and found myself pacing around in the parking lot for a quarter of an hour until I built up the nerve to go in. I wanted someone with me and I felt terribly alone and foreign as I was about to enter this strange church, which looked so bare and austere and modern. I still had 10 minutes, so I sat in the lobby while people milled around and talked. At 7:00 I went into the sanctuary, which was filled with pews. What did I expect? I guess I was kind of hoping it would be just a great big empty floor. I looked around and was struck by the almost severe lack of... things. The atmosphere was extremely different, what with every light in the place blazing at full wattage and with just three candles lit on the altar. There were no icons at all, and the walls were bare, except for the stations of the cross. Behind the altar was a large crucifix with tall banners hanging to each side with Alleluia printed on each one. The ceiling was low, wide, and vaulted, and there was a PA system at the far left of the altar. There were these things at the backs of the pews that folded down, and I saw that various people had pulled them down and were kneeling and praying. I looked behind me and saw people entering the sanctuary, dipping their hands in holy water, and crossing themselves the 'wrong way' with an open hand. I turned forward, crossed myself, and then I sat down and took off my prayer bracelet that Leah gave me and began saying the Jesus Prayer, knot by knot.
Finally the priest entered, walked up to the altar, and welcomed everybody. The he sat down and a lady walked up to a microphone and directed everyone to open a hymnal to a certain page, and everybody sang a hymn. There was no official choir; just the congregation singing hymns, led by this lady. I don't know what her official position was, if she even had one. After that, a different lady led the congregation in prayer, and then everybody stood there quietly. Then she read from the Gospels and then directed the congregation to sing another hymn. After that, everybody sat down.
By this time, about 20 minutes had passed and I was ready to get up and leave. I was feeling very uncomfortable, and I was hot and sweaty. I felt terribly alone as I sat there saying the Jesus Prayer at top speed. I looked around now and then and saw people looking at me, and I wondered if they had seen me crossing myself the 'wrong way', or the blur of the spinning prayer bracelet in my hands as I mouthed this strange chant over and over.
At this time the priest approached the podium and read some more from the Gospels. After that, he said a short sermon, and then everyone began to prepare for the Eucharist by singing a preparation hymn. This Catholic vigil was nothing like the vigils I was used to. I closed my eyes and lost myself in the Jesus Prayer. After a while I heard the congregation saying a creed very similar to the Nicene Creed, and I opened my eyes and looked around. I almost wanted to join in, but then they got to the filioque, and I was surprised that I recognized it as a glaring difference. "The Holy Spirit, which proceedeth from the Father and the Son". This was a part of the great schism, and here I was in the midst of it. I closed my eyes again and missed St. Maximus more than ever.
After a few moments, I opened my eyes to the sound of the altar boys who were kneeling before pillows and ringing bells as the priest prepared the Eucharist. My interest was piqued, as I was at least somewhat familiar with this, having seen the movie Doubt, which included this particular ritual of the Catholic Church. My nervousness decreased a little and I started to pay attention. The priest blessed the little round wafers, then poured a purplish brown liquid into a chalice and blessed that, all interspersed with the ringing of these bells by the altar boys. Finally, four people approached the altar and took communion first. I don't know why these four were first, but after this, everybody got up and formed two lines, approached the altar, and partook of the Catholic Eucharist. I watched this with interest until it was finished, and then the priest led everyone in something that was somewhat similar to the Great Litany, except it wasn't sung, and instead of 'Lord have mercy', the congregation said... something... shoot, I forgot. But it was the closest thing to a part of an Orthodox service that I had yet encountered in this strange church, apart from the altered creed.
After that, everyone prayed silently again for a while, and then the priest led everyone in the Lords Prayer. I said this with everyone, and when we got to the end, I habitually said "and deliver us from the evil one. For thine is the Kingdom and the Power and the Glory, of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy spirit, both now and ever and unto ages of ages, Amen." I had forgotten that this part was different, and there I was, whispering this last part while everybody else was silent. It sounded like a shout to me, but it came out of my mouth as an ingrained, permanent habit, and once again I felt isolated and alone. I closed my eyes and went back to the Jesus Prayer as one of the ladies led the congregation in another hymn.
After a while I realized that the service was over. I opened my eyes and people were walking out, so I stood there and said the Trisagion as people passed by because I didn't know what else to do. When I was finished, I stood there for a moment, hoping that nobody would walk up to me and greet me like they do in protestant churches. After several seconds, I realized that I was being safely ignored, so I walked into the lobby and waited in line as the priest greeted everyone as they left. When I got to the priest, he looked at me and said "Thank you." I nodded and smiled, and left. The whole thing had taken exactly one hour.
It was an odd, isolating, fearful experience, but after an hour of saying the Jesus Prayer practically non-stop, I was surprised at how good I felt. As I walked home, I really did feel relieved, and good, and almost happy. I had decided halfway through the vigil that I wasn't going to go back to this particular Catholic church, but saying the Jesus Prayer for an hour really had done me some good. I need to go back to this church. It's a good thing that I felt so isolated, and alone, and fearful, because I involved myself in prayer at a level that I hadn't experienced since I left Texas. I look forward to bringing prayer back into my life.
Finally the priest entered, walked up to the altar, and welcomed everybody. The he sat down and a lady walked up to a microphone and directed everyone to open a hymnal to a certain page, and everybody sang a hymn. There was no official choir; just the congregation singing hymns, led by this lady. I don't know what her official position was, if she even had one. After that, a different lady led the congregation in prayer, and then everybody stood there quietly. Then she read from the Gospels and then directed the congregation to sing another hymn. After that, everybody sat down.
By this time, about 20 minutes had passed and I was ready to get up and leave. I was feeling very uncomfortable, and I was hot and sweaty. I felt terribly alone as I sat there saying the Jesus Prayer at top speed. I looked around now and then and saw people looking at me, and I wondered if they had seen me crossing myself the 'wrong way', or the blur of the spinning prayer bracelet in my hands as I mouthed this strange chant over and over.
At this time the priest approached the podium and read some more from the Gospels. After that, he said a short sermon, and then everyone began to prepare for the Eucharist by singing a preparation hymn. This Catholic vigil was nothing like the vigils I was used to. I closed my eyes and lost myself in the Jesus Prayer. After a while I heard the congregation saying a creed very similar to the Nicene Creed, and I opened my eyes and looked around. I almost wanted to join in, but then they got to the filioque, and I was surprised that I recognized it as a glaring difference. "The Holy Spirit, which proceedeth from the Father and the Son". This was a part of the great schism, and here I was in the midst of it. I closed my eyes again and missed St. Maximus more than ever.
After a few moments, I opened my eyes to the sound of the altar boys who were kneeling before pillows and ringing bells as the priest prepared the Eucharist. My interest was piqued, as I was at least somewhat familiar with this, having seen the movie Doubt, which included this particular ritual of the Catholic Church. My nervousness decreased a little and I started to pay attention. The priest blessed the little round wafers, then poured a purplish brown liquid into a chalice and blessed that, all interspersed with the ringing of these bells by the altar boys. Finally, four people approached the altar and took communion first. I don't know why these four were first, but after this, everybody got up and formed two lines, approached the altar, and partook of the Catholic Eucharist. I watched this with interest until it was finished, and then the priest led everyone in something that was somewhat similar to the Great Litany, except it wasn't sung, and instead of 'Lord have mercy', the congregation said... something... shoot, I forgot. But it was the closest thing to a part of an Orthodox service that I had yet encountered in this strange church, apart from the altered creed.
After that, everyone prayed silently again for a while, and then the priest led everyone in the Lords Prayer. I said this with everyone, and when we got to the end, I habitually said "and deliver us from the evil one. For thine is the Kingdom and the Power and the Glory, of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy spirit, both now and ever and unto ages of ages, Amen." I had forgotten that this part was different, and there I was, whispering this last part while everybody else was silent. It sounded like a shout to me, but it came out of my mouth as an ingrained, permanent habit, and once again I felt isolated and alone. I closed my eyes and went back to the Jesus Prayer as one of the ladies led the congregation in another hymn.
After a while I realized that the service was over. I opened my eyes and people were walking out, so I stood there and said the Trisagion as people passed by because I didn't know what else to do. When I was finished, I stood there for a moment, hoping that nobody would walk up to me and greet me like they do in protestant churches. After several seconds, I realized that I was being safely ignored, so I walked into the lobby and waited in line as the priest greeted everyone as they left. When I got to the priest, he looked at me and said "Thank you." I nodded and smiled, and left. The whole thing had taken exactly one hour.
It was an odd, isolating, fearful experience, but after an hour of saying the Jesus Prayer practically non-stop, I was surprised at how good I felt. As I walked home, I really did feel relieved, and good, and almost happy. I had decided halfway through the vigil that I wasn't going to go back to this particular Catholic church, but saying the Jesus Prayer for an hour really had done me some good. I need to go back to this church. It's a good thing that I felt so isolated, and alone, and fearful, because I involved myself in prayer at a level that I hadn't experienced since I left Texas. I look forward to bringing prayer back into my life.
Friday, June 25, 2010
Old Man Steve
I took a long walk today when it was dead at the store. I decided to climb up a tall hill which I had been avoiding, well, because it's a tall hill. I found that if I walked very slowly up that tall hill, I hardly expended any energy at all! The trick is to take about two seconds between each step, and it's almost like walking very slowly up a tall hill. Amazing.
Anyway, I got up to the top of the hill and saw the biggest effing black bird I've ever seen. It was about a hundred feet away and perched on a bridge that spanned a wide, deep woodsy hole. It was munching on some green... no, orange things scattered all over the bridge. As I got closer, the bird began to scream. AAAARRCK! AAAACGHK! Other birds replied from the roofs of nearby houses. As I approached, the air was filled with the cries of defiant, pissed off, huge black birds. I got closer to the bird on the bridge, which I think must have been a raven or just a giant mutant crow, and saw that it's huge beak was stuffed with Cheetos. It stood it's ground bravely until I was about ten feet away, and with a final RAAAGGHRRK! it flew away to join it's brethren on the roof of the house on the other side of the woodsy hole. They all immediately began to wrastle with the one bird with the Cheetos.
I kept going and finally reached the top of the hill, only to find that it was a dead end. I won't lie - I was sorely disappointed. I had just humped it up a giant mountain, braved a hoard of pterodactyls, and waded through rivers of Cheetos, only to find that there was no more road. If I could have thrown something, I would have. I had my phone in my hand. I thought about throwing it, but I just spit over the edge of the cliff instead. I turned around and kicked my way through the Cheetos, scattering the mutant birds, summarily putting them in their places. I'm the human, after all. They're just dumb birds. Get outa my way, inferior animals. I'm pissed.
I was almost to the bottom of the hill when I discovered a little stairway that I hadn't noticed on my way up. It curved down in a little half spiral to a road which led away and disappeared around a curve which was obscured by all kinds of woodsy things. As I stood at the top of the stairs, I saw a woman sitting on a bench in front of a local shop. She was a rather large woman, and as she sat there, her head was down and she was kicking her heel on the concrete sidewalk over and over. Kind of just bouncing her heel, up and down, up and down. I stood there and watched her do this for about two minutes, and she never stopped. She just sat there, looking down, kicking her heel on the concrete as if it was made out of rubber. I wondered about that lady. Was she sad? Was she waiting on someone? Was she just lost in thought? What was her life like? She was pretty fat. I found myself feeling sorry for her. She never looked up... she just sat there and sat there, bouncing her heel on the sidewalk.
I walked down the stairs and wandered along the road aimlessly for a while, until I came upon a boardwalk which diverged from the road and promptly disappeared into more woodsy stuff. There was a sign posted there which read "Married Man's Trail". This gave me pause for a few seconds... was I allowed on this trail? I'm not married, after all. There was a grizzled old man with a short white beard standing right there at the entrance, and I wondered if he was the one who guarded the trail against the unlawful entry of single men. I decided to risk it anyway. I approached the trail, and before I could step foot on it, the grizzled guy stopped me. This was it, I was about to be denied entry and cast back upon the road... maybe even punished according to some strange local custom.
"Hey!" said the old grizzled guy.
I said "Hi."
"How's it going?" he asked.
"Oh, pretty good." I replied.
"Why are you so dressed up?" I looked down and briefly examined myself. I was wearing my suit coat, my white button down shirt, slacks, and dress shoes for work. I thought about telling the guy that I had just been married earlier today, but I had a feeling that this old man was no fool.
"I work down in the tourist district. It's pretty slow right now, so I'm just taking a walk."
"So, where ya from? I know you ain't from here by the way you talk."
I told him I was from Texas in the thickest southern drawl I could manage, hoping to charm him into letting me walk down the trail. For some inexplicable reason, I felt an intense need to walk the Married Man's Trail. Maybe it's because I want to be married... anyway, I had barely gotten warmed up and was ready to throw a couple of 'fixin to' and 'yalls' at him when, to my surprise, the grizzled old guy started walking down the Married Man's Trail. I followed him tentatively, hoping that maybe I could slip by him.
"Hey, that's real jade there, you know!" The old grizzled man was talking to someone who was perusing what apparently were his wares. It was then that I noticed that there was a little shop front along the trail, with all kinds of carved jade pieces on display. The guy looking at the jade scurried off and the old grizzled man turned back to me. I quickly began examining the jade with interest while he stood there looking at me. I tried to think of something to say before he realized that he hadn't checked me for a wedding ring.
"So, do you carve all of this?" I said, just to be saying something.
"Nah," he replied. "I order it from this guy who something or another over here and there and whatnot." That's what I got out of what he said, anyway.
"So, how much is this one?" I indicated a jade cross. I always ask 'how much for the cross' when I'm forced to interact with a proprietor when browsing the local shops here.
"Oh, they come in all sizes. That'n there is a medium. It's sumpin or another dollars." I don't remember how much he said. He then disappeared around the corner of the little shop and into an open doorway.
"I gotta take care of these folks here, come on in." He motioned me inside hurriedly and disappeared again. I went around the corner and through the door and found that I was actually in the guy's house, and that the front room had been converted into a kind of mini-grocery store, with canned goods and chips and sodas set up on shelves and in small coolers. He had just taken some money from a young couple and was talking to the guy.
"Hell, in my time it was the guy who paid! What's this shit? The guy's supposed to pay. Why are you making the woman pay? Sheesh!" The couple hurried out. I couldn't tell if he was joking, or if the couple thought he was joking, or if he was serious, or what. The grizzled old man turned to me. "Can you believe that shit? He made the girl pay for that!" He shook his head and stood there for a few seconds, then looked up suddenly and high tailed it into the next room. "Shit, I'm burning it! She's gonna be pissed!" By she, I assumed he was talking about his wife. His house was built right on top of the entrance to the Married Man's Trail, after all. The smells of something cooking wafted into the room from the kitchen. He hurried in and I followed him.
"You ever make homemade tortillas?" the old grizzled man asked.
"No," I replied. "But my mom's side of the family is Mexican, and my aunts make tortillas and tamales and stuff from scratch."
"Yeah, I love to cook. I got some bread in the oven now." He opened the oven and I saw about 6 small loaves of bread in there, all brown and almost done, and smelling damn good.
"My name's Steve, by the way." He stretched out one hand to me, the other grasping a frying pan, in which he had just deposited a homemade tortilla. I took his hand and shook it.
"My name's... Elias." I had almost said Ash.
"Good to meetcha. So, what are you doing here in Alaska? Working down in the tourist district? Doing what?"
I guess it was obvious that I was probably working the tourist district, what with the way I was dressed and the fact that I have, to people up north anyway, a think southern drawl. I told him that I worked for Dicker and Dicker, and before I could get any further, he said "Oh, selling furs, huh? You know Navi? And Nadim?"
Navi and Nadim work in the fur store right next to us. I was somewhat surprised that he immediately knew all of that right off the bat. I told him that yes, I sold furs, and yes, I did know Navi and Nadim. Steve then asked how I was liking it in Alaska.
"I like it pretty much, actually," I said. "In fact, I'm thinking about staying."
"Oh yeah?" he said without looking up, now intent on chopping mushrooms, onions, and bell peppers. "What for? You gotta find a job up here if you're gonna stay past summer, and the work ethic sucks. People here are lazy. Listen to this shit." He then proceeded to tell me about how he had first moved here 30 years ago and started work as a dishwasher at a local restaurant, and how within six weeks he had been the head cook because all of the employees were drunk and high every day. Thus he eventually wound up owning the place, and all because nobody in Alaska had any damn worth ethic. Why this was such a problem for him, since he had apparently benefited greatly from it, was beyond me.
"So, why do you wanna stay here again?" He hadn't forgotten his original question. Apparently he just needed to warn me about the work ethic... or maybe he was warning ME about the worth ethic. As in, boy, if you decide to move into my town, you better have a good worth ethic because I got my eye on you.
"Well..." I didn't know if I should mention anything about being Orthodox, and that I might be interested in attending seminary at Kodiak Island, as I'm not even sure about that myself. Plus, people can be touchy about religion. I've already had one customer walk right out the door when I mentioned my recent baptism in casual conversation while I was schmoozing them into buying something. But then again, maybe if I told him about my religion he would assume that I had a good worth ethic, and I wouldn't have to face suffering his wrath in the future. It was a calculated risk.
"I don't know. I really like it here, and I was thinking... well, maybe about going to seminary out on Kodiak Island."
"Seminary?" He replied, looking up from his chopping to meet my eye. "You Eastern Orthodox?"
I was somewhat surprised, but I guess I shouldn't have been. After all, Alaska is a stronghold of Orthodoxy. "Yeah. For about a month now. Well, actually, for about a year and a half... but I was just baptized last month."
"Oh really? How did you come about it?"
"Well, first I met this girl..."
"Ooooh boy," he said, shaking his head. "Let me guess. She brought you into the church, right?"
"Uh... yeah," I replied.
"She your girlfriend?" Before I could reply, he said "She left you, right?"
"Uh... yeah," I replied, again.
Dear reader, I shit you not. This was the conversation.
He stopped his chopping and put the knife down. "I knew it. God damn women, they stick it to you every time. You know they do. They do, don't they? God damn. Women." He shook his head and poured some eggs into a frying pan, getting an omelette ready.
Wow. This man was not only extremely perceptive, but he was damn amusing as well. I found myself really enjoying his company. "Well," I said, feeling some need now to defend my situation, or at least explain it, "yeah, she left me, but if it hadn't been for her, I never would have found the church. So it was worth it, I think."
"Well, I'm Jewish," he said. "And Navi and Nadim are both Muslims. It takes all types, you know," he said wisely. He finished the omelette and yelled out the door. "Hon, it's ready!" A lady walked into the house and went through the kitchen and sat at a table there. I'm assuming it was his wife, as I've already explained. Steve finished up the omelette and deposited it onto the homemade tortilla.
"You want some of this?" he asked, nodding towards the tortilla and omelette.
That this guy, this grizzled old man, purveyor of local wisdom and genuinely friendly, had actually invited me, a complete stranger, into his house and then offered me some of the food that he had been cooking as we talked, touched me deeply. I wanted to say "Yeah, I'd love some," but my inherent shyness stopped me. I tried to think of an excuse not to accept his offer. I looked at the clock on my phone. Well, I'd been gone for almost an hour. The food smelled really good, and I was kind of hungry, and there the grizzled old guy stood, offering... but...
"Nah. I'd better be going. I've been gone for a while now and should probably be getting back." I kicked myself mentally.
"Ok, well..." he put down a block of cheese he had been grating and looked for a place to wipe his hand. He finally settled on his pants, and after a good wipe, he held out his hand and I shook it.
"Ok. I'm gonna go now. It was nice meeting you, Steve. This was definitely interesting, and now I've got something to write about in my journal."
Steve laughed and took the cheese into the other room and poured it onto the omelette on the table for... his wife, I was assuming. "Ok. See you around."
I left and as I headed back to the store, I thought about everything that had just happened and how I would write about it. I had forgotten all about taking the Married Man's Trail. I took the road back. I was still in a kind of state of amazement when I heard a voice behind me say, "I love your long hair."
I turned around and saw a pretty local woman, an Inuit I guess, walking briskly to catch up with me. "Thanks... uh... thanks." I couldn't think of anything else to say.
"There's not enough men with long hair nowadays. Don't cut it!" She smiled at me and waved as she walked past. I wish I could have thought of something else to say, but I was feeling good anyway, so I just smiled, waved back, and pulled my book out and started to read as I walked.
As I was approaching the store, another pretty lady was riding towards me on a bicycle. As she approached, she smiled and slowed down and said, "Are you almost finished?"
What, ho? Two pretty women talking to me on the same day? For no apparent reason? Can my ego take it? "Uhhh..." I didn't know what she was talking about at first, then I glanced down at my book. Oh! "I'm about half way through it."
"Ok. Well, bye!" She waved and smiled and rode away.
Wow. What an interesting walk that had turned out to be.
Anyway, I got up to the top of the hill and saw the biggest effing black bird I've ever seen. It was about a hundred feet away and perched on a bridge that spanned a wide, deep woodsy hole. It was munching on some green... no, orange things scattered all over the bridge. As I got closer, the bird began to scream. AAAARRCK! AAAACGHK! Other birds replied from the roofs of nearby houses. As I approached, the air was filled with the cries of defiant, pissed off, huge black birds. I got closer to the bird on the bridge, which I think must have been a raven or just a giant mutant crow, and saw that it's huge beak was stuffed with Cheetos. It stood it's ground bravely until I was about ten feet away, and with a final RAAAGGHRRK! it flew away to join it's brethren on the roof of the house on the other side of the woodsy hole. They all immediately began to wrastle with the one bird with the Cheetos.
I kept going and finally reached the top of the hill, only to find that it was a dead end. I won't lie - I was sorely disappointed. I had just humped it up a giant mountain, braved a hoard of pterodactyls, and waded through rivers of Cheetos, only to find that there was no more road. If I could have thrown something, I would have. I had my phone in my hand. I thought about throwing it, but I just spit over the edge of the cliff instead. I turned around and kicked my way through the Cheetos, scattering the mutant birds, summarily putting them in their places. I'm the human, after all. They're just dumb birds. Get outa my way, inferior animals. I'm pissed.
I was almost to the bottom of the hill when I discovered a little stairway that I hadn't noticed on my way up. It curved down in a little half spiral to a road which led away and disappeared around a curve which was obscured by all kinds of woodsy things. As I stood at the top of the stairs, I saw a woman sitting on a bench in front of a local shop. She was a rather large woman, and as she sat there, her head was down and she was kicking her heel on the concrete sidewalk over and over. Kind of just bouncing her heel, up and down, up and down. I stood there and watched her do this for about two minutes, and she never stopped. She just sat there, looking down, kicking her heel on the concrete as if it was made out of rubber. I wondered about that lady. Was she sad? Was she waiting on someone? Was she just lost in thought? What was her life like? She was pretty fat. I found myself feeling sorry for her. She never looked up... she just sat there and sat there, bouncing her heel on the sidewalk.
I walked down the stairs and wandered along the road aimlessly for a while, until I came upon a boardwalk which diverged from the road and promptly disappeared into more woodsy stuff. There was a sign posted there which read "Married Man's Trail". This gave me pause for a few seconds... was I allowed on this trail? I'm not married, after all. There was a grizzled old man with a short white beard standing right there at the entrance, and I wondered if he was the one who guarded the trail against the unlawful entry of single men. I decided to risk it anyway. I approached the trail, and before I could step foot on it, the grizzled guy stopped me. This was it, I was about to be denied entry and cast back upon the road... maybe even punished according to some strange local custom.
"Hey!" said the old grizzled guy.
I said "Hi."
"How's it going?" he asked.
"Oh, pretty good." I replied.
"Why are you so dressed up?" I looked down and briefly examined myself. I was wearing my suit coat, my white button down shirt, slacks, and dress shoes for work. I thought about telling the guy that I had just been married earlier today, but I had a feeling that this old man was no fool.
"I work down in the tourist district. It's pretty slow right now, so I'm just taking a walk."
"So, where ya from? I know you ain't from here by the way you talk."
I told him I was from Texas in the thickest southern drawl I could manage, hoping to charm him into letting me walk down the trail. For some inexplicable reason, I felt an intense need to walk the Married Man's Trail. Maybe it's because I want to be married... anyway, I had barely gotten warmed up and was ready to throw a couple of 'fixin to' and 'yalls' at him when, to my surprise, the grizzled old guy started walking down the Married Man's Trail. I followed him tentatively, hoping that maybe I could slip by him.
"Hey, that's real jade there, you know!" The old grizzled man was talking to someone who was perusing what apparently were his wares. It was then that I noticed that there was a little shop front along the trail, with all kinds of carved jade pieces on display. The guy looking at the jade scurried off and the old grizzled man turned back to me. I quickly began examining the jade with interest while he stood there looking at me. I tried to think of something to say before he realized that he hadn't checked me for a wedding ring.
"So, do you carve all of this?" I said, just to be saying something.
"Nah," he replied. "I order it from this guy who something or another over here and there and whatnot." That's what I got out of what he said, anyway.
"So, how much is this one?" I indicated a jade cross. I always ask 'how much for the cross' when I'm forced to interact with a proprietor when browsing the local shops here.
"Oh, they come in all sizes. That'n there is a medium. It's sumpin or another dollars." I don't remember how much he said. He then disappeared around the corner of the little shop and into an open doorway.
"I gotta take care of these folks here, come on in." He motioned me inside hurriedly and disappeared again. I went around the corner and through the door and found that I was actually in the guy's house, and that the front room had been converted into a kind of mini-grocery store, with canned goods and chips and sodas set up on shelves and in small coolers. He had just taken some money from a young couple and was talking to the guy.
"Hell, in my time it was the guy who paid! What's this shit? The guy's supposed to pay. Why are you making the woman pay? Sheesh!" The couple hurried out. I couldn't tell if he was joking, or if the couple thought he was joking, or if he was serious, or what. The grizzled old man turned to me. "Can you believe that shit? He made the girl pay for that!" He shook his head and stood there for a few seconds, then looked up suddenly and high tailed it into the next room. "Shit, I'm burning it! She's gonna be pissed!" By she, I assumed he was talking about his wife. His house was built right on top of the entrance to the Married Man's Trail, after all. The smells of something cooking wafted into the room from the kitchen. He hurried in and I followed him.
"You ever make homemade tortillas?" the old grizzled man asked.
"No," I replied. "But my mom's side of the family is Mexican, and my aunts make tortillas and tamales and stuff from scratch."
"Yeah, I love to cook. I got some bread in the oven now." He opened the oven and I saw about 6 small loaves of bread in there, all brown and almost done, and smelling damn good.
"My name's Steve, by the way." He stretched out one hand to me, the other grasping a frying pan, in which he had just deposited a homemade tortilla. I took his hand and shook it.
"My name's... Elias." I had almost said Ash.
"Good to meetcha. So, what are you doing here in Alaska? Working down in the tourist district? Doing what?"
I guess it was obvious that I was probably working the tourist district, what with the way I was dressed and the fact that I have, to people up north anyway, a think southern drawl. I told him that I worked for Dicker and Dicker, and before I could get any further, he said "Oh, selling furs, huh? You know Navi? And Nadim?"
Navi and Nadim work in the fur store right next to us. I was somewhat surprised that he immediately knew all of that right off the bat. I told him that yes, I sold furs, and yes, I did know Navi and Nadim. Steve then asked how I was liking it in Alaska.
"I like it pretty much, actually," I said. "In fact, I'm thinking about staying."
"Oh yeah?" he said without looking up, now intent on chopping mushrooms, onions, and bell peppers. "What for? You gotta find a job up here if you're gonna stay past summer, and the work ethic sucks. People here are lazy. Listen to this shit." He then proceeded to tell me about how he had first moved here 30 years ago and started work as a dishwasher at a local restaurant, and how within six weeks he had been the head cook because all of the employees were drunk and high every day. Thus he eventually wound up owning the place, and all because nobody in Alaska had any damn worth ethic. Why this was such a problem for him, since he had apparently benefited greatly from it, was beyond me.
"So, why do you wanna stay here again?" He hadn't forgotten his original question. Apparently he just needed to warn me about the work ethic... or maybe he was warning ME about the worth ethic. As in, boy, if you decide to move into my town, you better have a good worth ethic because I got my eye on you.
"Well..." I didn't know if I should mention anything about being Orthodox, and that I might be interested in attending seminary at Kodiak Island, as I'm not even sure about that myself. Plus, people can be touchy about religion. I've already had one customer walk right out the door when I mentioned my recent baptism in casual conversation while I was schmoozing them into buying something. But then again, maybe if I told him about my religion he would assume that I had a good worth ethic, and I wouldn't have to face suffering his wrath in the future. It was a calculated risk.
"I don't know. I really like it here, and I was thinking... well, maybe about going to seminary out on Kodiak Island."
"Seminary?" He replied, looking up from his chopping to meet my eye. "You Eastern Orthodox?"
I was somewhat surprised, but I guess I shouldn't have been. After all, Alaska is a stronghold of Orthodoxy. "Yeah. For about a month now. Well, actually, for about a year and a half... but I was just baptized last month."
"Oh really? How did you come about it?"
"Well, first I met this girl..."
"Ooooh boy," he said, shaking his head. "Let me guess. She brought you into the church, right?"
"Uh... yeah," I replied.
"She your girlfriend?" Before I could reply, he said "She left you, right?"
"Uh... yeah," I replied, again.
Dear reader, I shit you not. This was the conversation.
He stopped his chopping and put the knife down. "I knew it. God damn women, they stick it to you every time. You know they do. They do, don't they? God damn. Women." He shook his head and poured some eggs into a frying pan, getting an omelette ready.
Wow. This man was not only extremely perceptive, but he was damn amusing as well. I found myself really enjoying his company. "Well," I said, feeling some need now to defend my situation, or at least explain it, "yeah, she left me, but if it hadn't been for her, I never would have found the church. So it was worth it, I think."
"Well, I'm Jewish," he said. "And Navi and Nadim are both Muslims. It takes all types, you know," he said wisely. He finished the omelette and yelled out the door. "Hon, it's ready!" A lady walked into the house and went through the kitchen and sat at a table there. I'm assuming it was his wife, as I've already explained. Steve finished up the omelette and deposited it onto the homemade tortilla.
"You want some of this?" he asked, nodding towards the tortilla and omelette.
That this guy, this grizzled old man, purveyor of local wisdom and genuinely friendly, had actually invited me, a complete stranger, into his house and then offered me some of the food that he had been cooking as we talked, touched me deeply. I wanted to say "Yeah, I'd love some," but my inherent shyness stopped me. I tried to think of an excuse not to accept his offer. I looked at the clock on my phone. Well, I'd been gone for almost an hour. The food smelled really good, and I was kind of hungry, and there the grizzled old guy stood, offering... but...
"Nah. I'd better be going. I've been gone for a while now and should probably be getting back." I kicked myself mentally.
"Ok, well..." he put down a block of cheese he had been grating and looked for a place to wipe his hand. He finally settled on his pants, and after a good wipe, he held out his hand and I shook it.
"Ok. I'm gonna go now. It was nice meeting you, Steve. This was definitely interesting, and now I've got something to write about in my journal."
Steve laughed and took the cheese into the other room and poured it onto the omelette on the table for... his wife, I was assuming. "Ok. See you around."
I left and as I headed back to the store, I thought about everything that had just happened and how I would write about it. I had forgotten all about taking the Married Man's Trail. I took the road back. I was still in a kind of state of amazement when I heard a voice behind me say, "I love your long hair."
I turned around and saw a pretty local woman, an Inuit I guess, walking briskly to catch up with me. "Thanks... uh... thanks." I couldn't think of anything else to say.
"There's not enough men with long hair nowadays. Don't cut it!" She smiled at me and waved as she walked past. I wish I could have thought of something else to say, but I was feeling good anyway, so I just smiled, waved back, and pulled my book out and started to read as I walked.
As I was approaching the store, another pretty lady was riding towards me on a bicycle. As she approached, she smiled and slowed down and said, "Are you almost finished?"
What, ho? Two pretty women talking to me on the same day? For no apparent reason? Can my ego take it? "Uhhh..." I didn't know what she was talking about at first, then I glanced down at my book. Oh! "I'm about half way through it."
"Ok. Well, bye!" She waved and smiled and rode away.
Wow. What an interesting walk that had turned out to be.
Sunday, June 20, 2010
Smothered in dark
I was making mole tonight. Not mole, as in the animal that burrows underground and eats dirt. No, I wasn't making mole to eat, I was making mole. That's MO-LAY. That's how it's pronounced. It's some kind of sauce, a dark brown sauce, Mexican sauce. Lots of peppers and nuts and stuff and it's all ground up. I personally like to add a lot of chocolate syrup to it, it makes it mo bettah. A former girlfriend of mine introduced me to it. She was Mexican Catholic, and I hated mole at first... but it grows on you. Truly it does (Scott and Ed didn't like it, by the way).
So, I was making MO-LAY tonight. But first, in order to make MO-LAY, you have to cook chicken. So first, I cooked the chicken. I had bought chicken breasts from Safeway (yes, there are grocery stores here on Mars) and boiled them. I normally wouldn't boil chicken breasts, because usually I buy a whole chicken and tear it apart and boil all the component pieces. But holy cow, it was cheaper to buy a bundle of chicken breasts that weighed more and cost less than a whole chicken. And it's all white meat, not bones and giblets (those are chicken guts) before you get to the meat. So, the chicken breasts, which are all white meat, cost less than the whole chicken with all the other stuff. And I boiled it, and cut it up, poured the MO-LAY sauce all over it, then wrapped it up in tortillas and ate it like a burrito.
So anyway, the point of this little tirade isn't to explain all about my own personal history with MO-LAY and how to make it and how they have great chicken deals here at the north pole, but it was to describe one particular moment in the making of the MO-LAY.
That moment occurred when I put the cut up pieces of white meat chicken into the dark brown sauce, which was simmering on the stove. I had cut up each piece of chicken breast into little cubes on a cutting board. They were an almost pristine white, compared to the dark sauce. I stood there with the little miraculous pieces of white chicken, about to dump them into the dirty brown MO-LAY sauce, and I didn't even hesitate. I dumped them in there.
So, as I was stirring it all up, some pieces of white chicken didn't want to get dirty. I stirred some more, and more of the dark brown dirty got on the pristine white. Then I had a kind of epiphany. I saw a couple of pieces of white, which hadn't been touched by the sauce at all. They didn't want to get touched. But I pushed them around until all the white, which had never ever ever been touched by the dark before, got all smothered. I realized at that moment, that's how I feel. Not that I was ever pristine, except when I was born, but that I'm getting smothered in dark.
So, I was making MO-LAY tonight. But first, in order to make MO-LAY, you have to cook chicken. So first, I cooked the chicken. I had bought chicken breasts from Safeway (yes, there are grocery stores here on Mars) and boiled them. I normally wouldn't boil chicken breasts, because usually I buy a whole chicken and tear it apart and boil all the component pieces. But holy cow, it was cheaper to buy a bundle of chicken breasts that weighed more and cost less than a whole chicken. And it's all white meat, not bones and giblets (those are chicken guts) before you get to the meat. So, the chicken breasts, which are all white meat, cost less than the whole chicken with all the other stuff. And I boiled it, and cut it up, poured the MO-LAY sauce all over it, then wrapped it up in tortillas and ate it like a burrito.
So anyway, the point of this little tirade isn't to explain all about my own personal history with MO-LAY and how to make it and how they have great chicken deals here at the north pole, but it was to describe one particular moment in the making of the MO-LAY.
That moment occurred when I put the cut up pieces of white meat chicken into the dark brown sauce, which was simmering on the stove. I had cut up each piece of chicken breast into little cubes on a cutting board. They were an almost pristine white, compared to the dark sauce. I stood there with the little miraculous pieces of white chicken, about to dump them into the dirty brown MO-LAY sauce, and I didn't even hesitate. I dumped them in there.
So, as I was stirring it all up, some pieces of white chicken didn't want to get dirty. I stirred some more, and more of the dark brown dirty got on the pristine white. Then I had a kind of epiphany. I saw a couple of pieces of white, which hadn't been touched by the sauce at all. They didn't want to get touched. But I pushed them around until all the white, which had never ever ever been touched by the dark before, got all smothered. I realized at that moment, that's how I feel. Not that I was ever pristine, except when I was born, but that I'm getting smothered in dark.
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
A dream - hanging day
Leah and I were above a vast map of the Earth, and we were flying over it, but she was having trouble navigating it. I told Leah to grab onto the horizon, and pull it towards her, as opposed to trying to move towards it. She did that, and we flew across the landscape together. We passed over houses, lakes, trees, and mountains. We flew over a field that had words cut into it like a crop circle, advertising a band called 'The Pigs', dressed in heavy metal biker jackets. We both thought it was funny. Then I realized that we were right over Michigan. We started to descend rapidly, and I found myself in the college library where she had taken me when we were there together. I looked for her, but she was gone and I was there alone. I called out Leah's name loudly, but she was nowhere to be found. A guy who was working there, a bartender of all things, got very angry at me for making noise. He approached me and threatened me. He pushed me against the wall, and I pushed him back. He tried to hit me, and we fought. I finally pushed him against a wall which butted up against a part of the ceiling that was lower than the rest of the ceiling. His head hit this part and lacerated his scalp badly, and he just stood there crying.
Then I found myself lying down on a couch at Fr. Justin's house. But the house was old and rustic, almost like the inside of a barn... but I think more like an old log cabin. I felt very fatigued, and it was an effort just to keep my eyes open and to sit up straight. Fr. Just was showing me a piece of wax that had been formed from a rectangular wooden box, with the bottom of the mold having some kind of design engraved in it. The piece of wax was shaped like the box, with the design on top. I wanted to get a closer look and asked Fr. Justin if I could see it, but he handed me the box, not the wax. I started to sink deeper into the couch, feeling very very tired. Then he showed me an icon, but it wasn't painted, it was engraved. I sat up higher, and had a little more energy. He showed me another icon, but this one had been cut through the wood, with the parts of the wood that were missing forming the shape of the icon figure. I became greatly interested.
Then it was Leah showing me icons, but I lost interest and turned my head to the right and watched TV. I forgot that she was there trying to show me icons, and just watched a silly sitcom on TV. After it was over, I laughed and turned to you to see if Leah had thought it was funny too. She was still holding the icon, waiting patiently for me to finish watching TV. I realized that I had forgotten all about her.
After all that happened, I was homeless and wandering through the streets of Mt. Pleasant. I saw a litter of kittens, barely a week or two old, thin and starving, playing with each other and rolling around in muddy puddles. I felt sorry for the kitties, and I had some food in my pocket... part of a muffin, I think... and I put it down for them to eat. I kept walking, and my old friend Clint was with me. He tried to get me to take a shortcut through the yards of people we didn't know. I didn't want to do this, but I did anyway. In one yard, the people who lived there saw us, and I panicked and ran. I came to a fence that was electrified, but I was able to crawl under it. There was a larger wooden fence beyond it, and I climbed over it, but my clothes got hung on it and ripped.
Then I was in a desert, still homeless and wandering. I saw a little boy in the distance, and army Bradley vehicles were moving towards the boy. They were going to shoot at a terrorist who was driving a jeep towards the boy, and I was afraid the boy would be hurt, but I couldn't do anything. The gunner in the Bradley fired, and the jeep turned over and the terrorist was killed. However, the little boy wasn't hurt, and he approached the wreckage and stole an AK-47 which had fallen out of the jeep.
The boy went home and the village elders questioned him on where he got the gun, but he wouldn't talk. Finally he said that his dad had given it to him, and this infuriated the elders. They said that they would have to hang his dad. However, the boy didn't have a father, and he snickered under his breath at this. When the elders found out the boy didn't have a dad, they said that they would hang him instead. Some villagers protested that he was just a little boy and shouldn't be hung like an adult, so the elders decided to just show the boy how they hang criminals.
It was 'Hanging Day', a holiday that happened every week for this tribe. They took the boy to a gallows, where about five men were lined up. Ropes were put around the necks of these men, and they were slowly hoisted off of the ground. Their hands were tied, and they could only struggle vainly as they slowly choked to death. The boy watched all of this, moving from one man to the other, observing each one closely as each one of them choked. It took a long, long time for them to die.
Then I found myself lying down on a couch at Fr. Justin's house. But the house was old and rustic, almost like the inside of a barn... but I think more like an old log cabin. I felt very fatigued, and it was an effort just to keep my eyes open and to sit up straight. Fr. Just was showing me a piece of wax that had been formed from a rectangular wooden box, with the bottom of the mold having some kind of design engraved in it. The piece of wax was shaped like the box, with the design on top. I wanted to get a closer look and asked Fr. Justin if I could see it, but he handed me the box, not the wax. I started to sink deeper into the couch, feeling very very tired. Then he showed me an icon, but it wasn't painted, it was engraved. I sat up higher, and had a little more energy. He showed me another icon, but this one had been cut through the wood, with the parts of the wood that were missing forming the shape of the icon figure. I became greatly interested.
Then it was Leah showing me icons, but I lost interest and turned my head to the right and watched TV. I forgot that she was there trying to show me icons, and just watched a silly sitcom on TV. After it was over, I laughed and turned to you to see if Leah had thought it was funny too. She was still holding the icon, waiting patiently for me to finish watching TV. I realized that I had forgotten all about her.
After all that happened, I was homeless and wandering through the streets of Mt. Pleasant. I saw a litter of kittens, barely a week or two old, thin and starving, playing with each other and rolling around in muddy puddles. I felt sorry for the kitties, and I had some food in my pocket... part of a muffin, I think... and I put it down for them to eat. I kept walking, and my old friend Clint was with me. He tried to get me to take a shortcut through the yards of people we didn't know. I didn't want to do this, but I did anyway. In one yard, the people who lived there saw us, and I panicked and ran. I came to a fence that was electrified, but I was able to crawl under it. There was a larger wooden fence beyond it, and I climbed over it, but my clothes got hung on it and ripped.
Then I was in a desert, still homeless and wandering. I saw a little boy in the distance, and army Bradley vehicles were moving towards the boy. They were going to shoot at a terrorist who was driving a jeep towards the boy, and I was afraid the boy would be hurt, but I couldn't do anything. The gunner in the Bradley fired, and the jeep turned over and the terrorist was killed. However, the little boy wasn't hurt, and he approached the wreckage and stole an AK-47 which had fallen out of the jeep.
The boy went home and the village elders questioned him on where he got the gun, but he wouldn't talk. Finally he said that his dad had given it to him, and this infuriated the elders. They said that they would have to hang his dad. However, the boy didn't have a father, and he snickered under his breath at this. When the elders found out the boy didn't have a dad, they said that they would hang him instead. Some villagers protested that he was just a little boy and shouldn't be hung like an adult, so the elders decided to just show the boy how they hang criminals.
It was 'Hanging Day', a holiday that happened every week for this tribe. They took the boy to a gallows, where about five men were lined up. Ropes were put around the necks of these men, and they were slowly hoisted off of the ground. Their hands were tied, and they could only struggle vainly as they slowly choked to death. The boy watched all of this, moving from one man to the other, observing each one closely as each one of them choked. It took a long, long time for them to die.
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
SHEEE-IT
Today I sold a knitted rex rabbit scarf, a pair of shearling gloves, and a shearling hat! Yee haw. And right before that, there was a group of people sitting on the bench across the hall snickering because I didn't have any business. Everybody usually goes right into the Harley store, because... hey, it's a Harley store, and the guy who runs it is a Harley guy. He wears a Harley Davidson t-shirt under a leather vest, blue jeans with a Harley belt buckle, cool harness biker boots, and a Harley bandanna, with black highway patrol shades completing the ensemble. I have to admit, he looks almost as cool as me decked out in my fur selling duds. Anyway, I digress...
So, this group of people were sitting across the hall, talking about my merchandise. I have several fur hats for sale, all of them in the Russian Trooper style. The shearling hats cost 79 dollars, and the rex rabbit hats cost 149 dollars. One of the guys walked up and picked up a hat and tried it on. His friend hollered from the bench:
"How much is it? 20 dollars?"
"Sheee-it naw. This is 150 bucks."
"150 bucks? Sheee-IT! No wonder they ain't got no business!"
(The one guy puts the hat back)
"Yeah, they're all going into the Harley store, and I don't blame em! 150 bucks for a hat? Sheee-IT!"
"Har har har har! Is all that stuff a hunert sumpin bucks? Them scarfs ain't worth a hunert sumpin bucks!"
"Sheee-it naw, it's just a knit scarf! Sheee-IT!"
And on and on and on, making fun of my little corner of merchandise. Well, I wanted to say to those guys, "You're all full of SHEEE-IT!" but I didn't. I just stood there and read my book.
Well, about 10 minutes later, a guy and his wife walked up and started looking at the hats. They picked out a shearling hat and the guy tried it on.
"Well honey, is that what you're looking for?"
"Well I dunno hun, I think so." (he looks in the mirror) "What do you think?"
"Well it's your birthday, so get whatever you want."
So the lady bought the hat for her husband, who turns 60 tomorrow. I love it when a customer is really happy with their purchase. Another case in point:
An old lady was browsing the rex rabbit knitted scarves. She asked her granddaughter for her opinion... the blue one or the grey one? I personally thought that the grey one would go better with more, since it's a neutral color.
"I like the grey one gramma, it will match more of your clothes. The blue one is just for fun."
"Thanks sweetie. I'll take the grey one!" She moved over to the shearling gloves and tried on the first pair she saw. They fit beautifully. "And the gloves too!"
As I was writing up her purchase, she told me about how she had saved and saved for this cruise, and had just enough mad money left over to buy a totem pole. Well, the totem pole next door in the ivory store cost 3000 dollars, and all she had was 200. So, she bought the scarf and the gloves instead, for 150 bucks. She was so happy, her grin split her face from ear to ear. That's what I really like, see? When a person is so happy with their purchase, it makes me happy too.
So take that, you bunch of hicks who were ragging on my little fur corner!
So, this group of people were sitting across the hall, talking about my merchandise. I have several fur hats for sale, all of them in the Russian Trooper style. The shearling hats cost 79 dollars, and the rex rabbit hats cost 149 dollars. One of the guys walked up and picked up a hat and tried it on. His friend hollered from the bench:
"How much is it? 20 dollars?"
"Sheee-it naw. This is 150 bucks."
"150 bucks? Sheee-IT! No wonder they ain't got no business!"
(The one guy puts the hat back)
"Yeah, they're all going into the Harley store, and I don't blame em! 150 bucks for a hat? Sheee-IT!"
"Har har har har! Is all that stuff a hunert sumpin bucks? Them scarfs ain't worth a hunert sumpin bucks!"
"Sheee-it naw, it's just a knit scarf! Sheee-IT!"
And on and on and on, making fun of my little corner of merchandise. Well, I wanted to say to those guys, "You're all full of SHEEE-IT!" but I didn't. I just stood there and read my book.
Well, about 10 minutes later, a guy and his wife walked up and started looking at the hats. They picked out a shearling hat and the guy tried it on.
"Well honey, is that what you're looking for?"
"Well I dunno hun, I think so." (he looks in the mirror) "What do you think?"
"Well it's your birthday, so get whatever you want."
So the lady bought the hat for her husband, who turns 60 tomorrow. I love it when a customer is really happy with their purchase. Another case in point:
An old lady was browsing the rex rabbit knitted scarves. She asked her granddaughter for her opinion... the blue one or the grey one? I personally thought that the grey one would go better with more, since it's a neutral color.
"I like the grey one gramma, it will match more of your clothes. The blue one is just for fun."
"Thanks sweetie. I'll take the grey one!" She moved over to the shearling gloves and tried on the first pair she saw. They fit beautifully. "And the gloves too!"
As I was writing up her purchase, she told me about how she had saved and saved for this cruise, and had just enough mad money left over to buy a totem pole. Well, the totem pole next door in the ivory store cost 3000 dollars, and all she had was 200. So, she bought the scarf and the gloves instead, for 150 bucks. She was so happy, her grin split her face from ear to ear. That's what I really like, see? When a person is so happy with their purchase, it makes me happy too.
So take that, you bunch of hicks who were ragging on my little fur corner!
Lydia
This morning I got to the store early. Lydia said "Hi!" as I started to set up. Lydia... Carol is her name, but she's changing it to Lydia. I've been wanting to ask her why she's changing her name, and thought that now would be a good time to ask her. I walked into the jewelry store:
"Hi Elias!"
"Hi, Lydia. Hey, if you don't mind my asking, and if it's not too personal, why are you changing your name to Lydia? I'm sorry if I'm butting into something that isn't any of my business."
As it turns out, it was a very personal question, but she didn't even flinch. She smiled and said:
"Oh no, it's ok. I just got out of a horrible 20 year relationship, and I can't stand to have my name associated with his, so I'm changing it from Carol to Lydia." By that, I guess she meant that her first name and his last name had been associated together for so long, that she didn't want any trace of her name to be his anymore.
Then she proceeded to describe a horror movie she saw once, about how a lady had just experienced something terrible and was frantically trying to scrub herself clean in the shower. She scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed, trying to get clean... not from any kind of physical dirt, but from the traumatic experience she had gone through.
"That's how I feel after this 20 year marriage," she said. "My dirvorce is final next month."
I didn't know what to say. When I qualified her possible denial of my request to know why she was changing her name as maybe being too personal, I had no idea it would be THAT personal. I stammered out something like "I'm sorry..."
She took pity on me and changed the subject by asking me why I was changing my name to Elias. I described my baptism to her... yet ANOTHER conversation that came back to that story... and the smile which erupted threatened to split her face from ear to ear.
"We need to share some fellowship then!" And she proceeded to come out from behind the counter to give me a big, heartfelt hug which lasted for about ten seconds. I was completely taken aback and overwhelmed by this completely selfless expression of camaraderie and love.
That was yesterday. This morning when I showed up at the store, Lydia came over and said this:
"What's your name again? I mean, how do I pronounce it?"
"Elias." I spoke it clearly and kind of slowly... it's a simple name, I think.
"Here, write it down for me." She produced a paper and pen. "I'm so heartbroken right now that I stammer and stutter every time I try to say your new name."
Again, I didn't really know what to say to that. I wrote it down and she smiled and waved and walked away.
Later today, I was standing here counting ceiling tiles again, and painting my nails black, when Lydia walks up:
"Bored yet?"
"Yeah, I need a recharge."
"Maybe this will help!"
She proceeds to give me a great big, long hug. Smiles all around.
"Hi Elias!"
"Hi, Lydia. Hey, if you don't mind my asking, and if it's not too personal, why are you changing your name to Lydia? I'm sorry if I'm butting into something that isn't any of my business."
As it turns out, it was a very personal question, but she didn't even flinch. She smiled and said:
"Oh no, it's ok. I just got out of a horrible 20 year relationship, and I can't stand to have my name associated with his, so I'm changing it from Carol to Lydia." By that, I guess she meant that her first name and his last name had been associated together for so long, that she didn't want any trace of her name to be his anymore.
Then she proceeded to describe a horror movie she saw once, about how a lady had just experienced something terrible and was frantically trying to scrub herself clean in the shower. She scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed, trying to get clean... not from any kind of physical dirt, but from the traumatic experience she had gone through.
"That's how I feel after this 20 year marriage," she said. "My dirvorce is final next month."
I didn't know what to say. When I qualified her possible denial of my request to know why she was changing her name as maybe being too personal, I had no idea it would be THAT personal. I stammered out something like "I'm sorry..."
She took pity on me and changed the subject by asking me why I was changing my name to Elias. I described my baptism to her... yet ANOTHER conversation that came back to that story... and the smile which erupted threatened to split her face from ear to ear.
"We need to share some fellowship then!" And she proceeded to come out from behind the counter to give me a big, heartfelt hug which lasted for about ten seconds. I was completely taken aback and overwhelmed by this completely selfless expression of camaraderie and love.
That was yesterday. This morning when I showed up at the store, Lydia came over and said this:
"What's your name again? I mean, how do I pronounce it?"
"Elias." I spoke it clearly and kind of slowly... it's a simple name, I think.
"Here, write it down for me." She produced a paper and pen. "I'm so heartbroken right now that I stammer and stutter every time I try to say your new name."
Again, I didn't really know what to say to that. I wrote it down and she smiled and waved and walked away.
Later today, I was standing here counting ceiling tiles again, and painting my nails black, when Lydia walks up:
"Bored yet?"
"Yeah, I need a recharge."
"Maybe this will help!"
She proceeds to give me a great big, long hug. Smiles all around.
Sunday, June 13, 2010
Another day in Alaska
Today I walked to work again and got all sweaty on the way. I want to get my exercise, but showing up to work all sweaty sucks. Plus, we have these roll down doors that use a machine with gears and chains to open and close them, and of course, one of my doors isn't working. So, we have to leave it open, which means that when we close, we have to move all of the merchandise into another store which isn't being used right now so it will be secure. Of course, this is great fun, showing up to work and having to set up everything, and having to tear it all down at the end of the day. We used to do that on the road... hey, I'm not on the road, I'm in Alaska! Why do I still have to set up and tear down every day?! The owner of the building, Lynn, had to go fishing yesterday when the door broke, so he just told me to 'figure it out'. Ok, I tried to 'figure it out', but I'm not a mechanical engineer. Thus, my solution is to tear down and set up every day until Lynn hires somebody to fix it. That might be a long wait. I'm not trying to imply anything by mentioning that he's Jewish, by the way... but he's Jewish. He's actually a very nice guy. He knows that I'm a recent convert to Orthodoxy, and before he went fishing and left me there with the broken door, we had a really nice conversation in which he told me that he had just discovered Jesus. This is just another example of what I was talking about yesterday, in that my conversations with people tend to flow towards my baptism and the Glory of Jesus Christ. I feel blessed to be here, truly I do. I just miss St. Maximus. I can't wait until I get to visit the church at Juneau and receive communion again.
Today there was a lot of slow time again, so I used some of it to sketch a portrait of this girl who was sitting on a bench across the hall.
As you can see from the picture, she looks like she might be a little sad or somewhat depressed. So, it was slow and I was bored, so I sketched a picture of her as she sat there on the bench. There was a coat rack which was blocking my view of her, so I frequently had to stand up get get a good look, then sit back down and sketch what I remembered. Once she looked up as I was standing up, and it was completely obvious that I was standing up to look at her. I sat back down as if my butt was made of steel and the stool was a superconducting electromagnet, and I just sat still for a minute or two. I don't know why it's always so embarrassing when somebody catches you looking at them, but such is life.
Once I had finally finished the sketch, I looked up again and saw that she was gone. Damn! I was wanting to give her the picture to cheer her up. I hurried downstairs to look for her, but didn't see her. I went outside and looked up and down the streets, but no dice. She had disappeared. All I wanted was to maybe cheer her up a little, because she looked like she was having a bad day.
This morning I was really missing St. Maximus. I tried to imagine what was going on during the liturgy at certain times as I was going about my business. I imagined Fr. Justin giving the homily, the choir singing the Litany of the Catechumens, and everybody taking communion. As it turns out, I was an hour late with these imaginings, which made me miss home even more. I've thought several times since I've been here that I might have made a huge mistake, that I've landed in a den of inequity, but then something will happen that reminds me of God and how He is in my life, even way up here on Mars, and I'll take heart again. Not having my prayer book was discouraging at first, but then I just started saying the Lords Prayer and reading the Lenten Prayer of St. Ephrem. I have Leah to thank for that, because she wrote it down for me a year ago and I've had it in my wallet since then.
I miss you:
Leah
Nancy
Mike
Ben
Leif
Louise
Pam
Jessica
The Birthisels
The Lydas
Fr. Justin
Matushka
And all of the parishioners at St. Maximus.
Pray for me please, I'm praying for you guys.
Today there was a lot of slow time again, so I used some of it to sketch a portrait of this girl who was sitting on a bench across the hall.
As you can see from the picture, she looks like she might be a little sad or somewhat depressed. So, it was slow and I was bored, so I sketched a picture of her as she sat there on the bench. There was a coat rack which was blocking my view of her, so I frequently had to stand up get get a good look, then sit back down and sketch what I remembered. Once she looked up as I was standing up, and it was completely obvious that I was standing up to look at her. I sat back down as if my butt was made of steel and the stool was a superconducting electromagnet, and I just sat still for a minute or two. I don't know why it's always so embarrassing when somebody catches you looking at them, but such is life.
Once I had finally finished the sketch, I looked up again and saw that she was gone. Damn! I was wanting to give her the picture to cheer her up. I hurried downstairs to look for her, but didn't see her. I went outside and looked up and down the streets, but no dice. She had disappeared. All I wanted was to maybe cheer her up a little, because she looked like she was having a bad day.
This morning I was really missing St. Maximus. I tried to imagine what was going on during the liturgy at certain times as I was going about my business. I imagined Fr. Justin giving the homily, the choir singing the Litany of the Catechumens, and everybody taking communion. As it turns out, I was an hour late with these imaginings, which made me miss home even more. I've thought several times since I've been here that I might have made a huge mistake, that I've landed in a den of inequity, but then something will happen that reminds me of God and how He is in my life, even way up here on Mars, and I'll take heart again. Not having my prayer book was discouraging at first, but then I just started saying the Lords Prayer and reading the Lenten Prayer of St. Ephrem. I have Leah to thank for that, because she wrote it down for me a year ago and I've had it in my wallet since then.
I miss you:
Leah
Nancy
Mike
Ben
Leif
Louise
Pam
Jessica
The Birthisels
The Lydas
Fr. Justin
Matushka
And all of the parishioners at St. Maximus.
Pray for me please, I'm praying for you guys.
Saturday, June 12, 2010
Alaska - a day at work
So far, working in this store is about as exciting a painting my fingernails black, which is what I've been doing all day. I'll paint one, let it dry for about 20 minutes, then add a layer of clear coat, and let that dry for 20 minutes. Then I'll wait 20 more minutes, and start on the next nail. I already did my left hand yesterday, and I've been working on the right today. I got here at 10:00 and now it's 3:09, and I just finished the pinkie of my right hand. Isn't that interesting?
Today is Saturday, so there is only one ship docked. Therefore, there are hardly any people walking the docks and browsing the shops. I'll probably close early, around 4:00, or whenever the Harley store closes. They usually close early on slow days, and what with it being Saturday, I figure I only have about another hour here.
A girl named Madelaine works with her mom in the jewelry store next to where I work, and on my first day, they both stopped by to introduce themselves. It went something like this:
Mom - "Hi, I'm Carol, and this is my daughter Madelaine."
Daughter - "Most people just call me Mattie."
Me - "Hi guys, I'm Ash. Nice to meet you." I shake hands with both of them.
Mom - "I'm actually changing my name to Lydia, so you can call me that if you want to (I don't know why she's changing her name, I need to ask her).
Me - "Hey, that's funny, because I just changed my name to Elias."
Mom - "Really? What a nice name, Elias. Why are you changing your name?"
At this point I described my recent baptism, and how I adopted a saints name.
Mom - "Ok, nice meeting you Elias."
Daughter - "Nice meeting you."
(exit mom and daughter)
Since I've been here, every conversation I've had with someone I haven't known has naturally evolved into my conversion story. The first day I was here, I was outside taking pictures and a lady saw me and asked if I was taking pictures of eagles. I said no, I'm just taking pictures for a friend back home. And that conversation turned into a description of my conversion. She happened to be a Christian, and it was just the coolest conversation with a total stranger, winding up with both of us wishing each other blessed journeys. God is here in Alaska.
So far I've walked about 10 miles since I've been here. It's really pretty country out here and there are plenty of places to walk. This morning I saw an eagles butt, and I'll have to take a picture and post it. It is a persistent eagles butt... you just have to see it to know what I mean. Another cool thing that happened is that I got carded at Mikes Elbow Room, a sports bar. I said to the waitress, "Hey, thanks!" She looked at me funny, then looked at my license and said "WTF?" Then I said "YAY!" Then Ed and Scott and I had some beers.
What else? Lets see... the apartment where I live has many different flavors. The first floor flavor is hair salon perm, and depending on the floor at which the elevator stops, there will be different flavors. Last night the elevator tasted like eggs. The 9th floor always tastes like fish. And the 5th floor tastes like a dead corpse. I haven't tasted any of the other floors yet, but I'm looking forward to it.
Fr. Justin mentioned that this apartment building looks like Soviet architecture... and yeah, it does. Square, ugly, and pale green. And big. I like it! Yesterday while I was standing at the window, smoking a cigarette, I could see the rain falling in sheets against the backdrop of the local mountain. It was really visible with the green of the trees behind the rain. Maybe that's why they use green screens in movies to composite stuff.
So, as I type this, I'm hungry. I forgot to make a sandwich before work, so I have to sit here and endure starvation. Until tomorrow...
Friday, June 11, 2010
My trip into outer space
I've been in Alaska now for four days. Here in Greenland internet technology is still in its infancy, so getting online depends greatly on whether or not the transistors and vacuum tubes of the 486DX server in the underground bunker are being maintained correctly by the local population of Aztecs, who are only here to work off enormous debts incurred during the Great Astec vs. Inuit Wars of 1993. Which, ironically, were fought to determine which tribe would have control over the emerging internet here at the North Pole. The Aztecs lost, and therefore were forced to relocate to Antarctica to work off their debt as IT technicians. They're not very good at it, and they don't like the liquid methane lakes which are ubiquitous here on Titan, which smell really bad. As a result, they aren't very happy and the internet isn't maintained very well here.
Anyway, the flight to Seattle was pretty uneventful, but long. I always forget how much I really don't like to fly until I'm on my way to the airport, which I suppose is better than stressing out for several days before the flight. There wasn't a whole lot of turbulence, thankfully, which is really what sets my nerves on edge. Plus, during the flight to Seattle, I was constantly distracted because my seat happened to be right next to the 'flight attendant nook', which was a little empty spot where the the flight attendants gathered and gossiped during the flight. It's amazing actually, on this flight anyway, how much the flight attendants don't do, as opposed to, say, handing out peanuts and taking orders for rum and cokes. Being a scant several inches away from the group of four attendants, I was privy to all kinds of personal information which they bandied about like a whiffle ball, such as how great a workout each of them got on the 'Total Gym'. I know the blonde's jumprope endurance record, I know how far the brunette can run on the treadmill, and I know the exact route of the older, wise one who started in California, flew to Dallas, then to Seattle, and back to California. It was so interesting. And to top it off, the flight attendant station was the only place on the entire plane with any room to stand, and everybody who was waiting for the bathroom, throughout the entire flight, stood right there, so I got about a dozen butts just several inches away from my head, for several minutes at a time, for 4 hours, as everybody waited for their turns.
One attendant, the older wise one, was very nice to me. I kept refusing beverages because I didn't want to have to get up and stand there in the designated bathroom / flight attendant nook for the bathroom (which happened to be right next to the emergency door, so if that thing happened to spring open, out I would fly, and I don't really like flying), and after the third refusal, this flight attendant got very concerned and wanted to know if the other attendants were ignoring me. I think she really wanted me to have a ginger ale.
Then the four hour layover in Seattle happened to me. First off, the Seattle airport is shaped like a giant X, which seems to be an extremely inefficient way to design an airport. In order to get to gate E, you have to walk down one length of the X and then down another length of the X, down two flights of stairs, then you have to wait for a train, which will finally deposit you somewhere in the vicinity of gate E. When I finally arrived there, it was only to learn that a Los Angeles flight had usurped our gate and departure time (apparently Los Angeles is more important than some podunk town at the North Pole), so I had to backtrack all the way to where I started so that I could wait for four hours at gate D. I got a lot of exercise though, so I guess... no, it still sucked. And to top it off, I left my prayer book on the train. Maybe somebody will find it and get some use out of it.
The plane to Ketchikan was only about 1/5 full, which was awesome. I had three seats all to myself, and I promptly fell asleep during the entire flight. When I finally arrived, it was about 10:00 local time, which was 1:00 in the morning for the rest of the world. Ed had a pizza cooking and we had some beers to celebrate my arrival. I was dead tired by then, so after pizza and beer, I hit the sack for about ten hours.
Anyway, the flight to Seattle was pretty uneventful, but long. I always forget how much I really don't like to fly until I'm on my way to the airport, which I suppose is better than stressing out for several days before the flight. There wasn't a whole lot of turbulence, thankfully, which is really what sets my nerves on edge. Plus, during the flight to Seattle, I was constantly distracted because my seat happened to be right next to the 'flight attendant nook', which was a little empty spot where the the flight attendants gathered and gossiped during the flight. It's amazing actually, on this flight anyway, how much the flight attendants don't do, as opposed to, say, handing out peanuts and taking orders for rum and cokes. Being a scant several inches away from the group of four attendants, I was privy to all kinds of personal information which they bandied about like a whiffle ball, such as how great a workout each of them got on the 'Total Gym'. I know the blonde's jumprope endurance record, I know how far the brunette can run on the treadmill, and I know the exact route of the older, wise one who started in California, flew to Dallas, then to Seattle, and back to California. It was so interesting. And to top it off, the flight attendant station was the only place on the entire plane with any room to stand, and everybody who was waiting for the bathroom, throughout the entire flight, stood right there, so I got about a dozen butts just several inches away from my head, for several minutes at a time, for 4 hours, as everybody waited for their turns.
One attendant, the older wise one, was very nice to me. I kept refusing beverages because I didn't want to have to get up and stand there in the designated bathroom / flight attendant nook for the bathroom (which happened to be right next to the emergency door, so if that thing happened to spring open, out I would fly, and I don't really like flying), and after the third refusal, this flight attendant got very concerned and wanted to know if the other attendants were ignoring me. I think she really wanted me to have a ginger ale.
Then the four hour layover in Seattle happened to me. First off, the Seattle airport is shaped like a giant X, which seems to be an extremely inefficient way to design an airport. In order to get to gate E, you have to walk down one length of the X and then down another length of the X, down two flights of stairs, then you have to wait for a train, which will finally deposit you somewhere in the vicinity of gate E. When I finally arrived there, it was only to learn that a Los Angeles flight had usurped our gate and departure time (apparently Los Angeles is more important than some podunk town at the North Pole), so I had to backtrack all the way to where I started so that I could wait for four hours at gate D. I got a lot of exercise though, so I guess... no, it still sucked. And to top it off, I left my prayer book on the train. Maybe somebody will find it and get some use out of it.
The plane to Ketchikan was only about 1/5 full, which was awesome. I had three seats all to myself, and I promptly fell asleep during the entire flight. When I finally arrived, it was about 10:00 local time, which was 1:00 in the morning for the rest of the world. Ed had a pizza cooking and we had some beers to celebrate my arrival. I was dead tired by then, so after pizza and beer, I hit the sack for about ten hours.
Monday, June 7, 2010
Alaska
I'm leaving for Alaska today, and yesterday Leah came over to say goodbye. I couldn't believe that it was happening... we hadn't spoken to each other since April 16th. The last month and a half has seemed like a bad dream that never ends. Then yesterday I saw my girl again...
But she's not my girl. I can't lay any claim to her, but I love her so. Yesterday when I saw her, and talked to her, and spent time with her, that seemed like a dream too. My friend - my best friend. The one I love was here, I could see her, I could hear her. It didn't seem real. I was so happy.
I keep thinking though, what if things hadn't happened the way she described them to me? Would she still have wanted to see me to say goodbye? Would she have cared, or would her happiness have kept me relegated to a simple memory, a phase in her life that was over and done with? I don't know. I felt so abandoned when this all started, just cut off and thrown away and forgotten. I don't want to think like that though... the girl I love said goodbye to me, we spent time together and had fun, and it was almost like it used to be. I was so happy. I hope so much that we're friends again. It feels like we are... I think we are. I just hope I'm strong enough to be selfless about this and truly be her friend.
It hurts my heart to think that she might be feeling something similar to what I've been feeling. I wish her all the happiness in the world... and I still hold onto a fools hope, I guess, that I might be able to make her happy some day. For now, I'll be in Alaska until late September. We'll see what God has in store.
But she's not my girl. I can't lay any claim to her, but I love her so. Yesterday when I saw her, and talked to her, and spent time with her, that seemed like a dream too. My friend - my best friend. The one I love was here, I could see her, I could hear her. It didn't seem real. I was so happy.
I keep thinking though, what if things hadn't happened the way she described them to me? Would she still have wanted to see me to say goodbye? Would she have cared, or would her happiness have kept me relegated to a simple memory, a phase in her life that was over and done with? I don't know. I felt so abandoned when this all started, just cut off and thrown away and forgotten. I don't want to think like that though... the girl I love said goodbye to me, we spent time together and had fun, and it was almost like it used to be. I was so happy. I hope so much that we're friends again. It feels like we are... I think we are. I just hope I'm strong enough to be selfless about this and truly be her friend.
It hurts my heart to think that she might be feeling something similar to what I've been feeling. I wish her all the happiness in the world... and I still hold onto a fools hope, I guess, that I might be able to make her happy some day. For now, I'll be in Alaska until late September. We'll see what God has in store.
Thursday, May 27, 2010
My Baptism
Saturday the 22nd. Mom called at about 7:00 and woke me up, telling me she was on her way and that she was bringing the chain for my baptismal cross. I couldn’t go back to sleep after that, so I finally got out of bed at 8:00, put on a t-shirt, shorts and sneakers, and headed out the door, intent on taking a long walk to work off some of the nervous anxiety I was feeling. I was supposed to be at the church at 9:45, so I had about an hour and a half.
Mom arrived at my place at 9:15. The walk hadn’t helped at all; I was still a ball of frazzled nerves. Imagine a rubber band pulled almost to the breaking point and then ‘thrummed’ constantly, causing little strips of stressed rubber to pop away and curl up. Imagine these pieces of curly popped rubber band pieces getting tangled up with other little pieces that have popped and curled; finally forming a tangled ball of frayed rubber band ends which are constantly being stretched even more as new frayed ends are added to the tangle. What you’re left with finally is a frazzled ball of split rubber band ends, constantly snapping and reforming under the tension as the tangles get denser and denser. That’s how I felt.
Ok, now that we’ve established the mood, mom and I drove over to my sisters place to pick her up. As we pulled up to her house, I remembered the chain for my cross... mom hadn’t shown it to me yet, and I was anxious to see it. “Okay honey, hold on...” Mom dug around in her purse and produced a small box, which she presented to me with an expectant smile. I opened it and withdrew a very pretty silver chain. Almost too pretty... wait a minute. What are those teeny tiny little sparkly things? What is this? A diamond dust chain? I winced inwardly. It seemed kind of feminine to me... but mom was waiting for my reaction. “I love it mom!”
Knocking on my sister’s front door and being immediately confronted with two huge dogs, both of them scrambling to be the first to bestow it’s slobbery, dirty pawed, scratchy clawed, crotch sniffing, wet nose rubbing, nerve wrangling affection upon us did nothing to help my nervous state, especially after having discovered that the chain for my baptismal cross would look just about right on Arwen Evenstar. I greeted the dogs. “GIT!” It came out loud, gruff, and no-nonsense. After a brief greeting, my sister quickly ushered the two dogs into the back yard. Chey and mom then disappeared into the bedroom where Chey was getting ready.
As I kind of just milled around there in the entry foyer, waiting for the women folk to finish whatever it is they do to get ready, I fairly shouted into the bedroom, “Mom, show my chain to Chey and see what she thinks!” Chey and mom ceased their talking about mother-daughter things and I listened as mom showed the chain to my sister. She didn’t hesitate with her verdict: “It’s too feminie, mom!” I knew it... it’s too feminine, my baptism will be ruined! Mom, why didn’t you get a guy chain for me? I don’t want to bear my baptismal cross on a little girly chain! I hurried to the bedroom and implored Chey to find me some kind of chain, any kind of silver chain she might have around the house. Every chain my sister showed me was either too long, too gold, too weird, or too tangled. My frustration grew and started to spill over into my mom and my sister.
I had just about decided to drive back to the house and grab my old crucifix chain - which used to belong to my grandmother - and use that for my baptismal cross. I asked mom what time it was as I was poised at the front door, keys in hand and ready to go. “9:35 honey. You still have time!” I stopped right there with the screen door half open. No, I didn’t still have time... and then it hit me. I was letting the enemy have his way with me again! AGAIN! He was ruining my baptismal morning! My stupid pride was messing everything up and making everybody tense and me miserable. Stupid pride. I took some deep breaths, calmed down, and asked to see the chain my mom had gotten me again. She gave it to me, and upon closer inspection, it really was just a normal silver chain. There wasn’t anything sparkly on it at all... it just had very fine simulated rope threads running up and down it’s length which, upon a mere cursory glance, gave the illusion of sparkling. It was actually quite nice, and there wasn’t anything feminine about it when viewed closely. And who really gives a flying horses patoot if it’s feminine, anyway? I laughed and let out some of my anxiety. Things were going to be ok. It was just a chain, and it was a nice chain. My mom loves me, and I had probably hurt her feelings by dissing her chain. I told her that the chain was fine, it was perfect in fact, and that I loved it, which is the truth. So, by this time it was getting late, and we had to GIT to the CHURCH!
I remember very clearly everything that happened before we arrived at the church. However, once we arrived, my memory starts to get a little sketchy, and it gets worse as this account of my baptism progresses. Hopefully I'm remembering everything in basically the right order, as when I'm flustered, nervous or anxious, it's hard to remember things clearly, and I was definitely flustered, nervous and anxious. When we got to the church I introduced my mom around to Dax and Nancy and Louise. Then I laid my cross on a little table with all of the other baptismal crosses, and just kind of wandered around for a while and talked to a few people. Then I saw Leah standing across the room and my heart leaped into my throat. Ok, there’s Leah... I had written her, telling her that I wanted her to come and that it was ok for her to come. It just wouldn’t have been the same without her there, but I was surprised that it was so painful seeing her there, with neither of us giving any indication that we'd noticed each other. As if we were strangers. I stood there for a little while longer with my mom and my sister, kind of thrown into a spin, and then I walked over to Leah and gave her a hug and said “Thanks for coming.” I think that was the first thing I’d said to her in over a month. She smiled and returned my hug and I went back over to my mom and sister and stood some more, waiting for things to start.
Next all of the catechumens and our sponsors went out into the hall, where we went through the 'Reception into the Catechumenate’ ceremony. We had already done this once several weeks ago, but it made sense to do it again to refresh our memories and strengthen our resolve. Fr. Justin performed exorcisms and we all renounced the enemy. Then we all turned to the west and spit on him. I wasn’t able to really get a good nasty spit for the enemy like I wanted to, or else I would have slobbered all over the books in the bookstore. I satisfied myself with just making it really loud.
Now my memory of things gets a little vague, becoming more of a disconnected jumble of images, sounds and sensations. I remember standing over by the bay windows with hardly any room to move around at all. I balanced on one foot for a while, then the other, and finally settled for resting one knee on the bench-like part of the bay window, with one hand leaning against the wall. It wasn't a comfy position, and I couldn’t see very well. Plus, I had a burning candle to deal with, and it was a challenge not to light something on fire... like Fr. Justin’s robes, which came pretty close several times to my candle flame. Hot wax dripped onto my hand a few times, adding more stress to a stressful situation. I inwardly screamed like a woman when this happened.
Fr Justin baptized the babies first, and then one by one we all climbed into the fount, and Fr. Justin dunked each of us three times: “In the name of the Father,” ... DUNK ... “and the Son,” ... DUNK... “and the Holy Spirit.” ... DUNK ... “Amen.” When I got in the water, my pants and shirt immediately inflated like balloons. Oh boy... nice. I didn’t see anybody else inflate like a balloon when they climbed into the fount. I was worried that I would be too buoyant with my clothes puffed up with air, and that I wouldn’t be able to get all the way under water. It wasn’t a problem though, and I crossed my arms in front of me, held my nose, and went under three times. It's difficult to describe how it felt... almost like a brief, sharp panic every time my head went under. I was actually afraid that I might drown when I was under water. When it was finished, I kind of remember just being on autopilot, as my brain wasn't really processing what had just happened. I think it's still processing it.
I was the second to the last to get dunked so I didn’t have to stand around soaking wet, waiting respectfully as everybody else got dunked... I only had to wait for one more person. So when all of the baptisms were finished, I went into a back room and changed into dry clothes. Then when we came back out, Fr. Justin bestowed our baptismal crosses upon us. I haven’t taken mine off yet, although it tangles with my hair when I’m sleeping. That’s ok though, I can deal with that. This cross ain’t coming off, come hell or high water.
Once again, this day is kind of a blur, so the next thing I remember after getting dressed and coming back into the church is the ‘smocking of the gown’. At least, that’s how I think of it, as when we don the baptismal gowns it’s not so much you putting the gown on yourself, as it is getting smocked by Dax and Fr. Justin. So I raised my arms and this gown was pulled down over me and around me and onto me, kind of like how I would imagine it if it were being done on an assembly line. Very efficient. By the way, I think the process should be called 'dunked, smocked, and greased’, instead of just 'dunked and greased’.
So now we are all standing a little closer to the altar, where the chrismation is performed, or what some people call ‘getting greased’. All of the catechumens were anointed with oil on our eyes (that’s the eyelids, not the eyeballs, as having oil poured into our eyes would probably suck), ears, lips, forehead, chest, back, hands, and feet. The oil kind of burned my lips a little, and I imagined myself having a rare allergic reaction and dropping dead right there in the middle of my baptism. I guess if I were going to drop dead, right then would have been the time to do it, as they say that everybody is a saint for a short while immediately after they are baptized. Then I entertained the morbid thought of someone speaking at my funeral: “He led a saintly few dozen microseconds, St. Elias the Newest.” Already canonized and everything. These are the kinds of random thoughts, or logismoi, that plague me when I’m in church. Oh, and St. Elias the New is my patron saint, by the way.
Anyway, the burning went away, and then Fr. Justin led us around the church with all of us grabbing onto his robe. Then we were led around a second time, this time through the deacons door on the right, and we entered the altar. I’d never been behind the iconostasis or inside the altar before, and I don’t remember much about it because I was so petrified by actually being back there. Fr. Justin told me to bow and venerate something, but I was so nervous that I got down and performed a full prostration and didn’t even know what I was venerating. Then I felt like a retard and got up and did the bow, and then we were led back out through the other deacons door and then we were back in front of the iconostasis again.
I’m sure I skipped a lot of stuff because this entire experience was more like a dream than something that happened to me in real life, and as such, like a dream it’s hard to remember. So this was the end of the ceremony... I was officially an Orthodox Christian, as were the other catechumens. We all stood there as the parishioners one by one greeted us and kissed us and hugged us and wished us well and many years. I endured this with a modicum of grace, I think, up until Leah approached me and gave me the Orthodox cheek kiss and hug, after which she smiled and walked away without a word. She left pretty immediately after that I guess, because I didn’t see her again.
This definitely isn’t the way I imagined my baptism happening... I always pictured it as being a lot more joyful, and that I’d be sharing it with my best friend. I’m still in a daze, kind of in shock even, because what passes for reality these days seems more like a bad dream that I should be waking up from now, any minute. It’s the dreams, not real life, that are supposed to defy logic... correct? I thought that was the way it was supposed to be, but something definitely seemed 'not quite' to me about all of this, as if one essential ingredient were missing. So I stood there, greeting the rest of the parishioners, with what felt like a God-sized hole where my heart is supposed to be. Ironic, the size and shape of that hole... I guess I should start working on getting that thing filled in.
Sunday, May 23, 2010
Walking and reading again
I was walking around the neighborhood and reading, again, and I stopped off at the Howdy Doody for what-nots and hoo-jiggers. The book I'm reading is "Way of the Ascetics", which Dax gave me as a baptism gift. I skipped right to the chapter about 'Inner Warfare', which is what I'm dealing with right now. I was struck in particular by this passage:
We are saved by hope (Romans 8:24)...
...But hope that is seen is not hope.
Wha? Huh? I didn't get that at all at first, but then I read on, and it was explained that once you see hope, it isn't hope, but hope realized; that which you were hoping for.
So what is hope anyway then? I'm still a little confused about that.
So anyway, I walked into the Howdy Doody and put the book down on the counter. The girl behind the counter looked at the book and tried to pronounce the word 'ascetics'. She asked me what the word meant, and I said that it meant... ummm... an ascetic is somebody who hangs out in the desert. And... you know, like a monk or something. A desert monk. Hmmm... but more like, somebody who is religious. A religious person. But more than that, kind of... I don't know really. I guess to my knowledge an ascetic is someone who devotes themselves fully to God.
She brightened at the last part of my tumbledown explanation, and as I was leaving, she said "God Bless!"
We are saved by hope (Romans 8:24)...
...But hope that is seen is not hope.
Wha? Huh? I didn't get that at all at first, but then I read on, and it was explained that once you see hope, it isn't hope, but hope realized; that which you were hoping for.
So what is hope anyway then? I'm still a little confused about that.
So anyway, I walked into the Howdy Doody and put the book down on the counter. The girl behind the counter looked at the book and tried to pronounce the word 'ascetics'. She asked me what the word meant, and I said that it meant... ummm... an ascetic is somebody who hangs out in the desert. And... you know, like a monk or something. A desert monk. Hmmm... but more like, somebody who is religious. A religious person. But more than that, kind of... I don't know really. I guess to my knowledge an ascetic is someone who devotes themselves fully to God.
She brightened at the last part of my tumbledown explanation, and as I was leaving, she said "God Bless!"
My Icon Corner
This is my icon corner. It started with just the blessing cross, which I bought about a year ago when I first began to suspect that there might be something to this Orthodox Christianity thing, beyond the fact that my then girlfriend was an Orthodox Christian. That particular cross had been hanging on the wall in the St. Maximus the Confessor Orthodox Mission bookstore with a price tag of a hundred dollars, and after about three months of talking myself into ponying up the money for it, I finally decided one night that I would buy that cross as a symbol of what I suspected and hoped was to be a continually growing interest in, and eventual commitment to, Orthodox Christianity.
Thus began my icon corner.
Here is a close-up of the actual icons. The Christ Pantocrator and the Creation of the Universe icons on the left were given to me as gifts. The Transfiguration icon was a freebie at St. Maximus, as was the Nativity icon. I bought the two small icons at the St. Maximus book store; one is of the Guardian Angel, and I don't know what the other one is. I don't remember who I thought it was when I bought it, and I keep forgetting to take it to church to show Fr. Justin so he can tell me. The other tiny one balancing on the Nativity icon is a personal Theotokos icon given to me by Nancy.
I have placed various items in my icon corner which symbolize people in my life whom I want to remember in my prayers. Before I describe each item individually, here is a picture of all of them together:
To kick things off, we have an item which serves a double purpose, but I only realized that just now. It's a cobalt blue bottle shaped like a violin or something, maybe a standup bass. I keep holy water in it, and I also keep two bracelets which belonged to my grandmother draped over it. The bottle was given to me by Erica Helpenstiel back in 1993 as a going away gift. I don't remember if I was going away, or if it was her... you see, she was getting married and I was moving to Austin... so it's kind of fuzzy. Anyway, I kind of see this bottle as grandmothers corner of the icon corner. Grandmother was Catholic by the way, and she died last March. March of 2009, not LAST March.
Next item up for bid is a beautiful Star Trek Communicator Pin. This belonged to a friend who I never actually met. He was the owner of a website that was all about classic video game console emulation. I knew him online for about 10 years, and he became a dear friend. He died last April... 2009, not 2010... of an awful brain disease that he had kept secret. His name is Jason Melton, but a lot of us knew him as Ice. His mom sent me some of his stuff, including this pin. RIP Ice. You are remembered. I pray for you.
Here is a bottle of oil from the vigil lamp at the reliquary of Holy Hierarch St. John, Wonderworker of Shanghai and San Francisco. My friend Nancy gave me this oil on a day when I was feeling really rotten. I've heard of Holy Oil from the St. Catherine Monastery on Mt. Sinai that can heal cancer, so I anoint myself on my chest with this oil, right above my heart. I don't know if I'm doing it right, or even if holy oil can be used to help mend a broken heart, but I try anyway. Thank you Nancy.
This is a bracelet that my sister Cheyenne gave me for Christmas. It's actually a Catholic bracelet; not Orthodox, but that doesn't matter to me. I wear it to services, and when I'm not at church, I put it here in my icon corner.
Zoe, Fr. Justin's... 4 four year old daughter, gave me this 'grocery list' one day when I was painting the closet of Fr. Justin's rent house. As I sat there painting, Zoe kept constant vigil right outside the door with an endless stream of conversation. At one point, between her favorite color and Harry Potter, she solemnly handed me this grocery list. She didn't indicate what I should do with it; it was more like she had bequeathed it to me. I keep it here in my icon corner because it is a symbol of purity and innocence, and happiness. It also reminds me that love exists and life exists, and that my own little problems do not even come close to defining reality. God bless Zoe and all Orthodox families and clergy.
These are various pendants and prayer ropes/beads which I keep on my wall. The rosary belonged to my grandmother, as did the crucifix pendant. Above that is my first Orthodox cross pendant, and above that is a cross I found on the floor at 7-Eleven. The prayer rope was a Christmas gift from Nick. I keep Nicks rope there to remind me of forgiveness and reconciliation.
Here is a photograph of Leah, some of her hair that I keep woven through several rings which belong to her but which she returned to me, the Prayer of St. Ephrem which she wrote down for me to keep during Lent, and a glass bead that I found on the road while out walking, which is identical to some beads that I gave her for her birthday in 2008. Also, I keep the blue prayer rope that she gave me draped around the blue candle holder when I'm not wearing it (you can see it in the above picture of the table items). All of these things remind me to pray for Leah, and also to remind me of forgiveness and reconciliation.
I was out walking one day, immersed in despair and self pity, when I glanced down and found this rusty old pin which reads, with a bit of difficulty, "I'm Injury Free!" I imagine this pin being some kind of incentive prize for a 'safety in the workplace' campaign at some factory. What it does is to remind me that if I can read through the rust, that is... if I can clear my spiritual sight, then I too will be injury free. I will be healed. I am, in fact, already healed, if I can only allow myself to see it and make it real.
So that's my icon corner.
The End.
Saturday, May 22, 2010
Guardian Angel
Just one note before bed. I forgot who told me this, but I've heard that when deep in prayer, it is sometimes possible to sense your Guardian Angel behind and slightly above your right shoulder. I have personally had the bejeezubs scared out of me on several occasions by a 'presence' which I've consistently felt in just that location. Sometimes it is a wispy something barely caught with my peripheral vision. Sometimes it is a muffled, indistinct sound. Sometimes it isn't anything I can detect with any of my senses; it's just a feeling... but every time it's behind me and a little to the right. Mostly it will happen when I'm standing up facing my icon corner and saying my nightly prayers, and once it happened while I was prostrating for several minutes.
It is definitely a spooky feeling, and on more than one occasion I've physically jumped, shuddered, shook, or dropped my prayer book. I've been experiencing some similar phenomena leading up to my baptism (I won't go into descriptive detail of these phenomena now, as I'm pretty tired and am about to hit the sack), which I believe are signs from God. I'm just sorry that it took such a perilous personal situation, this crisis which occurred about four weeks ago, to spur me into actually praying with some intent.
So, it isn't hard for me to accept the possibility that these feelings which continually occur above and behind my right shoulder are instances in which I can sense my Guardian Angel watching over me while I say my prayers before I lie down to sleep.
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