Semana de Caca

Last week was very cruddy. The only grandfather I've ever known back in the hospital again for the second time in a month: this time, seemingly worse. My director has placed me in the back of the bus for all intents and purposes with my troupe. A little detail I've been trying to get ironed for the last two weeks at work just won't iron out. And my boss doesn't really want to renew my contract when it ends if she doesn't have to. I'm trying to bear in mind that that's the life of a freelancer, but as I'm new to the business, it hurts. Plus I can't help but think it's some reflection on my performance. Add all that on top of us trying to purchase this house, which is stressful in and of itself, but emotionally crushing to realize we'll pretty much be owned by our house, not the other way around for a few years. The east coast realty market is so stiff it's like the friggin' cliffs of insanity!

The good news is we had some friends come into town for a visit this weekend, whom we hadn't seen in months. It was great to just hang out with them and their toddler. Of course, when they left, I got sad again.

I'm not looking forward to work tomorrow. Blech. Hopefully, things will turn around soon - be it my understanding or my situation or whatever. God, give me some patience and clarity!

Gwyneth and Geysers

Nothing to say today, really. Just found this searing editorial about Gwyneth Paltrow that made me laugh like a monkey. I thought Virginia Gal would LOVE it. Particularly the bit about how Gwynnie rolls her eyes at American mores and how she thinks if Americans travelled abroad more we wouldn't be so uptight. Yeah, because the average American can really afford to travel to Europe all the time when s/he has only two weeks vacation a year total and is worried as hell about paying for their health insurance.

Also, how I spent my Easter: making coke geysers. We tried it with a 2 liter bottle of Coke, Seven Up and Diet Coke. The Diet Coke geyer was the highest.

Born from the ponderings of others

I visited churchgal's blog the other day because I'd not gone in a while. I enjoyed reading the exchange between her and her minister father. What caught my eye, however was a post left by John Patrick. It has easily been 10 or more years since I've gone to a Maundy Thursday service or even a Good Friday service. I don't remember how they play out and since I'm a protestant, I'm sure they're not as rigidly ritualized as Catholic services. However, what I loved about JP's post is that he was able to really imagine how he would be processing the last days of Christ if he were there. I know I've never really meditated on that and I doubt few of us have ever really deeply meditated on that or any other event or period we claim we hold dear: the sacrifices of soldiers at war, the difficulties of building a new democracy, the sweat and elbowgrease of workers, etc. It was nice to see how JP imagined himself in that situation.

Often, though, I do imagine what I would think of a messianic character in today's world. As a little girl in the Southern Baptist church I remember Sunday School teachers asking, "If Jesus came today, would you follow him? If he came and told you he was the son of God would trust him and follow him?" Until I was about 10 or 11, the answer was "yes, of course." But as I got older and more wary and jaded the answer became "I don't know." At this point in my life, I'd have to say "no." The truth of the matter is: I want God in my life, I'm totally sure that God can use anyone or any method he darned well pleases to deliver what ever messages he wants, whether it's "dude, look out for that dog in the road" to "This is my commandment that you love one another." So it's not his message I would ignore. But the truth is also, there are a lot of egomaniacs out there and I'm much more likely to dismiss them than follow them. I don't know how outwardly egotistic Christ was during his ministry. But if he was as vocal about his divine status as some sections of the gospels suggest, I'd probably blow him off if he was around today. Of course, I have a deep feeling that God loves us regardless of our predispositions and is happy when we even make an effort to be in communication or relation with him. So, that's one voice from my SoBap past that doesn't haunt me anymore.

There is a distinct possibility that we may not be in church tomorrow morning. I'm hoping we do go. If we sleep in, it'll be the first Easter in my life - to the best of my recollection - that I have not gone to church. Honey has to work really late tonight and his sister, at whose church we probably would have gone, will be getting in really late from a family vacation and doesn't plan to go to church tomorrow at all.

The idea of not spending Easter morning in worship is very sad and hollow to me. It's always been my most favorite Sunday. Church on Easter Sunday brims with the resurrection and rebirth of the human heart. Even in the most boring of churches it's always felt festive!

I was hoping to do a seder with some Jewish friends of mine this week. But we just kind of casually mentioned the possibility and then I didn't hear from them. I guess it was just as well. I was nasty sick to my stomach Wednesday night. If I were Elijah I would've totally stayed away from whatever table Molly was at.

There's a Lutheran church about a block from us that advertised a service at an early, but doable, hour. I'm hoping we make it. Plus, it'll get us out early enough that we can hit a restaurant before the regular 11 o'clock services let out. I really need to be in a state of worship right now. I don't have to go to church every Sunday - or even a church; I've been meaning to go to synagogue with a friend of mine some Friday evening - but going only once to three times a year just ... feels like I'm missing something. It's like a hug and I've got no one to hug and no one is hugging me. I need some refills.

Is this an April Fool Joke?

Anyone else having trouble posting to blogger, today? I posted earlier this morning and nothing is showing. I tried changing my template and no go there, either. Phooey and caca!

Charred Homeland

To the right is a photo of the fires that swept through the Texas Panhandle last month.

I was born there and lived there until I was 12. I still have plenty of family there, but I haven't visited that part of the state in about 6 years. I miss it on occasion. Sadly, I don't anticipate returning there anytime in the near future. Despite nostalgia, the pull I feel to visit isn't strong enough for me to make a deliberate effort to go. But last month's fires had me nervous. Not just for the safety of cousins and aunts and uncles I have there, but just because I felt like my old plains were under attack.

That geography, I believe has shaped a lot of my personality. I'm mostly calm, have been known to be tempremental, and I'm easily affected by those around me. I'm pretty easy going and will do my best to be open. I love the wind and I love my elbow room and wish everyone could have elbow room, too. (That's the saddest part of East Coast living to me: tons of kids growing up w/o backyards.)

When the Dixie Chicks sing "Wide Open Spaces," I know exactly what they mean. Even the hymn, "There's a Wideness in God's Mercy" hearkens to me the same sentiment of the land of the aforementioned song: "room to make big mistakes." Though a big sissy when it comes to tornadoes - and frankly anyone who's grown up in the plains of America repects the weather - I miss the gusty wind, and I always liked the plains because at least you could see what was coming and where to seek shelter. Which may also explain why in my adulthood I've become more clausterphobic. We live in a huge metro area. We vacation in large metro areas and we visit our families in large metro areas. I enjoy all of that very much, but I admit, at least once a year I feel like clawing the clothes off my body and just running through land unpocked by buildings or mountains. People are often fond of waxing sentimental about the sea in literature and in song. I like the ocean fine. The lapping of the water, etc, but for me, I'm the same way about the Panhandle plains and the desert Southwest of New Mexico and Texas. I must go back to the Plains again/ to the lonely Plains and sky/ And all I ask is good kite and a breeze to guide her by.

My father sent me a narrative account of one of the ranchers in Perryton during the week of the blazes. Incidentally, it was written by the author of the Hank the Cowdog books, a series I enjoyed as a kid. The same Texas wind that I so often long for, that as a child I'd catch in my skirts and dresses out on the playground until I felt like I was a landsail, became a weapon against the people of the Panhandle. It's heartbreaking. But again, when you live there you have a love-hate relationship with the weather. People on the opposite coasts of our country like to roll their eyes at those who live in "fly-over country" because of their religious ferver. And I join the sentiment often. However, I also totally understand the deeper religiosity of people in mid-America. When your livelihood and the economy of your community depends on the weather and the health of crops or livestock, how can you not believe you live by the whim and mercy of God? Why should we roll our eyes?

March is typically the beginning of severe weather season in the Texas Panhandle. "In like a lion and out like a lamb," is pretty accurate on the high plains - except for the "out like a lamb" bit. That usually comes in June. Winter was exceptionally hot and dry there this year. (Especially hot. Amarillo should NEVER be 70+ degrees in January.) For the sake of the folks still coping with their losses and with the prospect of the traditionally dry summer, I think I'll follow the advice of the West Texas mantra: "pray for rain."