Settler words&music in S'ólh Téméxw, (leanpub.com/upsun) living where privilege meets precarity in MST country. she/her/they———– Novels: Midnite Moving Co., Upsun; Sweep Off Those Waves coming soon, Hair Sinister after that. —Restore All Indigenous Lands!
I am feeling medium blah right now, to the point I’m thinking I won’t participate in distribution of Halloween stuff or decorate. That’s a bit unusual for me.
I just told somebody not to use the word Gypsy, cause it are an ethnic slur.
Happy Halloween!
Right now I am using Scrivener to assemble a book of all the small small things I’ve written over the years, snippets of this and that, some ranty, some funny, some just plain weird. The project is already almost 20K long, so I am thrilled. And I haven’t even started to draw in from the paper pile – this is all stuff from my blog, more or less.
I spent so much time complaining about Katie, I think with the cafe I got what I deserved. That plus some other sincerely unpleasant things are what I learned.
However, I should really get going on the other two projects (Neil Gaiman “Make Good Art”), so I am going to put on a restorative cup of tea and run some laundry and get going on the other projects.
for a callback
for the onset of a period of adjustment – I’ve finally bought my machine.
for inspiration about esthetics for sunday
for inspiration to make my comments on the minister’s Rite of Ordination
but despite the waiting there has been movement; I made supper for breakfast this morning; chops and fresh green beans and fresh brussels sprouts, quartered lengthwise, both steamed together, and quartered purple spuds done up in rosemary and garlic and salt like last time since they were a spectacular hit if the comments were any indication. That you get to watch them disappear and get thanked for them… that’s rooted in the place happiness comes from.
and I have my machine. It smells plasticky, but that is really hard to avoid. There are a number of lovely features, preheated moistened air, a quiet period so you can sleep before it fires up and then just sleep through that part, really quiet fans, a really nice LONG and robust power cable for those times when you really have to string it aways across a floor and he gave me a good long walk through the features. The mask I’m already used to; it is apparently a medium and covers both nose and mouth. It’s of a milky silicone hue, and sensorily I must report with all gravity that it feels like somebody’s upended a little hovercraft over my face. Before I figured out how to seat it properly, there’d be blasts of icy cold air going across my eyebrows, evenly on both sides, until I (once again I am not exaggerating) thought my eyebrows were going to freeze in the act of fleeing as far up my forehead as they could fling themselves.
In other acts of random candor, I must report now in a spirit of feminist self criticism.
I recently started plucking my eyebrows so that about half their normal mass is now yielding before the first pair of tweezers I ever owned that was worth a docken.
I am pleased with the results and believe it makes me look, along with new stylish glasses, and a short neutral haircut, and me resting in the ammoniacal arms of Garnier number 60, reasonably well-kempt in a low key way. I no longer care to wear contacts even though I own a relatively recent prescription pair; the capacity to wear makeup except in the context of a miracle play or other public event, or possibly dressing up for an awards show I got invited to by accident… I wouldn’t even wear makeup to my own wedding, were my life to break out in bizarreries of that nature; no creature who loved me would countenance it, let alone ask for it.
But I must now say that every ravaged follicle under both eyebrows rose up and said in one voice, as the arctic blast from my cpap mask chased my denuded brows into the heather, “Bet you wish you hadn’t plucked us now, you sellout!” I can’t say how much warmer I would have felt, but their ghostly cries interrupted my five minutes of thinking of this and that before I fall into my nightly ‘sleep’.
I’m amazed I remember that; my sleep is like a special case of amnesia, where all my bad memories go down dark hallways and get conveniently throttled, while all the sunshine and fireworks and gleaming new bicycles and a pair of pantyhose that lasted ten years lived.
My Mac died, and I’m sad. I have another machine, so I’m happy.
There is a balance in everything. Sometimes you’re at the pivot point, and sometimes you’re hanging on for dear life off the end. Sometimes the only thing you care about, as you fly through the air frightened and alive and hyperaware, is that the right kind of music is playing. That is the rather neurasthenic and precious point I find myself at, and I’ve tied myself into this wildly swinging rope in the hope that inertia reasserts itself and the rope quits moving soon. I have a sack of popcorn, a tarot deck and a small stringed instrument.
Good news first, I have been asked to come in and talk to a recruiter this afternoon. This is the closest I’ve gotten to genuine job hunting activity in months so I am obviously thrilled.
Bad news. I’ve lowered the price and still can’t get anybody interested in the cafe; I will have to break the lease. HEAVY HEAVY SIGH.
Tarot for Atheists, a couple of hundred words’ worth of progress.
Turkey soup is on the stove – I will adjust seasoning shortly and then start freezing it in containers. Jeff can’t stand the smell of the bones, and has no idea how this sentence would have ended if I hadn’t backspaced over it.
Replaced cpap machine with one that smells a little less disgusting. I must make a purchase decision within 2 weeks.
Completed writing down a song, converted it to midi and fired it off to mOm. I only have another hundred songs to write out. It really IS the Song That Never Ends.
Herewith today’s linkorama:
This guy and guys like him are why I make no further efforts to date.
If you rape a girl and leave her naked outside in freezing weather, and you work for your family’s restaurant, and your local prosecutor despite eyewitnesses and video refuses to prosecute, and then the whole town turns on the rape victim and burns her house down, well, the internet just might give bad reviews to your restaurant.
There are 415 hymns in the UU hymnal (“The Grey Book”) Singing the Living Tradition, and although I’ve been going to Beacon Unitarian Church nigh on 15 years, I’ve not heard more than a tenth of them. I won’t be addressing the readings, that will be another post.
There are additional hymns I will reference from the (“Teal Book”) Singing the Journey Hymnal, which (and here my prejudices flow like an unattended bathtub…) has a bunch of songs in it from the people who put the hymnal together (read the credits for the authors, and then look at who wrote what and tell me I ain’t lyin’) which sound like anemic show tunes and are expletive hard to sing for altos, but it definitely widens the scope of what can be sung in church, although it’s my preference to let the choir handle it, because I don’t like many of those songs and would prefer not to voice them, however frequently people tell me I’ll start liking them eventually. (Mushy lyrics and ditzy tunes, o well). These two sentences deleted for excessively high sour grapes content. Yeah. Okay, there are some good tunes in it, I love Blue Boat Home, which Gary and Elva brought into a service in such an emotionally appealing way that I can’t help but applaud them.
But, erm, why sing at all?
Hymn singing in church is a purposeful way of:
Herewith my meander through the main hymnal, with a nod to various connecting points. At this point, however, I must pause and say that David Hamilton’s piano playing has enhanced every aspect of worship, and that his dedication and ability are an adornment to our church. For further info on tunes.
Hymn 1. May nothing evil cross this door. Louis Untermeyer wrote the words, Robert N. Quaile wrote the music. We have sung this once to my recollection; I particularly love the last lines, which speak to our wandering state, tent dwellers in a world of settled churches. “Though these sheltering walls are thin, may they be strong enough to keep hate out and hold love in.” It’s in waltz time.
Hymn 145. As Tranquil Streams. Another of many gems from the Musicalisches Hand-buch, which has been feeding congregational singing for over three hundred years, it has a tune recognizable to any Protestant but the lyrics are… well, Unitarian, as in written by a relatively prolific Unitarian hymn lyric writer by the name of Ham. My favourite line: “A freedom that reveres that past but trusts the dawning future more, and bids the soul, in search of truth, adventure boldly and explore.” Sounds like a Star Trek hymn, and certainly a suitable hymn for a lifelong SF fan. This is one of our congregations mainstays.
Hymn 348. Guide My Feet. (I sang this to the KSS, the former minister as HO-OLD my PU-URSE, while I run this race. It was appropriate in context.) A real corker, if sung with sufficient enthusiasm and all our basses are in da house to sing that line. It’s a traditional tune, pleasingly simple and with loads of gospel flair.
Hymn 211. Jacob’s Ladder. Like a number of other hymns in the hymnal, this resonates with my childhood. One of the many folk groups we listened to constantly back then had a really fine version of this on an album. It was one of the Limelighters, Kingston Trio, Chad Mitchell Trio (or other) albums. It was wonderful hearing it in church for the first time, and as I recollect I asked for it as a hymn for one of the services I delivered. Obviously the lyrics have changed from the original…
Hymn 108. My Life Flows On. AKA How can I keep from singing. This is one of the hymns I sing in my head, a LOT. The lyrics strike me as facing the trials of life with a tranquil and patient spirit. All of the lyrics are moving and essential… the last verse in particular I love. “When tyrants tremble as they hear the bells of freedom ringing, when friends rejoice both far and near, how can I keep from singing? To prison cell and dungeon vile, our thoughts to them are winging; when friends by shame are undefiled, how can I keep from singing?” All as a reminder of those who do not enjoy the benefits of living in Canada in the circumstances we enjoy. Often I sing the first lines to myself… “My life flows on, in endless song, above earth’s lamentation. I hear the clear, though far off song, that hails a new creation.” So mote it be.
Hymn 324. Where My Free Spirit Onward Leads. The truest and saddest song in the hymnbook, I definitely have used this one a couple of times in services, and I’m the only one who did, to my recollection. The minor tune, an English folk melody, is lilting and questioning at the same time. The lyrics, by my personal favourite Alicia S. Carpenter, contain the following gem. “Eternity is hard to ken, and harder still is this: a human life when truly viewed is briefer than a kiss.”
Hymn 361. Enter, Rejoice and Come In. Well now. I love this hymn so much I mentioned it in my “Cognitive Bias and Congregational Life” homily, referenced to your left. When I first started attending UU services it was at the Lakeshore UU Congregation and a very excellent pianist would be playing this as I climbed the stairs (where a beautifully coloured and handlettered sign welcomed me, like a hug, honestly). I thought with the naivety of the newbie that ALL UU Congregations started their services that way and I was saddened to find that nope, every UU congregation is like a different fingerprint gathered from the same body. And then I cheered up, because individuality within unity is good.
Hymn 291. Die Gedanken Sind Frei. Ah, another gem from my past, as sung with tremendous musicality, precision and enthusiasm, by the Limeliters. When I first started attending Beacon at Place Maillardville, we had two elderly German speakers in the congregation, and I was BLISSFUL when they sang, standing shoulder to shoulder at the back of the congregation, in the original German. One of those men escaped from Hitler. Both were mighty hearts for justice and learning. It’s a song with a LOT of meaning for me; I’m always thrilled when it’s in the order of service.
Hymn 8. Mother Spirit, Father Spirit. A plea to the Spirit for assistance in understanding our lives; as deeply Unitarian a hymn as can be, having been written, lyrics and tune, by one of our martyrs, Norbert ÄŒapek, who died in a concentration camp in 1942. The tune is simple and yet heart-rending. Sung measuredly and reverently, it’s an amazing work for congregational singing.
Hymn 16. ‘Tis a Gift to Be Simple. Here we borrow from the American Shaker tradition, and a fine borrowing it is, too. It’s a good one to put in the order of service if you know things will run long…. cause it’s so short you feel like you’re standing up and sitting down in the same breath.
Hymn 21. For the Beauty of the Earth. Gentle lyrics and a singable tune make this a favourite of mine.
Hymn 30. Over My Head. Another spiritual brought lovingly into our tradition. It does have God language, but as I have described repeatedly elsewhere, I have no objections to God language.
Hymn 34. Though I May Speak with Bravest Fire. From 1st Corinthians 13, to a lightly modified English folk tune. “Though I may speak with bravest fire, and have the gift to all inspire, and have not love, my words are vain, as sounding brass, and hopeless gain.” As stern a warning to Unitarians not to be chatty intellectuals as we get in the hymnbook.
Hymn 38. Morning Has Broken. A very slightly different version than the wonderful Cat Stevens rendition, which messes me up almost every time I sing it with the congregation despite David’s best efforts, but I don’t care, I’m always happy to see it in the service.
Hymn 55. Dark of Winter. “And then my soul will sing a song, a blessed song of love eternal”. Sung by the choir, this song has reduced me to silent weeping. Winter services are so NECESSARY. Anything to get out of the house and see people. “Let your peace flow through me.”
Hymn 73. Chant for the Seasons. A great hymn to include for solstice and pagan friendly services, it has a charming Czech folk tune and lyrics like a sensory tour of the changing seasons.
Hymn 95. There is More Love Somewhere. Apart from the fact that every time I see this in the order of service I think “Well, that’s a heck of an endorsement for our congregation if we sing about there being more love somewhere… else,” I enjoy this African American spiritual borrowing, which is full of plaintive longing for joy. “I’m gonna keep on… til I find it….”
Hymn 99. Nobody Knows the Trouble I’ve Seen. Can’t exclude that song from the hymnal. “Although you see me, going ‘long so, oh, yes, Lord! I have my troubles here below, oh, yes, Lord.”
Hymn 100. I’ve Got Peace Like a River. Sounds traditional, but it was actually composed in 1974. It is a very simple and singable tune, and I always like what the congregation does with it.
Hymn 109. As We Come Marching, Marching. Suitable for many occasions at church, but especially for woman warriors for social justice and International Women’s Day. “Our lives shall not be sweated from birth until life closes; hearts starve as well as bodies, give us bread but give us roses.” “As we come marching, marching, unnumbered women dead, go crying, through our singing, their ancient song of bread.”
Hymn 118. This Little Light of Mine. A truly awesome song, begging for four part harmony and a kickass uptempo effort by everyone, it is guaranteed to cheer you up on the gloomiest of mornings.
Hymn 121. We’ll Build a Land. Carolyn McDade for the tuneage and a little bit of Isaiah and Psalms, repurposed, for the lyrics. “Come build a land where sisters and brothers, anointed by God may then create peace, where justice shall roll down like waters, and peace like an ever flowing stream.” It’s long and a bit complicated compared to many hymns but definitely worth it in worship.
Hymn 123. Spirit of Life. Carolyn McDade has provided Beacon with one of our signature songs (she being responsible for both words and music). Short, sweet, with deceptively simple lyrics, for all its brevity a truly great hymn.
Hymn 128. For all that is our life. Beacon uses a portion of this as the responsive song after the collection. I was irked when KSS introduced it and now it’s a comforting lodestone in the center of the service. “For all that is our life, we give our thanks and praise, for all life is a gift which we are called to use to build the common good, and make our own days glad.” Can’t argue with those sentiments!
Hymn 131. Love Will Guide Us. Some hymns, rather than associating directly with the church, you associate with church members. During the amazing/awful period of the getting of the Welcoming Congregation imprimature, Peggy asked us to sing this at the end of some of our meetings, and also we sang it many times at her insistence at the end of our Chalice Circles. Happy sigh. So no, can’t think of this song without thinking of Peggy, and the articulation of her voice singing it.
Hymn 159. This Is My Song. Oh my how very yes. We get to sing Sibelius in church on a regular basis. The tune is very familiar, although I keep messing about with the dotted quarter, wanting to flatten it all out, although if I keep my ears open I can hear David gamely attempting to get us to sing it as written. And who can fault Lloyd Stone’s brilliant lyrics. “This is my home, the country where my heart is/here are my hopes, my dreams, my holy shrine/but other hearts in other lands are beating/with hopes and dreams, as true and high as mine.” Absolutely beautiful, and I love singing it. Also see Hymn 318 to the same tune We Would Be One. The lyrics for that one are almost as beautiful.
Hymn 163. For the Earth Forever Turning. A beautiful slow waltz time hymn which is a love song to our home, our planet earth.
Hymn 177. Sakura. “Cherry blooms, cherry blooms, pink profusion everywhere.” A wonderful hymn for spring in Vancouver, full as it is of cherry blossoms, or, as Lady Miss B refers to them, CHUBBLIES! We get to sing in rote Japanese, too. We also sing it for Hiroshima Day.
Hymn 188. Come, Come Whoever You Are. A well used ingathering song, it is wonderful to start the day with a paraphrase from the poetical and spiritual genius known as Rumi. “Come, come, whoever you are, wanderer, worshipper, lover of leaving, ours is no caravan of despair, come, yet again come.” A sly reference to our mobile ways, and a candid revelation of the difficulties of a spiritual path. Sometimes we sing it straight, sometimes somebody up front keeps time and we sing it as a four part round. Either way, count me in!
Hymn 231. Angels We Have Heard on High. It just isn’t Christmas if we don’t sing this. This was my favourite Christmas Carol as a child, and singing it congregationally feels like a cup of hot chocolate on a miserable night!
Hymn 298. Wake, Now, My Senses. A call to get off one’s duff and work for justice. “Wake now my vision of ministry clear/brighten my pathway with radiance here/mingle my calling with all who will share/work toward a planet transformed by our care. The tune is a traditional Irish melody and Thomas J.S. Mikelson wrote the lyrics.
Hymn 304. A Fierce Unrest. I can’t think of this song without thinking of John. It’s definitely a science fiction Unitarian hymn. He and Brooke and Tom and Peggy sing, or sang this, every chance possible, and introduced it to many a filker. Don Marquis wrote the lyrics. “Sing we no governed firmament, cold, ordered, regular; we sing the stinging discontent that leaps from star to star.” It’s got a slightly awkward tune, but I don’t care, the lyrics make it all worthwhile. The lyrics of Hymn 343 are memorable too… A Firemist and a Planet contains the words: “A firemist and a planet, a crystal and a cell, a starfish and a saurian, and caves where ancients dwelt, the sense of law and beauty, a face turned from the sod, some call it evolution, and others call it God.” About as Unitarian a sentiment as is possible, I’d reckon.
Hymn 346. Come Sing a Song with Me. Carolyn McDade’s sweet and simple hymn, which I always love singing. Usually harmony, much to the consternation of the tone deaf members of the congregation who are standing next to me and leaning on my voice to find their way to the tune. And tone deaf is okay. Congregational singing shouldn’t be a popularity contest or only held up for people who can follow a tune. Even if I hadn’t thought that way at the beginning, filking would have cured me of that little caustic wound of elitism.
Hymn 305. De Colores. A gaily cheerful hymn, based on a Spanish folk tune, a little hard to sing for my taste, but part of our repertoire for sure. “All the colors abound for the whole world around and for everyone under the sun.” Amen.
Hymn 347. Gather the Spirit. The great Unitarian songwriter Jim Scott is responsible for this one. “Gather in peace, gather in thanks, gather in sympathy now and then/gather in hope, compassion and strength, gather to celebrate once again.”
Hymn 360. Here we Have Gathered. “May all who seek here find a kindly word, may all who speak here feel they have been heard.” That about wraps up how we should be toward newcomers… and oldtimers.
Next up: A drunkard’s walk through the spoken word portion of the UU hymnal.
Woke up this morning, checked facebook and found out that relatives of a friend of mine were under fire in Westgate Mall in Nairobi. I told Salim that I could only hope that I’d never get into religion or politics to the extent that I felt shooting my neighbours was appropriate. Twenty dead at least, fifty injured at least. What a world.
Saw Keith briefly yesterday, and read the Shiduri sequence out of the Epic of Gilgamesh to him. I liked the new translation / new gloss of it so much I actually bought it. As a writer I guess I feel I should own the oldest surviving story (there are older documents but they are storage related…).
My stop digging exercises have commenced; the kitchen is coming along and I’ll be poking at other piles of disorder gradually over the next few weeks. Rome wasn’t destroyed in a day. Also, wrote stuff yesterday, put a song into Songwriter, did some ‘work on my projects’ stuff as well as cleaning and watching tv. Also, applied for a job, since one of my contacts hailed me and gave me the frequency. Nothing is likely to come of it, but I can’t look any gift horses in any particular elevation.
The exercises continue apace. Next physio Monday, next doc appointment a month.
I tried the cpap again last night and MAYBE got two hours. I think my sleep disorder is actually a little more nuanced than this machine can deal with. Also, I really think I’ve got the wrong mask.
I got a really good and extremely cheap back rest for the driver’s seat in Ziva. She has been very well behaved since she was smacked in the parking lot.
Another nibble on the café.
I leave you with a John Shirley quote (from New Taboos).
People who are quadriplegic have stated that they feel less emotion than they could when they could still feel their entire bodies. The projection of the self into our electronics reduces the relationship to the body, the seat of our emotions, and for several reasons that might lead to an increase in psychopathology.
It takes an adult to admit a mistake, and okay, I made one. I said something without thinking to a customer that wasn’t the customer’s business, and Katie let me know how angry she is. And still is. Katie and I after much discussion are going to sell the cafe. Wish us luck in selling it!
I am obviously quite miserable. I’ve spent so much time and money getting the place up to snuff, and one would think that it’s foolish to bail without giving it a chance, but Katie has indicated that she’s no longer interested and I know in my heart I cannot work six days a week for the next six months until I can give myself a break at Christmas. Maybe Chipper can work that hard for a season, but I know I can’t.
Miserable or not, I have to face facts, and they are plain and unequivocal. I’ll be meeting a potential buyer this afternoon. I googled the buyer and they already ran a bakery on the Sunshine Coast, so they won’t be starting from scratch like we did.
I had a lot of hope. Now I just have a lot of paperwork and a very heavy heart. When it’s done, and all wound up, I’ll start phase II of the ‘reinventing myself’ plan.
She really really is! She proved her worth repeatedly during the shop (and its aftermath) this morning. A good partner. She’s showering and gearing up for a day spent with friends right now.
I am going to have a lazy Sunday, and plan tomorrow… a day when my oldest child turns 27. Anything I say on the subject is going to draw a hollow horse laugh from the cherished progenitors, so I shall turn the subject to something else.
We have precisely one catering job for July and my task tomorrow (after I see the doc about apnea stuff) will be to devise a plan to git moar bizness. I am going in in the morning before the doc appointment to make cheese scones ( a great way to dispose of leftover sliced cheese from the previous week). Also, I learned from Nevada, the renter who hopefully will come in August, that if you proof the biscotti in loaf format you save a pile of time and effort; the biscotti made that way were so good that I started crying when I ate them, and declared “Best biscotti evar!” and so you can see why I was glad that Jeff and I got the leftovers for that batch but the rest of the batch went to the second best user desk staffer I ever met, former colleague from Schneider, Mike. (Jeff comes first OF COURSE). He useta love it when I brought in biscotti, and me knowing that keeping the IT guys happy was a prerequisite for happy corporate serfdom, he always got his share. Now he pays! bwa ha ha!
Otherwise we had a slow day, but it certainly had other compensations.
Now to laundry and loafing…
after the morning, which was emotionally exhausting and frankly a new recent low point, I went into the shop to bake and wash dishes, and within minutes I was lying on the floor wondering what the fuck just happened.
I skidded on a piece of plastic on the floor, collided with the pizza oven, and then the sweet sweet floor rose up to meet me. I never hit my head or lost consciousness, so I was able to immediately diagnose that I’d dislocated my right shoulder. I got up from the floor walking like a zombie and shot through with pain, called Jeff, and he couldn’t come get me because he was having mobility issues of his own. I called 911 and waited. And waited. And waited. I was coping with levels of pain and disorientation that are right up there with giving birth unattended. I couldn’t control my breathing and I was sweating so hard I couldn’t see.
The boys from #2 firehouse came and attempted to administer oxygen, and tried to put my arm in a sling but I was screaming and crying a little too enthusiastically for that. The firemen were very kind. I did a lot of moaning and crying waiting for the ambulance. After a very very long wait for the ambulance (yesterday was a record day for the Emerg because of a lot of MVA’s roof falls tree falls and other crush injuries (the announcements for cleanup help in emerg got squawkier and squawkier while I was in MTU)) I finally dipped my beak in some blessed, blessed nitrous, which doesn’t kill pain as much as it prevents you from screaming about it.
After the eternity of a twenty minute ambo ride I was shoved against the wall in triage and Dr. Lim came within 5 minutes and said, “I don’t think it’s dislocated.” And I said, then why does it hurt like a mofo and I’m walking like a zombie??? He checked again and faster than it takes to describe it, the ball went back in the socket.
Then many hours of waiting for xrays and results, and then I was released with a referral to a bone doc, 6 T3s, movement instructions and a sling, since it turns out the shoulder is broken as well as formerly dislocated. Right shoulder OF COURSE.
I slept about as well as could be expected and am now attempting to come to terms with what is going to be a longish and interesting recovery. The shop will have to be sold, I can’t do nothing for 6 weeks or however long this takes. I’ll know more on the 26th when I see the bone doc. I did advise that I have extensive numbness down that arm and that my two outside fingers are very tingly and weak; whether this presages really bad news for that nerve or is just my response to swelling who knows; Jeff advised me to be optimistic but not to lighten up about knowing what’s going on which I think is fine advice.
I am very glad I don’t live alone. I am super grateful to my church family, who have been souls of kindness.
I am alone in the shop, sitting up front and wondering where the heck the sun went to.
Some ratfucker called and said that the woman who used to own this place ran a brothel out of here. Uh, no, she didn’t. She had customers drop by late to pick up arepas. I suppose it’s POSSIBLE that a devout Jehovah’s Witness could sell poon on the side, but given my interactions with her, I would say that possibility is what you might call out by Neptune remote. I so wanted to tell the guy that unless he paid for it himself he should shut up. Instead I left my dreadful Moral Qualms aside and ran through the menu and invited him to be a customer. Go me.
Scammer came in yesterday and I sent him on his way with a “You let me know when you come up with $34 dollars to get that shipment of maple syrup out of hock! I just want you to know that I can’t give you money for something I can’t see or taste.” He seemed very downcast, and I’m sorry, but I would at least shave, shower, change my clothes and pare my nails before I tried something like that. The hell is wrong with people, I dunno….
Bought insurance for Ziva and promptly lost the tags. Go me. Now to file a police report.
I put up a sign advertising Maple Bacon Muffins and just as fast took it down, as one of our regulars cleaned us out of the day-olds. He said, “I love you guys’ muffins and soups!” This is especially gratifying because he used to be a hotel chef (he fixes bikes now, talk about yer right livelihood) and he sure knows from food.
Hey pOp everytime I try to get your biscotti off to you something else screws up in my car or I can’t find an appropriate box. Promise I’ll get it out before the end of the week.
And in other news Jeff and I are almost through Third Watch. My fave character is still Sully, but Bosco and Yokas are running neck and neck for second. Jeff and Katie and I have started a rewatch of the Wire when we’re in the same place at the same time.
I put a deposit down on the cafe yesterday. So begins an enterprise.
The only thing I don’t understand about the rogue LAPD cop Christopher Dorner is not why he hasn’t been caught – he will be, and I cheerfully predict that he’ll go quietly and not die in a hail of gunfire – it’s why nobody’s bought the domain name yet.
My fellow board member Audrey has lost her mother. She was well into her nineties. Blind Lemming Chiffon, when we had dinner at Conflikt, said that until you’ve lost a parent you can’t understand what it’s like. That was also the same supper where he gave me the Ebay overview on what allows him to sell like a master, and where he recommended Searching for Sugar Man, one of the best and most astonishing music documentaries I have ever seen.
Jeff is having pie for breakfast. He’s a rebel.
I was thinking (as I had another crying bout thinking about John last night) about loss. I thought, “Ah, so selfish. It is not my love for him that hurts me. I will have that forever; I can’t stop loving him just because he’s dead. I’m sad because he loved me, and he’ll never stop me from falling off a mountain, or give me a lift on his motorcycle, or make me laugh, or sing with me, or feed me or lift my spirits or be a familiar face in a crowd of strangers ever again. And that is why I am sad. Not because someone I love died. It’s because someone who loved me died.”
I saw both of the kids yesterday, yay, and fed Rob and Keith as well as Jeff. I made pork schnitzel, taters, broccoli and carrots, and there was a tablecloth and pie and two kinds of ice cream, so it was rather festive, even without beer. I’ve gone off beer again. There is a medical condition which I’m too polite to whine about in public which improves by about 30% when I don’t drink beer, and it definitely hurts the insomnia when I drink beer. I just love beer and wish it wasn’t so mean to me.
It’s a fine axemurderer’s fog out there this morning.
Obviously I have a lot of work to do before Katie calls me for our trek up to City Hall, so I’ll get to it.
The newest character in Midnite Moving can be sent to sleep for a couple of hours by saying gay schlafen, which is go to sleep in Yiddish. Which is the kind of thing that happens when two people who are alien mad scientists who shouldn’t be having or raising children decide “I’ma risk it”. And don’t you wish you had THAT app.
Awoke far too early this morning. (boring SG1 reference) Amanda Tapping tweeted about her Bouvier, George, who’s 120 lbs of lapdog, and whose gas rivals that of Christopher Judge. These are the kinds of things I find teddibly amusing, which is as much as you need to know about the compos of my mentis these days.
I am arguing with myself this morning as to whether I really want to go to an all day church event about growth. I think it’s a waste of money, but I am curious about how this expensive Unitarian boffin – who just so happens to be the establishing minister for the church – is going to fire us up. I don’t want to go, as I am afraid I will ‘air my views’ in a ‘less than respectful or helpful way’. Maybe I should. Teach the controversy and all.
The waste of money part comes from the notion that growth comes from being an attractive church. Our Religious Education program, which is the magnet which draws young adults with children to the church, is fanTAStic in terms of curriculum and staff . no srsly . but badly housed. I mean, really badly housed. The space we’re renting doesn’t suit and most parents come in and see it and recoil in horror. We have tried to get this ameliorated but we DON’T OWN THE BUILDING, and of course unless every elder in the congregation drops dead and leaves his or her entire estate to the church, we never will own a building either. On the basis of my conversations with other churches this not having a building ain’t a bad thing. Church buildings get older than human beings eventually and there’s nothing like remediating asbestos tiles and leaky roofs and recalcitrant dragon-furnaces to put a damper on Sunday worship and cast a pall of gloom over the Board.
As it is, we can do church anywhere, with despatch and aplomb. We’d hate to move again, but we will if we have to, and church will continue no matter what.
Looks like Katie’s buying a restaurant. She’s seen it done right and done wrong, and I’m sure she’ll be fine. We do NOT have big plans. We have small ones. I am going to be the silent partner and biscotti baker, which I am very happy about, since I will finally have a space close to my house which is exactly what I want for baking biscotti, and the way the law works anything that’s baked there must be sold there in at least some quantity so it’s not a factory. I’ll be making a deposit on Monday (she’s at work even though it’s a stat) and Katie and I already have an immense list of things to work through. I want her energy and intelligence to be rewarded. Keith expressed reservations, interestingly, but I think he may be experiencing jealousy. Which reminds me, now I really DO have to change my will, so Keith and Katie get a more equitable share, and so Paul is no longer the executor.
We’re not planning on making any money for most of the first year, start up date April Fools (and you should have seen Katie’s face as we set the date). The easiest thing for me to do is to think about the money as being lost. Out of the gate. Something about this feels right though, there’s a weird ‘this will be okay’ vibe.
The Treasurer problem I had has been resolved. I crashed the chart of accounts somehow in Simply Accounting and reasoned my way out of the problem with a few adjustments. Now it’s time to MAKE RECEIPTS FOR ALL THE DONORS. It is a finite problem with a deadline, and it’s all good.
1. Jeff says he’s paying too much money for rent. In Vancouver that is not true but he sure could pay less rent elsewhere in the province, someplace on the Island for example. He says he’s going to give me plenty of notice so I am very relaxed about this. Not having in house tech support would just about kill me, as would giving up the flat screen and cable and the PVR, but life is full of interesting times and changes. It definitely means I might end up with a different roommate though, and that raises the specter of a whole other series of maddening things; Jeff is/was the best roommate evar, as I believe I have stated a number of times. I can see his point though and we all have to take care of our own needs.
2. The new Galapagos BBC 3D documentary from David Attenborough is ABSOLUTELY STUNNING. Highly highly recommended. Don’t forget to watch the “making of” too.
3. Signed off on my taxes for the last 4 years. I should get a large amount of money back, but of course the feds will have to look at the returns before that happens. I remain sanguine.
4. Job hunting is interesting. I got a lead from my network of contacts, and it is wonderful that it happened BEFORE I started instituting the new job search parameters (working the network).
5. South Fraser Unitarian Congregation may get me as a speaker for Easter. I’d whip out my previously provided Jesus service. We shall see; I have not yet received a response.
6. The sun is out, and I walked around in it, and of course the world seems like a better place.
7. (link removed for safety) This. Oh, this.
8. I came up with a really cool idea for a science fiction story and forgot to write it down. It has something to do with old people and robots, and damn I’m mad – I have a pad downstairs for all the ideas I get while I’m watching tv and there are tons of them so far. Why, o why, blarp blergle. I could have just written it down. That’s what pen and paper FOR, SILLY APE.
9. Did I mention I am on the waitlist for the Translink busker program? If I’m still not working, I may do that to raise cash.
10. I’m going to have some of the roasted squash and roasted garlic soup for lunch and then back to the job hunt.
11. I’ve been sleeping downstairs and completely NOT HAVING ANY SCREENS in my sleeping room. As a consequence my back is much better.
12. WOWZERS. Great news for deaf people.
It’s a dog with its paw in its mouth.
Chalice circle was a very big disappointment. Like uncomfortable making disappointment. It got better, but I still felt very withdrawn and disconnected at the end.
1. I did some but not all of the homework. I was supposed to print out the homework and bring it with me, and also a show and tell item, but I didn’t do that.
2. Lot of no-shows. This is hard to bear; a lot of organizing went into this and I feel for both host and facilitator.
3. The ritual was in my view goofy, poorly worded and ever so sincere (we’re doing this out of a book called Soul to Soul and while I admire the effort put into it it’s all a bit ‘canned’) with that reverent spoken word Unitarian sincerity which long timers will completely get and the rest of you will go hunh? And it got my atheist back up. I don’t give a shit about facing north and thanking mother earth for her wisdom or toenail clippings or whatever. I was sneakily pleased that I wasn’t the only person in the room with the ish. NOTE: If it had been a real Cree or Salish greeting of the directions, I could have stood that. That has emotional resonance; not some made up pseudo Wiccan horse maneuvers. However the ritual was brief, I’ll give ’em that.
4. I was appalled, and I mean it, when I brought 10$ worth of cheese and got told to take it home with me as these chalice circles were not to involve food. I could feel the ghosts of a hundred Mennonite relatives cluster round me with staring eyes and pointing fingers, Matthew 25:35 “I was hungry and you fed me!” How can the soul be nourished without the body!?
5. The long pauses in between sharing were good. That was stabilizing.
6. There was housekeeping afterwards and my comment about food got taken seriously. We will have tea or something bracing and then have the sharing.
7. The goofy ritual is supposed to be tried 4 times until we get used to it and THEN if we don’t like it we’re supposed to ditch it. Hard to believe this never caught on with the Catholic Church.
8. And there’s @@@@@@ homework. We covenant to do the *$YO homework. Srsly. The point is to increase sacrifice and therefore commitment and it counts as religious education, which the minister is getting marked on, and it means that everybody is going to go through the curriculum at the same time in much the same way (varying by facilitator of course). If it was my puppy, I’d be doing it SO DIFFERENTLY AND there would still be more time for sharing. I totally get why this is happening this way, and the increased emphasis on shared experiences to somehow account for how we don’t really have a liturgical year or specific faith wide rituals has to do with gluing newcomers into the church and broadening and deepening fellowship. I get all that. But without food? Jesus wept.
I believe it could be done better, but since I’m working on other stuff for Unitarianism (my current in process homily is called “Threat Level”) and there’s this LITTLE NOTION THAT I CAN’T FIND A FUCKING COMPETENT BOOKKEEPER TO SAVE MY LIFE and I’m desperate and miserable and anxious and horrified and frightened about it really is not helping. I thought I had a back up plan but I can’t get anybody. It’s so painful and awkward it’s warping my frame.
On the plus side I’m getting a lot of money back on my taxes, or so the accountant tells me.
This is a year when my faith will be tested and toyed with, and it was ever so.
