Recently I’ve been reminded of an old pleasure. Now for the majority of my driving experience I have been a manual transmission enthusiast. Almost 80% of my vehicles have been stick shifts because I relish that rush of feeling you get by mastering the transmission, manipulating torque and rousing rpms to excite that charge of gratifying acceleration. I love that feeling of control and power. (hmmmmm …control AND power …just give me a minute …mmmm …yeah …)
…Anyway, my most recent auto purchase, the beloved ClubRav™, is an automatic. At the time I made the purchase I will admit the decision was painstakingly made based on my occupation at the time. Ultimately I decided that it would be easier for me, in city traffic, to eat, talk on the phone and sketch notes while I drive if I didn’t also have to constantly shift gears. (I know…I AM your worst nightmare.) Of course you have to understand, my job sort of required that I live and work in my vehicle. So, I begrudgingly gave up my beloved gear box.
Well recently ClubRav™ was “appropriated by the Feds” for some “government matters” so I am driving Sparky, a spunky little fun-loving sporty Subaru. As luck would have it, Sparky is a stick…and BOY have we been having fun. It’s been quite a thrill remembering the joy of driving again; zipping thru traffic, hugging tight in the corners, leaving SUV’s in the dust and still using less gas….wheee! Yep. It’s been quite a ride.
However, I realize that I’m probably better off (or at least less dangerous) in trusty ol’ ClubRav™. But I have to admit, it did start me fantasizing about getting another little sports car.
Don’t worry; I’ll try to warn all you Dallas drivers if I change my mind.
Now I have already mentioned on this site that I am for the most part devoid of the Shopping Gene. Typically I enlist the help of my friends to traverse the myriad malls and stores where most people procure clothing. It is typically a dreaded task and I require camaraderie to survive it.
Glitterbug is a very different creature indeed. For her, shopping is a sport, nay a religious experience. It is an event to be experienced often and enjoyed well.
So I was pleased to meet up with her after work to find that in my absence she had turned her shopping laser on some of my needs (without me knowing she was going to do so…and without me even having to voice them as ‘needs’). Wow, what a concept; my very own personal shopper. So I get to enjoy fabulous new swanky duds and style my way through the work day all without entering a single store and she gets to enjoy her most favored hobby, guilt-free, because it transforms from the mere act of shopping to an act of loving service for her sweetie. See, magic!
Being a ‘recovering Catholic’ has it trying moments. For instance, you never know when all the dogma and ritual are going to come back and hit you square between the subconscious eyes. Like last night for instance.
I found myself quite innocently enough gathered with several of my old childhood friends (or course if this were not the internet and we were all just conversing, I would tell you their names… because whenever one talks of childhood friends one MUST use both first AND last name…go on…think of one…you have to say both names…don’t you? …Anyway, in this format I feel that would be inappropriate to do so… however….I digress).
We were all together attending a Catholic mass. It was a large and regal cathedral with that sort of reverent stadium style seating, where all eyes can be fixed forward on the numinous mysteries of the moment. Anyway, when it came time for communion we all made our way toward the altar. My group just happened to be in the very last row, where obviously the stragglers were wont to be. Now this cathedral was the old school sort (none of that Post Vatican II liberalism here) where they still had kneelers and the congregation took to their patellas post-haste after receiving the Eucharist.
Just as I arrived near the Priest who was devotedly administering the body of Christ to the throng of the pious, my closest colleague in crime startled me with some sort of tom-foolery and I quickly took the bait, lunging at her only to find that my arm sprung out from my body in a maneuver that would have left Wilt Chamberlain awed and gaping. I miraculously dislodged the minute God-wafer as it passed from the hand of the Priest and hovered over the ready and repentant sinner mouth. After brief contact with my hand the wafer flew in an ignoble arch across the length of the apse as EVERY prayerful eye focused keenly on its flight. It came to rest at the far edge of the alter and the only person with even the slightest bit of composure remaining was the Priest whose hand I jostled. Without hesitation he leaned forward and in a deep, dignified voice offered to me a new host, the transubstantiated body of God. And it was at this very moment that I noticed the fallen book of psalms at my feet and ducked forward to retrieve it, thereby completely denying/rejecting the Priest’s offer. The understandably stunned eyes of the congregation looked with abject horror as I slowly rose and made my way dejectedly toward the nave.
Wait …it gets better. After the service ended I found that one of the primary ‘players’ in my current work environment was in attendance at this mass. It ended with me being mercilessly upbraided and my professional competency/loyalty being questioned. I was horrified and searched my brain to find a way to remedy the situation; any sort of plausible explanation for my unexplainable behavior.
I awoke this morning a bit ill at ease and resisting the thought of getting ready for work until suddenly it dawned on me that it had all been, thankfully, a dream.
Overall I ended up having a very good day at work! And no one even mentioned my small indiscretion or even cast a wayward eye in my direction.
Ok, all you armchair Freuds* should consider this your Heyday because if you can’t make something good out of this scenario then go back 10 spaces and resign yourself to a life of Phrenology, because you are not ready for the ‘Big Leagues’.
*Disclaimer: scientologists need not apply
Shameless self kudos for the “Singing Nun” reference in the title
In Dan Greenburg’s book, How to Make Yourself Miserable, he illustrates a very powerful and ingenious technique for achieving misery; comparing ourselves to others.
Well on occasion recently I have taken his advice, and WOW is sure does work. I have found that I can move from experiencing myself as a happy, intelligent, compassionate, spiritually-centered individual with what for all intents and purposes is a great life to suddenly feeling like the biggest lump of loser goo ever to slime the planet. (O.K….so that was a bit over-stated but you get the point.)
Hmmm….Here’s an idea. How about I stop doing that?
Scene: My boss and I, huddled over the computer, putting last minute touches on the copy for several campaign pieces. Of course the event is tomorrow and we are rushing to beat the clock and get to press.
Her: Erase that, put a comma there…no there…and then delete that whole last section. Oh, and there is an extra space there. I know…anal, anal, anal.
Me: At least you chose the right career.
Both: {giggling}
Her: That’s true, this sure is the right job for anyone who is anal.
Giggling ensues as we return to our task. The recognition needed no further declaration.
I spent most of Sunday downtown at Reunion Arena helping get vaccinations to the victims of Hurricane Katrina. The sights and stories were amazing, heart-breaking, life-touching and somehow remained faith-affirming. The strength and resilience of those I met was truly astounding. They shared with me so many smiles and so much laughter amid the tears and horrible memories, that I was awed. You’ll hear stories in the media that perpetuate the “us and them” mentality; they are “evacuees/refugees/looters/black/poverty stricken/victims/underprivileged/less educated etc.” To that I say NO. They are Calvin, Doreetta, Gyunich, William and so many others. They are retired truckers, students, waitresses, newlyweds, clerks, children and more. They have strength, dignity, uncertainness, passion, hopefulness, fear, optimism and the same fragile balance of human frailty and divine energy that we all contain.
And the gifts from the community that I witnessed were equally astounding. Perhaps some are called to the rescue, some have money to give, still others find ways to volunteer, and some just show up with a less tangible, yet equally needed kind of gift; like the woman I saw who just set a chair up outside the arena in a grassy, shaded area and read children’s books aloud to those within earshot or those with the curiosity to venture closer. She didn’t wait for an invitation, a cry for help, a proclamation, or a civil decree. She saw a need, had a gift and she shared it.
I am left to wonder, how would I have responded in such a situation? What steps and missteps have gotten me to where I am? How was I helped along the way, and how was I hindered?
There but for the Grace of God Go I, and there but by the Grace of God I Go.
My head has been reeling with thoughts in the wake of Katrina. As a nation we have shown ourselves to be SO poorly equipped to handle it. I keep wishing there was more of a way that I could physically help those in need and it makes me so ANGRY that we can be so incredibly organized to move to war, and not so organized to move to peace and assistance.
Where is the organization like the National Guard, filled with volunteers who train on a regular schedule, but can keep a ‘regular’ job and can mobilize in an instant to give aid when/where needed, but are NEVER called to go to war? Personally, I would enlist in such an organization today.
I decided years ago that I would never bear arms for my country, but I wish I had equal opportunity to bring aid.
Got in to work today to find that one of the first projects I worked on for this company has won a regional communications award. Seems our team will get the award sometime in October.
It was almost a year ago when I found out I would be working on that campaign and I certainly never thought it would get any recognition outside of the company (or even any kudos from inside the company, for that matter).