April 11, 2004

• He is risen!

  I know it’s Easter because the first five Xanga sites I cruised by
  after my bladder woke me in the wee small hours mentioned it.  I
  don’t observe the common celebration.  Now that I’ve kicked the
  sugar jones I can no longer bite the ears off chocolate bunnies. 
  They never tasted as good as Creme Eggs, anyway.  Coloring and
  hiding boiled eggs was more fun than eating the nasty things.  Egg
  salad, with lots of gooey mayonnaise, was the way to make them
  palatable, but egg salad without wheat bread is just yukky eggs in mayo
  and I’d rather eat the mayo with a spoon right out of the jar.  I
  can’t imagine trying to put egg salad on one of my gluten-free muffins.
  
  My mother’s friend Audrey Walker, for a few years of my early youth,
  used to crochet a new dress and bonnet for me each Easter and my mother
  made me wear them to church.  Later on,  after we moved away
  from San Jose, Mama would buy me a new dress and bonnet each year, and
  take me to church.  Daddy hadn’t been a church-going man.  He was
  Gnostic, though I never heard that word from him.  He talked (and
  listened) to God in private and taught me to do that.  Mama’s
  family were Protestants as far back as family memory goes.

  Mama would pick a different Protestant church each Easter.  She
  preferred the big Episcopal or Presbyterian ones that put on a good
  show.  Those were the only times I went to church in my early
  youth.  Mama would sometimes on Christmas Eve, after I was tucked
  into bed to await Santa’s visit, go out to one Catholic church or
  another to catch the Midnight Mass show.

  Later on, in my teens, I fell in with some Southern Baptists and
  started attending church regularly.  I must confess that their
  brand of deity turned me off to religion for good and to God for a
  while, until in my freight yard epiphany,
  I got my gnosis back.  I now don’t buy the brand of Jesus Christ
  preached in just about every church, but I am close to the Christos and
  have gained much pleasure and inspiration from reading the story of  the Master’s
  life on this planet.  One of my favorite parts is the discovery of the empty tomb.

  I will be making an unusual weekend trip down the valley today. 
  Greyfox’s car is malfunctioning.  His throw-out bearing is going
  bad and he is hoping our friend Michael can get it fixed before the
  next gun show, in Anchorage later this month.  Meanwhile, he
  drives it only in first gear, from his cabin at one end of Felony Flats
  to his stand site at the other end, and back.  Sunday is the
  Double Trouble meeting, for “dually diagnosed” addicts:  those
  with psychicatric disorders in addition to their addictions.  I
  haven’t been to one before, not because I’m not nuts but because I’m
  usually at this end of the valley on weekends.  Greyfox asked me
  to come in and take him to Double Trouble, so I’m going to get to go to
  one.  I’ve been wanting to, because a lot of my friends from the
  rehab center go.

  Oh, Dear… well now I know it’s Spring.  A mosquito just sailed past the monitor.

  • 9:47 am
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