So. It’s another glorious day here to Enchantedland and I’m headed to a funeral. A friend’s husband has died after a protracted illness, and the services are to be held at the big Baptist church over to Old Pecos Trail. I have sworn to stay out of churches save, and except, for funerals and weddings, so I will not be in violation of my promise to myself when I enter the doors of the church.
I have long known that the friend and her husband were quite large charismatic Christians—not Baptists by the way—and I have understood that their Christianity was the linchpin that held their lives together, and bytheway once more, why don’t we spell linchpin “lynchpin”? In spite of their beliefs, I like these two people. I’ve long understood their positions on abortion and gay rights and the rest of the bigoted modern Christian dogmas, but they don’t try to push their shit my way. They always have allowed me to have my beliefs without the confrontational judgments so many Born Agains practice.
Knowing the depth of their beliefs, I’m guessing that they pray for my heathen soul. Often.
Whatever happened to “Judge not lest ye be judged”? Why aren’t more Christians acting like this couple’s model? I think it’s because their religions have been hijacked by charlatans and politicians. And why do I seem surprised, a rhetorical question if ever was one.
Assholes throughout the continuum of human history have stolen the mantle of righteous causes and used the believers as cannon fodder for their societal invasions. Using Biblical drama, ever since Cain killed Abel—setting the precedent for assholes through the millennia—a never ending chain of power steals has marred the human conditions, and destroyed civilizations.
OK, stop. Maybe using Cain and Abel was a touch dramatic and not at all to my point. Maybe I’ll reuse Cain’s striking down of his bro when I write about the Stand Your Ground Laws.
Anyway, today it seems that the false religious assholes are stealing actual believers and turning them into zealots at a rate that rivals a vicious computer virus. Here in America, right-wing Christian zealots are stealing state governments and legislating away some human rights that I, at least I, thought to be stone pillars of our semi-democracy.
Which reminds me. I just had new, modern windows installed all around La Casita Johnson de Santa Fe. The original windows installed over the seventy years it took to build this place into its current format, were, I’m told, purchased from the demolition deaths of other, older structures or, more than occasionally stolen from construction sites around the state. The net results of that materials acquisition plan was a drafty and daffy old stucco living space which, as one designer describes it, “This place is as schizophrenic as my grandmother.”
I was required to install new windows of size and heights to meet modern building code, and that has opened several rooms to additional light and views. As I sit writing you, my office view has expanded from a corner of the roof, a small section of the big Ponderosa pine tree, telephone pole, mountaintops and patch of sky, to all of that plus a panoramic vista of the tidy and interesting back yard. I can now swivel my chair to the right and gain purchase of the entirety of my veggie garden—I can now watch the dogs to insure they stay the fuck out.
And that reminds me of just how delicate life becomes as the light at the end of our tunnels grows broader, brighter. I’m at that age where my friends and acquaintances are dying at a remarkable rate. I’ve once again become my parents twenty years ago. This marks the third time I’ve encountered a twenty-years parental catch-up. The first was when I finally felt I was an adult and deserved to be treated as one. The second was when my kids were adults and I felt it was OK for you to call me “Sir”.
Each of those first two catchings-up were good things to me—events of human growth to be desired. I especially remember the pride, and joy, at realizing that I actually was the man my daddy wanted me to be. I likewise remember same when watching my own spawn demonstrating the maturities of their adultdom.
But this time it’s quite different. I don’t know why as this next-to-final catch-up is the most expected of all so far. As a child, it wasn’t thought by any adult that I was destined to ever reach adult maturities, in fact it was anticipated by many that I would not. It was thought that I would either never reach the age of maturity or that I would piss somebody off enough to put the end of days on me.
For reaching those milestones I was proud and joyous. And having my own children mature was likewise surprising to not a few.
“Mooner Johnson should not be allowed to father children. His species needs to end here.” So said was the edict of Mrs. Leticia Browningwell. That old battle ax was my teacher and Baptist preacher’s wife rolled into one gigantic pain in the ass. But I’ve fooled them all. I’ve managed to pass through the first three of life’s stages and I’m still nuts.
OK, let’s stop and regroup. I see life’s stages simply, like a baseball game wherein there are four bases to touch: first base is reached when attaining adult maturity; second base is seeing your own kids mature; third base is when people close to you are dying; and fourth base is when your own body has begun its final decay. If we’re lucky in life, four each, twenty-year base paths.
And that re-reminds me that first I discover that I’m the old man who stinky farts and now this. Next thing I’ll find my scrotum dragging against my knees and my pecker playing sleepy turtle.
Ugh, but I’m a maudlin sumbitch this morning. Fuck Walmart!