Friday, July 29, 2011

Sundays and Jesus, Rev 1

Sundays always disappear too quickly.  You sleep in, maybe just a half hour, take your time getting dressed and head out- with or without the dogs.  Sunday mornings involved lattes and muffin crumbs in the car, a bit of grocery shopping and maybe breakfast.

When I was younger I went to church on Sundays, or rather passed through Sunday school on the way to Winchell’s Donuts with the boys, leaving an empty classroom for Jesus to stretch out in.  We’d buy a grape juice and pretend it was wine, a faux communion.  I was grounded from the youth group because I always took off.  I wasn’t doing anything daring at all. I was just bored.
In those days they tried to pretend we were in a coffee house instead of a church, the days before self realization. Some of our leaders tried out things on us, that I think they read about in a book.  Unqualified but confident they were doing the Lord’s work.  Guitars- acoustic of course- were always present.  Walls painted black, with the Bible stuff hidden away in a cabinet. I can’t remember what they served to drink, it was probably soda or kool-aid- it definitely wasn’t coffee or booze.  Teenagers didn’t drink coffee back then, at least not in public. I never wanted to either, and don’t recall anyone who did.

I don’t remember when or why I lost interest completely, almost rabidly, but my enthusiasm for participating in any sort of organized religion was crushed forever.  Then belief systems like Buddhism and discussions about the nature of reality, Carlos Castaneda, and a little light weight experimentation with drugs, mostly pot, mostly because of some guy I had a crush on, was part of that time.  Sex and smoking cigarettes also fell into the same era.  This was a decade when I lost Sundays as fun days.

To be continued

©2011 sharonjcorrigan all rights reserved, yes all of them.


Tropical Breeze Rev 1

I’ve lived in the islands for twenty years.  I moved here after my fourth husband beat the crap out of me and I had to leave town.  It’s so bloody humid here during part of the year that when I’m off work I usually hang out in my room- modestly covered by a pair of Costco ladies briefs in a bag, and lying directly in front of a fan, drinking something cold or with ice in it.

I live in a big old house with 7 other random travelers.  I’ve been in this place for 6 months after the old house in Kakio Point was condemned.  All the houses on this side of the island are weather beaten with windows painted open and gaps in the walls.  I am used to the feel of tiny mice holding a grand prix in the middle of the night, my belly the first bridge in the course. 
I work at the Tiki Lounge near Kalauea Iki; during the tourist months I make good tips and sometimes bring a big spender home for a few hours so I can pay the rent.  I’ve lived on the beach before when the money ran out.  It’s not so bad, could be a lot worse, believe me.  Back in Montana, during the winter, people’s toes fall off- yes, actually break right off- frozen and brittle.

Here it’s rodents, the reptiles and the bugs.  They are everywhere; you can’t get away from them.  I think your blood gets thicker or thinner, I can’t remember which, after you live here for awhile. They leave you alone after you’ve passed the initiation.  And the scorpions are a pain in the, well, wherever they pinch you, if you are so unlucky as to lie down with one.
The air though, the air of the islands blows warm and sexy.  You walk seductively down the streets, in the markets, in the clubs, just to let that air kiss every inch of you. And it smells like flowers, but it’s a subtle scent, not the overpowering artificiality of perfume or scented soap, but a soft romantic smell you want to wrap around you like a cocoon.

The food is here fresh, and juicy, and colorful, and messy.  A mango can leave you sticky for days, and the rum drinks with pineapple and little umbrellas leave circles on the table tops and stumbling women in their wake.  Pupus - island appetizers, are also very sensual- kalua pork, sashimi, shave ice.
It would be difficult to return to the mainland after living here for so many years.  I never really think about it anymore.  I just live, for today, in today, for as long as it lasts, an hour, a day, a month, a year.  It’s all the same.

It’s hot, and getting late and I need to take a shower before my shift.

To be continued

©2011 sharonjcorrigan