Did I leave that sign on my forehead again?

Apparently, I look desperate. Either that, or romantically helpless. The anecdotal evidence:

For a special treat, I will occasionally trot across the street to the Marathon station and pick up lunch or dinner or whatever. Sometimes it just seems better than the old faithful PB&J. Sometimes my coworker, S., will accompany me. She's what I would call a "grown-up," meaning "old enough to have kids in high-school." She's also from Russia, which comes with a certain amount of frankness. As we sat under a tree this last time to enjoy our repast, she asked, "Why do you not flirt? You should be flirting with that guy. He is a nice guy, yes? He smiles at you. Why are you not nice back to him?" In all honesty, the idea of pursuing a relationship with the gas station guy had simply not struck me. Should it? I'm really not sure. What would my mother say, after all? I endeavor to be pleasant, but I don't think I will ever really master the art of flirting. Maybe if I cared enough for that sort of book or movie... What am I supposed to do, mention how quiet things are at the old Music Institute, perhaps with a suggestive wink? Somehow, it doesn't seem my style.

We have finally hired a new guitar teacher here. I met him briefly on Saturday, and yesterday M., my boss, began to suggest (with an utter lack of subtlety) that I should get to know him well and soon. "Oh, he's really cute," she says. "He has these great big blue eyes," she says. And the conversation for the rest of the afternoon repeatedly returns to that theme. "He wasn't wearing a ring," she says. Do I look like I am in desperate need of a cute, blue-eyed guitar player in my life? Because I haven't enough to do at the moment? Because I'm so utterly lonely and depressed and looking for love at every turn? Honestly! I appreciate the concern, I'm so glad that somebody cares, but you can lay off a little!

They write songs about this sort of thing. "But he's a good man, a fine catch! True? True!" This was the final complication my life required: a good old-fashioned "Yente" or two!

Discipleship: Thinking about differences

I don't often write overtly Christian posts, but this has been on my mind. I'm not using this as a pulpit, but just as an opportunity to organize my thoughts. This is not my attempt to convert anyone or offend anyone. That said, feel free to skip this post if you like; I don't mind!

I work and play with a wide variety of people, including pagans, Wiccans, and atheists. Much of this is through my connection with Ren Faires, which I view as a sort of mission field. I don't preach or anything; I'm just there, hopefully being a different sort of Christian than most of them expect. These tend to be people who have been hurt or betrayed by the Church, often badly. The last thing they need to turn them away from Christ is another heavy-handed Bible-thumper. By being a quiet witness, someone who loves them without expectation, I hope that I can help to re-open the window to Light in their lives. In the process, I end up surrounded by murky theology a lot, and I felt the need this morning to de-murk.

To clarify: my God is not the same as the little gods of earth, wind, sky, or internet. If my God were the same as those others, He would be a liar. Everything He has said or demonstrated about His nature would be false, beginning with "The Lord your God, the Lord is One" and continuing through "I came that you should have life and have it abundantly." Worship the goddess if you must, but do not confuse her with the Lord who created heaven and earth and laid down His life for me.

I've always loved the story of Paul in Athens, when he spoke with the people worshiping at the altar of the "Unknown God." I love that it shows that God makes Himself known, even to those who haven't heard Truth. Still, it was unacceptable for the Romans to continue this practice once they knew the Truth. There are many powers, certainly; the little gods are real, the power they wield is real. I've seen and heard too much evidence to try to deny that. However, there is only one God worthy of our praise, one Lord whose power and love surpasses all others. And He knows that we cannot share our affections among the many. He knows me that well.

This is not about me reading the Book and spouting the right answers. This is about what I know in my heart of hearts, together with what my brain does or doesn't comprehend. If it weren't for what I know inside, perhaps the little gods of tree and earth would be enough for me. But they don't satisfy. They can't satisfy. And I can't settle for that.

Creative Differences

I was doing some dummy-work last night, sticking things together for a bulk mailing, and I needed entertainment. On PBS, they were showing "The Mozart Dances," which were a joint-effort between pianist Emanuel Ax and choreographer Mark Morris. I'm a big fan of Mr. Ax, and I'm usually a sucker for Mr. Mozart, and I was in a dance-watching mood. Not a bad concept, exceptional dancers, and some really fine moments. However:
* Why were the girls (using "girls" and "boys" to mean grown-up dancer-types) all dressed in transparent dresses? I had no wish to see their undergarments, and it didn't seem to fit with the concept. Happily, my reception was such that I could basically ignore that.
* Why were the boys dressed in shipwreck outfits? Frilly long sleeves and knee-length shorts were distracting from what I thought the concept was.
* Occasionally, I started to think: "Gee, this is really good! What a neat seamless blend of artsy-contemporary dance with court dance!" And then something would jar -- a sudden insertion of sharp edges and angles, writhing on the floor, a total lack of cohesion between music and dance. Frustrating, because I was really beginning to like it!
* I understand that it is difficult to film dance well. I'm not sure it is done well very often, and I was willing to make allowances for the cameraman's desire to focus on one dancer (or a portion of one dancer) to the exclusion of the others. However, surely Emanuel Ax would be the first to ask that the camera not be turned on him when there are dancers to watch! Who thought that would be a good idea? He's great, of course, but he was providing the aural to the dancer's visual.
* In this day and age, when men in dance are assumed to be "little girly men," I think it's especially important that they dance in a way that is masculine. This doesn't mean a lack of sensitivity, but rather a lack of femininity. Some of the soloists managed this, despite the choreography; most did not. It was not a surprise, when they showed a bit of a rehearsal, to hear Mr. Morris instruct his men to be "dainty and feminine." Disappointing, yes; surprising, no.

The end result was that I went to bed as soon as I finished the mailer. This was probably the best idea anyway, but I was terribly dissatisfied by what could have been wonderful. Sigh.

Cheating

I've been reading voraciously this summer, enjoying the opportunity to go to bed before I'm exhausted beyond belief, cherishing the chance to read over breakfast and lunch rather than grabbing things on the run. I'll admit, the level of literature has varied dramatically. Mostly, I've been speeding through the legacy of paperbacks my Grandpa left behind. This morning, I finished "An Old-Fashioned Mystery" by Runa Fairleigh.

Back in 1929, Monsignor Ronald A. Knox, a chaplain at Oxford and avid reader of mysteries, set forth the following rules for fair-play:
"A Detective Story Decalogue"
I. The criminal must be someone mentioned in the early part of the story, but must not be anyone whose thoughts the reader has been allowed to follow.
II. All supernatural or preternatural agencies are ruled out as a matter of course.
III. Not more than one secret passage or room is allowable.
IV. No hitherto undiscovered poisons may be used, nor any appliance which will need a long scientific explanation at the end.
V. No Chinaman must figure in the story.
VI. No accident must ever help the detective, nor must he ever have an unaccountable intuition which proves to be right.
VII. The detective must not himself commit the crime.
VIII. The detective must not light on any clues which are not instantly produced for the inspection of the reader.
IX. The stupid friend of the detective, the Watson, must not conceal any thoughts which pass through his mind; his intelligence must be slightly, but very slightly, below that of the average reader.
X. Twin brothers, and doubles generally, must not appear unless we have been duly prepared for them.

Since I think it fairly unlikely that any of you will ever read this obscure little book, I feel free to tell you that Runa Fairleigh breaks every one of those rules. When Agatha Christie did it, there was a mighty ruckus in her literary circles. And I can understand why. She tricked the reader by presenting a pretty cool psychoanalytical story in the guise of a classic whodunit, thus blatently violating Rules #I and #VII. Fairleigh, however, continually turns her story on its ear with wry wit and morbid humor.

For example:
One day, though, Augustus's inveterate kidding caught up with him when he sneaked up on a guest who believed himself to be alone in the room. Unfortunately, the guest had just finished loading a shotgun preparatory to taking a few shots at the local seagulls. The coffin was closed for the ceremony.

Simply great fun! Once, just once, someone can break all the rules with such panache that they surpass the rules altogether. But I don't think you could get away with it on a regular basis. This is why they call it "cheating."

On the Road Again...

So, as I drive, I will generally read street signs. Good thing to do. Helps me get from here to there. Some signs, however, cause me to wish I could raise one eyebrow skeptically. For example:
"Battle Creek River"
Um... Identity crisis here? Or is it merely a creek with hopes of someday becoming a river? We may never know.
"Covert Road"
Now, perhaps I misunderstand the meaning of "covert." I have always thought that something wishing to be covert (an operation of some type, perhaps) would do well not to advertise.
And you will be glad to know that the fabled "Huggy Bear Motel" seems to be doing well since my post last summer. It has a nice, new, shiny sign with a picture of what I can only assume to be a Huggy Bear on it. Well, it looks pretty huggy to me. :)