Mail on a Sunday, sunshine too.

12 Dec

A nice Advent wee service at my wee United Church today.  It was reading and singing mainly.  Nice.  The music is quite melancholy but that was okay.  I think this is the third or fourth year I’ve been to this particular service at my wee church.  I think the music probably changes but some of the readings are the same.  My favourite is: ‘Christ Climbed Down” by the former beat poet, Lawrence Ferlinghetti.  Words can be found here  It’s a bit dated, perhaps, but the idea is still the same.  It’s read in our wee church by one of our deep voiced people and it gives me chills.  Chills, I tell you.

So I get back to my apt building and there is a notice that Canada Post has been there and that I have a package!  Odd on a Sunday but Canada Post apparently does this during the Christmas season.  I thought, oh, sigh, I guess I’ll have to wait a day and pick it up at the post office.  But wait, there is a note, “package by the grey watering can.”  Hmmm, a little mystery to figure out.  The grey watering can.  I go inside.  No watering can.  I look to the horizon.  No watering can.  I look on the roof.  No can. 

OH.  The watering can on the porch (I live in a 1911 mansion divided into 12 wee suites so it has a porch).  There it is.  Trusting Canada Post guy, guess he thought no one would steal it.  A package!

It’s from my sister.  I rip it open and e-mail her:  THANK YOU!!!!  A pair of lovely wool handmade socks and some aromatherapy foam bath and body lotion for helping with sleep.  I love it when people get me something that shows that they really know me.  I am going to take a bath with this sleep foam this very evening and then slather my body in the body lotion (sorry, disturbing visual for some).  Sister Sherri e-mailed me back and noted that it was not yet Christmas and wondered why I hadn’t waited to open it.  Delayed gratification?!   It took me a moment to even grasp this concept.  I could wrap it back up, I e-mailed back.  Sister Sherri is quite good at home made items – earlier this year she sent me a lovely afghan and she has made me a sweater and a scarf in the past.  My goal has always been to be a famous enough writer so that I can get Mick Jagger on the phone for her.  “Sherri,” I’d say on a conference call, “Mick would like to say hello.”  I’ve never been a big Rolling Stones fan but she is.  For me, the ultimate thrill would be a call from John Boy Walton!

I’m vaguely concerned that my wee fan base will think that I only watch soap operas and The Waltons and read Soap Opera Digest.  Thousands and thousands and millions of potential employers will read this and think, “This woman only watches soap operas and The Waltons and reads Soap Opera Digest.”  Not so!  First, remember I don’t actually watch the soaps, just read the digest.  Second, The Waltons is sacred ground which I will only ever deny if offered full dental and extended benefits.  Then it would be, The Waltons who?  Until then, sacred.

Actually,   I love fiction, mainly contemporary.  I’m a tad ashamed that I don’t really read the classics.  One of my favourite contemporary fiction books is Lionel Shriver’s, So Much For That.  She writes like I want to write.  Worship, vague worship.  I also really like non-fiction –   The New Yorker!!!!!!!  A really good insight to a cult is the non-fiction, “Inside Scientology.”  I was reading this at the great Kitsilano outdoor pool during the summer when a fellow sitting woman asked me about it.  She went on to note that really, everything is a cult.

“Like swimming,” I said,, “So swimming can be a cult?”

“Yes,” she said and then looked away kinda disgustedly, as though she thought I was just not getting it.  I was rather disappointed that she had such a different concept of cults than I did because I love talking about cults.  I love sitting at Kits. pool in the summer talking about cults. And at this statement thousands and millions of potential employers ran away.

It is sunny today and brisk.  Nice.  I walked to the greatest eyebrow-chin-upper lip waxer woman who ever lived and had her wax away.  “Would you like it threaded?” she asked.  Good god, I said, no, no, no.  Here’s the thing that I find:  Threading is painful and goes on for a really really long time.  Waxing is excruciating but is over quickly.  The most painful of the facial waxing I find is the upper lip.  “Ow!”  I shouted today.  The greatest waxer woman who ever lived was still getting things ready on the other side of the room.  “We must suffer for beauty,” she intoned sagely.

Then I went to the beach to take photos of the waves and mountains and cows and horses and pigs and such.  Sadly, my camera’s battery died.  “Why must I suffer more than most?”  I asked Connie when I called her to tell her of the dead battery situation.

I desperately need a haircut but I always lose my hairdresser’s number.  He works basically freelance so there’s nowhere to get in touch with him.  I also forget his last name.  He is a great great hairdresser though.  I cheated on him once and it wrecked my hair for awhile.  Never again.  He usually psychically senses when I need a haircut and calls me but no such luck yet.  I’ve recommended him to minister Beth as she is new in town.  She also has somewhat curly hair.  I think when I said YOU MUST GO AND SEE HIM, she felt that I was demanding it.  Imagine that.  I sensed her sussing out my head of hair.  Well it doesn’t look great now because it needs to be cut, I said.  “I love your hair,” she said.  “But you are a minister, you are required to say that.”

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