Another large snowfall yesterday and last night left about 4 inches of snow on the ground. But for some reason, I didn't feel like going to the Sacrament Meeting here in the building, but wanted to take my chances walking the four blocks to Church.
Hungry, I guess, for human companionship -- or at least the similitude of it. Also I was supposed to sing in the ward choir.
I'd forgotten that I had a pair of crampons that I bought last winter for snowy, slippery conditions. I always had a pair of them growing up in Minnesota. Even the toughest boots with waffle soles are no match for a sneaky bit of ice that looks like an innocent patch of light snow. Crampons dig right in with their spikes, which is hell on carpets -- I left some nice gopher holes in the hallway outside my apartment door.
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Oh, before I forget -- I did apply for both EBT and state Medicaid. I got the Food stamps, hands down, no problem. I was turned down for any state Medicaid insurance, because, I was told, it's only for single mothers on welfare. Well excuuuuuuuuuuuuuuse me for being a guy! So I'll just have to take a gamble that my health will stay good enough to keep me out of the hospital for the next 2.5 years until I turn 65 and can get Medicare.
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I was the only bass in the ward choir, so I stood out like a sore thumb -- because I do not believe in hiding my candle under a bushel. I don't call my voice good, but it is loud & piercing -- from my days as Ringmaster with the Carson & Barnes Circus. I was expected to sing the Star Spangled Banner before the start of each performance, even when my voice was as raw as an open wound. Luckily I remembered a trick from my old pal, Tim Holst, the guy who baptized me when I joined Ringling Brothers. We started out as clowns together, but then he got promoted to Ringmaster -- and he always drank hot water with honey & lemon in it before each performance. That's what I did, and it kept my voice alive even when the rest of me felt dead.
The Bishop got up at the start of the meeting to remind everyone that building security was of paramount importance. The night before his office had been broken into, along with the clerk's office. Just what thieves could expect to find in a Bishops or clerks office is more than I can figure out. Phony temple recommends or bogus Bishop's Storehouse orders? I dunno . . .
The Sacrament passed off without incident -- no cell phones ringing this time. But a little boy in a bright green turtleneck sweater was in the pew in front of me -- and when the Sacrament came to me I looked up to find him staring at me with a knowing leer -- as if he could see what a wretch I really am. I stuck my tongue out at him.
As the meeting progressed he took off his shoes and socks and clambered over his beleaguered parents like a monkey in a tree. But at least he didn't look at me again.
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We had three speakers on the subject of making the Sabbath a day of rest and a day of joy. The first speaker was a young mother in a white blouse with black polka dots. I pay particular attention to blouses -- not because I'm a pervert, but because in my salad days as a clown I used to wear pregnant women's blouses for my shirts -- they were roomy and very colorful.
The second speaker was a single guy in his 20's, wearing a light brown fleece coat and dark rectangular glasses that said "I'm either a techie or an unemployed English major."
The third speaker was a newlywed guy; both he and his wife are going to BYU.
All three talks reinforced the idea that has been growing on me lately that ALL my days are now a day of rest -- there's nothing I have to do, nowhere I have to go. I go to the Rec Center each morning for a swim workout and eat my lunch there at the Senior Center cuz it's free -- but I don't HAVE to do that. I could stay home in bed for the whole week. So I guess all my days are now Sabbath days.
As for a day of joy . . . I gave that a lot of thought during the 3 hour block.
How much joy do I have now?
Not as much as when I was young, with a desirable wife and making people laugh as a clown.
Not as much joy as when I was in Thailand with Joom (some of the time, at least -- she could be a real pain in the ***, but love is blind).
I came to the conclusion that my real, true joy nowadays is in my writing, my poetry and narrative like this one. Plus cooking for my kids & grandkids. Which reminds me -- don't buy Red Baron frozen pizza -- it tastes like cardboard.
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In Gospel Doctrine class the teacher had us break up into discussion groups to talk about 1 Nephi Chapters 16, 17, and 18 -- those are the ones about Nephi breaking his steel bow, finding the Liahona, and building the ship. I have the worst luck when it comes to discussion groups because I always seem to get put in with the "special" people. This time around I was with a guy with Asperger's Syndrome and a lady with a hare lip that I could not understand. I guess I'm going to hell for not being more loving about the whole thing, but I let those two talk to each other while I daydreamed about the beach in Thailand and eating fried dried squid with sticky rice the way Joom used to make it.
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What hit me, and hit me big, in Gospel Doctrine was the question Why was Lehi commanded to flee Jerusalem while Jeremiah was commanded to stay? This led me to think about living in today's world -- is there ever a time when we should flee from our place into the wilderness, or should we always now stay put where we are? I thought about Pattaya -- when I went there I was always amazed at the Sodom and Gomorrah atmosphere of the whole town -- not just parts of it, but ALL of it. What if I lived there? Should I get out or try to set a better example? Again, I dunno -- but it kept my mind occupied during most of the class.
I did manage to get in one zinger. The teacher mentioned how they ate their meat raw, and I asked what that whole episode meant to modern day LDS vegans (since I knew we had a couple in the class). The teacher obviously didn't want to open up that can of worms (or tofu), so he glossed over it by saying he was nearly out of time and wanted to cover some other subjects -- so I went back to daydreaming about khanom jiin and som tum.
Oh, wait, wait -- there was one other zinger I was nearly forgetting. When the teacher covering the discovery of the Liahona, and how it acted like our conscience telling us if our actions are right and wrong, I couldn't resist asking if our conscience can tell us who to vote for. "I certainly hope so!" replied the teacher, and the class all nodded in agreement. I'm still chewing that one over . . .
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We all met together in the Cultural Hall for a fifth Sunday lesson, instead of breaking up into Priesthood and Relief Society.
I liked how the meeting started out --- a clip of Elder Cook speaking about the Sabbath and saying "We must avoid regimentation at all costs -- no lists or requirements! Each individual must decide for themselves how to keep the Sabbath."
But then my mind wandered again as I looked around me at the Cultural Hall -- these wonderful spaces that don't get used very much except for ward basketball, wedding receptions, and an occasional funeral lunch or ward talent show.
Sitting there recalled to my mind a wonderful experiment, which ultimately failed, I attempted when we lived in Provo back in the late 80's. Tired of part-time and temp jobs, I blew our whole savings account on advertisements in Deseret News and the Salt Lake Tribune for "RENT A CLOWN".
I directed the ad to Activity Committees; how they could get a professional Ringling clown to come entertain at their next ward or stake activity. I actually got inundated with calls hiring me all through Utah Valley for all sorts of ward and stake events in the cultural hall up on the stage. I did a little monologue, demonstrated how I put on my clown makeup, and then did about 15 minutes of old clown schtick. I got standing ovations for it -- but when I stopped advertising in the newspapers (it was darn expensive) I stopped getting any phone calls, so I had to go back to temp work. I thought word of mouth would keep me going -- but it didn't.
I had some hard feelings against the Lord for a while over that failure, but now I can barely remember anything about it -- except what a pleasure it was to do. I'm just grateful I had the chance to do a couple dozen shows like that.
Well, it's time to get ready to walk back to Church for Stake choir practice. It takes a while to put those crampons on over my shoes -- I'm still too fat to bend over so much. I begin huffing and blowing like a spouting whale.
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