The joys of consumerism

So Michael and I went shopping over the weekend.

At the Salvation Army, I bought a bike for $20. I figure, I want a bike. I've wanted a bike. I will likely continue to want a bike. And if we stay in Chicago, then I'll have a bike. And if not, then I'll have a bike that I can donate to the church or to a family I know or something like that. The first bike I picked out (and it took me a minute to realize this) was the exact same bike I had in Murfreesboro. A teal Murray 10speed. But then I noticed that the back wheel was misalligned, so I had to get the purple Huffy 10speed instead, which is not nearly as sentimental to me, but, you know, what are you gonna do?

I also got several pairs of pants, since I am beginning to be lacking in pants-nice-enough-to-wear-to-work department. They all have holes or ink stains or both. The problem is, once I get a pair of pants that I like, I wear them for years. I still have the pair of brown denim pants that I got at Salvation Army right after I got a job at Lenscrafters. I was 19 then. And it's actually taken holes AND inkstains AND color fading to the point of no-way-does-this-look-professional-in-any-way-shape-or-form for me to even consider retiring them. They're just so durned comfortable. And I still have and wear those silver pants that I stole from Mary's closet and had to chop off four inches from the bottom because she's so much taller than me and they still drag the floor. But hey! Silver pants! You can't give those up. Ever.

The more immediate problem is that thift stores in Chicago are severely lacking in dressing rooms, so I never know how things are going to look on me until I get home. The result is that I bought one pair of pants that I hate because they fit all the way up to my belly button, and I cannot stand pants that come up to my belly button. And I have one pair of blue windbreakers that are neat, but I don't really know what I'm supposed to wear with them, so I probably look rather mismatched when I wear them, but they're so comfortable and cool, which is nice in the warm Chicago heat since so many places I spend time at have no air conditioner. And then--- I have two pair of pants that fit me. Snug. Right up against my legs and my butt. They just sort of... cling... to my thighs. I tried them on and Michael nodded appreciatively, but I was horrified.

"It's indecent!" I squeaked.

"No, it's not," he replied calmly. "They're not even as tight as the style is right now."

Which is true. I'd actually have to drop them another size for that, but still. It's weird. It was a big enough deal for me last year when I went to Village Thrift and bought a bunch of clothes that fit. After so many years of baggy grunge, it was strange that I could look into the mirror and readily see the basic shape of my body. But day-to-day wear that just hugs up against me? I don't know what to do with it. It used to be that if I was wearing something tight, I was going out. Not going to work.

I told Yesica yesterday and she laughed at me. She said, "Wear them. I bet no one even notices."

So I am. And no one has noticed.

But back to consumerism.

We also went to target to pick up some things, including a bicycle helmet for me. It took forever for me to choose one, because, while I don't like to admit it, I am vain enough that I don't want to wear a huge dorky helmet just because it's the cheapest one. I wound up getting a reasonably priced one that looks kind of neat. I put it on in front of the mirror when I got home and had to laugh.

"God, I look like a dork," I said.

"Yeah," Michael agreed. "That's what helmets are for... making people look like dorks. And you didn't even get one of those really ugly ones."

So, there you go. Tight pants. Huge, dorky helmet.

Fashion trend, here I come.

DC and beyond

Daena and I drove overnight to DC on Friday/Saturday. We were helping our friend Kathy move, driving her stuff down in a rented moving truck. Eduardo came along, slept most of the way, but we had him shoved in between seats, so I doubt the sleep was too productive. Daena and I hardly slept at all. It was a great fun weekend, but I kept getting hit periodically with waves of exhaustion. I ate a lot over the weekend, and wouldn't be surprised if I finally managed to gain all the weight back that I had lost when Michael and I were sick with the stomach flu over a month ago. But I need my muscle back. I'm such a wimp right now.

The important things about this trip are, in no particular order:

Kathy is going to be great in DC.

Kathy's sister Mary was there in Mile High Stadium in 1994 when we sang and made the rain go away.

I love DC, and wouldn't be surprised if Michael and I wind up living there one day, for awhile at least.

I saw Brian and it was so good to see him. We hung out with his friends at a bar and then a restaurant. And he's doing really good, and that makes me very happy. And he told the story of my wedding... "So Kati was like, 'Okay, we're all going to go here, at this time, and then we'll have a wedding.' And I was like, 'Okay, are we going to have a rehearsal?' And she said, 'Yeah, we'll have a rehearsal here, at this time, and we'll show up and have a rehearsal.' And I said, 'Do you have a cake?' And she said, 'No, but I got this cherry pie at Safeway...'"

I had to send back Tirimasu because for some unknown reason, the restaurant made it with heaps of chocolate, and I can't eat chocolate no matter how much I want to.

I've seen a pizza slice as big as my head before, but never one as big as my torso. Eduardo and I split it. It was pepperoni, and it was really good, and I did not save it for breakfast as I had planned, but ate it as a late night... um... snack.

Eduardo and I both wanted to throw up at the Basillica, and I decided that people who need gigantic churches that are resplendent with gold and riches are naive at best, and will never understand the true core of the faith that they claim to believe in, not when Jesus said to give everything to the poor, and the profits made from the gift shop alone in one day could feed and house a family in Guatemala for a year. And I felt myself take one more step away from mainstream America, because I don't consider myself to be that good, or that holy, or that giving. I'm one of the priveleged few, and I enjoy my laptop and my electricity, and even as a volunteer in the US, I'm so well taken care of, and I have everything I could ever want and how, HOW, could people sit in church on Pentacost and listen to a sermon about the Holy Spirit (referred to as "him") purifying our souls, and be content that that was the extent of the message. How can people feel fulfilled with something so lame that doesn't call them to action to fix the mess that we as a race of beings have put ourselves into. And, god, how completely WRONG is it that I, as lazy and privileged and accepting of everything as I am, feel at all justified in shaking my head at this decadence and want to SCREAM in frustration that no one else in the country seems to GET IT that our houses are not "comfortable", they're "lavish", and that our culture is destructive and oppressive and that it's just not RIGHT that I have so much when so many more have so little.

Eduardo motioned to the gigantic shrine and said, "This is God?" And I thought about this fantasy novel I'd just read where a very powerful lord brought all his new subjects to an overwhelmingly decadent throne room so that they would be awed by him, but his loyal servants who already understood his power and who understood that it wasn't the gold at all that made him who he was, he took them to a room, with chairs. And they sat. And they spoke. And it was the only way that I could rectify the existence of the shrine I was in. Because maybe some people need huge, rich room in order to experience God. And I have no right to feel I'm a better person because I've seen the humanity in those whom I've been told are the worst sorts of people--drug addicts and gang members and thieves, and let's be honest here, probably murderers--and that I find God when I sit and listen to someone who has been shunned and beat down and screwed by everyone else, and there is this little spark in their eyes because someone cared enough not to curse them for just five minutes.

And even for all my self-righteous indignation, I walked through the streets of DC and I enjoyed being who I am and having what I have and I ate a huge chicken salad and I drank some great coffee and I used a bathroom with running water and I flushed the toilet and washed my hands and I didn't think twice about that luxury because that is a part of my worldview--that these things exist here, and that I've a right to them.

We flew home on Monday, and I went straight to work from the airport. On the bus home that night, this older black man sat next to me and began telling me everything that I'm struggling with in my life right now. I can't tell you what all he said, because it's personal to me, although apparently not so personal that this complete stranger didn't already know. I sat on the bus with him a few extra stops, and then got out and walked him to his next bus. I shook his hand as he got on and told him that I didn't know what had brought him to sit next to me on the bus, but I was glad for it. He laughed and said he was just traveling.

Last night, Daena gave me my birthday present. It was an ice-cream cake, seemingly chocolate, but she swore to me it would not give me a headache. Then she said, "Oh! And the rest of your gift... I haven't wrapped it." She went into the kitchen and returned with a large canister of carob powder that she bought in New York when she went to Niagra two weekends ago to see her brother. I had never considered getting carob to substitute the lack of chocolate in my life, but Daena had, and apparently has been looking for carob powder for months.

It's such a simple thing, but it's beautiful. I can't even describe how touched I am by the thought, by the effort. It goes once again to show how lucky I am. I mean, my god, it's a canister of carob, and a cake, but I feel like I could cry in gratitude, and I know I could never be as good a friend to Daena as she is to me.

It's incredible what experiences this life holds. It's incredible who we meet and what we do and say and think, and what people will do for us to show that they care, and how you can love someone still as a best friend even when you haven't physically seen them in years, and that a stranger can sit down next to you and suddenly a pain that has been gnawing at your stomach for months can just disappear. And things change and things stay the same and maybe next year I'll still be in Chicago, or maybe I'll be in the desert, or maybe in another country. I just don't know. But I feel right now, in my gut, that this is a time for choices, and that i need to step up and figure some things out, figure out what I mean to do in this life, and then get on gettin' it done. I've got a lot of people around me who will stand with me, and that's a heady feeling.

Maybe, just maybe, we can fix this world after all.

Best Day of the Year

Really and truly.

I say that all the time, that May 10th is the best day, and I hold that that is generally true, but I also hold that that is specifically true for today. It is the best day, weather-wise, that we have seen yet in Chicago this year. It's 79 degrees, with clear blue skies, slightly humid and cool the way it is the day after a storm, and the winds are just lovely.

Add to that the following facts:

I took mis Amigos del Barrio (my theatre kids) to see Grease Saturday night, and we had a spectacular time. And even though I don't like the story, or the message, or some of the songs, it's still a rather fun musical, so I'm still happy about having gotten to take the Amigos.

Today is Mexican Mothers Day, and on Thursday, HOPE Program as putting on an event for women called Celébrate Mamá. I've been mad-crazy organizing the event, but it's gonna be so boss. And yes, I did just say that.

This weekend, Daena and I, and Eladio, are driving a moving van to DC to help our friend Kathy move. Then we get to spend the weekend in DC, and Kathy's flying us back, and I probably get to see my-Brian, and it's gonna rock totally.

Also, Br. Bruce from the Franciscan Partners left a message on our answering machine saying that he's reviewed our application, and now we need to talk to see about placement. So I get to call him today about that.

And on Sunday, Ian told me a knock-knock joke. Two, actually. It was the coolest thing.

All of these tidbits add up to me being in a great mood today. Which leads us back to this being the best day of the year.

(And in case anyone was wondering... I'm 26 now)