He did decline to bring me the paper, and when he leaned over to give me a kiss he spilled coffee over the quilt. But these are small things. It was a lovely way to wake up.
We had a semi-leisurely morning before getting ready for 9:30 church. The ministers are apparently taking the summer off, as is the choir. So the service is run by congregants, and the music is provided by various small groups. Today's music was jazz standards, e.g., Irving Berlin, played by a clarinet and electric jazz guitar duo: quite lovely but I wanted to be sitting in a dark club, sipping on a nice red and holding D's hand. It seemed more than a little odd to be sitting in a pew, looking out past the altar area into the sunny nature garden, trying to create a reverent mood.
The homilies centered on the concept of "service as a spiritual practice." I pondered: I spend most of my days working in a service profession, and it has never felt spiritual to me. In fact, quite the opposite: after a day spent fielding other people's stresses, I feel drained and useless. Yes, I mainly enjoy my interactions with public and staff, but there is so much that doesn't work, both inside and outside the library. I want to fix it, but I can only attend to the problem directly in front of me, and I can only use the tools I've been provided. It does keep me posted on the cultural and societal norms and it does connect me to my community. But I don't think you can count, "Please God, don't let him come back," as a real prayer.
The other day, I watched as a new colleague reprogrammed a hot pink second-hand Nook for an octogenarian who had purchased it as a gift for his granddaughter. My jaw dropped when he handed her the gift bag and tissue paper, and it hit the floor when she wrapped up the Nook, flourishing the paper with a professional swirl and saying, "Let's add another one to make it look more luscious." And she didn't blink an eye when he gave her the leftover wrappings to bundle up for him. This does not constitute service, IMHO, nor is it a spiritual act. It was a stunning display of lack of boundaries, and a clear indicator of the dearth of connections and social services: didn't he have any family to help him?
I thought about that. I thought about the other colleague chasing after the young man who set off the security gates trying to steal a book. Why steal a book? There are no fines, he can keep it for months without repercussions. What caused him to fall to that place where it seemed easier to walk off with free materials rather than fix the problem with his card or do whatever was necessary to participate appropriately in a community institution? Why did my colleague feel the need to safeguard property at his own personal risk? Was he at risk? Was this service? Wouldn't true service be to find the young man some assistance? What do you do, when confronted with needs and boundary confusion that seem insoluble? How do you serve appropriately?
I don't know the answers, but I did decide it's time to find an animal shelter and serve there. It will be a true spiritual act to walk a dog and pet a cat, I think. At any rate, it will feel good.
After church, we had planned to get some sun by the pool, and then drive up to Las Golondrinas for the Santa Fe wine festival. Sadly, things didn't work out that way. The derailment began when I checked D's i-Phone for the address of Rebel Doughnuts: more grease and fat and carbs were needed before we could even think of the next step. En route to the map app, I found a text to D from K and an e-mail to me from B, and learned that all hell was breaking loose back in my PDX house. This put me into a deep funk, which I shared with D. Although we did get the doughnuts, I was unable to enjoy the weird ones (Rebel Doughnuts is Albuquerque's version of Voodoo Donuts.)
Clearly the first order of business was to try to attend to the situation, long distance. While I wrestled with e-mail, D began planting the tomatoes and basil and peppers he had purchased on Saturday. He discovered he did not have enough soil or pots for the job, and was on his way to Smith's. Ever the budget-minded person, I suggested we try the thrift stores on Menaul. While we did find Re:Tail to be a pleasant thrift store, no one seems to donate planters or gardening equipment. I found some much-need curtains for $4, and served my furry friends in that way, but after 2 fruitless hours of exploration, we ended up back at Smith's. It was frustrating: D loves to shop, but I don't, and neither of us wanted to be roaming the strip malls on a beautiful Sunday afternoon.
Planting completed and the house put in order, it was time to move northwards. The drive up was beautiful, but marred by disharmony between partners, the second time in the day. Or was it the third? However, the wine festival was fun: booths of wines, crafts, and foods, plus a stage of very loud hip hop, fortunately far enough away from most of our activities to provide festive, not intrusive, background music. We were there in the last 2 hours of the festival, and you could tell the vendors just wanted to be gone, but they were gracious enough. For $13 apiece, we got a tasting glass and free tastes at all the wine booths. We discovered some nice wineries near Albuquerque and plan to visit the tasting rooms in the near future. Most of the vineyards are in the Deming area, down by the southern border, so some day we may take a overnighter to the area: check out Trinity site and then drown our sorrows.
Dinner at Maria's in Santa Fe, and then a silent drive home: we can't seem to go more than 2 hours before a bone of contention arises. And instead of burying that bone, we worry at it. Stupid: it doesn't do anything but hurt our teeth, metaphorically speaking.
Once home, I found another e-mail from PDX. My home has been designated a pest hole, myself "white trash." Or at least my yard, which has always been a jungle and still has stashes of junk left over from the March remodel and J's painting work. It also appears that none of the leases and agreements that I have in place are holding up, and that will mean loss of vital income. But I don't want to fight it. Some of the unhappy renters are friends, and it costs money to defend against suits from those who are not. I am so weary of trying to keep on top of everything with limited budget, skills and time. I understand for the first time how people can leave cars up on blocks for months at a time. It seems that for every step forward, I get pushed back two. I have been trying so hard to take care of business, but my efforts are clearly inadequate to the task. It seems I haven't hit rock bottom yet: I need to lose my house and the rest of my friends in addition to my job and my savings and my self-respect.
Maybe I just need to embrace my white trash self.
I tried to read and meditate and get back some of the good times of the day, but it was all too overwhelming and schizoid. I bounced back and forth between joys and sorrows, and it took several hours to finally reach the middle ground of sleep.
And now I'm trying to figure out how best to spend the rest of my weekend. I have a lot of business to attend to, but am not sure there is any point to it. I posted this to FB:
Since there is no way
I can get ev'rything done,
Shall I do nothing?
Lisa says "yup." I think I'll follow her advice.
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