Sarx

SO MANY Changes, so many travels. I thought I’d do a megapost for the Travelogue (one of my favourite forms of writing) . So here’s the whole megillah…

(All pics from this trip are part of a flickr photo album.)

On Saturday, after sleeping from noon until about 8pm, I departed from Asheville at about 9pm on Saturday and I drove to some place in Southern Ohio. Todd had told me that I’d not need to worry about the snow once through the WV mountains. Boy! Was he wrong.

The Mountains of West Virginia, by the way, are astounding: even in the dark. Up and down. Zig and Zag. Over and, twice, under: through two of the longest under-land tunnels I’ve ever journeyed. It was a joy. Reading the flashing signs on the sides of the freeway can make you dizzy: there is not a “Big Wanker Mountain Tunnel” in West Virginia. But it makes it rather enjoyable to imagine it. There was some snow flurries, falling in the darkness, especially as I reached the end of the mountains and stopped at a rest area, just outside of Charleston. But nothing to care about.

Then I crossed the Ohio River into the eponymous state. I figured I should get some gas and this took ten miles… and nothing. Finally I decided maybe the little “Available at this Exit” signs were not right. So I drove off at the next exit. Lo, a gas station… two, in fact: but both were closed. Who closes a gas station on the Interstate? The slowly falling meter on the dash wasn’t what concerned me most, however: for while the “off” ramp showed no sign of weather at all, the “get back on” ramp across the intersection was totally covered with snow. From there it was another 10 miles or so, driving slowly in near white-out. It was my first experience in snow, although I was surprised at the “micro climate”. It ended just as suddenly.

I got gas, and kept driving. By the time I got to the first rest area, where I zonked out, there was only a dusting - but it was still snowing. I slept from 4AM until 5… and for some reason I couldn’t get back to sleep. So I got up, dealt with my morning toilet and then took a long, slow and leisurely drive through Ohio Amish Country. I passed a couple of horse-carts, clopping off to a Sunday Meeting, one assumes. Coincidentally, Sunday was also the Jewish feast of Purim - one of serious joy. It felt appropriate for this trip!

When I arrived in Mansfield and got to St Constantine and Helen parish, there were two ladies in the pews, Fr Nathan was reading Orthros and Fr Nicholas was at the Altar. Let me say that Fr Nicholas can really sing! Fr Nathaniel was having some trouble with his voice, needing water and coughing a lot. But it was interesting to hear how they - these two Gringos - mixed Greek and English. During the first litany, Fr Nicholas mentioned “Our Metropolitan, Maximos” and bowed to a corner inside the screen. This was my first clue that something was different! Eventually the Bishop decided to bring himself out to chant and assist Fr Nathaniel. There was a psychic “gasp” from the assembled faithful (by now 3 or 4 others). It was clear no one was expecting a bishop: an unexpected Episcophany!

(Picture courtesy of Fr N.)

Everything proceeded as normal (plus a bishop) from that point on. There was a veritable army of Acolytes. Some turned to get the Bishop’s blessing as they entered the “back room” to vest, some came out moments later, surprised at this reverend Grandpa with a Pointed Hat and a Staff. AS the Church filled up and we moved into the Liturgy, the “real” Episcopal stuff started. I was interested in the lack of formality (compared to a Slavic rite service). The Bishop was not greeted and vested at the door, etc. Everything happened as if a “special guest” had shown up for dinner, rather than visiting royalty. I’d seen something like this at Dcn Ernesto’s ordination… but now I see it is a Byzantine rite way. Cool. To someone “schooled” in the Slavic Rite, it can appear “sloppy”, but it “feels” homey.

I will say this: Mtr Maximos preached acn interesting sermon: he offered to tell us why the Church had this specifi Gospel - the healing of the paralytic (that came through the roof) - on the Sunday of St Gregory Palamas. We heard about the Pope’s visitation to the EP, the problems with St Augustine’s theology, the debate of Palamas with Barlaam, but after 40 mins, we never got around to how the Gospel was connected with the Feast Day!

(Picture courtesy of Fr N.)

Then was communion and the Antidoron. Fr Nicholas introduced me to the Bishop, then I had to go… there was such a smell of food wafting up from the basement that I was truly sad to leave. The liturgy was, like, 90% Greek - I’m sure the food would have been as well!

I saw a curious thing as I left Mansfield: a bridge across the interstate, no doubt connecting two parts of an Amish farm, or something. There were clearly bales of hay up there. There were about 20-30 young Amish men up there as well. Most of them were simply looking out, north bound, in the direction of the traffic flow. Two were looking south and one of these was waving. I waved back. I wish I had had my camera ready to go… Standing in an liminal place, staring from one world out into the next takes courage enough. (Forget actually waving at the folks passing by!) I liked these Amish boys.

Darn: I intended to stop in a grocery store in Ohio and get some Skyline Chili! (Note: the website says, select Harris Teeters in North Carolina I’ll have to check.) Hmmm. As I write I’m not too far from Trader Joe’s either…

Just outside of Cleveland the snow returned in earnest. But it wasn’t a hard snow: more “lake effect” I think, than anything. Just a lot of clouds in the air. It stayed with me as I drove to Erie, Penn, and passed away just as I passed in to New York. Some place during this drive my boredom and lack of sleep got to me: I started to call people at random just to talk - I called people in Southern California to taunt them about the snow. I called my ex to check in. I called Mom and Dad. I called a fellow Church Geek to talk about the morning’s visitation. I called Brodie to tell him of my progress. By the time I pulled into a rest area on the NY Thruway, I was ready to stand out in the cold and smoke a cig - which I did, while being on the phone w/ Mom. It was -3 which is a good wakeup. I then drove the rest of the way into Buffalo, or “bu-flo” as I’ve heard it called by natives.

I also entered a sort of NPR Hell during this leg of the drive: most of their stations are down in the 80s and 90s on the FM dial, one need only hit “scan” to find them. As I left Mansfield I scanned and hit a station just as “Wait, Wait, Don’t Tell Me” was coming on. Since this is one of my favourite shows, it was fun to listen to. Just as we reached the end, at the top of the hour, the station started to fade. So I hit scan and lo, another NPR Station with NPR news. And then… “Wait, Wait, Don’t Tell Me” was coming on. Since this is one of my favourite shows, it was fun to listen to. Just as we reached the end, at the top of the hour, the station started to fade. So I hit scan and lo, another NPR Station with NPR news. And then… “Wait, Wait, Don’t Tell Me” was coming on. By this time I knew all the answers, so I plopped in a CD.

Navigating though Buffalo was way easier than I thought. I was on the Peace Bridge (or on the Friendship Bridge, or in Mr Rogers Neighbourhood, something) in no time at all. The Canadian border official asked me a couple of questions and smiled when I said I was bringing a box of chocolates in as gift. (It was actually a canister of Dagoba Hot Chocolate with hot peppers, but who’s keeping track?) I pushed a handy button to switch over to Metric - I’d driven 1200km by that point - and suddenly the “Change Oil” reminder came on.

Hitting scan on the radio to find a “real” Canadian station I landed one pretty quickly: techno dance popish. “It sounds so European!” As the dance mix ended, a travel agency commercial came on the air. I laughed out loud. The first words: “Are you looking for a good Caribbean Vacation at a good price? VIVA CUBA!” Toto, we ain’t in Kansas any more! It was refreshingly funny to realise that our petty squabbles with the world can be left behind within a few Kilometres of the Boarder.

The sun was setting directly in front of me for most of the ride in. I took the 3rd (and final) Hamilton exit just as it dropped below the horizon. Then I promptly got lost. I know my error only in hindsight: I should have gone all the way to the end of the road on which I found myself. Instead I had a bad map in my head (and I was unable to focus on the map that I had in the car b/c my eyes were tired). So I decided I’d driven far enough and made a left turn into a really trashy section of town. After driving around a block a couple of times, I got my bearings: Mtn in the South, last wisps of Sunset in the West. I found Barton Street and started to drive west, slowly in traffic. Eventually, I found what I knew must be the right place. I could even look in the windows and see the right apartment. But I couldn’t see a door or a street number. So I did a u-turn and tried again to find the place. Failed. I pulled into a snowy parking space and called Brodie. (Cellphone! International rates! ARGH!) He gave me the last few instructions.

Around the block one more time: a parking lot, but no one standing about to indicate where I should be. I came to a halt in a space and looked around. There was no one. I waited. I turned off the car. I waited. And looked around. There was no one. These moments all passed in seconds, I’m sure, but at this point I was a nervous wreck and they seemed to pass like hours. I took the keys out of the ignition and suddenly there was a knock on the window and there was Brodie, waving at me. I stepped out of the car and was swept up into a warm bear hug. And suddenly everything was worth it, and it was good.

Introductions to the housemates, pizza and a walking tour of the upscaling parts of Hamilton rounded out the evening.

Who is Brodie? Well, about 5 months ago a chat window opened up with “hello”. Responding one found a smart, funny guy, with a warm heart and something… The longer we spoke (hour, two hours, three hours most any night of the week, several times during the day…) the more one began to sense a that “something” might be there. We spoke on the phone, we spoke “on camera”. The sense of laughter and commonality with each other grew. I was a religion geek: he was a music geek. We both shared an interest in music, spirituality, science… although he is, by far, the smarter one. As I told him recently, hardly ten minutes go by where I don’t learn something from him. Our conversations can range far and wide over many different topics, never coming to rest on any one thing for very long. Finally, there was a couple of questions to ask that only physical presence could answer.

Waking up Monday, Brodie and I first had to decide on breakfast: coffee and leftover pizza. After much geeking around (playing with Teh Internets and the whatnot) we decided to become active for the day: it was about 3pm by now. Before leaving, Peter told me online that the windchill was going to be -45 that evening. He commented that with numbers that low it didn’t matter if we were discussing Celsius or Farenheit. There was the small matter of gas for the car which required an exchange of money. There was some driving around involved and some small “oopsies” when it was realised my wallet was back at the apartment. In the end I had exchanged 100US for 115 Canadian, got 40 litres of gas (@ US87¢ per litre = US 3.29 a gallon) and purchased an extra-large double double at Tim Horton’s along with a maple-cream-filled doughnut. Thus fortified, we departed for IKEA.

Driving to IKEA I explained a lot to Brodie who had asked me if I was an Ex-ex-gay. And I shared a bit of my current struggles with faith and defining myself. I told him about “I was in Hell” and about “Hell Reconsidered.” I told him about being duped into being a Cultural Warrior instead of a spiritual warrior: how I felt when I realised I’d been used to Gay Bash, but no one who loved the former essay seemed to like the latter. And I shared my increasing dissatisfaction with the idea that there seems to be only one sin left, at least as far as conservatives and right wingers are concerned. I said I can clearly hear the scriptural taboos against anal sex. Regardless of how one might react to those teachings, I can not extract from them any sense of forbidding me emotional contact: falling in love, holding hands, the simple joys of touch. I had somehow fallen into the closet again and I was tired of once again telling lies. Holding hands in the car, and later walking through IKEA in the same manner… increasingly one realised how safe one felt, how cared for, how involved. If one can’t believe in “at first sight”, this one was certainly a case of “you had me at ‘hello’”. As the Beetles say, “It’s a fool who plays it cool by making his world a little colder.” I hope I can make Canada as warm for Brodie as he has made my heart.

We each purchased a coat rack from IKEA - by the name of “Stativ”. I can’t find it on the IKEA website, but it’s a cool thing: solid and able to support the heavy coats that live in my house.

We rounded out the evening with dinner - Swedish salmon, steamed veggies and lingonberry juice. Then Brodie showed me a location of the store for which he works (think upscale shopping in a cross between Walmart and Whole Foods). We drove home, assembled his coat rack and passed out, curled up on on the sofa, watching Harry Potter. Some place in here (before or after Harry Potter) we decided that yes, what we felt might be there was, in fact, there: and we named ourselves “boyfriends”.

The next morning Brodie needed to be at work and, following coffee we said our goodbyes and got him to work.

Before leaving Canada, I had to stop by Enterprise, just up the road from Brodie’s apartment. The “Change Oil Soon” reminder had come on in the car. The folks at Enterprise (after calling the Asheville office) agreed with my theory: the last time the oil was changed the guy probably forgot to reset the car. But they also paid for an oil change just in case. Off I went to Canada Tire for a zippy change and tire rotation (and whatever else they do for Enterprise, there: it was about 2 hours). Then I drove out of Hamilton and over to the 420 to visit Niagara Falls.

This was a short visit: I swear it was colder at the Falls than any other place in that part of Canada. I drove past all the touristy places over to the “official” Canada Parks car park and walked over to the falls. I took some pictures, I smoked a bit and I went back to the car and drove away. By the time I managed to follow all the signs back to the bridge across to the USA, I’d lost about an hour or an hour and a half in this little touristy jaunt. The US Customs Agent was a bit less perfunctory than the Canadian one, but I’ve well learned how to suck up to American Officiousness. Yes, sir. No, sir. Thank you, sir. It came form IKEA, sir. Good Day, sir. My southern accent comes in handy in these situations: it seems to mollify most people. I know from experience that it even works on the NYPD.

From Niagara, through Grand Island to Buffalo and beyond. I stopped for a little while at the Rest Area on the Thruway where I accessed the Wifi to use my Skype to call Mom (etc) to announce my arrival back in the US. The it was on to Pittsburgh.

Or so I thought.

Mike had wanted me to go to an exit in P’burgh that was, actually further south than had I wanted to go… by the time I realised I wasn’t where I was supposed to be and wanted to loop back (not generally possible on Toll Roads) I ended up curving around the South Side of P’burgh and found another road South… and no it wasn’t where I wanted to go and suddenly I was in a tiny town with a one lane road and a ferry. I’m sad to admit that just about every Red-State Stereotype came back to me and I locked the windows and did the speed limit for several hours until I made it back to a more-urbane civilisation closer to the Interstate. From thence, I turned east and headed towards Maryland. Once there I pulled into a rest area and fell asleep. I woke up about 3 AM to run the heater for 5 mins or so. And then I woke up again at 4 or so to see 3 inches of snow fallen on my windows. And me, here, on top of a mountain. Not good. Visions of midwesterners trapped on snowy freeways danced in my head. At ten-twenty miles an hour or so, following a large truck through the storm, I drove from the rest area to a Comfort Inn in Grantsville, MD, arriving at about 5 or later, I guess.

The next morning, having rested a couple of hours (suffering through Grease II) and eaten from their lovely continental breakfast (which included huge, fresh waffles), I accessed the internet for a few hours while waiting from the snow to stop. It never did stop, actually. So I left, driving to Richmond, VA. It took a while - seven hours instead of the promised four. By the time I’d got to Richmond, I’d driven through snow, rain and sunshine, over Mountains, through them, past rivers and the Blue Ridge Parkway. I found the Church where Donald was speaking and then found a hotel. During the search I drove over a bridge into a part of town littered with AME Churches, Fried Chicken joints and broken street lights. I’m sad to admit that just about every Red-State Stereotype came back to me and I locked the windows and did far more than the speed limit until I returned to more urbane civilisation.

I spent the night in the hotel room, being exhausted, ordered indian food, chatted with Brodie and slept.

After checkout the next morning I drove the car to a car park rather close to the Church, walked around, smoked a cigarette and visited the Museum of the Confederacy. I got a pin, a poster, a bumper sticker and a confederate soldier’s Prayer Book. The exhibits are cool - well balanced and honest about slaves, slavery, the dead and the dying. About Noon I wondered over to St Pauls. During a tour of the inside, I was surprised to find windows devoted to Jefferson Davis and Robert E. Lee. It seemed ironically salvific to be sitting in this Southron temple waiting to hear Donald Schell.

The service began with a hymn, the Lord’s prayer and some collects. Then came the sermon. Donald spoke about the little white lies we tell each other - and how they destroy us. Noting that St John’s Gospel marks “the advocate” as against “the accuser”, the Spirit of God against the Spirit of Darkness, he also noted other such parings: Truth/Lies Life/Death etc. St John constantly showing us the non-parallels between the way of Jesus and some other ways available. But where Donald hit was on “Father of Lies” as in “Your father is the father of lies”. The sermon was about the lies we tell - how they hurt, wound, destroy. And I felt as if my entire trip had been boiled down in this sermon: to the lies I’d been telling, and the truth I was telling now.

After the sermon and another hymn, the clergy came down the centre aisle and, as he walked past me, Donald saw me, and smiled huge… and I returned the smile. Warm hugs happened at the door… and then tea, plus a couple of hours conversation: where he’d been speaking from in his sermons (including the one’s I’d not heard) and where he was going; where I had been and where I felt I was, and where I prayed I was going. I showed him a picture of Brodie at IKEA, holding a basket that looks much like a blow fish. Clearly we are silly. Donald said that “silly” comes from the German, “Selig” meaning “blessed.” Silly is good. Real good. And I’d not been silly in a while. Would I mind reading his sermons and sharing my reactions?

Leaving Richmond I felt I’d had just about all the reconnections I might imagine. But there was more. As I reach the NC state line, I pulled into the Visitors’ Centre and called Zac and Charles in Durham. For my surprise visit they gave me dinner (tasty fishcakes) and a bed for the night with their two cats. They told me of a party to happen on Saturday night, hosted by friends, where one might meet Brodie’s best friend from Toronto! And so, checking with Brodie, I agreed to go: a visit that was well worth the return drive the next day.

A short drive home to Asheville, I unloaded everything and returned the car early - saving $200.

There are still many questions and still many smiles to report and deal with. What now? Well, I spent two hours+ on the phone with a conservative Anglican clergywoman talking about things. Next I’ll be talking to my confessor again. I’m over being flummoxed by all of this. As the cartoon (recently posted) has said, “I think I’ll just have some tea.” But it was a good trip: filled with much learning and thinking and praying. It was filled, also, with “Many Meetings” and “Many Partings” but each one was a blessing in it’s way. Might I go to Canada again? Maybe Brodie will come to Asheville? Perhaps we’ll both carry a bit of vacation time to a far-away place. I don’t know. It feels as if all the time I felt I was wasting was returned four-fold to spend as I wished but, please God, this time a bit more wisely.

My aged cynicism says only “wait for the other shoe to drop.” But sitting here in Asheville, and chatting with Brodie at home, it feels as if the world has suddenly shifted to a much different sort of spring than I’d previously imagined.