Ben Camino's Ironic Advent 2020 Meditation #24:
Conjunctions, Chuy's, Road Rage, and the Miracle of the Lost Galaxy A50.
Whoa! sky!
A friend of mine and I used to use that expression to describe a particular whoa sky whenever one appeared in the Indiana atmosphere, which seems, in my memory, to be quite often. I imagine we just loved that expression so much we might (might, I say) have overused it.
I do believe I hear a chorus of Jennifers chanting, amen and amen, yes Ben Camino is oh-so-prone to overusing expressions.
Anyway(s), if you feel lost in the meditation, dear reader, the best way I can help you is by suggesting you go back and read the previous hundred or so Ironic Advent Meditations (and some other pieces not linked directly to Advent and Christmas). Or you may have to wait, possibly a long time, for the publication of Ben Camino for Dummies which will almost certainly explain the reference to the Jennifers, the fixation on anyway(s) and the overuse of parentheses. Plus the chapter attempting to describe the vertigo-like experience of keeping up with Ben's so-called thinking.
That being said, Whoa! Sky! As in, Missy and I drove up into the Austin hills yesterday evening, hid in the parking lot of St. Michael's Episcopal Church until all those pesky Episcopalians had left (that part isn't true), and watched in amazement as The Conjunction, or what Missy insists on calling "the Christmas star," made its appearance in the southwestern sky. It really was amazing. It really was historic. It really was numinous.
On the other hand, it wasn't all that great. I mean, it wasn't that gigantic, that shiny, that . . . heavenly unless you supplied a little imagination. And a little historical perspective. We did, though. Missy even broke into the singing of "O Holy Night" several times.
And we had the best view in Austin. The parking lot looks out from a high spot towards the southwest with a pretty clear view of things. There are trees nearby and a hill with some buildings in the distance. But Supiter (I made that up, thanks) was high enough at the time and the sky was dark enough to light it up pretty well. When I blew my pictures up, you could easily see two bright but non-twinkling entities making up the "miracle star."
Pretty cool. Pretty dang cool. And did I mention Missy singing "O Holy Night"? And the cold wind whipping through the trees. And my walking out through some brush to get a better look and then remembering the existence of rattle snakes and heading back to the safety of the parking lot. Whoa! Snakes!
Finally we drove away and headed back to Apache Shores.
At which time the following happened. You can consider this my police report.
At the corner of General Williamson and Broken Arrow (aren't you loving this, so far? these names, I mean?), I came to a complete stop. Then, it being a four-way stop, I rolled forward a bit more to make sure I was good to go. All of a sudden I was being honked at by a road enraged driver behind me who soon was screaming at me -- using the most delicate adjectives -- that "every *!@#$ idiot knows that you don't stop twice at a stop sign." To speak what those symbols represent took him a lot longer that it did for me to type them.
I pulled over. He stopped. He opened his door and screamed some more about peace on earth, good will to man, and, against my sister's wishes, I opened up my door, in the middle of the street, and decided I would let him know how displeased I was with his misunderstanding of stop sign etiquette, not to mention his vocabulary.
I don't know how it happened, but at one point, I believe I asked him if he were from Oklahoma.
Next there were a variety of suggestions from him, although all the time keeping only one foot out of the car and one foot in, that somebody was about to get a @#@#$@##$!%&* whoopin' and it wasn't going to be him. I took offense at that, but again tried to explain that his behavior seemed out of place given the circumstances. He replied, with remarkable commitment to his stupidity, "who ever heard of stopping twice at a stop sign!"
I stood there trying to look tall (it doesn't take much), he got back in the car and drove away. My heart, I don't mind saying, was palpitating a bit. We drove back to Missy's and right away I realized I didn't have my phone. Yikes, I realized it must have fallen out into the street when I, for the first time since . . . ever got out of my car in the middle of the road to let an angry driver know that his anger was a deep character flaw for which he needed treatment.
We jumped back in Missy's car headed for the corner of Broken Bow and Great Eagle Trail (I am not making these names up; I'm sorry that you live on South Main St.). JUST THEN, another car pulled out its driveway between us and the intersection and started driving in the same direction.
They made it to the intersection and turned right. I imagined my dear phone smashed to smithereens. That Galaxy A50 is not the greatest phone mind you, but I treasure it for taking really good pictures of trees, hills, water, and conjunctive planets. And for recording song ideas.
Missy yelled, "Is that it? I think that's it!" She meant my phone. There it was, in the middle of the street, NOT smashed. She called me. It was ringing before I opened my door. I stood in the street, happy to have my phone back, spinning due to my near street brawl experience, and grateful that now I would be able to share my cool pictures of the "Christmas star" in my family chat and perhaps, even with you dear reader.
If you've been keeping track, you probably know that yesterday I published something about my lost and found vest. You should look at it if you haven't.
And now the lost and found phone. Well, it was only "lost" for a few minutes. The point is that it was exposed and vulnerable and could have very potentially "fallen among thieves." I don't know why my life is so dramatic. Perhaps as Father Grimes used to say in high school, dramatic people have dramatic lives. But, just as I thought back then, I wonder if that statement really says anything. Deep down, I guess, I think it doesn't.
Were all the men who jumped out of the boats and into the waters of Normandy in June 1944 just "dramatic" dudes?
This is Christmas Eve. Almost Christmas morning. I'm sad to have missed Midnight Mass. More than sad. Disconsolate. I know, that's dramatic.
Tonight, I gathered with Ricke folks (alive and dead) on land that has been in the family for 80 yeas or so in the hills of Bastrop, Texas. We ate too much, drank a bit, saw the star (again), caught some fish, greeted the donkey and sheep, sang some carols, exchanged some gifts, and worked on a puzzle -- not necessarily in that order. If you looked at us a previous year, it would seem pretty much the same, except Harry is growing (7th grade!), and my daughters were missing.
I survived the road rage idiot last night who blasted me with interesting adjectives and surprised me with his stupidity. This being 2020, I shouldn't, perhaps, be surprised at his malicious behavior towards me.
I made it to be with the family on "the land" -- bringing two guitars, two bottles of Prosecco, a dark-blue zippered fleecy vest which I intend to package and give to my brother tomorrow (please read yesterday's meditation to understand the significance of), and my Galaxy A50 to take some pictures, record some of the carol singing, and to receive any important Christmas Eve phone calls that somebody might think it important to make. They didn't. But it was a good Christmas Eve anyway(s).
But, and this is the big but, the turn, the volta, in this meditation. Christmas isn't just about family, regardless of what the Hallmark Channel might say. In fact and of course, now that we think about it, Christmas is a pilgrimage into the unknown, the unfamiliar, the enemy who hates us for no apparent reason and wants to make sure our life is miserable (and provide a nasty whoopin') for the dumbest of reasons.
Jesus, Mary, Joseph and donkey (call him Pancho*) were, quite specifically cold, relatively unsheltered, and in less than ideal or even traditional conditions on their famous Christmas eve and morning. Roadrage was all around them, or at least would be soon, especially in the character of King Herod and his minions. Angels and shepherds show up eventually, and we are glad they did.
But that's a lot of introductions isn't it ("I'm Shepherd One, and you are . . . ? Nice to meet you Joseph."). And that was just the beginning for this family journey of becoming something more or less than your usual family.
Christmas is celebrated by families, but enacted outside the walls of our homes, churches, and palaces (or wherever those kings/magi came from). Reaching out has become such a massive cliché. Christmas, though, is one great heavenly reaching out or reaching down event. Divine condescension, divine pity. Don't get me started about how beautiful those words and ideas are despite all our misunderstanding of them in world that questions the motives of all caring.
Before we went to the see the miracle star yesterday, I took Missy to her doctor's appointment. She's had foot surgery recently and this was to check on her healing. She brought along a bag full of really lovely knitted winter wool caps she made to give out to anyone we saw who might need one. Remember it's Christmas time and should be cold. Unfortunately, it was almost 80 yesterday.
Anyway, or anyways as the Jennifers often say, we did give one to our amazing server at Chuy's -- Austin's original hipster Mexican food joint. She loved it and it looked great on her. And we owed her something since I had guessed she was from Wisconsin or Illinois, obviously hurting the feelings of a native-born Texan.
Missy didn't come to be with family tonight, due to the foot and being ridiculously tired. BUT, I think she had a pretty great Christmas experience, in imitation of the One who came to give a gift not exchange gifts, when she gave Vic, our server, an unexpected winter cap. She made a bunch of similar things (scarves and things) for the neighbors. They came over tonight, while I was with the family in Bastrop, and they gave her a great gift and told her how much she has meant to them by reaching out to them.
Families are great. I am highly in favor of sharing the love and the joy of this time and all time with them. But I've been thinking a little bit tonight about Mr. Roadrage himself. I don't feel guilty for what went down in the middle of the road last night. That was his fault all the way. I'm not saying I wished I could give him the Prosecco I gave to Carol tonight, but maybe a knitted hat, or maybe a surprising word of grace, or maybe even checking if he's OK. As in, "it's OK pal, it was just a stop sign. Are you OK?"
That sounds unlikely. And perhaps unrealistic. Like waiting in a cold, windy parking lot for a magical miracle star to appear. Like the road to Bethlehem. Like the incarnation of the Son of God. Like the long walk to the cross. Like to forgive and love those who "curse you, hate you, and despitefully use you."
Even with my Galaxy A50, I can't picture all that quite yet. But then, it's not quite Christmas morning either. I'm planning to get up early just in case I see something amazing, something I won't want to miss.
Something that will make my depressed heart say, Whoa! Sky!
Happy Christmas, friends.
Yours in the ranks of irony,
Ben Camino
*Pancho is the name of Uncle Bubba's donkey up on the land in Bastrop.
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