Always Hungry For Something

Well, here we are.
Here we are where we soon shall not be.
We are now officially in our last week living and working in DC. A week from right now (assuming I'm not just waking up from a wicked, last-day-of-work-in-a-soul-crushing-office-building hangover) we'll be somewhere on the road between here and the great city of Detroit. And by "great city" I mean "abandoned hellhole," but whatever.

So I guess I thought I would take the last few days here to recollect a little about the good and the bad of living here in DC.

Today's Sappy Post!

The Good: Obviously, the best thing ever about our time here in the Nation's Crapital (get it? I changed the word to make the meaning something different! LOL) is that I met so many wonderful people that populate my link field over there ---->
I will fucking miss the shit out them. And I'm angry about that. But it's a good anger, right?


The Bad: Actually, this just happened yesterday. I found out that over the weekend my friend Charles (the homeless(?) Street Sense vendor) was jumped, beaten up, and robbed by a gang of five "young'uns." Now he doesn't have money for rent and may have to move into a shelter again. He told me that it's a good thing he doesn't have a gun because now he'd be serving life in prison. What a world.

Today in History

Eighty years ago today my mother's mother was born somewhere in Idaho, I don't remember exactly. Some things I do know about her: she has six children and 18 or 19 grandchildren and a bunch of great-grandchildren. She went to the same middle school/junior high school as me, Franklin, in Yakima. Like my mother and I, she is the third oldest child in her family and like my mother and I, her birthday falls on the 23rd day of the month. She plays bingo. She worked in an apple packing warehouse for many years. Her mother died at age 96 when I was in the fourth grade. Her husband died when I was in the 10th grade after being partially paralyzed for more than 15 years. He fought in World War II. She grew up in an orchard in the Yakima Valley and at harvest time, actual real-life indians in teepees would camp out in the orchard to work. She doesn't like having her picture taken. She is a wonderful grandmother and great-grandmother.

For her birthday my mom and aunts and uncles are throwing a big bash in Franklin Park in Yakima. We won't be able to attend, but we did send a little message and picture for the "memory book" or whatever you want to call it that my aunt is putting together. Here's what I said.

Dear Grandma,

We love you.

Thanks for being such a great hugger. Maggie, Levi and I all agree that you give the world's best hugs every time we see you, which isn't nearly as often as we'd like.

Thanks for making Maggie feel so much like a part of the family. Thanks for loving her like you would one of your own grandkids.

Thanks for being such an awesome Great Grandma. Levi loves you. A lot.

Thanks for letting us all get together at your house every Christmas Eve. Even if we never did get to open the presents as soon as I wanted (as soon as we got there!).

Thanks for letting us run wild in The Shop back in the day. And thanks for the lemonade or water or whatever it was we needed to drink after spending a hot summer afternoon baking in The Attic.

Thanks for giving me my first taste of coffee when I was three years old. I'm sorry that I spit it out all over you. I like it now!

Thanks for everything you've done for our family. From teaching me to play bingo to so many other things.

Most of all, thanks for being a part of our lives. We love you.

Love,
Schuyler, Maggie and Levi

Geez, it's getting a little dusty in here. Somebody turn on the air filter.

What Is It About Family?

Of all the relationships that we have, I don't think there are any that run deeper than family. There is just something about your family (wife, children, parents, siblings, etc) that is different from everyone else. Take, for example, the brickbaby. He is a very affable guy, willing and wanting to make friends with practically anyone. Since moving to the DC area a few months back, he's made some good friends at church that he gets to see, usually, once a week. But those friends are not family. When he saw his grandparents for the first time in over a month, he was very excited. He knew something was different about them. They weren't just ordinary friends. (The same thing happened a little over a month ago when he saw them for the first time since Christmas.) It's almost like he knows that the blood that flows in his veins also courses through theirs.

What causes this difference? Are there subtle ways that family treat each other that differ from the way friends act? Are there subconscious and/or body-language differences that clue us in? Or is it more mystical than that? Do we just know? And how are these bonds broken, as we all know they can be? Whatever it is, I like it. To know that they are out there, your family, is a comforting thought. As long as they are there, there is some kind of cosmic string binding you to someone in this mad, mad, mad, mad world.

An Open Letter to Mars Hill Church

Dear Mars Hill Church,

You have no idea what you mean to our family.

We moved here last October. We didn't have any friends or family within 2500 miles, and we'd never even been to the east coast before. It was quite a shock, not to mention a little bit lonely. So we did the only thing we could think of; we started looking for a church. In this regard, the Yellow Pages was our friend. Back in Washington state, we had been "attending" a Christian and Missionary Alliance Church that we rather liked (not that we had much choice, since almost every other church in town was a Mormon church) so we tried out the closest C&MA church we could find. It was fine and all, but we weren't very excited about it. Two weeks later, we were back in the phone book at 10 PM Saturday night looking for another church to try. We saw Mars Hill Church and called the number. The church meets in a coffee shop? Okay, a little weird, but okay. We wrote down the directions and arrived late the next morning (we're doing better now, I swear!) to find a skit being enacted on stage. It was all about women and their role in the church. To be honest, it was kind of refreshing. So then a discussion starts (a discussion at a church service? Okay, weird again, but okay) and people are coming in from all over. And people don't agree. It actually made me feel a little uncomfortable. I was already thinking that this was some sort of wacko new-age church and that it wasn't going to work out.

And then the Eucharist started. We've always looked for a church that does the Eucharist every week (not monthly, or quarterly) so this made a good impression on me. And it was beautiful. I never knew there could be such a great balance of tradition and intensity, for lack of a better word. I was starting to think that maybe this was okay after all.

After the service, we were invited to Chipotle for lunch. I was admittedly a little leery of the traditional "take the visitors to lunch and grill them about their religious beliefs and current afterlife destination." Instead, we found what could only be called friendship. We talked to Dee throughout lunch, and even though we had never met her before, we were both comfortable.

On the drive home, both Maggie and I were feeling the same thing, but were both a little hesitant to express it. We loved Mars Hill Church. It was love at first sight. But it couldn't be real, right? We couldn't have been that lucky. If we said something we might jinx it. But eventually we did start talking. And eventually we came back for a second visit, and a third. And from then on, we weren't visiting anymore, we were just going to church.

Again, you have no idea what this means to us. We have friends. We have a family. We have people that will be there for us if we need it, and people that we can be there for when they need it. In summary, thank for accepting us, and making us feel welcome. Thank you for getting to know us and letting us be apart of your lives. Thank you for being there for God to lead us to.

Sincerely,
Schuyler

P.S. It is already breaking our hearts that we will almost certainly have to leave MHC someday. My transfer here is only temporary, and we are dreading moving away from you all. Maybe we'll move back out west when we get the chance; maybe Seattle, maybe Portland. Maybe you can all move out there, too! You'd like it out there, I swear!

Wait, no. I'm not ready!

So I heard the news this morning that Luther Vandross died on Friday. It's not that big a deal to me. I don't have any of his albums. I don't think I can even think of one song of his that was a hit. But still, it's never happy when someone dies.

What really got me thinking was the fact that he died at the age of 54. Both of my parents are at least that old (Brickmom is 54 and Brickdad is 56), and I am in no way ready for them to die. I don't want to sound selfish, since, to quote old Albus, death is just the first step into the next great adventure and to meet God is something devoutly to be wished, but shoot, I'M not ready for it. It's something that I haven't even given any thought. I mean, they're my parents, they can't die, right? My son is always going to have his grandma and grandpa, right? We'll always be able to go visit them and stay at their house, right? I'm not really worried about their health at this point. Brickdad runs like, 6 miles a day and Brickmom is probably as healthy as she's ever been. But what about accidents? Since I work in the field of automotive safety, I can't help but worry that a member of my family could easily be killed any day. I guess that's something we all have to deal with. It's just something that I don't really feel comfortable thinking about.

Anyway, Mom, Dad;I just want to let you know that me, Maggie and Levi love you very much. And don't go dying on us.