Easter Weekend

It has taken a certain amount of getting used to, switching from the Church of Christ, Temple Lot to Christ United Methodist. At CoCTL, the Easter Bunny and colored eggs (among other things) are considered symbols of "ancient pagan fertility rites" (sic) and are therefore discouraged. 

Like fertility rites are a bad thing.  Like they actually know what those are.

CUMC?  Easter Egg hunt Saturday morning, with a visit from * gasp * the Easter Bunny.  The festivities opened with a prayer, then a puppet show (God save us from ever having to watch THAT again), then a mad dash for the south lawn and several hundred plastic eggs.  Better there than my living room, that's all I have to say there.

And, another thought: like so much else, such symbols long ago lost any significance they might once have had.  Complain all you like about Christianity supplanting the Old Ways: Madison Avenue is far better at it than the ancient Church could ever be.  The 11th century Catholics didn't have electronic media and instantaneous global reach.

Easter service was well populated (they always are) and the sermon was good.  It was a bit of battery recharging that I certainly needed.  It's a sense of community and acceptance that I never felt with previous churches (or covens, for that matter).  There are several people there who feel like family to me, made all the easier by the fact that if I miss a Sunday or two, upon my return I hear "Nice to see you!" instead of "We missed you at church last Sunday."  The difference is subtle, but significant. 

Of course, the weekend included work on the house.  Apologies to anyone coming over Tuesday night: the place is - as always - under construction, only moreso.  Got the arch-wall re-'rocked, doing the entire job with leftovers.  Saved a bit of money there, not having to buy new drywall for the project. 

Casualties this weekend (a few more than usual, since I had what I was standing on tip out from under me at one point):

• Left hand. Index finger: cuticle split; palm: big-ass splinter
• Right hand. Index finger: cuticle, cut on k2; thumb: cuticle
• Right wrist.  Scraped all to hell and gone.
• Right shin.  Likewise.
• Left ankle.  Twisted
• Right shoulder.  Sore, deep down.

The upside to all this (yes, there is an upside) is that my upper body is getting a helluva workout, and it shows. 

Easter Weekend

It has taken a certain amount of getting used to, switching from the Church of Christ, Temple Lot to Christ United Methodist. At CoCTL, the Easter Bunny and colored eggs (among other things) are considered symbols of "ancient pagan fertility rites" (sic) and are therefore discouraged. 

Like fertility rites are a bad thing.  Like they actually know what those are.

CUMC?  Easter Egg hunt Saturday morning, with a visit from * gasp * the Easter Bunny.  The festivities opened with a prayer, then a puppet show (God save us from ever having to watch THAT again), then a mad dash for the south lawn and several hundred plastic eggs.  Better there than my living room, that's all I have to say there.

And, another thought: like so much else, such symbols long ago lost any significance they might once have had.  Complain all you like about Christianity supplanting the Old Ways: Madison Avenue is far better at it than the ancient Church could ever be.  The 11th century Catholics didn't have electronic media and instantaneous global reach.

Easter service was well populated (they always are) and the sermon was good.  It was a bit of battery recharging that I certainly needed.  It's a sense of community and acceptance that I never felt with previous churches (or covens, for that matter).  There are several people there who feel like family to me, made all the easier by the fact that if I miss a Sunday or two, upon my return I hear "Nice to see you!" instead of "We missed you at church last Sunday."  The difference is subtle, but significant. 

Of course, the weekend included work on the house.  Apologies to anyone coming over Tuesday night: the place is - as always - under construction, only moreso.  Got the arch-wall re-'rocked, doing the entire job with leftovers.  Saved a bit of money there, not having to buy new drywall for the project. 

Casualties this weekend (a few more than usual, since I had what I was standing on tip out from under me at one point):

• Left hand. Index finger: cuticle split; palm: big-ass splinter
• Right hand. Index finger: cuticle, cut on k2; thumb: cuticle
• Right wrist.  Scraped all to hell and gone.
• Right shin.  Likewise.
• Left ankle.  Twisted
• Right shoulder.  Sore, deep down.

The upside to all this (yes, there is an upside) is that my upper body is getting a helluva workout, and it shows. 

Ruminations on hospital visits

Dear Hospital Administrator,

I have a question for you.  I'm all for seeing to the patients' comfort and care, that's your purpose.  It's what you're paid to do, and in my experience, the money is worth it.  But the average patient doesn't drive himself in, right?  Someone's injured or sick enough for the ER, they're going to be driven in by someone, right?

So, why the hell do you make that person's life so un-fucking-comfortable?  Are you afraid we'll get comfortable and start using the ER as a summer home?  If I'm that person - and that's usually how it works out - I'm there as long as the patient is, holding the bucket and wiping the forehead and giving comfort while you're not in the room, and you provide me a chair that's no better than sitting on a milking stool.

I'm not asking for a leather recliner, but a chair with a wider seat, arms, a little incline to the back and, oh, I dunno, padding under my ass would go a long way toward making me cooperative and friendly after sitting there for several hours. 

Lest you think me ungrateful, thanks for taking good care of my loved ones.  No thanks for making my butt numb.

Regards,

 - Bill

p.s.  The TV is a nice touch, although I'm completely astounded that you mounted it eight feet off the ground.  Why?  You gettin' kickbacks from the chiropractor next door?

Ruminations on hospital visits

Dear Hospital Administrator,

I have a question for you.  I'm all for seeing to the patients' comfort and care, that's your purpose.  It's what you're paid to do, and in my experience, the money is worth it.  But the average patient doesn't drive himself in, right?  Someone's injured or sick enough for the ER, they're going to be driven in by someone, right?

So, why the hell do you make that person's life so un-fucking-comfortable?  Are you afraid we'll get comfortable and start using the ER as a summer home?  If I'm that person - and that's usually how it works out - I'm there as long as the patient is, holding the bucket and wiping the forehead and giving comfort while you're not in the room, and you provide me a chair that's no better than sitting on a milking stool.

I'm not asking for a leather recliner, but a chair with a wider seat, arms, a little incline to the back and, oh, I dunno, padding under my ass would go a long way toward making me cooperative and friendly after sitting there for several hours. 

Lest you think me ungrateful, thanks for taking good care of my loved ones.  No thanks for making my butt numb.

Regards,

 - Bill

p.s.  The TV is a nice touch, although I'm completely astounded that you mounted it eight feet off the ground.  Why?  You gettin' kickbacks from the chiropractor next door?