Flying--it's not your Daddy's jet service

After 5 hours of services on Good Friday, I felt sad to leave the monastery and re-enter the faster moving world. Did I say Las Vegas International, Baby? The time warp left wind burns! Can you imagine what it is like to get in your car at a quiet desert monastery and the next time you open the door you're in Las Vegas??? The only good thing I can say is that the long-term parking was free. Of course you have to remember what quadrant of Area 51 your car is stowed but the price is right.



Las Vegas airport was designed by first year architecture students who later flunked out after too much bridge and dope. The maze and distances got to be too much and I finally had to call for a wheelchair and the pusher who got us to the correct terminal and security line.

Oh my dear faithful 18 readers--I had forgotten what airline travel is like. Three years ago I took a vow never to fly again. It was at the same Las Vegas airport when I was told to remove my shoes and walk bare-footed on their FILTHY floor and I refused. The resulting hubbub was greater than if someone had declared "no smoking" in the casino area.

This time it was even worse. It was like a cattle drive. We so easily hand over our laptops, purses, jewelry, SHOES, all belongings to the grim-faced guards. Since I was in a wheelchair I was separated from Mr. T and taken to a "private" screening area. The Wander was actually quite nice but I have no idea why I had to turn down the waistband to my jeans so she could examine the backside of the top snap. At first I thought she was doing an "innie" or "outtie" poll on belly buttons but no--she was not interested in that. Then I pointed out that the shirt I was wearing had mucho bling on it and I wondered if that would set off the wand. She was a good sport and we played with the bling and the wand for awhile seeing if we could get it to go off--no go.


















I was then put in a holding area for what turned into a very long wait. Mea culpa--how was I to know my UNOPENED bottle of water had brought the regular security line to a standstill as my potentially dangerous not-living water had to be removed from my purse. As I looked out over the masses of restless, unhappy people I became moved to actual tears. This is not America. This is not what we were meant to be. And I began to grieve for I suspect is turning out to be a failed experiment. But oh it was grand while it lasted.



By the time Mr. T had re-joined me and refrained from mentioning more than twice that he had told me to drink the water, not carry it on the plane, I was going into a patriotic slump. Mr. T recognizes such moods and quickly disappeared for a few minutes. By the time he returned I had worked up the entire wheel chair section into what good Americans should be doing when faced with the loss of their personal freedoms. Apparently he had paid some bartender good money to mix a very, very strong gin and tonic. After this welcome libation I was a bit more mellow about boarding the plane.

Fortunately, I had 2 very charming, affable row mates and as we got to chatting, all 3 of us began to lament the loss of freedom--nay, the very quelching of the American spirit. And this is when I had a brilliant idea: LET'S HAVE THE ENTIRE PLANE SING THE STAR-SPANGLED BANNER! That would show them! A little planning, however, quickly revealed that none of us was likely to remember all the words and in my condition, I wasn't sure I could remember most of the first line. But we all agreed it was exactly the tonic needed to counteract the misery of flying. (In all fairness, Mr. T had to lean across the aisle a few times and request that I not begin any singing of any songs, much less the National Anthem. Then he pretended not to know me for the rest of the flight.)

But now I am in Denver, totally stone-cold sober, and re-thinking this whole singing idea. What would happen if folks standing in security lines began humming and then softly singing "My Country 'Tis of Thee"??? Everyone knows all the words to this song. How lovely it would be to irritate the Hate America First crowd, not to mention the hoardes of terrorists amonst us at the airports. It would show solidarity! It would show the American spirit is still alive. Once again we could hold up our heads as Americans! And as for those who don't know the song? It would show them for who they are. Perhaps more than a few would be shamed into learning the song. It could be the beginning of the turnaround for our whole national malaise.

So--I challenge you all. Try it! Just hum it quietly. Perhaps recruit a few sympathetic and irritable travellers in line. It just might catch on. We just might reclaim a little of the dignity we used to assume was due us for buying our tickets. And if anyone actually hears the strains of "America" wafting out over some security line in any national airport, please let me know at once!

Holy Week in the Desert

HOLY WEEK AT THE MONASTERY


http://www.hrmonline.org/



Office of Holy Anointing on Wednesday of Great and Holy Week














HINT: “great” and/or “royal” are code words for making an already long service even longer
This length of this service depends on the number of priests present. There are now two priests at the monastery which meant that something almost unheard of happened—we skipped from page 24 to page 44 in the service booklet thus reversing the normal course of monastic church going! During the course of this particular service each priest reads a Gospel passage and then anoints those present with blessed oil.



















Since the Bad Bug from Bako has gotten down and dirty with my lungs I savored this healing service more than I might have before. Where else but in Byzantine Catholic churches do phrases such as “incorruptible delight” and “Holy Unmercenaries and Wonderworkers, visit our weaknesses” stand out in comparison to the ploddingly mundane English that is so intentionally inflicted on the faithful who still stumble into Roman Catholic services?















Where else can the ear tickle the mind by addressing God as He who “chastens and heals again, who raises the poor from the earth and exalts the pauper from the dung heap?” Any closing prayer that begins “Attend to the entreaties of your suppliants, O All-blameless, putting an end to the assaults of dire evils upon us and freeing us from every affliction. For we have you as our only safe and sure anchor…” certainly has my attention and appreciation! And when the priest prayed that we would “be no longer a laughing stock to the devil” I remembered the good laugh we had over the camouflaged RV out in Owl Canyon.
























Thursday Vesperal Liturgy of St. Basil the Great


















The booklet for this liturgy was 49 pages long and was preceded by nearly half an hour of warm-up. There would be no skipping of pages at this Divine Liturgy! The entire service was two and a half hours—a mere prelude to the main occupation of the next three days! You know you’re in the major leagues when the church service outlasts the candles!

Two and a half hours gives the mind a lot of time to wander and then return to the focus of Holy Thursday. How can one’s brain simultaneously think about the unjust results of American Idol last night, a presidential candidate’s offensive name, while at the same time appreciating the ironic language of “…they are making ready for judgment the One who is coming to judge the living and the dead; they are preparing for the passion of the One who cures the passions…”? But it does.

My mind was also an intersection for remembering the Integretron over in Landers. WHAT?? You have not heard of the Landers’ Integretron? This is a building that a local man built with the whispered help of extraterrestrials! Here is the text from the plaque:




http://www.ufomind.com/area51/list/1997/jan/a12-001.shtml

The Integratron is the creation of George Van Tassel, and is based on the design of Moses’ Tabernacle. The writings of Nikola Tesla, and telepathic directions from Extraterrestrials. The domed structure 35 feet high and 55 feet in diameter, was originally constructed of wood and fiberglass without the aid of metal fastners. In 1947 Van Tassel began operating the giant rock airport a short distance northeast of here, and in 1953 initiated communications with Extra Terrestrials. He subsequently hosted 17 spacecraft conventions for UFO enthusiasts. The purpose of the Integratron is the rejuvenation of the human body, similar to recharging a battery, and basic research in time travel. According to Van Tassel, the Integratron is located on an intersection of powerful geomagnetic forces that, when focuses by the unique geometry of the building, will concentrate and amplify the energy required for cell rejuvenation. This energy is created by the revolution of an external ring at the shoulder of the building, generating electrostatic forces that are fed to the stator centered in the lower room. Construction began in 1957, but was incomplete at Van Tassel’s death in 1978.

Dedicated May 1, 2005
By the Billy Holcomb Chapter of
The Ancient and Honorable Order of E. Clampus Vitus
In cooperation with the Morongo Basin Historical Society

You see how easy it is to digress! Another phrase in the liturgy “consume the thorns of our transgression” triggered a memory from Monday’s trek into the desert when I drove the Jeep into a mesquite bush—a very nasty bush with wicked thorns. More desert “pin striping” on the Jeep!



















I suppose it is our nature to try to hold more than one strand of thought in our consciousness. “Deign to enter the manger of my irrational soul” travels with “Why did Byrdie have to eat the cats’ food and get sick every 20 minutes in Yucca Valley?”

“Never silent hymns and unceasing songs of glory” mingles with “Can you really make a prison shiv with only newspaper and wax off the floor?” (I have this last factoid from a local friend here in the desert who ought to know.)





















The ferocious winds have finally died down. Breathing is a tad easier and with only a quart more body lotion I might not shed my dry skin like a snake. For now the days are good and I’m sure these memories will provide comfort many times during the 2 weeks ahead of me in Denver.

JOY

Sometimes JOY sneaks up on you and bestows a perfect moment and you also have your camera with you! I was the grateful beneficiary of such a moment last week. I had taken Byrdie and Talus to the polo field to run with their "homies". There were 5 dogs there to enjoy the beautiful day. The sprinklers were on at one end of the field so of course the "doodle" dogs headed straight for the water. It was such a beautiful moment to see 3 of the dogs "attack" the sprinklers as they flung out giant streams of water that caught every bit of the sunshine. The other smaller labradoodle is English and is named Bentley. He is also a therapy dog. Enjoy the pictures of dogs doing what they do best--bringing a bit of joy into the lives of their humans.