Christian?

Lately I’ve become sensitive to the use of the word “Christian”, which, I just now discovered, my word processing app insists upon capitalizing. Okay, I get that. It’s a religion. Just as “Jewish” is a religion. Wow. The word processing app merely underlines the word Jewish if it’s not capped. What about “catholic”? Nothing. I guess that’s because “catholic” can also be an adjective. Ok, “Episcopalian”. Ah ha! Automatic caps. What about “druid”? How about “wiccan”? Nope and uh-uh. (In fact, "wiccan" is underlined capped or not, meaning, I guess, the app just thinks it's wrong.) From all this, I deduce that it’s only appropriate to apply capitals when it’s a religion and nothing else. After all, Christians, by definition, are followers of the teachings of Christ. What bothers me is when people use the word “Christian” to define a person’s character or actions, regardless of their chosen religion:

            “It’s the Christian thing to do.”

            “That’s not a very Christian attitude.”

Call me paranoid, but to me this implies that anything other than Christian is somehow less worthy.  Politicians are bantering this term about, skating rather close to the separation of church and state issue unless they are using the term in another way besides defining a religion, say, defining someone’s character or actions. It seems to be one of those things we all do, but never really think about or discuss. Words can and do hurt. As a writer, and more importantly, as a human being, I am very aware of this. Each time I hear the term “Christian” used this way, I think, what about me? I’m not a Christian. Can’t I do something nice for someone, or wish someone well without being called something I am not? I have many Jewish friends who are charitable, generous people. They are not Christian, and unfortunately when someone says “That’s a Jewish thing to do,” it’s not always meant in a nice way. Maybe we should just say “kind” or “caring”.

How about that?   

A Thank You Note

Thank you to all our friends who showed up last Saturday to hear the members of our group, Thorvald Road Writers, read from our work. We had a great turnout, and I think everybody had a good time. Thanks too,  for listening to the first chapter of  “Charlie’s House”. I really value your input and support. I'm still pretty new at this and it's not like anything I've ever done, and it's nice to know I have friends who are willing to listen.

Which brings me to another idea I've had recently. I'm wondering if anyone is interested in reading to people. I love to do it myself, and if I can get a few others, I'd like to approach the Council on Aging and/or Elder Services to see if there's any interest in reading sessions, either at the Community Center or Seashore Point. I don't know...just a thought. 

Anyway, thanks again for a lovely afternoon. We had fun.

COLD!

The forecast is for record cold. The weather lady telling me this seems pleased and excited by the prospect of besting some decade-old meteorological statistic. I am annoyed by this.  Cold can change your life, or at least your day. For one thing, it can take a good 10 minutes just to get into your outdoor clothes on days when the mercury dips below zero. In my opinion, winter clothes aren’t much fun, especially now that we can’t wear fur anymore. Say what you will about the poor minks, there was nothing warmer. When I was in college, my mother gave me her beaver coat. For 8 years it served as coat, blanket, pillow, catch-all, dog carrier, (It had marvelous pockets. I could put my dog in the inside pocket and take him anywhere.) slipcover and friend. When it finally got too ratty to wear, I cut it up into pillows and got a couple of more years out of it. I don’t wear fur anymore. I’m enlightened. And not as warm.  These days there’s down and fleece and Thinsulate, and its all about layers. I tend to overdo this concept, layering clothing on my body until I am rendered immobile, able to bend neither elbows nor knees. Last winter we had A LOT  of snow, so I invested in some boots which are the equivalent of SUVs for your feet. They each weigh about 15 lbs. and make me feel sort of like a human Jeep Cherokee. I find myself bursting through snow drifts just because I can. I have also discovered the joys of fleece, from hats to socks. What a wonderous material this is, particularly if you’re allergic to wool, as I am. They make it from old plastic water bottles and it’s deliciously warm. Three or four layers of fleece and I’m good to go…once I get going. Stay warm, dear readers.

Providence Train Station 6 AM

I went to Writer's Voice Cafe tonight at the Library. The speaker was James Reed, and his subject was People of Color on Cape Cod. It was fascinating! It was also my first night of being in charge of the open mic portion of the evening, when writers are invited to get up and read their work. Paul E. Halley read and then I read this poem, which I wrote some years ago as I was traveling to Philadelphia. Hope you like it. 

 Providence Train Station 6 AM

I noticed him right away.

He was wearing a football helmet.

His coat was too big, too wrinkled

to be legitimate. Also

he had all his things

in garbage bags. Big, black ones.

Street people’s Samsonite.

Homeless, I thought. Come in here to sleep

on the hard, shiny waiting room bench

until they roust him.

Wrong.

I looked again.

He was old, and I saw white curls clinging

to his dark brown head. When he

took off the helmet, his

eyes, pulled down at the corners,

were too sad to look at.

The people moved away.

He sat alone in the center

of their conclusions, their fear.

“Don’t let that be me!”

“Don’t get too close!”

They turned their heads to look

for someone more acceptable.

Was he so accustomed to their scorn

it didn’t touch him?

Or was he just a good actor?

No.

I looked again.

His eyes were sadder than before.

Who are you, old man?

How do you come to be here?

Should I feel sorry for you?

Should I feel guilty?

“Why don’t you go away?”

Barked the janitor, armed with

brooms and buckets. Finally

he had someone smaller than

his own size to pick on.

“You crazies think

you can sleep in here?

My station ain’t no flophouse!”

The old man said nothing.

Wrong.

I looked again.

His face was a question.

“What have I done to make you so mad?”

it asked. The janitor could not answer

so he just got madder, while

the old man wondered why.

The people kept away

feasting from afar

on the juicy little scene, their smiles

self-rightous, their security assured,

positive

they could never be him.  Well, almost.

“Don’t get too close!”

A cop came over, ready to roust, I thought,

ready to send him packing.

Wrong.

I looked again.

Instead he brought hot chocolate

and honest conversation,

and a smile to those sad eyes.

Policemen are your friends,

I remembered from my youth.

The minutes ticked away

in the train station in providence.

The people moved in to fill the space

around the old man. He is okay.

He has a train ticket and

a cop for a friend.

That makes him valid. He can’t hurt them.

That they have hurt him

never enters their minds.

And what if it did? What could be done?

Nothing.

I looked again.

He was leaving, going to his train.

The policeman carried his bags.

He walked, slow and straight, putting on the helmet.

“It’s because I fall sometimes,”

I heard him tell his friend.

And then he was gone away,

before I could find a way

to thank him for

what he had taught me.

Providence train station 6:15 AM

24 Hour Madness!

24 Hour Madness!

            What an amazing experience we had last Saturday evening at the Provincetown Theater! When I heard about the 24-Hour play project 4 years ago, my first thought was: A person would have to be nuts to try that!  I didn’t actually attend one of these mid-winter insanities until this year and now I’m very sorry I missed all the others. We went expecting little. We got a wonderful evening of true community theatre, (anyone who knows me knows that’s my favorite soapbox), a dazzling display of writing, directing and acting talent and on top of all that, it was really funny!

            We arrived early because I had heard a lot of talk around town and I thought it might be crowded. Never mind that it was January and there aren’t too many people here right now, to put it gently. My wife is not a tall person and it’s always best if she can sit in the front row, which we did, except that suddenly we were in the third row, behind a row of chairs and a couch because there were so many people they had to add seats! A very gallant gentleman in the new front row recognized our problem and he and his wife switched seats with us, but my point is, the theater was full! Not only was every seat taken, but there were still people coming in! I’ve seen shows in the summer that don’t attract that many people. That’s when I knew it would be a very special evening.

            And it was. Each offering was engaging, well-acted and well-written and lots of fun, which blew me away because I knew that none of the actors had laid eyes upon a script before Saturday morning, and in fact, none of the plays had existed before the previous day. What a feat!

            In addition to the plays, the event itself was extremely well-organized and ran very smoothly. I can’t imagine it was easy: 8 playwrights, 8 directors, and all those wonderful actors, plus a theater filled to bursting with an eager audience. There was a

Q & A following the plays, catered by Farland. Pretty great evening for a reasonable price.

            The best part of the evening for me was the opening speech by Stuard Derrick. He dedicated the evening to our friend Mary Kevin Shenk, who passed away last week. Everyone who has worked with the PTC for the past 20 years knows who Kevin was, as do the countless audiences she entertained onstage. She was a huge part of our community theatre company and I’m sure she was there with us Saturday for a wonderful night of theatre.

Thank you to all who participated. You were all fabulous! You are the people who are keeping community theatre alive here. Thank you.