We put out a peanut butter & pickle sandwich and a glass of soda for Santa. We thought he might be cookied out by now.
He actually already hit my Ex's house last night, so this will be a sort of Round Two. Plus two grandparent's houses tomorrow (I got them fresh from another grandparent's house tonight).
Meanwhile, I did something way, way out of character for me. I went to church. Sort of.
It's kind of a rock & roll church, which would tend to be an avoid for me, moreso maybe than other churches. When I was in high school, a dyed-in-the-wool atheist, I sang in the choir at a Russian Orthodox church for a couple years. They needed voices, and the music was beautiful. I didn't take communion, didn't pretend to believe.
One woman I remember was very hacked that pagans could be singing in the choir (me and my mate were two thirds of the bass section). The Priest, Father Gregory, who was not by and large the sort of padre who inspired, just smiled and said, 'This is a church, not a country club.' Hoping, no doubt, that we'd convert by osmosis.
Anyway, this isn't like the Orthodox church. For one thing, no communion to not partake of. I guess they do that on Tuesdays, when they have a less rock & roll sort of thing.
While I like the trappings and ceremony of the Orthodox, some of the unorthodox things at Heartland are quite pleasant. No offertory buckets passed about, for a start. I can't remember ever being in a church, any denomination, that didn't pass the hat. They have boxes you can put money in, but they make it clear that it's not only voluntary, it's basically one of the few members-only things. It's not that I've ever been that church-going, but as far as I can tell, a minister who will tell you to keep your wallet in your pocket is a rare thing.
Why did I go to church? Well, I'm not really ready to go into that here, at least not in depth. My brother (he's a member) sometimes brings me a CD of the sermons from this joint, and I like listening to them. I've even gone a couple other times on Sundays when I didn't have the kiddos. They have a full array of Sunday School, but Mo is a hard kid to foist on strangers, and I've never wanted to go badly enough to take the honyocks along.
Monday night, my brother gave me a CD that I listened to Tuesday at work. And then, as if my life of the past year didn't dovetail nicely enough with the theme, something happened to make it hit home even harder. Like that scene in Bruce Almighty where he's asking for a sign and the sign-truck cuts him off? Except not funny.
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