Act Your Age… Going to Church

Originally published on February 16, 2011 in Retirement News Weekly

I wish I could just call myself Catholic and leave it at that.

After all, I grew up in the church. I know the names of my saints and which of them I should speak with when faced with a particular problem (St. Jude is the patron saint of lost items, St. Francis de Sales of writer’s block). I know my prayers and the Ten Commandments. After teaching Sunday school for three years, I even know a significant portion of church dogma (i.e. church teachings).

Yet there’s a difference between understanding and believing. And I find that my faith has had its peaks and valleys. At one time, before noticing how cute girls are, I wanted to be a priest. At another point, I became very concerned that I wouldn’t like heaven (If there’s nothing wrong, and I am eternally happy, how can I really appreciate it?). And because of this, I’ve not only questioned my own faith, but the nature of faith. The term is thrown around often, but I find it incredibly illusive. After all, it is called a ‘gift’ so assumably not everyone receives it.

In any case, it’s along this journey that I was invited to go to a new church with one of my friends, Heidi Bezanson. She mentioned it on a whim, but I like to keep occupied and try not to turn down any invitations (one of the reasons I also ended up taking Salsa dance lessons, but that’s another story). Plus, I knew there were a lot of pretty girls that went to her church and as a rule, you shouldn’t turn down opportunities to meet pretty girls (one of the reasons I practically went to an all-girl’s school, but again, I’m getting off topic).

Oddly enough, the service was held in the local Empire Movie Theatre. While I’ve attended many different church services in locations ranging from basements to basilicas, a movie theatre was certainly unique. I was to meet her there and walked over that morning since the theatre was walking distance from my apartment in the city. On my way, I stopped by McDonalds (product placement money, please!) for a coffee.

Heidi was running late (a missed bus, apparently), so I waited in the mall’s lobby and watched as the stream of young adults headed to church. I recognized a few friendly faces from past get-togethers and waved awkwardly. She arrived eventually and with a skip in her step we headed to the escalator that would take us to the theatre. As we passed people on our speed walk, she would gesture to me and introduce the person she was making very fast, very small talk with. She also pointed out the free coffee being offered at the main entrance and the day care facilities.

To my surprise, the service was being held in the largest auditorium and upon entering I found myself faced with a theatre so full that it looked like we were about to see Avatar in 3D (i.e. it was pretty full). Since we were running late, the band had already started playing the opening songs so we rushed to the back of the room and found seats.

Pastor AJ Thomas was giving the talk that would make up the majority of the 90-minute service. While it was book ended by music, he filled most of the time. I’ll admit, he filled the time well. His theme was accountability and centered on the idea that individuals should have designated people in which they tell everything to in order for them to keep accountable. As a person that blogs often and openly discusses his faults and misadventures, I agree. Plus the speech was supplemented with video clips from Rocky projected on the big screen.

As the pastor talked, I noticed that Heidi was regularly getting texts and I peeked over wondering if she was flirting with some boy in church (Tsk, tsk, Heidi!). Instead, she was getting regular tweet updates from the church’s twitter page highlighting key quotes, offering biblical verses, and expanding on the pastor’s ideas.

At the end of the service, the pastor symbolically recreated the Last Supper by offering the members a plastic shot glass of grape juice and little pieces of bread. I vaguely remembered a Catholic rule (which I may have been remembering incorrectly) that Catholics weren’t supposed to take Eucharistic substitutes, so I passed on the snack.

Overall, I enjoyed the experience. The speaker was interesting and returning to a more religious state of mind for a couple hours offered an interesting lens to dissect my life. Admittedly part of me missed the rituals and patterns that a Catholic mass had to offer, but I wouldn’t mind returning for an encore service (pretty girls, after all!).

As for the doubt, I’ve made peace with it. The conclusion came during a Catholic mass, oddly enough. I was in church one Sunday and a man sitting across from me seemed to be having a spiritual struggle of his own. His head rested in his hands and has face was construed in a confused glare. In my mind he seemed to be going through the same sort of doubt I was going through. And as I telekinetically consoled his spirit, the answer to my question donned on me. Perhaps not the answer, but certainly a conclusion that appeased me. Being Catholic – being any faith – is not a declaration. You can’t just say, “I’m a Christian” and let it be. The answer isn’t that simple. Faith is a question, that throughout our lives we attempt to figure out. Churches are there to guide us, but the journey is our own. It has valleys and mountain peeks. Being Christian is the process we all go through to find our conclusion.

I still doubt, but that’s okay. It’s okay to question. It’s okay to be thrown off balance. As long as you keep trucking along you’re on the right path. The yo-yo never stops. Life is just complicated like that. And it can’t hurt to have a friend dragging you to church every now and again.

I Can Explain... The New Horoscopes

First appeared in Retirement News Weekly on February 11, 2011

For believers, horoscopes can define identity, personality, love connections, and future prospects. And even for non-believers, one can’t deny the effect that these signs have on people who perceive them as having meaning. So when one community college professor said that our system of horoscopes was wrong and Leos are actually Cancers, the internet exploded with stories. But was the professor right? Are the horoscopes wrong? And should we care? Don’t go get that Taurus tattoo removed, quite yet! I can explain!

It was a community college professor named Parke Kunkle of the Minnesota Planetarium Society that started all the drama (why you’d believe someone named Kunkle is beyond me). Even though he does not believe in horoscopes personally, he pointed out in an interview that the constellations the sun was in 3000 years ago, when horoscopes were created, are not the constellations the sun is in now. This is a result of Earth’s shifty axis (shifty indeed). The result is a new constellation named Ophiuchus (which is a dude with a snake) being behind the sun for part of the year and thus he exists as a modern 13^th sign. The rest are shifted accordingly.

Pretty dramatic revelation, right?

Not so much. Despite the hype, this actually isn’t news... it’s not new anyway. We’ve known for a long time (a little over 2000 years). The thing is, there are two types of astrology; there’s classical tropical astrology and sidereel astrology. Kunkle (or Uncle Kunkle as I like to call him) was right. That’s sidereel astrology and if you’re Hindu and follow that sign system, your sign has indeed changed. But it turns out us Westerners tend to use tropical astrology, which basis its sign system on the position of the Earth, sun, and planets of our solar system; not constellations at all.

In defence of the non-believing, instigating Kunkle: he never said there should be 13 horoscopes or that horoscopes should change. He just pointed out where the sun fell and let believers blow it out of proportion.

Now, I’m not a believer. I also wasn’t significantly affected by this change as in either system I’m a Cancer. But what I will say is this: we’re all looking for something to define us... some identity external to ourselves. We look for someway to know what our future holds so that we can we be prepared; so that we can understand this journey we’re on. For those who are serious about horoscopes and astrology that’s what the system offers; a glimpse into an unknowable future and a sense of place along the way. And for the rest, it’s just fun to read the twelve potential futures a newspaper columnist crafted for us and try to find our own place in the newsprint.

Either way, let’s agree that horoscopes offers us each a little something and stop bickering over the specifics. And if you want to know how to pronounce ‘Ophiuchus,’ well... I can explain!

Act Your Age... Getting A Cat

First appeared in Issue 33 of Retirement News Weekly

My family is very project oriented. For me, it’s always been writing that keeps me occupied; whether it’s producing community newsletters, creating a blog (‘The Deviller is in the Details’ – Follow me!), or writing a fairy tale to get over a bad break-up. For my dad, projects mean online shopping and research. Throughout the past decade, he’s shopped around for campers, four-wheelers, boats, trailers, and camps though he hasn’t purchased any of these toys. So when dad started looking for a cat, my family and I kind of thought he’d eventually find something new and forget the idea.

In the beginning, my mom was far from thrilled about the idea and quickly put a kibosh on the whole thing. But that didn’t deter dad and he continued to conduct his research ‘just for fun.’ This went on for weeks and every once in a while a cat in particular would catch his interest. He’d make the cat’s picture his desktop, name the kittens, and would talk for days about getting the friendly feline. Before too long, mom started helping name the cats and we knew it would only be a matter of time before dad would get his way.

One day, just before Christmas, another cat piqued his fancy. Her name was “Libby” and she was a tri-colored calico, which means she was predominantly white with tan and black splotches on her face and chest. She was on sale at the SPCA since she’d been at the shelter for over a year. With new found determination, dad chose her and started filling out the paperwork.

This is the ploy dad used to get his cat. He picked Libby at the SPCA and then talked Jessica, my sister, into ‘wanting’ her. Then he convinced mom that Jessica was getting the cat and that when/if she moved in the future, the cat would come to live with my parents.

We arrived at the SPCA with paperwork in hand. Mom stayed home, but had warned that if Libby wasn’t a good cat, not to get her. Jessica and Dad went straight to the fat calico and started to play with her. The staff seemed excited that Libby was finally being adopted after all this time. I wandered through the rest of the cages browsing and found myself facing an orange striped cat. She looked just like the cat I had growing up and I began to play with ‘Robyn” and talking to her in a soothing voice. There were two rows of cages and this cat was on the top row. As I played with her, I felt something on my leg.

In the cage below, there were two grey cats and one of them was reaching his paw between the bars and smacking me. I crouched down and started petting him. He was desperate for attention and pressed himself hard against the cage.

“You’re a needy-Lisa cat,” I said affectionately, referencing one of my exes, and laughed.

As I had been exploring our options, my sister and dad had ruled out Libby. She was friendly enough, but wandered off and hid behind a desk within the first few minutes of being let out. That, matched with the fact the chunky cat shed white fur by the bushel, resulted in my family following my lead.

They came over and looked at the orange tabby and then, like me, were pawed by the grey cat. They were sold. Dad signed the paperwork and we had ourselves a needy kitty named “Grayson.” I felt that naming a grey cat Grayson was a bit too on the nose and so our new cat became “Grayson Johnny Catfire.”

The first night at home, Grayson was somewhat timid and hid in a bedroom, but by the next morning he was sitting on laps and begging for attention.

We had Grayson de-clawed (I realize the questionable ethics of this, but it wasn’t my choice). So on the fourth day with us, he was walking around with two purple bandages on his feet. My mom’s motherly instincts went into overdrive and throughout that day and night of coddling she fell in love. She tried to convince Jessica to let her keep Grayson and when Jessica wanted him, my dad finally got a cat of his own: “Jaydon Piper Catface.”

As I said in my column on pet rats, I haven’t been a big pet person in a long while, but Grayson has a way about him. As we saw at the shelter, he is super needy and wants constant attention. Whenever my sister or I leave the apartment, he meows for us to come back. But it’s nice to have the company and the unconditional enjoyment of our presence. Grayson is so needy, that one day I was showering and he jumped in with me. He quickly jumped out upon realizing he was getting very wet, but that’s some crazy devotion. He is the most relaxed cat we’ve ever had and will stay wherever you put him. He also has the bad habit of chewing on headphones. I’ve gone through six pair and now buy them in bulk.

A big issue my family has been having is using the proper pronoun. We had a female cat and a male dog for over ten years, so Grayson is regularly referred to as a ‘she’ or ‘her.’ He doesn’t seem to mind.

Pets are a wonderful addition to any family and if you’re feeling lonely or a bit bored they may be just what you need! Your local shelter is likely overflowing with adorable animals who are excited to have a new home. So if you’re at all interested, give them a visit and find out some more information.

It’s cheaper than buying a camper or a boat.