Teaches me to venture into the avenues

Despite my doubts and preconceptions, I attended church this morning with my pastor-of-a-sister. I was actually quite excited.

The senior pastor of this particular church was an old advertising exec, and now is well-known in the church circles for reaching young audiences in relatable and modern - meaningful ways. I listened to one of his podcasts and it was a done-deal. What the heck - let's see what it was all about, I thought.

It can't get any worse than the last church I was attending on the opposite side of town, which I recently saw on the 6 o'clock news that the pastor had molested a 14-year-old member of the congregation.

It can't be worse than that.

Shocker - I was wrong.

When we arrived, we neared the entrance to the sanctuary. It looked dark and empty. It was. We saw a group of people funneling into a door across the courtyard and then were motioned to walk that way. A tall elderly man greeted us,

"Welcome young ladies," he said, shaking as he shook both our hands. "I'm Mike. Glad you could join us this morning."

"Hi! I'm April."

"I'm Rebekah, good morning."

He nodding, smiling. "We're meeting in here this morning because of the retreat. Yeah, the group's up north. When we have a smaller group, we just pull tables together and meet in here." He gestured towards the small room in front of us.

My sister was crushed. I was crushed. Do we proceed into the tiny room?

One step through the outside door and my anticipation and smile began to wane. What awaited us, was 5 or 6 round tables crammed into this small room. Seated at these tables, were what looked like the backs of about 20 geriatrics. Those that were able, turned towards us as we walked in - staring blankly at the two girls who were clearly first-timers, and clearly didn't know that the good half of the church had left town. This was the clearly the group left behind - and it wasn't pretty.

Selecting a table in a group like this was no small challenge, but after an awkward 15 seconds of the geezers staring at us, and a panicked scan of the crowd, we found one man at a roundtable to the left, who was smiling. He had a welcoming smile. We made our way to his empty table.

"Aha! Young women. Welcome! Take a seat, ladies," he smacked.

This was fucking awkard already.

A self-righteous woman wearing a hideous quilted vest swooped in and plopped down at the table with her baby. She then promptly announced to April and I that, 'she had one more coming, so...'

We were already uncomfortable, and now we were getting asked to move. The table had six or seven seats. We scooted down one, but not before the smiley, demented guy announce he would sit on our laps if we needed. Luckily, the amount of open seats in the place was not the issue and we were able to stay, uncomfortable as could be, at that table.

Mr Demented stuck his hand out, "Hi! I'm Henry." His skin was old and see-through.

"Becky Bailey," she proclaimed, like she was the queen of England.

What a loser bitch, I thought. I wanted to run out... but then, the service began.

To spare the details, it was an clumsy medley of meaningless protocol AND, exactly why I don't go to church. Don't just go through the motions if it's not doing anything for anybody. That's just a plain waste of time, and I found myself uninspired, moved and thinking of the laundry and errands I wanted to complete.

A brief summary: Imagine a room full of old people with hearing aids trying to sing hymnals without so much as a piano to accompany the group. Basically, off key and atrocious noise. At first, I was laughing, but then, it wasn't funny anymore. No, not funny AT ALL. The discord each verse released into the atmosphere was wrong. It wasn't the sound of worship. It was the sound of death. And the sermon - painful. Imagine 45 minutes of lip smacking, old person-based comedy and an irrelevant and broad message. Mr. Demented had long fallen asleep and his noise was as disturbing as the group's singing. His respiratory system was that of a bulldog and his breathing and snoring came to alarm me. All the "pastor" kept repeating was, we should be doing things "in the name of Christ." Well - yes. But what you're doing right now sir, is simply terrible. You're doing nothing but making my on-the-fence spirituality, a simple decision. You suck. Spirituality gets shelved for five years again.

When the benediction was read, my legs were numb. April and I stood up - silent - and began to walk out as quickly as possible, speaking to nobody. One bold woman named Judy chased me down with several, "hey - hey - hey's." While I appreciate her effort to welcome me, I was too far gone. The jig was up. I thanked her, but politely brushed her off.

The walk to the car was silent. Neither of us said a word to one another. I knew she was feeling guilty for taking me to such a lame church, and she knew I was so uncomfortable that my possible return to the church scene was gone. I didn't blame her, of course. It was one of those unfortunate incidents that nobody could have predicted.

Does that shy me away from God? No. Does that shy me away from the church? Yes.

The medium is the message, guys. The medium is the message.

Kevin Nealon = Funny Last Night

Cool it off now, Phx. That's enough.

90 degrees at 9:00am means the weather is starting to be less of an asshole.

And it seems the universe has thrown me a bone too, because I awoke feeling MUCH better and with less of a swollen dinosaur baby throat. However, despite my 13 sum hours of repose, I had also had some very vivid nightmares...one of them causing me to wake up at 3:00am - which, if you're me and you've seen the Exorcism of Emily Rose, you know that 3:00am is the hour of the devil and bad things happen then. I was like a child, and under the soft light of my patio window, proceeded to hide under my covers and force myself to think happy thoughts (Care Bears, the Fiesta Bowl?)...at which point I drifted back off into yet another nightmare.

I won't go into details on the dreams, except to say they revolved around one particular ex-boyfriend who has since been deported to Germany. Scary activity included getting shot in the back a number of times and the electric chair.

The mind is an eerie place sometimes. Especially if it's mine.

Nth Annual Bell Boy Reunion - Bubba Burgers. Beaver Beer. Bustin' Britches.

When I spend time individually with my family members, it's slightly noticeable that we're a little different than most families. Honestly, who's normal these days? When spending a weekend with the whole Bell side of the family... all rounded up at once... on a dock... with beer - things become a bit more apparent.

Incidents Worth Reporting On -

1. The Angry Brother Who Honks at a Man's House Every Time He Passes By.

The angry person... is my older brother. Years ago (in high school), there was a guy named "Birchfield" (no exaggeration here, that's this man's last name). Beau had a mishap with his trusty Honda Accord, and long story short, it blew up and burned to pieces. This "Birchfield" character, who lived right next to my Mom and Dad's place back then, laughed at the car burning. That affected Beau greatly. Since that day, "Birchfield" has moved, and still to this day, nearly ten years later, each time Beau passes his house, he lays on the horn and curses him. "Birchfield"'s new place is on the main road home, and traffic or no traffic, the horn gets blown. No shame.

2. The Town Doctor Who Invents Illnesses For Fun.

We were all sitting on the dock as my mother tells this story to the clan. She says the two Golden Retrievers named Mollie and Wesley, that have become their new children, were licking everything in sight: interior walls, flooring, each other, the deck (splinters in the tongue - ouch), grass, cars, etc. This went on for a week or so, at which point she brought it up to her husband (my dad, aka 'the doctor'). He immediately and affirmatively deduced Mollie and Wesley had 'erlickulosis' - a serious disease contracted by ticks that causes dogs (and humans, rarely) to literally, lick everything in sight. It was something that should be addressed at once.

Just short of my mom taking the dogs to the vet, the illness turned up to be fabricated...by Doc Bell, once Mom called him out on his lie. He chuckled to himself as the story was told. The rest of the weekend, we were skeptical to say the least of his stories.

3. The Savior of the Sinking Dog.

To put it simply, my 21 year old cousin saved one of the bulldogs from sinking in Beaver Lake. The scary thing - bulldogs...they can't swim. Not at all. When dropped into the water, they sink quickly.

So, after one of the bulldogs tripped overboard, my cousin dove into the lake and saved the dog. He was talking to me on the porch of the lakehouse. He had tears in his eyes when he told me, "life is beautiful, Rebekah." He's struggling with life direction and the menaces of being a young adult.

Is he the sane one? He's so right. Life is beautiful, folks.

4. The Uncle Who Lives His Life Without His Hip.

My precious uncle had a few shining moments this weekend, which is not unusual by any means for Uncle Billy. He's an affectionate and deeply country man. He just became a grandfather and told the story of his proudest moment upon earning this title. The proud moment he boasts- his grandson sitting on his leg, bouncing up and down on his knee... trading crude oil with him.

This same dear Uncle Billy, has been waiting for his aching hip replacement to take place when he turns 65. His theory is that between medicare and evolving technology, a little pain is worth it.

Uncle Billy was also instumental in the trout line that was set for the weekend. He proceeded to cut each fish in half (with the serrated blade we used to cut the muffaletta we enjoyed for lunch)and threatened everyone in the boat with the temptation of eating each fish raw, as he dangled it in front of his face. They looked so 'tasty and ready to eat,' he grunted, smiling ear to ear.

5. The Girl Who is Stupified By Getting Older (and Possums).

A rite of passage took place this weekend on top of the normal Hillbilly debauchery. As my mother's fingers have succumbed to arthritis, her rings don't fit her any longer. Thus, I was the recipient to her finger jewelry. Some items, were very, very special. When I got on the plane to fly back and was intently examining the rings, I couldn't help but notice the emotion boiling up from my airline seat.

I am getting older. Shouldn't that mean I've settled upon or am at least closer to an adult and purposeful existence?


Pfshhhhhhhhhhhhh. Circling back. Another Bell Boy Reunion in the bag. A grand old time indeed.