Sunday with Flames

Sunday is an early start, and my alarm at 6:30 got me started. I am time-boxed and planning to be at church for the 11 services. I make coffee and have holiday pumpkin spice oatmeal with my liberal coffee. While I had a few distractions, some excellent ones, I had to focus on writing, and soon, I was focused and writing fast. Sadly, my typos were manifest, and Grammarly rewrote the text often to something that did not match the previous writing. This is really a time waste. The liberal coffee helped me find the forgiveness to work with the AI and work my way through the blog. Once published, at the last minute, I re-read it, discovered some mistakes, and reworked it from what Grammarly liked; it changed the meaning of my writing. I fixed it.

Aside: Mom Wild, forgetting the time difference, called me at 5ish and demanded I deal with an issue. I reminded her I live far away, and she was upset. Mom Wild will forget the event as she often forgets daily events, but it was hard for me to let the emotions go and get back to sleep.

I washed up, shaved, and dressed. I wore a blue sweater vest, a dress shirt, and a Pride tie with my usual LL Bean pants. I wore my new slip-on back shoes. I was rushed, so I grabbed my coat and hat and boarded Air Volvo; the Volvo was still hung over with a check engine light, but it was functional. I arrived ten minutes early, got some coffee, and sat in the back, not in a pew.

I am the senior usher at First United Methodist Church in Beaverton, which means that all the ushers before me have gone on before us, and the other remaining earthly ushers all started after me. When Susie was ill, the ushers asked me to ‘sit down.’ Now, I am no longer included in the rotation.

I used to do Communion Sundays, usually the first Sunday in Methodist churches, as that required more counting and process, and some of the ushers had their own ways of doing it. I am comfortable aligning with others’ wishes, meaning I was a popular ‘young guy,’ as I could be trained in the ‘right way’ to do everything. I would do communion with my senior partner, remembering which process they would follow, including starting on the right foot, keeping in time, and assembling the multiple offering plates in the correct order (yes, there is a Way). Joe, long gone, would start communion in the back while others would start from the front. With Joe, we would march to the front and then walk to the back and start releasing people for communion, counting and never letting more than 13 people pile up in the line. Another of my seniors would tell me not to do it that way, “I don’t do this like Joe,” with them starting in the front and not counting.  I remember that I would smile and comply.

Remembering all the Saints, I noticed no usher and filled in. Remembering each way that was ‘right for Joe,’ as he always seemed to care the most and would likely be watching. I did not seat people as there were no visitors and plenty of room, counted, wrote down the temperature and weather, and took the collection.

When doing the collection, the ushers no longer stand in front, sing, and then hand the collection to the preacher; next, the preacher would raise it, pray, and then hand it back to the usher or put it on the altar (it varied over the years). Back then, the offering included considerable cash and change from children, which would be quickly placed in a safe. Any late giving, if any, was taken and put away after the service.

Sunday, I put the collection on the altar and walked back to the back of the church, the new way to do this (new in that the process is less than ten years old). But when I went forward, I paused before the altar, looked up at the cross, and silently thanked God for this bounty. Next, I put the collection on the altar, paused before the altar, and walked back. It still feels odd. I smiled as I could hear Joe sputtering somewhere while others would nod. Later, I would put out the candles. I recall once when the candles re-lighted, they could not do that naturally, and ushers kept that quiet and only put out the candles at the last moment to respect this event. ‘Management’ seemed to like the candles on longer. This is a secret knowledge of the ushers–the candles must be watched after you put them out. They might light.

Returning to the story, soon, I had more coffee, chatted, passed on lunch, and headed home. I rested and had snacks for lunch. I talked with Deborah back in Michigan about my upcoming trip in December to see her and my family. I read and had a few snacks but decided I did not need a heavy lunch.

I enjoy my book, but then a few words are sad and emotional, and I find myself uncontrollably crying and missing Susie. My foot then cramps. I limp to the kitchen, get some water, and walk back to read some more, but coughing starts (the cold water); soon, I am limping back to my coat, grab my inhaler, and recover. Finally, I am better. Deborah and I work out, by text, a new version of ‘There Was an Old Lady Who Swallowed a Fly’ fitting my adventure with Deborah, a retired Elementary Teacher, knowing the words. For those who do not know this one and want to avoid a Google Search, here.

The book tripped the crying
The crying caused a foot cramp
Water to stop cramp
Cold water causing asthma

I don’t know why she swallowed a fly – perhaps she’ll die! (corrected by Deborah)

Or something like that.

I updated my attire to a Christmas tie (a gift from Barb C years ago: “Michael, you should have one”), my red vest, and a gold-colored pocket watch with a chain. I just need the beard to go the full Burl Ives look. I wore my hat and coat as it was a wet night or a usual Nov-Dec-Jan-Feb-Mar-Apr-May-June evening in the Greater Portland Area (with the difference by month being the temperature of the rain).

I met Dondrea and Z (forming the DMZ) at The Dough Zone, a dumpling place I had not tried before. The food was lovely, and our waiter’s recommendations were perfect. I had done another dumpling place with Mariah, so I was used to it. The food and company were fantastic.

Next, we meet at the Metro station, park, pay, board, and take the subway to Portland. In heavy rain and darkness, we avoid the parking lot-like roads. We arrive and walk to the Moda Center with just under an hour to spare. The friendly and smiling security people (only in Portland) directed us to the shortest line to the Trans-Siberian Orchestra show (TSO).

Aside: A guy asked me for the time but was disappointed when I did not use the pocket watch. I then pulled it out and saw it was still on Michigan time. He was pleased, at least, that it was a genuine watch when I showed him the wrong time.

Soon, we were in section 102, with an excellent view of the stage. Dondrea and Z were not expecting the old 1980s Hair Band version of Christmas with explosions and long electric guitar and electric violin solos. This ain’t the quiet older alternative rock version, but an explosive TSO modern rock concert with a holiday theme. Recommended.

The show includes an opera singer singing music from the Magic Flute in a giant snow globe. The band blasts away, and the globe lifts two stories in the air, conveying the message that this is a rock show with a Christmas focus. Next, the flames and laser work match a heavy metal version of Christmas songs: pure TSO. There were a few quiet moments and some blues. There were even some perfectly song-quiet solos of Christmas hymns.

Z said, “There’s more!?” when the original member introduced the crew and said, “Let’s blow something up,” and relaunched the show after the first part, a new Christmas story I had not heard before, finished. And there were more explosions, with more surprises (including snow) and cheering for the band. TSO put on a fantastic show.

After the show, Portland’s usual rain was not letting up, and we were a bit damp waiting fifteen minutes for a MAX; it was Sunday’s schedule. Soon, we were on the train. A homeless gal I had seen before asked for money and was pleased that I gave her a few bucks, one for each of us. She looked confused and hungover, and the uncontrolled hand motions saddened me, as they can be avoided if care is taken with medications. She stumbled off the MAX, not falling, at a station, getting caught in the door as she left the free section, and likely caught the train back, getting some comfort and staying legal in the no fare-zone until the trains stopped around midnight. I imagine she faced a cold, wet night on the streets. I hoped the small amount of cash would bring some comfort.

We arrived in Beaverton without issue; we went our separate ways. The streets were wet, and the usual large puddles suggest “local flooding,” which is just saying the usual in Beaverton in the fall-winter-spring season of wet. I arrived home tired from the show, travel, time changes, and the early call. I soon was in bed reading and falling asleep. I did not set the alarm as it was Monday, my version of the weekend morning for most. My first sleep-in day since returning from Michigan.

Thanks for reading.