Better Living Through Cleanliness

Sunday Afternoon, etc.

I stepped out the front door, and everything seems to be in sharp focus. There hasn't been any snow since Thursday and it is dry and overcast. Every shade of grey, green and brown seemed particularly clear. I decided to go to mass this morning. I crossed the road and saw a violent scene up ahead. There were several figures: short, I assumed that they were teenaged kids fighting. My next door neighbour past them, coming towards me, he noticed than, made no comment, but said 'hello' to me politely. It emerged, as I approached them, that they were not in fact teenagers, but four Eastern European men. Each had a moustache, and shallow set eyes, but none were bald, or even had grey hair. As I got closer, without seeming to stare I could see no recognisable emotion in the eyes of any of these men, even the man with the thickest moustache, who was the target of at least a headbutt and a punch. He was most vocal.

It reminded me of a bus trip with Dol. We were happy and it was a Sunday morning, probably about the same time. A bunch of loud obnoxious children in their early teens got on the bus at the end of the Quays. We both thought that they were speaking some Eastern language, until about twenty minutes in, we realized that it was in fact a particularly thick north Dublin drawl.

Anyhow, I was on my way to mass. For the first time in a few weeks. At the entrance to the Church I was confronted with various candidates for the North Kildare Bye-Election. A polite greeting from Labour candidate Paddy MacNamara. Another held a leaflet in my direction, but I did not acknowledge him. I entered the church and sat down on the bench closest to the main doors. The Catholic Church is what connects the town's past with it's present. Middle-aged people crowd into the building, to give praise to our lord. They, like many generations before them, give cold, judgmental looks to anyone over whom they think they may have moral superiority. I variously stood, sat and kneeled, with my mind only half on what was being said. It's much the same as it's always been; there are a few brown faces and a pleasant Glaswegian Curate, but that's really it. I sat there amongst these people, with my head down (as Christians we are taught to bow, we're not worthy, after all) and felt no warmth. I grew up without a sense of Community. Then came my favourite part, when we 'offer each other a sign of God's peace': the handshake. To my left was a short middle-aged woman who shook hands with me out of obligation. No pleasant smile. A cold and brief handshake. I am, after all, an unshaven young man wearing a suede jacket and loose fitting trousers. Unlike the Eastern European men I had encountered earlier I could register emotion in her eyes: no Christian warmth or neighbourly love, though.

Also a new section in BLTC:
ADRIAN RECOMMENDS:
*Maynard's Sours: for a real sugar hit
*Stina Nordenstam: the perfect antidote to the likes of Ani DiFranco and Alanis Morissette

posted by Adrian @ 3:59 PM