AAAAAHH!!!

And so this is Christmas …
and what have I done?

I guess I’m going to have to name him.  Sheesh.  All right, the guy I’ve referred to as "Unnamed Orthodox Guy" will henceforth be ………………………………….

…..

…… wow, I really don’t know what to call him.

Um.

Well anyway, I guess I’ll have to back up if this is to have any sense or flow, so ……..

The Story of Music Shivers and the Orthodox House

On the second Sunday of Advent, my … priest … which is to say, the priest who presides over the Orthodox church I’ve been going to since September … (I can’t really call him "my priest" yet) … asked me if he could talk to me in private.  I gulped and let him usher me into the deserted … sanctuary?  Is that what Orthodox people call the main part of the church?  Even when the church is really tiny and used to be a barn for sheep?  Hmm.  Well, anyhoo, we snuck into the dark main part of the church, away from the potlucking people, and I waited for some weird "Jooiiiin Uuuusssss … " talk to begin.  Instead, Fr. M. said, "Would you be able to house-sit for me?  I’m taking my wife on a surprise trip, which is why we had to sneak in here … I don’t want her to find out … "  I was a bit relieved that he wasn’t bullying me about converting.  Though somewhat surprised that he didn’t have some Orthodox person he could ask to do this for him.  I wondered if he had gone around asking people who knew me if I was a good house-sitting candidate.  I imagined him approaching my former grade one teacher (who happens to go to this church, which was a hilarious surprise!): "Was Music Shivers a conscientous student at the age of six?  Do you think she could handle this?"  (I’m sure nothing of the sort happened.)  Then I wondered if it was all part of some plot to immerse me in Orthodox surroundings to see if it appealed to me …

Fast forward to the third Sunday of Advent.  After church, the guy who gives me rides said bye to me and took off, leaving me in Fr. M.’s hands.  Fr. M. had me drive him to his place in his car, so that he could show me how his car works and assure himself that I wasn’t going to crash it …  This was somewhat awkward, because I could tell he was nervous about lending his car to someone whose driving skills he knew nothing about, but it all seemed to be okay.  Once at his place, instead of showing me around and introducing me to the various animals I had to feed, he ended up sitting with me in his living room, talking.  We talked for a long time.  At one point he said, "Do you mind if I do the Papa Bear thing? … I think you need to go back and do grad school before Things Happen and you can’t.  You’ll regret it."  I ventured to say that the overwhelming feeling I had after my B.Mus. was that all I wanted to do was set bowls of soup in front of people for the rest of my life.  I even mentioned that I had recently told (U.O.G.), in a discussion about feminism, that I was beginning to feel that being a wife and a mother was my true vocation.  All the multifaceted Music Shiverian goodness would all be there, but it’s not that I’m not composing (or whatever) that is making me feel like such a *waste.*  "But it’s hard," I said, "because I can’t go to Wife School and become a wife."

Fr. M. laughed and said, "I think you’d make a terrific wife and mother.  But until that’s happening you should go as far with your education as you can.  I *think* that’s what you really want."

I didn’t really like talking about this because I have been procrastinating.  What, exactly, am I afraid of?

Fr. M. said, "Have you published anything?"

"No."

"Have you submitted anything to be published, and been rejected?"

"No."

"Have you written anything?"

"Oh, reams of stuff."

"Well!"

(If he’d had a pipe I’m sure he would have leaned back and started puffing on it, by way of conclusion.)

I’m taking his advice with a grain of salt because he may be insightful and all, but he doesn’t know the whole tale.

On the other hand, somewhere in our talk, he said something that seemed to indicate that he knew stuff about me he couldn’t possibly have known.  It was uncanny and slightly uncomfortable.  But after saying it gently, he didn’t dwell on it.

Finally his wife came downstairs and got us back on track with the business of preparing me to house-sit.  Then Fr. M. drove me home.

The next morning, they came to pick me up at 10, and we drove to the airport.  I love the airport.  Recently, my mother’s harp group performed a Christmas program in a little nook there, and I played violin with them.  Airports at Christmastime make me happy.  Like snowflakes.  All those possibilities.

In the car, Fr. M.’s wife explained to me about icons and why the eyes (when it’s done right) look like they’re looking at you, no matter which angle you’re observing from.  And, Fr. M. and I talked about baptism.  Something that has been troubling me about Orthodoxy is that sometimes, even though you’ve been baptised already in some other denomination, they ask you to do it again.  My brother P1 had to do that.  It was, apparently, all about semantics.  If I’m remembering this right, it had something to do with how Mennonites emphasize that a baptism is "only" a "symbol," not a sacrament. 

Fr. M. asked questions and finally said, "It’s hard, but I think I’d have to side with your brother’s priest on that one."

I said, "But Fr. M., can we presume to say that God couldn’t make my baptism a sacramental experience, just because the people in charge were labelling it a symbol?"

Fr. M. said simply, "Well, Music Shivers, because eternal moments happen outside of time, and the future can affect the past, it may be that the grace you experienced at your first baptism was a foretaste of the grace of your second baptism."

Well, that was oddly infuriating and wonderful.  It’s the sort of belief I’ve had privately for a long time (future affecting the past stuff) without ever daring to hope that any church would "get it."  So although I was annoyed by this answer (because it ruined my chances of not having to be baptised again, if …… ), I was also delightfully surprised.

After dropping them off, I drove away cautiously and made my way home … er … to their place.  I made sure I let the dog out to poo and pee first, and then I walked around the whole house, looking at the icons.

It’s funny but annoying: some of the icons of Christ look a bit like the Friar (lately). 

But a few of the icons seemed to look back at me, like Fr. M.’s wife talked about.  She had spoken of "reverse perspective" and how the idea is that they’re looking at us.  "Cheering us on?" I had asked.  "You could see it that way," she had smiled.

Later that same night, after a leisurely and fragrant bath, I checked my e-mail, meaning to be brief and go to bed right away.  J and the Friar were both online and I started chatting with both.  J was just trying to gross me out with items from a dog restaurant menu he was trying to translate (he and the Chica are in China right now), but the Friar casually let this bomb drop: "I’m also chatting with my girlfriend right now … "

Not right away, but soon after that, I said I had to go to bed so as to be awake in time for teaching the next morning … or something like that … and I logged off, and blinked, and looked around Fr. M.’s study.

There were pictures of weddings all around.  His three daughters’ weddings, mostly, but I think there were some others.  There was even a wedding invitation lying next to the monitor.  I silently admitted to myself that last summer, after saying goodbye to the Friar, I had been shelving the whole thing … till Christmas.  He had talked about hoping to see me at Christmastime, and I had told myself to wait till then and see what happened.  And even though it has been U (if anyone) that I have been feeling connected to lately, I can’t deny that the Friar was the person I wanted to make a home with for many years.  The connection with U is almost uncategorizable and it doesn’t involve any plans for a future.  Not just because of the age difference (as if he’s going to drop dead any moment … ) but because I sense that he is alone for a reason and cherishes his solitude.  My *desire* for U has become somewhat unabashed in my offline paper journal, but another part of me always pipes up, "And after fulfillment of desire, then what?"  What I really want is probably impossible.  I want the epic connection of a U thing combined with the glorious mundanity of a home with someone like the Friar.  Someone whose work I respect and support, with whom I can feel that we are a combined force for good in this world.

So I cried a little, and flung the question out into the void: Why would I have such a capacity for loyal love and never get to use it?

The instant I dried my eyes, my cellphone rang.  It was around 10:45 pm, so I assumed it would be my mother – probably the only person who calls me that late, as a rule.  But it was …. the ridiculously unnameable guy (I’ve sat here for literally ten minutes, trying to name him).  I know, I’ll call him R.U.G.

So R.U.G. said "Hey, I have two questions!"  The first was whether or not I would be around at a certain time when he wanted to pick up some empty wine bottles from Fr. M.’s place.  The second was, "I’ve got two tickets to see a concert tomorrow night.  Wanna come?"

"Sure … ?" I said, all bewilderment.

When I hung up, I looked quizically at an icon of the Archangel Michael and said, "Is this supposed to be funny?"

It won the staring contest.

I went to bed and tried to sleep.  I lay awake trying to forget the Friar-like icon of Christ staring at me.

The next day was Tuesday.  I did the keeping-animals-alive routine and went to the school to teach.  The faculty was having its Christmas party just after my classes were over, so I helped set up the tables before everyone came.

I sat next to U without even planning it.  The talk around the table was amicable.  Then, when U went out of the room to where the food was, to get another helping, I turned to a voice teacher on my left and said, "Hey, do you know anything about this choral concert happening tonight?"  She said no.  "Oh, I was just wondering what the programme was like."  A woman on the other side of the table – the wife of a cello teacher – said, "You should ask R.U.G.  He would know."  I said, "Ah."  The voice teacher said "How are you getting there?"  I said, "Actually, R.U.G. is taking me, so I can ask him on the way."  The cello teacher’s wife said cutely, "Is this a date?"  I rolled my eyes and said, "That word hasn’t come up."  She grinned, "Oh, you haven’t had the DTR talk yet."  (Do I look as insufferably "knowing" when I use that abbreviation?  This is the first time I’ve heard someone besides myself and my family say it!)  I said, "No, but I’m pretty sure it’s a moot point, because I’m pretty sure he’d never go out with a non-Orthodox girl."  And turned the conversation elsewhere.  U came back with a plate full of food and didn’t show any signs of having heard this exchange.

I left before most people, because I was conscious of a dog waiting at home for me to let it out.  As I left, U left the room too and went into the kitchen for a moment, as if looking for something, but came out again quickly.  So we were in the hall, away from the others.  I said something like "Oh … " and we hugged.  But it was an aching hug.  I suddenly knew it wasn’t fair.  I couldn’t keep doing this.

I drove home, singing along to songs on the radio.

I was actually nervous as I waited for R.U.G. to show up.  I put on Christmas music and sat by the front door, working on a cross-stitch project.

He knocked smartly as it was getting dark, and I opened the door with my sewing in one hand.  He said, "Wow.  It is so weird to have you open this door."  Then he shoved a bottle of homemade orange chocolate port in my face.  "This is for you."

"Are you serious?!"  I looked around, saw a table-ish thing by the door, flung my cross-stitch at it so my hands were free, and tackled him with a hug.  "Thank you!"

He went looking for the empties Fr. M. had promised him, and after he found them, we drove off to the concert …

To Be Continued.

Sorry folks, I have loads more baking to do right now before Mom gets home from her Xmas Eve service, so you’ll just have to live with the numbing suspense.  Oh brother.

MERRY CHRISTMAS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

And I sincerely hope that the new year is a good one for all of you.  (I also hope that I’ll be able to structure in a bit more OD time so that I can keep up.)