Fifteen years later

A couple of weeks ago I said my team would end its title drought. And now it has. Last night, Deportivo Quito defeated Emelec, ensuring that Barcelona would finish in first place.

All around Ecuador, thousands (millions?) of barcelonistas took to the streets.

My parents, gleeful:

In South Bend, Kenny and I took to McDonald’s.

KPC

This year I’m looking at job ads in a different way. For example, there’s one from a college in rural Saskatchewan. Last year I would’ve leaped at it, anticipating that Netflix and Amazon would sustain me. But now I’m warier: I want to know which churches are in that place.

For the first time, I’m being picky about where to worship. I don’t want to just settle for the nearest building or for the most familiar denomination (i.e., the least distant relation). I wish I could choose a church first, and move to it.

Why am I being so picky? I guess it’s because I’m (surprisingly) glad to be worshiping at Keller Park. I’ve often had enthusiasm about this church; I used to admire what it did for other people (or what it was trying to do). But now I’m experiencing its influence:

• my resistance (intellectual, emotional) is loosening;
• my prayers are more frequent and less vexed;
• I’m more interested in the other congregants.

And if elsewhere I don’t continue experiencing these things, I’ll be disappointed.

When I do get hired to teach philosophy, I’ll be sad to move away from KPC. But I remind myself that right now I’m enjoying a respite, not fulfilling my vocation. For all I know, the blessings here will cool if I overstay my season.

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

At the bus stop, a beggar fleeces me. We converse; he notices the wound on the back of my hand.

How did you get that?

I spattered hot cooking oil onto my hand.

You should cover it with cocoa butter.

No.

Yes, that’s what you should do for burns. Be careful. Those scabs will scar.

I wouldn’t mind. That would look cool.

[Delighted:] Like a tattoo?

Yes, like a tattoo. And I’m pleased with these scabs because people talk to me about them.

[He sits down next to me.] Where are you from?

Ecuador.

Where’s that?

South America.

South America! And where do you live?

Here. In the neighborhood.

[We discuss our schooling, our work. He is a mechanic. He wants to be trained to become a welder but first must earn his G.E.D.]

[The bus is arriving. Now is my chance. I say:]

Do you go to church?

Yes, at First Methodist.

I attend the Keller Park Church. That’s why I moved into the neighborhood. To attend that church.

[A wave of feeling washes over him. He smiles with his three teeth:]

Well that’s wonderful.

[Fist bump.]

I board the bus. He walks down the sidewalk with the fare I’ve given him.

A room with a view

Having just finished reading A Room with a View, I revisited the movie. It improves upon its source in this way: it gives more humor to the young George Emerson.

In this added scene, George climbs a tree and says his “creed.” And in this one, he teases the story’s killjoy, the spinster Charlotte Bartlett. Without such scenes I doubt that Roger Ebert would have said that George was his favorite character.

And not only does the movie reveal George more completely, it also reveals Freddy Honeychurch and the Reverend Arthur Beebe.

My own bedroom has no view; the blinds are always closed. (They’re translucent, however, and through them one sees the dancing silhouettes of leaves.) I do not stay long in my bedroom. I leave it to sit in the front room, or to pace in the kitchen. Or I spend hours out of doors. I’ve been outside more this year than ever in my life. In Ithaca my room had a splendid view, but I languished in my armchair day after day.

Thirty-one

Yesterday I turned thirty-one. Loved ones gave me lunch and supper; on Facebook, the commentators were effusive. So I’ve no complaints.

But the previous day, Sunday, was the spectacular one. I played soccer for the first time in a month. I ran tirelessly and scored five golazos. (So what if most of my opponents were approx. twelve years old.)

Meanwhile, in Ecuador, Barcelona were thrashing Emelec, 5 to 0. This is the year we’ll end our title drought.

Some thoughts about turning thirty-one:

(i) My experience is vast.

(ii) I wish I owned more books. I don’t own as many as my parents did at thirty-one. The other day, my brother Stephen told me in all seriousness, “John-Paul, you really don’t own very many books.”

(iii) I look younger than I did last year. Or, at least, more youthful.

(iv) I’m as idealistic as ever. (This is evident from my recent blog posts.) Barring some Phineas Gage disaster or weird chemical influence, that quality will never, ever change.

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

Kenny wants me to tell you that his Xanga is currently unavailable because he’s hiding. He’s been offered a new job, and wants to appear squeaky-clean on the Internet for a while.

Kenny, I love you, but we are not alike. I will never try to appear squeaky-clean.

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

I wish I could trust someone who wanted to be President of the United States.

[Kelly Oxford]