#9- Happy (late) Easter

Note: The following entry contains a lot of religious material. The author is writing merely to inform, not to convert. Any comments deliberately trying to start an internet holy war will be mocked mercilessly. Conversely, any comments trying to start a legitimate, peaceful, logical debate about the validity of religion will be met with respect.

Oh, Easter. You're like Christmas-- overhyped and over commercialized, but always welcome anyway. Especially since the last six weeks have been spent in fasting and abstinence due to Lent hanging over our heads. (Well, it has been for me anyway.) And, like Christmas, you always hold the promise of tons of candy, especially Starburst jellybeans. They're like Starbursts, only in jellybean form, so their easier to eat, but twice as delicious, and you don't have all those pesky wrappers to clean up afterwards.

Being Catholic, Easter is a big thing for me, it being the biggest feast in the liturgical year. When I was younger it also meant getting a new dress to wear to church, and only to church, and God help me if I ever get any kind of stain on it. Before I could drive myself anywhere, we were usually woken up at some awful hour of the morning to get all dolled up and go to church. Since I don't sleep well anyway (I refer you to post #6), waking up is even harder for me to do. As I grew older I realized, staying up is a lot easier than waking up. Earning my license began my rebellious tradition of going to Easter mass by myself, the vigil on Holy Saturday night. (For those not in the know, in ye olden days, it was traditionally accepted that the day ended when the sun went down, and the night was actually the start of the next day. Going to mass on Saturday night counts as going to Sunday mass.) The Easter vigil is actually a lot longer than the morning mass. It usually starts around 8:00 PM and, depending on the parish, can be anywhere from two and a half to four hours. There are usually about seven readings, then the Gospel, then the homily, all spliced with a ton of hymns being sung, and then the converts get their baptisms, confirmations, and their first Communions.

The first vigil I went to I was racing down interstate 5 trying to get to my friend R's parish, since they were celebrating their first Easter in the newly-built church (up until that point, they held masses in a community hall), and we were promised a huge fucking Easter bonfire. I got there just in time to watch the altar boys stack the wood and douse every piece with about half a can of lighter fluid each. After the fifth can, the pastor, Father Wallace (nice guy, really, but damn, he can talk for hours) came out to light the bonfire. A couple singed people later, we were all backing up to about 20 paces away from the fire, and we could still feel the heat from the fire, which was nice because Oceanside gets cold at night. And every year, they do a big bonfire, though thankfully not nearly as hazardous as that first one. The fire actually lasts the whole mass, which is pretty awesome.

The mass itself is about four and a half hours- like I said, Fr. Wallace likes to talk- the extra half hour being because of the converts getting their sacraments. The church has a huge, HUGE baptismal font, which is really cool, and folks get their choice of either leaning over and getting water poured on their heads or standing in the baptismal font itself and getting dunked and water poured on their heads. And Fr. Wallace does not spare the water at all, let me tell you. He gets a half-gallon pitcher to baptize them with, and the water is poured three times, so no matter what they do they get soaked. One year, this kid, who can't have been older than eight, actually did a cannonball into the fount. I never caught the kid's name, but he was awesome.

I do normally go to that parish for the vigil, but this past Easter I went to a different parish to support an acquaintance of mine, Crys, who was getting baptized. This parish was completely different- there was no bonfire in front of the church, just a small one inside on a torch, and 80% of the mass itself was in Spanish, which I don't speak well at all but I can read along with in the missals. There were two groups of people singing the hymns, one English one Spanish, and there was one guy in the Spanish singing group who was way too damn close to the microphone, which I guess was okay since it kept anyone from falling asleep. Also, out of the group of people I sat with (who had also come along to support Crys), I think I was the only Catholic there, so being the only one who knew the responses and when to sit, stand, or kneel was a little awkward. Also also, the mass was only two and a half hours. It was actually pretty cool, getting out of church before midnight.

But I think I prefer watching a ton of stuff burn while I celebrate the resurrection of Christ.

Warm Regards,

Liz.

#8- Road trips: Then, Now, and Later On

I'm sure I've mentioned this before, but I grew up in Virginia, where the summers are muggy, suffocatingly humid, and full of mosquitos and thunderstorms. I had accepted it for the most part. My parents, on the other hand, both grew up in California, which gets just as hot but is at least dry enough to breathe in, and even living in South Carolina for a while didn't acclimate them to the southeast coast summer weather. Every other summer we'd drive to California to visit family, and when we didn't go to CA we'd drive to North Carolina where we'd rent a beach house for a week or so.

Yes, yes, you did read that last sentence right-- all of us piled up in the van would drive either to California or North Carolina.

For some reason the trips to and from NC never really stood out in my mind. Sure, I remember actually being there, but I can't ever remember the drives, since they were relatively short. It was always the drives to CA that I remember the most. Three days of driving across country was... well... I never thought it was so bad. We'd at least have each other to mess around with, tapes to listen to, a sibling's shoulder to sleep on, games to play, snacks to much on, and a couple hours to get out and stretch our legs. I do remember how we'd all get excited whenever we came to a state border; we'd watch for the signs that said "You are leaving this state" and count down to when we'd pass the signs that said "Now entering this state". That was always fun, and it was a good way to remember which states were where. But I can only imagine the dread my parents felt every trip we made. Squalling babies and squealing kids can get pretty grating on people's nerves after a few hours, let alone three whole days. It's times like this I like to look back on my childhood and wonder at how my parents never left us at some rest stop in the middle of God-knows-where while they went off to some party scene in Mexico.

But that was then.

Now, I cannot stand driving through cities. They take far too long to get through, with the stop signs and lights and pedestrians and other cars et cetera et cetera. Get me on the open road with a couple of good CD's and I am in Heaven.

 Usually I drive out with my folks to Arizona for summer fun, which is a five-hour drive. I can't speak for everyone, but it really is so much fun getting there. However, there was one drive that has forever haunted me. The weather was crap that day, with several storms all around us but not quite reaching us, and I was preparing to drive back home because I had college classes that started the next day. As I'm heading out with my friend B, out of nowhere this storm forms all around us. If I hadn't been driving Sibling #2's truck (which I should point out is unbalanced due to the lack of any real weight in the back) and if I had been more exposed to driving in rainy conditions, I would've been excited. As it stood, however, I had to be trained in perfect California sunny weather and borrowing a very front-heavy truck. On top of that, it rained heavily. In Arizona. Which is a desert. So there were plenty of flash floods for me to drive through.  I'd never driven through floods before. How was I supposed to know that you're not supposed to speed through them? Turns out, that actually makes things worse. After about the fifth time fishtailing through a flooded part of the road, I called my dad and he advised me to take things slow (which really helped when I came to a section where, I'm being completely honest, literally half a mile of road was covered in water). A five hour drive turned into a seven hour panic attack with me spouting prayers at every saint I could think of and calling my poor sleep-deprived father every ten minutes bawling my eyes out because, honest to God, I was going to die.

Another memorable road trip, actually my first one made by myself, was when I drove from San Diego county to Merced for my friend's wedding. What made it so memorable was, not only was I on my own, but I was on my own going up Interstate 5 through a treacherous stretch of road known as the Grapevine, which goes up and over the mountains. It's not exactly the safest route. For one thing, it's incredibly steep, so your engine is put under more stress and is more likely to overheat on you. If you ever go up that route, you will see signs that tell you to turn off your air conditioning and other signs that direct you to stations where you can get extra water for your radiator. If you keep your car in good condition, go slow up the mountainside, and turn off your AC, you should be fine. (DISCLAIMER: I am not responsible for your car if your engine fails while you go up the Grapevine in California. I'm an EMT, not a mechanic.) But, because I am prone to *~exciting~* experiences in every fucking road trip I go on, I had problems. I had no idea that the Grapevine was so LONG. I mean my God. I must have spent an hour just going up the damn mountain. Also, my dear friend decided to get married the first week of April, while California's weather is still being bipolar. As a result, there was a windstorm pushing me and my Jeep around. Hooray for me. Also, I think I hit a really big rock, because I know I heard a *ka-THUNK* as I was coming around a bend. Thankfully nothing was affected (I'm sure I would have crashed otherwise), and I successfully made it up and over the damn mountains. I must admit, I've never had a problem with that route again, and honestly it is a beautiful drive.

Later on, I would love to drive everywhere. The US is a pretty big country with long roads. I mapped out a trip with Sibling #6 around Arizona, since it turns out he's never been to the Grand Canyon; we'd go there, and then up around Black Mesa, since he's a big Half Life fan. Another big trip I want to take would be along Route 66, since all the cool kids do it. Also, just for fun, I went on Google Maps and mapped out a route to Alaska. Now that trip would be awesome.

Warm Regards,

Liz.

#7- This Image

While following several artists on DeviantArt, I've been in the midst of drama surrounding art thieves. It infuriates me when artists pour their heart and soul into a piece of art, just to have some piece of shit bastard thief come and publish it on their websites (Facebook, mostly) as their own work with no due credit to the original artist. If there's one thing I cannot stand, it's thievery in any form.

Which is why I am coming clean now.

I want to talk about this image:

My computer identifies it as "psl-neon". I found it on the internet, I can't even remember how exactly I found it (I know it was a Google Image search, but I have no idea what I searched for). I have no idea who the original artist is. I took it because, well, it's a beautiful picture, and I'm using it now because I love it so much. But let me please make this clear-- IT DOES NOT BELONG TO ME.

Whoever owns this image, please please PLEASE let me know!! I'll be more than happy to either take it down or post your name/website somewhere on this blog giving you credit. I just need to know who you are.


Warm Regards,


Liz