Jane Went to Church, and Other Things I Did Last Week

(Photo: Community Church of Syosset, October 2007, taken by yours truly, Jane Doe)

"Peace is a natural innate state of mind waiting for us to come back to it.
Happiness is a butterfly which when pursued, is always just beyond our grasp, but which if you sit down quietly, may alight upon you."
- Nathaniel Hawthorne

You know, the best thing to do when you don't know what to do, is just to do the next thing.

I can't stand drama, so having my own personal soap opera playing out was quite uncomfortable for me. Usually I'm the detached bystander observing other people's drama, and I was a little out of practice in dealing with it myself. To be frank about it, I was completely knocked on my ass.

At some point I realized that I can't protect myself from everything, so I gave myself a slap across the face and said, "Snap out of it!" The universe isn't personal, folks, as much as we would like to imagine it is. Shit will happen, whether we like it or not, and you can either deal, or not deal, cope, or not cope.

Last Saturday night, sitting in my house with Roni and consuming vast quantities of wine, could have been labeled "Exhibit A" of not coping, and I was well aware of that fact as we were playing Blind DJ and drinking a $150 bottle of champagne.

Don't you love when people use the excuse that they drink in order to cope with life? I always want to tell them, "Um, actually, you're a falling-down, fighting-in-bars drunk so you can AVOID having to cope with life. Ya dumbass."

I decided it would be better to keep myself occupied, otherwise I would be susceptible to all sorts of mischief, so I decided to accept every invitation that came my way.

Thursday, I attended a completely lame industry event. Now, this paper company used to throw one of those annual parties that people anticipated for weeks beforehand, and gossiped about for weeks afterward. Two years ago, I went to this party after a day on jury duty, and I found everyone was swilling cosmopolitans like the Russians were in Jersey. My friend Karin and I corralled a dozen people at the end of the party to go around the corner to a bar, where we all proceeded to party like it was 1999. This year, last Thursday, it was a very low-key, boring event, full of odious advertising agency types, and where I knew one person (thankfully, it was Stevie Eyelashes, my cutest vendor, who is working on a couple of big projects with me right now, so at least that made it partially worthwhile), and I left after about 45 minutes, having done the polite showup.

Friday night I was invited to a party for my friend Sean, who just got his doctorate and who is celebrating his 10th year as pastor of the Community Church of Syosset. I truly thought it was going to be another "put in a polite appearance and bow out early" events.

No one warned me that I would have fun! Most of Sean's congregation consists of little old church ladies, with a smattering of little old men, and strange as it may sound, I LOVE old people. No, I don't just love them, I ADORE them. They have the best stories. For some reason, the little old church ladies love me, too. Them, and babies. Go figure. Repeat after me -- why do people love us? Because we see them.

The former pastor, a guy named David Jarvis, provided the entertainment, playing cabaret piano and singing old songs. We all (well, the old people and me) sang along, until David demanded that I get up and sing. He literally pointed at me past three tables of people and shouted, "YOU! You in the red! You know all the words to these songs! Get up here and sing!" It was a Bill the Cat moment -- ACK! I resisted just a little bit, then stood up and as I walked by Sean I gave him my best hairy eyeball and whispered, "I am JUST drunk enough to do this for you." Then I sang an old World War II song, one that was my parents' song, and all the little old church ladies got misty-eyed and sang along. (Then I got misty-eyed thinking this was just the kind of thing Dad used to do with my uncles -- I remember them standing around my grandfather's woodstove, drinking beer and singing "Up a Lazy River.") Even Judge Pratt, one of the church elders, appreciated my singing. I've always loved Judge Pratt; even though he's 82 years old and a Republican, I find him to be one of the handsomest men I've ever seen.

Rode LIRR home with David Jarvis and his young partner, Cameron, who told me that they are getting married in Maine this week! I love that.

Saturday I slept in and puttered around most of the day. Took the aforementioned nap which ruined my sleep on Saturday night.

Got up on Sunday and walked in the AIDS Walk with our company team.


(Jane is somewhere in this giant group of people. The great thing about this picture is how the photographer couldn't get everyone into his shot, and ended up hijacking an SUV yellow cab so he could stand on its roof)

We fielded a couple hundred folks, and I invited my friend Irene to walk with us. It was a completely gorgeous day, and I have the farmer tan and sore calves to prove it. It's been 10 years since I've participated in one of these charity events, and I had forgotten how good it felt to be amongst like-minded people doing an activity for a good cause. The last such event I participated in was riding my bicycle across Alaska to raise money for AIDS vaccine research, which admittedly was a different animal altogether, but the same sense of community and kindness permeates all of these events. I had forgotten about that feeling, and it felt good to be reminded.

And yeah, motherfuckers, I rode my bike ACROSS ALASKA. Shit, I used to be cool.

Properly diverted for several days, I went down like a redwood on Sunday night, and emerged into this week, maybe not all sleek and shiny, but a little less bedraggled.

Sometimes all it takes to get over stuff is to do other stuff.