In contrast to the normative volume of attendants- typically there are a total of 7 to 8- there were 13 people there. That's never happened since time immemorial! Pastor was so giddy. My dad commented that he was probably figuring out how much money he could expect to drag in from the visiting members.
All the normals were there (including Mr. and Mrs. Bruckner- they looked exhausted from their move). Mr. and Mrs. Fletchingbird, who are snowbirds, were also there. They're regulars for as long as they stay, I suppose. They make arrows for a living. I guess they need to travel around to buy wood while it's in season? I didn't know wood went in season.
Tonight, the "new" attendees (they're all traveling gypsy snowbirds in for the week; they're not new to the church, only to me) are Mr. and Mrs. Walkegan, and a woman named Bow. She has really pretty white hair. It looks like...cotton candy. Man, I wish my hair would hurry up and turn white. Maybe if I think about it...no...still not white.
After the service, the visiting couple, Mr. and Mrs. Walkegan, and the visiting woman, Bow, stuck around for a bit, so I got to meet them. They're cool. Mr. Walkegan broke his kneecap! That's cool enough for all 3 of them right there. 5 weeks ago, he was driving, and POW! wife hit him with a hammer. Or...OK, I can't remember if that's what happened or not. Chock that up as a "might have."
She (Mrs. Walkegan) asked me if I went to school. I told her I was homeschooled, and I was majoring in learning a trade from my dad. She asked me what trade. I said, "all trades." "Oh. Like, everything?" "Yeah, everything except masonry and jet-propulsion," I said.
Apparently, they make their living selling yo-yo's. They explained the process to me- first, you have to make the glue. They use only the finest race horse hooves; they didn't explain how they got the hooves. Maybe you can use the trimmings. Then, they sheer some sheep, and hand-spin the wool. They then coat the wool very lightly with the glue to make it durable.
After that, they take the finest wood (for the season they're doing scented pine rounds), "heat-pressure-treated with warm wishes, love and hugs," and form it into a yo-yo half ranging anywhere from 3"-5". Bigger yo-yo's are available upon request, but any bigger and it has to be the prime section of the tree and stuff.
They make a duplicate half (the process for shaping and balancing the halves sounds very painstaking), and connect them with the race horse glue via a typical yo-yo "heart." This is typically just a short wooden shaft, but can be a type of metal "heart." They throw a cover over the yo-yo's they've made for the day (5 on a good day, I think), and pray over them. This is so that they don't look at a particular one and imbue unfair prayer power on them.
They can paint them, but typically don't for woods like pine, which are darn purdy. I asked them how much they sell them for, and she said "Ahh...they cost so much, we'd have to bill you just to tell you how much they cost." "Oh," I replied. I thought it over for a bit. I still didn't get it.
We chatted for a bit, and it turns out Bow and them are related by their friendship. I always ask people how they're related if it looks like they're buddies, much as I'd ask a young couple how they met. Older couples...eh...it's more like, "Yeah, uh...I don't really recall." That's Pastor's answer, anyways. He had two children in short succession and it ruined his life as far as private time went. He said that he had to scribble his sermon notes on a baby bottle once, it got so bad.
We had a pretty honest conversation. I told them of that one FREAK of a nurse that shot me up with flesh-numbing liquid once. She was very, very good at her trade. I didn't feel the needle when she injected me, and I didn't feel anything when the doctor stabbed me with the "poker." She did it by injecting me with very small amounts 1o+ times. The second nurse (she had to poke me in another area) just shot me up with all of it. I felt a very unnerving type of pressure when the poker got me. Oog.
Anyways (I guess that was a call to nurses everywhere to take another 2 minutes and anesthetize someone right, because they'll remember it the rest of their lives if you do do it properly; I am the proof!), that nurse "just loved the Arizona summer." Whatever, I guess that's possible. She did do good localized anesthetic, so I respect her opinion. Maybe she came from Alaska.
Mrs. Walkegan asked if I was a native, I said yes, then she commented that she couldn't understand people living in Arizona unless they were local. I wonder if Arizona is really so bad.
Lol, who am I kidding. When they left, she made a comment to me that no one has ever made before. She said "Keep studying." That meant a lot to me for some reason.
After they left, I began to clean the church, as Pastor and the Hitman were discussing some issue of importance. Typically I'll clean the church a bit when I have time. I didn't hear enough to know what they were talking about, but from knowing what they may have been talking about, I pieced together something of an idea of what it may have been that they were talking about. I overheard Hitman say, "And I can bury the carcasses out on this side," to which the Justice replied "No, no," to which Hitman replied "Aw come on! They're not human!"
The Destroyer meets Stainlin
Most of my thoughts were centered on the incredibly detailed course of action I was making in my head for cleaning this wall, and everything else blurred out. It was behind a whiteboard of sorts, and boy, it was filthy! It seemed no matter how much I cleaned it, it would just keep being dirty. I had five cups (that is, 8 ounce cups) of coffee right before that, so maybe that was my problem.
I tried cleaning it first with just a napkin, thinking it was a smudge. Then I had to upgrade to a tea towel and a sponge with no scrubbing back. It was a pink sponge. A pretty pink sponge. I got a Styrofoam cup with some water and soap in it and headed to the wall. I was oblivious to the world around me as I scrubbed away. I scribbled my name on the wall in "clean" (which would show against the "unclean"), but I erased it.
I kept trying, but the wall would not get any cleaner. Accursed wall. Hopefully, one of the other knowledgeables around there will take care of it, because I do not have the cleaning how-know...know-how to effectively desolate the stains. My question is, what happened to stain it like that?
Hoping to grapple defeat from the cold, hard jaws of...or...OK, you know what I mean, to make my defeated ego feel better, I began to spot-clean around the place. First things first, I got the garbage to take to the dumpster on my way out. Kind of hard to tell where to spot clean, but I hit the jackpot when I found the door covered in dust. I began dusting it with the damp sponge, then I realized...oh no!
The sponge had a lump on it! I began scribbling a note to leave in the kitchen to Whom it may concern that, "If sponges do get cancer, I would have that checked out." I was in stage 2 of writing the note (first stage is the wording, second stage is the formatting, third stage is the final draft) when Pastor asked me what I was doing. I looked up slowly.
"I'm writing to let whoever uses the sponge know that it may have cancer."
"Wh-...why would you think it has cancer?"
"It has a lump on it! It could die at anytime!"
"...alright. Really, I've learned to just leave it to them, usually...but folly on your own whim..."
I momentarily decided to discard his advice (that poor sponge), but as pictures of crazed knife-wielding stabbers stabbing me several times for trying to tell them how to do their job danced in my head, I decided to just crumple up both drafts of the note and go home and burn them. No use in giving someone a reason to stab me. Right?
Right. I then went home and slept (the wash will take care of those notes). I happily dreamt about not being stabbed the following Sunday. A smile must have worked its way over my face. I could see the blood not spilling everywhere. It was a good dream. "Wow, Kev, we don't have to stab you," they said. "I'm going to put this knife back," they said. "Oop, that was the bell. Let's not stab Kev, shall we?" they said. Good dream.
I am so tired. I'm terrified that I am developing a stutter, as well, but I think it is just my tiredness.
No comments:
Post a Comment