I don't like halloween. I don't hate it or have some ridiculous religious aversion to it. Halloween's just the weirdest day in our culture and I haven't enjoyed it since I was a little kid.
A friend of mine, pastor Bubba, from Johnson County, TX (where rednecks were invented) recently voiced my exact feelings about it. He said something like - if a person from somewhere like Africa, or Haiti (or any other place where average people know A LOT about the dark side of the spirit world) came to visit the US and asked what Halloween was about...we'd have a hard time explaining:
"Halloween is the day we celebrate fear and death. We dress up like monsters and set our yard up to look like a cemetery and scare the hell out of each other. Then the next day we're back to normal...mocking you 3rd world people and your silly "spells" and "magic". Don't you know everything has a scientific and logical conclusion? And the only spirit is God. He lives in this here box that we've placed him in?"
I know all kinds of churches take full opportunity for massive outreach on Halloween. Or at least serve the neighborhood with some kind of carnival and games. Two years ago Agent Wife came up with a porch display for our house. She figured, "These kids want death & fear? I've got a good story about death".
So she constructs this life-size dummy of Jesus just waking up from the tomb, still in mummy clothes with blood stains. He's got this mild grin on his face that practically says, "yeh...I just defeated death...BWA-HA-HA-HA" (well, I just threw in that evil sounding laugh). The Jesus mummy is kind of scary since he's laying up on our secluded porch surrounded by bushes and you don't see him until you get right up to our door.
Agent Wife constructed a new body this year since the old body had to be thrown out when it got moldy. We use to store it under our house and I always feared hiring a plumber one day who might stumble across this body in a plastic bag.
I was happy to see that Darth Vader has made a Halloween comeback. May it be known that in both 1981 AND 1982...I was Darth Vader - way back before it was cool to be him. I had the full helmet, cape and all.
To me, Halloween is still kind of unexplainably weird. And even the Jesus mummy thing is not something I would have come up with. That's AW's gig. I doubt any of the local kids lives have changed while trick-or-treating at our house. But...I guess if you have to decorate your house in gore...
But the debut year of the Jesus mummy, one kid came up to the door and said, "cool...Osama bin laden".
So this afternoon I was taking advantage of the decent weather and father/offspring time by melding the two together and taking a stroll around the hood.
We come up Undercover Lane from the far south end and head home afer a good 45 minute stroll when I run into Agent D. He and his wife & brood run some sort of c-o-c controlled beach head in a prime location within the fair mother city. I've known of D for about 6 years, but don't really know him other than we share the same street and basically the same agenda in life.
So he says, "I've been reading this thing on the internet...are you Agent B?"
Yesterday I went to visit Momo at the pokey only to discover that he's not there anymore. The lady behind the desk wasn't allowed to give me info of his release date.
If any of you agents in the mother city know of Momo's whereabouts in the last week, please contact me. Thanks.
Obi-Wan, Agent Offspring & I went on a walk in the 'hood today. The weather was perfect. I love autumn in the mother city. Temp around 70F (as opposed to my wife's hometown in Canada where it's now like...-10C), sunny, a little breezy, and pecans dropping on the street.
After a week of owning an electric wheelchair, Obi-Wan finally set sail today with AO (in a stroller) & I in tow. We went up & down Undercover Lane then went a few blocks down to the dollar store and back.
Those electric wheelchairs are tough to maneuver. It has an easy little joy stick to operate, but basically there's 3 directions: forward, backward, and spinning around in a 180 (or 360 if you don't stop it quick enough). It's very tricky to veer left or right while traveling forward.
Obi-Wan was doing OK until we got to the store, where I forgot how narrow the isles were. Oh man...here comes the test.
Once Obi-Wan & I were at a grocery store where he decided to try one of the complimentary electric scooters. I thought that was amazing since he always seemed adamant about walking on his own. But I guess he knows his own limits. This scooter didn't have any "brakes". To stop it, you just let go of the trigger. But arthritis makes his hands move slow...which caused him to mow down a couple of produce displays. I still laugh thinking about that. Especially since he put his feet down to try and stop it.
Well, he passed the dollar store test. The employees were really accommodating but the other customers weren't.
So here's to the maiden voyage, both Herbie Hancock's and Obi-Wan's. May there be many more travels.
Today I met with Pastor Hawking and his faithful ward The Hippie. I haven't met with them in a while and they were curious if the izzy group was still around, if we still dispersed ministerial contraband across town anymore, and how The Bossman & I were doing.
Pastor Hawking is probably the only church pastor in this ridiculously religious city that I deeply respect. If the CEO of the freaking universe manifested himself in full 3D form in front of me and pointed a finger at me and said, "Agent B...join a church in the mother city", I'd join Pastor Hawking's church. But only because the CEO made me join a church.
Pastor Hawking has Cerebral Palsy and is confined to a wheelchair. Like most CP folks, he talks with a retarded-sounding voice. When he laughs (usually at his own jokes, which are pretty funny) he sounds like ZZ Top's "La Grange" on super slow-mo ("Ah HAW-HAW-HAW-Haw). The Hippie is also confined to a wheel chair, but has no CP so he's a little more independent. He can drive so he often serves as Pastor Hawking's taxi. The Hippie's a quiet, mild mannered kind of guy, serving the pastor in many helpful ways. For a visual reference of The Hippie, picture a long-haired, handicapped Richie Cunningham. Except he's recently got a haircut but now sports one of those cool outlaw-looking mustaches.
The church Pastor Hawking ministers to is a church of societal rejects. I mean...they're all recovering alcoholics, addicts, quasi-homeless, annoying, ugly, elderly, health problem plagued, and probably people you would not find on church marketing brochures. It's beautiful. And especially the fact that out of this body of 75-100 people, about 80% are new to Jesus. No church transfer growth here folks. This is the real deal.
Pastor Hawking became real interested in Alcoholics Anonymous a while back. He's never drank in his life but he enrolled in a 12 step program so he could meet alcoholics and learn from them. In the process, he created his own Jesus-centered 12 step deal for alcoholics and now people come to his church for free recovery classes.
Pastor Hawking always wears a tie and sometimes a jacket. He says it's not to be pastoral, but because he gets called in to court at least once or twice a week to testify for one of his church members, so he wants to be prepared.
I arrived to his church's building before our planned prayer meeting. I casually gathered data on the surroundings. Like the 5 or 6 buckets in the sanctuary collecting rain water from the ceiling. Like the dumpy 1940's facility that hasn't been updated...ever. Like the second-hand...everything in the building. Then during our meeting they tell me they've been foreclosed on but have until April 2006 to find another facility to minister from, hopefully one that can become a halfway house for addicts.
I know of the big name church in town that owns the note on this property. And believe me...they DON'T need the money for this building. They could give it to Pastor Hawking and not miss it. They have their own huge modern building with a recent addition PLUS new church office structure down the block.
Those bastards.
Why they're sitting their fat asses on new pews and cushy offices Pastor Hawking, The Hippie, and 80 others are feeding people, ministering to the hurting, freezing their ass off in a cinder block building, dodging leaks from the ceiling, and just being real.
They deserve a better property and I guess this is forcing them to look for one. But they have little money. They're saving their pennies for a down payment in case they find something. They had to stop helping the poor with utility bills so they can prepare for the move. I had plenty of advice to offer them on being a church without a home. I know it all too well.
LORD...what gives?? Why does the izzy group and Pastor Hawking's church minister to the poor then get kicked in the groin out in the cold?? When will this all end?? WHERE'S THE JUSTICE?
[soothing voice] and now..."Deep Thoughts"...with Agent B
Lesson #1 - Pecans
I never in my life thought I'd enjoy things like...trees, plants and you know...how to grow stuff. Maybe I'm learning to enjoy the simple things in life that the CEO gave us. Maybe I'm getting old.
The wife and I bought a house here on Undercover Lane 2.5 years ago. And on our property came a pecan tree. "Hey", I thought. "I've never owned a tree before. I'm gonna use it to the fullest extent". I've lived in rent houses with pecan trees in the yard. I never paid attention to them except that they were a nuisance, with all those pecans dropping in the fall, sap and such. But now I'm a pecan connoisseur. When the pecan season all said and done with in the fall of 2003 we must have had at least a five gallon bucket full or more. I looked up various pecan pie recipes and baked for the first time in my existence. I put pecans in everything, waffles, salads, cookies. Hell, someone should invent a pecan beer. And it might as well be me. Someday.
I desperately looked forward to the following fall (2004). But that's when I learned the ugly truth that pecan trees only put out once every TWO years. Crap. There were like a handful of pecans in '04 but the freaking squirrels got them all. I've since trained Agent Dog to chase squirrels and fling 'em like a rag doll if caught.
Our tree is chock full of them this year. But only a few have dropped as it's still too early. Maybe in the next two weeks. But I've learned that if you pull them out of the tree when the husks are not fully open, they will taste too squishy. They're "green", as Obi-Wan says.
So basically, pecans are teaching me patience. Which sucks because I want my pecans. Now.
Lesson #2 - Okra
The same year we moved in, Agent Wife wanted to plant a garden where a large storage shed use to be which was removed by the previous owners. I wasn't too interested but I helped anyway. All that season I maintained and watered the garden and I became obsessed with it. I love gardening now.
We're far from gardening experts. But this is our third year and we get better every year. For example...this is the first year that I didn't accidentally kill off the entire garden by July 4. It's almost November and we're still getting real good okra. I killed off everything else though. Accidentally.
Picking okra is weird. You would think that if you wanted more bang for your buck (read: bigger okra) you would leave it on the plant longer. Wrong. The longer you leave okra on the plant the more useless it becomes. It gets hard and impossible to cut through. So you can't let it grow too big. You cannot get greedy and your timing has to be perfect.
I have no freaking idea what any of this has to do with secret agent operations, but I've been thinking on this a while. Seems like the CEO is showing me something.
Nothing to report today. Business as usual. El Pico (coffee) at 7a. Handy-Boy gig from 9a-6p. Play with Agent Offspring. Dinner & dominoes with the family at Obi-Wan's. Baby bathtime & bed. Blog.
But I'm enamored with Dr. James' post today. Please read it.
One of my most favorite chapters in one of my most favorite books in the universe (_Blue Like Jazz_) details the author's outreach with some friends at some sort of college campus drug party mayhem. They dressed like monks (?!?) and had a confessional booth set on campus. But the schtick was...when people went in to the confessional, the author and his Christian buddies confessed THEIR sins as well apologized for every boneheaded thing done in the name of Jesus (the crusades, inquisitions, Republicans, etc). Their whole deal was a humble light in a dark place.
Dr. James and friends recently did this same confessional booth gig at a similar event. And it sounds like Jesus placed his comforting arm on the shoulders of several witches and people of pagan religions. Whoa...
After reading this in "Jazz" I've been of the mindset of "apology" vs. arrogance within my faith. Does that make sense?? I mean, I want to do what Don Miller and Dr. James and others did. Maybe not with the booth & costumes (or maybe so). I've looked for opportunities to apologize to non-believers for my arrogance of the past and my faith's arrogance and wrong doings.
Abilene doesn't have any huge drug-fest-pagan type gatherings. At least none that I know of. Abilene has plenty of gatherings which often get over run with church groups passing out tracts or setting up booths that try to make membership inviting. Yuck.
Maybe I should start following the tract passers with my own tracts apologizing for these first tract passers and their drive-by evangelism. Or next time the fair & rodeo is in town I should round up the troops to pay for kids' farris wheel rides instead of manning a marketing booth for our church. "All welcome". Yeh, no shit. Really. I'm welcome to come to your church?? As long as I fit your mold and jump through your hoops.
Agent Offspring's first ever birthday party was today. I feel like I've entered a right of passage: a parent who's hosted a kid party. Well, Agent Wife did all the actual planning & hosting. I just did my Dad duties and grilled 48 burgers and took photos.
Our house was the freakin' U.N. We literally had English, Spanish (some Mexican friends), and French (some west African friends) speaking going on all at once. Also several neighbors and friends with little kids came by.
We originally planned an outdoor party but the high was like 50F today, which is artic for Texans (and sub-artic for Africans). So I froze my butt off and grilled while everyone played games inside. But they all came outside for the pinata bash. Agent Wife made a dog-shaped pinata. She must have used super glue, epoxy, and cement. No such stick would work on this baby. The kids should have used an ax to swing.
It was a fun party but no match for a Valdez kid party (see Sept 11, 2005 entry). And no comparison to Manuel's birthday party next door from last night. Manuel is Frieda Sanford's Mexican boyfriend. I say Mexican because he's...from Mexico (as opposed to Hispania). The party consisted of good BBQ grub, tortillas on the grill (the best way to eat them imo), and a hell of a lot of cheap beer. This was consumed by me, Agent Wife, Manuel's nephew from Austin, some coworkers, Frieda, and a bunch of under-aged drinkers.
I've never been in a beer drinking situation with teens. I didn't know what to think. It was easy to jump into judgement mind-mode. These kids were so imature, trying to out drink each other and show off. I'm a light drinker. After two, it gets pointless for me. One young woman started spilling her life's woes to Agent Wife and sharing how CPS took her three kids away, etc. Lord, this woman needs you. Open up her heart for you.
The kids who were drinking (and shall remain nameless) are ones I've known for a long time. Even back from the izzy food pantry days. Lord, may they not fall into the clutches of alcohol. Show them that adults can be responsible with beer.
(From L to R) Obi-Wan, The Bulldog, and The Tiger. They were pulling up into my driveway just after their electric wheelchair races.
I have been very reluctant to post photos of the people mentioned in this blog. There is a fine line between exploitation and innocent sharing. This photo was too good to keep to myself so hopefully this would be categorized as innocent sharing. But I'm writing about these people (names changed) on the world-wide-waste-of-time without their knowing...and now posting their photos. Maybe I'll take it down after a few days. I don't know. Your input is appreciated.
The story of this photo is as follows: Just this week Obi-Wan was telling me that he wanted to get an electric wheelchair. His hands are too crippled and weak to push himself in a regular wheelchair. My junk wheeler/dealer neighbor Frieda Sanford and her boys picked up TWO electric wheelchairs today at a garage sale for $30 a piece (a steal). They find out Obi-Wan was interested so they had the two plus another they've had. While he was out test riding in the street (the first time he's been out in months) the Sanford boys joined in and raced him. It was hilarious. An 88 year old man and two teens racing wheelchairs in the street like punks.
Bottom line: Frieda sells him the one he likes for $60. She makes a 100% profit to support her family and Obi-Wan gets a $2300 wheelchair for $60. It's win-win. Capitalism at its best. Of course, she could have sold it in a garage sale for much more, but she was being nice.
Obi-Wan has a new found independence. He can now join us for walks around the neighborhood. And his nurse was visiting today so she lined up a guy to come over Monday to start building a ramp inside his garage for his new wheels.
Obi-Wan was like a little kid riding around in the street.
It's official. Benny likes me and he's placing ads around town to generate work for us. What started as a 4-5 day project at Grandma Nelly's could become a more solid gig around town. I am taking on an additional identity for as long as needed: Benny the Handyman's side kick, Handy Boy.
I'm still a secret agent. Like that guy in most of The Book, I now have my tent making schtick. But no matter where I'll be in the universe, I'm a secret agent for life.
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Wacky side note: I was on the radio today. With classic rock radio going on the job all day and listening "for your chance to win" verbiage ad nauseam, I decided "what the hell". I was the 17th caller and Agent Wife and I are going to see R&B act Marcia Ball & Co. at the Paramount Theater this week. I was totally laughing and acting like a ridiculous contest winner on the radio. Which is completely out of character for me but it was fun and I AM excited since we can rarely afford to go out anymore. The CEO's winking at me.
As an undercover operative for the CEO of the universe, I am strategically embedded within the poverty culture of Abilene, TX (the fair mother city). This blog contains my reports, discoveries, observations, and confessions. My identity must remain concealed due to passages in The Book under Matt. 6:1-4. The names on this blog have been changed to protect the guilty.
