Shaking the Dust Off My Feet, The Human Version
today my partner left to go to a fancy family event on the island, I am not welcome, so I stayed home with the cats
I’ll level with you, reader, I hate it. I feel pretty choked about it. I think it’s assholery. It’s mean- spirited, sociopathic nastiness. Some humans truly suck.
Some humans truly test my Jesus skills. In the Pauline Epistles, 1 Corinthians 3:13 reminds me that my work “… will be tested by fire … and the fire itself will make clear the quality …” of my work. The Quran says G-d tests those whom He loves. The Torah (Deuteronomy 8:2-3) reminds me that the G-d of mercy led the Israelites into the desert wilderness for 40 years in order to test the faithfulness of their hearts through hardships. Point being — trials and tribulations reveal the contents of our hearts. Hardship shows G-d how we perform under pressure. His will—not mine—be done, on earth as in heaven.
Anything I have achieved that’s worth having came by trial and testing. Scholastic achievements, driver’s license, post secondary scholarly achievements, professional achievements, nursing license, motherhood, marriage, all vital relationships. All these blessings came via the way of a test. Even in nature, extreme heat and pressure applied to rock over a long period of time makes a previous gem. Corundum becomes ruby when exposed to high heat for a long time. Malachi 3:2-3 likens G-d to a refiner, “For he is like a smelter’s fire and like fuller’s lye. He shall act like a smelter and purger of silver; and he shall purify the descendants of Levi and refine them like gold and silver, so that they shall present offerings in righteousness.” I imagine this life as a cupel that holds me, an alloy in need of refinement. Yes, I often imagine this life as a weird cosmic process of cupellation. And, so it is. What can any of us do, except joyfully navigate the trials laid before us?
So, I’m on an adventure, reader. These are the adventures of bad hijabi.
Assholes remain assholes, regardless if I hate their sociopathy and mean spiritedness or if I choose to shake it off. I do still hate it, yet I figure what I focus on grows, so, I just put the hurtful behaviour of humans aside. I think about things I can control, things that will help me grow and thrive. Assholes and other sh1tty humans bless me because they provide the fire for my refinement. The impurities melt and separate from the good elements. Dross rises to the surface and the silversmith skims it off, leaving behind the good stuff. That’s life, skimming off the dross people when they rise to the surface, skimming off the dross qualities within me, when they rise to the surface.
So, I best get on with it, hadn’t I? And, reader, I did just that.
I found a table at the little pop-up plaza on East 21st Avenue at Main, in Mount Pleasant near Coco et Olive, where I purchased an overpriced Siciliana Limonata drink to sip on whilst I write this essay.
This place has a cool family down-to-earth vibe.
A family with their 4 children sits on a nearby table, the parents and the grandma chat, whilst the mum helps the baby drink from a cup. One little girl has found a ladybug on the ground near grandma. Brother and sister have energy to burn, and they run around the plaza, climb on a wooden bench, kids behaving as kids do. At another table a mum has her baby in a stroller and a man types away at his laptop. At another table two women sit and chat casually whilst one of the women types into her laptop. At the table behind me a couple sits quietly, each on their mobiles. At another table behind me two blokes sit with their coffees, a chess board between them. At the table to my left, two women are sitting with their tea, talking in what sounds like a Chinese dialect.
The sun hides behind the clouds, occasionally peaking out— a hint of blue sky appears. I see a tiny library and I wonder what treasure it holds. I make a note to check for treasure on my way out. Neptoon Records lives just around the corner, and I’m waiting for the listening party that’s happening in a couple hours. The Hives have a new album dropping — The Hives Forever Forever the Hives. It’s don’t think it’s a limited edition, but I might buy it anyway. Note: I’m a poor grad student and cannot afford to buy any vinyl. Oh well, I probably will anyway. Living dangerously, that’s how we roll!
Life goes on and we live our best lives, in spite of sh1tty people who try to harsh our buzz. Or rather, because of sh1tty contracted people who try to harsh our buzz. Reader, let’s make sh1tty people catalysts for JOY.
I didn’t want to stick around home when Robert was leaving, so I took myself on an adventure to the ocean. On the way out of the housing complex I stopped and pruned my tomato plants, they looked unwieldy, as though seeking world domination. So, I pruned quite a lot of leaves and branches. I grabbed the bus to Marine Drive Station, where I ordered my usual Venti Mocha Frappuccino with a shot of Espresso before riding the skytrain to Yaletown, where I caught the Davie Bus.
I spent the morning shaking the dust off my feet at English Bay and Sunset Beach. I talked to a seagull as he eyed my Burger King burger, and I thought about areas of research I want to focus on, for Theology and Culture grad school that begins in September. What better place to shake the dust off my feet, than a sandy spot on the Pacific Ocean in the heart of Vancouver City, right, reader? I said hello to the ocean tide waters. I scored a Dr. Pepper Cream Soda (a rare find) at the Harbour Centre Dollarama, before catching the Main Street bus to get to Mount Pleasant. I’ll save it for later. Maybe I might save it for Robert, at whom I remain highly annoyed and have relegated to the bad dawg haus. Merciful, ain’t I? Or stupid. Ha.
The jury inside my head continues to deliberate on that one, reader.
When I arrived at Neptoon Records, I saw one dude standing in line waiting for 17:30. A few people showed up for for the listening party of The Hives Forever Forever the Hives, the new album. We had a choice of vinyl to purchase. Turns out they did drop a limited edition! Score. Gold vinyl with a signed print, Gold vinyl without a signed print, or black vinyl. I chose the gold vinyl with signed print. I got a Hives paper bag with a poster and some buttons and some other swag. I won a signed poster of The Hives. Reader, it’s a good album. Go listen.
Yeah, reader, I know, I know … poor grad students can’t afford vinyl. Oh well, I bought the thing anyway. Because muh, I did. I took my new vinyl and my swag, grabbed some Chinese food on the way home, and came home to have an engaging podcast conversation with Stuart Parker for his Cocktail Hour Podcast. I chose Galliano and coke — Bartender’s Rootbeer—as my drink of choice, I sucked back two-thirds of the bottle in the two hours we chatted and I feel pretty damned awesome right now.
So, I remain the resident Cinderella reject outcast, uninvited to the fancy sh1tty persons’ ball that my partner choose to attend anyway. Well, fuck ‘em. Yes reader, fuck the mean grrl sociopaths. I had my own adventures today, and I have adventures planned for tomorrow and Saturday, and then church on Sunday, when the heretic or prodigal (or whatever we should call a dude who goes off to spend a weekend at a fancy family thing that his spouse has no welcome to attend), returns from his sociopath convention. Everything is fine, even when it sucks a little.
Shaking the dust off my feet.
Here’s the video for the title song from the new Hives album.