October 27: Bat-Shaped Seat, Pumpkins, Haunted Escape Room

[The Vogon] threw himself backward into a huge leathery bat-shaped seat and watched them.  He did the smile again.

I think I may have met this Vogon last night.

Greetings from Saint Marty and his son, Saint Gideon!

We are sitting here right now, listening to the radio program, The Red Jacket Jamboree, on our local Public Radio Station.  It's the Halloween episode that was recorded earlier this month at the Calumet Theatre.  I always have such a good time with my Red Jacket family.  Hope some of you guys out there had a chance to listen, as well.

My son and I have had a very Halloween-centered day.  First, we stopped at Walmart and bought some pumpkins and trick-or-treat candy.  Then we went costume shopping for my son, Saint Gideon.  He's chosen to be a mime this year.  So, we picked up a beret, striped shirt, white gloves, and some red suspenders.  Viola!  Mime.

Finally, after dinner, we carved some jack-o-lanterns.  I think that we are all ready for All Hallow's Eve. 

Speaking of All Hallow's Eve, let me tell you about the escape room I was forced to participate in last night, courtesy of my good friends at the cardiology office where I work (one of my four occupations).  You see, they know how much I hate haunted attractions.  Don't like jump scares.  Or zombies.  Or clowns.  Or rats.  Or dark places.  This escape room was promoted with the line "Exorcists Needed."  Not a big fan of that tag line, either.

Well, before I showed up with my daughter for this thing, I needed a little courage.  Found it in my cupboard--a bottle of pear schnapps.  After a couple glasses, I thought I was ready for anything.  I wasn't.  Standing outside the escape room, I could hear screams, yelling, moaning.  Then, we had to sign waivers that basically said, "If, by chance, I become possessed by a demon or am eaten by something undead, I won't hold anybody responsible."

The actual escape room is kind of a blur to me now.  I know that I grabbed one of my friends by her vest and held her in front of me for protection.  There were things screaming at us.  Blood running in a sink.  A possessed girl curled up in a bed.  A locked nursery full of demented toys.  And through this whole experience, I kept yelling things like "Ring the damn bell!"  and "Who has the cross?!" and "I think I soiled myself!" (I didn't say "soiled") and "I'm not touching that!!!"  I may have blacked out a couple of times.  That Vogon may have shown up.  I don't know.

All I can say is that I have had the whole Halloween experience this weekend, whether I wanted it or not.

Saint Marty may be sleeping with the lights on tonight.

October 26: Resistance is Useless, Playing God, Haunted Escape Room

"Resistance is useless!" shouted the Vogon guard back at him.  It was the first phrase he'd learned when he joined the Vogon Guard Corps.

This is a good reminder.  Resistance against a lot of things that happen in life IS useless, because, usually, the worst--serious illnesses, car accidents, natural disasters, the Trump presidency--seem wildly out of our hands.  Of course, we can do things to avoid these circumstance.  Eat healthy and exercise.  Drive safely.  Live in Iceland (statistically, the safest country in the world).  Impeach.

However, there is always the chance of bad medical diagnoses, even if you eat kale for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.  You can drive ten miles below the speed limit, but that doesn't stop somebody else from stumbling out of a bar, getting behind the wheel, and causing major damage/heartbreak.  Blizzards and hurricanes and tornadoes and earthquakes and volcanic eruptions happen, all over the world.  Middle-aged, white male Republicans storm into closed-door sessions in Congress, trying to disrupt the legal process of investigating possible unconstitutional actions by the President of the United States.  Shit just happens.  Resistance is useless.

Or is it?

I guess it depends on how you define "resistance."  Fighting events over which you have no power is like running head-first into a brick wall to get into another room.  You will cause lasting damage to yourself, and never break through to the other side.  Ultimately, it changes nothing for the good.  However, if your resistance entails being kind to others, taking care of yourself, participating in civic affairs, protecting the environment, and, basically, being a Jimmy Carter instead of a Donald Trump (a saying I wish I'd coined), then you are on the right track.  That's good resistance that can make a difference.

I feel as though I've been running head-first into brick walls recently.  Trying to force my square peg to fit into the round hole God has given me.  It hasn't worked.  All I've accomplished is giving myself both nightmares and insomnia.  So today, I'm going to try to let that go.  I can't force my day to go well, no matter how many lists I make or how many times I say to people, "Well, if you do what I tell you to do . . ."  I have been spending far too much time playing God, and I've learned something very valuable.  Are you ready for it?  It's a pretty earth-shattering revelation.  Here it comes:

I am not God.

I may think that I have all the answers.  That my way is the best way.  That the whole world would be better if I was calling the shots.  But I don't.  It isn't.  And it wouldn't be.

It's all about surrendering for me today.  I give up any control, which I never had in the first place.  And, in celebration of my powerlessness, I am going to a haunted escape room tonight with some friends and my daughter.  It will be, for me, an exercise in surrender.  I will be trapped somewhere that frightens me a great deal, and I will have to depend on other people to help me get out, because I will probably be curled up in a fetal position, crying beyond rational thought.

At the moment, I am panicking.  I don't deal well with not feeling the illusion of control.  I have told my friends that I may have a few drinks before I show up.  I don't endorse alcohol as a coping mechanism, but, sometimes, it can take the edge off complete and total hysterical submission.

If you happen to hear screaming and wild lamentation around 9 p.m. EST, don't worry.  It isn't the tormented spirit of a jilted bride who committed suicide. 

It's simply Saint Marty realizing that resistance is useless.