The inbred nature of my community never ceases to amaze me. Some people really love our small town for just that reason. Since I was born here, raised fundy and became an atheist, it sometimes isn't quite so attractive to me, but whatcha gonna do? .........

In small-town America, it's impossible to not overhear conversations. It's especially impossible to not overhear conversations about god, Jeebus, Christian Heights Church, Heart Rock Cafe (Christian coffee shop...what else?), Sierra Bible Church, Chapel in the Pines, ad nauseum. I'm learning to just ignore it all and go about my business. At some point I would like to minister to the crazy people in this town, but I'm not sure how to go about it. Hey, they've been after me all these years. I think it's time I returned the favor.

A few years ago, after my atheist position solidified, Dan Barker (who became an ordained minister in this county) and I had an e-mail exchange. Mr. Barker, now an avid atheist, is heavily involved with the Freedom From Religion Foundation. He inquired after several people he'd known in this area and I knew or knew of almost all of them. One of the pastors he'd known had died of a brain tumor. I think he'd already heard the news from someone else.

Weirdosity.

Tonight I dragged my mother to the gymnasium pool to teach her how to snorkel. She's heading off to Hawaii in a few days. Considering her great fear of water, I really doubt she'll do much (any?) snorkeling, but hey, it was fun. We actually had a pretty good time.

Until the past few years I had never done much swimming, but LASIK surgery made it possible for me to snorkel and I found I really love the water. I need to become more familiar with it, but I absolutely love it! My mother commented, "It really surprised me when you took up snorkeling because I've always been terrified of the water."

Hmmm. What's wrong with that statement?

My mother still expects me to be an extension of herself. Unfortunately for her, I turned out to be my own person. I'm musically and artistically inclined; she is not. I love nature and wildlife; she does not. I love animals; she does not. She loves to be feminine; I do not. She's interested in genealogy; I am not. I am interested in endless learning; she is not. I love to explore the world as it is; she does not. She's a rabid, right-wing lunatic; I am not. She wanted me to give her grandkids; I did not. She tried to make me a fundamentalist Christian...but I am not.

Weirdosity.

As we paddled about the pool I overheard an Hispanic man tell about his horrible day at work. It doesn't get much worse than this: A young man he worked with--the 27-year-old son of a local pastor--keeled over dead right in front of him. The kid took a couple of breaths. His eyes rolled back into his head and he flopped over, dead. They tried CPR, but no go. On top of everything else, everyone had to stay at work. I'm going to guess it was some kind of extremely important job like law enforcement.

A nearby lady commiserated. "God called him home," she said. "It was his time. We'll have to pray for his family."

Ooooooooo...that sounds so, so, SOFA KING STUPID!

I realize the people close to this young man are hurting, but to say that he's in heaven, that it was his time, that it was god's will...it just pisses me off! Praying for the family? What a fucking joke. It doesn't do anyone any good, except for the person who prays, maybe. That way the pray-er can feel like he or she did something to help without doing squat. Okay, maybe he or she did squat if that was the actual position of prayer.

No, it wasn't god's will. It was probably a fucking aneurysm, as the Hispanic man postulated.

And how will the Christians justify the death of a pastor's son? If god loved that pastor, his son wouldn't have keeled over dead at 27. Fuck, I'm almost 40. Where does the time go? You graduate from high school, turn around...and suddenly you're face to face with the big 4-0. Where does the time go? This preacher's son, this kid, this child, did not have enough time. He died too young. It's horribly sad. And no, it was not god's will.

It was weirdosity.

I paddled around a little more, making sure my mother didn't drown in three-and-a-half feet of water. I made sure my mouth stayed absofuckinglutely shut because the event of a tragic death is not the appropriate time to open your atheist mouth and stick your atheist foot in it. I swam under a couple of lane lines and did ten minutes of laps. When I came back, my mom overheard one of the nice Christian ladies talking about Christian Heights.

"Oh, you're a Christian?" gurgled my mother. "I thought I knew you from somewhere. I go to...blah, blah, blah, blah, blah."

"Oh, really!?" effervesced the Christian lady. "Well, Heart Rock Cafe blah blah blah. Christian Heights blah blah blah blah blah. God blah blah blah blah blah Jesus blah!"

"Well blah, BLAH, BLAH!" exclaimed my mother.

Then something caught my ear. "A few years ago I had an aneurysm," said the Christian lady. "It was only by the grace of god that I'm alive and talking and swimming today. At first I couldn't walk and my memory's shot, but by the grace of god, I'm here."

Let's see if I have this right. The 27-year-old son of a pastor keeled over dead, probably because of a burst aneurysm, and it was god's will. An older lady survived her burst aneurysm because of the grace of god. Anyone else seeing a problem with this logic?

Weirdosity city!

I wished for a stapler to keep my stupid atheist hole from mouthing off.

___

For the past several days I've neglected to practice music and for some reason as I sat in the hot tub after my swim, I felt like bursting into song. I started singing what I could remember of the recitative and aria Che faro senza Euridice? The bald man who shared the tub was amused, but not overly so.

After the hot tub, I turned on the shower next to the pool and started shampooing my hair. "Hey Mom," I said. "Look! I'm singing in the shower...Che faro senza Euridice? Che faro senza il mio ben! Che faro! Dove andro? Che faro senza il mio ben! Dove andro senza il mio ben! Euridice! Euridice! Oh Dio, rispondi...ri-spo-o-o-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-On-di...hehe...that's the wrong key. My teacher says I'm a mezzo soprano, but I still feel like an alto."

At that moment I noticed there was exactly one person in the pool...and it looked like...no. No fucking way. It couldn't be. The person turned her head and it was...it was my voice teacher!

Oh shit!

Here I was, acting like a total doof, singing in the shower in the wrong key, commenting on how my voice teacher was trying to turn me into a mezzo-soprano and there she was.

"Oh shit!" I exclaimed (the fundies had all left). "Here I am at 9 p.m. singing in the shower with exactly one person in the pool and who is that person? It's my voice teacher! I don't fucking believe it."

"Hi Laura," she said (amused as hell, I'll bet). I started turning interesting shades of magenta and fuschia. At least, that's what it felt like.

We shot the breeze, exclaiming over the beauty and brilliance of Venus in the night sky. (Why is it looking so brilliant, BGH? My voice teacher wants to know and so do I.)

The bald dude from the hot tub started our way. He had earbuds on, but I stopped him. "Sir...sir...excuse me." He tore out an earbud, puzzled. I pointed at the lone swimmer in the pool. "Do you know who that woman is?" He adopted an even more puzzled expression. "That person is my voice teacher. Here I am, singing in the shower and the only person within earshot just happens to be my voice teacher."

The bald man and my voice teacher both laughed and after a couple of minutes left me the sole occupant of the pool area. As I started collecting my gear, a giggle erupted, then a more pronounced chuckle. A belly laugh. And then I couldn't stop. I laughed and laughed and laughed, thinking to myself, "Man, only you, Laura. ONLY YOU!" My mother had gone ahead to warm up the car. I collapsed into the vehicle laughing so hard I thought I'd die. Mom tried to shush me, but I could not be shushed.

TOTAL WEIRDOSITY. ......