Spiritual Orphanhood

Often, my bad memory works to my advantage.

Back-to-back social immersions—Anton’s graduation, Shabbos with Kimberly—have effectively wiped out all sensory recollections of my month-long Ithaca sojourn(s).

Not the fact of having been there or the fact that Ben died.

But my personal involvement in those facts.

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Kimberly took me to Shabbos at the Woodstock Jewish Congregation. (Interesting that they refuse to call it a synagogue, right?)

I’ve been kinda, sorta searching for a spiritual congregation. For a few months, I was attending the Unitarian Church in Poughkeepsie. They have some interesting social justice initiatives, including an incarceration reimmersion program helmed by a former Dutchess County DA.

But the pastor was rude to me. After telling me he wanted me to write him an email explaining my interest, he wrote me an email back, saying, Well, we don’t permit people to join our congregation until they’ve formed an organic relationship with our mission.

Did I say I wanted to join your congregation? I thought.

I had not.

I was auditioning them.

So, what the fuck?

In contrast, all the people I met last night (including the rabbi) were warm, welcoming, and not at all pushy.

If Woodstock were not 30 miles away across the River That Flow Two Ways, and if it didn’t get dark at 4:30pm in wintertime, I might seriously consider joining.

But my night vision these days is bad. I simply cannot drive at night.

I don’t like any of the synagogues I’ve gone to on this side of the Hudson.

So for the time being, I remain a spiritual orphan.

###

Else?

At the last minute, those tomatoes decided they wanted to be pies not sauce. Behold them in all their savory cheesy magnificence:



I went running.

I did the tiniest bit of remunerative work. I’ve got to do a lot more.

I thought about picking up the Work in Progress where I left off a month or so back when X-Husband’s fatal illness made it impossible to have any kind of inner life that didn’t involve the psychological equivalent of a large broom and a dustbin.

Problem is I’ve fallen out of love with it.

So, I have to figure out a way to fall back in love.