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Cleaning the stupa with Pockets* from Occupy last weekend:
( Whoa, these pics are bigger than I thought! Sorry, flisters. )
I drove out to Occupy's Peace House, thinking I was late. Met a prospective VP candidate hanging outside (I won't be voting for him; he was rude about my Obama t-shirt and clearly lacked political skill if he managed to annoy me in minutes). He informed me that I wouldn't be waking anyone up: there'd been a party the night before and everyone was hungover. Huh.
Rang the doorbell and set the dog (Wally) barking. I bet all the hangovers loved that. Inside, one guy and his girlfriend cuddled up on the couch, snoozing. Another guy sprawled limp in the window seat. The blinds were all drawn, and those who were up and about moved slowly, begrudgingly. About ten people live at Peace House.
Not a single one of the folks I'd come to pick up were actually going. One, well, no one knew where she was at first. Cell phones tracked her down as I drank a glass of water and looked around in utter amusement. It turned out she had been stuck at the Occupy vigil all night when someone hadn't shown (due to the party). Two others were way too hung over to do much more than shuffle.
It was starting to look like I'd wasted a trip, although really? This sight alone was worth it. I get stuck in such a groove that I need breaks in my routine, bad.
Their chaos was a breath of fresh air.
The guy with the girlfriend kicked the guy in the window seat. "Hey, Pockets. You're going to the temple."
"Hrnmph?" Pockets said. He wasn't on the list. "Okay...."
So I ended up spending the day with Pockets, picking spiders off the stupa so we could clean it. Yes, I am covered in spider bites, why do you ask?
* One of the nuns asked Pockets how he got the name. The name Pockets comes from a time when he and a friend were stopped by the police. The officer was going to search them (probably for marijuana). Pockets had a pair of pants on that he'd sewn himself. He explained, "Okay, but I have over two hundred pockets in these." The officer turned around, got back in his car, and left. Pockets' buddy turned to him and said, "From now on, your name is Pockets."
Pockets didn't realize that the nun he was talking to was an ex-cop. So the day was entertaining on many levels. She didn't explain either.
( Whoa, these pics are bigger than I thought! Sorry, flisters. )
I drove out to Occupy's Peace House, thinking I was late. Met a prospective VP candidate hanging outside (I won't be voting for him; he was rude about my Obama t-shirt and clearly lacked political skill if he managed to annoy me in minutes). He informed me that I wouldn't be waking anyone up: there'd been a party the night before and everyone was hungover. Huh.
Rang the doorbell and set the dog (Wally) barking. I bet all the hangovers loved that. Inside, one guy and his girlfriend cuddled up on the couch, snoozing. Another guy sprawled limp in the window seat. The blinds were all drawn, and those who were up and about moved slowly, begrudgingly. About ten people live at Peace House.
Not a single one of the folks I'd come to pick up were actually going. One, well, no one knew where she was at first. Cell phones tracked her down as I drank a glass of water and looked around in utter amusement. It turned out she had been stuck at the Occupy vigil all night when someone hadn't shown (due to the party). Two others were way too hung over to do much more than shuffle.
It was starting to look like I'd wasted a trip, although really? This sight alone was worth it. I get stuck in such a groove that I need breaks in my routine, bad.
Their chaos was a breath of fresh air.
The guy with the girlfriend kicked the guy in the window seat. "Hey, Pockets. You're going to the temple."
"Hrnmph?" Pockets said. He wasn't on the list. "Okay...."
So I ended up spending the day with Pockets, picking spiders off the stupa so we could clean it. Yes, I am covered in spider bites, why do you ask?
* One of the nuns asked Pockets how he got the name. The name Pockets comes from a time when he and a friend were stopped by the police. The officer was going to search them (probably for marijuana). Pockets had a pair of pants on that he'd sewn himself. He explained, "Okay, but I have over two hundred pockets in these." The officer turned around, got back in his car, and left. Pockets' buddy turned to him and said, "From now on, your name is Pockets."
Pockets didn't realize that the nun he was talking to was an ex-cop. So the day was entertaining on many levels. She didn't explain either.