ktravula – a travelogue!

Browsing ktravula – a travelogue! blog archives for December, 2009.

The Continuing Story of Mary & Joseph: “It’s A Boy”

MARY: Joe, we’re gonna have a baby.
JOE: What? That’s impossible. All I ever do is put it between your thighs.
MARY: Well, I don’t know. Something must’ve gone wrong.
JOE: Who says you’re pregnant?
MARY: An angel appeared to me in the backyard and said so.
JOE: An angel?
MARY: An angel of God. His name was Gabriel. He had a trumpet and he appeared to me in the backyard.
JOE: He what?
MARY: He appeared to me.
JOE: Was he naked?
MARY: No. I think he had on a raincoat. I don’t really know. He was glowing so brightly.
JOE: Mary, you’re under a lot of stress. Why don’t you take a few days off from the shop? The accounts can wait.
MARY: I’m telling you, Joe. This Angel Gabriel said that God wanted me to have this baby.
JOE: Did you ask for some sort of sign?
MARY: Of course I did. He said tomorrow I’d start getting sick.
JOE: But why should God want a kid?
MARY: Well, Gabriel said that according to Luke it’s kind of an ego thing. Plus, he promised the Jews a long time ago, it’s just that he never got around to it. But now he feels ready for children he doesn’t want to just make them out of clay or dust. He wants to get humans involved.
JOE: Well, is he going to help toward raising the kid? God knows we can’t do it alone. I could use a bigger shop, and maybe he could throw a couple of those nice crucifix contracts my way. The Romans are nailin’ up everything that walks.
MARY: Honey, Gabriel said not to worry. The kid would be a real winner. A public speaker and good with miracles.
JOE: Well, that’s a relief. Anyway, now that your officially pregnant I cant start puttin’ it inside you.
MARY: I’m sorry, honey. God wants it to be strictly a virgin birth.
JOE: I don’t get it.
MARY: That’s right, Joe.
JOE: Don’t I get to do anything?
MARY: He wants you to come up with a name for the kid.
JOE: Jesus Christ!
MARY: Don’t curse, Joe!

END

Culled from When Will Jesus Bring the Pork Chops, New York Times Bestseller by George Carlin.

NOTE: Those familiar with the original text will notice that I have changed the last line, the words from Mary, for effect. You may head here to see the original text and decide which you prefer.

(Photo taken at the Nativity play by children at the Episcopalian Church at Edwardsville on Sunday)

It’s Not Going To Be Easy

There must be more to life than sitting idly in front of a computer waiting for the guy from the Chinese restaurant to make a delivery. I have looked at the date and it is NOT Thursday. It is still Monday. No, I refuse to believe that this holiday is going to be harder to take than I previously thought. I’m going to gain more weight for sure. Maybe. It is definitely not going to be easy to keep my mind functioning without deadlines to meet, students to teach, to grade, and classes to attend. I had considered going with Ben and Mafoya for a Burlesque show in St. Louis two days ago, but I had fallen asleep before it was time to leave, and Ben had refused to wake me up. In any case, I doubt that semi-naked women could have made that much of a lasting impression. Sour grapes, I know. There is always a next time.

My grandmother is dead. The news got to me in a text message on Wednesday the 16th from my sister. I don’t know how old she is, and neither does she, but from the age of her children, I would say that she was over ninety. In some culture in Nigeria, the saying is “Don’t worry about it. You have no more grandmother to lose now.” In my case, it is not totally true. My dead grandmother is actually a step-grandmother. My non-step grandmother is alive but not as strong as she used to be. And she doesn’t know that the other woman, her co-wife, is dead. She mustn’t know or it would be too hard to take, considering how long they’ve both lived together under the same roof with the husband, my last grandfather, who is still alive and strong.

My friend Olumide lost his mother in the same week as I lost my grandmother. But unlike my own (albeit also unexpected) loss, his own was not inevitable, and it came too suddenly. I met her for the first and last time in the University during her son’s convocation ceremony not too long ago, and she was fun, warm and jovial. Her death has made me reflect on the meaning of life, and what it’s all worth when it’s spent and done. I wish Loomnie the strength to bear the loss.

I’m writing a new poem on the theme of loss, distance and changes, but I’ve become stuck after the sixth line.

Happy Anniversary Rudy

My host “grandparents” here at Edwardsville, Papa Rudy Wilson and his wife Laverne today marked their fortieth Wedding Anniversary. Yes, forty.

According to legends, he met her in 1969 at a get together where she (while being involved with another man) had attended with a male friend. He approached her and asked her to dance. She looked at him and gave him a look that must have meant nothing but “Hell no! Who do you think you are?” He refused to give up. Rather, he started tapping his shoes right there in front of her with the best of his dance moves. And, after perhaps shaking her head wondering what gave him so much confidence, she got enamoured and agreed to a dance. Three months later, she had left the person to whom she was previously engaged, and got married to Rudy. They’ve been together ever since, and blessed with grown up children.

To celebrate, Papa Rudy, now over seventy-one years old, bought his wife a card with some very nice words, a very nice present that she won’t disclose. In turn, she brought him a card, and a silver bracelet that she was wearing for him in the photo. I asked her what drew her to him, and she says it was his sensitivity, although its first manifestation was never what she quite expected. They had gone out on a first date to watch a movie, and halfway throughout the movie, Papa Rudy had tears gushing from his eyes. He looked towards her and asked her for a tissue, and she didn’t quite know how to react. In her mind were the thoughts:

1. What kind of man is this that cries in a movie?

2. What kind of man is this that cries in a movie on a first date with a woman?

3. What kind of man is this that cries in a movie on a first date with a woman and then asks her for a tissue?

The event must have been memorable for her to recall over and over again with a twinkle in her eyes, and fondness in his. She’s from Mississippi while he’s from South Carolina (but not related, even though he won’t rule it out, to the Senator Joe Wilson of the “You Lie!” fame). They’ve been through many things together, yet they’re still going strong.

The only thing that annoys Papa Rudy these days is not related to his marriage, but his name. It’s the fact that once every hour on radio or on television since winter began, the song “Rudolf the Red-nosed Reindeer” comes on to play. According to him, it reminds him of growing up with class bullies who put a red nose on him in school, and put him in the centre of a circus-like Christmas attention. Apparently, not all songs are politically correct. In any case, I have now been banned from singing that song (which happened to be one of my favourite Christmas songs) whenever I’m within his sight. Sigh.

Happy Anniversary Rudy and Laverne. Thank you for all your love.

Rima VII

In the dark corner of the hall,

perhaps forgotten by her mistress,

silent and dusty,

laid the harp.

So many notes slept in her strings,

as the songbird sleeps in the branches,

waiting for the snowy hand

that knows how to awake them!

Alas! – I thought – how often does genius

likewise sleep in the deepest of the heart,

and a voice, like Lazarus, awaits

to be told “Rise and walk!

Poem by Gustavo Adolfo Bécquer

and Clarissa, my Amigo Secreto.

NOTE: The game ended yesterday.

Office Lunch & Audrey’s Goodbye

These are photos from the Bella Milano Christmas office lunch on Friday, and the subsequent send-forth party for Audrey, our French friend at Mafoya’s apartment at Cougar Village later in the evening. Audrey had come to the United States on a programme that requires her to spend only one semester and return home to complete her studies.