Coffee and God (in that order)

We live in a small, relatively cozy urban neighborhood that is a part of the city originally developed back in the 50s period, an era characterised by the renewed surge of economic prosperity and national optimism that followed Allied victory over the Axis forces in World War Two. In reality, that period of American domestic resurgence was enabled by the fact that America had remained safely isolated from all the devastation that virtually destroyed all the other combatant powers in that war. Today, given the development of modern long range (nuclear) weapons, the safety afforded by having two oceans bordering the nation has been permanently offset, rendering the 50s a unique and never-to-be repeated era.

At any rate, our neighborhood is relatively homogenous, consisting of predominantly older White Anglo-Saxon individuals, fortuously admixed with a blend of Asian-Americans (Japanese-Americans and Chinese-Americans, both groups being noted for their ‘model American minority’ qualities). The centerpiece of our part of town is a small 50s era shopping center that (up until very recently) had a medium sized independently owned grocery store and a US Post Office mail distribution center as its ‘anchors’, surrounded by a dozen or more small businesses. The grocery store closed its operations last year, creating a concern for the many older & retired people who populate this area. It is owned by an absentee landlord…in this case by a Chinese-American family in San Francisco whose head was their matriarch, an older Asian woman who had a very traditional ‘old-style’ Chinese attitude about property management and the obligations of landlords. Since the store’s closing, the premises has remained empty, with little interest shown by the owner’s family in working with the local community to install a new tenant, unfortunately.

Given the presence of the ‘older’ Asian citizens in our area, things have been quite stable, far less subject to the sort of rampant crime that ‘PC diversity’ has created in many other, less stable and more volatile parts of town. Although we have a very few Chicanos and a few Blacks among our local residents, these people have all been responsible, friendly and are ‘positively contributing’ middle-class elements (contrast that with neighborhoods heavily populated by recent Hispanic arrivals and also by poor Black families, with their exponentially higher crime rates, substance abuse problems and gang associations).

Returning to this shopping center fixture that serves as a focal point for our neighborhood, although we had a grocery store, a post-office and several other small businesses (jewelry store, beauty parlor, Chinese restaurant, sports shop, computer repairs, etc.), one thing we have never had there is a coffeehouse.

Coming from the San Francisco Bay Area as I do, with its many, many coffeehouses, this has always seemed to me to be a rather conspicuous, almost inexplicable omission. Especially so, since today’s more ‘modern’ concept of what a coffeehouse is (Starbucks…UGH!)…a place where people can order coffee and cruise the internet on their system devices…means that there should be no shortage of younger people who would take advantage of such a communal watering hole.

My own concept of what a coffeehouse should be is based on my belonging to a much older generation, which in my case has cultural links to the old-style Bohemian flavored coffeehouse that was hip back in the 70s. I personally loathe the slick, modern commercialized interpretation of what a coffeehouse has become (thanks to the Starbucks founders who incidentally learned their trade as baristas under the tutelage of Mr. Peet himself…at ‘Peet’s Coffees, Teas & Spices’ just down the street from me in Berkeley), but having any coffeehouse in the vicinity is still a positive thing (regardless of whether customers ignore each other and keep their noses firmly in their laptops instead of aimed at each other or not).

Despite a generally recognised community consensus that some sort of coffeehouse related business would be a genuine asset, it wasn’t until recently that a private entrepreneur stepped forward to start up such a business in our local shopping center. The partners involved in this enterprise are ethnically Chicano…another perhaps unsurprising spin-off of California’s burgeoning ‘diversity’ focus and we were all somewhat surprised to find that the new coffeehouse had been named ‘Barrio’.

Hmmmm. A name doesn’t come laden with more Hispanic overtones than ‘Barrio’, given that word’s connotations in Latin-American cultural circles, and this site being situated smack in the midst of a neighborhood that, as mentioned above, is largely White, Chinese & Japanese in its demographic. For those uncertain of the word’s origins, ‘Barrio’ is the term that Hispanics use to denote a certain Latin-American flavored locale, as below.

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Definition: bar·ri·o ˈbärēˌō/, noun, barrio; plural noun: barrios; A district of a town in Spain and Spanish-speaking countries. (In the US) the Spanish-speaking quarter of a town or city, especially one with a high poverty level.

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Hardly a logical or likely fit, given the composition of our neighborhood, but that is the name they chose and so it remains. Naturally, there’s been a lot of curiosity as to the products and services offered, especially since there seems (judging from the selected name) to be a specific ethnic undercurrent to the operation.

Since I am an old, life-long ‘serious’ coffee person, coming from the hard-core coffeehouse districts of SFO’s North Beach and Berkeley’s campus community, I have to admit that I’ve been quite curious myself. Very recently I dropped in at Barrio to find out.

As I left the house this AM to do so, the temp, just to put a further (and much needed) damper on the common ‘It never rains in sunny California’ myth held by out-of-staters about our paradisiacal la-la land culture, was a frosty 14 degrees F. That’s -10 degrees C, for those of you used to Kelvin or Celsius, and needless to say that’s plain old COLD by anyone’s reckoning.

I was quite glad to have my nice toasty, fur-ruffed Arctic parka on (purchased in Prague, last October, when we toured German-speaking parts of Europe) as we ventured out to try the Barrio’s offerings this morning. Actually, I had earlier rousted my old 1974 air-sucking VW Thing from its peaceful winter slumbers for the purpose of taking it down to the shop (to address a persistent carburetor problem) and had just returned; since said vehicle doesn’t have the benefit of an engine-heated, warm-air circulation system like most old vintage VW beetles, dressing warmly is requisite on cold days (unless you want to fire up the accessory gas heater that lurks under its hood, which is a lot of bother). The extra warmth of my Arctic attire was therefore appropriate (and welcome) as we entered the new coffeehouse to sus it out.

The Barrio (that unfortunate name still catches in my throat, much like an errant fishbone in a fancy, up-scale seafood restaurant) is a simple place, little more than a small strip-mall type business space measuring about 50 by 75 feet in its dimensions. Inside they have taken recycled housing panels & old wood planks to put together a coffee counter/bar, behind which sits the pastry prep area, ovens and what have you. Adjacent to that is a larger rectangular room with a few desultory tables & chairs, a small white upright piano off in the corner and an odd collection of bits & pieces of furniture that has no unifying theme or context. Next to the counter/bar is a glass pastry display case that has, admittedly, some really nice looking (made on premises by hand) pastries, including several types of croissants, empanadas (Latino meat-filled pastry), muffins and other related baked goods (Danish, rolls, etc.).

Selecting the Apricot Croissants to go with our coffee, I must say they were very tasty; at $2.75 each, not outrageously expensive, either. I’ve tried the empanadas previously and they were equally recommendable. As for the cappuccino, espresso, lattes and other coffee-based drinks, all were quite good, served by a young barista who obviously has been well-trained and knows his stuff.

My only real complaint was that the young blonde woman taking our order seemed to have been in a semi-fixed daze at the time, since she no sooner took our money than she promptly forgot about it entirely. After standing around politely (remember, we’re ‘older’ people who are usually painfully polite at all times), somewhat puzzled why there were no apricot croissants forthcoming, I finally made an inquiry and received a blank look with the admission that she had somehow forgotten. Ah well. Not a suitable coffeehouse affect, in my experience.

Taking our pastries and coffee over to a table, it was time to engage in that universal and traditional (at least in my day) coffeehouse pastime…checking out the other customers.

Not far from us were two relatively young mothers (probably both in their mid-20s) and both possessed of one small child each (the kids appeared to be about 4-5’ish, one boy and the other a girl). Both mothers were turned out in the ubiquitous ‘uniform’ of today’s trendy young ‘moms’, long-sleeved cotton top with a down vest over it and cotton stretch leggings (tights?). The one was fairly attractive, with a nice lean figure and long dark hair tied back into a ponytail (yeah, I'm sexist), while the other was considerably less attractive and a bit more like a sack of potatoes that had recently gone on a crash diet. She (the potato sack) spent most of her time applying make-up while she was in there. The other one was preoccupied with her smart-phone (predictably).

As they did so, the two small rug-rats (remember, I am a childless person myself, for deliberate reasons) noisily ran amok, running around the tables playing pre-adolescent grab-ass with each other and climbing on the poor old battered white upright piano (doubtless a veteran of Mexican Independence days). Before long one of the kids was banging away on the piano’s keys, creating a real racket, while the other took a heavy glass and was whacking the piano’s poor old wooden carcass with equally lusty enthusiasm. ADHD?

Both mothers barely took notice of their miniature hurricanes as the kids proceeded to dismantle what there was of the décor until finally one of the baristas came over and verbally asked the two women to contain the little beasts. They did, if only for an obligatory moment before they quickly let the two rug-rats resume their unsupervised destructive play and re-engaged their smart-phones.

Meanwhile, right in the midst of the above confusion, a very hoity-toity couple arrived in separate cars (both of the Acura & Lexus brands. Read: gussied up Honda & Toyota), walked in and ordered pastries & coffee. The young woman, appearing to be also in her mid-to-late 20s, was trendily attired in upscale clothing…for a hole-in-the-wall coffeehouse at any rate. She had on an expensive form-fitting long silver-blue down ‘tube-coat’, black stockings & stilettos, with a chicly styled black pattern jersey dress underneath. Perfect coif, Hollywood-quality make-up, long luxurious blonde hair and the air of someone who clearly thought herself a cut or two above the riff-raff. She sat down at a table and opened her lap-top (after first checking her smart-phone) while awaiting the arrival of her SO with the coffee & pastries. He, for his part, was her perfect stylized counterpart. Short but well combed brown hair, long-sleeved off-white shirt under a thin cashmere sweater (think Lands’ End, folks), dark slacks and dark brown patent-leather shoes. A real live Barbie & Ken, so it seemed, right out of the Land’s End catalogue.

It was hard to figure out exactly what their relationship was, but it was obvious they weren’t married. Perhaps they were on a date…but a date dressed that way to a mere coffeehouse? Naw. It didn’t take long for ‘Ken’ to arrive with the edibles, but no sooner had he seated himself than he pulled out his own smart-phone and immediately dived into it. There was zero interpersonal exchange that I could see (unless they were texting each other).

At this point, given the proximity of the two clueless young mothers’ destruction derby kiddies to this couple, Barbie & Ken rather quickly decided that the ambient noise level close to them was way intrusive. This conclusion was effectively underscored when the two little Tasmanian Devils in reference submarined spontaneously beneath their table, making it hard to simply ignore them with any gracefulness.

Barbie & Ken soon pulled up stakes as a result and departed, each in his/her nice shiny new car for places, interactions and liaisons we can only guess (and snigger) at (i.e. “How in hell do you get these f**king panty-hose off, Barbie?!”).

After one more politely murmured interventional remark by the same barista, the two urban moms also decided it was time to leave. The potato sack had by now applied fresh new screaming-red lipstick, eye shadow and mascara to her upper parts and taking the kids in tow, they left with as much nonchalance as two young mothers in charge of two pre-school, ambulatory wrecking balls might be expected to muster at a public venue.

We also had finished our coffee by now and soon left ourselves, but not before it occurred to me that the walls of the Barrio were starkly empty. None of the accustomed ‘local painter’ creations one expects to see on the walls of any self-respecting ‘artsy’ coffeehouse. I made a point to inquire about this, since such an oversight is almost unthinkable to any 50s/60s/70s raised coffeehouse habitué. There are, in fact, a small number of local painters living in our area, so filling the walls with some well executed acrylics would not be much of a challenge. Must look into that.

It remains to be seen what develops with this new community coffeehouse, the ‘Barrio’, but hopefully it continues to thrive and become more comfortable, thereby contributing significantly to the pleasing sense of local community that is one of our most significant aesthetic assets in my neighborhood. Whatever happens towards that end, it’s pretty clear that the Bohemian flavored coffeehouse days of my own youth are now (perhaps of necessity) a fleeting memory as a new generation re-defines the concept to suit its own perceived needs. That said, I am a big supporter of small, locally owned business, since I am adamantly opposed to today’s mega-sized corporate operators (like Starbucks, yuk!).

Shifting gears here, we come to the next subject I’m going to hit upon herein. Last evening wifie’s church (she’s a very diligent member of the local community’s Chinese Christian Church) held their annual Christmas pageant & service. Since I’m well aware of the fact that good ‘marital relations’ includes being supportive of one’s mate, I thought it would be a good idea to attend the pageant she had labored so hard to help create over the past several weeks. She had, after all, put considerable effort into helping the church’s choir prepare, assisting with tailoring of the choir’s attire, copying music scores, etc., etc. The amount of work involved was impressive.

I’d come home after completing whatever tasks I had on my agenda for a particular day to find her hard at work on her computer, oblivious of everything except making certain the church’s pageant would come off without a hitch. The intensity of her efforts impressed me, but then, she is a very committed believer in the Christian (myths of) God, Jesus (son of, etc.) and the whole Christian shebang, so QED.

I am, as anyone familiar with my written observations here and elsewhere well understands, an ‘unbeliever’, a status perhaps better rendered as ‘skeptic’. Oh yes, I was brought up a Christian like so many of my generation, with a Roman Catholic father and a Presbyterian-converted-to-Anglicanism mother; I unquestioningly underwent the whole schtick, including baptism, confirmation, alter-service (I was an ‘alter-boy’, through thankfully not molested by any pederast priests) and what have you. Up through the age of about 13 I really had no deeper thoughts associated with religion other than those that typically center on normal White Anglo Saxon Christian community life.

At about that time I had developed a strong interest in science fiction literature (not the cultish STAR TREK stuff…that particular aberration of classical sci-fi having begun in 1964) and was an avid reader of the genre, as well as an active ‘fan’ who published ‘fanzines’ (these being early precursors of the later 80s ‘zine’ youth publications). Naturally, this opened a lot of conceptual doors behind which I found lurking a universe of knowledge, theory, observations, philosophies and world views. As a result, while in high school (early 60s) I found myself turning more and more towards the study of sociology, anthropology and philosophy, all of which neatly dovetailed with an appreciation of science fantasy (‘stf’, as we used to term it) that fostered further outward awareness of the immense possibilities confronting humanity in this mysterous ‘thing’ we call life experience.

The German philosophers in particular (Kant, Schopenhauer, Nietzsche and later Heidegger, etc.) captured my imagination and as my embrace of their outlooks widened, my ability to tolerate the faith & belief based mumbo-jumbo of institutionalised (or ‘conventional’) religion diminished proportionately. The so-called ‘miracle’ of the sentient life-form that is Homo sapiens struck me not as the result of some unseen, all-knowing and all-powerful deity, but as the consequence of random space debris coming together altogether capriciously and coincidentally to eventually evolve the ‘self-reflective’, thoughtful, but destructive mammalian life form on this planetary mass we call human beings.

Later still, when I began college and living in and near Berkeley, I quickly felt myself drawn to the philosophies of the Far East (Indian, Chinese & Japanese Buddhism and Taoism, to name the major groups). This was probably not accidental, looking back on all this, since as early as the mid-1800s German philosopher Arthur Schopenhauer had also plumbed and explored the same Asian schools of belief, finding them amazingly congruent to his own independently-developed hypotheses about life and its ‘meaning’.

Eastern philosophy was already significantly ascendant in the 50s & 60s, given a post-war focus on Taoism, Japanese Buddhism & Shrine-Shintoism (as well as renewed interest in ancient classical Chinese civilisation, culture & history prompted by the Korean War), so it all came together for me as a foundation for my own personal philosophy of life. The discovery that my rather intellectual mother had blazed a similar educational trail many years before me probably had a subliminal influence on all this, of course, but that awareness didn’t surface until much later.

After years of bemused reflection, I came to the same general conclusion reached by my philosopher mentors (Kant, Schopenhauer and Nietzsche, principally, although there were others). Namely, that human life as we have experienced and known it immemorially, is inalterably filled with pain, desire, unhappiness, grief, anger, violence, depression…as well as hope, yearning for peacefulness, desire for an improved state of humanity and in short, all of the things that modern Christian religion encourages us to believe that simple religious ‘hope’, ‘faith’, ‘belief’ and prayer will successfully address (and perhaps even resolve). Thus, this duality of yang/yin or good/bad that concerns most theologians and deep-thinkers.

To the contrary, Schopenhauer believed that there was no ‘higher’ cosmic consciousness in any way similar to that posited by conventional Western religions. Nietzsche later redefined this state in stating that ‘God is dead’, therefore…etc., etc., etc. Since these tenets of the classical German Pessimism school proposed that, given the absence of any real ‘gods’ (and therefore no possibility of eventual improvement through non-existent divine interventions), the best practical resolution to the endless cycles of pain, suffering and tragedy that are the hallmarks of all human life experience would be for the entire species to simply die out.

At the same time, and also in concordance with Schopenhauer’s admittedly somewhat gloomy outlooks, the only thing that really mattered in the ‘life’ we all endure is what he described as the ‘Will’, or that innate instinct found in all human beings 1) to survive, and 2) to reproduce (which is actually a subsidiary corollary to number 1). Since survival and the desire to reproduce are the most intense and most basic instincts in all human experience, it’s pretty clear to anyone contemplating all these Very Deep mysteries that human beings are not about to voluntarily line up, march themselves to the precipice of infinity and uncritically drop off into oblivion with the unquestioning instinct of Lemmings. If anything, human beings are all prone to the opposite view: that they MUST survive and reproduce, regardless of any and all other considerations.

Further, given that in today’s extreme progressive left liberal socio-political paradigm, the absurdities of PC wis-dumb have virtually institutionalized this laissez-faire approach to the questions raised by advancing human genetic science, with all enlightened consideration of positive interventions for the purpose of ‘improving’ the human genome thereby being rendered as ‘unthinkable’. Christianity (and also other religions) subscribes to the belief that propagation of the species in not just His intention, but a holy duty to glorify God (ditto for Islam). Thus, despite the fact that we continue to breed like rabbits on this very finite life support system called Earth, and in fact threaten in the not very distant future to breed ourselves right out of existence (perhaps that’s a positive thing, eh?), humanity merrily persists with its beliefs that some invisible, unknowable, undefinable and un-understandable Cosmic Deity, somewhere out there beyond comprehension, WANTS us to engage in this self-destructive and self-defeating behavior?! Hah?!

By my best reckoning, what we actually need to do is institute tough regulations about who is allowed to breed, first of all, and then go about raising by whatever means necessary the intelligence of human beings far above that level which now constitutes the ‘normal mean’. This is only one step forward that should be taken if we ‘highest evolved sentient life forms’ are to truly continue to survive on this planet. To take any other course and/or subscribe to any other system of faith-based beliefs and outlooks is essentially tantamount to delayed racial suicide.

OK, all of this is mere backstory to illustrate the core or what I (and wifie, her church and all its Chinese-American believers) experienced last evening, as for the thousandth time I willingly marched myself into that churchly venue and suffered the uncomplicatedly naïve enthusiasms of its gathered faithful, on the occasion of Christianity’s High Feast Day…the birth of Jesus (so-called) Christ. I should explain (as I doubtless have before, at other times and in other places) that aside from any religious mumbo-jumbo and/or spiritual hokus-pokus found there, I personally enjoy the peripheral aesthetics of Christianity’s celebration of the birth of their erstwhile ‘savior’.

Schopenhauer was enlightened in his advocacy of aesthetics as an alternative to religious ‘belief’ in the unbelievable. Chief among his aesthetics (the embrace of which helped alleviate human pain, depression and anguish caused by the starkly desolate possibility that life as we know it HAS NO MEANING WHATSOEVER) was music, since musical appreciation does not translate through the filter of artificial human sensory constructs as much as it is intangibly ‘experienced’. Obviously Schopenhauer had a tremendous effect and impact on the European Romantic Composers, not least among them, Richard Wagner, who heartily embraced and adopted Schopenhauer’s philosophy of aesthetics in the creation of his Romantic masterpieces of the late 1800s.

But to continue, for me the panoply of rituals (i.e. Christmas celebrations) such as were being held at wifie’s church are actually quite a pleasant thing. It matters not if I categorically don’t accept the statement that ‘God saves humanity from its failings’, and I am able to overlook the melancholy whimsy of rather uncomplicated souls objectifying concepts FAR beyond any reasonable human ability to accurately do so. It doesn’t even really concern me that by sitting there in the company of hundreds (many of whom have probably been recently exposed to the latest strain of flu in Hong Kong, etc.), I might be exposing my own self to a health hazard.

Aside from the sheer, inherent pleasure that watching religious rituals confers, what impressed me most of all about that service was the strong sense of community and group identification that I witnessed there. Families all gathered together, all unified in celebrating a (non-existent, but what the heck) personal, caring God, all joined in a passionate communal wish for the betterment of all humanity. Now THAT is, as my pop-culture nemesis Martha Stewart would doubtless put it, “a good thing”.

The church’s pastor, whom I understand was at one point in his past addicted to some form or another of substance before ‘accepting Jesus’, lamented the same sorrows in his Christmas message that all of us share, even immensely bright intellectuals like Arthur Schopenhauer (i.e. humanity’s eternal pain, suffering, depression, grief, affliction, ill-health, ad infinitum). The difference is that while Schopenhauer eliminated the possibility of EVER being able to totally rid humanity of these ineradicable sorrows of human life (although allowing for some amelioration of the worse afflictions), wifie’s pastor rather presumptuously promised that all things are in fact possible through Christian faith.

So there I sat, though the performance of yet another Christmas pageant, complete with its manger scene, the visit by the Three Wise Guys, the angelic host (who all look suspiciously like 5th graders tricked out in gossamer wing sets) and a Joseph/Mary couple who, unlike the sexually active, cohabiting couple they probably really were, looked perfectly innocent. I was able to concentrate on the basic pleasure that came from seeing all these obviously sincere, enthusiastic individuals coming together in a community of common purpose. And therein lies the perfectness of such things, I think.

On an interesting parallel, as a deeply inwardly-turned ‘national’ group, the German people themselves place inordinate value on a unified sense of community, having eventually determined (after Martin Luther stirred up the pot) that ‘God’ is indeed ‘dead’, and that what we need and what really matters most in a clearly secular, temporal existence is not good works engaged in for the purpose of assuring a reward in the (imagined) afterlife, but good works engaged in in the present here and now, so as to bring the most good to the greatest number of people within our respective lifetimes. As someone strongly influenced by all of the dynamics previously referenced, I say ‘bully for them’. Community DOES indeed make sense…a strong sense of shared interests, shared aspirations, shared insecurities, in fact shared everything: anything that brings home the essential fact that humanity is indeed a collective family, and therefore is also a community on both real and symbolic levels, is as close as a skeptic may come to the word ‘blessing’.

Last night, when I watched all the cute little Asian angels drops their lines, and flub their entries and exits (trying hard not to flinch when either PA system glitched-out or the lead alto briefly went painfully off-key in her solo), I emerged from that 2 hours with a strangely renewed and hard-to-define sense of warm regard for all my fellow inmates on this planet. To say it warmed the cynical cockles of my cold little skeptical heart is considerably understating things.

Despite Christianity’s erroneous conclusions about our ultimate fate on this lovely (and much abused) planet we call home, it’s still a wonderful if somewhat indescribably pleasing experience to share deep human emotions on this level. For this reason, of course, Christianity (and all religions, for that matter) does offer something to those who are neither intellectually complex enough nor emotionally strong enough to accept the horrific fact that we ARE alone, or to face the fact that we are NOT destined for some sort of eternal reward. Something that, however true or false it may be, brings us all together for a few moments of shared beauty and vision on such occasions therefore becomes its own fully self-contained justification, in my opinion.

In closing, back in my early 20s and largely in keeping with my philosophic outlooks, I resolutely determined that I did not need to replicate any little copies of myself. As a result, I deliberately refrained from ‘co-creating’ children, since I am convinced intellectually that we have far and away enough already. Besides, human instincts being what they are, there are more than enough eager volunteers who are quite willing to scatter their seed hither & thither, without regard for any weightier philosophic concerns (therein lies the primary concern, of course).

I must admit, however, that seeing all those delightfully cute, well-behaved and happy kids in that pageant gave me a stab of remorse that, in being so abtinantly self-restrictive, perhaps I have missed out on the only thing that really seems to provide genuine meaning to human experience: having a family and raising kids. It's sad that in so doing, however, that we assure our eventual racial (species) genocide. This has to be one of the greater paradoxes of life, since sex leads to life and life leads to death!

Ah well. No one said that being a philosopher was an easy path to take through life's thorny bramble-bushes. After all, stoics aren’t born: they are created.

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An end-note: Since wifie was singing in the choir, I sat by myself in one of the pews, resigned to being a somewhat obviously out-of-place presence in this feast of infectiously communal, joyfully hope-filled & and ecstatic believers. I remained alone until a few-late comers to the service entered and sat down next to me. The person on my immediate left was a very attractive young Chinese woman in her late 30s, who was also by herself (apparently), but she warmly introduced herself to me and her sincere smile seemed to come truly from the heart (although maybe I was just enchanted by her beauty). We chatted briefly immediately after the service and I emerged from the conversation flattered that she thought I was worthy of her attentions…me, an old (late 60s) reprobate Guai-Loh (Cantonese for ‘harry, foul-smelling barbarian/foreigner’, LoL)! She didn’t know that I was married to someone in the choir, but I quickly revealed this, despite my VERY flattered ego.

She had not seen me in the congregation before and politely inquired about this. Her manner was that of someone quite well educated, very articulate and obviously from a very good background. In our few moments of conversation I learned her name. To say I was quite charmed by her is engaging in typical British understatement, but it really brought a bit of that ‘shared’ community that I mentioned above home like an arrow to the target. It added rather spectacularly to the special magic that attending that service, even as a confirmed non-believing skeptic, conferred upon me, and it is wonderful to reflect on the fact that there still people like her in this miserable, sad world we inhabit, who are more than pleased to share a few moments of convivial conversation with a total stranger! I don’t mind saying that at times like that I do sometimes reflect adversely on my now irrevocable decision to not have had children of my own… There’s something powerfully instinctive about wanting to share perceived beauty in that manner that is definitely related to points 1) and 2), mentioned in earlier paragraphs, LoL.

All the foregoing said, best wishes for a personally fulfilling holiday season, regardless of your beliefs and convictions! And reading over the entire 5223 words in this piece, I am reminded that I shouldn’t EVER take myself seriously, much less anyone else. There is absolutely no truth whatsoever to the rumor that I am so good that I consider myself a mere hobby…