Dust to Dust

"Ashes to ashes, funk to funky
We know Major Tom’s a junkie
Strung out in heaven’s high
Hitting an all-time low."
--- David Bowie

I moved to NYC and started acting school in February of 1993. As the weather was still bad that time of year, I took the Fifth Avenue bus down to my school, which was in the 30’s. [I still find it somewhat mind boggling that once the good weather hit, I walked 120 blocks return trip to my dorm at 92nd Street, but I digress.]

One day I got on the bus and noticed a woman with what appeared to be a smudge on her head. Just as I was about to tell her about it, I noticed two other passengers had one as well, and in my worldly wise, 22 year old brilliance I surmised that it must be “some weird religious thing.”

I had a friend at school named Kathy, a very funny, down to earth woman in her late 30’s who was from Kentucky and had the stamina of a Clydesdale. Kathy would get up at 4 a.m., rollerblade to work at a printing house, do her shift and then arrive at school for the start of class at 1:00 pm. I was in awe of this, of all she accomplished before I struggled to roll out of bed by eleven.

For some reason I thought Kathy would know about the smudges because she had been raised a Catholic. It struck me as a Catholic thing for some reason. Her religion had come up in conversation during one of our weekly visits to TGIFriday’s. It was pub grub, plain and simple, and not terribly healthy. But Kathy, Gerri and I went because it provided our poor actin’ asses the opportunity for some semblance of a civilized sit down meal and conversation. Once a week, we felt a part of a “normal” world, where people had jobs they hated but the consolation of a regular pay cheque. We had next to no money, but it didn’t matter at the time because we were different. We were going to make it and live our dreams.

“It’s for Ash Wednesday.” Kathy replied when I brought up the subject of the smudge.

“Remember thou art dust, and to dust thou shall return.”

“Wow. Bummer.”

Fourteen years later, I found myself at service last night. It was very different from the regular Sunday service, much more subdued and sparse. I find as I dig more and more into Christian practice, I begin to understand its benefits and its parallels with other religions and philosophies. Lent is Christianity’s period of self-reflection and penance, a chance to regroup and renew one’s relationship with God.

There was a lot of group prayer and periods of quiet reflection. I was determined to use these times to focus my mind and really connect with God. Instead, I kept thinking about the fact that if The Duke and I were on Amazing Race, we would totally kick sorry ass.

I envisioned The Duke and me taking Milan by storm, with a shopping stop in Prada to spare. We then arrived in Saudi Arabia at a road block. Running out of our car I declared to the stable hand “Inshallah my friend! Give me your fastest horse and quickly!”We then trailed our Land Rover through the mud ravaged roads of the Amazon, aiding another stranded team while still coming in first and winning the million dollars.

I also kept reading ahead in the programme to try and get a sense of things. I’m still needing to work on staying engaged in the service because I generally still feel out of my depth somewhat.
Eventually I went up and got my very own smudge. I also took communion for the first time.

Now don’t ask me why - because as Chris Rock would say “Eye. Downt. Know.” - but communion has just always FUHREAKED me out. I really don’t know why this is. Maybe it’s the whole, my body/my blood thing that spooked me.

But again, it was actually quite lovely, a very thoughtful exercise actually. I must say that my church stocks an excellent vintage. I found it to be bold tasting, with just the right amount of heady sharpness.

So after all this reflection on trying to be more Godly, I awoke this morning to a major snow storm. We had an Alberta clipper come through and the roads were rather treacherous. I had to go to the vet to pick up Possil’s pain medicine [she needs it for her arthritis] and I ended up rear ending a truck! It was a minor bump. In fact, they weren’t even bothering to get out until I did.

But the fellow came round and said “Oh I think it’s ok. In fact if anybody would have gotten the worst of it, you would have I think.”

Then I saw a scratch on his bumper. My heart sank and deep down inside, I really and genuinely didn’t want to bring it to his attention. But he saw it and said “Well that’s that from before. I did that myself. Are you ok?”

What a total gentleman. I felt ashamed and grateful at the same time. Ashamed I hadn’t pointed out the scratch and grateful he’d been so honest about it. But I suppose I said nothing because after car repairs and Cookie dying, I just felt like my pocket book couldn’t take one more hit. But in the end there was nothing to worry about.

Cast your care indeed.

As for Lent, I’m into day 2 of abstaining from the downloading of music. Oy. Da torment.